There was no one else about. She looked at her wrist and remembered she’d removed her watch along with everything else. It had been a novelty. A clock on the mantel told her it was a quarter past six.
Water splashed somewhere nearby and the combined scents of oranges and roses floated through the room. Qi sat back on her heels in the middle of the bed as a female servant came in, bowed her head and pressed her palms together. “Your bath is ready, sahiba.”
* * * * *
Qi had almost kicked up a fuss over the bath and the bathing. It was not that she was shy about her body—even though the nuns had tried to turn their pupils into prudes—but she was perfectly capable of both washing and drying herself. The maid’s help was not required.
But she did accept the maid’s assistance with her hair. Some of the younger nuns had, from time to time, enjoyed brushing the girls’ hair, and that was one service Qi was willing to accept. The maid also oiled it and knotted it into a tight, thick plait down her back.
However, while she was happy that her leather trousers, jacket, and linen shirt had all been returned spotlessly clean—and the leather had been oiled—she was less than happy that her heavy-duty underthings were nowhere to be found, having been replaced by flimsy items that were unlikely to last a day.
The maid became so distraught at Qi’s anger that the captain was completely unable to maintain it. She gave up, put on the lightweight replacements and wrapped herself in her leather armour, against the world.
* * * * *
If Mrs Ruane had been waiting for Qi to leave her room, she managed to make it look as if she had simply been passing at a fortuitous moment. Then again, perhaps it really had been coincidence.
The tall woman was wearing a dress that simultaneously catered to British tastes in corsetry while not being too heavy, so allowing the wearer some relief from the heat. It might have been argued that the extremely revealing décolletage served the same cooling purpose. However, Qi imagined it would have quite the opposite effect on any male viewer.
“Captain Qi, good morning.”
Something about her Irish accent mixed with her throaty voice made it seem that she was perpetually flirting with whomever she spoke to.
“Mrs Ruane,” said Qi. “I must thank you for your kind hospitality.”
“You are guests, like shipwrecked sailors. What else would I do for someone in need?”
“We can’t repay your kindness.”
Mrs Ruane smiled. “Have you considered what I said last night?”
Qi pursed her lips. She’d walked straight into that trap. Damn those bloody nuns for their lessons in politeness.
“Let’s go down to breakfast, shall we?”
She stepped past the captain, closer than she needed to. Her hand lingered a moment, and her fingertips brushed across the back of Qi’s hand.
Qi could not decide whether Mrs Ruane’s behaviour was because the lady was genuinely attracted to her, or because the lady thought she might add to the persuasion by promising her a night of passion. It was not something Qi was interested in, either way. And she did not like being manipulated.
Mrs Ruane paused at the top of the sweeping staircase. “Are you coming?”
Qi set off after her.
* * * * *
The captain almost failed to recognise Fanning, who was looking cleaner than Qi had ever seen. Mrs Cameron looked the same as she ever did while Otto’s suit was pristine. Qi looked again, no, it was a new suit and his shoes had been buffed to a brilliant shine. But Otto was not looking at the captain. He—along with an almost drooling Fanning and, once again, Mrs Cameron—had fixed his gaze on their hostess.
Qi frowned. Was she the only person immune to this woman’s charms?
Food was set out on tables round the edge of the room with servants ready to serve it up. Mrs Ruane collected a plate and went round, making her selections. The rest of the company followed her lead.
“Apparently taking one’s breakfast in this fashion is all the rage back in England and Ireland,” said Mrs Ruane. “It’s much more relaxed, don’t you think?”
The last time Qi had had a formal breakfast of any sort, as far as she could recall, had been at least seven years earlier. “We normally just take turns in the mess.”
Mrs Ruane laughed. “The mess?”
“Our”—Qi searched for a way to describe the pokey little space—“dining room. It’s not very big. There’s not much formality on small boats.”
Mrs Ruane sat down and tucked into the impressive stack on her plate. Mrs Cameron had selected a delicate amount, while Fanning and Otto had enormous piles of food.
“I look forward to being given a tour.”
Qi was in the middle of choosing a breakfast somewhat more significant than Mrs Cameron’s while not being as greedy as the others when a servant came to the door.
“Captain Reynolds, Madam.”
The Captain strode in, clean and polished. He nodded at Qi then bowed to the mistress of the house.
“Have some breakfast, Captain.”
“I’m afraid we must be moving out. I have received word that there were shots fired in the vicinity of the crashed ship.”
“Shots?” Qi put down her plate of untouched food. She looked at Mrs Ruane. “We have to go, now.” She addressed the captain again. “If my crew is harmed I shall hold you personally responsible, Captain Reynolds.”
He touched his helmet. “Captain Qi, I am as concerned as you. I will be riding out with a small detachment. They are saddling up.”
“I want to come with you.”
“Can you ride?”
“I can manage.”
xi
“I’m afraid Mrs Ruane has upset your plans to treat us like common criminals,” said Qi as conversationally as was feasible on horseback, trotting along the muddy path.
