Tai-Pan

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

Struan was at the open window, moodily watching the crowded

pra

ça below. It was sunset. The Portuguese were all in evening dress and they strolled back and forth, bowing, conversing animatedly—the young

fidalgos and the girls flirting cautiously under the watchful eyes of parents and duennas. A few sedan chairs and their coolies plodded in search of customers or deposited latecomers to the promenade. Tonight there was a ball at the governor’s palace and he had been invited but he did not know if he would go. Culum had not returned yet. And word had not come from the bishop.

He had seen Horatio this afternoon. Horatio had been furious because Ah Tat, Mary’s amah, had disappeared. “I’m sure she’s the one who fed poor Mary the posion, Tai-Pan,” he had said. Mary had told him that she had by mistake drunk some herb tea she found in the kitchen—nothing more.

“That’s nonsense, Horatio. Ah Tat’s been with you both for years. Why should she do a thing like that? It was an accident.”

After Horatio had gone, Struan had searched for the men whom Culum and Gorth had been with last night. They were mostly cronies of Gorth and had all said that some hours after Gorth had left, Culum had left; that he had been drinking but was no drunker than the rest, than he usually was.

You stupid idiot, Culum, Struan thought. You ought to know better.

Suddenly he noticed an immaculate, bewigged liveried servant approaching, and he recognized the bishop’s coat of arms instantly. The man came unhurriedly along the

praia, but he passed the residence without stopping and disappeared down the

pra

ça.

The light was failing fast now, and the oil lights of the lanterned promenade began to dominate the gloaming. Struan saw a curtained sedan chair stop outside the house. Two half-seen coolies left it and lost themselves in an alley.

Struan rushed out of the room and down the stairs.

Culum was sprawled unconscious in the back of the chair, his clothes torn and vomit-stained. He stank of alcohol.

Struan was more amused than angry. He pulled Culum to his feet and threw him over his shoulder and, careless of the stares of the passersby, carried him into the house.

“Lo Chum! Bath, quick-quick!”

Struan laid Culum on the bed and stripped him. There were no bruises on his chest or back. He turned him over. Nail scratches on his stomach. And blotched love bites.

“You idiot,” he said, examining him quickly but scrupulously. No broken bones. No teeth missing. Signet ring and watch gone. Pockets empty.

“You’ve been rolled, laddie. Perhaps for the first time, but surely na the last.” Struan knew that slipping a drug into a lad’s drink was an old trick in whorehouses.

Servants brought pails of warm water and filled the iron bath. Struan lifted Culum into the bath and soaped and sponged him. Lo Chum supported the lolling head.

“Mass’er plentee terribel crazy drink, plentee terribel jig-jig, heya.”

“Ayee yah!” Struan said. As he lifted Culum out, a stabbing pain soared from his left ankle, and he knew that today’s walking had tired his ankle more than he had realized. I’d better bandage it tight for a few days, he thought.

He dried Culum and put him into bed. He slapped him gently around the face but this did not bring him around, so he had dinner and waited. His concern increased with the hours, for he knew that by this time, however much Culum had drunk, he should be recovering.

Culum’s breath was deep and regular. The heartbeat was strong.

Struan got up and stretched. There was nothing to do but wait. “I go-ah number-one Missee. You stay watchee werry good, heya?” he said.

“Lo Chum watchee like mummah!”

“Send word, savvy? Wat time Mass’er wake, never mind, send word. Savvy?”

“Wat for Tai-Pan say ‘savvy,’ heya? A’ways savvy werry wen, never mind. Heya?”

But Lo Chum did not send word that night.

At dawn Struan left May-may’s house and returned to the residence. May-may had slept peacefully, but Struan had heard every passerby and every sedan chair—and many that were only wraiths of his imagination.

Lo Chum opened the front door. “Wat for Tai-Pan early, heya? Brekfass ready, bath ready, wat for Tai-Pan wantshee can, heya?”

“Mass’er wake, heya?”

“Wat for ask? If wake send word. I savvy plenty werry good, Tai-Pan,” Lo Chum replied, his dignity offended.

Struan went upstairs. Culum was still heavily asleep.

“One, two time Mass’er make like—” and Lo Chum groaned and chomped his jaws and snuffled and yawned and groaned loudly.

After breakfast Struan sent word to Liza and Tess that Culum had returned, but he did not tell them how. Next he tried to apply his mind to business.

