Gai-Jin (147 page)

And now, curled up in Malcolm’s other chair in the tai-pan’s suite upstairs, the door bolted on the inside, she liked the idea even more and, again, wondered about the price. It will be expensive. The secret gold coins will be enough to begin with, then the ruby ring and now I have a chop, Malcolm’s chop.

She replaced everything and shut the secret compartment.

Content with the headway made on the first day of her new life, she closed her eyes and slept dreamlessly until a knock on the door brought her back. It was almost four-thirty. “Who is it, please?”

“Jamie, Angelique.”

A current of expectation went through her. Be calm, she cautioned herself as she unbolted the door, the ice you traverse is exceedingly thin and the waters below lethal. “Hello, Jamie, dear, please come in.” Again she sat in her husband’s chair, motioning him to the chair she had always used. The change pleased her. “You look so harassed, so sad.”

“I still can’t get used to the idea and, well, all the changes, Angelique.”

“No. It’s very hard.”

“You’ve changed too. May I … may I say how marvelous you are being, so strong and, well, you know.”

“That’s the problem, dear Jamie, I don’t know. I only know what has happened and can accept it, have accepted it. My tears … I think I must have cried all the tears of my life away. So, for the moment no tears. You saw Sir William?”

“Yes. Skye said he would come back around six, if that’s convenient.” He saw her nod absently.

“You don’t like him, Jamie, do you?”

“Don’t like any lawyers, they always mean trouble, though he’s not a bad man. I think he’ll be all right for you. If you get worried, tell me at once. Mal … Malcolm liked him and you should have someone to represent you.”

“I find it hard to say his name too, Jamie—‘husband’ is equally hard. Harder. Don’t be embarrassed.”

Jamie nodded bleakly and took out the letters. “Sir William said these were part of Malcolm’s estate, like the money. He could not rule on the legalities—he would write posthaste to the Solicitor General in Hong Kong—but he saw no reason why you shouldn’t have these if you promise not to destroy them. As to the sovereigns, you should keep them—I told him I
didn’t think you had any money of your own at the moment—but he asks, please, to give him a receipt for them.”

“Whatever he wants. Did he read them?”

“No, no one did.” Hesitantly he put them on the mantelpiece. “There are a couple of other things, we’ve made some arrangements—would you like me to tell you now or … I can easily come back later.”

“No, I’m fine. What arrangements, Jamie?”

He took a deep breath, hating to have to say all this but it was his duty. “In consultation with Sir William, Babcott and Hoag, we’ve arranged to send the body back to Hong Kong tomorrow for burial, we all agreed, we jointly agreed that would be best. Everything possible will be done and is being done to make this easy for you and the trip as tolerable as possible. Dr. Hoag will go with you to make sure you’re in good hands.” Jamie’s smile was empty and his face a mirror of unhappiness. “Can’t tell you how sorry this all makes me. Ah Soh can pack for you in good time, Chen will help if necessary and will pack things to go with the ship, sailing on the evening tide, meanwhile if you need anything, say the word.”

He saw her look down at her hands, her fingers twisting Malcolm’s signet ring on her marriage finger. Poor Angelique, she doesn’t even have a proper wedding ring.

“Well, that’s all for the moment—would you like company at dinner tonight?”

“Thank you, but no, I’ll eat here, or in the dining room or my rooms, but please sit down. Sorry, that’s not all for the moment. My husband is not going to be taken back to Hong Kong for burial but will be buried here. Neither my husband nor I will ever go aboard
Prancing Cloud
again.”

She saw his look but that did not divert her from what she had decided this morning: the confrontation must happen at the very first mention of
their arrangements
. “Would you like me to tell you the funeral arrangements now, or would you prefer them later?”

“But everything’s done,” he said, “arrangements are already made. It’s best, we all felt it would be best and we … we know it would be the best for you and everyone. Mrs. Struan would certainly approve and would of course want him buried at home in Hong Ko—”

“Mrs. Struan? I’m Mrs. Struan. You refer to the other Mrs. Struan, Tess Struan, the other Mrs. Struan?” She spoke without emotion. “She doesn’t have precedence in this matter. I’m his widow and take precedence over his mother.”

“My God, Angelique, just because Skye says you are—”

“This has nothing to do with Mr. Skye, Jamie, he didn’t suggest this, nor have I consulted him. Yet. But I do know my rights, and my husband’s wishes, and they will be carried out.”