She and Captain Reynolds were flanked by ten Sikh soldiers carrying wicked-looking swords along with their rifles. All ten sported impressive moustaches and beards. They had already covered a third of the distance and were approaching the turn in the road where it met the main valley. It had been difficult to convince Dingbang to remain at the house; in the end she ordered him to remain since they could not leave Otto and Fanning.
“Mrs Ruane is a law unto herself,” said Captain Reynolds, his voice tight and resigned. “However you are not off the hook as far as I am concerned, Captain.”
“I really think we got off on the wrong foot.”
“I have nothing against you personally, Captain Qi. You seem a decent person, for a Chinese.”
For a moment Qi lost the rhythm of the gait and was roughly bumped around—she did not use the rising trot that the soldiers employed. “Shall we hurry?” she said to avoid making a caustic comment and kicked her horse into a canter.
She pulled away for a moment but Reynolds’s mount shifted up a gear and soon drew alongside. He was riding a stallion that was probably higher up the pecking order than the smaller mare they’d given her.
“I am afraid I insulted you,” said Reynolds.
“Never mind, Captain. I assure you I am quite used to your British prejudices.”
“I believe I am trying to apologise.”
“Relationships between our nations have never been easy and, in case you’d forgotten, you invaded us.”
“Are you suggesting we should not have helped put down the Boxer Rebellion?”
“Captain, you have no idea what went on,” she said through gritted teeth. “If you did you would not discuss it so casually.”
Mercifully her comment managed to shut him up. She was not foolish enough to believe every story that was told about the depredations on the allied forces that had landed in China to deal with the Boxers. But even if only a fraction of those stories were true, the British and their European allies had no right to make any comment.
After ten minutes they dropped back into a trot. They were now moving along the valley with the fields to their right and the
agricultural terraces to their left.
When she was very young Qi had spent a couple of years working in the rice fields up to her calves in water, planting and harvesting. The nuns had provided some relief from the interminable work with their school. Not all children were allowed to attend but her father had given her uncle strict instructions that she was to be educated. So she was.
“The guards are not where they should be,” said Captain Reynolds as they reached the head of the valley. He was examining the area with a spyglass. She was relieved to see the Beauty still sitting where she’d left it. Not that it could have flown away, but there was always the risk someone might set fire to it. “You should keep back while we go in.”
“I’ll be going with you, Captain. It’s my ship and my men.”
He acquiesced with a nod.
They dismounted. Four of the guards went on ahead while Qi, Captain Reynolds and the remainder walked openly forward in a loose group.
* * * * *
Terry Montgomery was busy pushing a rag on the end of a broom handle into a pipe to clean it when the piercing whistle of the communication tube blew. He lifted it off its hook and put it to his ear though he knew no one would speak. Three urgent whistles sounded—Ichiro’s signal.
He left the cleaning and hurried up to the top deck. Remy was ignoring the action, still checking the balloon envelopes for bullet holes after the events of the previous night. He had started at daybreak and would have begun earlier if he had been able to see in the dark. He muttered and fussed in French as he went through the cloth an arm’s-length at a time.
Looking out across the green landscape Terry spotted the four advance guards making their way around the perimeter and nodded in approval. The approaching group, having noticed the missing soldiers, was now taking appropriate steps in case of trouble. Ichiro handed Terry the telescope and he trained it on the mounted group. Captain Qi was among them. Good.
He handed the telescope back to Ichiro and signed keep watch, then crossed to the other side of the ship. One of the Indian soldiers stood there with his gun trained on the bandits below, while a second stood a short distance away. Montgomery leaned his elbow on the railing.
“Your captain is on the way back. Must have got word of the shooting last night. You might want to make yourselves known before they open fire.”
The man nodded and shouted down to the other in one of the Indian languages that Terry vaguely recognised. The soldier below waved and headed round the ship towards the drop-off into the valley.
The bandits weren’t very bright and, as their guard moved away, they wriggled around testing the knots. The man standing beside Terry cocked his weapon noisily. That was enough to cause an immediate cessation of motion and several worried glances in their direction. Terry gave them a pleasant wave.
* * * * *
They were on the bridge, and Qi watched as Captain Reynolds shook Terry’s hand. “Thank you.”
Terry nodded and accepted the thanks. “I did it for the ship.”
“Well, I’m still grateful,” said the captain. He held on to Terry’s hand a little longer than would be expected, looking at the tattoos on his arm. “Fusiliers?”
Terry jerked back his hand. “Sorry, I was in the middle of cleaning the engine.”
“Captain Reynolds,” said Qi. “Have we earned your trust yet?”
The captain watched Terry disappear through the hatch into the depths of the ship. “As he said, he did it for the ship. Not for us.”
“What are you going to do with the bandits?”
“Take them back and interrogate them. See if they know anything useful.”
Qi thought about trying to persuade him to let her stay, but she couldn’t do anything useful here nor could she leave the other crewmembers in the clutches of Mrs Ruane.
“We’d better be going, then.”
xii
They arrived back late afternoon. The bandits did not walk with much enthusiasm, even with Sikh swords at their backs. Qi thought perhaps if the soldiers had used those swords once or twice it might have encouraged them to go faster. But Captain Reynolds felt there were certain proprieties to be followed, and those included no unnecessary violence to prisoners.
