Burning Tigress (34 page)

William frowned. "Where are your shoes? Mama says I always have to wear shoes, even when I don't want to—"

"I know, dear, but they got lost."

"Lost?" snapped Mama. "Where? How? What exactly has occurred, Charlotte? Why do you look so... so... disreputable?"

"Because I am disreputable," Charlotte snapped, then immediately regretted it. She was in no position to antagonize her parent. "I am going upstairs. William, why don't you and Nanny decide what toys to bring to the park?" That ought to keep him happily occupied for ten minutes at least.

But he didn't immediately leave, so the three of them stood in the front hallway and waited to see if he would cooperate or not. Until Charlotte remembered something.

"Didn't Ken Jin buy you a new kite?" She was pleased her voice didn't quaver on his name. "Perhaps Nanny could help you put it together..." The ploy worked; William was already moving, his feet thundering up the stairs.

Her mother turned to her. "Charlotte Anne Wicks, what exactly is the meaning of this?"

Charlotte didn't answer. Wearily, she climbed the stairs. With luck, her mother would simply quiz her father.

"You have been running much too wild, of late," Mama continued as she mounted the stairs in pursuit of her daughter. "I begin to believe you have fallen into disreputable company."

"I have been with Ken Jin, Mama." This time she couldn't stop the pain, and she winced at his name.

Her mother shrugged. "Well, I know he is a servant and all, but standards must be maintained. No one should see you dressed—"

"He saw me—" She bit off her words. She pressed her teeth deep into her lip to keep from spilling out all the misery that might very well drown her. Instead, she forced her thoughts back to her mother. "You are back early from the mission."

Her mother's face tightened into a disapproving scowl. "I'm not at all sure I like the new priest. He was very tart to me yesterday."

Charlotte nodded, barely listening. "But you came home and played with William. That must have been very nice."

"Well, what was I supposed to do with you gone and Nanny complaining of a headache?"

"I know he can be difficult, but if you perhaps stopped trying to correct him—"

"William is maturing quite nicely, young lady. I have no wish to discuss
him
right now."

They made it to her bedroom, and Charlotte ducked gratefully inside. It had been years since her mother had crossed this threshold, since the day Charlotte had first begun running the menus, in fact. So she had every expectation of privacy now. Except, her mother had apparently decided to be motherly. She not only crossed the threshold, she shut the door behind her and folded her arms across her chest.

"Tell me everything, Charlotte. From the very beginning."

The very idea was enough to freeze Charlotte's tongue to the roof of her mouth. She couldn't possibly begin to express everything. So she rushed behind her privacy screen and prayed that her mother would just go away. But her prayers were never answered, so her mother remained, still talking, still demanding answers Charlotte could never ever give.

"Don't think you can hide from me. I am most determined when my children's welfare is at stake. Why would you go out like that? What happened to your shoes?"

Charlotte reached out a slender arm to draw her washbowl and pitcher behind the screen. It was awkward. She had to place the bowl on the floor and squat down to wet the cloth. But then again, squatting was exactly what she needed to do if she wished to cleanse away every memory of what had happened.

"Make sure to clean your feet well, Charlotte," her mother called. "An infection of the toes can be quite hideous."

Charlotte felt a tear splash her arm. When had she started crying? She pressed her lips tight to hold them in, but it didn't work. She squeezed her eyes shut and vigorously scrubbed her face. It didn't help.

"And how is it that your father brought you home? He was supposed to be in Canton for another two days. At least, I think he was. He comes and goes so frequently these days."

The sobs would not be contained. Charlotte had no strength left in her legs, so she sat on the floor. She tried to get herself to stop. She told herself that she had to get dressed, that she couldn't just sit here naked. But in the end, all she managed was to pull on her stockings and drawers while her chest jerked and her breath came in short gasps.

"Are you quite dressed yet, Charlotte? You cannot avoid me, you know. I am not moving from this spot. Char?"

Then it happened. Her mother came around the screen. Charlotte tried to hide. She turned her back to her parent, fumbled with her shift. But the fabric was crumpled, incorrectly starched by the stupid maid, and the more she tried to smooth it out, the worse it became. The worse everything became as the sobs began to choke her.

"Charlotte? My heavens! Really, dear, get up off the floor. Oh my. Oh... dear." Her mother reached around and gently removed the shift from Charlotte's knotted fingers. "Raise your arms, dear."

Charlotte obeyed. What else could she do? She had to get dressed. The fabric settled down over her body, hot and heavy, like a layer of scratchy wool pulled over her soul. And yet it was comforting, somehow, as was her mother's fussing.

"Come out of there, Charlotte." The words were impatient, but also familiar. So she obeyed, stiffening her wobbly legs and dragging a hand across her wet cheeks. Then she was in her mother's arms, blubbering like the smallest child. She was loud and messy and completely out of control while her mother patted her back.

Thump. Thump. Thump. The steady rhythm of a mother. Thump. Thump. Thump.

And in time, her sobs eased.

"Well," her mother finally said, "that was quite a watershed."

Charlotte said nothing. How could she? Then they both heard William's heavy footfalls in the hallway.

"It's done!" he bellowed through the door. "We have the kite together, Charlotte! We can go to the park now. Charlotte!"

Charlotte sighed, the sound released from deep within her belly. William would not be put off. "Nanny is ill?" she asked.

"Nanny is overpaid for what little work she does."

Charlotte sighed. Her mother was being unfair. Nanny worked as hard as any of them. And she loved William. It was just that...

"Charlotte! Where are you? Charlotte?"

Heavy bangs sounded against the bedroom door. They had less than a second before the handle would turn and—

"Don't you dare open that door, William Christopher!" her mother snapped. "Charlotte is not dressed yet."

