Gai-Jin (173 page)

“She shot to her feet like an arrow and screeched, ‘You married my son to that woman?’ Strongbow almost died and gabbled out the story as fast as he could, about
Pearl
, about the duel, me saving Jamie’s life by killing Norbert, finding Malcolm, telling everything he knew, how you were in shock. The sweat was pouring off him, Angelique. I must admit I was sweating too—after the first screech Tess just stood there, eyes on fire like a Medusa. Then he gave her some letters, I saw one was from Sir William, mumbled sorry but it was his awful duty to tell her and he stumbled away.”

Gornt took out a handkerchief and dried his forehead, and Angelique felt weak, nauseated at the strength of her enemy—if Tess could make Gornt sweat like this, what might Tess do to her? “She just stood there and then her eyes turned on me. Astonishing how such a woman could seem so … so tall. And tough. Tough one minute, soft the next, but never her guard down. I had to force my feet not to back off and looked around pretending to be afraid of being overheard, and said in a rush that I was dreadfully sorry too, Malcolm really was my friend, that you were her friend too and it was because of you I was there, as I had information that would bankrupt Tyler and Morgan Brock. The moment I said ‘bankrupt Tyler’ the madness left her, at least the scary fire left her and she sat down, still didn’t take her eyes off me, sat down and after a long time said, ‘What information?’ I said I’d come back tomorrow but she said with a voice like a knife,
What information?
I gave her the bare bones … Sorry, Angelique, could I have a drink? Not champagne—whisky, bourbon if you have it.”

She went to the sideboard and poured for him, water for herself as he continued, “The next day I brought half of the evidence and left it with her. She—”

“Wait, was she the same as the day before?”

“Yes and no. Thanks, health, a long one and a merry.” He took a deep swig and gasped as the spirit caught his throat. “Thanks. When I’d finished she looked at me and I thought I’d failed. That’s one hell of a scary woman, I wouldn’t like to be her enemy.”

“But I am?
Mon Dieu
, Edward, tell me the truth.”

“Yes, you are, but that doesn’t matter for the moment, let me go on. I—”

“You gave her my letter?”

“Oh, yes, sorry, forgot to mention it, I did that the first day, before I left, just as we agreed, again stressing this was all your idea, telling her then that as my arrangement was with Malcolm, the tai-pan, and he was dead, I had considered the deal was off and was going back to Shanghai to wait for a new tai-pan. But you sought me out and begged me to come to see her, saying I owed it to my friend Malcolm, that he had mentioned my proposal to you in secret—with none of the details—and you were certain it would be his wish to pass the information on to his mother as soon as possible, that I must do it urgently. At first I didn’t want to, but you pleaded with me and persuaded me. So I was there because of you and you had asked me to give her a letter. I passed it over.”

“Did she read it in front of you?”

“No. That was the first day. The next day at our dawn meeting, after I’d given her part of the info, she asked lots of questions, intelligent ones, and said to come back after sunset, the side door again. I did. At once she said the dossier was incomplete. I told her yes, sure, no point in showing everything until I knew how committed she would be—was she truly interested, like Malcolm, in wrecking the Brocks? She said yes, and asked why was I after them, and what was my interest.

“I told her bluntly. The whole story of Morgan, the truth. It was Morgan I wanted to break, if his father went too, that was fine with me. I didn’t mention that this made her my stepaunt, not once in all the meetings, nor did she. Never. Nor did she mention your letter to her. Not once. All she did was ask questions. After the Morgan revelations I expected her to say something, how sorry she was, or that that was typical of Morgan—after all he is her brother. But nothing. She didn’t say a word, asked details of my deal with Malcolm and I gave her the contract.” He finished his glass. “Your contract.”

“Your contract,” she said, on edge. “How you must hate her, Edward.”

“You’re wrong, I don’t hate her. I think I understand, she was living on her nerves. Malcolm’s death had torn her apart, much as she tried to hide it and rise above it. I’m sure of it. Malcolm was the future of the Noble House, now she faces chaos. Her only ray of hope was me and my scheme—barely legal, by the way, even in Hong Kong, which stretches rules like nowhere else. May I?” he asked lifting his glass.

“Of course,” she said, wondering about him.

“She read the contract carefully then got up and stared down at Hong Kong harbor, looking frail in a way, like spun steel in another. ‘When do I get the rest of the evidence?’ she asked, and I told her now, if she agreed to the deal. ‘It’s agreed,’ she said, and sat down and signed her name, and chopped it in front of her secretary as witness, then told her to lock up and leave. She—”

“She never mentioned my signature as witness.”