He signed papers and approved heavier spending on the Hong Kong buildings, indignant at the rising costs of lumber and brick and labor and all manner of ships’ stores, ship repairs, ship equipment.

The pox on’t! Costs are up fifty percent—and no sign of them coming down. Do I lay keels for new clippers next year or gamble on what we have? Gamble that the sea will na sink any? You have to buy more.

So he ordered one new clipper. He would call her

Tessan Cloud and she would be Culum’s birthday present. But even the thought of a new, beautiful clipper did not thrill him as it should. It reminded him of

Lotus Cloud soon to be abuilding in Glasgow, and the sea fight next year with Wu Kwok—if he was still alive—or Wu Fang Choi, the father, and his pirates. He wondered if Scragger’s lads would get home safely. It would be another month at least before they were home—another three months for the news to come back.

He closed his office and went to the English Club and chatted to Horatio for a moment, then with some of the traders, and played a game of billiards, but got no enjoyment from the company or the game. The talk was all business, all anxiety about disaster signs on the international level and the extent of their huge trade gambles of the season.

He sat in the large, quiet reading room and picked up the last mail’s newspapers of three months ago.

With effort, he concentrated on an editorial. It told of widespread industrial unrest in the Midlands and asserted that it was imperative to pay a fair wage for a fair day’s work. Another article lamented that the huge industrial machine of England was operating at only half capacity and cried that greater new markets

must be found for the productive wealth it could spew forth; more production meant cheaper goods, increased employment, higher wages.

There were new articles that told of tension and war clouds over France and Spain because of the succession to the Spanish throne; Prussia was spreading its tentacles into all the German states to dominate them and a Franco-Prussian confrontation was imminent; there were war clouds over Russia and the Hapsburg Holy Roman Empire; war clouds over the Italian States that wished to throw out the upstart French King of Naples and join together or not to join together, and the Pope, French-supported, was involved in the political arena; there were war clouds over South Africa because the Boers—who had over the last four years trekked out of the Cape Colony to establish the Transvaal and the Orange Free State—were now threatening the English colony of Natal and war was expected by the next mail; there were anti-Semitic riots and pogroms throughout Europe; Catholics were fighting against Protestants, Mohammedans against Hindus, against Catholics, against Protestants, and they fighting among themselves; there were Red Indian wars in America, animosity between the Northern and Southern states, animosity between America and Britain over Canada, trouble in Ireland, Sweden, Finland, India, Egypt, the Balkans . . .

“Does na matter what you read!” Struan exploded to no one in particular. “The whole world’s mad, by God!”

“What’s amiss, Tai-Pan?” Horatio asked, startled from his hate-filled reverie.

“The whole world’s mad, that’s what’s amiss! Why the devil will people na stop hacking each other to pieces and live in peace?”

“Quite agree,” Masterson shouted from across the room. “Absolutely. Terrible place to bring children into, by God. Whole world’s going to the dogs. Gone to the dogs. Much better years ago, what? Disgusting.”

“Yes,” Roach said. “World’s going too fast. The cursed Government’s got its head in its proverbial rectum—as usual. By God, you’d think they’d learn, but they never will. Every God-cursed day you read that the Prime Minister said, ‘We’ve all got to tighten our belts.’ For the love of God, have you ever heard anyone say we could loosen them a bit?”

“I hear the import tax on tea’s being doubled,” Masterson said. “And if that maniac Peel ever gets in, that bugger’s sure to bring in income tax! That invention of the devil!”

There was a general outcry and venom was heaped on Peel’s head.

“The man’s a damned anarchist!” Masterson said.

“Nonsense,” Roach said. “It’s not taxes, it’s just that there are too many people. Birth control’s the thing.”

“What?” Masterson roared. “Don’t start on that blasphemous, disgusting idea! Are you anti-Christ, for God’s sake?”

“No, by God. But we’re being swamped by the lower classes. I’m not saying

we should, but they should, by God! Gallows bait, most of the scum!”

Struan tossed the papers aside and went to the English Hotel. It was an imposing, colonnaded building like the Club.

In the barbershop he had his hair trimmed and shampooed. Later he sent for Svenson, the Swedish seaman masseur.

The gnarled old man pummeled him with hands of steel and rubbed ice all over him and dried him with a rough towel until his flesh tingled.

“By the lord Harry, Svenson, I’m a new man.”

Svenson laughed but said nothing. His tongue had been torn out by corsairs in the Mediterranean many years ago. He motioned for Struan to rest on the mattressed table and covered him tightly with blankets, then left him to slumber.

