Norton, Andre - Novel 23 (13 page)

 
          
 
If Rufe was a favorite of Honora's, at least
he did not presume to attend family meals as Saranna had half-feared that he
might do. She faced Damaris across the table they had shared with Honora and
Mr. Fowke that morning, eating, in some state, a very good meal. No matter what
Mrs. Parton's shortcomings might be in the field of manners, no one could deny
that the house of Tiensin ran smoothly and well under her direction.

 
          
 
However, Saranna made a point of joining
Damaris after the meal while the child carefully dusted those pieces of her
grandfather's collection which were on display in the library. She persuaded
the child to discuss the "treasures" while she worked. Once more
Damaris was completely lost in the realm into which Captain Whaley had so
carefully initiated her. For whole long moments of time, Saranna, herself,
could forget the unpleasant scenes of the morning, charmed by Damaris'
explanations concerning this or that piece she was handling.

 
          
 
When she had done and wadded her used cloths
into a bag for washing, she smiled straight at Saranna.

 
          
 
"You like these, don't you?"

 
          
 
"Very much
indeed."

 
          
 
"Wait!" Damaris turned around to
survey the shelf where she had just finished replacing the last piece. "This!"

           
 
Her hand closed upon the figure of a cat
wrought in pottery, the whole a delicate yellow shade, the eyes open holes —a
night lantern Damaris had told her. "For you—" She held it out to
Saranna. "Take it!" she ordered abruptly. "I want you to have
it, truly I do. You can use it tonight—put a candle in it—"

 
          
 
Saranna hesitated. Damaris' gift was
impulsive. She did not doubt in the least that the child meant it, but it was
an act which could be questioned. If she took it though, she could always
return it later. And Saranna had no wish to arouse Damaris' opposition to the
state of affairs now at Tiensin by pointing out that she might not be allowed
to give away any of Captain Whaley's collection.

 
          
 
"Thank you—very much." She put all
the warmth she could summon into her voice. "Indeed, I will do just that
tonight."

 
          
 
Damaris nodded eagerly. "A night light is
good, you know. I have one. She tried to say once I was afraid of the dark! I'm
not, truly I'm not. But it makes one sleepy to
lie
and
watch the candle glow. This is old. And it's yellow. That was a color only the
Emperor or the Empress could use. Maybe this came from a palace a long time
ago. When I'm older, I guess I'm going to
China
and see—"

 
          
 
Again she broke off sharply, as if she were
about to say something which must not be mentioned. Her quick glance at Saranna
underlined her suspicion that she might have said too much. But the older girl
asked no questions.

 
          
 
"That would be wonderful," she
commented. "To see such pieces in their own surroundings would be even
better than looking at them here. And I shall feel very grand watching the
candle flame tonight burning in a lantern which might have once belonged to the
Emperor himself!"

 
          
 
She carried the cat lantern to her chamber
unobserved by any save Millie who was bringing in an armload of newly washed
clothing. The maid's eyes grew round as she eyed the piece Saranna placed with
care on the table near the bed. "That's a haunt thing!" She made a
wide circle about the table. "Why for you bring it here, Miss
Saranna?" "Miss Damaris wants me to use it for a night light."
Millie shook her head determinedly. "Me, I don't want no haunt thing near
me, no, I don't—'*

 
          
 
She cast such a look of aversion at the yellow
cat that Saranna was troubled. Millie would certainly talk below stairs and
that talk would be picked up by Mrs. Parton, and relayed to Honora. Yet the
girl felt sure if she returned the cat to the library secretly, as she had
intended, Damaris would speedily discover the rejection of her gift
Then
the sympathy between them would vanish and Saranna
might not be able to influence the young girl again.

 
          
 
"Move your bed to the other side tonight,
Millie,” Saranna suggested. "Then you won't be near it."

 
          
 
"Better I sleep in with Rose. She's been
after me to come—"

 
          
 
Millie glanced at Saranna and then away
quickly, as if she were suggesting something she felt would be instantly
refused. But Saranna was relieved. She had never welcomed the idea of Millie
sharing her chamber, for she felt that unwittingly Millie would relay to the
servants every small action of her new mistress. She had a suspicion that that
was what Millie had been set to do, though not perhaps with the girl's own
knowledge.

 
          
 
"Of course you may go with Rose,"
she answered at once. Millie beamed. "No need to tell Old Miss?" she
added.

 
          
 
"Old Miss?"

 
          
 
"Mrs. Parton. She
don't
never
come where the gals sleep. Never know I ain't here—'less you say
so."

 
          
 
"There is no reason for me to do
that," Saranna replied.

           
 
When that afternoon Honora returned from her
visit to Queen's Pleasure she was in an excellent mood, well pleased with
herself. Her constant flow of talk throughout dinner was of her own perfect
suggestions as to the furnishings and decoration of the derelict Manor House
which Mr. Fowke was fast bringing back into repair, and of how grateful he was
for her interest and aid. She was so intent upon her own affairs that Saranna
did not believe Honora noticed that Damaris was entirely silent during the
meal, or that Saranna herself, made only short murmurs of assent at long
intervals.

