Leda was not overly familiar with the conduct of lovers in general, but the conduct of this pair seemed to her to be singular. His intent gaze followed Lady Catherine all the while she prattled on about the shark, and the tea party, and interrogated Leda on what was best to see in London. He clearly worshiped her. Leda could not imagine a man more obviously in love—or a girl with less notion of his regard. She treated him with wonderful devotion, and an utter lack of real attention, running ahead into the dining room to see that he had every variety of food from the cold buffet, never noticing that it was impossible for him to reach over and eat from the tray where she’d placed it without angling his leg in what must be quite a painful position.
Lord Robert was standing by the door—waiting for Leda to precede him to the dining room, she realized. Lady Catherine had already drawn her mother impatiently ahead; the girl’s voice echoed in the hall, greeting her father, who had just come in from his own afternoon engagement. Lord Robert made a pleased exclamation and stepped out of the drawing room to join them.
Leda paused at the door and looked back at Mr. Gerard. She took a breath, walked over to his table, and set the tray in his lap, turning away without daring to look up into his face. She did not wish to make a bustle about it, but really, if the gentleman was too moonstruck to give his ladylove a small hint about his common comfort, then something must be done for him.
As she made for the door, he murmured his thanks, but she took a quick step into the marble-floored hall and pretended not to hear.
The same maid brought her another message the next morning with her tea. From Mr. Gerard. He wished her to attend him at nine o’clock in the conservatory, instead of the library.
Leda was aware that the rest of the family was leaving the house shortly before that time in order to join the Hawaiian party at the Alexandria Hotel, where Queen Kapiolani and the princess awaited their summons to a private audience with Her Majesty after she arrived in London. Leda wasn’t quite certain whether Mr. Gerard would have been one of this party if he’d been able-bodied—she had yet to discern precisely in what relationship he stood to the family. He distinctly resembled Lord Ashland in his coloring, although there was no other particular likeness. Indeed, Lord Ashland was an exceedingly well-looking man, with a noble profile and a fine daredevil grin, but even in his youth he could not have equaled Mr. Gerard. Leda guessed that perhaps her employer was a cousin of some sort.
Whatever his affiliation, it was clear that he would not be attending any festivities in his present circumstance. Also obvious was that no one of respectable standing was going to be left in the house. Leda would be alone with him and the servants.
Given that to be the situation, she far preferred the conservatory, with its doors opening into rooms all along the house, to the secluded library for any meeting between herself and Mr. Gerard. But if she had been asked her opinion, she personally would have desired to have no private encounter at all with a bachelor under the present circumstances. Furthermore, in order to observe the proprieties, she was perfectly willing to put on her hat and gloves and join the crowds below in Park Lane waiting to see the Queen. She was aware that her opinion had not been solicited; nevertheless, she fully intended to offer it.
She sat down and wrote a short note to Mr. Gerard, cataloging her reasons why their conference should be setback until a more appropriate time. After sending it off with the maid, she received a prompt answer.
Who do you imagine is watching us? it asked succinctly.
It wasn’t even signed or sealed.
Leda reseated herself at the delicate French desk and pulled another piece of notepaper from the drawer.
The servants, she wrote. She folded the paper into an envelope, sealed it with extreme care, and forwarded it by the housemaid to Mr. Gerard.
The reply came with alacrity. I thought you a modern woman, Miss Etoile.
Leda felt her temper begin to rise. Her handwriting suffered a little from extra emphasis at the end of each word. I would not wish to embarrass my extremely kind hosts with indiscreet behavior.
The answer to that was slightly longer in coming. This time it was sealed into an envelope as hers had been.
Do I understand you to mean that I must employ someone of my own sex in order to have ordinary business commerce with my secretary? Please give your answer the most earnest consideration.
I hope to see you at nine o’clock, Miss Etoile.
Leda read this under the innocently averted eyes of the maid, who stood waiting with her hands clasped. Feeling rather unnerved, Leda glanced at the little porcelain clock on the desk. It was five minutes to the appointed hour.
