Chapter Twelve
“They are angry with you.” Yihui waited to speak until the women had left. Even then, she kept her voice low, but he heard her.
“Yes,” he said, his tone rueful. “Kimberly has a right. My sister, on the other hand, is always angry with me, so that doesn’t count.”
She nodded, pleased that she understood his English words.
He spoke slowly, which helped. And there was a cleanness in the way he formed sounds that made him easier to understand.
Each syllable was spoken clearly, and she liked watching the way his mouth moved.
She discovered a wealth of meaning in the curve of his lips or the occasional pinch.
Right now, he was pinched, but the lift of his brows suggested humor.
“Do you have sisters?” he asked. “Brothers?”
“Two brothers which is why I was sold.”
Now his mouth pinched even more. “What do you mean, you were sold?”
“I am not the true Wong daughter.” She thought she’d told him that but wasn’t sure now.
“I am better than her. She is ugly with a mean temper and sick feet.” Though she might also have sick feet now.
“The Wong daughter’s foot binding was done badly, and she suffers from them.
I will make sure my feet are not so badly managed. ”
“It’s true then,” he said. “You bind every girl’s feet?”
She shook her head. “Just the rich ones.” Then she realized her mistake.
If she wasn’t the Wong daughter, he would have no reason to take care of her.
Stupid! Stupid! She abruptly surged forward, grabbing his hand.
“But I am better than they are. I make medicines. I can tend to your women. Their complaints will not bother you when I am around to heal them.”
He caught her hands and held them firm. “I am sure you are prettier—”
“Not just pretty! Smart. Educated. I can teach your doctors Chinese medicine. Much better than your medicine.”
His brows arched, and she could see she’d insulted him.
“I have seen your version of medicine—” he began, but she spoke over him.
“It is disgusting. Your doctors will not go to those places, but I will. I do. That is what I did for my father before…”
“Before he sold you?”
She winced as she dropped back onto the pillows.
When she was taken, her fury had known no bounds.
She had screamed until her voice was hoarse and woe to any who came near.
That was when she perfected her curses, finding the words that made the staunchest men pale.
But then she was set on the English ship, and the sailors had no understanding of her words and therefore no fear of her.
She knew when the ship left dock that her old life was gone forever.
Her only hope was to learn English so that she could frighten them, too. Instead, she made friends with the rough English sailors.
“Why did he sell you?”
Because her father was a weak and stupid man.
She’d come to realize that in the six months it had taken for her to get to England.
“My father gambles and loses. The Wong patriarch worried that his daughter was too ill-tempered to entice the English king, so my father suggested me. He said that I was sweet and would make a better bribe.” She lifted her chin wondering if it was ridiculous to be proud that she had been sold for a very high price. “My father’s debts are all paid now.”
“And you are in England with broken feet.”
She was, but few girls got the opportunity to pay off their family debts so young. “I am free now. I have honored my father and my ancestors. Now I live for me.”
He looked at her, his expression carefully blanked.
His mouth did not shift, neither did his eyes.
Then his head tilted, and his hair shifted across his forehead.
Such a fascinating color. It did not seem to have the appearance of weight, and yet she knew he was an important man in his world.
In China, any man in the emperor’s palace would have heavy robes, a thick queue, and an air of weighty ostentation.
This man simply looked at her with his bird-colored eyes and feathery light hair.
And yet, she knew he thought deeply.
Growing uncomfortable, she twisted her hands against her lap. “I am educated. I can help you.”
“I will not cast you out, Yihui—”
How sweet to hear her name on his lips. He gave a strange musicality to her name so different than when her family spoke it. There was no command in his tone. He spoke as he might to a fellow scholar or personage in court. He spoke her name with respect, and she found she liked it best of all.
“Thank you, Max.” She liked the hard, short sound of his name. “Do you have brothers, Max?”
“It is only me and my sister. We fight with each other, but we are very close.”
She frowned, trying to sort through his words.
He spoke with affection toward his sister, mentioning her though she had asked about brothers.
She noted the warmth in his tone, and wondered if tenderness was common in English families.
She knew many Chinese families where the children were not set in competition with one another, where brother and sister played happily together.
That, however, was not her home or her family.
“I want to know more,” she said. “The more I know, the better I can serve you.”
He patted her hand. “You are not here to serve me.”
“I am here to be your wife. Is that not service?”
His cheeks colored at that. She could see it clearly on his white skin, but his expression was too strange for her to read. That bothered her, especially as he shook his head.
“Get better first,” he said. “Then we will talk about your future.”
That was not reassuring. There were many ways she could have a good life as a concubine, but if the English did not take wives in that manner, what did they do with their extra women?
“I am very good at making medicines. You will see. Your doctors could not save me, but I saved myself.” He wasn’t listening to her. He was shaking his head and panic began to edge her tone. “You will see. I am important!”
“Of course, I see,” he said, but it was in a tone reserved for a madwoman.
“Do not kill me! I will help you!”
He grabbed her hands again, steadying her frantic movements. She quieted because she knew speaking crazy would only make things worse.
“No one is going to kill you.” He gently pushed her hair away from her face, taking the time to speak directly to her with clear, calm words. “You are safe.”
The assurance of that slipped into her, and she found her breath eased. Still, she had to make him understand that she could be valuable to him.
“I will help you,” she repeated. “I am—”
“You are important. I know.”
Did he? Of course not.
“I will prove it to you. I will live. I will walk. I am—”
“Important. Yes.”
Her strength was fading fast. She could not sort through his words to gain meaning, and she did not dare try to find the English words now.
She would have to live and then convince him.
Or at least get better enough to escape.
Someone, somewhere would be interested in her skills. She was not worthless.