by Gai-Jin(Lit)
"That's probably what happened. Not the climax itself but the uncontrollable straining it generates could easily tear weakened tissues or cause a rupture. His genitals were in perfect shape but his stomach cavity generally weak. I'd repaired part of the large bowel and sutured a couple of arteries, there were some nasty lesions and he wasn't healing as I would have liked, his liver was..."
"Yes, well, I don't need the details now," Sir William said squeamishly, already feeling slightly sick. "My God, young
Struan! Seems impossible--then there's Norbert! If it wasn't for Gornt we'd also have a murder on our hands. That fellow deserves a medal. He said, by the way, Jamie was provoked and Norbert deserved to get pasted.
Did you know Malcolm and Norbert were meeting in
Drunk Town to duel?"
"Not till a moment ago. Phillip told me. Madmen, both of them. Damn it, you warned them!"
"Yes I did. Damn fools, though
Gornt swore both had agreed to accept the other's apology, but he also said Norbert told him this morning he had changed his mind and was going to kill Struan. Miserable bastard!"
Uneasily Sir William shifted things on his desk, straightening papers, the small, silver mounted portrait. "What do we do now?"
"About Norbert?"
"No, Malcolm, what about Malcolm first?"
"I'll do the autopsy today, this evening. I've taken the liberty of arranging to have the body taken to Kanagawa--it'll be easier there. Hoag will assist and you'll have a report in the morning.
We'll sign the death certificate, it'll all be quite normal."
"I meant with the body," Sir William said testily.
"You can bury him at your leisure. In this weather there's no hurry, the body will keep."
"Will it, is there time to send Prancing Cloud to Hong Kong to find out what his, what Mrs.
Struan wants to do? I mean she might want to bury him there an--"
"My God, I wouldn't like to bring her that news."
"Nor would I." Sir William tugged at his collar. As usual it was chilly in the office, the coal fire tiny and miserable, with a strong draft from ill-fitting windows. "Hoag's the family doctor, he could go. But, George,
I mean, will he, will the body keep that long?
To send word to her, come back then take the body back--if that's what she wants?"
"You'd better make the decision, to bury him here or to send him back at once. We'd keep him on ice, surround the coffin with ice, on deck under canvas, he'll keep very well."
Sir William nodded, revolted.
"Phillip," he shouted through the door. "Ask
Jamie to come by at once! George,
I think the wisest course, provided he will, er, he'll keep would be to send him back. What's your advice?"
"I agree."
"Good, thank you, keep me advised about
Angelique and don't forget supper tonight. What about our bridge game?"
"Best postpone both till tomorrow."
"All right, fine, that'll be fine. Thanks again
... damn it, I forgot. What about Norbert?"
"A quick burial, soon forgotten and not regretted."
"I'll have to hold an inquest, Edward
Gornt's American, a foreign national--he's preparing a signed statement. Just as well
Adamson's on leave or he'd want to be involved. He's a lawyer isn't he, as well as U.s. Charg`e d'Affaires?"
"Doesn't matter either way. Hoag and I can give medical evidence." Babcott got up and added coldly, "But the "shooting in the back"?
Not a very good advertisement for Yokohama."
"My whole point." Sir William's face screwed up. "My whole point. Wouldn't like that breezed about."
"You mean to our hosts?"
"Yes. They'll have to be informed, that's required. Can't formally tell them exactly what happened, in either case. Obviously Norbert's an accidental death. But Struan?"
"Tell them the truth," Babcott said, enraged by the waste and furious with himself that his work had not been good enough, and that, not as a doctor, he had desperately wanted to take Angelique in his arms to protect her from it all. "The truth is this unnecessary, early death of that fine young man was attributable directly to wounds sustained in his unprovoked attack on the Tokaid@o!"
Sir William added bitterly, "By murdering bastards who still haven't been brought to justice.
You're right."
He let Babcott out, waved Tyrer away, then stood at the window, upset with his present impotence. I've got to bring the Bakufu to heel quickly or we're finished, and our vision of opening up Japan is lost. They won't do it for themselves so we have to help them. But they've got to behave like civilized, law-abiding people... meanwhile the clock's ticking, I know in my bones they'll fall on us one night, put us to the torch and that will be that. Sure as God made little apples!
Oh yes, retribution would fall back on them--with great loss of life. Meanwhile I will have failed in my duty, we'll all be dead and that's a very boring thought indeed. If only Ketterer wasn't so pigheaded. How the hell do I turn that obstinate bastard to my will?
He sighed, knowing one answer: First you'd better make a peace with him!
Their stormy meeting late last night over the
Admiral's blatant disregard of Mrs.