“Where is Mr. Gerard at present?” she asked the maid.
“In the conservatory, miss. He took his breakfast there. It’s the best place to watch from. All the staff, we’ve been given leave to collect there from nine o’clock until the Queen herself passes, so that we may overlook the street. The crowds is gatherin’ something wonderful. You can hear it if you open the window.”
Leda busied herself with the drawer in the desk in order to hide the scarlet heat that she felt mounting in her face. “There is no reply,” she said quickly. “Please go on, so that you may see everything.”
The maid dropped a curtsy. “Thank you, miss.” She turned and shut the door.
Leda pressed her palms together against her lips. He had not intended a private meeting at all, of course. What an incredible fool she had made of herself now, and nearly sacrificed her place because of it. She could put no other construction upon that last line of his note but a pointed, and deserved, reminder of her situation. She was expected to act in every capacity as a gentleman would act in the position of secretary—as he had a perfect right to demand of her, after all, if she wished to occupy the post.
It was difficult to compose herself and go downstairs. She had only a moment; under the particular circumstances, she did not wish to be an instant late. She was sure that her face was still fierily red as she stepped through the open French doors that led to the conservatory. The temptation to hide behind a pair of tweeny maids who were giggling between themselves and hanging back from Mr. Gerard’s vicinity was extremely strong. But the butler Sheppard spoke sharply to the chortling young girls, calling them to order, and Leda was left with nothing to do but present herself to her employer.
He looked considerably more at ease this morning, sprawled in the corner of a wicker sofa that faced the open glass doors overlooking the street, with his splint stretched out the length of the plump cushions, his other foot on the floor and his arm resting along the back of the couch. A pair of crutches lay propped against the plant stand beside him. On either side of the doors opening onto the terrace, flag stands held the Union Jack and the second banner that decorated Morrow House, which Leda surmised was the flag of Hawaii.
He lifted his hand and propped his cheek against it as Leda stepped into full view. “Miss Etoile,” he murmured. “I’m so glad you could see your way clear to join us.”
“Good morning, Mr. Gerard,” she said in a brisk voice that came out a shade too loudly. “What may I do to be of service?”
He regarded her for a long moment; long enough that Leda was certain the gathering staff must be taking notice of the way he seemed to assess her from the inside out.
“Sheppard,” he said at last, and nodded at a chair placed at a sociable angle to his sofa. “Bring Miss Etoile the Illustrated News, and she can read to us about the occasion.”
The butler bowed and vanished for a moment, returning with an ironed copy of The Illustrated London News. Leda felt painfully self-conscious, but she folded the paper, selected an article describing the observances to be expected, and began to read. By the time she had reached the third paragraph, she was aware of a slow migration of the gathering nearer to her vicinity.
She went on reading, moving down the page to the next story, a preview of the gown to be worn by the Princess of Wales. At the end of tha
t, she looked up, and found everyone in the conservatory watching her expectantly.
“Pardon me, miss,” one of the tweenies said diffidently. “If you please, miss, might you read again the part about the dress?”
Leda complied. She found herself relaxing into her chair. This was not so very difficult; she had often read to the South Street ladies; she knew just what would be of interest. She skipped the political columns and searched for every item of news about the Jubilee, of which there were many.
A cup of tea appeared on the table next to her. She looked up with a glance of thanks at the parlor maid in her crisp white cap and flounced apron. While Leda had been reading, at the far end of the conservatory the kitchen staff had set a table with a festive array of light luncheon food, but everyone else was still gathered around her with intent faces. She grew daring, and concluded her reading with a droll advertisement for the Patented Patriotic Bustle, which was guaranteed to play “God Save the Queen” whenever the wearer sat down.
The scullery maids found that impossibly funny, especially after Sheppard solemnly pointed out what an exhausting device it must be, since every good Englishman must immediately stand up upon hearing the tune. Even the French chef laughed.