“Tai-Pan!” It was Lo Chum.

Struan was instantly awake. “Mass’er Culum?”

Lo Chum shook his head and smiled toothlessly. “Long-skirt Mass’er!”

Struan followed the taciturn Jesuit monk along the cathedral cloisters surrounding the inner court and its beautiful garden.

The cathedral clock chimed four o’clock.

The monk turned at the end of the walk and led the way through a great teak door into a vast anteroom. Tapestries draped the walls. Carpets covered the well-worn marble floor.

He knocked deferentially on the far door, and entered the room. Regal and imposing, Falarian Guineppa was sitting on a high-backed chair which seemed like a throne. He gestured in dismissal at the monk, who bowed and went out.

“Please sit down, senhor.”

Struan sat down on the chair indicated. It was slightly lower than the bishop’s chair, and he felt the strength of the man’s will reaching out to dominate him.

“You sent for me?”

“I asked you to come to see me, yes. Cinchona. There is none in Macao, but I believe there is some at our mission at Lo Ting.”

“Where’s that?”

“Inland.” The bishop straightened a crease in his magenta robe. “About a hundred and fifty miles northwest.”

Struan got up. “I’ll send someone immediately.”

“I’ve already done that, senhor. Please sit down.” The bishop was solemn. “Our courier left at dawn with orders to make record time. I think he will. He’s Chinese and comes from that area.”

“How long do you think it will take him? Seven days? Six days?”

“That is also a reason for my concern. How many fever attacks has the girl had?”

Struan wanted to ask the bishop how he knew about May-may but held himself in check. He realized that the sources for secret information of the Catholics were legion, and that in any event “girl” would be a simple deduction for so astute a man as the bishop. “One. The sweat broke two days ago, about this time.”

“Then there’ll be another bout tomorrow, certainly within forty-eight hours. It will take at least seven days for the courier to get to Lo Ting and back—if all goes well and there are no unforeseen difficulties.”

“I dinna think she’ll be able to stand two more attacks.”

“I hear she’s young and strong. She should be able to endure for eight days.”

“She’s four months with child.”

‘That’s very bad.”

“Aye. Where’s Lo Ting? Give me a map. Perhaps I can cut the time by a day.”

“In this journey my connections outweigh yours a thousandfold,” the bishop said. “Perhaps it will be seven days. If it is the will of God.”

Aye, Struan thought. A thousandfold. I wish I had the knowledge that the Catholics have collected over the centuries from the constant probes into China. Which Lo Ting? There could be fifty within two hundred miles. “Aye,” he said at length, “if it is the will of God.”

“You’re a strange man, senhor. I am glad that I have had the opportunity of meeting you. Would you care for a glass of Madeira?”

“What’s the price of the bark? If it exists and if it’s back in time and if it cures?”

“Would you care for a glass of Madeira?”

“Thank you.”

The bishop rang the bell and immediately a liveried servant was at the door with an engraved silver tray bearing decanter and glasses.

“To a better understanding of many things, senhor.”

They drank—and measured each other.

“The price, Your Grace?”

“There are too many ifs at present. That answer can wait. But two things cannot.” The bishop savored his wine. “Madeira is such a perfect aperitif.” He collected his thoughts. “I am gravely worried about Senhorita Sinclair.”

“I also,” Struan said.

“Father Sebastian is a miraculous healer. But he leads me to believe that unless the senhorita is helped spiritually she may take her own life.”

“Na Mary! She’s very strong. She’d na do that.”

Falarian Guineppa steepled his fine fingers. A shaft of sun turned the huge ruby ring molten. “If she were to put herself totally in Father Sebastian’s hands—and in the hands of the Church of Christ—we could turn her damnation into a blessing. That would be the best for her. I believe with all my heart that this is the only real solution. But if this is not possible, before she is released I must pass over the responsibility for her to someone who will accept it.”

“I’ll accept that.”

“Very well, but I do not think you are wise, senhor. Even so, your life and soul—and hers—are also in the hands of God. I pray that you and she will be given the gift of understanding. Very well. Before she leaves I will do everything in my power to try to save her soul—but as soon as she is fit enough to leave, I will send word.”

The cathedral clock chimed five o’clock.

“How is Archduke Zergeyev’s wound?”

Struan’s eyebrows knotted. “This is the second thing that cannot wait?”

“For you Britons, perhaps.”