“After all,” he said when she suggested it, “we have no proof as yet that they are bandits.”
“They attacked my ship.”
Apparently this was not sufficient.
Mrs Ruane was delighted to see her and gave her a hug that lasted considerably longer than such a greeting warranted—assuming a hug was an appropriate greeting in the first instance.
After the evening meal Qi watched as Mrs Cameron, Otto, Fanning and Mrs Ruane played croquet on the lawn. They seemed to be enjoying themselves, though only Mrs Cameron was holding her own against their host. Every now and then Dingbang would appear between flowerbeds, wandering through the gardens accompanied by one of Mrs Ruane’s gardeners, studying the plants. Occasionally he would crouch down to examine one more closely. Qi had known him for most of her life and had had no idea he was interested in plants.
Qi, on the other hand, sat doing nothing and itching for action. She wanted the moving ship under her feet, the feeling of lightness the Faraday gave them; she even wanted the mountains and the ice. She did not think she had ever been this idle before in her life, even when she was a child. But she forced herself to remain in the chair, shaded by a parasol and leaning on a table, with a constant supply of water in the jug by her side.
To think every single one of Mrs Ruane’s days was like this. No wonder she fed off the life of her guests.
Captain Reynolds was announced. He emerged from the house and descended the stone steps to the lawn. He came up beside her and watched the game for several minutes, seemingly as unhurried as their host.
“Your crew are not skilled in this game,” he commented, without malice.
“No,” she said.
Mrs Ruane glanced over at them from across the lawn. She nodded to the captain and gave Qi a sly wink which the captain could not possibly have missed.
“Is there a Mr Ruane?” said Qi.
“There is such a man,” said the captain. “But he is never here, and I believe that suits his wife.”
“Yes, I am sure you are correct.”
There was a long pause as the game continued.
“I have some good news,” said the captain at length. “I have received confirmation regarding your ship, although Fanning and Mrs Cameron are not mentioned.”
“Fanning is a recent addition and, as I said, Mrs Cameron has chartered the ship.”
The captain cleared his throat. “There was, however, a note about a Mr Cameron in Delhi claiming his wife had been stolen away from him.”
Qi did not reply but watched Mrs Cameron whack her ball firmly through a hoop and knock another ball away. Otto frowned.
“The name is an interesting coincidence,” said Captain Reynolds. “Even the Christian name is the same. Beatrice.”
“That certainly is an interesting coincidence,” said Qi.
They were both silent for a moment. Beatrice Cameron laughed as Mrs Ruane’s ball ricocheted off the hoop and sent hers spinning across the grass.
“However,” said the captain, “this Beatrice Cameron is not in need of any rescue, therefore cannot be the same one.”
Qi smiled. “So if we are not enemies of the British Empire does that mean we can leave?”
“Well, I am happy for you to start work on your ship as soon as your supplies are delivered.”
“Thank you.”
A cheer went up from the lawn as Mrs Cameron whacked her ball. It slammed into another one, careened off it and struck the final pin.
The group made their way up to the tables.
“I do not understand,” Otto was saying. “I understand the mathematics and I was quite accurate in my striking of the ball but I did not succeed.”
“You don’t have the killer instinct,” said Mrs Cameron.
“It’s not just about hitting your ball accurately. It’s about making sure the others don’t win.”
Captain Reynolds gave Qi a short bow, and took Mrs Ruane aside. As Qi watched he spoke to her quietly as he handed her an envelope. Mrs Ruane took the envelope as if it were poison and then moved away from the group. After a moment’s indecision, she ripped it open and removed a single sheet.
As she scanned the letter her mood changed as if a cloud had passed over the sun. Stiffening, she looked up. She beckoned to the captain and said something to him, after which he immediately went into the house. Mrs Ruane glanced at her guests for a moment, and Qi hastily averted her eyes to hide the fact she had been watching. Mrs Ruane followed the captain inside.
“I wonder what that’s about,” said Beatrice in a low voice close to Qi’s ear.
“You noticed.”
“Oh yes. I’ve sat across the breakfast table from someone getting bad news in a letter,” she said. “And, if I am not much mistaken, that news was very grave indeed.”
Qi assumed Beatrice was referring to her ne’er-do-well husband but decided it was not worth mentioning that her husband was looking for her. At least not yet.
* * * * *
It was late evening; the sun had gone down. There had been a late supper without Mrs Ruane, and the others had gone to bed. The need to feel the moving deck of the Beauty beneath her feet again kept Qi awake and restless, so she wandered the dark corridors of the quiet house.
She came down into the drawing room. Moonlight filtered through the window, dappling the walls and floor in silver and shadow. Qi found a stoppered carafe of water. The water glugged noisily into the glass and she replaced the stopper with a loud clink.
“Who’s there?” said Mrs Ruane, from one of the high-backed chairs. Her voice wavered as if she had been crying. Her usual confident tone was missing.
“Qi Zang.”
Mrs Ruane rose from her chair, which was facing away from where Qi stood. She did not turn but walked to the French window. She was in a silk dressing gown that clung and moved with her body. The moonlight gave it a silver sheen.
Ladies' Day Page 4