Tai-Pan

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Culum bowed politely. “Evening,” he said automatically, and another guest dissolved into the festive throng. For almost an hour he had been standing beside his father and uncle, formally receiving their guests, and he was impatient for the ritual to end.

He surveyed the dance floor. Amid the bare shoulders and multicolored gowns and resplendent uniforms and constantly quivering fans he spied Mary Sinclair. For a moment he was annoyed to see that she was chatting with Glessing. But then, he thought, you shouldn’t be jealous. Mary’s obviously the most beautiful woman in the room and George is quite right to be with her. Don’t blame him a bit.

Two bandstands had been erected on either side of the circle, one for the navy band and one for the army. When the general had heard that the admiral had agreed to lend his band for the evening, he had done the same.

The soldiers, scarlet-uniformed, were playing now. Everyone was anxious to begin dancing, but had to wait until Longstaff arrived. And he was late, which was his prerogative.

Culum bowed to another guest and another, and he noticed with relief that the line was thinning. He glanced shoreward, where a ribbon of lanterns guided the guests from their boats, and saw Longstaff’s cutter hit the beach. Longstaff, the archduke and the admiral were assisted ashore. Good, Culum thought. Not long now. Again his eyes strayed around the floor and this time came to rest on Manoelita de Vargas. She was watching him over the top of her fan. She was very beautiful—stark-white skin, dark eyes, a mantilla in her black hair. Culum smiled and made a slight bow. Manoelita’s eyes crinkled and she fluttered her fan and then turned away. Culum promised himself that he would have at least one dance with her.

He brushed some dust off his lapels, conscious that he was dressed in the latest English fashion, well in advance of most of the men tonight. His coat was sky-blue, with dark blue silk lapels, tight at the waist and flaring over his hips. Pale blue skin-tight trousers were tucked into soft black half boots. Hair curled over his ears and over his high, starched collar. Robb’s tailor had done a very good job, he thought. And so cheap! Why, on a hundred and fifty guineas a month he could afford dozens of superb suits and boots. Life was wonderful.

He bowed as another group of guests passed by, leaving in their wake the dankness of ancient sweat overlaid with perfume. Strange, he thought. Now he could smell other people and they did stink. He was amazed that he hadn’t noticed it before. Certainly he felt better, much better, since he had been having a daily bath and change of clothes. The Tai-Pan was right.

He looked at his father, who was deep in conversation with Morley Skinner. Culum was aware that people were watching him, and that his expression was antagonistic. As far as the guests were concerned, there was no sign that the hostility between father and son had lessened. In fact, it had deepened into cold politeness. Since the game had started, Culum had found it increasingly easier to carry out the deception in public. Be honest, Culum, he said to himself. You no longer idolize him. You still respect him—but he’s a heretic, adulterer, and dangerous influence. So you’re not pretending—you are cold. Cold and cautious.

“Come on, Culum laddie,” Robb whispered uneasily.

“What, Uncle?”

“Oh, nothing. Just that tonight’s a night to celebrate.”

“Yes, it is.” Culum read the troubled expression in Robb’s eyes but said nothing and turned back to greet other guests and to watch Mary and occasionally Manoelita. He decided he would not tell Robb what had happened between the Tai-Pan and himself on the mountain-top.

“You haven’t met my nephew Culum,” he heard Robb say. “Culum, this is Miss Tess Brock.”

Culum turned. His heart twisted, and he fell in love.

Tess was curtsying. The skirt of her dress was huge and billowing, white silk brocade over cascading petticoats that broke like froth from beneath the hem. Her waist seemed incredibly small below the swelling low-cut bodice. Her fair hair fell in soft ringlets on her bare shoulders. Culum saw that her eyes were blue, her lips inviting. And she was looking at him as he was looking at her.

“I’m honored to meet you,” he heard himself say in an unreal voice. “Perhaps you’d honor me with the first dance.”

“Thank you, Mr. Struan,” he heard her say, her voice bell-like, and she was gone.

Liza had been watching carefully. She had seen Culum’s expression and Tess’s response. Oh Lord, let it happen, make it happen, she thought as she followed Brock across the floor.

“I did na recognize little Tess, did you?” Struan was saying to Robb. He too had noticed the exchange between his son and the Brock girl, and his mind was churning with the advantages and dangers inherent in a Culum-Tess match. Good sweet Christ!

“No. Look at Brock. He’s busting with pride.”

“Aye.”

“And look at Mary. I’d never have thought that she could be so—so stunning either.”

“Aye.” Struan watched Mary a moment. The black dress enhanced the ethereal luminous pallor of her skin. Then he scrutinized Manoelita. Then Tess again. She was smiling at Culum, who was smiling back, as obliviously. Good God, he thought, Culum Struan and Tess Brock.

“Damn Shakespeare,” he said involuntarily.

“Eh, Dirk?”

“Nothing. I’d say Mary is in the race for the prize right enough.”

“She’s not in the same class, by God,” Quance said as he strolled past and winked. “Not with Manoelita de Vargas.”

“Or Shevaun, I’ll wager,” Struan said, “when she deigns to honor us with her presence.”

“Ah, the delectible Miss Tillman. I hear she’s only wearing pantaloons and gossamer. Nothing else! Great spheroids of Jupiter, eh?”

“Ah, Aristotle,” Jeff Cooper said, coming up to them. “Can I have a word with you? It’s about a painting commission.”

