Gai-Jin (172 page)

“She’s twenty-four karat.”

“Yes,” Jamie said. Then, feeling a new stir, looked around. Across the room Maureen was smiling at him, surrounded by men, Pallidar amongst them. He smiled back, liking what he saw, still dumbfounded by her arrival, and courage, making such a formidable journey alone. What the devil am I going to do?

“Incredible about Hong Kong and Malc’s funeral, huh?”

“You’re right, Dmitri. I’d have bet Tess would never do that.” What’s she
up to, he asked himself again, and what was in her letter to Angelique? No chance to ask yet, no clue from her appearance. His own had been illuminating.

He beamed at the thought of all that money. It made his company possible, small to be sure, but it gave him the time he needed, and also to ease forward with the shoya though how those ventures would prosper without Nakama/Hiraga he did not know. He pitied him. And Tess. In her case he understood, and forgave her, not because of the money. “What, Dmitri?”

“You’ve every right to be smug. Your Maureen’s great.”

“Oh! Yes. Yes, she is.”

“What about Nemi?” Dmitri asked.

Jamie’s smile vanished, his discomfort returned, and he turned his back to the door. “A bloody problem, Dmitri. I’d made a date to see her tonight.”

“Jesus, in Struan’s?”

“No, thank God. In our … in her place.”

“Jesus, that was lucky. Are you going?”

“Yes, why not? Christ Almighty, I don’t know … When Maureen arrived out of the dark … It’s not that I don’t like her, I’m still in a state of shock.”

“Sure, but a good one—you’re lucky. Listen, we’re old buddies and can speak straight. If you … if you decide to stop with Nemi, to pension her off, call it a day, whatever, may I ask that you let me know? She’s a good sport, good fun and she speaks enough of our lingo.”

“All right, but …” Laughter from the men surrounding Maureen attracted their attention there. Then to Angelique. “Smashing, isn’t she?” Jamie said. “Angelique, I mean.”

* * *

Angelique and Sir William were waiting for Zergeyev to join them. Tonight’s dress and coiffure had been decided on earlier—selected specifically for Tess and this soiree, which was to have been their first battleground. Though her enemy had not arrived she resolved not to alter her plan, the effect was so pleasing. She had considered wearing the Imperial Jade ring that Malcolm had ordered from Hong Kong and had been delivered by mail ship a week after his death, causing her another flood of private tears. If Tess had been here she would not have hesitated. Without that reason the ring was wrong.

Actually I’m glad
she
isn’t here, she told herself. Thank God Vargas warned me. I need more time to prepare for that joust, person to person—ah, time, am I or am I not bearing Malcolm’s child … “Good evening, Count Zergeyev,” she said with her gentle smile. “Thank you for inviting me.”

“You’re so welcome, you’ve already made the evening a success. ’Evening, Sir William. You both know everyone, except a new guest.” In a sudden hush, everyone watching, comparing, Zergeyev beckoned Maureen from the circle of admirers, Marlowe amongst them now. “Miss Maureen Ross, from Edinburgh, Jamie’s fiancée. Madame Angelique Struan.”

The moment Angelique had come in she had seen Maureen, instantly scrutinized her from nice head to neat shoe and decided she was no threat—noticing Gornt in passing, but leaving him for later. “Welcome to the furthest British outpost in the world, Mademoiselle Ross,” she said pleasantly, wondering how old she was, and thinking, Yes, at night, in a muffler, this one could easily be mistaken for
that woman—
same tall, imposing way of standing; same direct gaze. “Jamie is very lucky.”

“Thank you.” The moment Angelique had come into the room Maureen had scrutinized her from shining head to tiny foot, recognized her beauty, and while instinctively liking her, decided at once she was a threat—her eyes had switched to Jamie to see his open admiration, and the men around him, no way of missing the general hum of appreciation—and she readied for battle.

“I’m so pleased to meet you and was awful sorry to hear about your tragedy, I’m so … everyone’s so sorry.” With genuine feeling, she leaned down and touched a cheek against Angelique’s. “I do hope we’ll be friends.” A special smile. “Please, let’s be friends. I’ll need a friend, dinna fear. Jamie said what a good friend you’ve been to him.”

