by Gai-Jin(Lit)
Kanagawa for a clinic this morning and that he would send the cutter for him the moment they had seen
Malcolm. "See you later, Tai-pan."
"No, best wait a moment, Jamie."
Struan opened the letter Hoag had given him and began to read.
When Jamie had reached the main deck of the mail ship, Dr. Hoag had met him, told him that he had all Struan mail ready so they could leave at once, and in answer to his immediate question, and relief: "No, Jamie, Mrs.
Struan's not aboard but here, here's a letter from her."
It read simply: Jamie, do whatever
Dr. Hoag asks and send me detailed, confidential reports by every mail.
"You know what it says, Doc?"'
"Yes, hardly necessary but then you know the lady."
"How is she?"'
Hoag thought a moment. "As usual: imperturbable outwardly, inwardly a volcano.
One day it has to explode--no one can keep such sadness contained, so many tragedies, no one.
Even her." He had followed Jamie down the gangway, eyes everywhere. "Must say I'm pleased to have the chance to visit Japan--you're looking very fit, Jamie. This posting certainly agrees with you. Let's see, it's almost a year, isn't it, since your last leave? Now tell me everything, first about the murderous attack... then about Miss Richaud."
By the time they reached shore, Dr. Hoag knew all that Jamie knew: "But, please," he added uneasily, "please don't mention to Malcolm what I've told you about
Angelique. She's a wonderful person, she's had a terrible time too, I really don't think they've bedded, the secret betrothal is hearsay but he's smitten--not that I blame him, or anyone in Asia for that matter. I hate the idea of sending Mrs. Struan secret reports, for obvious reasons. Anyway,
I've written one, a watered-down version, and it's ready to go when this ship turns around. My loyalties must be to Malcolm first and foremost, he's tai-pan."
Now watching Malcolm Struan lying there, reading the letter Hoag had given him, seeing the wan face and listless body, he began to wonder. And to pray.
Struan looked up. His eyes narrowed.
"Yes Jamie?"
"You wanted me to do something?"
After a pause Malcolm said, "Yes.
Leave a message at the French
Legation--Angelique's there, she said she was going to wait for her mail--say an old friend has arrived from Hong Kong that I'd like her to meet."
McFay nodded and smiled. "Done. Send for me when you want anything." He left them.
Uneasily Struan watched the door.
Jamie's face had been too open. Trying to regain his calm he went back to the letter:
Malcolm, my poor dear son, Just a short note in haste as Ronald Hoag leaves at once for the mail ship I held up so he could catch it, and you can have the best care. I was aghast to hear about those swine and that they had attacked you.
Jamie reports that this Dr. Babcott has had to operate--please write by any express mail you can and come home quickly so we can care for you properly. I send my love and prayers, as do
Emma, Rose and Duncan. P.s. I love you.
He looked up. "So?"
"So? Tell me the truth, Malcolm. How are you?"
"I feel dreadful and I'm afraid I'm going to die."
Hoag sat in the armchair and steepled his fingers. "The first is understandable, the second not necessarily accurate though very easy, very very easy and very very dangerous to believe. Chinese can
"makee die," can think themselves into death even though healthy--I've seen it happen."
"Christ, I don't want to die, I have everything to live for. I want to live and get well so much I can't tell you. But every night and every day at some time the thought hits me... it hits like a physical blow."
"What medicine are you taking?"
"Just some stuff--laudanum's in it--to help me sleep. The pain's rotten and I'm so uncomfortable."
"Every night?"
"Yes." Struan added, half apologetically, "He wants me to stop taking it, says I've... I should stop."
"Have you tried?"
"Yes."
"But haven't stopped?"
"No, not yet. My, my will seems to forsake me."
"That's one of its problems--however valuable and beautiful it is." He smiled. "Laudanum was the name first given by Paracelsus to this panacea.
Do you know Paracelsus?"
"No."
"Neither do I," Hoag said with a laugh.
"Anyway we passed the name on to this tincture of opium. Pity that all derivatives are habit forming. But then you know that."
"Yes."
"We can wean you off it, that's no problem."
"It's a problem, I know that too, and that you still don't approve of our opium trade."
Hoag smiled. "I'm glad you made that a statement, not a question. But then you don't approve of it either, no China trader does but you're all trapped. Now, no economics, no politics, Malcolm. Next, Miss
Richaud?"
Struan felt the rush of blood in his face.
"Now you bloody listen once and for all time: whatever Mother says I'm old enough to know my own mind and can do what I want! Clear?"
Hoag smiled benignly. "I'm your doctor, Malcolm, not your mother. I'm also your friend. Have I ever failed you, or any one of your family?"