“God bless my beautiful soul! Really don’t understand what’s come over everyone,” Quance said suspiciously. “Nothing but commissions all day long.”

“We’ve suddenly realized the perfection of your work,” Cooper said quickly.

“And it’s about time, by God, and that’s the immortal truth. Me price is up. Fifty guineas.”

“Let’s discuss it over a champagne, eh?” Cooper winked surreptitiously to Struan over Quance’s head and steered the little man away.

Struan chuckled. He had spread the word to keep Quance occupied and away from wagging tongues—until the judging. And he had effectively marooned Maureen Quance aboard the small hulk by withdrawing all the longboats.

At that moment Longstaff and the archduke and the admiral came into the light.

There was a roll of drums and everyone stood as the bands played “God Save the Queen.” Next they played, haltingly, the Russian national anthem, and finally “Rule Britannia.” There was a round of applause.

“That was most thoughtful of you, Mr. Struan,” Zergeyev said.

“It’s our pleasure, Your Highness. We want you to feel at home.” Struan knew that all eyes were on the two of them, and he knew that he had chosen his clothes wisely.

In contrast to everyone else, he wore black, except for a small green ribbon which tied his long hair at the nape of his neck. “Perhaps you’d care to lead the first dance?”

“I would be honored. But I’m afraid I don’t know any ladies.” Zergeyev was wearing a brilliant Cossack uniform, the tunic draped elegantly on one shoulder, a dress sword at his jeweled belt. Two liveried servants were obsequiously in attendance.

“That’s easily remedied,” Struan said breezily. “Perhaps you’d care to choose. I’d be glad to make the formal introduction.”

“That would be very impolite of me. Perhaps you’d decide who might care to honor me.”

“And get my eyes scratched out? Very well.” He turned and began to cross the floor. Manoelita would be the best choice. That would greatly honor and please the Portuguese society on whom The Noble House and all the traders relied completely to supply clerks, bookkeepers, storesmen—all those who made the companies function. Mary Sinclair would be almost as good a choice, for she was strangely intriguing tonight and the most beautiful woman in the room. But nothing would be gained by choosing her, except Glessing’s support. Struan had noticed how Glessing was close in attendance on her. Since he had become harbor master his position of influence had increased. And he would be a very useful ally.

Struan saw Manoelita’s eyes widen and Mary Sinclair catch her breath as he headed in their direction. But he stopped in front of Brock.

“With your permission, Tyler, perhaps Tess could lead the first dance with the archduke?” Struan was pleased with the rustle of astonishment he could feel.

Brock nodded, flushed with pride. Liza was ecstatic. Tess blushed and almost fainted. And Culum cursed and hated his father and blessed him for giving the honor to Tess. And all the traders wondered if the Tai-Pan was making peace with Brock. And if so, why?

“I don’t believe it,” Glessing said.

“Yes,” Cooper agreed worriedly, knowing a peace between Brock and Struan would not work to his benefit. “Doesn’t make sense.”

“It makes very good sense,” Mary said. “She’s the youngest and she should have the honor.”

“More to it than that, Miss Sinclair,” Glessing said. “The Tai-Pan never does anything lightly. Perhaps he hopes she’ll fall down and break a leg or something. He hates Brock.”

“I think that’s a very unkind thought, Captain Glessing,” Mary said sharply.

“Yes it is, and I apologize for saying aloud what everyone’s thinking.” Glessing regretted his stupidity; he should have realized that such exquisite innocence would defend that devil. “I’m irritated only because you’re the most beautiful lady present and you undoubtedly should have the honor.”

“You’re very kind. But you mustn’t think that the Tai-Pan does things maliciously. He doesn’t.”

“You’re right and I’m wrong,” Glessing said. “Perhaps I can have the first dance—and take you in to dinner. Then I’ll know I’m forgiven.”

For more than a year she had been considering George Glessing as a possible husband. She liked him but did not love him. But now everything was ruined, she thought.

“Thank you,” she said. She lowered her eyes and fluttered her fan. “If you promise to be more—more gentle.”

“Done,” Glessing said happily.

Struan was leading Tess across the floor. “Can you waltz, lass?”

She nodded, and tried to keep her eyes from the Tai-Pan’s son.

“May I present Miss Tess Brock, Your Highness? Archduke Alexi Zergeyev.”

Tess stood paralyzed, her knees trembling. But the thought of Culum, and the way he’d looked at her, bolstered her confidence and restored her poise.

“I’m honored, Your Highness,” she said, curtsying.

The archduke bowed and gallantly kissed her hand. “It’s my honor, Miss Brock.”

“Did you have a pleasant voyage?” she asked, fanning herself.

“Yes, thank you.” He glanced at Struan. “Are all English young ladies so beautiful?”

No sooner had he spoken than Shevaun swept into the light on Tillman’s arm. Her dress was a mist of green gossamer, its skirt huge and bell-like. The outer dress was knee-length to dramatize the tiers of a dozen cascading emerald petticoats. She wore long green gloves, and there were birds-of-paradise feathers in her red hair. Incredibly, her bodice was without supporting sleeves.

“I’m sorry we’re late, Your Excellency, Mr. Struan,” she said, with a curtsy in the silence. “But I broke a shoe buckle just as we were leaving.”

Longstaff pried his eyes off the decolletage and wondered, with all of them, how the devil the dress was supported and if it would come down. “Your timing is always perfect, Shevaun.” He turned to Zergeyev. “May I present Miss Shevaun Tillman from America. Oh, and Mr. Tillman. His Highness, Archduke Alexi Zergeyev.”