“No need for ‘please,’ Maureen—may I call you Maureen, and would you call me Angelique?” she said with a special smile, acknowledging and understanding the warning put nicely and without claws, that Jamie was personal property and not to be flirted with. “Good, it would be very good to have a girl friend. Perhaps we could have tea tomorrow?”

“Och, I’d enjoy that. Angelique, what a pretty name and pretty dress.” Too severe, yet too hourglass for mourning.

“And so is yours, that color goes marvelously with your hair.” Green silk, expensive, but English not Parisian and the cut old-fashioned. Never mind. That can be improved, if she becomes an intimate. “Jamie was a great friend to my husband, and to me when I needed one badly. You are very lucky,” she said truthfully. “Now where is your handsome fiancé? Ah, there he is!”

Watched by all eyes, she linked arms with her. Everyone beamed at the Entente Cordiale and, still the center of attention, she guided Maureen to him. “Be careful, Jamie, it’s easy to see this lady is very precious—there are too many pirates in Yokohama.”

Those around laughed and she left them and went back to Sir William, greeting Ketterer en route—a special compliment and smile to him, and later to Marlowe—as well as Settry Pallidar, resplendent and rivaling Zergeyev in his Cossack uniform. “La, Sir William,” she said. “How lucky we are.”

“To be …” Zergeyev stopped himself in time. He almost said, To be alive? Instead he took a glass of champagne from a silver platter held by a liveried manservant and said, “To be in the presence of two such lovely ladies, we are lucky! Your healths.” Everyone drank, and continued to compare. Zergeyev was too worried to follow suit, much more concerned with what other foul news had arrived with
Prancing Cloud
, particularly for the other Ministers.

An urgent, coded dispatch from St. Petersburg—three months old—had arrived. First, it related the usual trouble with Prussia, troops massing on their Western borders, six armies sent there; trouble expected soon with the Ottoman Empire and Moslems to the south, three armies sent there; famine everywhere, with intellectuals such as Dostoyevsky and Tolstoy advocating change and liberalization. Second, it ordered him to press the Japanese to remove their fishing villages from the Kuriles and Sakhalin under threat of “serious consequences.” And third, much trouble for him personally:
You are appointed Governor General of Russian Alaska. In the spring the warship
Tsar Alexandre
will arrive with your replacement for the Japans, and then carry you and your entourage to our Alaskan capital Sitka where you will be in residence for at least two years to expedite Friendship
.

“Why so glum, friend?” Sir William asked in Russian.

Zergeyev saw that Angelique was again surrounded, so drew him aside and told him about his new posting. But not about “Friendship.” This was the code name of a top-secret State plan to facilitate enforced, massive immigration of hardy Siberian tribes into their vast Alaskan-American territories that spread hundreds of miles inland, adjoined Canada and hugged the coast southwards to end not far from the American-Canadian border. Hardy, tough, warlike peoples who could, and would, over a generation or three, trickle southwards and eastwards to the vast prairies and warm exotic
lands of California, eventually to possess America. The plan had been proposed by an uncle twenty-five years earlier. “Two years! A fornicating prison sentence!”

“I agree.” Sir William felt equally uncomfortable with the vicissitudes of his own Foreign Office, their aptitude for sudden postings, equally olympian. “Alaska? Ugh! Know nothing about it—have you ever been there? Last year, the ship I was on stopped at Vancouver, in our colony there. It’s just an outpost, and we went no farther north.”

“Sitka’s not much farther. I was there as a youth once. Now we’ve permanent settlement, lots of traders, a few hundred shacks,” Zergeyev said sourly. “Furs, freezing, lawlessness, illiterates, Indians, drunks, and no society. The place is a foul wasteland, discovered by Bering and Chirikov a hundred-odd years ago … at first they thought it was just part of our northern territories, fifty-odd miles across an inlet, not realizing it was a Strait they named after Bering. Sixty-odd years ago, one of my granduncles helped form the Russian American Fur Company, our fur-trading monopoly, and appointed an imperious son of a whore—a cousin called Baranof—to be Director, who moved the capital to Sitka. It’s on an island off the coast, totally miserable, and called, guess what, Baranof Island. Unfortunately my family made Alaska a special interest. Hence the posting.
Matyeryeybitz!
Both of them.”

