Chapter Fourteen
Yihui woke quickly, as was her habit. She had spent the last three days and nights in a fog of illness but was now alert and the feeling was startling.
“The fever is gone,” she said. She spoke in Chinese as the words were for herself, but a woman to her right reacted.
“Good morning, Yihui. How do you feel today?”
She turned to see Max’s sister, Emmaline. After that first night, she had not seen much of Max. His sister was the usual person beside the bed. Yihui pushed herself upright, taking the glass of water Emmaline offered.
She drank greedily, happy to find that she felt hunger. That was another good sign.
“My fever,” she said in English. “Gone.”
“Yes, it broke late yesterday. You finally got some good sleep.”
“Good sleep,” she echoed. “Yes.” But she knew better than to stop the medicinal tea.
She had seen many people grow sick again from quitting it too soon.
She looked to the jar by the bedside. Someone had refilled it, most likely Max, and she flushed with pleasure at the kindness.
She knew it was a disgusting task, and yet he had done it.
“I’ll ring for more hot water,” Emmaline said as she set down her sketchpad.
“Thank you.”
“My maid will help with your toilette.”
She nodded. What she really wanted was a bath, but that was too much to ask. And though her feet felt better, she knew she’d never be able to make it to a stream.
“And Max wanted to know when you woke—”
“No!”
Emmaline’s eyes widened. “But—”
“I cannot see him. I need washing. Cleaning. Hair brush.”
Her expression softened. “He has seen you every day that you have been here. He knows—”
“But I am better now.” She pulled back the covers to show her feet. Still swollen but the heat was down and the pain less throbbing. “No red streaks. No fever. I am better—”
“That’s good—”
She jerked the cover back over her feet. She did not like to see them so deformed. “There is a place between sick and well that men do not like. They expect very sick or nearly well.” She gestured to the left and right with a wide distance between them. “The middle is very unpleasant for them.”
The lady blinked, then leaned back in her chair. “That’s very true,” she said. “Of everyone, I think. No one enjoys the slow road to health.” Then she shook her head. “But Max won’t expect you to look your best.”
Yihui shook her head firmly. How could this lady not understand?
“Better he think I’m still very ill. It will give me a few more days to heal.
” She smiled even though she knew she would need weeks, not days.
“It is the dance between men and women, yes? Men do not like to be troubled with women’s pain. Best he not know the in-between steps.”
Emmaline frowned, but her mood beyond that was unreadable.
She didn’t seem angry, but neither was she pleased.
“What kind of life have you lived that you think men’s pain and women’s pains are different?
We are all people. Patterns change, of course.
People are different. But even men get sick and they wait as they gain strength slowly. ”
Yihui tried to sort through the woman’s words.
She understood the language for the most part, but it was the meaning that surprised her.
“What world do you live in that have men and women so equal?” She glanced down at Emmaline’s feet.
They were set on an embroidered stool. Her feet were not large by a laborer’s standard, but they were huge for a society woman.
It was clear the woman walked easily. She could climb and jump without pain.
Yihui knew of no highborn Chinese woman who could do the same.
As if guessing her thoughts, Emmaline stretched out her feet before her. “I love dancing,” she said. “And in the country, I sometimes run as far as I can go. On the very best days, I run to a stream miles behind the house, and then I swim all the sweat away.”
Yihui gaped at her. She could not imagine such freedom, even in the country. Women and girls were hidden away unless they worked. “Your brother, your father allow this?”
“Max used to go with me, but now he prefers to ride. Father doesn’t care one way or another so long as I keep the servants doing what they’re supposed to do.”
Yihui shook her head, amazed. “You are not afraid?”
“Everyone knows me there. I am perfectly safe.”
Was England truly so safe a place for women? The thought overcame her for a moment. The idea that a woman could feel protected outside, away from men, to walk—to run and swim—by herself. Such heaven.
The amazement must have been clear on her face because the lady leaned forward. “Were you never free in China?”
“I lived in Canton. It is a very large city. There are many dangers for a girl alone.”
“I suppose there are here, too. For the men as well, but in a different way.” She shrugged. “I do not go out alone in London.”
“But you are allowed to dance, yes?”
“I love to dance.”
“Are you taught to fight?”
Emmaline pulled back. “Not at all! Were you taught that in China?”
She seemed to be intrigued by the idea, but Yihui had to shake her head.
“Not usually,” she confessed. “My grandmother taught me. My father often needed me to mix special medicines and bring them to him wherever he worked. Other doctors would send messages to the shop. I would mix them and carry the medicine to the patient.”
“Was that dangerous?”
“Sometimes. My grandmother taught me where to hit or kick a man. And I can run very fast.” Or she could before. She might never run again.
Emmaline understood the direction of her thoughts. “Why do you allow it? I couldn’t imagine letting anyone break my feet.”
“I did not allow it,” Yihui said coldly.
“Oh. Yes, but…”
“Wealthy girls are bound when they are very little and cannot fight back. It is a hard process with many tears, but how else is the child to get a husband when she is grown?”
“Your feet were not bound. How were you to find a husband?”
She flushed and looked away. “I was a difficult daughter. I did not like the men who wanted me and so…” She shrugged.