Standing there forgotten, Tess watched as Shevaun curtsied again, and hated her for taking away her moment of glory. It was the first time she had been jealous of another woman. And it was the first time she had thought of herself as a woman, not a girl.

“What a beautiful dress, Miss Tillman,” she said sweetly. “Did you make it yourself?”

Shevaun’s eyes blazed, but she replied as sweetly, “Oh no, dear, I haven’t your talent, I’m afraid.” You gutter-nosed-whore-bitch.

“Perhaps I may have the honor of the first dance, Shevaun?” Longstaff said.

“Delighted, Your Excellency.” She was exhilarated by the envy and jealousy that she had provoked. “Everything looks so beautiful, Tai-Pan.” She smiled at Struan.

“Er, thank you,” Struan said. He turned and motioned to the navy bandleader.

The baton fell and then the first exciting bars of a Viennese waltz began. Although waltzes were frowned on, they were the most popular of all dances.

The archduke led Tess into the center of the floor and Shevaun prayed that Tess would trip and fall, or even better, dance like a cow. But Tess floated like a leaf. Longstaff led Shevaun out. As she spun with marvelous grace, she noticed Struan heading for a dark-eyed Portuguese beauty whom she had never seen before, and she was furious. But when she had spun again, she saw that Struan had led Liza Brock onto the floor, and she thought, Ah, Tai-Pan, you’re a smart man. I love you for that. Then her eyes saw Tess and the archduke holding the center of the floor and she guided Longstaff, who danced very well, into the center of the floor without his knowing that he had been guided.

Culum stood on the sidelines and watched. He took a glass of champagne and drank it without tasting it, and then he was bowing in front of Tess and asking for the second dance.

He did not notice Brock’s frown or Liza hurriedly distracting Brock. Or Gorth’s sudden curiosity.

There were waltzes and polkas and reels and galops. Shevaun was surrounded at the end of every dance, and so was Manoelita—but more cautiously. Culum danced with Tess a third time, and four times in an evening was all that convention would allow.

The last dance before supper Struan pushed through the crush encircling Shevaun. “Gentlemen,” he said with calm finality, “I’m sorry, but this dance is the prerogative of the host.” The men groaned and let him take her. He did not wait for the music but began to lead her out onto the floor.

Jeff Cooper watched jealously. It had been his dance.

“They look well together,” he said to Tillman.

“Yes. Why don’t you press your suit? You know my views. And my brother’s.”

“There’s time.”

“Not now that Struan’s unmarried.”

Cooper’s eyes narrowed. “You’d encourage such a match?”

“Of course not. But it’s quite apparent to me that Shevaun’s infatuated with the man.” Then Tillman added testily, “It’s time she settled down. I’ve had nothing but trouble ever since she arrived and I’m tired of being a watchdog. I know your mind, so formally ask for her hand and let’s be done with it.”

“Not until I’m sure she’s ready to accept me—and happy about it—of her own free will. She’s not a chattel to be bought and sold.”

“I agree. But she’s still a female, a minor, and will do what her father and I consider in her best interests. I must confess I do not approve of your attitude, Jeff. Asking for trouble.”

Cooper made no reply. He gazed at Shevaun, his loins aching.

“They make a perfect couple,” Mary said, desperately wanting to be Shevaun. And at that moment, she suddenly felt unclean: because of her secret life, and the child, and Glessing. He had been so tender tonight, tender and masculine and very English and very clean. And she almost wept from the pain of her futile love for the Tai-Pan.

“They do,” Glessing said. “But if there’s any justice, you’ll win the prize, Miss Sinclair.”

She managed a smile, and again tried to think who the father of the child would be—not that that mattered, for the father was Chinese. To have a Chinese bastard! I’ll die before that, she told herself. Two or three months and then it’ll begin to show. But I’ll not live to see the horror and reproach on their faces. Tears filled her eyes.

“There, there, Mary,” Glessing said, touching her arm affectionately. “You mustn’t cry because I paid you a compliment. You really are the most beautiful person here—the most beautiful that I’ve ever seen. That’s the truth.”

She brushed the tears away behind her fan. And through the mist of terror she remembered May-may. Perhaps May-may could help? Perhaps the Chinese have medicines to abort a child. But that’s murder. Murder. No, it’s my body and there’s no God and if I have the child I’m damned. “Sorry, George dear,” she said, more at peace with herself now that she’d made the decision. “I felt faint for a moment.”

“You’re sure you’re all right now?”

“Oh, yes.”

Glessing was brimming with protective love. Poor, frail little girl, he thought. She needs someone to look after her, and that’s me. Only me.

Struan stopped in the dead center of the floor.

“I was wondering when I would be honored, Tai-Pan.” Shevaun radiated devilment.

“This dance is in your honor, Shevaun,” he said blandly.

The first bar of the most electrifying music on earth began. The Kankana. A wild, hilarious, rowdy, high-stepping dance that had rushed into vogue in Paris in the thirties and had taken the capitals of Europe by storm, but was forbidden as outrageous in the best circles.

“Tai-Pan!” she said, dumfounded.

“I bribed the bandleader,” Struan whispered.

She hesitated, but feeling all the scandalized eyes on her, she casually took Struan’s arms, the beat of the music whipping her.

“Nothing will fall down, I trust?” Struan said.

