Tai-Pan

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

When night had firmly settled over Hong Kong, Culum walked to the edge of

Thunder Cloud’s poop deck and gave the signal. The cannon boomed and there was a moment’s hush around the fleet. He stared nervously toward the shore of Happy Valley. His excitement mounted as he saw a flicker of light, then another, and soon the whole of marine lot 8 was a sea of dancing lights.

The servants on the foreshore were hurrying to light the remaining lanterns. Hundreds had been placed around the huge circle of smoothed boards that formed the dance floor, and their light was warm and enticing. Tables and chairs were set in attractive groups, a lamp and flowers from Macao on each table. More lamps were strung on ropes between slender bamboos near the trestle tables and their weight of food. Others were draped over the barrels of Portuguese and French wines and rum and brandy and whisky and sack and beer. Forty cases of champagne were on ice and ready at hand.

Servants scurried everywhere, all neatly uniformed in black trousers and white tunics, their queues dancing. They were under the imperious supervision of Chen Sheng, compradore of The Noble House. He was a man of immense girth, his robes rich and his hat jewel-studded. A priceless piece of pure white jade formed his belt buckle, and his feet were encased in black silk boots with white soles. He sat like a huge spider on a seat in the center of the dance floor and played with the long hairs that sprouted from a small wart on his chin. A personal slave fanned him against the gentle night.

When all was ready to his satisfaction, he stood up ponderously and lifted his hand. The servants rushed for their positions and stood like graven images while he made a last inspection. Another wave of his hand and a servant hurried out of the circle of light into the foreshore darkness, a taper in his hand.

There was a monstrous cannonade of firecrackers which lasted for several minutes, and everyone in the fleet and on shore rushed to look. Next were fireballs and colored lights and more noise and smoke and thundering, and more firecrackers. And fire wheels and volcanoes of colored fire. The thundering continued for several minutes more, and there was a sound like a fleet’s broadside and a hundred rockets exploded into the sky. Their trails soared and vanished. After a moment’s silence the whole sky burst into feathers of scarlet and green and white and gold. The feathers dipped majestically and fell into the sea.

The servant lit the final taper and raced away. Red and green fire snaked up the huge bamboo scaffolding which soon was aflame with the Lion and the Dragon. The flag blazed for minutes, and died with a vast explosion, as suddenly as it had begun.

There was blackness for a moment, broken only by a mighty cheer that reverberated around the enclosing hills. As eyes adjusted to the darkness, the inviting lights of the dance floor glowed once more. And an expectant joy settled over Hong Kong.

Shevaun was whimpering with agony. “No more,” she begged.

Her maidservant took a firmer grip on the corset laces and put her knee into Shevaun’s rump. “Let your breath out,” she ordered. And as Shevaun obeyed, she gave the laces a final pull and knotted them. Shevaun gasped.

“There, me darlin’,” the bonneted maid said. “That’s done.” She was a small, neat Irishwoman with wrists of steel, and her name was Kathleen O’Rourke. She had been nurse and maidservant to Shevaun ever since Shevaun had been in swaddling clothes and she adored her. Her dark brown hair framed a nice face with laughing eyes and dimpled chin. She was thirty-eight.

Shevaun steadied herself against a chair in the cabin and groaned, hardly able to breathe. “I’ll faint before the evening’s over.”

Kathleen found the tape and measured Shevaun’s waist. “Seventeen and a half inches, by the Blessed St. Mary! And when you faint, me darlin’, be sure you’re as graceful as a cloud and that everyone’s watching.”

Shevaun was dressed in frilled pantaloons, her legs encased in silk stockings. The whaleboned corset gripped her hips, violently squeezed her waist and rose to cushion her breasts and force them up. “I’ve got to sit down for a moment,” she said weakly.

Kathleen found the smelling salts and brandished them under Shevaun’s nose. “There, me darlin’ heart. As soon as those doxies see you, you won’t feel faint at all at all. By the B’essed St. Mary, Mother and Joseph, you’ll be the belle of the ball.”

There was a sharp knock on the door. “Aren’t you ready yet, Shevaun?” Tillman called out.

“No, Uncle. I won’t be long.”

“Well, hurry it up, dear. We’ve got to be there before His Excellency!” He stamped away.

Kathleen chuckled softly. “Silly man, me darlin’ heart. He doesn’t realize a body’s got to make an entrance.”

Quance put his paints away. “There!”

“Excellent, Aristotle,” Robb said, and he held little Karen up to look at her portrait. “Isn’t it, Karen?”

“Do I look like that?” Karen said disappointedly. “It’s awful.”

“It’s immortal, Karen,” Quance said, shocked. He took her out of Robb’s arms and held her tight. “Look at the superb glow to your cheeks, the light to your beautiful eyes, the happiness that surrounds you like a halo. By the beard of Alcazabedabra, it’s marvelous good like you are.”

“Oh, good.” She gave him a hug and he set her down and she looked at the painting again. “Who’s Alcaza—who you sayed?”

“A friend of mine,” Quance said gravely. “A bearded friend who watches over painters and beautiful children.”

