Tai-Pan (39 page)

Skinner intercepted him anxiously. “Afternoon, Mr. Struan.”

“Oh, hello, Mr. Skinner.”

“Great day in the Orient, isn’t it?”

“Aye. If you’ll excuse me, I have to—”

“Won’t keep you a moment, Mr. Struan. I tried to see you last night.” Skinner dropped his voice. He was sweating more than usual and smelling foul as always. “The notes of The Noble House’re due today, I seem to recall.”

“Do you, now?”

“Are they going to be met?”

“Had you ever any doubt, Mr. Skinner?”

“There are rumors. About bullion.”

“So I’ve heard.”

“I hope they’re true. I wouldn’t like a change in the ownership of the 
Oriental Times
.”

“Nor would I. This evening I’ll give you an item of interest. Now, if you’ll excuse me?”

Skinner watched Struan approach Gordon Chen and wished he could be privy to that conversation. Then he noticed Brock and his family chatting with Nagrek Thumb. This 
is
 a great day, he thought gleefully, as he lumbered toward them. Who’ll get the knoll?

“I was so sorry to hear about your loss, sir,” Gordon Chen was saying. “I tried to see you but failed in my duty. I offered a prayer.”

“Thank you.”

“My mother asked me to tell you she would observe the usual hundred days of mourning.”

“Please tell her that’s na necessary,” Struan said, knowing that she would do so anyway. “Now, what’s been going on with you since I last saw you?”

“Nothing very much. I tried to help Chen Sheng find the house some credit, sir. But I’m afraid we were not successful.” The wind tugged at his queue, shaking it.

“Credit is very hard to come by,” Struan said.

“Yes, it is indeed. I’m sorry.” Gordon Chen thought about the vast quantity of bullion in 
China Cloud’s
 hold and was filled with admiration for his father. He had heard the rumors this morning, and they had confirmed others that had filtered into Tai Ping Shan: that the Tai-Pan had smuggled the bullion out of Canton from under the noses of the hated Manchus. But he said nothing about the rebirth of The Noble House, for that would be impolite.

“Perhaps it’s time that you had a little credit. I might be able to arrange it. Say, one lac of silver.”

Gordon Chen’s eyes flickered, and he gasped, “That is a huge amount of credit, sir.”

“You take one-fourth of the profit, I take three.”

“That would be very fair, sir,” Gordon Chen said, collecting his shattered wits quickly. “Generous. In such hard times as these, most fair. But if I were to have two-thirds and you one-third, that would assist me to increase your profit considerably. Very considerably.”

“I expect the profit to be considerable.” Struan threw his cheroot away. “We’ll be partners. You take one half, I one half. This is a private arrangement between us. To be secret. You will keep books and account monthly. Agreed?”

“Agreed. You are more than a little generous, sir. Thank you.”

“See me this evening and I’ll give you the necessary paper. I’ll be aboard 
Resting Cloud.
”

Gorden Chen was so happy that he wanted to jump and shout with joy. He could not fathom why his father was so generous. But he knew that the one lac was very safe and that it would increase a thousandfold. With joss, he added quickly. Then he remembered the Hung Mun Tong and wondered if loyalty to the long would conflict with loyalty to his father. And if it did, which would dominate. “I can’t thank you enough, sir. Can this agreement begin at once?”

“Aye. I suppose you’ll want to bid on some land.”

“I had thought—” Gordon Chen stopped.

Culum was approaching them, his face set.

“Hello, Culum,” Struan said.

“Hello, Father.”

“This is Gordon Chen. My son, Culum,” Struan said, conscious of the stares and the silence of the crowd on the beach.

Gordon Chen bowed. “I’m honored to meet you, sir.”

“Gordon’s your half brother, Culum,” Struan said.

“I know.” Culum stuck out his hand. “I’m pleased to meet you.”

Still dumfounded from hearing Struan acknowledge him as son, Gordon weakly shook his hand. “Thank you. Thank you very much.”

“How old are you, Gordon?” Culum asked.

“Twenty, sir.”

“Half brothers should call each other by their Christian names, shouldn’t they?”

“If it pleases you.”

“We must get to know each other.” Culum turned to Struan, who was rocked by his son’s acknowledgment of Gordon. “Sorry to disturb you, Father. I just wanted to meet Gordon,” he said, and left.

Struan felt the silence break as the still-life beach came alive again. And he was astonished to see tears streaming down Gordon’s face.

“I’m sorry—I’m—I’ve waited all my life, Mr. Struan. Thank you. Thank you,” Gordon said brokenly.