“If it does, you’ll protect me, I trust?”

And then they were high-stepping. Shevaun broke from Struan’s arms and lifted her skirts and kicked high and showed her pantaloons. There was a jubilant shout as the men rushed for partners. Now everyone was dancing and kicking, possessed by the infectious, abandoned rhythm.

The music ravaged them. All of them.

When it ended, there was wild applause and continued shouts for an encore, and the band struck up again. Mary forgot the child, and Glessing decided that tonight he would ask—demand, by God—that Horatio bless the marriage. The dancers continued their twirling, kicking, cheering, gasping, and then it was done. The young people swarmed Struan and Shevaun, and thanked him and congratulated her. She held his arm possessively and fanned herself, vastly pleased with herself. He wiped the perspiration off his forehead and was very glad that his two gambles had paid off: Tess and the Kankana.

All returned to their seats and servants began carrying trays of food to the tables. Smoked salmon and smoked hams and fish and oysters and clams and sausages. Fresh fruit that Chen Sheng had weedled out of a lorcha which had made the perilous journey from Manila. Sides of fresh-killed beef purchased from the navy, barbecued over open fires. Suckling pigs. Pickled hog’s feet in sweet jelly.

“By my life,” Zergeyev said, “I’ve never seen so much food, or had such a wonderful time in years, Mr. Struan.”

“La, Your Highness,” Shevaun said, raising an eyebrow, “this is positively ordinary for The Noble House.”

Struan laughed with the others and sat down at the head of a table. Zergeyev was on his right and Longstaff at his left, Shevaun beside the archduke and Mary Sinclair beside Longstaff, Glessing close in attendance next to her. At the same table were Horatio, Aristotle, Manoelita and the admiral. Then Brock and Liza and Jeff Cooper. Robb and Culum were hosts at tables of their own.

Struan glanced at Aristotle and wondered how he had managed to persuade Vargas to allow Manoelita to be Aristotle’s dinner partner. Great God, he thought, is Manoelita the one who’s posing for the picture?

“The Kankana,” Longstaff was saying, “ ’Pon me word. A devilish, dangerous gamble, Tai-Pan.”

“Na for so many modern people, Excellency. Everyone seemed to enjoy it vastly.”

“But if Miss Tillman hadn’t taken the initiative,” Zergeyev said, “I doubt if one of us would have had the courage.”

“What else could a body do, Your Highness?” Shevaun said. “Honor was at stake.” She turned to Struan. “That was a very naughty thing to do, Tai-Pan.”

“Aye,” he said. “If you’ll excuse me a moment, I have to see my guests are taken care of.”

He walked among the tables, greeting everyone. When he came to Culum’s table, there was a slight hush and Culum looked up. “Hello,” he said.

“Is everything all right, Culum?”

“Yes, thank you.” Culum was perfectly polite but there was no warmth. Gorth, who was sitting opposite Tess at Culum’s table, laughed inside. Struan walked away.

When dinner was over, the ladies retired to the large tent that had been set aside for them. The men grouped at the tables and smoked and sipped port, delighted to be alone for a while. They relaxed and talked about the rising sale price of spices, and Robb and Struan made profitable deals on spices and cargo space. Everyone decided Shevaun was the winner, but Aristotle did not seem convinced.

“If you don’t give her the prize,” Robb said, “she’ll kill you.”

“Ah, Robb, dear innocent!” Aristotle said. “You’re all transfixed by her tits—true, they’re impeccable—but the contest is for the best-dressed, not the most undressed!”

“But her dress is marvelous. The best, easily.”

“You poor man, you haven’t got a painter’s eye—or the responsibility of an immortal choice.”

So the odds lengthened on Shevaun. Mary was favored. Manoelita had her backers.

“Whom do you favor, Culum?” Horatio asked.

“Miss Sinclair, of course,” Culum said gallantly, though as far as he was concerned there was only one lady worthy of the honor.

“You’re very kind,” Horatio said. He turned away as Mauss called to him. “Excuse me a moment.”

Culum sat at one of the tables, content to be alone with his thoughts. Tess Brock. What a lovely name! How beautiful she was! What a lovely lady. He saw Gorth bearing down on him.

“A word in your ear, Struan?” Gorth said.

“Of course. Won’t you sit down?” Culum tried to cover his unease.

“Thankee.” Gorth sat. He put his huge hands on the table. “Best I be blunt. That’s the only way I know how. It be about your da’ and mine. They be enemies and that be fact. Nout we can do about that’n, you’n me. But just ’cause they be enemies, baint necessary for us’n to do likewise. Least that be my thort. China’s big enough for you and me. Least, that be my thort. I’m mortal sick of they two acting stupid. Like over the knoll—why each’ll risk the house at the drop of a topper over

face. If we baint careful, we’ll be drug down into enmity, you an’ me, without having anything to hate about. What do you say? Let’s us’n judge for ourselves. What my da’ thinks or your da’ thinks—well, that be their own affair. Let’s you and me start fair. Open. Maybe we could be friends, who knows? But I think it be unchristian for us’n to hate just because of our da’. What do you say?”

“I agree,” Culum said, bewildered by the offer of friendship.

“I baint saying my da’s wrong and yburs be right. All I be saying is that we’ve to try, as men, to live our own lives, best we can.” Gorth’s craggy face broke into a smile. “You look right proper shocked, lad.”

