Gai-Jin (148 page)

“Quite right,” Sir William muttered.

“Yes,” she said. “If Hong Kong had been Catholic my Church would have been equally hostile. So the scandal threatened the Colony, and this when most of Hong Kong lay in ruins after the typhoon—with no ice,” she added thinly.

They shifted in their seats, except Skye who slouched in his chair with the same slight smile.

Babcott said gently, “It’s normal, correct medical practice for important people in these circumstances, Angelique. Your husband was and is important to us. You must believe that.”

“I do.” She took her eyes off him and addressed Sir William as before, continuing in the same matter-of-fact way: “To break the impasse, a compromise was arranged. The compromise was arranged by Aristotle Quance and Gordon Chen, it was oral, nothing in writing. Quietly—the word should
be ‘secretly’ because that was what it was—the bodies were put aboard
China Cloud
. The Church of England ceremony was officiated at by a Naval Chaplain and Captain Orlov. It was a proper Christian burial. Dirk Struan and his mistress, May-may Sheng, were buried together as he had desired.”

“If it was so secret, how do you know this’s true?”

“It was recorded in the ship’s log, Sir William, which was at once put into the tai-pan’s private vault and all witnesses, Culum and Tess Struan, Aristotle Quance, and Gordon Chen, and of course the minimum crew aboard, were sworn by holy oath to secrecy. The Naval Chaplain, who he was I don’t know, was sent back to England at once. The other funeral took place with all the pomp due the tai-pan of the Noble House.”

The silence stayed in the room, broken only by the breath of the wind against the windowpanes, the afternoon outside fair. Sir William said, “Have you seen the log?”

“No, nor spoken to … to his mother about it.”

Jamie said, “Tess Struan could corroborate it, or Gordon Chen—if they would agree to break their oath—and if they wanted to.”

Skye straightened in his chair. “This morning Mrs. Struan asked me if this story her late husband had told her was true. Happily I was able to corroborate certain details.”

“And you know it’s true because … ?”

“I happened to meet one of the crew who was less susceptible to secrecy than the others. A seaman, Hennery Fairchild—I’ve no idea if he’s alive or dead now—but when I first came to Hong Kong, Sir William, I made it my business to learn all I could about the Noble House, the Brocks, Quance, about the founding of Hong Kong, and the … the various corruptions that took place in high places.”

Sir William nodded sourly, finding his bad breath and bad teeth more overpowering than usual, knowing some of the dirty scandals that had been kept from public view and had preceded him. “That’s hearsay evidence.”

“It would not have much weight in court, Sir William. But it is true.”

What to do? the Minister asked himself. Have to do the right thing, by God. The judgment of Paris? No, this is all a typhoon in a wineglass. “Very well, Madam, by all means let us respect his wishes. Jamie, send the body at once to Hong Kong for burial at sea,” he said crisply, and thought, Once there, Tess Struan can have at Angelique Struan and I’m damned if I’m going to get between them. What the devil’s come over Angelique, never seen such a change! “Quite understand you are loath to go by
Prancing Cloud
. We’ll arrange the mail ship.”

“Thank you,” Angelique said calmly, “but no, Sir William. My late husband will not be sent like a carcass, in ice, to Hong Kong. He will not.”

“By God, Madame, if I order it, it will happen.”

“True, if you order it. But, Sir William …” She glanced at Skye. “What is the legal position?”

“Legally the wishes of the husband, supported by his widow, would take precedence.”

“Before I answer that where is there any proof? There’s none. As to preference over whom?” Sir William said testily, “Over Mrs. Struan, Tess Struan, is that what you are saying? We should disregard any consideration of her?”

Skye began to answer but Angelique motioned him to stop, and said, “Not at all.
If Prancing Cloud
went at once. A fast time to Hong Kong is ten days there and ten days back, in fair weather. A few days to turn around. Dr. Hoag, is there time for your…your ice,” she said distastefully, “to preserve my husband’s mortal remains properly over that time for his mother to be brought here—if she wished to come?”

Hoag was thinking about Dirk Struan and his legendary May-may, his beloved beauty, and about intermarriage and how he himself wished he had not killed his wife, love of his life. He often felt he had. His love for her should have been great enough not to have married her, not to have taken her out of her safe, serene Indian life into the disaster he knew would be their lot. And was.