“Most people call me ‘Tai-Pan,’ lad. We’ll forget the ‘Mr. Struan.’ ”

“Yes, Tai-Pan.” Gordon Chen bowed and walked away.

As Struan started to go after Culum, he saw Longstaff’s cutter beach. The admiral and a group of naval officers were with him. Horatio as well.

Good, Struan thought. Now Brock.

He waved to Robb and motioned at Brock. Robb nodded and left Sarah and overtook Culum. Together they joined Struan.

“Do you have the papers, Robb?”

“Yes.”

“Come on, then. Let’s get our notes back.” Struan glanced at Culum. “Nothing to be nervous about, lad.”

“Yes.”

They walked a way and Struan said, “I’m glad you met Gordon, Culum. Thank you.”

“I—I wanted to meet him today. With you. Well—publicly.”

“Why?”

“Isn’t that giving you the face you say is so important?”

“Who told you about Gordon?”

“I heard rumors when I came back from Canton. People are ever ready to spread bad news.” He remembered the sardonic amusement of most of the traders and their wives whom he had met. “So sorry, lad, you came at such a bad time. Pity the house is dead. Won’t be the same without The Noble House,” they would say in various ways. But Culum knew they were all gloating, glad to see the house humbled. Aunt Sarah had been the one to really open his eyes to his naivete. They had been walking along Queen’s Road and had passed some Eurasians, the first he had seen, a boy and girl, and he had asked her what nationality they were, and where they came from.

“Here,” she had said. “They’re half-castes, half-English half-heathen. Many of the traders have bastards from heathen mistresses. It’s all very secret, of course, but everyone knows. Your Uncle Robb has one.”

“What?”

“I sent her and her whelp packing years ago. It wouldn’t have been so bad, I suppose, if the woman had been Christian and pretty. I could have understood that. But her—no.”

“Has—has Father—other children?”

“Children I don’t know, Culum. He has a son who works for his compradore, called Gordon Chen. Your father has a curious sense of humor, giving him a clan Christian name. I hear he’s been baptized a Christian. I suppose that’s something. Perhaps I shouldn’t have told you, Culum. But someone has to, and perhaps it’s better for you to learn the truth from your kin and not overhear it snickered behind your back. Oh, yes. You’ve at least one half brother in Asia.”

That night he had been unable to sleep. The next day he had gone ashore despairingly. Some naval officers, Glessing among them, were playing cricket, and he had been asked to make up the team. When it was his turn to bat, he took all of his anger out on the ball, smashing it, wanting to kill it, and with it, his shame. He had played brilliantly but had got no pleasure from the game. Later Glessing had drawn him aside and asked him what was the matter. He had blurted it out.

“I don’t approve of your father—as you no doubt know,” Glessing had said. “But that has nothing to do with his private life. Have the same problem as you, myself. At least, I know my father’s got a mistress in Maida Vale. Two sons and a daughter. He’s never mentioned it to me, though I expect he knows I know. Damned difficult, but what’s a man to do? Probably when I’m that old I’ll do the same. Have to wait and see. Course, I agree it’s damned uncomfortable knowing you’ve a half-caste brother.”

“Do you know him?”

“I’ve seen him. Never talked to him, though I hear he’s a good chap. Take some advice—don’t let what your father does in his private life get under your skin. He’s the only father you’ll have.”

“You disapprove of him, yet you’re taking his side. Why?”

Glessing had shrugged. “Perhaps because I’ve learned that the ‘sins’ of the father are the father’s problem, not the son’s. Perhaps because the Tai-Pan’s a better seaman than I’ll ever be and runs the best fleet of the most beautiful ships on earth—treats his seamen like they should be treated, good food, pay and quarters—when we’ve to work with what the damned Parliament gives us: no cursed money, and pressed men and gallows bait as crew. Perhaps because of Glessing’s Point—or because he’s 
the
 Tai-Pan. Perhaps because the Sinclairs admire him. I don’t know. I don’t mind telling you that if I ever get an order to go after him, I’ll do it to the limit of the law. Even so, I hope to God he manages to outsmart that uncouth bugger Brock again. Couldn’t stand that sod as 
the
 Tai-Pan.”

From that day Culum had seen a lot of Glessing. Between them a friendship had ripened . . .

“Today,” Culum continued to Struan, very uncomfortably, “well, when I saw you and Gordon Chen together, I asked George Glessing. He was honest enough to tell me.”

