Gai-Jin (182 page)

Gornt looked up from the letter. “You don’t accept.”

“That’s exactly what Mr. Skye told me.” Some of Angelique’s fury dissipated on the spot. She sat in her tall chair, stiff and setfaced, Gornt opposite her, and they were in her boudoir. “I’m glad you agree. I’ll reply in kind to that—that woman this afternoon!”

“No, that would be wrong. I’m saying you don’t fight, that’s the worst you can do. You compromise.”

She became ashen again, more than angry. “You say accept these … this foulness?”

“I’m just saying you can compromise in due course,” he said, his mind working well and logically though his chest and throat felt tight. “I’m sure I can get you better terms.”

“Terms? Then you do say accept this in principle?
Accept this?
I thought you were a fighter and my friend but you’ll let her get away with dragging my face in the mud?”

“I know she said it’s nonnegotiable, but I don’t believe that. I can improve it. Her first offer, two or three thousand, already makes you comfortable, five and you’d be rich.”

“That doesn’t outweigh her vile manners, her evil threats, constant hostility and enmity! I was married legally. Legally!” Angelique stamped her foot. “Not to be Mrs. Struan? Not to set foot in Hong Kong, to be addressed in this way, how dare she? As though I am … I am a felon!”

“I agree. On your behalf I’ll renegotiate.”

“Jésus
. I want her humbled, smashed.”

“So do I, but now is not the time.”

“What?”

“The great Dirk Struan really did ill-use my mother’s family, the Tillmans—not as bad as Morgan, but bad enough.” His smile was cruel. “If I can crush Brock’s, why not Struan’s? It’s all the same to me. Revenge is a meal we can eat together leisurely, morsel by morsel.”

“We can?” A sudden warmth went into her loins, he looked so confident and handsome and strong. “How?”

“First, what did Skye say?”

“He said at once to fight and showed me papers he has prepared for filing in Hong Kong, London and Paris an—”

“Paris? Why Paris?”

She explained about “ward of the State.” “He says in Paris with ward of France as a fact we will win, the marriage will be declared legal according to French law, and then I can settle at my whim, not hers.”

“Has he mentioned fees, Angelique?”

She flushed. “That has nothing to do with his advice.”

“Nonsense,” he said harshly. “Our only safety is to face the truth and understand the games being played. That little bastard, ’scuse me, but I use the term advisedly—he is by the way, I found that out in Hong Kong—that little bastard is only thinking of his future, not yours, imagining himself in various courts defending this poor but beautiful French widow, swaying various juries—and losing everything for you.”

“I don’t see … Why?”

“Malcolm has no estate.”

“But … but, Mr. Skye says according to French law th—”

“Wake up, Angelique!” His voice was even harsher. It was vital to get her out of this stupid, useless rage.

The moment he had come into her boudoir and had seen her tight-lipped, seething, a letter shaking in her hand, he had realized that this was
the letter
Hoag had told him about, that therefore there was no child and now Plan A could be hurtled into place. His joy had crested.

Pretending to know nothing, he had begun cheery greetings but these were spurned, the letter shoved at him, her fury making her even more attractive—the passion good for both of them, he had thought contentedly. But now it must be channeled and refined, like his. “Skye’s full of wind! Wake up!”

“I am awake, he is not, and don’t think for a mom—”

“Stop it! Use your head, for God’s sake! It’s you who’re at risk, not him!” For an instant he wondered again what Tess’s second letter, the other letter, contained that, now, no one would ever know—Hoag had said part of the agreement with Tess was that, prior to delivering this one, he would burn the other unopened. Would Hoag really do that, or would he have read it before burning it though he had sworn a holy oath to abide exactly by her wishes? Wish I knew, but then that’s only icing on the cake.

“Angelique, dear Angelique …” He tossed the letter on the table as though it were dirty, believing it to be wonderful, got up and sat beside her and took her hand. “Paris and French law and all the rest are only for Skye’s benefit, not yours. Even if he won, I’d wager ten thousand to one against, their ruling would have no bearing on Tess Struan and Hong Kong…. Listen to me,” he said louder as she started to override him. “We’ve not much time and you have to be sensible. While you borrow or pauper yourself or sell yourself to pay his costs, let alone the fees he needs, you’ll lose this one chance. He hasn’t got but a few dollars. How’s he going to get to Hong Kong, let alone Paris or London? That’s a pipe dream.” Sullenly she
pulled her hand away. He laughed. “You’re like a spoiled brat and I love you for it.”

