All the Tea in China (16 page)

I saw Mr. Gilpin on deck and mentioned that I already regretted the lack of books to read. I could not imagine the entire voyage without reading material.

“But I have the very thing,” he said, smiling. “Mama sends me off on each voyage with a fresh armload of books. I have not the heart to inform her that my interest lies in navigation not in novels. I would be delighted to share from my personal library.”

“Thank you, Mr. Gilpin, that would be wonderful. I am interested in any books you have available and certainly novels. I enjoy a good story as well as textbooks.”

“Perhaps a book on navigation then?” he said, his lips curling in a smile.

“Why, yes. Mr. Calow and I discussed latitude and longitude recently, and I’d like to learn more. I confess to only understanding the rudimentaries.”

“Don’t tell me that you are thinking about applying to be a midshipman!”

I smiled at his earnest expression. “Nothing as serious as that. In truth, I would like to learn not only for my own knowledge but for Mr. Calow’s as well. Everyone is so busy that I thought I might be able to tutor him if I had a chance to learn and understand the material.”

For a moment his face looked inexplicably crestfallen. “You are well educated then?”

“I grew up at Oxford. My uncle is a dean, and I was tutored by others at the university.”

“Oh.” He cleared his throat. “I will have those books brought to your cabin as soon as possible.” He cleared his throat again. “The pea jacket ensures your warmth?”

“Yes. Thank you again for procuring it for me.”

“It will only be needed for the beginning of our journey. As we travel farther south, you’ll notice that everyone sheds their outer clothing.”

“I look forward to the warmth, as I look forward to many new adventures,” I said.

He smiled, touched his cap, and left. I did not quite know what to make of Mr. Gilpin.

Miss Whipple appeared on deck later, vowing cheerfully that she only wanted to breathe some fresh air. I considered inviting her to my cabin, which at least had a porthole for fresh air, but then remembered Mr. Gilpin’s warning. Snowe worked with Mr. Harrison and Mr. Akers, after all, and I did not want to bring criticism to him by my presence with Miss Whipple. I did not know if her reputation was known among the other passengers, but no doubt it soon would be. Being seen with Miss Whipple on deck could be accounted to coincidence, but a game of whist in the cabin clearly involved an invitation and willingness toward friendship.

Miss Whipple took one look at my navy blue sailor’s jacket and wrapped her own stylish black pelisse closer. “I cannot believe you selected that out of choice,” she teased.

“It may not be all the crack, but it is quite warm,” I said. “Mr. Gilpin gave it to me only this morning.”

“Ah, Gilpin,” she said, smiling. “Now there is a naval man for you.”

“I do not take your meaning.”

She leaned against the rail, her eyes fixed on the ocean’s gentle waves. “He is all that is right and good about the sailing profession. Duty, honor, charity. I suppose he has even mentioned his mother?”

“Why, yes, he has.”

She smiled. “I would lay you odds that he cannot break free of her grasp,” she said. “Why, he is probably interested in
you
, Miss Goodrich, but has no doubt already found something about your nature—or will find something—that would be troubling to dear Mama. And so he shall never approach you in anything more than a brotherly fashion.” She paused. “Like Phineas Snowe.”

I was not certain I cared for the turn of the conversation. “I am not after any man, Miss Whipple,” I said. “Nor do I want them to approach me in anything other than friendship.”
And that, with Snowe, is dubious indeed!
“I want only to complete my task, which is to get to China.”

“And what does Phineas say about that?”

How much should I divulge about our agreement? How much did she know, anyway? “He does not want me to go,” I said, choosing my words carefully. “He does not think it advisable, nor do the other passengers, apparently. Have you met them?”

She shook her head. “I have seen them from a distance. I avoided breakfast for that express purpose, though we are bound to meet at some point during this voyage.”

“What do you think they will say about you?” I said without thinking and, naturally, instantly regretted it.

She smiled. “I would hope they would comment on my fashionable dress or curly hair,” she said. “What would you have them say about me?”

“I only wondered if they knew about your rep—that is, your life, your, er . . .” I trailed off, certain my face was three shades of red.