Struan stopped. “You mean it was dishonest of me na to tell you?”

“No. You don’t have to justify anything you do. To me. A father doesn’t have to justify anything to a son, does he?”

“Gordon’s a nice lad,” Robb said uneasily.

“Why did you want to know how old he was?” Struan asked.

“He’s the same age as me, isn’t he?”

“So?”

“It’s not important, Father.”

“It is. To you. Why?”

“I’d rather not—”

“Why?”

“A matter of ethics, I suppose. If we’re the same age, his mother was—isn’t the word ‘concurrent’?—with mine.”

“Aye. Concurrent would be the right word.”

“ ‘Adultery’ would be another right word, wouldn’t it?”

“One of the truths of man is that adultery’s as inevitable as death and sunrise.”

“Not according to the Commandments of God.” Culum avoided his father’s eyes. “The sale should start—now that Longstaff’s here,” he said.

“Is that why you’re so nervous? Meeting Gordon and applying Commandments to me?”

“You don’t need me, do you, Father, with Brock? I think I’ll—if you don’t mind, I’ll see everything’s ready.”

“Please yoursel’, lad. I think you should be with us. This is a rare occasion. But please yoursel’.” Struan resumed his course along the road. Culum hesitated, then caught up with him.

Queen’s Road ran due west from the valley along the shore. A mile away it passed the tents of the marines who guarded the growing number of naval stores. Beyond them a mile were the tented rows of the soldiers near Glessing’s Point, the terminus of Queen’s Road.

And above Glessing’s Point was Tai Ping Shan, connected to the shore by a quivering, never-ending line of Chinese, bowed by the weight of their possessions. The line was perpetually moving and constantly replenished from the incessant arrival of junks and sampans.

“Good day, Your Excellency,” Struan said, raising his hat as they met Longstaff and his party.

“Oh, afternoon, Dirk. Day, Robb.” Longstaff did not stop. “Aren’t you ready to begin, Culum?”

“In just a moment, Excellency.”

“Well, hurry it up. I’ve got to get on board, what?” And he added to Struan, as an insulting afterthought, “Good to have you back, Dirk.” He continued his stroll, greeting others.

“He’ll change in about three minutes,” Struan said.

“Stupid, contemptible, pox-ridden fool.” Culum’s voice was raw and soft. “Thank God this is the last day I serve him.”

Struan shook his head. “If I were you, I’d use ‘Deputy Colonial Secretary’ to my advantage.”

“How?”

“We have our power back. But it’s still his hand that signs paper into law. And his hand still has to be guided, eh?”

“I suppose—I suppose so,” Culum replied.

As the Struans approached the Brocks, a silence fell over the beach and excitement quickened.

Gorth and Nagrek Thumb were ranged alongside Brock and Liza and the girls.

Skinner began whistling tonelessly and moved closer.

Aristotle Quance hesitated in the middle of a brush stroke.

Only the very young did not feel the excitement, and were not watching and listening.

“Afternoon, ladies, gentlemen,” Struan said, doffing his hat.

“Day, Mr. Struan,” Liza Brock said blandly. “Thee knowed Tess and Lillibet, doan thee?”

“Of course. Day, ladies,” Struan said as the girls curtsied, noticing that Tess had grown considerably since he had last seen her. “Can we settle our business?” he said to Brock.

“Now’s as good a time as may be. Liza, you’n the girls, back to the ship. And, Lillibet, you be akeeping thy hands outa the sea or thee’ll catch thy death. And doan fall overboard. And thee, Tess luv, thee watch thyself and Lillibet. Run along now, and be adoing wot yor ma tells thee.”

They curtsied hastily and ran ahead of their mother, glad to be dismissed.

“Children an’ shipboard just doan mix, do they?” Brock said. “Never watch where they be agoin’. Enough to drive you barmy.”

“Aye.” Struan handed the banker’s draft to Gorth. “We’re even now, Gorth.”

“Thank you,” Gorth said. He examined it deliberately.

“Perhaps you’d like to double it.”

“How?”

“A further twenty thousand says one of our ships will beat you home.”

“Thankee. But they sayed a fool’n his money is soon split. I baint fool—or a betting man.” He looked at the draft. “This’ll come in right handy. Maybe I can buy a bitty of the knoll from me da’.”

The color of Struan’s eyes deepened. “Let’s go over to the tent,” he said, and began to lead the way.

Robb and Culum followed, and Robb was very glad that his brother was Tai-Pan of The Noble House. His old fear returned. How am I going to deal with Brock? How?