The Traders Series Books 1–3

by Anna Jacobs

Genres: Historical Fiction; Sagas; Victorian Romance

Synopsis

The first three books in Anna Jacobs' beloved Traders Series The Trader's Wife Singapore in the 1860s is exotic and yet terrifying for Isabella Saunders, a penniless Englishwoman, alone and vulnerable after her mother's death. Too pretty to obtain a governess's job, she accepts an offer from Mr Lee, a Singapore merchant, to teach him English and live with his family. Two years later Bram Deagan arrives in the country, determined to make his fortune as a trader. Mr Lee sees a way to expand his business connections and persuades Isabella to marry Bram, and she bravely sets sail for a new land and life. But the past casts a long shadow and together they face unexpected dangers. Will they ever be able to achieve their dreams - and find happiness together along the way? The Trader's Sister Ismay Deagan has one wish in the world - to leave Ireland and join her brother, Bram, in Australia. But her father has other ideas and orders her to marry their vicious neighbour Rory Flynn - a man she loathes. One day, Rory brutally attacks her and Ismay realises she has no choice but to run away. Disguising herself as an impoverished young widow, she sets sail for Australia, hoping to be reunited with her brother. When she meets Adam Treagar on the ship, she finally starts to believe her dreams of future happiness may come true. But before they even reach their destination they are flung into adventures in Suez, Ceylon and Singapore . . . Can Ismay tell Adam the truth about who she really is? What secrets is Adam himself hiding? And will Ismay's past catch up with her and threaten her new life in Australia, before it has even begun? The Trader's Dream Bram Deagan dreams of bringing his family from Ireland to join him in Australia, where he now runs a successful trading business. But when a typhus epidemic strikes Ireland, it leaves the Deagan family decimated. And, with other family members scattered round the world, it is left to Maura Deagan to look after her orphaned nieces and nephew. Forced to abandon her own ambitions, and unsure whether she is ready to become a mother to three young children, Maura makes a drastic decision: to join Bram in far-away Australia. They set sail on the SS Delta, anxious for their futures. It is only when a storm throws Maura and fellow passenger Hugh Beaufort together that she realises this journey may also give her a chance to pursue a dream she set aside long ago: to have a family of her own. That is, until someone from Hugh's past threatens to jeopardise everything . . . ******** What readers are saying about the Traders Series: 'Anna Jacobs is the best storyteller bar none!' - 5 stars 'A wonderful book . . . Very engaging and engrossing' - 5 stars 'Another must-read' - 5 stars 'Yet again couldn't put this book down' - 5 stars 'Excellent read from start to finish, couldn't put it down' - 5 stars

Release date: July 9, 2020

Publisher: Hodder & Stoughton

Print pages: 690

Sample

1

April 1867

Bram Deagan stood at the stern of the Bonny Mary, staring back towards a glorious sunset as they sailed away from Galle in Ceylon. He’d travelled to Australia with his boyhood friend Ronan, and then come back to Galle. But from here onwards, his friend would be travelling back to Ireland and Bram would be going to Singapore. He doubted the two of them would ever meet again.

It was painful to think he’d never be able to go back, never see his family. He’d been dismissed and if he’d refused to leave the village, his family would have lost home and jobs.

His friend had never cared that he was gentry and Bram only a groom, and had assured him there was always a place in Australia for a man who was good with horses. But it was Bram’s own choice to go to Singapore, which was to the north of Western Australia, right on the equator.

Sure, at the rate he was travelling, Bram might even find one of those fabled lands he’d read about, marked on the old maps ‘Here Be Dragons’.

He’d have to rely on his new friend Dougal, the captain of this schooner, to show him round Singapore, because Dougal had traded there before.

Bram couldn’t see his new path in life clearly yet, but after sailing halfway round the world and meeting new types of people on the ship, he’d begun to think differently about his future. Hearing their stories, seeing places like Alexandria and Suez, had set a flame burning inside him – just a small flame at first, but one which burned brighter and higher as it took hold.

