Lyon Hearted, page 7
Meanwhile Nessie turned and spoke firmly to her son. “Joseph. It’s time now. Leave the blocks and come here.”
Daniel winced. They both knew what was coming next. Joseph didn’t change tasks easily. He had to be warned several times what was coming, and then he usually threw a fit when forced to leave one activity for another.
“Where’s Nanny?” he asked. Nessie was a small-boned woman with delicate features. And though Joseph was only eight, he could kick like a mule. Nanny had the sturdier frame and the thicker muscles to deal with a violent child.
“She has Stefan at the manor to help with the horses.”
Stefan was horse-mad for sure.
“Joseph had a very bad day yesterday, and I thought to give them a break.”
“Very good of you.” This time he took the harder tone with the boy. “Joseph. Put down the blocks. Your mother called you.”
Nothing.
Nessie sighed. “That’s it,” she said. “He gets three warnings, then we must intervene.” And so she did. “Come along, Joseph. It’s time to eat.”
“Let me do it,” Daniel said as he crossed to the boy, but Nessie held out her hand.
“No. It’s best if I do.” She leaned down and picked up her child. “Come along, Joseph.”
The explosion was immediate and more violent that Daniel remembered. The child arched his back and screamed as if he’d been stabbed. The shriek was piercing, and Daniel jolted in shock. Not so Nessie, who must be used to it. She grabbed hold of the boy around the waist. Easy to do since the child had gone as rigid as a board. She lifted him up with a strength belied by her small size, and she held him firmly for all that he sounded like he was being murdered.
“You’re all right, Joseph,” she kept saying. She grunted when he kicked her. “You’re all right.”
Daniel reached out, trying to help, but Nessie shook her head and twisted away from him. “It’s best—” She coughed as another kick connected to her ribs. “If only one person. Touches him.”
What could he do but stand back with his hands outstretched just in case? But Nessie appeared to be well able to handle her child. She flashed him a wan smile as she held her son despite his violent fit and then she headed toward the door. Belatedly realizing her destination, Daniel rushed to open the door for her. She waited with the still-wailing child while he stepped back to allow her room to move. And then she left, all the while talking in a near monotone to her son.
“You’re all right, Joseph. We’re going to eat now.”
The screaming continued for a good five minutes while Daniel stood in the parlor and listened with growing dismay. They had all hoped for more from Joseph. It was impossible not to see that he didn’t crawl or walk at the same time as normal boys. He did eventually learn all those things, but at eight years old, he still walked with a stiff-legged motion that did not appear natural. Most damning of all was that the child didn’t talk. At best, he spoke vowels interspersed with grunts. It broke Daniel’s heart, and he knew it had pained his brother to no end, but it was Nessie who took it the hardest. Her son was not right, as they said, and what was she to do about it, especially having just lost her husband?
If there was anything to do, Daniel would happily do it. If money, medicine, or special tutoring would cure his nephew, he would certainly find it. Indeed, promises of a cure had sparked several of his travels, but none of them had worked.
So Joseph grew as well as he could, and everyone else did what they could. Unfortunately, time continued for the rest of the world. His older brother would soon be heading to Eton. That would not be an option for Joseph when it was his turn. Which left it to the children’s male guardian—himself—to determine what would be done for the boy. What could be done.
But in this he felt as helpless as he did with Anne Mellin. He couldn’t force the woman to throw out her husband no matter how much pain the man caused. He couldn’t force Joseph to grow as a boy ought. And he couldn’t force Miss Li-Na to express her God-given talent to paint.
Damnation! He was the son of an earl, a wealthy man accepted into the highest societies in the world. But here in his home, he felt as powerless as a newborn kitten. And that made him angry enough to go shove heavy rocks back into place along Bob Mellin’s fence.