The crowds in the street had been a low roar all morning, but now a different, more excited note rose from below. It was half past eleven—the great moment was approaching. Sheppard asked if Mr. Gerard wished to move to the terrace for a better view, but it was evident the butler’s offer of help was merely nominal; Mr. Gerard showed himself perfectly capable of standing up and retrieving his crutches himself. Leda was fairly sure that his main wish was to be left untouched, instead of being pushed and pulled and otherwise mauled by overeager helpers. Sheppard appeared to have divined this, too, merely standing back and directing a footman to place chairs outside for sir and miss.
From the small terrace over the front door, they had a fabulous view up and down Park Lane. As Leda and Mr. Gerard emerged, the spectators just below Morrow House gave a cheer, as if they were notables in their own right. With an ironic smile, Mr. Gerard discarded a crutch, reached back, and lifted first the Union Jack and then the Hawaiian flag from their holders. He thrust the British banner into Leda’s hand and limped forward on one crutch, pushing her along with his other arm. The crowd flowed and rumbled. He looked at her with his eyebrows raised expectantly.
Feeling exceedingly audacious, Leda lifted her heavy pole in a tentative wave. He raised his; his arm took it higher than hers, and suddenly he reached out and locked his hand over her fingers, lifting the weight of both banners to full height. The light breeze unfurled their full expanse, spreading royal color. The crowd’s cheers grew to a roar of appreciation. The sound rolled away as all the spectators along the street took it up, a sensation like nothing Leda had ever experienced. Her heart filled to bursting with pride and loyalty for her country—and even, in a strange way, for the faraway, unimaginable islands that Mr. Gerard’s flag represented.
She stood with a wide smile, her arm raised alongside his, the flags draping and fluttering against her shoulder and then streaming out under a puff of wind, the sunlight of a perfect day pouring down over the park and the mass of people. The sound of distant music beat over the noise; from the corner of her eyes she could see the bunting and flags that decorated Morrow House as they, too, lifted and swung in the soft air.
He lowered the banners, resting the shafts on the terrace without removing his hand from overtop hers. She glanced toward him, unable to hide her enthusiasm, and found him watching her past the folds of the flags. He grinned.
Leda felt something happen in the vicinity of her stomach; something breathless and sensational—oh, really, she thought in sudden alarm, if she didn’t watch what she was about, she would find herself in the suds, rather.
She looked quickly away, and tried to withdraw her hand. For an instant he didn’t let go, and then he did, leaving her with the staff of the Union Jack. The flags blew between them so that she couldn’t see his face.
For Leda, the rest of the event seemed anticlimactic, though the crowd cheered themselves silly for the Life Guards and the Queen herself when they came, passing in brilliant formation, and Leda and Mr. Gerard held their flags in salute to Her Majesty’s carriage—separately, this time—and the dear, stout, frog-faced Queen even glanced up at Morrow House and gave them a gracious nod as she passed…and Leda made an appalling discovery about herself: that she would be quite happy to trade the personal recognition of Her Majesty the Queen of England, Scotland, Wales, Ireland, and Empress of India for one casual, intimate smile from Mr. Gerard on any day.
Fourteen
Kai
Hawaii, 1876
They didn’t go to Chinatown for a long time. Dojun taught Samuel fighting strikes, how to use his thumbs and his fingers and toes as weapons. He learned strangleholds, and toughened his hands and feet by using them against the rough bark of a koa tree. Dojun hung a big, smooth stone from a rafter, and Samuel butted his forehead against it until hot stinging tears ran down his face.
He learned to evade, too. He learned to watch for Dojun’s secret strikes—and when he was too slow to elude the hit, which was often, Dojun stopped it a hairsbreadth from completion. There were still the other exercises, too, the breathing and taihenjutsu rolls and breakfalls, and new things: how to care for a sword, how to judge one, the history and names of the greatest blades; practicing to walk in silence, to watch for hiding places in every destination; learning to inhale the steam from a cup of tea and identify it out of twenty-two varieties on Dojun’s shelf, to sit motionless for hours and absorb the world, noting things he’d never noticed before—because any tiny thing might matter.
