Luckily, Maxwell was no fool. He had the quiet alertness of a man who had survived in more dangerous lands than this. Between the two of them, he should be safe. Just in case, she now carried a concealed knife.

Two lanes ran between the hongs to connect with Thirteen Factories Street. By unspoken consent, they used Old China Street rather than Hog Lane. As they walked, he said, "Try not to look so gloomy, Jin. The object of the day is not only to buy presents and learn more about local trade goods, but to find amusement."

She slanted him a glance. "Amusement, sir?"

"You are too serious for a young man." Maxwell paused in front of an open-fronted shop and picked up a set of nested ivory balls, each intricately carved within a larger ball. "My brother would find these intriguing. What incredible carving skill." He tossed the ball at Troth.

She was so startled that she almost dropped it. "A set of these takes a craftsman many months to carve, sir," she said, unsure how to deal with Maxwell's antic mood. "A very fine gift. What else do you seek?"

"Clever little toys to intrigue children. Jewelry and lacquer boxes and silk for the ladies of my family. Perhaps some pieces of furniture." He wandered into the shop and paused in front of a display of tiny bottles carved from precious materials like jade and amber and turquoise. "Lovely trinkets like these."

Looking hopeful, the shopkeeper approached and told Troth in Chinese that there would be a commission for her on anything the Fan-qui purchased in this shop. Curtly she refused his offer. As a point of pride, she wanted to see that Maxwell left Canton with the finest goods at the lowest possible prices. In English, she said, "There are better goods elsewhere, my lord."

Understanding the gist of Troth's comment, the shopkeeper protested in energetic pidgin. Maxwell played along with her as skillfully as if they'd rehearsed this beforehand. Half an hour later, a sizable number of bottles and carved ivory were being packed carefully for delivery to Elliott House.

They moved on to shops that dealt in jewelry, lacquer wares, and porcelain. Maxwell had an eye for quality and an impressive ability to bargain. They worked out a wordless system in which he would glance at Troth and she'd give a tiny nod or shake of her head to let him know if he had reached a fair price, or whether he should continue bargaining. He was very good at giving a bored shrug and turning to leave, which always produced a new and better price.

Troth was enjoying herself, just as Maxwell had wanted. She found vicarious pleasure in helping Maxwell to spend large amounts of money. Though Chenqua was surely far richer, she'd never had the chance to spend any of his wealth.

As they left a shop where Maxwell had purchased a dizzying number of fans in painted silk and carved ivory, she asked, " Your homeland is so small that you can buy gifts for everyone in England?"

He laughed. "No, but I want a stock of trifles suitable for friends and servants. For a person who has never been more than twenty miles from his place of birth, a fan or perfume bottle will be rare and special. A reminder of what a wide world we live in." He fingered the only bottle he'd carried with him from the first shop, a lovely little vial carved from crystal shot through with dark veins. "And of course I want to buy the affections of my young nieces and nephews, whom I've never met."

She doubted that he'd ever had to buy anyone's affections, but he would certainly be a favorite uncle with the showers of presents he would pour over those unknown children. Her father had been like that. Every time he returned from a trip, she had danced with excitement as she waited to see what treasures he had brought.

Despite her enjoyment, by midday she was flagging. She'd known it was tiring to shop when one had little money, but had not realized that it was equally fatiguing to buy everything in sight. "Are you ready to return to the hong for luncheon, sir?"

"Not particularly. What do Cantonese eat?" Maxwell's gaze went to a noodle stall on the opposite side of the street. "People are getting food there. Let's have some."

"Sir, you cannot eat from a noodle stall!"

"Why not? Are Fan-qui and Cantonese stomachs so different?"

"It… it is not dignified," she said uneasily, knowing this was not how Chenqua and Elliott expected her to care for Maxwell.

"What is the point of dignity when it deprives one of interesting experiences?" He purposefully crossed the street to the stall.

Resigned, Troth ordered them two bowls of noodles in broth. Then she had to instruct her charge in the use of chopsticks. He didn't do badly for his first attempt.

Finishing the noodles, he said, "Excellent. What do other vendors sell?"

Troth introduced him to fragrant rice congee, dumplings, and sweetmeats, followed by a visit to a teahouse for a relaxed cup of tea. Everywhere Maxwell was watched with amazement by people who'd never seen a Fan-qui eating street food. He ignored the stares, apparently used to drawing attention wherever he went.

Troth studied him covertly, intrigued by his interest in the daily routines of Cantonese life. His enthusiasm was contagious. He had been right to say she was gloomy. For many years, her life had been defined by duty and service. Now his presence was causing her to see her world with new eyes.

She sipped her tea, sadly aware that soon he would go back to his English world and her life would once more be drab routine and loneliness. But there was a kind of friendship between them, and she would be left with a few bright memories.

Chapter 9

After the teahouse they stopped at a shop specializing in perfumes. Under the pretense of offering advice, Troth had an intoxicating session of sniffing and enjoying. If she were allowed to be a woman, she'd always wear scent.

The next visit was to a dealer in spices and flavorings. Maxwell bought samples of many, frowning when he reached the final jar. "Dried bergamot peel, I think."

Troth had never heard of it. "Bergamot?"

"A fruit something like an orange." Maxwell added it to his substantial order, and they moved on to the last stop, the grandest silk showroom in the Settlement.

The owner had heard of Lord Maxwell's expensive passage through Thirteen Factories Street and waited with deep anticipation for their arrival. When Troth brought Maxwell into the showroom, the owner bowed low. "You honor my humble shop, my lord. Pray allow me to show you my poor wares."

At his nod, assistants began unwinding bolts of silk. Yards of shimmering fabric cascaded to the floor until the showroom was a festival of brilliant colors. After Maxwell chose two dozen bolts of the finest material in the shop, he said, "I should also like to purchase ladies' garments made in the Chinese style. Do you have any made up?"

"A few." Another order, and a dozen finished robes were brought from the back of the shop and laid reverently across a table.

The garments would not have disgraced the ladies of the imperial court in Peking. Trying to conceal her longing, Troth stroked an exquisite peach-colored robe made from kesi, a brocade with patterns woven into the fabric. "The quality is acceptable," she murmured, as if her only interest were in its value.

Maxwell said, "That looks as if it might fit my brother's wife, and the color would be good on her."

"A Fan-qui lady is so small?" Troth asked, surprised.

"Meriel is, but my sister is tall." He lifted the largest garment, a brilliant scarlet splashed with embroidered flowers and butterflies. Probably it was a bridal robe, since red was a fortunate color and always worn for weddings. "Lucia is about your height."