“You …” She stopped. “You do?”

“Love you or think you’re a spoiled brat?”

With a different voice she said, “Both.”

“Both,” he said in a different voice, and took her hand again and grinned when she tried to pull it away. This time he did not allow it. With equal, gentle firmness he pulled her closer and kissed her deeply. Her fight was immediate, soon to lessen, soon to enjoy. Both of them. When he released her he ducked at once, correctly anticipating her nails, which slashed at him. “Whoa, there,” he said as though to a spirited horse, delighted he had the measure of her. “Whoa, there, Nelly!”

She laughed in spite of her anger. “You’re a devil.”

“Yes, but I’ll make a fine husband, Ma’am.”

Her smiled faded. The anger vanished. She got up and went to the window and stared out at the bay and the ships there. Lots of activity around the warships. He watched and waited, hoping that he had judged correctly. When she was ready, she said, “You say compromise, Edward. How?”

“I’d take the next, fastest boat to Hong Kong,” he said. “I’ll see her at once and make changes you and I agree on—and I think are possible. I’m sure I can up the stipend. Five instead of two or three thousand would be acceptable, yes?”

“She says those disgusting terms won’t be changed.”

“I will change them, some of them.”

“Which?”

“We can discuss those today and tomorrow. I’m confident about the money.”

“Mon Dieu
, the money’s not everything, and why so quickly? There’s till the 14th of next month.”

“I must be first with the news, to catch her off balance. That makes my bargaining position better. For you,” he added.

She turned and looked at him. “Also for you too.”

“Also for me,” he said, these twists and turns and risks and gambles, a wrong word fatal, more thrilling than the best poker game he had ever been in, the stakes the highest. Her. Her and his future indivisible. And she holds most of the aces, he told himself, though she doesn’t know it: her immediate agreement to Tess’s demands, at his persuasion, would make Tess more keen than ever to be his ally, so vital to his future; her five thousand guineas would help to cement Rothwell-Gornt; and her venom would ensure Tess’s end.

“I love you and want to marry you,” he said. “Please.”

“It’s much too soon to answer that.”

“I don’t agree, you’re footloose and fancy free.”

“Because I’m not married and never was?” she snapped.

“Calm down, honey, think calmly! We’re adults, I have a right to ask, to say I love you and to want to marry you.”

She dropped her gaze and conceded, needing him, he alone could shield her from Tess. “Sorry, yes, sorry, the … the letter unsettled me. But, it’s too soon to answer you, really.”

“I don’t agree. I believe you love me, the promise could be private, not to be advertised, between us. I love you, we would make a grand team,” he said, meaning it. “The future’s vast for us once this”—he motioned at the letter—“once this no longer threatens you. We’ve much in common and a common goal, to destroy your enemy and mine, at leisure.”

“I don’t love you, I like you, immensely, perhaps I could, perhaps I would love you in time and I would try if … if I was to marry you—no, don’t move, let me finish.” Her fingers were toying with a pearl buckle that she had bought in the village and that reminded her as MacStruan would not honor her remaining chits it was, apart from her engagement ring and the jade ring, the only jewelry she still possessed. And André would be around this afternoon again. She put that worry away for later and concentrated. Curious that Edward should have the same idea that I have. We think alike in many ways. “For the moment let me answer that later. When’s the next ship for Hong Kong?”

“The best and fastest would be tomorrow night. Cooper-Tillman’s
Atlanta Belle
, direct to Hong Kong then San Francisco,” he said at once, arrivals and departures in the forefront of every trader’s mind. “She’ll be in Hong Kong before our clipper,
Night Witch—
she’s not due here for three days.”

“You’d want to be on her, the
Atlanta Belle?”

“Yes.”

“Then, Edward, let’s discuss what you think can be bettered with that woman in the morning, that gives me time to think. If we agree, then please go quickly to Hong Kong … and hurry back, quickly.”

“Good. But your answer to my proposal?”

“I will give you that when you return.”

“I must have it before I leave.”

“Why?”

“For my pleasure,” he said.

She saw the same strange smile and wondered what was behind it. “Why? Seriously?”

He got up and stood over her. “Because it’s vital to me. If you’ll marry me the sky’s the limit, you’ll adore Shanghai, it’s the greatest city in Asia, makes Hong Kong look like a backwater, you’ll be the toast of the town and live happily ever after. I promise. Now, please promise.”