“No, though as you forecast she sure as hell noticed it first thing. To continue: I stayed with her perhaps four hours, guiding her through the maze of papers and copies of papers, not that she needed much guiding. Then she put them in a neat pile and asked me about the Tokaidō affair, Malcolm, you, McFay, Tyrer, Suh William, Norbert, what Morgan and Tyler had told me in Shanghai, my opinions of you, of Malcolm, did he pursue you, did you pursue him, volunteering nothing, questions and more questions—avoiding mine—her mind as sharp as a samurai’s sword. But I swear to God, Angelique, every time Morgan or Old Man Brock’s name came up, every time I mentioned another quirk that the papers allowed, or suggested another barb that would rip into their empire, Tess almost salivated.”

She shuddered. “Is—is there a chance for a peace with me, do you think?”

“I think so, let me finish in sequence. She asked again if the deal Malcolm had signed was still an agreeable reward. I said yes. She said, ‘Tomorrow I will replace it with a more legal document chopped and signed as the other. Now to the last matter tonight, Mr. Gornt. What should I give this woman?’ Angelique, I had told her you had asked me for nothing, you only wanted to put your husband’s wishes and hopes before her, and that, if they proved fruitful—I had told her you knew nothing of their contents—that that would be reward enough.”

“You used that word, ‘husband’? And she let it pass?”

“Yes, but she said at once, ‘I am informed that “marriage,” whatever she claims or Sir William says, is not valid.’”

Angelique began to bridle but Gornt said, “Not so fast, honey, be patient. I’m telling you what she said. Be patient, time enough to make our play. After that meeting she wanted another the following evening. To keep everything on the table, I told her I had seen the Brocks and told them the same Yokohama story, particularly about the duel, and had given them a copy of Norbert’s inquest. Old Tyler was mad as a pit bull terrier but Morgan calmed him, said that shooting Jamie McFay in the back would have hurt them more than the loss of one easily replaceable manager.”

Angelique watched him collect his thoughts, her heart thumping, so many questions unanswered yet. “She’ll act … act on the information?”

“On my evidence, yes. Oh, yes, and quickly. I’ll have my revenge and you’ll get a settlement.”

“Why are you sure?”

“I’m sure, Ma’am, never fear. It’s taken years of biting my tongue, kowtowing, but soon … you’ll see! When I told her about my meeting with the Brocks—she kept asking about them, what was Tyler’s reaction to the marriage and death of her son and so on, and never once used the term ‘father.’ I told her frankly how they both guffawed over your naval marriage and going against her wishes: Old Man Brock had said, ‘Pays the bitch back, for goin’ agin mine!’ I told her straight how both gloated over Malcolm’s death, Morgan saying, now they’ve no tai-pan and come February 1st Tess will be out of Jockey Club, busted in Hong Kong, Tyler adding, An’ I’ll be the
tai-pan
, Dirk’s nose be in’t shit an’ Noble House an’ his name forgot forever!”

“You said that to her?” Angelique’s head reeled.

“Yes, Ma’am, but that’s what Tyler said—he really did. And he’s the engine to send her mad, so I thought I should report it accurately and when I did, Lordy, Lordy, Ma’am, her head was shaking so much her eyeballs had a hard time catching up and I thought the Medusa was coming back. But it didn’t, not this time. This time the fiend’s fire was confined—it was still there, oh yes, Ma’am, yes indeed. But she corked it, she kept it inside, even so I sure as hell … sorry, I sure as shooting sweated. Not proper for a woman to have that amount of rage, but after Tyler and Morgan it’s easy to see where she gets it from.

“When she’d cooled down a bitty, I told her Tyler had eventually agreed to Morgan’s suggestion I should come back here as manager, on trial for a year, with plenty of dire threats for nonperformance. She asked my salary. ‘Excellent. Publicly we will be enemies, secretly we will be close allies, and if Brock and Sons goes under forever, which I pray to God happens, your Rothwell-Gornt will take their place.’ That’s about it, Angelique, except she had decided to send Hoag back here and was writing you a letter.”

He sipped his bourbon, the taste turned smooth. “I didn’t ask what was in it or make any defense of you other than continuing to say in various ways, if my scheme helped her destroy Brock’s, she had you to thank too. What was in her letter?”