“It’s very, very pretty,” Sarah said, her face stretched. “Run along, now, it’s past your bedtime.”

“It’s early,” Karen said with a pout. “And you promised I could stay up till Daddy goes.”

Quance smiled and cleaned his fingers with turpentine and took off his smock. “I’ll pick up my paints tomorrow, Robb.”

“Of course.”

“Well, we’d better be off.” Quance smoothed the startling purple-embroidered waistcoat and put on his gold silk frock coat.

“I like you, Mr. Quance,” Karen said. “You’re very pretty even though the painting’s awful.”

He laughed and gave her a hug and put on his top hat. “I’ll wait in the longboat, Robb.”

“Why don’t you show Mr. Quance the way, Karen?” Robb said.

“Oh yes,” she replied and danced to the door. Quance followed her out like a peacock.

“Are you feeling all right, Sarah?” Robb asked solicitously.

“No,” Sarah said coldly. “But that doesn’t matter. You’d better go. You’ll be late.”

“I’ll stay if it’ll help,” Robb said tautly.

“The only thing that’ll help is the coming of the baby, and the ship to home.” Sarah peevishly brushed a lank strand of hair out of her eyes. “And away from this accursed island!”

“Oh, don’t be ridiculous!” he said, unable to stop himself, his anger swamping his resolve not to quarrel. “Nothing to do with Hong Kong!”

“Ever since we had it, there’s been nothing but trouble,” she said. “You’ve changed, Dirk’s changed, Culum, me. For the love of God, what’s going on? We’d finally decided to leave—then we’re bankrupt. We’re all frightened to death and quarreling hideously and poor Ronalda and Dirk’s family dead. Then the bullion saves us, but oh no, Dirk grinds you into a corner and you’re too weak to get out, so you swear you’ll stay. Culum hates Dirk and Dirk hates Culum and you’re stupidly in the middle, without the courage to take what’s ours by right and leave to enjoy it at home. I’ve never been late with a bairn before but now I’m late. I’ve never felt poorly before but now I feel like death. If you want a date for all our troubles starting, it’s the 26th of January, 1841!”

“That’s stupid nonsense,” he retorted, furious that she articulated what long had been simmering in his mind, and realizing that he had equally cursed that day in the brooding watches of the night. “Superstitious nonsense,” he added, more to convince himself than her. “The plague happened last year. The run on the bank was last year. We just didn’t get the news till we were in Hong Kong. And I’m not stupid. We’ve got to have money, lots of money, and a year is neither here nor there. I’m thinking of you and the children and their children. I’ve got to stay. It’s all settled.”

“Have you booked our passage home yet?”

“No.”

‘Then I’ll be glad if you’ll do that immediately. I’m not going to change my mind, if that’s what you think!”

“No, Sarah,” Robb said icily, “I don’t think you’ll change your mind. I was waiting to see how you felt. We’ve plenty of ships available. As you well know.”

“A month from today I’ll be fit enough and—”

“You won’t, and going so quickly’s dangerous. Both for you and the child!”

“Then perhaps you’d better escort us home.”

“I can’t.”

“Of course not. You’ve more important things to do.” Sarah’s temper snapped. “Perhaps you’ve another heathen whore ready and waiting.”

“Oh shut up, for God’s sake. I’ve told you a thousand times—”

“Dirk’s got one on the island already. Why should you be different?”

“Has he?”

“Hasn’t he?”

They stared at each other, hating each other.

“You’d better go,” she said, and turned away.

The door opened and Karen danced into the room. She jumped into her father’s arms, then ran to Sarah and embraced her.

“Daddy’s arranging our ship home, darling,” Sarah said, feeling the baby kicking violently in her womb. Her time was very near at last, and she was stabbed with untoward fear. “We’ll have Christmas at home this year. Won’t that be wonderful? There’ll be snow and carol singing and wonderful presents. And Father Christmas.”

“Oh good, I love Father Christmas. What’s snow?”

“It’s all white—the trees and the houses—it’s rain that’s become ice. It’s very pretty, and the shops will be full of toys and wonderful things.” Sarah’s voice trembled and Robb felt the knife of her torment. “It’ll be so nice to be in a real city again. Not a—not a wilderness.”

“I’ll be off now,” Robb said, consumed with grief. He kissed Sarah briefly and she imperceptibly turned her face away, infuriating him once more. He hugged Karen and walked out.

Mary Sinclair put the finishing touches to her coiffure and pinned into place the tiny coronet of wildflowers that Glessing had sent.

Her dress—jet-black Shantung silk, bustled and flowing—was worn over many petticoats that rustled as she moved. It was cut fashionably to reveal bare smooth shoulders and swelling breasts.

She studied her reflection dispassionately.

The face that looked back at her from the mirror was strange. There was an untoward loveliness in the eyes, no color in the cheeks. The lips were deep red and glistening.

Mary knew that she had never looked lovelier.

She sighed and took up the calendar. But she knew that there was no need to recount the days again. The total would always be the same, and the discovery that had shrieked to her this morning would be the same: You’re with child.

Oh God oh God oh God.