Tai-Pan (60 page)

“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.

“Heya, Mass’er!” Lim Din said, throwing open the door with a flourish.

“Heya, Lim Din,” Struan said, checking the barometer. Fair weather, 29.8 inches. Excellent.

He began to walk down the corridor, but Lim Din stood in the way and motioned importantly to the living room. “Missee say here-ah can. Can?”

Struan grunted, “Can.”

Lim Din gave him the brandy that was already poured and bowed him into the highback leather chair and hurried away. Struan put his feet on the ottoman. The chair smelled tangy and old and comfortable and mixed nicely with Shevaun’s perfume that still seemed to surround him.

The clock on the mantel read twenty minutes to twelve.

Struan began to hum a sea chantey. He heard a door open, and the approaching rustle of silk. Waiting for May-may to appear in the doorway, he again compared her and Shevaun. He had been comparing them all evening, trying to weigh them dispassionately. Shevaun was a beautiful toy, dynamic certainly, and vital. A woman he would like to tame, aye. And as a wife Shevaun would be a superb hostess—assured, clever, and the opener of many doors. May-may would be an extreme gamble in England—as a wife. As mistress, nay. Aye, he told himself. Even so I’m going to marry her. With the power of The Noble House behind me, and an exclusive Russian license in my pocket, I can risk thumbing my nose at convention and break an almost insurmountable barrier between Occident and Orient. May-may’ll prove, beyond all doubt—for all time—among the people that really count in society, that the Oriental is completely worthy and worthwhile. May-may hersel’ will hasten the day of equality. And it’ll be in my own lifetime.

Aye, he exulted to himself. May-may’s a marvelous gamble. Together we can do it. For all time. With joss, the whole of London will be at her feet. Then his joy shattered.

May-may was standing in the doorway, a radiant smile on her face as she twirled. Her European dress was violently multicolored, bejeweled, its skirt huge and bustled. Her hair hung in curled ringlets on her bare shoulders and a feathered hat was on her head. She looked hideous. A nightmare. “God’s blood!”

There was an awful silence as they stared at each other. “It’s—it’s very . . . nice,” he said, unconvincingly, crushed by the pain in May-may’s eyes.

May-may was eerily pale now, except for two crimson splotches high on her cheeks. She knew she had lost face terribly before Struan. She swayed, near fainting. Then she whimpered and fled.

Struan rushed after her down the corridor. He tore through her private quarters. But the bedroom was bolted against him.

“May-may, lass. Open the door.”

There was no answer, and he was conscious of Lim Din and Ah Sam behind him. When he turned they vanished, petrified.

“May-may! Open the door!”

Still no answer. He was furious with himself for having been unable to mask his feelings, and for having been so stupid and unprepared. Of course May-may would want to be part of the ball and of course all her questions should have warned him, and of course she’d have a ball gown made and—oh Jesus Christ!

“Open the door!”

Again no answer. He crashed his foot against the door. It burst open and hung precariously on its shattered hinges.

May-may was standing beside the bed, looking at the floor.

“You shouldn’t have bolted the door, lass. You—well, you—the dress and you just stunned me for a moment.” He knew that he must give her back her face or she would die. Die from misery or die by her own hand. “Come on,” he said. “We’re going to the ball.”

As she fell to her knees to kowtow to him and beg his forgiveness, the dress got in her way and made her stumble. May-may opened her mouth to speak, but no sound came out. The feathered hat slid off.

Struan hurried over to her and began to pick her up. “Come on, May-may lass, you mustn’t do that.”

But she would not be helped up. She buried her face deeper in the carpet and tried to claw into it with her nails.

He lifted her awkwardly and held her. She would not look at him. He took her hand firmly. “Come on.”

“Wat?” she said dully.

“We’re going to the ball.” He knew that it would be a disaster for himself and for her. He knew he would be socially destroyed and she would be ridiculed. Even so he knew that he must take her or her spirit would die. “Come on,” he repeated, a scarred edge to his voice. But she continued to stare at the floor, trembling.

He pulled her gently but she almost fell. Then he grimly picked her up and she lay in his arms, a dead weight. He began to carry her out. “We’re going, and that’s the end of it.”

“Wait,” she croaked. “I—I—I must, the—the hat.”

He put her down and she went back into the bedroom, her swaying gait made ugly by the dress. Struan knew that nothing would ever be quite the same again between them. She had made a horrible mistake. He should have anticipated it, aye, but—