Gateway (11 page)

As Aurora had predicted, Xiang was unwilling to tolerate Daiyu’s unfashionable attire for an instant. The dressmaker was summoned before Daiyu was even shown to her room. The thin, fidgety
cangbai
woman promised she would have an assortment of acceptable outfits available by nightfall, and she would in- stantly begin work on formal clothing for social events. As soon as the woman bowed herself from the room, Xiang tilted her head again and surveyed Daiyu out of narrowed eyes.

“The hair is very plain,” she said. “And yet, simplicity is an affectation that is popular this year. We might do well to leave it.”

“I would rather not cut it, if you please,” Daiyu said, trying not to show alarm. How strange it would be to arrive back in St. Louis with a new hairstyle she could not remember getting!

“Stand up. Good. You are short enough to wear heels—or are you too clumsy to walk in them?”

“I manage all right if they’re not too high.”

“Unbutton your shirt. Show me your bosom.” When Daiyu did not comply, Xiang snorted. “Very well, show me however much of your skin you are comfortable displaying. Yes, you will be able to wear the new fashions. The necklines will look very good on you. I will lend you some of my jewels—I have just the necklace for you to wear at the Presentation Ball. Are your ears pierced?”

Daiyu pushed back her hair to show off her gold hoops. “Yes.”

“Good. You can wear my earrings as well. You will have to take off that ring, of course.”

Daiyu balled her hands into fists. “I won’t,” she said calmly.

At first Xiang was so surprised at being refused that she didn’t even look angry, and then her face darkened. “And why not?”

“Because it is my mother’s, and it is the only thing of value that she owns, and she gave it to me to tell me that I am the thing she values most of all,” Daiyu said.
Even though Xiang will not respect your family, like all Han, she respects the notion of heritage,
Aurorahadtoldher.
Whenever you cannot explain your behavior, rationalize it through family custom. It will not please her, but she will accept it.
“I will not take it off.”

“Very well,” Xiang snapped. “But you must wear it under your gloves at formal events.”

Daiyu nodded. “Mistress, I will.”

“Can you dance?” Xiang asked next. “Do you know how to behave at a dinner table? Do you know how to address a man of wealth?”

Daiyu took a deep breath. “I have little experience in any of these matters,” she said. “But I am willing to learn.”

“Yes, I see we have much work to accomplish before the ball,” Xiang said. “Let us waste no time beginning.”

If Daiyu had had anyone to talk to, she would have described the next three days as a crash course in charm school. It seemed like every minute was passed in some kind of instruction or beautification ritual. The house was filled with specialists imported to make Daiyu over into the perfect Han debutante. The dressmaker measured every dimension of her body; a stylist tried different combinations of hair and makeup and accessories. A dancing instructor brought in an entire classroom of students to allow Daiyu to practice the
tiaowu
in a simulated ballroom. All the practice with Kalen had paid off; Daiyu found it easier than she’d expected to execute the steps with an acceptable level of grace.

But she missed performing the dance with Kalen. She missed his smile of encouragement when she did well, his murmurs of explanation when she stumbled, his inventive antics every time she slapped the bracelet on his wrist. She had known him such a short time; how could his absence weigh so heavily on her heart?

Xiang would have been horrified to know how many of Daiyu’s thoughts were given over to a
cangbai
workingman—although, admittedly, it was hard to think of anyone else when Xiang was nearby. During those three days, the old woman lectured Daiyu endlessly on social etiquette, usually while they sat at a series of extraordinary meals. They ate four times a day, gorging themselves on lavish spreads—braided breads, spicy meats, fruits cut into fantastical patterns, vegetables so delicately fried they were only a kiss away from raw. Chocolate finished up every meal, accompanied by the local version of tea. If she hadn’t spent so much energy learning to dance, Daiyu was sure she would have gained ten pounds.

“When you are seated beside an older man, you do not speak to him until he has addressed you,” Xiang said late on that third day. “You may speak first to an older woman or a woman your own age, and it is
expected
that you be the one to greet a man who is your age or younger. It would be very rude of him to address you first.”

“What if I can’t tell his age?”

Xiang looked at her with narrow disapproval. “You should be able to,” was all she said.

At dinner parties, she should not eatanything until the host had had at least three bites. The guests in attendance would always number some multiple of nine. At the ball, she could not dance with anyone who had not been introduced to her by Xiang herself. She must refuse every invitation twice, accepting only the third time it was extended. She was to call herself Xiang’s niece but say very little about her supposed blood relations.

“If anyone presses you ford etails about your family, just say, ‘It is better that I not speak of my mother.’”

“And your sister’s husband—my father?”

Xiang waved her hand and made a dismissive sound. “Even better not to speak of
him
.”

“When will I get to meet the prime minister?” Daiyu asked. She had just been told that she could not speak to him at all except to answer his direct questions, so it seemed reasonable to ask.

“You will be presented to him at the ball, but you might meet him before then,” Xiang said in a considering voice. “I might take you to a breakfast the day after tomorrow. I would like to see how well you behave in such a setting among some of my friends.”

“I will do my best, Mistress. And the prime minister will be there?”

“Yes,” Xiang replied. “He is scheduled to attend.”

TEN

“BREAKFAST” WAS A
misnomer, Daiyu thought two days later as she and Xiang left for the event shortly after noon. They’d already eaten one meal, and Daiyu was pretty sure Xiang had found time for another snack while Daiyu was having ropes of gold braid woven into her hair.