When he first asked himself in the quiet reaches of the night whether he could be more than a groom, he’d been terrified by the daring of that thought. But it wouldn’t go away, creeping into his mind again and again. Other people had made their fortunes in Australia, why not him?

Could he make a success of his new life? Could he really do that? He knew he wasn’t stupid, but did he have the talent to make money? He looked down at himself with a wry grin. Nothing special about a medium height body, rather on the scrawny side, because he’d never had enough to eat when he was growing up. The food had seemed very lavish on the ship to Australia. It might have been plain, but he’d had as much as he could eat and more at every single meal, for the first time in his life.

He was by no means a weakling, because hard physical work in the stables built muscles, but it was his brain he needed to use now if he was to make money, and he worried that he wouldn’t know enough. He wasn’t stupid, had learned to read easily in the village school and continued his meagre education after he started work at ten by reading any book he could lay his hands on. His employers hadn’t approved of that and he’d quickly learned to keep the books out of sight of the head groom.

You could learn a lot from books. He’d brought one with him on this voyage, about accounting it was, and a dry old thing too, but still – if he earned any money, he must learn to manage it carefully. Fools were easily parted from their gold, and he didn’t intend to be taken for a fool. There had been other books available on the ship, and long hours of leisure in which to read them or simply chat to the other passengers.

If Dougal was right, in Singapore Bram would be able to buy trading goods cheaply to sell at a good profit when he went back to the Swan River Colony. He could also sell the rest of the contents of Ronan’s mother’s trunk. She’d died on the voyage to Australia and Ronan, grief-stricken, had said to throw her trunk overboard.

The waste of it! Why, the clothes and trinkets it contained would bring in enough to give Bram a modest start. So he’d spoken out, ignoring the disapproval in his friend’s eyes, and got the trunk for himself. He’d sold several things from it on the ship and more in Fremantle, so now had a few coins to jingle in his pocket – if he were the sort to jingle his money for others to hear, which he wasn’t.

I’ll open a shop, he’d told everyone, seizing the first idea that came into his mind. But he wasn’t sure he wanted to be shut up inside a shop all day every day. No, he wasn’t at all sure about that. All he was sure about was that he wanted to make money, was hungry for it.

He suddenly found himself praying, something he hadn’t done in a good long while. Please let me succeed, Lord. I won’t be greedy, won’t forget those struggling to fill their bellies each day. And I’ll look after my family, bring them out to Australia, if I can. Please, Lord …

Now there was a fine dream: to give his mother and father an easier time, and buy his sisters pretty clothes.

He stayed by the rail looking back along their wake, lost in thought, until Dougal came to join him.

‘Let’s hope we won’t have such bad weather this time.’

Bram grimaced. ‘I’m not fond of being seasick, I must admit.’

‘Some people gradually get over it.’

Unfortunately Bram soon found he wasn’t one of the lucky ones. The minute the weather turned brisk, he was again sick as a dog. Brisk! What a word for seas like mountains. ‘This is the last time I come on a damned ship,’ he said in between bouts of heaving over the rail or into a bucket in his cabin. It was the same vow he’d made when he arrived in Australia.

But what choice did he have? He needed to make contacts in Singapore, find people he could trust, people who could supply him regularly with the right sort of trading goods, things he could sell for a profit.

While staying in Dougal’s house, he’d found an old copy of The Straits Calendar and Directory, which contained a list of goods traded in Singapore, but most of them weren’t suitable for a small shopkeeper. He turned to the list again, trying to take his mind off his roiling stomach.

‘Anchors, arrack, beeswax,’ he muttered, running his finger down the page. ‘Brandy – might be possible – brass wire, canes, china – what sort of china? – cloves, coffee, gutta-percha, mother-of-pearl, mace, nutmegs – yes, spices were a good possibility – piece goods, whatever that meant, rice, silk, tea, window glass, wine.’ What sort of wine would you find in Singapore? Did the Orientals make wine? The family at the big house had got their wine from France.

