Tai-Pan

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

“Heya, Mass’er!” Lim Din said, throwing open the door with a flourish.

“Heya, Lim Din,” Struan said, checking the barometer. Fair weather, 29.8 inches. Excellent.

He began to walk down the corridor, but Lim Din stood in the way and motioned importantly to the living room. “Missee say here-ah can. Can?”

Struan grunted, “Can.”

Lim Din gave him the brandy that was already poured and bowed him into the highback leather chair and hurried away. Struan put his feet on the ottoman. The chair smelled tangy and old and comfortable and mixed nicely with Shevaun’s perfume that still seemed to surround him.

The clock on the mantel read twenty minutes to twelve.

Struan began to hum a sea chantey. He heard a door open, and the approaching rustle of silk. Waiting for May-may to appear in the doorway, he again compared her and Shevaun. He had been comparing them all evening, trying to weigh them dispassionately. Shevaun was a beautiful toy, dynamic certainly, and vital. A woman he would like to tame, aye. And as a wife Shevaun would be a superb hostess—assured, clever, and the opener of many doors. May-may would be an extreme gamble in England—as a wife. As mistress, nay. Aye, he told himself. Even so I’m going to marry her. With the power of The Noble House behind me, and an exclusive Russian license in my pocket, I can risk thumbing my nose at convention and break an almost insurmountable barrier between Occident and Orient. May-may’ll prove, beyond all doubt—for all time—among the people that really count in society, that the Oriental is completely worthy and worthwhile. May-may hersel’ will hasten the day of equality. And it’ll be in my own lifetime.

Aye, he exulted to himself. May-may’s a marvelous gamble. Together we can do it. For all time. With joss, the whole of London will be at her feet. Then his joy shattered.

May-may was standing in the doorway, a radiant smile on her face as she twirled. Her European dress was violently multicolored, bejeweled, its skirt huge and bustled. Her hair hung in curled ringlets on her bare shoulders and a feathered hat was on her head. She looked hideous. A nightmare. “God’s blood!”

There was an awful silence as they stared at each other. “It’s—it’s very . . . nice,” he said, unconvincingly, crushed by the pain in May-may’s eyes.

May-may was eerily pale now, except for two crimson splotches high on her cheeks. She knew she had lost face terribly before Struan. She swayed, near fainting. Then she whimpered and fled.

Struan rushed after her down the corridor. He tore through her private quarters. But the bedroom was bolted against him.

“May-may, lass. Open the door.”

There was no answer, and he was conscious of Lim Din and Ah Sam behind him. When he turned they vanished, petrified.

“May-may! Open the door!”

Still no answer. He was furious with himself for having been unable to mask his feelings, and for having been so stupid and unprepared. Of course May-may would want to be part of the ball and of course all her questions should have warned him, and of course she’d have a ball gown made and—oh Jesus Christ!

“Open the door!”

Again no answer. He crashed his foot against the door. It burst open and hung precariously on its shattered hinges.

May-may was standing beside the bed, looking at the floor.

“You shouldn’t have bolted the door, lass. You—well, you—the dress and you just stunned me for a moment.” He knew that he must give her back her face or she would die. Die from misery or die by her own hand. “Come on,” he said. “We’re going to the ball.”

As she fell to her knees to kowtow to him and beg his forgiveness, the dress got in her way and made her stumble. May-may opened her mouth to speak, but no sound came out. The feathered hat slid off.

Struan hurried over to her and began to pick her up. “Come on, May-may lass, you mustn’t do that.”

But she would not be helped up. She buried her face deeper in the carpet and tried to claw into it with her nails.

He lifted her awkwardly and held her. She would not look at him. He took her hand firmly. “Come on.”

“Wat?” she said dully.

“We’re going to the ball.” He knew that it would be a disaster for himself and for her. He knew he would be socially destroyed and she would be ridiculed. Even so he knew that he must take her or her spirit would die. “Come on,” he repeated, a scarred edge to his voice. But she continued to stare at the floor, trembling.

He pulled her gently but she almost fell. Then he grimly picked her up and she lay in his arms, a dead weight. He began to carry her out. “We’re going, and that’s the end of it.”

“Wait,” she croaked. “I—I—I must, the—the hat.”

