Dynasty

by Elegant, Robert;

  Harry Sekloong stood on the terrace. She had not realized how similar were the brothers’ voices, though their physical resemblance was marked. Harry was slightly taller, slightly darker, and slightly heavier than Charles. His eyes were a deeper hazel and his nose was straighter, lacking the pronounced arch that gave Charles’s and Sir Jonathan’s features of a predatory cast. Harry also lacked Charles’s solemnity, which verged on pomposity. Four years younger than his brother, Harry evaded the full, oppressive weight of his father’s will through the lightheartedness that Sir Jonathan, in exasperation, called light-mindedness. Harry was quicksilver, sparkling and irrepressible.

  In spite of her disappointment, her spirits rose to Harry’s bubbling gaiety. Her own age, he was more brother than her own elder brother Thomas Duane Osgood, ten thousand miles away in England.

  “Wotcher, ’arry?” she called, slipping into the mock Cockney he sometimes affected.

  “Wotcher, Mary?” he called. “Gotta cuppa char for me? The old man unshackled me early, and I decided to call on my favorite sister-in-law.”

  “Your only sister-in-law!” Her joking protest slipped out unaware, but her laughter abruptly halted. Was the nameless “Swatow girl,” Charles’s concubine, also his sister-in-law?

  “Not to worry!” He ignored her obvious consternation. “You’d be my favorite if I had twenty sister-in-laws. Having only one, you’re still my favorite.”

  He caught her up in a bear-hug and whirled her around.

  “Punishment for doubting my sincerity,” he said with mock gravity. “And worse to come if you still misbehave.”

  “Harry! Harry! Let me down!” she protested laughing. “What’ll the servants think?”

  “The servants think? Good for ’em to make ’em think. Thinking’s a rare exercise for ’em.”

  “Don’t do your Colonel Dunderhead act now. Come have that cup of tea.”

  “Right y’are, luv. Whatever you say.”

  He set her down with exaggerated care. She took his hand and led him into the morning-room, where Ah Sam stood behind the full paraphernalia of an English high tea—thin sandwiches arrayed on Spode plates before the silver teapot and samovar, the silver strainer, creamer, and sugar bowl knobby with scrolled leaves and flowers. The Number One Boy’s features were twisted in a ferocious grin quite different from the forced half-smile he tendered Charles. Always suspiciously protective on her behalf, even Ah Sam could not resist Harry’s ebullience. He not only liked the younger brother, but trusted him. Harry satisfied Ah Sam’s mysterious standards as Charles did not.

  Harry addressed him in Cantonese so rapid she caught only a few words, and the Number One Boy left the room chuckling.

  “Harry,” she asked with sudden suspicion, “you haven’t come from Sir Jonathan, from Father, have you? Why did he unlock your leg-irons early today?”

  “Swear to you, Mary, I’m not an emissary from the old man or anyone else. Just from myself.”

  “No better accreditation,” she smiled. “What is your mission, Mr. Ambassador Plenipotentiary?”

  “It is a secret mission, chère Madame. And it has already succeeded.”

  “Succeeded?”

  “I wanted to see you laugh again. You’ve been going around like a tragedy queen half the time—and a sick calf the other.”

  “A flattering description, Mr. Ambassador. Very diplomatic. Do you talk to all your hostesses the same way?”

  “Chère Madame, I have accredited myself only to you. And I am very diplomatic. I’ve not come to request explanations of your strange conduct, but to make explanations.”

  “Explanations about what, Your Excellency?”

  “Gimme another crab-and-cucumber sandwich,” he answered inelegantly, “and I’ll explain my explanations.”

  Mary laughed and passed the platter. For the first time in months, she was free of self-absorption.

  “May I stop clowning for a minute?” His words were muffled by the sandwich he chewed. “You can throw me out on my ear whenever you please. It’s not my business, I suppose, but I’ve made it my business. You’ve got to talk with someone who loves you as you are—wouldn’t change anything about you.”

  “Go on, Harry,” she prompted. “I’m listening.”