Struan's request and his own advice, having had no suspicion of the real reason until he had wrung it out of Jamie McFay earlier, had deteriorated into a shouting confrontation: "It was ill advised to allow Marlowe to--"'
"I thought it best! Now you listen to me--"'
"Best? God damn it, I've just learned you thought it best to stupidly interfere in political and trade matters by trying to barter a nonenforceable agreement with the pretender to the Struan throne and so alienate the true head forever more!" he had said furiously. "Didn't you?"'
"And you, sirrah, you interfere in matters that are the sole prerogative of Parliament--declaring war--and the real reason you are so ill advised with your language, sirrah, and so upset, is because
I will not begin a war we cannot win, cannot sustain with our present forces, if at all, and in my opinion any attack on the capital will rightly be considered an act of war by the natives and not an incident. Good night!"
"You agreed to assis--"'
"I agreed to rattle a few sabres, fire a few practice rounds to impress the natives but I haven't agreed to bombard
Yedo, nor for the last time will I until you show me authority in writing, approved by the
Admiralty. Good n--"'
"The Navy and the Army are subject to civilian control and advice by God and I'm the control here!"
"Yes you are, by God, if I agree," the
Admiral bellowed, neck and face purple,
"but you're not in command of my ships and until I get orders to the contrary, approved by the
Admiralty, I will run my fleet as I think best. Good night!"
Sir William sat back at his desk. He sighed and picked up a pen and wrote on his headed paper:
Dear Admiral Ketterer, Much of what you said last night was correct. Please excuse my ill-advised use of some words in the heat of the moment. Perhaps you would be kind enough to stop by this afternoon.
You will have heard of young Struan's sad death that, according to Dr. Babcott is "directly attributable to wounds caused by the unprovoked
Tokaid@o attack." I will have to make another, most serious complaint to the Bakufu about the demise of this fine English gentleman and would be very pleased to have your advice how this should be couched.
Most sincerely, my dear Sir, I remain your obedient servant.
"What I do for England," he muttered, then shouted, "Phillip!" signed the paper and powdered it to dry the ink.
"Yessir?"
"Make a copy, then send it to Ketterer by messenger."
"Jamie's just arrived, sir, and there's a deputation asking that you make this "Angel
Day," a day of mourning."
&nb
sp; "Refused! Send Jamie in."
Jamie was very bruised, his shoulder strapped up now.
"Jamie, you're feeling better? Good.
George Babcott gave me a report."
He told him what had been said about
Malcolm's body. "What do you think?"
"We should send him home to Hong Kong, sir."
"Good, my thought too. You'll accompany the
... him?"
"No sir. Mrs. Struan... afraid she doesn't approve of me anymore, and if I went back it would only worsen a really rotten situation for her, poor lady. Between us, I'm dismissed at the end of this month."
"Good God, why?" Sir William was shocked.
"Doesn't matter, not now. Angelique, our Mrs. Struan, will of course go, and Dr.
Hoag--did you know she changed her mind and decided to stay in her old apartments with us, and not at the French Legation after all?"
"No, oh well, I suppose that's best. How is she?"
"Hoag says, As well as can be expected, whatever the hell that means. We'll send
Prancing Cloud soon as you and he give me the word. When's that likely?"
"George said he'd do the autopsy today and sign the death certificate, I'll have that tomorrow.
The clipper could leave tomorrow, only problem would be
Angelique, when she's fit to travel." Sir
William looked at him keenly. "What about her?"
"Don't know, not really. I haven't seen her since... since being aboard. She didn't speak to me, not once, not lucidly. Hoag's still with her," Jamie tried to hold back his grief.
"We can only hope."
"Rotten luck. Yes, no doubt about it.
Now, Norbert. We'll have to have an inquest of course."
"Good." Jamie touched his face, brushing away a nagging fly that sought the dried blood.
"Gornt saved my life."
"Yes. He'll be commended. Jamie, when you leave Struan's what will you do? Go home?"
"This's home, here or China," Jamie said simply. "I'll, somehow I'll start my own firm."
"Good, I wouldn't like to lose you. Bless my soul, I can't imagine the Noble House here without you."
"Nor can I."
As the day wore on, the pall over
Yokohama thickened. Shock, disbelief, anger, war fears, general fears--the Tokaid@o remembered--mixed with many whispered snide remarks, but careful who you said them to because the
Angel had violent champions and any raunchy remark or laugh implied disrespect.
Malcolm was not so fortunate. He had enemies, many were glad to sneer and happy another disaster had fallen on Dirk Struan's progeny. And both priests in their several ways were sternly satisfied, seeing retribution from God.
"Andr`e," Seratard said at the lunch table in the Legation, Vervene a third man. "Did he make a will?"
"I don't know."
"See if you can find out. Ask her, or
Jamie--he would probably know more."