“So you made them not want you?” Emmaline pressed. “If so, then we are alike.”
“You have many men who wish marriage?”
The grimace on her face was comical. “Many stupid ones.”
Yihui sighed. “Smart men are rare.”
They both laughed as one might with a sister.
Except that Emmaline’s laugh was full and musical.
She did not cover her mouth with her hand and titter but made full expression.
Such freedom English woman had. The ability to run outside was miracle enough.
It was clear Emmaline had very little fear, too, and Yihui admired the innocence of it.
Her own childhood had been quickly bounded, not on her feet, but with rules and responsibilities.
She had care of her younger brother when she was three.
She began working in the shop soon after that.
There was not much that a young child could do safely among such things, but in China, the whole family worked or the whole family starved.
That applied double to the girls for they would be the first denied food if times were lean.
She did not fault Emmaline for her innocence.
Instead, she longed to remain near it. As if staying in this woman’s presence would somehow clean her of her constant worries.
It was the dream of a child. This woman was a pampered daughter of England.
Yihui could no more live in her shoes than she could sprout wings and fly.
And yet, she wanted to share the lady’s life until circumstances forced them apart.
“Tell me about your men of bad quality,” Yihui asked.
“What?”
“And I will tell you about old Gao with the crooked teeth and clammy hands who would pay more if I let him whisper strange things into my ear.”
“Strange things? Like what?”
That was not something for this lady to know. “I don’t know. I never allowed it.”
“Then how do you know they were strange? Maybe he was whispering a recipe for stew.”
Was she truly that na?ve? Yihui cast the lady a long look, and Emmaline relented. Her wide-eyed look changed to chagrin.
“I suppose it wasn’t a recipe for stew.”
“You do not have…uh…”
“Lechers? Yes, we do.” Emmaline set aside her sketching.
It was an awkward drawing of Yihui asleep, and there was no softness given to her wretched looks.
Apparently, the lady was one who preferred accurate images to the sweeter, vaguer pictures of flowers.
“You’re probably uncomfortable. I’ll ring for my maid. ”
She stood up just as a knock sounded. When the door opened, Yihui saw a maid who curtsied with nervous glances at Yihui, but behind her was Max, his expression cheerful as he stepped into the room.
“You’re looking much better now.”
Oh no. The clock on her recovery was now ticking.
She dropped her gaze immediately, but not before she noticed that he looked exquisite in the English way.
His face was clean shaven, and his hair curled in wet disarray.
His clothing was dark and gave particular attention to his broad shoulders and trim waist. The Chinese style was different, with elegant sweeps of robes, but she found this trim style more appealing. Or at least more appealing on him.
“Good morning, my lord,” she said awkwardly, using a hand to smooth down her hair. It didn’t help. It was a tangled mess. Fortunately, he was kind enough not to remark upon it.
“Your fever broke. That’s excellent.”
“It’s the beginning,” Yihui said, trying to balance not being a burden on the household with the truth of her recovery. “I will not be fully strong for a week,” she lied. “Maybe more.”
“Maybe?” he said with a laugh. “I should think you will need months, not weeks.”
“I won’t be a burden—” she rushed to say, but he waved it away with a flick of his hand.
“You’re mending now, that’s all that matters. You said you would, and here you are.”
“I can help your house, my lord. I can help if anyone else grows ill.”
The maid squeaked in alarm at that. She’d been busy arranging water and cloth, but her fear was palpable. Neither Emmaline nor Max seemed to understand why, but Yihui had seen it before. Many feared illnesses they did not understand.
“I don’t bring illness!” she rushed to say. “I heal it. I swear!”
Max held up his hands. “Of course, you don’t bring it. Were you some kind of doctor in China?”
“I made the medicine. I helped with the women.” She added this last bit to see if the maid felt better with that news.
She did not.
“Max,” began Emmaline, “Yihui said she’d like to bathe, but I cannot carry her to a tub.”
His eyes widened. Apparently, what his sister suggested was startling. “I’ve just now finished mine. I’ll carry her into my room. No sense in bringing up water twice.”
“Are you sure—”
“She is our guest, and she needs our help.” He flashed an awkward smile. “I’ll put on a blindfold or something.”
Something was going on, and that usually meant trouble. “No, no!” Yihui exclaimed. “I can manage—”
He turned and caught her with his blue eyes. His gaze was feather soft, but his words were clear and hard. “It is no trouble, Yihui. And it is the least I can do.”
There were layers to his words she did not understand.
Did she sense guilt? Was she about to be thrown away?
Alarm shot through her at his words, but even as her breath tightened and her hands clutched the coverlet, he knelt down before her such that they were eye to eye, she on the bed and he squatting before her.
“Yihui, you are safe here.”
Her heartbeat eased, her breath slowed. She didn’t believe him.
She was a wounded foreigner. There were many dangers for her, and yet, looking into his eyes, she felt safe.
Indeed, the warmth in his eyes echoed how people looked on their riches, be it gold, a child who performs well, or… their most cherished concubines.
When Max looked at her, she felt cherished and that was such an exquisite feeling that it robbed her of all thought. Her breath stopped, her sight narrowed to him, and her body began to tingle. Suddenly, everything, everywhere was Max.