“I do not think it is stamped across my forehead,” she said mildly. “If you choose to tell them, then of course I cannot stop you.”

“I have no intention of such!”

“Then . . . why must we speak of it?” She smiled as if to say that I was forgiven.

Snowe joined us later, and Miss Whipple made some excuse to depart. I had the distinct impression that neither of them cared to be present together in my company, and I wondered if they were at odds. “Is your company business settled?” I said as Snowe and I strolled about the deck.

“For now.” He said no more.

“Mr. Snowe, have you found—”

He stopped short. “Can you not refer to me as Phineas? It
is
my Christian name.”

I glanced down. “That would be unseemly.”

“We share a cabin. We pretend to be brother and sister. Would it not be better for our ruse to stay in character at all times? Suppose someone should overhear you call me Mr. Snowe?”

“I had not thought of that.” It did make a certain amount of sense. “I suppose you will want to call me Isabella?”

“If I may,” he said. His polite tone did not fool me; he would call me what he willed.

I pretended to agree. “Very well, then. As I was saying . . .
Phineas.
Have you found a sword for me?”

He sighed. “These things take time. I cannot simply conjure one out of the air.”

“Of course not. I would not want you to.”

We strolled side by side along the deck. The ship rolled gently along the water, and the sun warmed my unprotected head. Yet the touch of Phineas’s fingers on the arm of my new jacket gave me a chill.
Who is this man?

I cleared my throat. “Mr. Snowe—”

“Phineas.”

“It occurs to me that I know little of either your background or your current affairs with the East India Company. You have the obvious advantage in that you know a great deal more about me—where I was raised, my family, for example.”

“Very well, what would you like to know?”

“Tell me about your family. Are they alive?”

“I grew up in the north country, near York. My father was an East India naval man and is no longer living.” He paused. “My mother, however, is still alive.”

“You mentioned before that you have a sister. Is that right?”

“Yes. My mother remarried, and I have one sister, as I mentioned earlier.”

“And your involvement with the East India Company? How did that come about?”

He shrugged. “I have long been interested in tea.” He stopped again and turned to face me. “Tell me, Isabella. Over the no doubt many cups of tea you have drunk in your lifetime, did you ever chance to think about where the precious leaves came from? Or did you, like so many, never think of them as traveling any farther than from your servants’ hands?”

Had I said or done anything to deserve such a rude tone? And did he think me so dull and uninquisitive as to never imagine life beyond Oxford? “Indeed, I often have thought on such. I have wondered about the hands that grew the leaves, nurtured them to fruition, picked them, carried them to who knows where to be purchased or traded then shipped to England.”

“I—”

I had read about tea and was just warming to the subject. “You are right when you say it is our lifeblood. I know the history of tea in our country is varied. For example, did you know that green tea was the popular type imported at first, then gradually black tea became more popular?”

“Yes, of course,” he said. “Have you ever had green tea?”

I shook my head. “I do not believe so, but I am interested in trying some.”

“Tea has been popular much longer in China than in England.”

“Indeed,” I said. “How many voyages have you made to the Orient?”

He shrugged. “I cannot recall.”

“But you speak the language well?”

“Fluently.”

He proceeded to walk aft, and I was forced to rush to keep up with him. I could hear the chickens squawking up on the poop deck, and I wondered if Mr. Swinney, the poulterer, were tending them. I also wondered how Bossy and the other milk cow were faring and resolved to check on them later. “Mr. Snowe?”

“Phineas,” he corrected.

“Phineas, then.” I sighed. “I know this will be a voyage of great length. Mr. Gilpin has graciously offered to loan me some of his books so that I may read to pass the time. As well as to improve my knowledge.”

“Really? I should think that you were quite near the end of your learning experiences.”

“One can never learn all there is in the world. I am always anxious to improve myself. Which reminds me that I have another request for our agreement.” I held my breath. “I would like for you to teach me to speak and read Chinese.”

“We have already set our bargain and the terms upon which it is based.”

“Nevertheless, I would like to learn Chinese.”

He burst into laughter. “You are jesting, of course. Chinese is a particularly difficult language to acquire. I told you and your uncle that back in Oxford.”