She actually welcomed the driver’s assistance as they climbed into the car, since her stiffly pressed and heavily embroidered clothing made it hard to bend her knees and elbows. The air outside was thick with humidity and hot as any July day in St. Louis, which made her devoutly hope that they didn’t have to travel far or her carefully assembled outfit would be accented by streaks of sweat. She was grateful to see a stretched canvas cloth providing a roof over the open vehicle, but it couldn’t compare to air-conditioning running at full blast.

Xiang frowned at Daiyu for the entire ten minutes of the ride. “I wonder if I was too eager,” she mused aloud. “I wonder if this is too soon.”

“I will try to behave appropriately, Mistress.”

“Just keep your eyes lowered and say as little as possible.”

The car pulled up before a house that was as grand as Xiang’s, joining a long line of similar cars depositing an elegantly clad congregation on the street. Daiyu kept her head modestly tilted down but tried to take in as much as she could. Friends met each other with exclamations and embraces; acquaintances were more reserved, extending one or both palms to press against the other person’s. No one came up to hug Xiang, Daiyu noticed, though everyone nodded at her and quite a few lifted their palms for her to touch as she and Daiyu walked by.

Everyone stared at Daiyu with frank interest and then turned to whisper something to whomever was standing closest.

They were among the first to step inside, and Daiyu looked around quickly. This house was sunnier than Xiang’s and a little less cluttered; some kind of flowering plant brightened the front hall and showered sweetness through the air. Her immediate first impression was of an atrium, and the impression didn’t fade as a servant led them through long, open hallways festooned with more greenery and filled with more light. The sun beating through the glass might cook her alive, she thought, but the visual impression was one of airy beauty.

A woman hurried forward to meet them, her hands outstretched, her face alight with pleasure. She was about Xiang’s age and Daiyu’s height, dressed all in a royal blue that was spattered with bits of silver.

“Xiang!” she exclaimed, and was bold enough to give the other woman a hug. “You have come after all! And, look, you have brought your niece. What a pretty girl!”

“She might not be entirely worthless,” Xiang said. “I thought I would see how well she performs here among friends.”

“I am Mei,” the other woman said, turning to address Daiyu, her hand outstretched. Daiyu pressed her hand to Mei’s and quickly dropped it. “What is your name?”

“Daiyu, Mistress.”

“How long have you been in the city, Daiyu?”

“Only a few days.”

Mei seemed to be listening closely. “Her accent is strange,” she said to Xiang. “But not unpleasant. I assume you chose her ensemble? A magnificent job, as always. Your taste is reliably exquisite.”

Xiang waved a dismissive hand. “This is just something we were able to find in the closets. I assure you, she will be much better attired at the Presentation Ball.”

On these words the rest of the guests began to filter in, still laughing and talking among themselves, still eyeing Daiyu with undisguised curiosity. About a third of the guests were older women, she noticed now—women about Xiang’s age and with the same air of affluence and arrogance. She supposed these were the women who wielded the most power in Shenglang, the ones she would have to be careful not to offend. Daiyu kept her expression pleasant, offering sweet smile swhen any of these women spoke to her and thanking them quietly for any kindness they displayed.

The balance of the company was a mix of men and women of varying ages, though there were few older men. The young men all clumped together, greeting one another with rude familiarity and laughing easily, seeming to take little notice of anyone else in the room. But Daiyu, watching covertly, saw them scanning the ranks of the pretty young women, who mostly stood passively beside their mothers. Now and then, when one of these girls caught a young man’s eye, he nodded a greeting or flashed a smile. Several of the young men watched Daiyu with an open appraisal. She supposed strangers might be novelties in this rarefied society—or maybe what was rare was Xiang’s sponsorship of a poor relation.

Xiang kept Daiyu close to her side and only introduced her to a few people, glaring so meaningfully at Daiyu that she had little incentive to say much. Still, she could tell the reaction to her was mostly positive, and Xiang started to relax a little.

“Shall we sit down to eat?” Mei said after there had been about twenty minutes of this aimless chatter.

“Where’s Chenglei?” an older woman asked.

“He has been detained, but he will be here as soon as he can,” Mei promised. “He told us not to wait.”

The whole group moved into a sunny dining room in a glassed-in conservatory. Xiang, Daiyu, Mei, and six others sat at a table in the center of the room. Daiyu was placed between Xiang and a man who might be in his fifties—certainly old enough that she knew to respect the prohibition against initiating conversation. He had no interest in talking to her, at any rate; he sat with his back half turned to her and spoke with great intensity to the couple on his left. Something about immigrants and insufficient laws. She didn’t catch it all and she didn’t really care.

Xiang didn’t speak to her either, so Daiyu concentrated on her meal, taking small portions and watching Mei whenever she wasn’t sure how to handle a glass or an eating implement. The food was more highly spiced than the dishes she’d had at Xiang’s and she didn’t like it as much, but all around her she heard people complimenting the taste, the texture, the creative combinations.

The breakfast plates had been cleared away and servants were bringing in trays of the inevitable chocolate, when there was a murmur of excitement and Daiyu glanced up to see Chenglei striding in. He smiled generally at the room, nodded directly at Mei, but then did a curious thing. He stopped at the very first table—the one nearest the door, the one where even Daiyu could tell the least important guests were relegated—and paused to exchange a few words with the people sitting there. They beamed up at him, extending their hands for him to press, and a few came to their feet to greet him. He spoke to everyone at the table, even if briefly, before moving on to the next group at the adjoining table. Everyone in the first group was left smiling at his attention.

Mei leaned forward to address Xiang. “Such a handsome man! That perfect streak in his hair!” she murmured, though everyone at the table could hear her. “I sometimes think, if I were not so much older—”