He was woefully ignorant of the world, had never even tasted wine till Ronan shared a bottle with him in London. The colour had been pretty but he hadn’t thought much of the taste. Give him a glass of porter any day!

Then he forgot everything else as he snatched up the bucket again.

Standing behind Mr Lee, Isabella kept a careful eye on the clerk in charge of releasing the cargo. He was speaking more loudly than usual, as some English people did when dealing with foreigners. What a fool! Mr Lee had already spoken to him in clear English!

To her relief, it didn’t take long for her employer to finish his business and they began to walk home, side by side now because Mr Lee liked to chat about the things they saw and practise his English skills. There was always something new to see in Singapore, for her at least.

Today he was quieter than usual and she didn’t break the silence, thinking about what she wanted to say to him. She intended to choose her moment carefully, however. She’d been feeling restless lately, hadn’t enough to occupy herself, if truth be told.

A lazy movement of hot air, too slight to be called a breeze, wafted the street smells around, some of them good, some of them bad enough to make her hold her breath for a few paces. It reminded her of the faint breeze that had accompanied her on her momentous walk to the Lee family home over two years ago.

As they passed a display of durian fruit, she wrinkled her nose in disgust. It might taste wonderful, but the huge, lumpy green fruit smelled so bad she could never bring herself to eat it. The Lee family laughed at her for that, but in a kindly way. Once she’d proved that she was a hard worker, they’d accepted her as part of the family and been very good to her. They’d even told her to address Mr Lee as Ah Sok when they were at home, which was more like ‘uncle’. And she called his mother Ah Yee, which meant an older auntie.

That night Isabella waited until they’d finished their evening meal before asking, ‘Can we discuss my future, please, Lee-Sang?’ Today she addressed him more formally, using the Chinese word for Mister.

His mother looked at Isabella sharply. Mr Lee gave her one of his bland looks, followed by a slight inclination of the head, as if to tell her to continue.

She felt nervous but knew she couldn’t continue living like this. ‘I’ve done the job you asked me to when we first met. Your English is now good and you don’t really need me any longer. All I do is write a few letters in English and help Xiu Mei in the shop sometimes. Any clerk could do the letters for you and it’d be easy to find someone to help in the shop.’

He stared at her thoughtfully, giving nothing of his thoughts away.

It was his mother who asked in her jerky English, ‘What you want do?’

‘Go back to England, Ah Yee, to look for my cousin.’

‘Not know if cousin is in England.’

‘She must have returned there. Where else would she go?’ Surely she couldn’t be dead? Not lively, pretty Alice!

They’d had this discussion several times. Isabella looked pleadingly at Mr Lee, who was very much the master of this household – and of her. ‘I’ve got to find out what’s happened to her, Lee-Sang, and how can I do that if I stay here? Alice is the only close relative I have left. I’m grateful to you for all you’ve done for me. Very grateful indeed. But I’m not needed now.’

‘You have roof over head. No need spend money. Good to save more. You safe here.’

He hadn’t spoken sharply, which gave her hope. ‘That’s what you always say. And I’m grateful that you keep me safe. But I need to keep busy, to use my brain.’ Not fill her free time with housework and plain sewing, or putting things into packages, under his mother’s eagle eye.

He looked at her thoughtfully. ‘Yes. Got good brain. So … I ask about Alice.’ He still couldn’t pronounce ‘L’ easily, so it came out as Arris, just as she was Isaberra. ‘Be patient, little sister.’

He called her that sometimes and it made her wish she really was part of his family. ‘But—’

‘No benefit to me if you leave now. I do no business with England and if you go there, I not able help. And you need be safe.’

She felt touched by this evidence of his concern. He never said anything he didn’t mean. She had been so lucky that day when she met him. ‘But—’

‘I find something better. Be patient.’ He made a chopping movement with one hand, which meant the subject was closed, and she knew better than to try to pursue the matter. He was honest, kind to his family and careful with his dependants – but also ruthless if crossed, or if someone tried to cheat or steal from him, and a very sharp businessman.