I did not so much as smile. “But I am in earnest. It is a long voyage, and I have a skill for languages. I would particularly like to know Chinese so that I can better communicate with the people I hope to serve once we reach our destination.”

“Your destination is Cape Town!” His eyes snapped fire.

Two seamen stopped their work in coiling a rope and turned to stare. I sighed. I might have known that Snowe would fight me. I lowered my voice. “Then think of it as a way for me to pass the time. And perhaps you as well. You must find these voyages tedious. I am sure that you would find me an eager, as well as capable, student.”

He said nothing.

“Can you fault one Englishwoman for attempting to learn about another culture?” I paused. “We could even begin with the Gospel According to St. Luke that you gave me.”

He looked at me with surprise. “Do you still have it?”

“Unless someone has moved it, it is probably still in the straw with the cattle.”

He thought for a moment. “In truth, Isabella, I do find these voyages somewhat tedious. One can only discuss company business for so long.”

“Then . . . shall we retrieve the Gospel from the cattle area?”

He sighed with resignation, evidently realizing that I was dead set on achieving my purpose. “Very well. Let us fetch the tract.”

We made our way below deck. No man was present, only beast. I preferred to believe that the cattle recognized me, but that would be mere fancy, of course. I recognized my favorite cow right away. “Bossy,” I said sweetly and patted her gently on the broad, smooth skin between her eyes. Snowe waited while I entered the stall and retrieved the book, which was lying just where I had left it, hidden in the straw. Thankfully, it was tucked away near the railing and out of range of the cattle.

“Shall we read it right here or take it above deck?”

“As kindly as the cattle treated me when I was their unwelcome guest, I do not fancy staying here any longer,” I said blandly. Bossy looked at me with her enormous bovine eyes and—I tell no falsehoods here—licked me as a lady’s lap dog would show affection.

“It would seem the cattle, however, would have you visit,” Snowe said, his voice tinged with amusement. He wrinkled his nose. “I admire the sight of pastoral scenes, but I am afraid the stench is somewhat overwhelming. Perhaps we could find a quiet place on deck or, barring that, our cabin.”

Our cabin. I could not become accustomed to that phrase. Somehow it was easier under cover of bedtime darkness to acknowledge that we shared a room. I shivered a little at what would happen to my reputation were the truth known. “Perhaps we could use the cuddy,” I suggested. “We would be out of the way of the crew.”

“Very well.” Phineas helped me back through the gate then latched it securely. He wrinkled his nose once more. “You stayed in here with these beasts for as long as you did?”

I nodded, raising my chin. I did not want him to think me some missish society woman. “I am not someone to trifle with, Phineas Snowe. I can live with one beast or another if it is required.”

He smiled at me and stepped back to allow me first access to the steps leading above deck.

Snowe appropriated a shallow pan from Mr. Gilpin. At his further request, Mr. Gilpin also ordered a midshipman to relieve a sandbag from enough of its contents to cover the bottom of the pan. “Thank you,” Snowe said, leading the way to the cuddy.

Hurrying to keep up with him, I was mystified. “I thought we were to study Chinese,” I said.

“We are,” he said over his shoulder. “Have I disappointed you in any way yet?”

Yet! Yet? Did he mean to make a future with me?

Snowe set the pan on the table and smoothed the sand flat with his hand. From his coat pocket, he withdrew a smooth black stick. I laughed. “Do you always carry that with you?” I looked closer. It was not only smooth but painted with tiny flowers and birds and was more pointed at one end and rounder at the other. Intrigued, I pressed closer. “What is that?”

“It is a chopstick,” he said, holding it up for my inspection. “It is an eating utensil in China.”

I laughed. “How does one use it to eat? It would seem difficult indeed to spear a pea.”

He ignored my mirth and withdrew another stick. “You eat with two of these, held between the fingers like this.” He held them in his right hand so that they looked like natural extensions of his fingers, clacking them together to show me how they could grab and pinch. I was not certain how one could cut roasted beef, but perhaps he had something similar to a knife in his jacket as well.