Falarian Guineppa opened a drawer and pulled out a heavily sealed leather briefcase. “I have been asked to give you this prudently. It seems that certain diplomatic authorities are most concerned with the archduke’s presence in Asia.”

“The Church authorities?”

“No, senhor. I am asked to tell you that you can, if you wish, pass on the documents. I understand certain seals prove their validity.” A faint smile passed across his face. “The case too is sealed.”

Struan recognized the seal of the governor-general’s office. “Why should I be given diplomatic secrets? There are diplomatic channels. Mr. Monsey is within half a mile of here and His Excellency is in Hong Kong. Both are very well acquainted with protocol.”

“I’m giving you nothing. I’m merely doing what I was asked to do. Don’t forget, senhor, as much as I personally detest what you stand for, you are a power at the Court of St. James, and your trade connections are worldwide. We live in hazardous times and Portugal and Britain are ancient allies. Britain has been a good friend to Portugal and it is wise for friends to help each other, no? Perhaps it is as simple as that.”

Struan took the proffered briefcase.

“I will send word as soon as the Lo Ting courier returns,” Falarian Guineppa said. “At whatever hour that may be. Would you like Father Sebastian to examine the lady?”

“I dinna ken,” Struan said, rising. “Perhaps. I’d like to think about that, Your Grace.”

“At your pleasure, senhor.” The bishop hesitated. “Go with God.”

“Go with God, Your Grace,” Struan said.

“Hello, Tai-Pan,” Culum said, his head pounding and his tongue like dried dung.

“Hello, lad.” Struan put down the still-unopened briefcase which had been burning him all the way home. He went to the sideboard and poured a stiff brandy.

“Food, Mass’er Culum?” Lo Chum said brightly. “Pig? Potats? Gravee? Heya?”

Culum shook his head weakly and Struan dismissed Lo Chum. “Here,” he said, giving Culum the brandy.

“I couldn’t,” Culum said, nauseated.

“Drink it.”

Culum swallowed it. He choked and quickly drank more of the tea that was beside the bed. He lay back, his temples thundering.

“Would you like to talk? Tell me what happened?”

Culum’s face was gray and the whites of his eyes dirty pink. “I can’t remember anything. God, I feel terrible.”

“Start from the beginning.”

“I was playing whist with Gorth and a few of our friends,” Culum said with an effort. “I remember winning about a hundred guineas. We’d been drinking quite a bit. But I remember putting the winnings in my pocket. Then—well, the rest is blank.”

“Do you remember where you went?”

“No. Not exactly.” He drank more tea thirstily and wiped his face with his hands, trying to clean away the ache. “Oh God, I feel like death!”

“Do you remember which whorehouse you went to?”

Culum shook his head.

“Do you have a regular one that you’ve been going to?”

“Good God, no!”

“Nae need to get on your high horse, laddie. You’ve been to one—that’s clear. You’ve been rolled, that’s clear. Your liquor was drugged, that’s clear.”

“I was drugged?”

“It’s the oldest trick in the world. That’s why I told you never to go to a house unrecommended by a man you could trust. Is this the first time you’ve been to a house in Macao?”

“Yes, yes. Good Lord, I was drugged?”

“Now use your head. Think, lad! Do you remember the house?”

“No—nothing. Everything’s blank.”

“Who picked the house for you, eh?”

Culum sat up in the bed. “We were drinking and gaming. I was, well, pretty drunk. Then, well, everyone was talking about—about girls. And houses. And, well”—he looked at Struan, his shame and torment open—“I was just—well, with the liquor and—I felt, well, on fire for a girl. I just decided that I had—had to go to a house.”

“Nae harm in that, lad. Who gave you the address?”

“I think . . . I don’t know—but I think they each gave me one. They wrote addresses—or told me addresses, I can’t remember. I do remember going out of the Club. There was a chair waiting and I got into it. Wait a minute—I remember now! I told him to go to the F and E!”

“They’d never roll you there, laddie. Or put a drug in your drink. Or deliver you back like that. More than their reputation’s worth.”

“No. I’m sure. That’s what I told the man. Yes. I’m absolutely sure!”

“Which way did they take you? Into Chinatown?”

“I don’t know. I seem to remember—I don’t know.”

“You said you felt ‘on fire.’ What sort of fire?”

“Well, it was like . . . I remember being very hot and, well—God’s death, I’m frantic with desire for Tess, and what with the liquor and everything . . . I’ve had no peace, so—so I went to the house . . .” The words trailed off. “Oh God, my head’s bursting. Please leave me alone.”