She saw that he was still looking at her, so bowed her head in acquiescence. It would be wiser to leave Singapore with his blessing. And anyway, she’d want to come back one day to see them, if fate let her.

From what she’d overheard in his chats with his mother and sister, Lee Kar Ho had been a farm hand, who had come to Singapore years ago, like so many others, because there were more opportunities for a young man with ambition in a city that had only been founded in its present form a few decades ago. He’d worked as a coolie at first, but unlike most of the other coolies, he’d used the money he made to make more. He was now quite rich by local standards and getting richer, though he still lived in a shophouse. She admired him and his family very much.

He’d done this partly with his mother’s help. Bo Jun was a hard-working woman and shrewd with it. She ran the house economically, and was in charge of the day-to-day affairs of a small but exclusive shop on the ground floor.

But it was her daughter Xiu Mei who did most of the selling these days, who loved the beautiful silk and the other materials. She was not only good with customers but good at selecting fabrics to sell, and she’d shared her skills with Isabella.

The shop was only one of Lee Kar Ho’s many business interests. Isabella had helped with the English paperwork for several others, the ones where he dealt with cargoes from incoming European ships or shipped goods to other ports. He had other interests, too, but kept the details of those mainly to himself.

Where would she be now if she’d been part of a family as hard-working as this one? It was a secret grief, not having any family of her own at all. But even when her mother and father were alive, they’d not made the most of their opportunities here. Her mother might be able to make beautiful clothes for ladies, but she’d done nothing else well, especially not cook or manage money. After her husband’s death, she’d have been lost without her clever daughter to manage her life.

At a signal from Mrs Lee, the maid cleared the table and after everything was cleaned and put away, the women of the family sought their beds.

Isabella wasn’t certain where Mr Lee was going tonight, but he went out several times a week after dark. Perhaps to a meeting of the secret society to which he, like many others round here, belonged. Perhaps to visit his concubine. She’d been shocked when Xiu Mei first told her about the concubine, but his mother and sister seemed to accept that as a necessity for a man still young and virile.

He visited singing rooms too sometimes, for these were very popular with the Chinese. For all she’d been living with the family for two years, Isabella had never been out after dark on her own. And his mother and sister stayed quietly at home, too.

Well, she thought as she unrolled her sleeping pad, she’d done all she could now to change her future and could only wait. Mr Lee had promised to look into Alice’s disappearance, and he always kept his promises. But he’d do it in his own good time and use the information for his own purposes as well as to help her.

She felt she needed Mr Lee’s help because Renington still stared at her in the street sometimes with that hot, loose-lipped gaze she loathed. The man always seemed to have plenty of money and without a protector like her employer, she’d have lost her battle to stay respectable long ago, she was sure.

Would she ever be free again? Was there such a thing as freedom, especially for a woman on her own? She didn’t know, but she still hoped to make a better life for herself, perhaps even go back to England eventually. She knelt on her bed mat to pray, as she had so many times before.

Please let Alice be alive. Please let me not be alone in the world. Please, if it’s not too late, let me have a family of my own one day.

The last wish was a forlorn one. She was thirty-one, well past the age by which women usually married. But you could dream, couldn’t you? That cost nothing, except a few tears and sighs.

Bram leaned over the rail of the Bonny Mary, watching the crew finish mooring the schooner in the Boat Harbour at Singapore.

‘Coming ashore?’ Dougal asked a short time later. ‘Got to get everything in order before we can start trading. Official stuff first, then unofficial.’

Bram nodded. Unofficial meant bribes, he’d found out. He hated the thought of paying to ensure favours, but Dougal said it was normal here.

What Bram really wanted was to stroll the streets and stare at this amazing new world. Even the moist warmth of the air had surprised him, though his friend had tried to warn him about that.