Chapter Eight
Li-Na worked hard. It was very different work than simply entering transactions into a ledger. That was the work she did at the Lyon’s Den. Here, she had to organize and double-check what another had recorded. It was a complicated, all-consuming task, and she enjoyed the challenge of it. She also loved that she did it in near silence except for the reassuring clack of her abacus. At first it had been disconcerting, but within an hour, she came to love the mournful sound of the wind as her only companion.
Quiet peace and absorbing work. What more could a woman want?
“It’s after one o’clock. Yer not supposed to be working.”
Li-Na had heard Mrs. Hocking arrive a while ago. The woman had cleaned Lord Daniel’s bedroom with a gruff efficiency that ended nearly as soon as it had begun. Then she’d left without so much as peeking in at Li-Na.
Until now.
Mrs. Hocking stood in the doorway to the work area. Her hands were planted on her hips and her chin was thrust forward. “The master said that you wasn’t to work after noon, an’ here it is after one.”
Was it? She had no concept of time in this place.
“He told me to make sure as you weren’t working, though why a body would want to toil when she doesn’t have to is beyond me.”
“It is absorbing work,” Li-Na said.
The woman snorted as if that weren’t possible, and Li-Na imagined a dark streak of gray blow out of the woman’s nose. “Work is work. I promised himself that I’d see you outside or something. Away from that clickity-clackity thing. I said I would.”
Li-Na didn’t know how to respond to that. She had a hard enough time figuring out the words through Mrs. Hocking’s accent.
“I said I would,” Mrs. Hocking said, with extra emphasis.
She would what? See that Li-Na stopped her work. Li-Na set the abacus aside, hoping that would be enough.
Mrs. Hocking tucked in her chin. She was surely a woman born during an oxen year. “Now get yourself outside. I’ve not gone to the post for your package on account of my youngest having a fever. I went to the witch woman for medicine.”
She paused for a moment and glared at Li-Na as if daring her to say something. Li-Na did not.
“There’s more than my boy who’s got the fever, so no one’s got time to entertain you. You’ll have to walk the moors or kick at some stones. Whatever it is you London people do, but you can’t work in here.”
“There’s illness in the village?”
“Some. Worse for the adults, but it clears.” She grunted. “It clears faster if you get the powders to lower the fever. Now I got to clean, and you can’t be here when I do it. The master says so.”
Li-Na could see that her work was done for the day. She had no idea about any package which meant she had the rest of the day to do what? Wander. Explore.
Learn.
She smiled politely to Mrs. Hocking and set aside her work. She would go explore while the sun was up and the landscape so different from London.
She made her way outside and walked carefully around the castle. Lord Daniel was correct. The half they lived in appeared solid, but the other half had cracks and unsteady stones along the impressive structure. She could imagine a dozen young children crawling all over the huge place, finding every nook and cranny. Someone would get hurt, but many others would find excitement in every bolt hole. She even smiled as she imagined it. How odd that no one was here but her and Mrs. Hocking.
She was tempted to climb just to see how unstable it was, but chose instead to wander further afield. There was a wildness to the wind, she realized. It didn’t blow down the street as happened in London where buildings blocked the thing in. Here, the wind seemed capricious, light enough today to tease at her like a little boy. One minute it touched her from the left, the next from behind. Sometimes she lifted her face to it only to have a breeze press down from above. How wild this was!
It wasn’t a long walk to the edge of the land. The castle was built on a thumb-shaped push of rock and grass. The round castle was a large thumbnail upon it, built high to see out over the water. The edge of the thumb was a rocky cliff that cut down to a tiny strip of sand and waves below. She would bet that during storms, the waves beat at the stones, but today the waves seemed very far away and the sand like an untouched slice of parchment.
She had to see it. She had to walk on it. It was as compelling to her as a blank canvas that begged her to paint on it.
It took some time for her to find the path down. Once located it seemed obvious. A narrow stairway hewn in the rock like a jagged rip along the side of the thumb. She saw stunted brush and prickly plants along the path that could help stabilize someone who walked down, but on the whole, it appeared like the exact opposite of a safe walk. Even the most dangerous London streets were flat.