“I’m sorry. It’s just that—well, yes, I’d like to be friends. I never expected that—well, that you’d have an open mind.”

“There, you see? That be my whole point, by God. We baint never said more’n four words in our whole lives, yet you’ve been thinking I hate thy guts. Ridikulus.”

“Yes.”

“It baint easy, what we be atrying. Doan forget, we come from different lives. My school were a ship. I was afore the mast at ten. So you’ve to go easy with my manners and talk. Even so, I knowed more about the China trade than most, and I’m the best seaman in these waters. ’Cepting my da’—an’ that bastard Orlov.”

“Is Orlov that good?”

“Yes. That bugger were sired by a shark and whelped by a mermaid.” Gorth picked up some salt that had been spilled and superstitiously threw it over his shoulder. “That bugger give me the creeps.”

“Me too,” Culum agreed.

Gorth was silent for a moment and then he said, “Our da’s baint liking it a bit if we be friends.”

“Yes. I know.”

“I be straight with you, Struan. It were Tess what sayed tonight were a good time to talk privy with you. Weren’t my idea first off. To talk open tonight. But I be right glad it be sayed. What do you say? Let’s give it a try, eh? Here’s my hand on’t.”

Culum shook the proffered hand gladly.

Glessing was irritably drinking brandy across the floor, waiting impatiently. He had been on the verge of interrupting Horatio and Culum when Mauss had called him over. What are you so damned nervous about? he asked himself. I’m not. Just anxious to have it said. By Jove, Mary looks stunning. Absolutely stunning.

“Excuse me, Captain Glessing,” Major Turnbull said crisply, coming up to him. He was a gray-eyed, meticulously neat man, who took his appointment as chief magistrate of Hong Kong very seriously. “Good party, what?”

“Yes.”

“I think now’s the time, if you’ve a mind. His Excellency’s free. We’d better catch him while we’ve the opportunity.”

“All right.” Glessing automatically adjusted his sword belt and followed Turnbull through the tables until they intercepted Longstaff.

“Could we have a moment, Your Excellency?” Turn-bull said.

“Certainly.”

“Sorry to bring up official matters at a social affair, but it’s somewhat important. One of our patrol frigates has captured a bunch of scalawag pirates.”

“Excellent. Open-and-shut case?”

“Yes, Your Excellency. The navy caught the buggers on the south side, off Aberdeen. They were pirating a junk. Murdered the crew.”

“Damned swine,” Longstaff said. “Have you tried them yet?”

“That’s the problem,” Turnbull said. “Captain Glessing thinks it should be an Admiralty court—I think it’s a civil trial. But my authority doesn’t cover anything but minor crimes and certainly not capital crimes of any sort. This case should have a proper judge, jury, and rightly belong in an assize.”

“True. But we can’t have a judge till we’re officially a colony. That’ll take months yet. We can’t leave anyone accused of any crime in jail without a quick, fair trial—that’s illegal.” Longstaff thought a moment. “I’d say it’s a civilian matter. If the jury convicts, send me the papers and I’ll confirm the sentence. You’d better erect the gibbet outside the jail.”

“I can’t do that, Your Excellency. It wouldn’t be legal. The law’s very clear—only a proper judge can try such a case.”

“Well, we can’t have men accused of crimes locked up indefinitely without giving them an open and fair trial. What do you suggest?”

“I don’t know, sir.”

“Damned annoying!” Longstaff said. “You’re right, of course.”

“Perhaps we should hand them over to the Chinese authorities to deal with,” Glessing said, eager to have the matter settled so that he could talk to Horatio.

“I disapprove of that,” Turnbull said sharply. “The crime was committed in British waters.”

“I quite agree,” Longstaff said. “For the moment hold all such accused, and I’ll send an urgent dispatch to the Foreign Office and ask for a ruling.”

“Yes, Your Excellency.” Turnbull paused. “Then I’d like to draw funds to extend the jail. I’ve dozens of cases of robbery with violence and one breaking and entering with a deadly weapon.”

“Very well,” Longstaff said languidly. “Let’s discuss it tomorrow.”

“Perhaps I could have an appointment tomorrow, Your Excellency,” Glessing said. “I’ve got to have some money to hire pilots, and we should settle harbor dues and wharfage, and I want authority to requisition some fast pirate hunters. There’s strong rumors that that devil Wu Fang Choi’s got a fleet north. Also I’ll need authority to extend jurisdiction over all the Hong Kong waters. There’s an urgent need to standardize port clearances and allied matters.”

“Very well, Captain,” Longstaff said. “At noon.” And then to Turnbull, “Nine o’clock?”

“Thank you, Your Excellency.”

To Glessing’s chagrin, Longstaff turned away and walked toward Horatio. Good Lord, he thought, I’ll never get him alone tonight.

Struan was watching the ships at anchor, and checking the sky. Good weather, he told himself.

“A beautiful harbor, Mr. Struan,” Zergeyev said amiably, wandering up to him.

“Aye. It’s good to have our own waters at long last.” Struan was on guard, but his manner was relaxed. “Hong Kong will be a perfect jewel in the queen’s crown, eventually.”

“Let’s walk a little, shall we?”

Struan fell into step as the archduke strolled down toward the surf.

“I understand you’ve only had the island a little over two months.” The archduke waved a hand at the beginnings of buildings all over Happy Valley. “Yet you’ve almost a town. Your energy and industry are astounding.”

“Well, Your Highness, if there’s something to be done, there’s nae use waiting, is there?”