With a visible effort Struan shoved away his anger but could not still his racing heart. "Sorry, sorry, but I..." He shrugged helplessly.
"Sorry."
"That's not necessary. I'm not trying to interfere in your private life. Your health depends on many factors. It seems she's a major one.
Hence my question. I ask for medical reasons--not family reasons. So, Miss Angelique
Richaud?"
Struan wanted to sound manly and calm but could not contain his frustration and burst out, "I want to marry her and it's driving me mad lying here like a
... lying here helpless. For Christ's sake I can't even get out of bed yet, can't pee or... can't do a God-cursed thing, can't hardly drink or eat or anything without it hurting like hell.
I'm going mad and much as I try I don't seem to be getting better..." He continued ranting until he weakened. Hoag just listened.
Eventually Struan stopped. He mumbled another apology.
"May I take a look at you?"
"Yes... yes of course."
With great care Hoag examined him, put his ear to his chest to listen to his heart, looked in his mouth, took his pulse, peered at the wound and smelt it. His fingers probed the stomach walls, searching for the organs beneath, the extent of the damage:
"Does that hurt... This... Is it easier here?" Every little push caused Malcolm to groan.
At length, Hoag stopped.
Struan broke the silence. "Well?"
"Babcott has done a very good job with what would have by this time killed a normal man."
Hoag's words were measured and full of confidence.
"Now we will try an experiment." Gently he took Struan's legs and helped him to sit on the side of the bed. Then, his arm around Malcolm's shoulders, taking most of the weight with his surprising strength, he helped him stand. "Careful!"
Struan could not stay upright by himself, but he had the impression of standing and this encouraged him. After a moment or two Hoag settled him in the bed again.
Struan's heart was thumping from the pain but he was greatly satisfied. "Thanks."
The doctor sat back in the armchair and gathered his own strength. Then he said, "I'm going to leave you now, got to get myself organized. I would like you to rest. After I've seen Babcott
I'll come back again. We'll probably come back together. Then we'll talk. All right?"
"Yes. And... Thanks, Ronald."
For an answer Hoag just patted him on the arm, picked up his belongings and left.
Once alone, the tears seeped down
Struan's cheeks and these happy tears took him in sleep. When he awoke, he felt r
ested, for the first time refreshed, and he stayed without moving, glorying in the fact that he had stood up--with help yes but he had been on his feet and made a beginning, and that now, now he had a real ally.
From where he lay, slightly turned on his left side, he could see out of the window toward the sea. He loved the sea and hated it, never at ease on it, fearing it because it was uncontrollable and unpredictable like on the sunny day when the twins and the Bosun rowed offshore a hundred yards or so and a wave came and overturned the boat and a current took them down, all of them swimmers, the twins like fish, but all gone except the seaman. The shock devastated him and almost killed his father. His mother stayed in one of her walking comas, saying repeatedly: "the will of
God. We must go on."
Won't think about my brothers, or Dirk
Struan, he told himself, glad to be safe ashore. But our past is bound to the sea, inexorably, and our future. Isn't our ultimate strength in our clippers and steamers--and
China.
Japan's a small market, interesting but small, never to be compared with China. We can make money here certainly--selective armaments and ships and British skills will make a bundle.
I'm going to tell Jamie to conclude the Choshu order. Let them kill themselves and the quicker the better. Sir William's weak-kneed dillydallying, waiting for London's approval to war is stupid. If it was up to me I would order them to hand over the murderers, to pay up at once or tomorrow a state of war would exist between us, and the first act would be to stamp out Yedo. I will never, never forgive the bastards!
The horizon beckoned. Soon I must go back to Hong Kong to take charge. A week or so. No hurry. Plenty of time.
What's the time now?
There was no need to turn and look at the clock, the angle of the sun told him it was about noon and he thought that normally he would order lovely rare roast beef and Yorkshire pudding, with rich gravy and roast potatoes, a bowl or two of diced roast chicken with fried rice and mixed vegetables, and other Chinese dishes that
Ah Tok would make and he enjoyed--however much his mother and brother and sisters decried as tasteless, without nourishment, probably poisonous and only fit for heathens...
A slight sound. Angelique was curled up in the armchair, dwarfed by it, her face tearstained, and more unhappy than he had ever seen her.
"Christ, what's the matter?"
"I'm, I'm ruined." Her tears began again.
"For God's sake, what're you talking about?"
"This, it was in today's mail." She got up and handed him a letter, tried to speak, couldn't. The sudden movement he made to take it twisted him and he barely managed to stop crying out.