“But … but …” Jamie was in such shock he could not get the words out, then they came with a rush, “but you can’t override what Sir William and … and what Doc Hoag and Babcott and I think is best for you and him, what we’re sure is best for you and everyone. You’re overwrought, Angelique. It’s best, Angelique, it really is.”

“Overwrought? Me? How silly you are, Jamie.” She allowed a small glacial smile. “I’m not overwrought at all. I’m merely going to put my husband’s wishes into effect.”

“But everything’s arranged,
Prancing Cloud’s
ready to leave and the … everything’s arranged.”

“I’m glad the clipper’s ready. By all means send her at once, his mother should hear the terrible news as soon as possible—you should do that yourself, Jamie, go with
Prancing Cloud
, you’re the senior here, you should. I beg you don’t wait until tomorrow, go tonight, you can break the terrible news to her, it will lessen her hurt. You must.”

“Of course I’ll do that if it’s necessary,” he said, hating the idea. “But Angelique, this is ridiculous, you can’t be serious, you must see it’s best! Good God, Angelique, you must see this is—”

“Best for you and others perhaps but not for my husband and therefore not for me. He has a right to be buried as h—”

“You must allow us to do what’s best, his body will—”

“My husband’s body will not,
will not
go back aboard that ship, nor will I,” she said quietly. “Tell me, old friend, if I was to go with him as you suggest, where would I stay? In the state room?”

He stared at her, that problem not having occurred to him. “No, of course not,” he said quickly. “Of course you have the pick of the cabins. I guarantee everything will—”

“I guarantee every little thing will be done as my husband wished.”

Jamie wiped his forehead, his mind working like never before, slightly sickened and out of balance whereas it was obvious she was nothing if not in control. A sudden idea. “Perhaps you’re right.
Prancing Cloud’s
wrong, perhaps. We’ll charter another ship—wait, the mail ship’s due to leave day after tomorrow, we’ll get space aboard her for you, Hoag and … and him, and I’ll persuade her captain to sail early. Tomorrow … That’ll solve everything, right?”

“No.” She sighed wearily. “Sorry, Jamie, no.” Now there was the barest edge to her voice that cut through plainly. “Please understand me, no. No! He will be buried here as he would wish. The day after tomorrow.”

“You can’t. Mrs. Struan must … I mean Tess Struan must be given time. We’ll send
Prancing Cloud
for her. She would want to be at the funeral, must be.”

“You can do what you like but my husband will be buried the day after tomorrow in the way he would want—I don’t think there would be time to
do what you suggest. I’m not going to argue with you. Sorry, old friend, it’s you who are overwrought and I can well understand it. Please ask Sir William and Mr. Skye to come by together now, as soon as possible, and I will settle the matter formally.”

“For God’s sake, the family crypt in Happy Valley is where his grandfather, father and brothers and sisters are buried.”

“Jamie, I tire of repeating. Please ask Sir William and Mr. Skye to come here as soon as possible. Together.”

He did not know what to do so he shrugged helplessly and went out.

For a few minutes she sat still and breathed deeply. That wasn’t so bad, she thought, then stretched and got up and went into her own room. There she selected a clean dress, conservative, dark grey, put it on the bed. The wind rattled the windows but did not chill her. Her mirror beckoned her. She studied herself. Critically. No smile. What she saw pleased her. And the new person she had become also pleased her. It was like fitting into a new dress—no, a new skin. “I hope it lasts,” she said to her reflection. “We must work to make it last. This me is better than the other one.”

Then she took up the first of the letters, Tess Struan’s letters. She wanted to leave his to last.

Sir William was stony-faced. So was Jamie. Doctors Hoag and Babcott were frowning. Heavenly Skye had a glint in his eyes. All were sitting on chairs in front of Malcolm’s desk. She faced them from his tall chair, tiny but secure in it. Darker dress than before, three-quarter sleeves, square neckline, her back straight, coiffure perfect. Without makeup and somehow regal. “The day after tomorrow?” Sir William asked.

“Yes, please,” she said. “My husband should not be laid out for long for people to pay their last respects, if they wish to. Isn’t three days normal, Doctor?”

“Normally, yes, Angelique,” Hoag said. “But we’ve already made arrangements for the preservation of the body during the voyage home. Everything will be fine, you’ve no need to worry.” He added gently, “He should be buried there, he really should. We all agree.”

“You’ve embalmed him? Already?”