The two men walked at a moderate pace, Dougal perspiring and cursing the heat, Bram saving his energy. He’d stopped wearing his merino under-vest days ago and was wearing cotton drawers instead of the woollen ones he’d used in Ireland. So stupid to keep wearing woollen clothing in hot climates!

He remembered all the times he’d been cold or wet, and longed to be warm. Here, it was the other way round, you’d long for crisp, cool air – or at least you might if you knew such a thing existed. Was there such a thing as winter here? Dougal said it was the same all the year round – hot, and often with short storms in the afternoons.

An elbow jabbed into his ribs. ‘Don’t stare! It’s considered very rude.’

So Bram tried to walk without staring, just letting the images slip into his brain: oriental faces everywhere, different types of clothes, women in trousers, men clad only in knee-length breeches, carrying bundles on the two ends of long poles. Little children were shrieking and running, older children seemed more serious, going on errands, perhaps, or walking respectfully behind an older person.

In the distance he saw a European woman. She stood out among the crowds of Orientals, not only because she was taller than most of them, but because she had red hair. She wasn’t beautiful, but she was striking. She was strolling along with a Chinese man and the two of them were talking earnestly. Bram was sorry when she disappeared from view. He’d enjoyed watching her expressive face as she gesticulated and chatted.

He could have walked round all day, filling his eyes with the sights, but Dougal wanted only to get back to the ship, insisting it was cooler on the water. That was doubtful, but if he believed it, no doubt he felt better there.

Duty calls paid, Dougal stayed on the ship, waiting for certain men he knew and traded with to come to him. ‘I don’t trade with only one person. Not wise, that. Gives them too much control over you.’

Two days later, Dougal lay in his bunk, looking wan, disinclined to do anything, because he’d eaten something that disagreed with him the previous day. Bram stayed on deck for a while, bored, then decided to go into town on his own.

‘Take a guide,’ his friend insisted. ‘You think you’ll remember your way back, but you won’t. And remember, tonight we’re going out for dinner at the Wallaces. He’s a relative on my mother’s side, pretty distant, but it’s nice to have somewhere to go in the evenings. I’m certainly not going to a wayang theatre again – you never heard such caterwauling in your life as that Chinese opera.’

So Bram allowed a crew member to haggle for the services of a guide who spoke some English, then set off to wander round the streets. His guide took him to the European area, which had wider streets and pleasant villas in one part, larger houses in another area, and he had difficulty convincing the man this wasn’t what he wanted to see.

They went next to Raffles Place on the south side of the river. He was confused at first because his guide sometimes called it Commercial Square, its previous name.

Afterwards Bram made the man understand that what he really wanted to see were the native quarters, also south of the river.

It was as he and his guide were walking down a side street that led off an area of water filled with rows of small vessels – sampans, he thought his guide had called them – that he saw the red-haired woman again and stopped to admire her. ‘Do you know who she is?’ he asked.

‘Work for Lee Kar Ho. Teach English. Not know name.’

Bram felt disappointed. Surely a European woman wouldn’t work for a Chinese? Even in the short time he’d been here, he’d gathered that this was not considered respectable. Yet she didn’t look immoral, not with that clear, intelligent gaze.

On an impulse Bram followed her along the street, hoping for a chance encounter, which was foolish, but there you were. He wanted to meet her.

As she was passing a narrow gap between two rows of houses, two Chinese men darted out and grabbed her, dragging her back into the alley. It was done so quickly, without her even having a chance to scream before a hand covered her mouth, that if he hadn’t been watching her specifically, he’d not have noticed.

He set off running, followed by his guide, bumping into people and not stopping to apologise. When he got to the end of the alley, he saw the men dragging her along it. She was struggling like a wild cat he’d once seen, clawing and scratching, trying to get free of the hand that prevented her from screaming. At the end of the alley a man was watching, a European man, making no attempt to help her and smiling as if he was enjoying the sight.

‘Hoy! Stop that! Let her go!’ Bram rushed forward.