His time with Dojun came to seem farther and farther from the rest of his life. No one at home ever appeared to think anything of it; they knew he went to Tantalus to practice carpentry, and the rest of it was, by unspoken consent, a secret between him and his teacher. Samuel went to school, keeping his distance from the other boys, and went to Dojun, and then came home and played with Kai. At dinner he talked about what he was studying in mathematics with Lord Gryphon, and watched Lady Tess when she smiled, and felt safe again and lucky.
When Kai was seven, she crept downstairs and saw a waltz at a ball that Lady Tess gave in honor of Mr. and Mrs. Dominis’ wedding anniversary. It was a particularly grand occasion because Mrs. Dominis was no longer simply Lydia, she was the new king’s sister, and now called the Princess Lili’uokalani. Upon discovering the dresses and lights and music, Kai decided she must have dancing lessons and be known as Lady Catherine.
Of course Robert would have none of it, and Kai refused to accept the notion of a female partner, so Samuel became her beau for practice. At fifteen, or possibly sixteen—he had never known his birthday—he was so much taller than she that she only came up to his waist, but he didn’t mind the task—he teased her to see her giggle and preen and pretend she was a grown-up lady.
He loved Kai. He always had. He’d forgone Lord Gryphon’s offer to legally adopt him years ago, when he was no more than eleven, because he’d been sure that he was going to marry her, although he never said so out loud. He was still certain now, long after he’d realized that it was an intention considerably more weighty than he’d understood at the time.
But he could wait for Kai. He was determined to. He kept himself decent, he thrust away the dreams and thoughts that shamed him, he governed his body with Dojun’s work. It was a relief to be with Kai; he never felt with her the way he felt when he saw one of the Hawaiian women canter along the street astride a rawboned mount, with her feet bare and her hair unwound, falling down her back in waves that haunted his days and nights.
The visions seemed to come out of the walls and the sky and the air; fantasies of women spreading arms and legs, flashes of things he remembered, female curves and female skin. Once he was standing in a hardware store in Honolulu while Lord Gryphon placed an order for glass jars for Lad
y Tess, when one of the American wives walked in. She stopped a moment to speak to Lord Gryphon, a cheerful figure in a modest dress, and Samuel caught the scent of her: an intimate, secret, explicit scent that blossomed in his brain.
He stood paralyzed. He knew that scent; he saw her head thrown back on a pillow, her face flushed and her breasts arched. His body suffused with heat and hunger and loathing. He could not bear the sight of her. He turned away and imagined pressing his face to her belly and breathing that salty, strong aroma, craving the taste until she filled him up to exploding.
The things he invented shocked him. He wanted to shout at her to go home and bathe herself; to leave him alone.
He left the store and stood in the street, breathing deeply. Without waiting for Lord Gryphon, he began to walk, then run. He found Kai in the front parlor at home, practicing at her scales on the piano, a gloomy scowl on her face as the teacher corrected her frequent flat notes. Samuel sat down in a chair in the corner of the cool room, facing a window where the sweet, clean breeze blew across his face, listening to the notes go up and down, and up and down, over and over.
Kai was his. He protected her. He was going to make sure her life was always exactly as it should be. Nothing was ever going to hurt her or frighten her or make her really cry. He loved her, and when she was old enough, she was going to love him.
When summer vacation came, Lord Gryphon asked Samuel if any position at the Arcturus Company held an interest as a future career. Samuel went to work in the harbor office, profoundly pleased with the suggestion that Lord Gryphon thought of him as a protegé. Sitting among the logs, poring over shipping manifests and warehouse inventories, he learned the accounts of the enterprise, and slowly, with astonishment, came to realize that the shipping company was really just an avocation for his foster father; that the reason there weren’t enough steamships and too much profit was poured into maintaining the sailing fleet was simply because Lord Gryphon loved his sailing ships and had the money to waste lavishly on them.