“Were you carrying protections?”

Culum shook his head.

“This fire. This urge. Was it different last night?”

Again Culum shook his head. “No. It’s been like it for weeks but—well, in a way I suppose it was—well no, not exactly. I was hard as a piece of Iron and my loins were on fire and I just had to have a girl and, oh, I don’t know. Leave me alone! Please—I’m sorry, but please . . .”

Struan went to the door. “Lo Chum-ahhh!”

“Yes, Mass’er?”

“Go-ah house Chen Sheng. Get number-one cow chillo sick doctor quick-quick here-ah! Savvy?”

“Savvy plentee good-ah!” Lo Chum said huffily. “A’ready werry plenty good-ah doctor downstair for head boom-boom sick and all sick-sick. Young Mass’er like Tai-Pan—all same, never mind!”

Downstairs, Struan talked to the doctor through Lo Chum. The doctoi said that he would send the medicines and special foods promptly, and he accepted a generous fee.

Struan went back upstairs.

“Can you remember anything else, lad?”

“No—nothing. Sorry. I didn’t mean to jump at you.”

“Listen to me, lad! Come on, Culum, it’s important!”

“Please, Father, don’t talk so loudly,” Culum said, opening his eyes forlornly.

“What?”

“It sounds as though you’ve been slipped an aphrodisiac.”

“What?”

“Aye, aphrodisiac. There’re dozens that could be put into a drink.”

“Impossible. It was just the liquor and my—my need of . . . it’s impossible!”

“There are only two explanations. First, that the coolies took you to a house—and it wasn’t the Macao branch of the F and E—where they’d get more squeeze for a rich customer and a share of the robbery to boot. There the girl or girls drugged you, rolled you and delivered you back. For your sake, that’s what I hope happened. The other possibility is that one of your friends gave you the aphrodisiac at the Club, arranged for the chair to be waiting for you—and for a particular house.”

“That’s nonsense! Why’d someone do that? For a hundred guineas and a ring and watch? One of my friends? That’s madness.”

“But say someone hated you, Culum. Say the plan was to put you with a diseased girl—one who has the pox!”

“What?”

“Aye. That’s what I’m afraid’s happened.”

Culum died for an instant. “You’re just trying to frighten me.”

“By the Lord God, my son, I am na. But it is one very definite possibility. I’d say it’s more likely than the other because you were brought back.”

“Who’d do that to me?”

“You have to answer that one, laddie. But even if that’s what happened, all’s na lost. Yet. I’ve sent for Chinese medicines. You’re to drink them all, wi’out fail.”

“But there’s no cure for the pox!”

“Aye. Once the disease is settled. But the Chinese believe you can kill the pox poison or whatever causes it, if you take precautions at once to purify your blood. Years ago when I first came out here, the same thing happened to me. Aristotle found me in a gutter in the Chinese quarter and got a Chinese doctor and I was all right. That’s how I met him—why he’s been my friend for so long. I canna be sure the house—or the girl—was diseased or na, but I never got the pox.”

“Oh God help me.”

“Aye. We’ll na know for certain for a week. If there’s nae swelling or pain or discharge by then—you’ve escaped this time.” He saw the terror in his son’s eyes, and his compassion went out to him. “A week of hell’s ahead of you, laddie. Waiting to find out. I know what it’ll be like—so dinna fash yoursel’. I’ll help all I can. Same way Aristotle helped me.”

“I’ll kill myself. I’ll kill myself if I . . . oh God, how could I have been so foolish? Tess! Oh God, I’d better tell—”

“You’ll do nae such thing! You tell her you were jumped by robbers on your way home. We’ll report it as such. You’ll tell your friends the same. That you think you must have had too much to drink—after the girl. That you can na remember anything except you’re sure you had a great time and woke up here. And for the week you’ll act as you normally act.”

“But Tess! How can I—”

“That’s what you’ll do, laddie! That’s what you’ll do, by God.”

“I can’t, Father, it’s just imp—”

“And under no circumstances will you tell anyone about the Chinese medicines. Dinna go to a house until we know for certain, and dinna touch Tess until you’re married.”

“I’m so ashamed.”

“Nae need for that, laddie. It’s difficult being young. But in this world it’s up to a man to watch his back. There’re a lot of mad dogs around.”

“You’re saying it was Gorth?”

“I’m saying nothing. Do you think that?”