The paper was green, like the envelope, dated
Hong Kong, 23rd Sept., the letterhead Guy
Richaud, Richaud Fr@eres, and in French which
Struan could read adequately:
Darling Angelique, In haste. The business deal I told you about did not turn out very well, my Portuguese Macao partners cheated me so
I lost heavily. All my present capital has vanished and you may hear lies spread by enemies that I am unable to make new banking arrangements so the company is in the hands of
Receivers. Don't believe them, the future is bright, never fear, everything is in hand. This letter goes by tomorrow's mail ship. Today I have passage on the American steamer, Liberty, for
Bangkok, where I am promised new financing from French Sources. I will write from there, in the meantime, I am your devoted Father.
P.s. By now you will be aware of the sad but expected news about Culum Struan. We have just heard about the vile Japper attack on
Malcolm. I hope he's not badly hurt, please wish him well and give him my hopes for a quick recovery
Struan's mind was in a turmoil. "Why are you ruined?"
"He's, he took all my money," she whimpered, "stole all my money and lost that as well, he's a thief and now, now I've nothing in the world. He stole all that I have, oh
Malcolm, what am I going to do?"
"Angelique, Angelique, listen!" She seemed such a waif, so melodramatic, that he almost laughed. "For goodness' sake, listen, that's no problem. I can give you any money you wa--"
"I can't accept money from you," she cried out through her tears. "That's not right!"
"Why not? Soon we'll be married won't we?"
The crying stopped. "We... we will?"
"Yes. We'll, we'll make the announcement today."
"But father, he's," she sniffed tearfully like a child, "Andr`e told me he was sure that there was no business deal in Macao or anywhere and never was. It seems Father was a gambler and must have gambled it all away. Father had promised, he had promised Henri, Henri Seratard he would stop, and pay his bills.... Everyone knew but me, oh Malcolm I never knew, I feel so terrible I could die, Father stole my money, he swore to keep my money safe!"
Another burst of crying and she ran over to him and was on her knees beside the bed, her head buried into the counterpane. Tenderly he stroked her hair, feeling very strong and in command. The door opened and Ah Tok strode in.
"Get out," he bellowed. "Dew neh loh moh!" She fled.
Genuinely frightened, Angelique cowered deeper into the covering. She had never known his anger. He caressed her hair. "Don't worry, my darling, don't worry about your father,
I'll see what we can do to help him later, but now you mustn't worry, I'm looking after you," his words ever more tender. Her sobbing lessened, the vast weight off her now that she had told him the truth and given him the news before he heard it from others-- and that he did not seem to care.
Andr`e's a genius, she was thinking, exhausted with relief. He swore that this would be
Malcolm's reaction: "Just be honest,
Angelique, tell Malcolm the truth, that you didn't know your father was a gambler, that this is the first you've heard about it and you're shocked beyond words, that your father has stolen your money--important you use the words stolen and thief--tell the truth, show him his letter andwiththe right amount of tears and tenderness this will bond him to you forever."
"But Andr`e," she had said miserably,
"I daren't show him Father's letter. I daren't, his postscript sounds so awful..."
"Look! Without the second page the postscript just says, my hopes for a quick recovery. Perfect! The second page?
What second page? There, it's torn up and never existed."
Andr`e's nimble fingers glued the last shred of the reassembled second page into place. "There,
Henri," he said and pushed it across the desk.
"Read for yourself." It had taken him no time at all to rebuild the page from the pieces he had seemingly thrown carelessly into his wastepaper basket.
They were in Seratard's office, the door locked. The page read:
... and hopes, as we discussed, you can position an early betrothal and marriage by whatever means necessary... He is the catch of the season and vital for our future, yours particularly. Struan will permanently solve
Richaud Fr@eres. Never mind that he is
British, too young or whatever, now he's tai-pan of Struan's and can assure us of a smooth future. Be adult, Angelique, do anything necessary to bond him to you because your future is presently threadbare.
"That's not so terrible," Seratard said uneasily, "just a father's panic advice, reaching for straws. Struan is without doubt a wonderful catch for any girl and Angelique... who could blame a father?"
"That depends on the father. This, if used at the correct time in the correct way is another weapon over her, therefore over the Noble House."
"Then you think the poor girl will be successful?"
"We must work to make it so. Now that we've this evidence to use, if necessary, we must assist her as a matter of policy." Andr`e's lips were a thin cold line. "Not that I think she's a poor girl. She's the one who's prepared to snare him by any means necessary. Eh?"
Seratard sat back in the red leather chair.
His office bureau was tatty except for a few oils of modern, little-known French painters,
Manet amongst them, that he collected cheaply through a Paris agent from time to time. "What's she doing but reacting to a young man's love?" He shoved the paper back. "I don't like these methods, Andr`e. They're distasteful. You encouraged the girl into the morass of half-truths by telling her to give him half the letter."