“I promise to give you my answer when you return, there should be trust between us,” she said, and he remembered saying the same thing to Tess. “When you return.”

“Sorry, my dear Angelique, I need to know before I go.”

“Or you won’t negotiate for me, with Tess?”

He did not answer at once. “I’ll negotiate for you. And I’d like to marry you tomorrow, tonight—nothing to do with Tess, but that’s not possible.” He went closer and held her shoulders in his hands, and kissed the tip of her nose.
“Jolie
Mademoiselle, an answer please? By sunset tomorrow? I’ll have to board then. An answer before God.”

That afternoon the news about Katsumata and Meikin’s suicide reached Raiko in her private quarters. She fainted. When she had begun to recover, she sent a maid to ask Hiraga to find Akimoto and Takeda urgently, there were terrible facts to report. They came quickly.

Weeping unashamed and wringing her hands, she told them about Yoshi capturing Katsumata, about his death and that of Meikin, Koiko’s mama-san, but not that she had betrayed him. “This is the end … if Yoshi found out about Katsumata and Meikin, he knows about me, about you, we’re all betrayed. Who’s the traitor? It’s only a matter of time …” Again her terror soared. “You must all leave at once before Enforcers discover you…. You must leave…. ”

“Stop!” Hiraga hissed, face chalky, no longer disguised as a kitchen skivvy. He was wearing an ordinary kimono and was ready to rush for his tunnel sanctuary, the lookouts reliable now on pain of death. Akimoto and Takeda were also devastated. That Katsumata could die a coward was inconceivable.

I cannot believe the Sensei would allow himself to be caught alive, Hiraga thought. And for Yoshi to allow Meikin to do that to him was disgusting, however merited.
Baka
to be caught alive! “Leave us, Raiko. I will see you later.”

“Thank you, Sire, so sorry but—”

“Leave us!”

She stumbled away, glad to be free of them, hating all shishi, wisely hiding the hatred.

Takeda spat in anger. “Yoshi has no honor to let that happen. Katsumata must be avenged!”

Akimoto glanced at Hiraga, sickened too. “What should we do, Cousin? That old crone is right, the search will be stepped up. We should slip away tonight, try to, eh?”

“You are
bakal! We
are surrounded like rats on a carcass.” In fact Hiraga,
though pretending rage, was weak with relief. With Katsumata dead, now there need be no attack. Once again he was in charge of his own destiny. “We must not make a mistake.”

Takeda said, “I agree we are rats in a trap here. So we attack as the Sensei planned. We’ve the bombs now.
Sonno-joi!”

“No. We’re safe for the moment.”

Akimoto said, “Hiraga, if Yoshi gave Katsumata to this Meikin, it was a reward,
neh?
In return for betraying him? Raiko will do the same to us. Maybe she is the traitor who betrayed both of them to Yoshi in the first place, eh?”

Takeda scrambled up. “Let’s kill her and begin.”

“Sit down,” Hiraga snarled. “We need Raiko. She has proved her worth in the past, and you forget, no mama-san is trusted wholly. Sit down, Takeda, be logical. She will not betray us—she is only a money-grubbing harridan, like any other mama-san who, if you let her, will charge you for a third-rank whore when the girl’s only a streetwalker worth hardly a copper
momme
. Meikin gave us good information in the past, it was because of her we caught Utani the pederast. She herself was betrayed. Yoshi and Bakufu have thousands of spies.”

“We’re not safe here.” Akimoto shuddered. “I hate this place. This gai-jin Yoshiwara is infected with their plague. I vote with Takeda. Attack, escape or die.”

“Not yet. Let me think!”

Takeda watched him narrowly. “You knew this Meikin?”

“Many years ago …” Hiraga almost added, and Koiko, tempted to tell them the real reason for the betrayal, but decided not to, relishing the manner of Katsumata’s death. Now Sumomo is revenged and so is Koiko. Now their spirits will become kami, or they will be reborn again on the thirty-first day as the gods decide—if there are gods. Now I can forget them though they will all live forever.

The Sensei begging for mercy? All those years idolizing him, listening to him? We were dupes, he thought, disgusted. Never mind, that coward will be derided and spat on in news sheets, and soon bards and plays will orate the story of how he betrayed Sumomo and Koiko and the mama-san’s revenge—and death wish. Ah, what style she had!