She had given it to him.

“A lot of dung with the bales of cotton,” he had said, handing it back. “It’s her first bargaining position—and clear from this I kept my bargain: she’s convinced she has to thank you as well. You’ll win.”

“Win what? No legal harassment?”

“That and a stipend. She admits she’s in your debt.”

“Yes, but nothing more, just threats.”

“We hold a few trumps.”

“What?” They heard voices outside.

“Time, among others, Angelique. Tonight I’ll invite you to a casual supper, we can talk safely there an—”

“Not in Brock’s, and not alone. We must be careful,” she said hastily. “Please invite Dmitri and Marlowe. We must be very careful, Edward, must pretend not to be too close—that would make that woman suspicious and she’s bound to hear; Albert is totally on her side. If we can’t talk tonight I’ll promenade tomorrow at ten and we can continue ….” To forestall the embrace she had felt imminent she had kissed him quickly on the cheek and offered her hand, thanking him effusively.

When alone once more in the privacy of her boudoir, she let her mind roam. What trumps? What aces? And why that strange smile? And what had he really agreed with Tess? Is he hiding something from me? It’s true from her letter he convinced her of my help and that’s important. Or am I just being oversuspicious? If only I could have been there!

Then the Am-I-or-am-I-not took possession of her, racking her. Once, frightened, she had mentioned it to Babcott who said, “Be patient, don’t worry.” For a moment she wondered if Babcott and Phillip Tyrer would return from Yedo out of the enemy net they had gone into willingly, sent by Sir William.

Men with their stupidities of patience and mendacity and wrong priorities, what do they know?

In Yedo Castle, Yoshi was anxious and irritable. It was midmorning, he was in his quarters and still had no word how the gai-jin doctor’s examination of the tairō had gone. When he came back to Yedo from Kanagawa yesterday with Babcott and Tyrer, he had installed them in one of the daimyo’s palaces outside the castle walls that he had carefully chosen, staffed and ringed with trusted guards for further security, and at once invited Anjo for the examination.

The tairō arrived in a nondescript closed palanquin, protected by his own bodyguard—the assassination attempt on him had happened barely a hundred yards away. This, together with the mass shishi attack on Shōgun Nobusada and the various attempts on Yoshi had increased the Elders’ sensitivity and security needs.

Yoshi, with Babcott and Phillip Tyrer beside him, met the clandestine palanquin in the courtyard. They bowed, Yoshi making the lowest bow, laughing to himself as, painfully, Anjo was helped out.
“Tairō
, this is the gai-jin doctor, B’bc’tt, and interpreter Firrup Taira.”

Anjo gawked up at Babcott. “Eeee, the man really is as big as a tree! So big, eeee, a monster! Would his penis be in proportion?” Then he looked at Phillip Tyrer and guffawed: “Straw hair, a face like a monkey, a pig’s blue eyes and a Japanese name—that is one of your family names, Yoshi-dono,
neh
?”

“The name has almost the same sound,” Yoshi said curtly, then to
Tyrer, “When the examination is completed, send these two men for me.” He pointed at Misamoto, the fisherman, his spy and false samurai, and Misamoto’s constant guard, the samurai whose orders were never to leave him alone with any gai-jin. “Anjo-dono, I believe your health is in good hands.”

“Thank you for arranging this. The Doctor will be sent to you when it pleases me, no need to leave these men here, or any of your men …”

That was yesterday. All night he had worried and this morning, worried and hoped. His room was changed. It was even more austere. All traces of Koiko had been removed. Two guards stood behind him and two at the door. Irritably he got up from his writing table and went to the window and leaned on the lintel. Far below he could see the daimyo’s palace in the inner circle. The
tairō’s
men were standing guard there. No other signs of activity. Over the rooftops of Yedo he could see the ocean, and smoke trails of some merchantmen and a warship out at sea inbound for Yokohama.

What do they carry, he asked himself. Guns? Troops, cannon? What mischief are they planning?

To settle his nerves he sat back at his table and continued practicing calligraphy. Ordinarily the exercise soothed. Today it brought no peace. Koiko’s exquisite brushstrokes kept forming on the paper and, try as he could, he could not stop her face rising to the forefront of his mind.

“Baka!”
he said, making a false stroke, spoiling an hour of work. He threw the brush down, splattering ink on the tatami. His guards shifted uneasily and he cursed himself for the lapse. You must control your memory. You must.