Sir William laughed and Angelique turned back to them. “May I share the joke?”

“Er, it wasn’t well, very funny, my dear,” he said, docketing the highly interesting data for transmission to London, “just a Russian vulgarity.”

“English humor, Angelique.” Zergeyev laughed. “And on that happy thought, it is time for dinner.”

Gallantly he bowed, went over and took Maureen into the dining room, Sir William and Angelique followed, then the others. Abundant silver on the refectory table, liveried menservants behind each chair, others to bring in huge quantities of meats and borscht and beets and pies and jugs of iced vodka, champagne and French wines and sorbets. Gypsy musicians from the Russian warship, then later Cossack dancers from his entourage for entertainment.

Conversation buzzing and all of them still comparing: tiny and tall, French against one of us, delightful French accent, comfortable Scots. Both beddable, Angelique much more so, both eligible, and marriageable, Maureen much more so.

SATURDAY, 3RD JANUARY
:

Mass’er down stair, Missee-tai-tai.”

“Master Gornt?”

Ah Soh shrugged, standing in the doorway of Angelique’s boudoir. “Kwailoh Mass’er.” With her hand she indicated someone tall, and closed the door with a customary bang.

Angelique glanced quickly in the mirror. Her suppressed excitement was all the makeup she needed. A moment while she locked her journal and put it away. A final check and she swept out. Black silk dress with many petticoats, hair tied with a neat chiffon scarf, also black. Signet wedding ring. Down the staircase, oblivious of the servants at their early morning chores.

Into the tai-pan’s office. Gornt stood by the window, looking out at the bay. Chen waited lugubriously.

“Good morning, Edward.”

He turned and smiled a welcome. “’Morning, Ma’am.”

“Can I order coffee, or champagne?”

“Nothing, thank you, I’ve had breakfast. Just wanted to tell you about Hong Kong, and your shopping list. Hope I’m not disturbing you.”

“Thank you. Chen, wait outside, heya.”

The moment they were alone she said softly, “This is Albert’s office now, I’m borrowing it while he’s in the counting office with Vargas so we may not have much time—it’s hard to have somewhere to talk privately. Let’s sit here, Edward,” she said, motioning to the table in the window, the curtains open. “Passersby can see us, that should be safe, you were Malcolm’s friend. Please quickly, what happened?”

“May I say first how marvelous you look?”

“So do you.” Her anxiety was open now. “Please?”

“It went very well, I think,” he said quietly. “Tess would make a great poker player, Angelique, so I can’t be sure. At our first meeting I told her about my Brock information, as we agreed, saying several times in different ways it was because of you I was seeing her. Not th—”

“Were you the first to see her from the ship?”

“Yes, I’m quite sure because I went ashore on the pilot boat before
Prancing Cloud
docked, with Captain Strongbow. After I told Tess about the Brocks, there wasn’t much of a reaction, she listened intently, asked a few questions and then said, ‘Please come back tomorrow, with your evidence, shortly after dawn. Use the side door in the alley, it will be unlocked,
and be muffled up and careful, the Brocks have spies everywhere.’ The next day …”

“Wait! Did you tell her about—about Malcolm dying, and about our marriage?”

“No, I let Strongbow do that,” Gornt said. “I’ll start from the beginning. We went ashore together on the pilot boat, at my suggestion, keeping quiet about it, and Hoag out of the plan—he’s a loose mouth. I had volunteered to support Strongbow and help because I was a witness to part of it … the poor fellow was scared to death though it really was his duty to tell her. When he blurted out that Malcolm was dead she went white. In a few seconds she had recovered her composure, astonishing how fast, but she did and then she asked, her voice flat, she asked him how Malcolm had died. Strongbow was distraught and he stuttered, ‘I brought the death certificate, Mrs. Struan, and inquest findings and a letter from Sir William and it was from natural causes and happened aboard
Prancing Cloud
. We found him dead in the morning, after the night he was wed’ …”