  “You remember I told you not to marry Charles? Later I wondered why. I wanted you for myself. But that’s all past now; it’s unthinkable. Do you remember I told you the Sekloongs would try to remake you?”

  “I remember that very well.”

  “The House of Sekloong is a hydraulic press. Whatever goes in must come out in the shape the family wishes—to be used as the family wishes.”

  “They haven’t succeeded in remolding you,” Mary objected.

  “I’m not too sure. But I resist. Yes, I resist. The oldest son can’t. That’s what made Charles—irresistible pressure and no talent for evasion, for playing the clown. He’s malleable—stubborn, yet malleable. But not flexible. Me, I’m not malleable … or I’ve half convinced the old man I’m not. But I’m flexible.”

  Mary nodded, intrigued by the coincidence between Harry’s assessment and her own musing.

  “Now you’re part of us. No point talking about what might’ve been or might not’ve been. You’re part of us, a highly valued part. You can’t escape—even if you really want to.”

  “I don’t know what I want anymore,” she confessed. “But how can you say highly valued? Prettier girls are sixpence a dozen, prettier and more docile girls.”

  “More docile, yes. More beautiful, more charming, no. And highly valued because of this damned Eurasian complex. Your children are more than half European, and that’s the way we’re moving.”

  “But your father objected violently. He wanted Charles to marry a Chinese girl.”

  “True enough. But once he’d yielded, it was a fundamental change. He knew it’d be; that’s why he fought so hard.”

  “I don’t quite understand,” Mary said.

  “Behind the bluster, the old man’s a total realist, isn’t he?”

  She nodded.

  “He’s a ferocious Chinese patriot—most of the time. But he’s got the Eurasian tic. He won’t say it, but his realism tells him the Chinese’ll never accept us totally. They’re too arrogant, too blood-proud.”

  “You … we … we’re not quite embraced by the European community, even with his knighthood.”

  “True again. But the worst Europeans are less rigid than the Chinese, more open. The old man’s convinced the Europeans will accept us in time. Maybe another generation or two, but in time—”

  “And the Chinese?”

  “Not in this century. The old man’s determined to make the Sekloongs not only respected, but accepted. That’s why he wouldn’t take the name O’Flaherty. He’s determined the Europeans will accept us on his—our—terms. That’s why he insisted on building on The Peak. A weakness perhaps in the strongest man I know, but there it is.”

  “I can’t believe he puts so much stress …”

  “I’ve told you. Once he gave way on your marriage, it was inevitable. And he’s determined it’ll work, your marriage.”

  “It all sounds a bit mad. So different from the way it appears.”

  “But it’s true. Mary, do you know how many children the old man has? By rough count, I’d say fourteen he knows about. Only five strictly legitimate, Charles, little Matilda, myself, and our two half-brothers by his first marriage, his Chinese-style marriage, Sydney and Gregory.”

  “But he acknowledges them.”

  “Of course. But they’re three-quarters Chinese and married to Chinese. Their mother Lillian was a Shanghai girl, killed by the Green Gang when she’d been married only three years. As far as the old man’s concerned, the Seks are déclassé, not quite up to snuff. They’re just second-rate treaty-port Eurasians. And you know what that means—scum to both Europeans and Chinese. But you and Charles are the white hopes, the new Sekloongs who’ll conquer both worlds.”

 
; “You’re overstating it, Harry. The Sek brothers are running the Shanghai end of the business.”

  “Yes, the Shanghai end, not the center in Hong Kong. That’s reserved for Charles and you … maybe me. You, your children are the point of the spear the old man’s determined will conquer the European citadel.”

  “Strange you should say that. The first time we met, he talked of penetrating the fortress of Hong Kong.”

  “See what I mean?” Harry rejoined. “And it’s not just because he can use you—he’s got more respect for you than for Charles or, certainly, me.”

  “Then why … why does he allow …” Mary faltered.

  “Why does he allow Charles his little bit of fluff, you mean? You know any children won’t count. That’s a pretext Charles invented.”

  “Then why?” she interrupted.