"But—"

"No, young man! You will go down to the library and wait until we are there."

"But, Charlotte—"

"Go!"

And miracle of miracles, William obeyed. They heard him stomp all the way down the hallway in a manner very much like his father.

"Mama," whispered Charlotte. "
Father
is in the library."

"I know," her mother answered, her voice light with mischief. "Perhaps they will share a spot of brandy and discuss horses." Then she looked down at her daughter just as Charlotte looked up. Then they both descended into giggles. It was ridiculous giggling, after such a scene and over the stupidest reason. And yet, it was a moment of perfect accord between them such as had not happened in years. But then that too faded, and Charlotte's gaze slid away from her mother.

"You have gotten yourself into a pickle, haven't you?"

Charlotte didn't answer. She honestly didn't know.

Her mother shook her head. "I'll never understand you, Charlotte. Why haven't you chosen some man and gotten married? It's well past time, you know. You're just rotting here at the house."

Charlotte stared, her body and soul pulling back from her mother. But one look at her parent's face, and she knew she would have to answer. Mother had a determined look about her. "W-well," she stammered as she pushed away thoughts of Ken Jin. "There is William to consider."

"Nonsense! We have Nanny. She's young and healthy—except for her unfortunate lip—so we know she'll never marry and leave us. Besides, they get along famously." Mama's expression softened at Charlotte's stricken expression, but her words were still clear. "Of course, William loves you here, but that hardly means you have to give up your life for him."

Charlotte blinked, her thoughts whirling. "I do quite a lot of work here, Mama. The menus, the staff—"

"Of course you do, dear. And it was very wrong of me to rely so heavily upon you. But I managed when you were younger, you know. I can manage again." Her mother grasped Charlotte's hands, pulling them tight to her heart. "So tell me the truth, dear. What is the real reason you have never married?"

How to answer? She'd wondered, of course. Every time one of her friends married, she thought about when she would take the same trip down the aisle. But the men she knew never interested her. They all seemed like younger versions of her father or... what?

Incompetent. They were, to a man, incapable of offering the least assistance with her life. She could never see her turning to one of them for help. They were too involved in their own pursuits, be it money or pleasure. She couldn't imagine asking them about the staff or a medical complaint, much less receiving help when any of her family became too difficult. She couldn't see turning to one of them to discuss religion or energy or any of the new ideas that had been bursting through her mind these days. No, the person she looked to for all these things was...

Ken Jin. From the moment he had entered the house with Charlotte's drunken father sprawled across his shoulders, Charlotte had known he was a man who accomplished things. He did it quietly, with an unobtrusive skill that she found all the more amazing for its silence.

Soon after he joined the household, the household supplies began to arrive smoothly. A small thing, but it made her management of the staff ten times easier. Next, her father started leaving the house for entertainment instead of bringing his parties home. And she never saw the opium traders again. Money began to flow, which meant she could hire more staff. And best of all, Ken Jin found Nanny, a truly wonderful girl in her early twenties, cursed with a hairlip but with infinite patience and skill when it came to handling William.

So the truth was, no man she ever met could measure up to Ken Jin. No man would be as capable, as tender, as perfect as... the man who had just flatly refused to marry her. To her shame, her lip began to tremble and once again she was sobbing in her mother's arms.

"Oh dear," her mother murmured. Then she kept repeating it for some time until Charlotte once again got a hold of herself. Then mother and daughter together straightened their clothing and patted their cheeks dry. "Don't worry, dear," added Mama as she tugged at her skirt. "Everything will be better in England."

Charlotte frowned. "England?"

Mama nodded and folded her hands serenely before her. "Yes, dear. England. You see, Father's brother has died."

Charlotte jerked backward. Of all the things she had expected her mother to say, this was the absolute last. "Uncle Phillip, Baron Wodesley? That Uncle Phillip? He's gone?" She had never met the man, and yet it felt unsurprising that someone had died this day.

"The letter arrived several days ago. Your father went to Canton to see about closing his affairs there."

Charlotte shied away from considering exactly which affairs he was closing. She focused instead on the news itself. "Several days ago? But I didn't know. You never said."

"No one knows except your father and me, and now you. We didn't want to upset William. And you know how superstitious the Chinese are about death. We can't let the servants know or they'll all quit. A house surrounded by death, and all that nonsense."

Charlotte blinked. "But Uncle Phillip was a baron. That means—"

"Yes, your father's inherited the title. He's a baron now. I'm a baroness." She leaned forward to touch her forehead to her daughter's. "And you, my dear, are the daughter of a baron."

Charlotte waited a moment. She allowed herself precious seconds to enjoy her mother's tender gesture, but eventually the woman pulled away. Meanwhile, Charlotte had to ask, she needed to know what the future would bring. "What does it all mean, Mama?"

"It means, my dear, that we must return to England. We can finally leave this heathen place and get you a real English husband. None of these foreign transplants, my dear, but a real, honest-to-goodness English gentleman—someone who's never heard of a rickshaw or seen chopsticks."

Charlotte blinked, her thoughts whirling. "But I like rickshaws and chopsticks."

Her mother patted her cheek. "Yes, I know. And that is all my fault for letting you take on so much. I should have insisted on returning home long ago. But everything will right itself once we're back on English soil, you'll see."

"But—"

"Elizabeth!" It was Father's bellow. William must have run through all of the man's patience.

"Tch," her mother said, rolling her eyes. "He must learn not to do that. He's a baron now." Then she pushed up from her seat on the bed. "Finish getting dressed, Charlotte. Fix your stockings, then take William to the park. You know he can't wait much longer."