Once again your future is in the balance, Hoag old man. Do you help this girl or Tess Struan? Don’t forget it was your fault that bloody assassin lived to frighten her, near to death. “Medically it might be, but I would advise against it,” he said with a sideways glance at Babcott, cautioning him not to interfere. “The decision, Sir William, is really whether he should be sent back or not. If not, I think he should be buried as … as his wife wants.”

Sir William hesitated, irritated that his solution was not accepted. “Angelique, why are you opposed to going with the body to Hong Kong, if not by
Prancing Cloud
, by mail ship?”

“I am opposed because then he will not be buried in the way that he wishes, like his grandfather—his mother would never admit the other story, could not. I am his widow and I tell you his wishes are my wishes, with all my heart.”

Sir William was unsure of his legal grounds for assenting or dissenting, and massively concerned about Tess Struan, her position now as de facto head of the Noble House, her written opposition to the marriage, and what she would do if the body was not sent back.

She’ll scream bloody murder for one thing, he thought, almost wincing. Obviously she’d want the burial there, it should be there, at sea or not at sea, whatever the truth or untruth of the story, and fifty pounds against a bent farthing in any event she’ll try to overturn the marriage, with a fair chance of doing it. So you, poor lady, like it or not, are on a very dicey wicket. “I’m afraid you are making an already tragic happening even more
complicated than it need be. The poor fellow can be buried at sea just as easily from Hong Kong as here. So the best thing …”

“Excuse me for butting in, Sir William,” Skye said, then added as a brilliant Queen’s Counsel cross-examining would, “but unless you are formally challenging the legality of my client’s marriage, she does have certain rights. May I therefore ask you to approve that her late husband’s wishes and hers prevail in this matter and let him be buried here.” Then, the same Queen’s Counsel finishing his summation for the defense, he said so softly, kindly: “Malcolm Struan was ours, Yokohama’s, as much as theirs. His tragedy began here, it should end here.”

In spite of her resolve, Angelique felt the tears begin. But she gave no sound of crying.

For an hour after Sir William and the others left Skye and Jamie argued. She listened. Nothing they said made any difference. She had lost. Following Skye’s impassioned appeal, Sir William pronounced: “I regret I’ve heard nothing here this afternoon to change my mind. The body should go back to Hong Kong for burial, either with
Prancing Cloud
or the mail ship. As you choose, Madame. This meeting is over.”

Skye said bitterly, “If we were in Hong Kong I could apply for a writ on a dozen grounds, but here Sir William is court, judge and jury. There isn’t time enough to go there and back whatever we do.”

“Then there’s nothing more to be done.” Jamie was grim, rocked by her story. “You have to accept it, Angelique. There’s nothing more to be done, God rot it.”

“I cannot go to Hong Kong—I must be at the burial.”

“I agree,” Skye said, nodding.

“Why? What’s to stop you, Angelique?” Jamie asked.

“Tess Struan,” she said.

“What can she do? She can’t stop you going to the funeral and she can’t break the marriage. Nettlesmith’s afternoon editorial says it’s perfectly legal even though you’re both minors. Go with the mail ship, I’ll get her to sail at the same time.”

“No. Sorry, Jamie, Mr. Skye already said the editorial is only an opinion. I know Tess Struan won’t bury him at sea as he wanted, I’m sure she won’t. And she will attack me in any way she can. Here, read her letters to Malcolm.”

Both men were jolted by the intensity of venom. Skye said queasily,
“Pity, there’s nothing actionable in them. She’d claim they were private letters from a mother to a son, desperately warning him against marriage as is her right, even to forbid it—as is her right. And the threats against you—you as a person, Mrs. Struan, there’s nothing we could attack her with.”

“That’s not fair,” she said.

“Heavenly, what about ‘if that woman ever steps foot in Hong Kong I’ll make sure …’ eh?” Not wanting to hurt Angelique further, Jamie did not read all of what Tess Struan had written:
I’ll make sure every decent person in Hong Kong knows her history, her father’s, uncle’s and that her aunt was an itinerant actress in a travelling group of players, gypsies and mountebanks, and about her own personal finances
.

“I’m not ashamed that my mother was an actress,” she had said sharply, “even though most English consider them harlots. She wasn’t, ever. And they weren’t mountebanks. I’m not responsible for the sins of my father—I wasn’t penniless, he stole my money, not only other people’s.”

“I know.” Jamie wished he had not mentioned the letter. “Heavenly, can you get proof of Dirk’s burial with May-may?”