“No. But I find it curious, with China so weak, that you take only a barren rock. There must be many more important prizes.”

“We’re na after prizes in China. Just a small base where we can careen and refit our ships. I’d say a nation of three hundred millions is hardly weak.”

“Then with the war unfinished, I presume you’re expecting substantial reinforcements. Armies, not a few thousand men. Fleets—not thirty or so ships.”

“His Excellency would know more about that than I. But I’d say that any Power that takes on China would have a very long struggle on its hands. Without the necessary plans and the necessary men.” Struan motioned at the mainland across the harbor. “The land’s limitless.”

“Russia’s limitless,” Zergeyev said. “But only in symbolic terms. Actually, even Russia is bounded. By the Arctic and the Himalayas. By the Baltic and the Pacific.”

“You’ve taken lands north?” Struan tried to keep the astonishment out of his voice. Where, for the love of God? North of Manchuria? Manchuria? Or China, my China?

“Mother Russia stretches from sea to sea. Under God, Tai-Pan,” Zergeyev said simply. “You should see the earth of Mother Russia to understand what I mean. It is black and rich and filled with life. Yet we laid waste fifteen hundred miles of it to contain Bonaparte and his

Grande Armee. You belong to the sea. But I belong to the land. I bequeath you the sea, Tai-Pan.” Zergeyev’s eyes seemed to cloud over. “That was a great battle this afternoon. And an interesting wager. Most interesting.”

The lines on Struan’s cheeks deepened with his smile. “A pity it was a draw. Now we’ll never know—will we, Your Highness?—who was the better man.”

“I like you, Mr. Struan. I would like to be your friend. We could be of great service to each other.”

“I’d be honored to assist in any way.”

Zergeyev laughed, his teeth brilliant white. “There’s time enough. One advantage Asia has over Europe is its appreciation of time. My family comes from Karaganda. That’s this side of the Urals, so perhaps, in part, I am Asian. We are Kazaki. Some people call us ‘Cossacks.’ ”

“I dinna understand. The Urals?”

“A mountain chain that runs from the Arctic to the Caspian Sea. It splits Russia into east and west.”

“I know so little about Russia—or Europe, for that matter,” Struan said.

“You should come to Russia. Give me six months of your time and let me be your host. There is much to see, cities—and seas of grass. It could be a very profitable experience. Huge markets for tea and for silks and all manner of trade goods.” His eyes twinkled. “And the women are most beautiful.”

“I’m a little busy this week, but perhaps next?”

“Now, let us not joke but be a little serious. Please consider it. Next year, the year after. I think it’s very important. For you and your country and the future. Russia and Britain have never warred on each other. For centuries we’ve been allies, and we’re both at odds with France, our hereditary enemy. Russia has huge land resources and millions of people, strong people. You’re land-poor, so you need your Empire and we favor that. You rule the seas and we favor that. You have your astounding industrial power and the wealth it brings. We are greatly pleased. You have trade goods and the means to deliver them and we have markets. But we also have trade goods

you can use; the raw materials that you need to feed your incredible machines, and food for your astonishing people. Together we’re unbeatable. Together we can dominate France. And the Holy Roman Empire, Prussia and the infidel Turk. Together we can keep the peace. And grow and prosper to the benefit of all.”

“Aye,” Struan said, as seriously. “I’m for that. But you’re talking on a national level. From a historical point of view. That’s na practical. And I dinna think you can blame Frenchmen for the ambition of her kings. Or justify changing Turks into Christians by the use of the sword. I had my say at lunch. On an international level, without some form of control over kings—and queens—we’ll always have wars. His Excellency said it very well. Kings—and any form of leader—spill other people’s blood. To be practical, there’s little I can do. I dinna operate on a national level—and I’ve no real power in Parliament, as you well know.”

“But about Asia your opinion is carefully listened to. And I have great power in St. Petersburg.”

Struan took a long pull on his cigar and then he exhaled. “What do you want in Asia?”

“What do you want in China?”

“Trade,” Struan said immediately, but very much on guard and careful not to reveal his true aim. There’s a devil of a difference, he said to himself, between Asia and China.

“I could, perhaps, see that The Noble House was granted an exclusive tea-import license for the market for all the Russias. And outward bound, all the fur exports and grain of all the Russias.”

“In return for what?” Struan said, overwhelmed by the enormousness of the offer. Such a monopoly would mean millions. And such a position of power would stand him in good stead in English political circles and give him enormous face.

“Friendship,” Zergeyev said.

“That word covers a multitude of meanings, Your Highness.”

“It has only one meaning, Mr. Struan. Of course there are many ways a friend may help a friend.”

“What specific help would you specifically want in return for a specific trade agreement with my company?”

Zergeyev laughed. “Those are too many specifics for one evening, Mr. Struan. But it is worth thinking about and worth considering. And discussing at a specific time, eh?” He gazed over the harbor and past the ships to the mainland. “You should come to Russia,” he repeated.

“When did you want it translated, Your Excellency?” Horatio looked up from the paper which Loagstaff had handed him.

“Anytime, my dear fellow. In the next few days, what? But put the Chinese characters over the English words, eh?”

“Yes, sir. Should it be sent to someone?”