Behind him his guide was calling out, but Bram was intent on getting to her before she was harmed or taken away, so he ran on alone. Anger lent him strength and speed, and he punched the nearest man before the fellow could defend himself. That freed her to struggle against the one holding her from behind.

Men were rushing into the alley from the street now and his guide called out that help had arrived. The white man vanished round the corner.

The two attackers let go and tried to run away too, but Bram was still furious and wanted more than just to drive them away. He intended to find out why they’d done this and who the European man was, because if they’d attack her so openly once, they might try it again. He grabbed the man he’d thumped as he tried to flee, and swung him into the wall as hard as he could.

Suddenly hands were there to help him and the man was secured, so Bram turned to the woman.

She was panting, her upper clothing torn. He slipped off his coat, which had also suffered a little, and swung it round her shoulders.

‘Thank you.’

‘What was all that about?’

‘I’m not sure.’ She moved forward and spoke to the man they’d captured in Chinese. Bram’s guide shouted at him and he cringed back.

Then another man came into the alley and the bystanders fell back. He spoke to the woman then looked at the man and said something sharp, with a growling undertone to his voice.

The attacker now looked terrified.

The woman came quietly back to Bram’s side.

‘What’s happening?’

‘They’re taking him to my employer, who’s an important man. Mr Lee will deal with the matter.’

‘No police?’

‘The tongs will manage this, since it’s an affront to my employer. We keep our own law and order here.’ She hesitated, looking down at the jacket she was still holding round herself to hide her torn clothing. ‘Would you let me borrow this till I get home? You should come with me anyway. My employer will want to thank you.’

‘I’m at your service, Miss—?’

‘Saunders.’

‘I’m Bram Deagan.’ He waited but she didn’t offer her first name.

‘You’re Irish.’ It wasn’t a question but it seemed to him that she didn’t have a scornful look in her eyes as she said the word. In both England and Australia he’d found to his surprise that some people despised the Irish, just because they were Irish.

She led the way out of the alley, moving slowly because she had to respond to the bowing of heads as she passed. ‘It isn’t far.’

But before they’d moved more than a few steps, a rickshaw pulled up beside them and the man pulling it gestured to her.

She held a short conversation and another rickshaw seemed to materialise from nowhere. ‘Please get in, Mr Deagan. We’ll make sure you get back safely afterwards, so you won’t need your guide.’

So he paid and dismissed the man, then clambered into the rickshaw. He felt sorry for the scrawny man pulling him along.

They pulled up outside what his guide had called a shophouse when they passed some earlier. This was one of the larger sort. Miss Saunders led the way into the interior.

A beautiful Chinese girl gaped at the sight of her torn clothing and shot a quick question at her before turning back to her customer.

They went through the rear door of the shop and he found himself in a corridor that led past several rooms to what seemed to be a kitchen. A man was waiting for them there and as she explained in Chinese what had happened, his expression turned grim. He was the same man she’d been walking with two days ago.

She turned back to Bram. ‘This is my employer, Mr Lee. Lee-Sang, this is the man who saved me, Mr Bram Deagan.’

Bram bowed his head, because that was what people seemed to do here and the other man did the same, surprising him by addressing him in English.

‘Most grateful for your help, Mr Deagan. Please take seat.’

An older woman came forward and Bram waited to sit down, looking at Miss Saunders enquiringly.

‘This is Mr Lee’s mother. You should call her by her full name, Lee Bo Jun.’

So Bram bowed his head again and hoped he’d pronounced the words correctly. ‘I’m pleased to meet you.’

The woman barely spared him a glance, however, because as the jacket slipped, she saw how badly Miss Saunders’ clothes were torn. Making sounds of distress which you didn’t need words to understand, she pushed the younger woman out of the room and he heard them going up some wooden stairs.

‘Please take seat, Mr Deagan. Excuse our humble room.’

He sat down, not allowing himself to stare round. It didn’t look humble to him, but large and comfortably furnished.