 
          
 
When the meal was finished, Honora did speak
directly to her two listeners:

 
          
 
"Gerrad needs me again tomorrow, so I
must get a good rest. It is so necessary that no mistakes be made now by the
workmen. And, of course, I have the time free now, which will not be true when
our guests arrive. So I shall be gone most of the day."

 
          
 
If she expected either of them to show dismay
at her promised absence, she would be disappointed, Saranna thought. By all the
signs, Honora apparently cared for nothing now but her friendship with Gerrad
Fowke, which was certainly approaching the culmination she desired—what
appeared to be her forthcoming marriage.

 
          
 
Saranna, on her way upstairs a little later
(she had borrowed a book from the library and maintained she intended to read
in her room), considered that marriage. To her mind, Gerrad Fowke was not only
a sensible man, but one of some authority. Though he had chosen Honora, there
might be a hope that he was not altogether under the dominance of the widowed
Mrs. Whaley. His politeness to both Saranna and Damaris at their breakfast that
morning, when Honora had clearly expected all his interest to be centered only
on her, was a promising sign for Damaris' sake. It might be that in Mr. Fowke,
the child would find the protection from Honora's schemes—

 
          
 
To go directly to him with hints and
suspicions—no, Saranna could not do that. He might well question her own
motives, decide that she was only a malicious troublemaker.

 
          
 
She must wait upon chance, or a greater
understanding, to approach Mr. Fowke. Yet the thought of him provided her with
a vague comfort for Damaris' sake. He was not a man easily fooled. And, though
his connection with Honora was still a matter for Saranna's private wonder, she
did not believe that he would be a party to any threat against the very young
mistress of Tiensin.

 
          
 
Her thoughts turned and twisted, and she could
find no easy answer
to
many of them. Suddenly she
remembered Damaris' remedy for sleeplessness, watching the candle night light
in the cat lantern. Saranna arose, made her preparations for bed. When she was
ready, she struck a match and lighted the candle.

 
          
 
The round spots of radiance which at once
marked the figure's eyes made her think once again of the fox eyes which had
lined the hedge on the night she had arrived at Tiensin. That fox which had
suffered at Rufe's hands, at least the beast had escaped! And she hoped it was
far away by now, also that its fellows took warning.

 
          
 
Had the cat she still eyed as she lay back now
upon her pillows really been once the property of an Emperor; had it lighted
some palace chamber half the world away? Saranna wished there were some way one
could learn of
all that
cat had seen as it crouched
for centuries, ready to beam out light from its hollow eyes.

 
          
 
The slight flickering of the flame within the
cat made those eyes seem to change—to watch first her and then another corner
of the room. No longer did it seem just a piece of exquisitely wrought pottery;
rather more like a living creature—on guard—

 
          
 
Her own eyes closed, her tangled thoughts
seemed smoothed, were fading, as if nothing that had alarmed her during this
day could now trouble her night—not with the Emperor's cat watching—

 
          
 
Saranna must have slept, for she awoke as if
from a slumber so deep that her mind was a little bemused. She realized that
she was sitting up in bed, listening.
Listening as intently
as if she expected to hear the footfall of some intruder creeping close.

 
          
 
But it was no footfall that she heard now.
No—it was— musicl
But
such strange, uncanny music. The
sounds were like nothing she had ever heard
before,
shrill, with a scale of notes totally unfamiliar—weird—

 
          
 
Yet—

 
          
 
She must follow it, discover who—or what—made
that sound! Saranna was being drawn to it as surely as if some leash lay on
her, governing her freedom.

 
          
 
Slipping from her high bed, the girl found her
slippers and thrust her bare feet into them. Then she caught up her shawl which
lay across the chair. In the Emperor's cat, the candle had burned
low,
its eyes were not as bright as they had been. Now they
rested upon her as if in imperious order. Yes, she had no choice—she must go!

 
          
 
Though the hall was dark and she had no lamp,
Saranna sped down it unerringly, hardly knowing where she went. All that really
mattered was what lay ahead—
Now
the stairs. The garden
door, but that was bolted! She tore at the stiff bolt in a kind of frenzy until
she shot it back to be free on the garden path.

 
          
 
There was no question where she was bound. The
music drew her around the comer of the house, straight to that hidden opening
in the hedge where Damaris' tracks had earlier led her. Saranna fought a
passage through, into the moonlit secret garden beyond. This time, however, she
crossed the bridge, went around the tiny house with the flower-shaped windows,
pushed by a tall thicket, until she paused at the edge of a large, open space.

 
          
 
Before her was the bulk of a building far
larger than the tiny one at the ridge side. Though in style, this one also
followed that same general pattern of sharply peaked roof, upturned eaves, and
oddly shaped windows. Now it formed a background, of which Saranna was but
vaguely aware, for the scene on a terrace which stretched from the rounded moon
gate of the house into the full rays of the moon.