“Oh, yes, from Compradore Chen and Tess herself. But neither would volunteer, or admit it, would they? We would be jeered at and never get a court order to open the family crypt.” Skye coughed and coughed again. “Mrs. Angelique Struan must go with her husband’s remains, if she doesn’t she’ll immeasurably hurt her position, both legally and publicly. But to go to Hong Kong? Dangerous.” He had asked Babcott and Hoag to smooth the wording of the death certificates but was told, as expected, it could not be done. “In my considered opinion, Mrs. Angelique is right not to take that risk at the moment, Jamie. I’m concerned she’d be more defenseless in Hong Kong than here.”

“You’d go too, you can provide any shield necessary.”

“Yes, but there’s bound to be a scandal and I want to prevent that at all costs, for everyone’s sake. Including Tess Struan’s. She’s not a bad woman if you look at her position from a mother’s point of view. My considered opinion is that there’s bound to be a stink—how to avoid it or minimize it, that’s the question.”

“Perhaps it can be contained,” Jamie said. “Tess isn’t an ogre, she’s always been fair in her way.”

“She won’t be fair, not with me,” Angelique said. “I understand her. Only a woman can really understand. She’ll believe I’ve stolen her eldest son and killed him. Malcolm warned me against her.”

“To contain her we need time,” Skye said. “We need time to negotiate, and there’s not enough before a burial.”

When the two men left her, nothing had been resolved.

Never mind, she thought. I will bury my husband as he wished; I will
inherit his worldly goods, if any; I will beat Tess Struan. And I will be revenged.

The letters had hurt, but not as much as she expected. Her tears were not tears as before. They had not racked her as before. Nor am I as before. I don’t understand. I’m really very strange. Will it last? I surely hope so. Oh, Blessed Mother, how stupid I was.

Through the window she saw that day would soon be night, and in the bay, ships’ riding lights, port, starboard and at their mastheads, blinked with the rise and fall of the swell. In the fire bucket coals settled noisily, flames flared briefly drawing her attention back. What to do?

“Missee?” Ah Soh stalked in.

“Tai-tai
, Ah Soh! You deaf, heya?” she said curtly. Malcolm had explained tai-tai to her, and on his last night Malcolm had made Ah Tok, Ah Soh and Chen address her as such in front of him—and Skye had also reminded her to make the servants use it.

“Missee wan’ my pack chop chop?”

“Tai-tai. You deaf, heya?”

“You wan’ my pack, chop chop … tai-tai?”

“No. Tomorrow. If at all,” she added quietly.

“Missee?”

She sighed. “Tai-tai!”

“Missee-tai-tai?”

“Go away!”

“Med’sin man wan’ see-ah.”

She was going to say “Go away” again, then changed her mind. “Medicine man what?”

“Med’sin frog, missee tai-tai.”

Hoag. Yes, he is froglike, she thought, and was surprised to find that she was smiling. “Yes. See now,” and when he came in she said, “’Evening, Doctor. How are you? I’m fine, thanks to you.”

“Are you?” His eyes were red from fatigue, face pasty and puglike as ever but still a warmth about him that was comely. He peered at her. “Yes, I can see that. Be cautious, don’t press yourself. Take it easy, Angelique, be wise.”

“I will, I promise.”

“You were marvelous this afternoon.”

“But I lost.”

“Yes. George Babcott and I were sorry about that, outraged after your story and Heavenly’s appeal. George’s seeing Wee Willie for dinner and will try again but I—we … we don’t hold out much hope.” He saw her shrug, just a small gesture, and continue watching him, eyes enormous in the paleness of her face. “Do you need anything? To sleep or to calm—no, I can see
you don’t need any calming. I’m glad, so glad. I wanted to talk to you, chat, do you mind?”

“Of course not, please sit down. How did the inquest go? Oh, there’s whisky or other drinks there if you want.”

“Thanks.” On the sideboard Waterford glasses and cut-glass decanters were lined up like soldiers in silver holders, with silver labels around their necks, the silver Georgian: Whisky, Cognac, Sherry, Port. He chose whisky and poured himself half a glass. “The inquest went as expected, Edward Gornt was exonerated of any blame and commended for bravery. The coroner, Skye, found that Greyforth’s death was accidental and Gornt perfectly correct in trying to stop what could have been a brutal murder. We were surprised he used such strong words even though it was the truth.” He sat facing her, raised his glass. “Health!”