“No. Just give it back to me. Of course, it’s a private matter.” Longstaff walked off, pleased with the way his scheme was progressing. The letter had said: “His Excellency the English Captain Superintendent of Trade wishes to buy fifty pounds’ weight of mulberry seeds or a thousand saplings, to be delivered as soon as possible.” All he had to do when Horatio returned it translated was substitute “tea” for “mulberry.” He could manage this himself; the Chinese character for tea was written on every box exported. Then he would wait until he had decided who could be trusted enough to receive it.

Standing alone, Horatio reread the letter. Now, why would Longstaff want mulberries? There were tens of thousands of mulberry trees, and their silkworms, in the south of France, and it would be simple to get seeds from there. But not simple to get them from China. Is Longstaff planning to plant a grove of trees here? But why fifty pounds? That’s a fantastic quantity of seeds and he’s no gardener. And why say pointedly, “Of course it’s a private matter”?

“Horatio?”

“Oh, hello, George. How are you?”

“Fine, thank you.”

Horatio noticed that Glessing was perspiring and ill at ease. “What’s the matter?”

“Nothing. It’s just that, well, there comes a time in every man’s life . . . when he should . . . well, you meet someone who—I’m not putting it right. It’s Mary. I want to marry her and I want your blessing.”

Horatio calmed himself with an effort and said what he had previously decided to say. He had been very conscious of Glessing’s attention to Mary tonight and had remembered the look on his face on that first day. He loathed Glessing for daring to complicate his and Mary’s life, and daring to have the impertinence to think that Mary would consider him for an instant. “I’m most flattered, George. And Mary will be too. But she’s, well, I don’t think she’s ready for marriage yet.”

“But of course she is. And I’ve fine prospects and my grandfather’s going to leave me the manor. I’ll be quite well-off and my service prospects are damned fine and I’ve—”

“Slow down, George. We must consider things very carefully. Have you discussed this with Mary?”

“Good Lord, no. Wanted to have your feeling first. Of course.”

“Well, why don’t you leave it with me? I had no idea your intentions were serious. I’m afraid you must be patient with me—I’ve always thought of Mary as much younger than she is. She is, of course, under the age of consent,” he added carelessly.

“Then you approve in a general way?”

“Oh yes—but it never occurred to me that . . . well, in due time, when she’s of age, I’m sure she’d welcome and be honored by your suit.”

“You feel I should wait until she’s twenty-one?”

“Well, I have only her interests at heart. She’s my only sister and, well, we’re very close to each other. Since Father died I’ve brought her up.”

“Yes,” Glessing said, feeling flattened. “Damn fine job you did too. Damned decent of you to consider me at all; she’s so—well, I think she’s wonderful.”

“Still, it’s best to be patient. Marriage is such a final step. Particularly for someone like Mary.”

“Yes. Quite right. Well, let’s have a drink to the future, eh? I’m in no hurry to—well, but I’d like a formal answer. Plans must be made, mustn’t they?”

“Of course. Let’s drink to the future.”

“Devil take it,” Brock said as Gorth came up to him. “Struan’s be having every godrotting foot of cargo space outside of our ships. How’d they be doing that? This morning? Baint reasonable!”

“It be almost like he’d advance news—but that be impossible.”

“Well, no matter, by God,” Brock said, smug with the knowledge that he had a ship speeding for Manila but unaware that Struan’s ship was hours ahead. “That were a dance all right, weren’t it?”

“Culum be fair taken with our Tess, Da’.”

“Yus—I marked that too. It be time she went home.”

“Not afore the judging.” Gorth’s eyes burned into his father’s. “A match twixt they two’d be right good for us.”

“Never, by God,” Brock said tightly, his face reddening.

“I say yes, by God. I heard a rumor—from one of our’n Portuguese clerks, who hav’ it from one of the Struans’: that the Tai-Pan be goin’ home in half a year.”

“Wot?”

“Leaving for good.”

“I doan believe it.”

“With that devil out, who’s Tai-Pan, eh? Robb.” Gorth spat neatly. “We can eat up Robb. Afore the land sale I’d say we could chew Culum like salt pork. Now I baint sure. But if Tess were his wife—then it’s Brock-Struan and Company. After Robb, Culum’s Tai-Pan.”

“Dirk be never leaving. Never. Thee’s crazy in thy head. Just because Culum be dancin’ with her doan mean—”

“Get it through thy head, Da’,” Gorth interrupted. “One day Struan be leaving. Common knowledge he wants in t’ Parliament. Like thee’ll want to retire. One day.”

“There be time enough for that, by God.”

“Yes. But one day thee’ll retire, eh? Then I’m Tai-Pan.” Gorth’s voice was not harsh, but calm and final. “I be Tai-Pan of Noble House, by God, not the second house. Culum-Tess’d fix it clever.”

“Dirk’ll never leave,” Brock said, hating Gorth for implying that where he had failed Gorth would succeed.

“I be thinking of us’n, Da’! An’ our house. An’ how you and me beed working day and night to beat him. An’ about the future. Culum-Tess be perfect,” Gorth added inflexibly.

Brock bristled at the challenge. He knew that in time he would have to pass over the reins. But not soon, by God. For without the house, and without being Tai-Pan of Brock’s, he would shrivel and die. “Wot makes thee think it be Brock-Struan? Why not Struan-Brock and he be Tai-Pan and thee out?”

“Doan thee worry, Da’. With thee an’ devil Struan it be like the fight today. Thee’s both equal matched. Both equal strong, equal cunning. But me an’ Culum? That be different.”

“I be thinking about wot thee says. Then I decides.”