The men shifted uneasily. Hoag said, “No, that’s not usual. You, er, you use ice to ensure the preserv—”

“Would you relish being packed in ice and sent to Hong Kong like a carcass of mutton from Australia?”

The tension in the room spiraled, the men more embarrassed than before. Her voice remained quiet, firm and friendly, which tended to further infuriate them. Except for Skye for whom she was taking on a very new dimension.

Sir William said, “That’s not the point, Madame. We feel for his sake and his family’s sake that burial at home is wise.”

“He admired his grandfather, the tai-pan, didn’t he?”

“Indeed he did,” Sir William said. Abruptly, he relaxed, no longer concerned, for now he had the answer to the conundrum, whatever she said. “Everyone knows that. Why?”

“Many times, in various words, Malcolm said he wanted to live like him, be remembered like him and be buried like him. And that’s the way it will be.”

“Very correct, and wise.” Sir William added crisply, “His grandfather’s buried in the family crypt in the cemetery in Happy Valley.” He added kindly, “Angelique, I agree it should be the same for him. Now I unders—”

“But Dirk Struan wasn’t buried in Hong Kong,” she said, startling them. “Oh, I know his name’s carved into the stone, but he was buried at sea. My husband will be buried at sea, in the same way.”

“Sorry, Angelique, but you’re wrong,” Jamie said. “I was there, I’d just joined Struan’s, an apprentice China trader fresh from England, and went to the funeral. It was an immense affair, all Hong Kong went. There was even a huge, separate procession in Chinatown organized by Gordon Chen.”

“Sorry, Jamie, but you are wrong. An empty coffin was interred in the crypt, he was buried at sea with his mistress, May-may, in international waters off Hong Kong.” She felt tears near. No tears, she ordered herself, not yet. “He was buried at sea. It was a Christian service, done correctly as he wished, and the witnesses were Culum and Tess Struan, Gordon Chen and Aristotle Quance.”

“That’s not possible,” Jamie said.

“Oh, yes it is, and that’s what happened. Your Church hierarchy refused to allow them to be buried together, refused them a Christian burial in hallowed ground in Happy Valley.”

“But, Angelique, I saw the funeral. He was buried there, I don’t know where May-may was buried but I agree, she wasn’t with him.”

“You saw a sham, Jamie, the coffin was empty.”

“This is nonsense,” Sir William said.

“The hierarchy were adamant against a joint burial,” she said as though he had not spoken. “It was unheard of. They had been scandalized by Dirk Struan for many reasons, as you know only too well, Sir William, but the idea was too much for them. In his will, part of his Testament that’s handed down from tai-pan to tai-pan, he had written two weeks before he died that if he and May-may died together, they were to be buried together, that it was his intention to marry her and—”

“He actually wrote that? He was going to marry her?” Sir William said, the others equally shocked, for even today, marriage to a Chinese was
unthinkable—ostracism would be permanent, even for Dirk Struan. “He actually wrote that?”

“Yes,” she said, seeing that Hoag alone did not share Sir William’s consternation.

The English, the British, are such awful people in many ways, she was thinking. Such hypocrites, bigots, uncivilized and different from us, only too aware of their antagonism to marriage of Protestant to Catholic, let alone their detestation of intermarriage with peoples of their Empire.

Why consider intermarriage a heinous sin, she wanted to shout, while you have native mistresses and children by them openly, such hypocrisy! It’s never been like that with us, in our French colonies or Empire. If a Frenchman marries a native woman she becomes not only his wife but French with all the protection of French law. We even encourage intermarriage, correctly. A man is a man, a woman a woman whatever the color of her skin, but not to you people. God protect me from becoming English, thank God I can never give up my French citizenship whoever I marry …

What am I saying, she thought with a jolt, bringing herself back to the room and these enemies of her husband. Time enough for such luxury later.

“I find some British attitudes difficult to understand, Sir William, about intermarriage, but then I am French. That aside, with the funeral of my husband’s grandfather there was an impasse: your Church was outraged and would not agree to joint burial. The new tai-pan, his son, Culum, was insisting on it—anything other than a proper Christian burial for Dirk Struan was unthinkable, Culum more so than Tess who was very disturbed by Dirk’s wishes and his flouting of conventions that were the bedrock of all her beliefs. Her father, Tyler Brock, now the most powerful trader on the island was vehemently opposed, so was Tess’s mother, so were most traders publicly, whatever they felt in private. The Governor supported the Church.”