‘Could you please tell me what happen? People come running, say Isabella was attacked and a white man saved her.’

Bram explained. He could see the anger deepen on Mr Lee’s face and wondered once again if Miss Saunders was his mistress. But a man didn’t usually keep his mistress in the same house as his mother, and surely the Chinese were no different in this respect?

‘I’m grateful to you, Mr Deagan. Very grateful. Isabella is like family now.’

‘I was happy to help. May I say that you speak excellent English.’

‘I employ her as my teacher.’ A quick sideways glance, then, ‘Only as teacher. It’s better to understand what trading partners say. I speak several languages.’

‘I’ve never had the chance to learn anything except English and even that, I speak with an Irish accent.’

‘Isabella explain Irish, also Scottish and Welsh. When my mother and Isabella come back, we hope you drink tea with us. Please honour us by staying.’

‘I’d like to do that, to make sure Miss Saunders is all right. She’s a brave woman, fought back like a fury.’

Mr Lee smiled. ‘Very brave. She work for me when her own people offer her nothing. First time you visit Singapore?’

‘It is. I’ve only been here three days, but it’s fascinating.’

‘And the heat? Most Europeans not enjoy that.’

‘I prefer it cooler, I must admit, but it wouldn’t be Singapore without the heat, I suppose.’

‘You here to do business?’

‘A little. I’m just getting my start, trying to learn as much as I can.’

‘Good to learn.’

They continued talking and by the time he heard footsteps coming down the stairs again, Bram realised he’d told Mr Lee exactly what had brought him here and how little money he had to make his start with. Which surprised him. He wasn’t usually so free with information.

His host smiled. ‘I think you do well in business, Mr Deagan.’

Then it was a flurry of hospitality, with Miss Saunders guiding him in a low voice as to what to do so that he didn’t offend. Isabella, he thought. She’s called Isabella. Such a pretty name.

A very refreshing pale tea without milk was drunk out of tiny bowls, which were refilled frequently. They were so pretty he couldn’t resist running a fingertip over the flowers that graced one side. Then he sneaked another glance at her beautiful hair. Of course she was a lady – he could tell that from the way she spoke – and far above him, but still, a man could admire her, couldn’t he?

Miss Saunders was dressed now in a plain gown. She didn’t wear the huge hooped skirts wealthy English ladies favoured. The colour was subtle, a greenish grey, and it flattered her. The material was surely silk and he loved the way it gleamed as she moved.

The old lady presided at the table, firing off the occasional English remark at him as she refilled his bowl with tea. Sometimes he found it hard to understand her, because she spoke in a jerky way and didn’t always pronounce the ends of words.

It all felt very unreal. What was he doing here? he wondered. He’d been a groom back in Ireland, came from a dirt poor family, was a man who had yet to make his mark on the world, while Mr Lee had an aura of power about him that was quite unmistakable. Anyone who was fooled by these humble surroundings was an idiot.

‘You not eaten yet, Mr Deagan?’ Mr Lee asked.

‘Not for a while.’

The old lady spoke and Miss Saunders translated.

‘Ah Yee asks if you would join us for a meal. It’s an honour to be invited, but the food will be different.’

‘I’d be happy to accept the invitation, but you’ll have to tell me how to eat, because I’m sure I can’t manage with only those little sticks.’

‘It takes practice. We’ll get you a spoon.’

It was a pottery spoon, stubby and broader than was comfortable.

‘Let Ah Yee eat first, then you eat a mouthful of plain rice,’ Miss Saunders whispered. ‘Watch what I do.’

He did as she told him and at least he managed to get food into his mouth without spilling it down himself.

The meal took a while. Several courses, two or three dishes in each, but not much meat. He found it delicious. Some courses were cooked by a young maid, others were brought in when, at her mistress’s nod, the maid went to call out of the back door. As those coming in were still hot, they must have come from nearby. He prayed he’d not get an upset stomach from the food, but if he did, it’d be worth it.

‘I don