“Of course, Da’. You be Tai-Pan. With joss, you’d be Tai-Pan o’ The Noble House afore me.” Gorth smiled and walked toward Culum and Horatio.

Brock eased the patch over his eye and watched his son, so tall and dynamic and strong, and young. He looked at Culum, then glanced around, seeking Struan. He saw the Tai-Pan standing alone, down by the shore, looking out into the harbor. Brock’s love for Tess and his wish for her happiness was balanced against the truth of what Gorth had said. And he knew with equal truth that Gorth would eat up Culum if conflict was joined between them—and that Gorth would force the issue in time. Beed that right? To let Gorth eat up the husband that mayhaps Tess loved?

He wondered what he would really do if the love blossomed—what Struan would do. It be solving us’n, he told himself. An’ that baint a wrong thing, eh? Yus. But you knowed old Dirk be never leaving Cathay—nor thee—and there’ll be a settling twixt thee and him.

He hardened his heart, loathing Gorth for making him feel old. Knowing that even so he must settle the Tai-Pan. For Gorth against Culum with Struan alive was no contest.

When the ladies came back, there was more dancing, but the Kankana was not repeated. Struan danced first with Mary and she enjoyed it greatly; his strength calmed her and cleaned her and gave her courage.

Next he chose Shevaun. She pressed close enough to him to be exciting, but not close enough to be indelicate. Her warmth and perfume surrounded him. He half noticed Mary being led off the floor by Horatio, and when he turned again, he saw that they were strolling down to the shore. Then he heard the ship’s bells. Half past eleven. Time to see May-may.

When the dance ended he escorted Shevaun back to the table. “Would you excuse me a moment, Shevaun?”

“Of course, Dirk. Hurry back.”

“I will,” he said.

“It’s a beautiful night,” Mary said awkwardly.

“Yes.” Horatio held her arm lightly. “I wanted to tell you something amusing. George drew me aside and asked, formally, for your hand in marriage.”

“You’re astonished that anyone would want to marry me?” she asked coldly.

“Of course not, Mary. I meant it’s preposterous for him to think you’d consider such a pompous ass as himself, that’s all.”

She examined her fan and then stared into the night, troubled.

“I said that I thought he—”

“I know what you said, Horatio.” She cut him off sharply. “You were sweet and sloughed him off with ‘time’ and ‘my dear old sister.’ I think I’m going to marry George.”

“You can’t! You can’t possibly like that bore enough to consider him for even a moment.”

“I think I’m going to marry George. At Christmas. If there is a Christmas.”

“What do you mean—if there is a Christmas?”

“Nothing, Horatio. I like him enough to marry him, and I’m—well, I think it’s time to leave.”

“I don’t believe it.”

“I don’t believe it myself.” Her voice trembled. “But if George wants to marry me—I’ve decided George is a good choice for me.”

“But, Mary, I need you with me. I love you and you know—”

Her eyes flashed suddenly, and all the pent-up bitterness and agony of years choked her. “Don’t talk about love to me!”

His face became deadly white and his lips trembled. “I’ve asked God to forgive us a million times.”

“Asking God to forgive ‘us’ is a little late, isn’t it?”

It had begun after a flogging when he was young and she was very young. They had crept into bed together, clutching each other to black out the horror and pain. She was comforted by the heat of their bodies, and she felt a new pain which made her forget the beating. There were other times, happy times—she too young to understand, but not Horatio; then he had left for school in England. When he returned they had never referred to what had happened. For by then both knew what it meant.

“I swear by God I’ve begged forgiveness.”

“I’m so glad, dear brother. But there is no God,” she said, her voice flat and cruel. “I forgive you. But that won’t make me virgin, will it?”

“Mary, I beg you, please, for the love of God, please—”

“I forgive you everything, brother dear. Except your rotten hypocrisy. We didn’t sin—you did. Pray for your own soul, not mine.”

“I pray for yours more than mine. We sinned, God help us. But the Lord will forgive. He will, Mary.”

“This year, with joss, I’ll marry George and forget you and forget Asia.”

“You’re not the age of consent. You can’t go. I’m your legal guardian. I can’t let you go. In time you’ll see how wise it is. It’s best for you. I forbid you to leave. That scum’s not good enough for you, you hear? You’re not leaving!”

“When I decide to marry Glessing,” she hissed, her voice clawing him, “you’d better give your fornicating ‘approval’ in a hurry, because if you don’t I’ll tell everyone—no, I’ll tell the Tai-Pan first and he’ll come after you with a lash. I’ve nothing to lose—nothing. And all your godrotting praying to your nonexistent God and to Father’s sweet Christ won’t help you a bit. Because there’s no God and never was and never will be, and Christ was only a man—a saint but still a man!”

“You’re not Mary; you’re”—his voice cracked—“you’re evil. Of course God exists. Of course we’ve souls. You’re a heretic. You’re a fiend! It was you, not me! Oh Lord God, give us Thy mercy—”

Mary struck him with the flat of her hand. “Stop it, brother dear. I’m sick of your useless praying. You hear? You’ve made my flesh crawl for years. Because I know from the lust in your eyes that you still want to bed me. Even though you understand incest, and you understood it before you began.” She laughed, a terrifying laugh. “You’re worse than Father. He was mad with belief, but you—you only pretend to believe. I hope your God exists, because you’ll burn in hellfire forever. And good riddance.”

She left. Her brother stared after her, then ran blindly into the night.