“No, of course not. But that’s what you’re thinking, isn’t it?”

“Dinna forget, you’ve got to act normally or you’ll lose Tess.”

“Why?”

“You think Liza and Brock’d allow you to marry Tess if they find out you’re so immature and stupid that you’ll go whoring in Macao drunk—and to an unknown whorehouse and get filled with love potions and rolled? If I was Brock I’d say you had na enough sense to be my son-in-law!”

“Sorry.”

“You get some rest, laddie. I’ll be back later.”

And all the way to May-may’s house Struan was deciding on the way to kill Gorth—if Culum had the pox. The cruelest way. Aye, he thought coldly, I can be very cruel. This will na be just a simple killing—or quick. By God!

“You look terrible, Culum darling,” Tess said. “You really ought to have an early night.”

“Yes.”

They were promenading along the

pra

ça in the night quiet. It was after dinner, and his head was clearer but his agony almost unbearable.

“What’s the matter?” she asked, sensing his torment.

“Nothing, darling. I just drank too much. And those highwaymen weren’t very gentle. By the Lord God, I’m forswearing drink for a year.” Please God, don’t let anything happen. Hurry the week—and let nothing happen.

“Let’s go back,” she said, and taking his arm firmly, turned him toward the Brock residence. “A good night’s rest will do you the world of good.” She felt very maternal and couldn’t help feeling happy that he was almost helpless. “I’m glad you’re forswearing drink, my dear. Father gets terrible drunk sometimes—and Gorth, my word, many’s the time I seed him besotted.”

“ ‘I’ve seen him,’ ” he said, correcting her.

“I’ve

seen him besotted. Oh, I’m so glad we’ll soon be wed.”

What possible reason could Gorth have for doing that? Culum asked himself. The Tai-Pan must be exaggerating. He must be.

A servant opened the door and Culum took Tess into the parlor.

“Back so soon, luvs?” Liza said.

“I’m a little tired, Ma.”

“Well, I’ll be off,” Culum said. “See you tomorrow. Will you be going to the cricket match?”

“Oh yes, let’s, Ma!”

“Mayhaps thee’ll escort us, Culum lad?”

“Thank you. I’d like that. See you tomorrow.” Culum kissed Tess’s hand. “Good night, Mrs. Brock.”

“Night, lad.”

Culum turned for the door just as Gorth was entering. “Oh, hello, Gorth.”

“Hello, Culum. I were waiting for thee. Just going for a drink at the Club. Come along.”

“Not tonight, thanks. I’m all in. Too many late nights. And there’s the cricket tomorrow.”

“A drink won’t hurt thee. After thy beating it be best.”

“Not tonight, Gorth. Thanks, though. See you tomorrow.”

“As thee wish, old lad. Now, take care of thyself.” Gorth closed the front door behind him.

“Gorth, what happened last night?” Liza scrutinized him.

“Poor lad got in his cups. I be leaving Club as I told thee, afore him, so I doan know. Wot’d he sayed, Tess?”

“Just that he drank too much, and that the highwaymen fell on him.” She laughed. “Poor Culum—I think he’ll be cured of the demon drink for a long time.”

“Would thee get my cheroots, Tess luv?” Gorth said. “They be in’t dresser.”

“Certainly,” Tess said and ran out.

“I heared,” Gorth said, “I heared our Culum lad’s been kicking over the traces like.”

“Wot?” Liza stopped her sewing.

“Baint harmful,” Gorth said. “Mayhaps I shouldn’t’ve sayed it. Baint harmful if a man’s careful, by God. Thee knowed wot a man’s like.”

“But he be marrying our Tess! She baint marrying no rake.”

“Yes. I thinks I be havin’ a talk with the lad. Best be careful in Macao and no doubt about that’n. If Da’ were here’d be different. But I’ve to protect the family—and the poor lad from weaknesses. Thee’ll say na about this, now!”

“Of course not.” Liza hated that which made men masculine. Why baint they controlling theyselves? Mayhaps I better be rethinking this marriage. “Tess baint marrying no rake. But Culum baint that way at all. Are thee sure wot thee’s saying?”

“Yes,” Gorth said. “At least that’s what some of the lads sayed.”

“I wisht yor da’ were here.”

“Yes,” Gorth said, then added as though making a sudden decision, “I think I be visiting Hong Kong for a day or two. I’ll talk to Da’. That be best. Then I be talking to Culum proper. I be leaving on the tide.”