Andr`e Poncin nodded bleakly, worried sick. Struan's death had disrupted his plan to get more money from her quickly to pay Raiko.
"Yes, I'll try."
"Very important we should continue to stress her
French citizenship to protect her when her mother-in-law tries to break the marriage."
Vervene said, "What makes you so sure that will happen, that she'll be so antagonistic?"
"Mon Dieu, it's obvious!" Andr`e answered for Seratard, irritably. "Her attitude will be that Angelique "murdered" her son. We all know she hated her before, how much more so now? She's bound to accuse her of God knows what deviations because of her twisted
Anglo-Saxon sexual dogma, in private if not in public. And don't forget she's a fanatic Protestant." He turned to Seratard, "Henri, perhaps I'd better see
Angelique." He had already intercepted her and whispered that she should go back to Struan's and not stay here at the Legation: "For God's sake,
Angelique, your place is with your husband's people!" It was so obvious that she must strengthen her position with Struan's--at any cost--that he had almost shouted at her, but his sudden anger turned to pity seeing the depth of her despair. "I'd better go."
"Yes, please do."
Andr`e closed the door. "What the devil's the matter with him?" Vervene said with a sniff.
Seratard thought before answering, decided it was time. "It's probably his illness--the English disease."
His deputy dropped his fork in shock.
"Syphilis?"
"Andr`e told me a few weeks ago. You should know, only you amongst the staff, as these explosions may become more frequent. He's too valuable to send home." Andr`e had whispered he had made a brand-new, high-up intelligence connection: "The man says Lord Yoshi will be back in Yedo in two weeks. For a fairly modest sum, he and his Bakufu connections guarantee a private meeting aboard our flagship."
"How much?"'
"That meeting would be worth whatever it costs."
"I agree, but how much?"' Seratard asked.
"The equivalent of four months of my salary," Andr`e had said bitterly, "a pittance. Speaking of that, Henri, I need an advance, or the bonus you promised months ago."
"Nothing was agreed, dear Andr`e. In due course you will have it, but sorry again, no advance.
Very well, that amount, after the meeting."
"Half now and half after. He also told me, for no money, Tair@o Anjo is sick and may not last the year."
"Has he proof?"'
"Come on, Henri, you know that's not possible!"
"Get your contact to make this tair@o ape see Babcott for an examination and... and
I'll give you a fifty percent raise."
"Double salary from today, double salary, and
I'll need to give my contact a hefty down payment."
"Fifty percent from the day of the examination and thirty Mex in gold, five down and the rest after.
And that's all."
Seratard had seen Andr`e's hope escalate. Poor Andr`e, he's losing his touch. Of course I understand a large part of the money will stick to his fingers, but never mind, dealing with spies is dirty business, and Andr`e is particularly dirty though very clever. And unfortunate.
He reached over and took the last slice of the one Brie cheese that had arrived, on ice, at fantastic cost, with the last mail ship. "Be patient with the poor fellow, Vervene, eh?" Every day he was expecting to see signs of the disease but nothing and every day Andr`e seemed a little younger, losing his previous harassed expression. Only his temper had deteriorated.
Mon Dieu! A private Yoshi meeting! And if Babcott could examine this cretin Anjo, perhaps even cure him, at my instigation--never mind that Babcott's English,
I'll barter this coup with Sir William for some other advantage--we will have made a tremendous step forward.
He raised his glass. "Vervene, mon brave, the pox on the English and Vive la
France!"
Angelique was lying listlessly in the four-poster bed, propped against piled-up pillows, never more wan or more ethereal.
Hoag was in a chair by the bed, dozing, on and off.
The late afternoon sun broke through the clouds for a moment to brighten a dull, windy day. In the roads ships tugged at their moorings. Half an hour ago--to her a minute or hour the same--the signal gun had announced the imminent arrival of the mail ship, waking her, not that she had really been asleep, wafting instead from consciousness to unconsciousness, no border between. Her eyes drifted past Hoag. Beyond him she saw the door to Malcolm's rooms--not his rooms, nor their rooms, just rooms now for another man, another tai-pan...
The tears returned in full flood.
"Don't cry, Angelique," Hoag said softly, tenderly, every fiber concentrated, watching for telltale signs of looming disaster. "All's well, life will go on and you're fine now, truly fine."
He was holding her hand. With a handkerchief she brushed away the tears. "I would like some tea."
"At once," Hoag said,
his ugly face filled with relief. This was the first she had spoken since this morning, properly, coherently, and first moments back were vital indicators. Almost cheering he opened the door, for though her voice was a thread, there was no hysteria in it or under it or behind it, the light in her eyes was good, face no longer puffy from tears, and her pulse he had counted while holding her hand was firm and strong at ninety-eight counts per minute, no longer jumping around nauseatingly.