But she remembered paintings in the Zhong household. Her favorite had been of one of the Goddess peak in the Wu Gorge. Tall gray cliffs, set in clouds, with the tiniest elder walking along a miniscule path halfway up the side. Water below, Heaven’s enlightenment above, or so she had been taught.
Here now was another such path. It would be like returning to China to walk along it. Though she had been a servant, her childhood had been happy.
She began the descent, her mind absorbed half in her steps, half in her memories. How many times had she painted this landscape, trying to imitate a place she had never seen? The twelve peaks along the Wu Gorge were famous, and now she was descending the path of one such peak in England. She had not thought such things existed here.
Before long, the path required most of her attention. Few people walked this way and the vegetation often obscured what had never been well travelled, or so she surmised. She stopped several times to catch her breath. If going down winded her, how would she ever make it back up?
It was a fair question, but she could not stop herself. She wanted to walk on the pristine sand, so she persevered. Then, when she finally made it to the narrow beach, she held back from stepping on it. She was too mesmerized by the flat expanse. It was more rock than sand, and yet, she knew exactly where she wanted to place her feet and what she wanted to trace with her toes.
The Goddess Yao Ji would lay here, she decided, exactly like she stretched upon the Goddess peak in China. Or at least how the lady did in Li-Na’s imagination. Li-Na’s first tiny steps would make the cloud as it wisped through the Goddess’ hair. Heavier footfalls would drag down the Goddess’ arm and curve across her elbow. There would be thick strokes, softer trails, and heavy dots. She understood exactly how she would do this with a brush on paper. She had less understanding of what to do with her feet.
Quickly stripping off her shoes, she began her task with joy. The sand was rocky, but she didn’t care. She dragged or jumped all over it. She dropped to all fours and brushed her hands through the wet as she tried to stroke in detail. And she wriggled her feet and knees where she wanted deeper, darker marks.
The end result was a failure, as were all her paintings. What she envisioned was nothing like what appeared on the sand. And the water now washed high on the Goddess’s body. Soon her efforts would disappear, as they should. She was a girl playing at painting, but it had been an enjoyable way to pass a beautiful day. And something she could never have done in London.
She sat back on her heels. Her knees were wet and aching, but her breath flowed easily. She did not want to think of walking back up the cliff face. Right now, she would enjoy her labors for as long as it remained on the sand. She could maneuver herself to the side for a better view.
She stood up and brushed the sand from her skirt. Clumps of sand scattered and ruined the lines of the goddess. Silly to think she could damage something the weather would destroy in a few hours. But she had enough pride to take care as she crossed back to the path. And she could not resist stooping down to adjust a line here, a stroke there.
It was during one such moment—two thirds of the way back to the path—that she glanced at the opposite side expecting to see the white of emptiness. It was where the goddess looked, and nothing should be there. The viewer should not see what she found so enchanting because no one truly knows what catches divine attention.
Lord Daniel stood there. His hands were lax, his eyes wide, and he had the air of one who had stood transfixed. She stiffened when she saw him. Would he be angry at what she had done? Had she trespassed on land that belonged to him alone?
She straightened quickly, using her feet to brush across the goddess’s shoulder. “The water will wash it away soon, but I will brush it—”
“Stop!” he bellowed. “Don’t move!”
She froze, her foot extended before she could smudge the Goddess’s cheek. He scrambled backward, climbing awkwardly on rocks and brush as he moved closer to her without ever stepping on the sand.
“Why would you do that?” he asked as he worked his way near.
“I did not mean to cause any harm. Tomorrow it will be gone.”
“I know!” he cried. “How long have you been here?”
She looked at the sky as if she could judge the time. She could not. It had been sometime in the afternoon when she started. It was early evening now.
“I did not do much damage,” she said, praying it was true. “It was a game.”
“A game?” he said as he gestured to the expanse. “I’ve never seen anything like it. It was astonishing.” Then he reached out toward her. “Don’t ruin it, please.”