He put her down and she went back into the bedroom, her swaying gait made ugly by the dress. Struan knew that nothing would ever be quite the same again between them. She had made a horrible mistake. He should have anticipated it, aye, but—

He saw her darting for the razor-sharp stiletto that she used for embroidery. He reached her just as she was starting to turn it into herself, and grabbed the haft of the knife. The point glanced off the whalebone of May-may’s corset. He hurled the knife aside and tried to hold her, but, raving in Chinese, she pushed him away and clawed at the dress, mutilating it. Struan quickly turned her around and undid the hooks and eyes. May-may ripped the front apart and fought out of the gown and out of the corset and slashed at the pantaloons. When she was free, she stamped on the dress, screaming.

“Stop it!” he shouted, and caught her, but she shoved him away, berserk.

“Stop it!”

He smashed her flat-handed across the face. She reeled away drunkenly and fell across the bed. Her eyes fluttered, and she lost consciousness.

It took Struan a moment to overcome the hammering in his ears. He pulled the bedclothes off and covered May-may.

“Ah Sam! Lim Din!”

The two petrified faces were at the broken doorway. “Tea—quick-quick! No. Get brandy.” Lim Din returned with the bottle. Struan lifted May-may gently and helped her to drink. She choked a little. Then her eyes trembled and opened. They stared at him without recognition.

“You all right, lass? You all right, May-may?” She made no sign that she had heard him. Her frightening gaze fell on the mutilated dress and she cringed piteously. A moan escaped her and she mumbled something in Chinese. Ah Sam came forward reluctantly, consumed with terror. She knelt and began to scoop up the clothes.

“What did she say? Wat Missee say-ah?” Struan kept his eyes unwaveringly on May-may.

“Devil clotheses fire, Mass’er.”

“No fire, Ah Sam. Put my room. Hide. Hide. Savvy?”

“Savvy, Mass’er.”

“Then come back.”

“Savvy, Mass’er.”

Struan waved his hand in dismissal at Lim Din, who scurried away.

“Come on, lassie,” he said gently, terrified by the fixity—and the madness—of her stare. “Let’s get you dressed in your usual clothes. You have to come to the ball. I want you to meet my friends.”

He took a step toward her and she backed away abruptly like a snake at bay. He stopped. Her face twitched and her fingers were like talons. A wisp of saliva gathered in a corner of her mouth. Her eyes were terrifying.

Fear for her swept him. He had seen the same look in other eyes. In the eyes of the marine, just before his brain had blown apart, on the first day of Hong Kong.

He sped a silent prayer to the Infinite and gathered all his will. “I love you, May-may,” he said softly, again and again, as he walked slowly across the room. Closer. Slowly, so slowly. He towered over her now, and saw the talons ready to strike. He raised his hands and gently touched her face. “I love you,” he repeated. His eyes, dangerously unprotected, willed her with the vastness of their power. “I need you, lassie, I need you.”

The madness in her eyes changed to agony, and she fell sobbing into his arms. He held her and thanked God weakly.

“I’m—I—sorry,” she whimpered.

“Dinna be sorry, lassie. There, there.” He carried her to the bed and sat with her in his arms, rocking her like a child. “There, there.”

“Leave . . . me, now. All . . . all right now.”

“I’ll do nae such thing,” he said. “First gather your strength, then we’ll dress and we’ll go to the ball.”

She shook her head through her tears. “No . . . can’t. I—please . . .” She stopped weeping and, easing herself out of his arms, stood up, swaying. Struan caught her and guided her into bed, helping to pull off the tattered clothes. He settled the bedclothes over her. She lay limp in the bed and closed her eyes, exhausted.

“Please. All right now. Must . . . sleep. You go.”

He stroked her head gently, pushing the obscene ringlets out of her face.

Later he was conscious that Ah Sam was standing in the doorway. The girl came into the room, tears streaking her cheeks.

“You goa, Mass’er,” she whispered. “Ah Sam watchee, nev’ mind. No fraid. Can.”

He nodded wearily. May-may was deep asleep. Ah Sam knelt beside the bed and softly, tenderly, stroked May-may’s head. “No fraid, Mass’er. Ah Sam watchee werry wen Mass’er come by.”

Struan tiptoed out of the room.