  “Even the old man can’t control Charles all the time. You know Charles is hurt, too—deeply hurt. Though I’m sure it’s his own damned-fool fault, whatever’s going on between you. But he’s hurt, and he’s striking back at you. Sounds funny, I know, but Charles’d never take a concubine if he didn’t care about you and want to get back at you. Otherwise, a simple arrangement, another liaison, but discreetly.”

  “I don’t understand,” she protested. “It doesn’t make sense.”

  “It does, you know. Makes curious sense, if you know Charles. The old man respects you, but he’ll use you ruthlessly. Same for Charles. He’s been molded by that pressure. He kicks up hell once in a while, but always comes to heel. The old man knows that.”

  “You mean he’s counting on Charles to come back to me?”

  “Of course. If you leave Charles, that’ll tear it. Your children’ll be completely unprotected from the same pressure. You’ve got to stay to protect them. Charles won’t. He can’t.”

  “You’re very persuasive,” she conceded. “But the price is too high.”

  “So’s the cost of leaving. You still love the old fellow, my esteemed elder brother, don’t you? You haven’t given him up, have you?”

  She nodded reluctant assent.

  “Mary, it’s a bad time for everyone. The old man’s doing his trickiest maneuvering ever, and his career has, shall we say, not always been entirely straightforward. Legal, yes. He’s got great respect for legitimacy, maybe because he’s not. But straightforward—hardly ever.”

  “What’s that to do with me? I can’t see the connection. One’s a family matter, a recalcitrant daughter-in-law in an overwhelming Chinese family. The other’s business.”

  “You’re learning, Mary, but you’re still incorrigibly British. No Chinese woman would ask that question. There’s no dividing line, no distinction between family and business. The business is for the family, the family is for the business. Nothing can separate them. I warned you.”

  “I see,” she said dubiously. “Do go on.”

  “Briefly, just now. I don’t want to burden you with too much too soon. But can you understand that everything that happens between Charles and you directly affects the family and the Sekloong enterprises?”

  “I’ll try to understand.”

  “That’s my girl!” he drawled. “If you’ll take me on as your native guide, you’ll learn faster. After all, I know the terrain.”

  “Gladly, if you’ll teach me that terrain.”

  “Well, just one more glimpse right now. As my jolly step-grandfather Richard Wheatley would say, ‘Mustn’t worry that pretty little head’!”

  “Get on with it, my good man!” Mary’s jest did not conceal her impatience.

  “All right, though not all today. The old man wants his independence, his own mighty Sekloong hong, not Derwent’s leavings. Of course, he’ll stay their comprador. Saves face on both sides. But he’s determined to be the first great Chinese taipan, and he’s moving fast. There’s the railroad, the Canton-Kowloon line. When we get a substantial piece, we’ll really be moving.”

  “Who takes over the opium?” Mary jibed indignantly.

  “Opium’s a dying trade, but still important. As a Chinese patriot, the old man hates the traffic. But he wants it extinguished properly. Then Dr. Sun Yat-sen’s getting five lakhs a year, say £50,000, from us to fight the Manchus. Some money goes to the Manchus too. Only sensible to hedge our bet, though the Empire’ll fall apart anyway. London thinks it can preserve the Manchu Empire. If old Dick Wheatley caught us red-handed, he could make a damned fine effort to smash us.”

  “It’s all so complicated,” Mary sighed. “But I think I’m beginning to understand.”

  “Good. For now, let’s stop with the Secret Society connection. The Greens and Reds hate each other—when they’re not conniving together. But they hate Manchus and Europeans more. The old man’s flirting with them; so’s Dr. Sun Yat-sen. After all, the societies are patriotic Chinese, even if they are outside the law. We’re laying out a packet of tea-money to buy certain immunities for the Triads in Hong Kong.”

  Harry grinned wickedly and extended his cup for replenishment from the silver teapot.

  “Do you follow me?” he demanded. “You see how one misstep—one confidence betrayed—could ruin us? That’s why the old man’s so tense. P’etty Eng’ish missee savvy poor Chinee fellah he makee talk-talk?”

  “In general,” she acknowledged, “but not entirely.”

  “Be a miracle if you did entirely. Let’s leave it for now and go see the children. But you will take me on as your native guide?”