She pulled her foot back such that she stood on the goddess’s smudged shoulder, unable to fathom his urgent tone. “These are footprints made in sand,” she said. “They cannot be ruined. They are nothing.”
His frown pulled his whole body tight as his gaze darkened beneath heavy brows. “It is beautiful. I watched you for the last hour or more. It was like you danced!”
Danced? “I crawled.” Her dress was heavy with wet.
“And jumped and slid. You didn’t even use a stick. Just your body and look what appeared.” He shook his head as if he had never imagined such a thing. “A painting in sand.”
She did not know what to say to him. She had been playing, nothing more, and yet he seemed to prize it as if it were a jewel set in the sun. “It is marks on the ground.”
He dropped his hands onto his hips and slowly shook his head. “I do not understand you,” he said.
On that they completely agreed because she had no understanding of the things that moved this man. So she stood there, folded her hands before her, and dropped her head.
She heard him curse, and she felt the squiggles tighten inside her gut. No matter what she did, she seemed to enrage him.
“Miss Na,” he began, then another muttered curse. “What should I call you?” he asked. “What is your name?”
“Li-Na,” she answered.
“Do I call you Miss Na?”
She frowned at him. “I am Li-Na.”
“Yes, I understand that, but I am trying to show you respect. In your language, what would I call you?”
The man asked the strangest questions. “Li-Na.”
“In English, we use surnames. First names are only for people who are intimate.” He winced and corrected himself. “I mean, who are good friends.”
She knew this, but she didn’t know what he wanted to hear. “I have no other name.” Except Abacus Woman or Abacus Lady. Those were terms the men at the Lyon’s Den had for her.
He nodded and seemed to come to a decision. “Perhaps I am being silly. If you agree, I will call you Li-Na because I hope we can become friends.”
He was her employer. He could call her whatever he wished. But since he seemed to want it, she dipped her head in agreement.
“So, Li-Na, how can you come out of there without destroying your creation? It’s a woman lying in repose, yes? But what is this fuzzy line here?”
“That is a cloud. I tried to create the Goddess Yao Ji as she rests beside the Wu Gorge on the Yangtze River.”
He tilted his head. He was not in the best position to view this, but then the best position would be hanging in the air halfway out to sea.
“Can you come to the side? Without damaging her any more?”
“Yes.” She’d meant to set small footprints of mist as part of her return path. “Should I go straight to you?” she asked. “Or how I intended?”
“How you intended, naturally. Don’t change a thing for me.”
What an odd statement to make. Men always wanted changes, and he was no exception. But in this, she returned to what she’d planned. She took a moment to adjust the lines of the shoulder to accommodate her smudges. Then she took careful steps before trailing her feet as tiny puffs of cloud until she at last landed where she had begun.
Done.
And already a portion gone to the water.
“I wish you had painted this for me,” he murmured as he made it to her side. “But if you had, I wouldn’t have seen this.” He gestured to the entire beach. “And this was something I’ll never forget.”
“It was a game.” Something she hadn’t done since leaving China.
“Not for me, it wasn’t.” He looked at her. “And neither are you.” Then he held out his hand to her as if his words made the tiniest bit of sense.
Chapter Nine
Daniel didn’t know what he meant by his own words. She wasn’t a game to him? He didn’t play games with people, so this was an obvious statement. But it wasn’t obvious to her. In fact, she clearly thought he was crazy. Which meant they had a large distance to bridge before she trusted him.
Very well. He had crossed larger chasms.
She grabbed her boots and turned to climb the steep walk back to the castle. Given the late hour and her wet skirts, that was a dangerous path. “Did you come down that way?” he asked. “That’s daring for a woman in skirts.” He knew few people—male or female—who would have done it no matter how they dressed. “There’s an easier path this way.” He gestured to the opposite side. Unfortunately, the easy way to get there was across the top of her sand painting. “Do you think you can climb over these rocks?” he asked, gesturing to the rough brush and stones that marked the edge of the beach.
