damned unusual missionary’s daughter,”
Jamie muttered, as much to himself as to her.
“Well, yes,” Sarah answered, her smile fading at his uncivil tone. “I suppose I am or I wouldn’t be here, would I?”
“No, you wouldn’t.”
Tired of word games, Jamie decided it was time to rid himself of this audacious female. “I assume your presence has something to do with the notes you sent me, and not any desire to learn the intricacies of the Fluttering Butterfly.”
“The fluttering…?”
With a mocking grin, he gestured to one of the painted panels decorating the bed.
A wave of color washed up her neck. Lifting her chin, she glared at him. “Of course not!”
Prompted as much by his pounding, swirling senses as by the way she stuck her nose in the air, Jamie couldn’t resist taunting her.
“You might find it enlightening,” he suggested provocatively…
Sarah Abernathy had never visited a brothel before.
Nor, if her family’s situation had been less desperate, would she have dreamed of setting foot inside the House of the Dancing Blossoms. But her father had been missing for almost three weeks now, and her only hope of finding him lay with the man who, according to the gossipmongers, made nightly visits to the most notorious pleasure palace in Macao.
Since James Kerrick, Third Viscount Straithe, and captain of the schooner Phoenix, had ignored Sarah’s urgent and repeated requests to present himself at the Presbyterian Mission House, she was left with no choice but to accost him in his chosen den. Setting her mouth in a way that would have made her father extremely nervous had he seen it, his eldest daughter bent to tie a wooden clog on one stockinged foot.
“Do you really think you should venture out dressed like that, Sarah?” a soft voice asked worriedly. “I can’t help feeling that Papa might object if he were here.”
Wiping the grim determination from her expression, Sarah lifted her head and gave her younger sister an affectionate smile. “If Papa were here to object, I wouldn’t be going out at all, would I?”
Abigail pursed her pink lips. “No, I suppose not.”
It wasn’t in Abby’s nature to argue or challenge her adored older sister. Still, her sense of propriety led her to one more protest.
“Perhaps you should wait. I’m sure we’ll hear from Papa soon. He’s gone off like this before. Remember the time in the Punjab, when he trekked into the mountains to find that hermit?”
“I remember,” Sarah replied dryly, reaching for the other high-platformed shoe. “I also remember the disasters that occurred as a result.”
“But Sarah,” the young boy at Abby’s side piped up. “It wasn’t Papa’s fault that the village well became foul the day he brought the hermit down from the mountain.”
“That’s true, Charlie. Nor was it his fault that lightning stampeded a herd of sacred cows through the fields that same afternoon. Still, the villagers blamed him for the disasters.”
The six-year-old gave her a gap-toothed grin. “Because he lured their holy man down from his cave, instead of letting him stay up there to protect them with his prayers.”
Charlie loved the oft-repeated tale. Although he’d been a babe in arms at the time of the Punjab incident, he could recite from memory the scriptures Papa had thundered at the villagers from the swine hut where he’d barricaded himself against their attack. Miraculously, Papa had held off the angry villagers until the raja’s personal guard swooped to the rescue.
“That was when we left India to come to China, wasn’t it?” the boy asked gleefully.
“That’s when we came to Macao,” Sarah confirmed, neglecting to add that the raja had sternly advised the unrepentant missionary never to set foot in India again. Neither Charlie nor his two older brothers knew that part of the tale, and they certainly wouldn’t hear it from Sarah.
She was well aware that Charlie often endowed their father with heroic and wholly unrealistic traits. The boy himself possessed the most adventurous little soul. With his older brothers away at school, he was often restless and into mischief. Unfortunately, The Reverend Mr. Abernathy, when he noticed his youngest at all, no longer possessed the patience to indulge his lively offspring. Charlie needed to be in school with other boys his age, Sarah knew, where his energy and daring would find kindred spirits.
She sighed, wondering for the thousandth time where she’d find the funds to send Charlie back to England to join his brothers at the Barrowgate School for Young Gentlemen. He should have gone last year, but her mama’s legacy had barely stretched to cover the older two boys. There wasn’t even enough left to provide Abigail, sweet, lovely Abigail, with the dowry she deserved.
Glancing at her sister, Sarah told herself once again that the girl’s exquisite face and gentle nature should be a sufficient bride gift for any husband. She understood the ways of the world well enough, however, to know that wealth begat wealth, and dowerless young missionary’s daughters generally married penniless young clerks. To this point, Abigail hadn’t shown the slightest interest in any of the moonstruck young men who fell all over their feet whenever she entered a room. Sarah still had hopes that her sister might attract a more mature suitor…one with the means to provide generously for the delicate Abigail’s comfort and perhaps for Charlie’s schooling, as well.
Sighing, Sarah forced herself to put aside the familiar worries about the siblings for whom she’d long ago assumed responsibility. The Lord would provide, or so her papa always promised. Now, if only the good Lord would provide her papa!
Reaching for a large, conical straw hat, she struggled to tuck her thick, unruly hair inside it. Abigail quickly came to her assistance.
“Here, let me help.”
The younger girl took the heavy reddish mass in gentle hands and held it in place while Sarah anchored it with the hat. Charlie’s merry laugh filled the small room.
“You lookee much Chin-Chin.”
Sarah couldn’t bring herself to scold him for his lapse into lilting, singsong cant. Some long-ago emperor had decreed that, upon pain of death, no Chinese except licensed interpreters could learn the tongue of barbarians. As a method of controlling contacts between his subjects and the Outsiders, the decree had failed dismally in its intent. It did, however, force everyone who wished to communicate without interpreters to do so in Pidgin, a lamentable mix of English and Chinese that made all who used it sound