  “Gladly,” Mary smiled, “and at a good wage.”

  June 19, 1905–November 16, 1906

  Harry’s intervention opened a window to the world outside the nurseries and the overfurnished rooms of the Small House. Mary could again see beyond the high walls that protected and isolated Sekloong Manor. She felt herself vitally alive for the first time since she had been stunned by colliding with the granite obduracy of Charles’s character. She had found a strong ally within the family, an ally who might in time even help her arrive at a new relationship with Charles, for the two brothers were close. She still raged in humiliation at the thought of Charles and his concubine intertwined beneath a silken coverlet. But she was less frequently afflicted by yearning for the husband she still loved. Harry buoyed her spirits and often diverted her thoughts from the hateful “Swatow girl.”

  Mary badly needed a confidant. Charles’s self-indulgence and his innate contempt for women had finally made it impossible for her to talk with him except in banalities, while bearing four children in hardly four years had cut her off from almost all contact with outsiders. Moreover, Harry’s accounts of the complex role the Sekloongs played in the tense drama of commerce and politics fascinated her. The family was far more influential than she had imagined, though it chose to move in the half-shadows outside the limelight. Her brother-in-law opened the curtains on a vista she had briefly glimpsed before her eyes turned inward upon domestic preoccupations. She felt that she was again becoming a whole human being in a vital, dynamic world, rather than a queen bee brooding in secluded splendor.

  They saw each other almost every day, since it was only a three-minute walk to the Small House from The Castle, where Harry lived with his parents like a dutiful Chinese son. He was never loath to escape Sir Jonathan’s admonitions that he must apply himself to the business or Lady Lucinda’s urging that he take a virtuous Chinese bride.

  They often discussed matters outside confined Hong Kong, the great world where the Manchu Empire was toppling of its own weight. That collapse was hastened not only by endemic rebellion, but by the interference of Western merchants backed by Western arms and Western technology. Men like the Wheatleys wished to sustain the oppressive rule of the Manchus, since they felt the rebels against the decadent Great Pure Dynasty threatened stable trade. But the conservative Europeans understood the purposes of those democratic, bourgeois rebels no more than they did the consequences of their own actions. The foreigners sought to preserve the Empire, but their intervention eroded its sovereignty,
hastening its inevitable collapse.

  Sometimes Harry told her of his own secret missions to deliver funds to the republicans and assist in planning their campaigns. Dr. Sun Yat-sen’s following within China was steadily growing, as was his determination to overthrow that living fossil, the Manchu Empire. The Imperial System was based upon doctrines first enunciated by Confucius in the sixth century B.C., when they were already conservative. Sustained by a petrified moral code, that system had evolved only slightly over the millennia. Its essential structure had not altered significantly since it was institutionalized by the Han Dynasty in the second century B.C. Although he was anti-Manchu by conviction, Sir Jonathan originally hesitated to acknowledge the necessity to destroy the Imperial System Harry called “the last survivor of the age of political dinosaurs.” He would instinctively have preferred to set a Chinese Emperor on the Dragon Throne to rule China in much the same manner as the Central Realms had been ruled for two millennia. He was finally convinced that reform within the Imperial System was impossible, since no Confucian Empire, whoever ruled, could withstand the brutal challenges of the twentieth century. Sir Jonathan was thereafter totally committed to the rebels, and Harry was his emissary to the “new men” who were determined to transform China into a modern, technological republic.

  Sometimes Harry and Mary laughed together at Harry’s wry tales of his forced quest for a bride. Sir Jonathan, like Lady Lucinda, was determined that he should marry soon, preferably a young Chinese lady, but, otherwise, the daughter of another great Hong Kong Eurasian family like the Hotungs or, if unavoidable, a suitable European. Harry was, he boasted, “supple as a serpent and twice as wily.” He eluded his father’s unremitting pressure by pursuing the search with apparent eagerness—and finally rejecting each prospective bride as unworthy. There were fortunately no suitable European candidates, for Mary suspected that one European daughter-in-law was more than enough for Sir Jonathan and Lady Lucinda.