Tai-Pan (56 page)

“They’re perfect. You’re all perfect. Of course you are. Now stop teasing.”

“So you will come back, half an hour before?”

“Anything for peace.” Struan drank some more tea. “Oh, yes. You did na answer me. Has the house been feng-shuied?”

“Aye.” She picked up the soap and began to lather herself. But she said nothing more.

“Well, has it or has it na?”

“Aye.” Again she was silent, a beautiful infuriating sweetness about her.

“Well, what happened?”

“I’m horrified sorry, Tai-Pan, but we’re right square on the dragon’s eyeball and we’ve to move.”

“We will na move and that’s an end to it.”

She hummed a little song as she finished using the soap. She washed off the lather and looked at him, wide-eyed and gentle. “Turn around, I’ll soap your back,” she said.

“We’ll na move,” he said suspiciously.

“Ma-ree came over this afternoon and we had a nice talk.”

“We’ll na move! And that’s the end to it.”

“Really, Tai-Pan, I’m na deaf. I heard you fantastical well the first time. Do you want your back scrubbed or do you na?”

He turned his back and she began to soap him. “We’re going to move and that’s the end to it. Because your old mother’s decided,” she said in Cantonese.

“What?” he said, moving his neck a little, glorying in her probing touch as her hands exquisitely massaged his shoulder muscles.

“An old Cantonese proverb: ‘When swallows nest, the sunrise smiles.’ ”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“What it says.” She felt very pleased with herself. “It’s just a happy thought, that’s all.” She scooped some water and rinsed away the soap. “Ah Sam, ahhhh!”

Ah Sam ran in, carrying huge towels. May-may got up and Ah Sam wrapped one around her and held the other for Struan.

“Tell her I’ll do it mysel’, by God!” he said.

May-may translated and Ah Sam put down the towel, giggled and ran out.

Struan emerged from the bath and May-may swathed him in the towel. To his surprise he found it was heated.

“I tell Ah Sam in future to cook the towels a little,” May-may said. “It’s good for health.”

“It feels splendid,” he said, and rubbed himself dry. He opened the door and found that the bed had been turned down and his new clothes put on the bureau.

“You have time for short rest,” May-may said, and when he started to argue, she added imperiously, “You will rest!”

Struan glanced at his watch. There’s plenty of time, he thought, so he climbed into bed and stretched out luxuriously.

May-may beckoned to Ah Sam, who went into the bathroom and closed the door. Kneeling, Ah Sam unbound May-may’s feet and dried them. She powdered the feet and replaced the bandages with clean dry ones and put new embroidered slippers on them. “They are so beautiful, Mother,” she said.

“Thank you, Ah Sam.” May-may pinched Ah Sam’s cheek tenderly. “But please don’t make so many remarks about Father’s appendages.”

“I was only being polite, and they are more than a little worthy of respect.” Ah Sam unpinned May-may’s hair and began brushing it. “Normally a father would be very happy to be complimented. Really I don’t understand our barbarian father a little bit. He hasn’t taken me to bed once. Am I so disgusting?”

“I keep telling you that barbarian fathers don’t bed all the women of the house,” May-may said wearily. “He just won’t do it. It’s against his religion.”

“It’s really very bad joss,” Ah Sam sniffed, “to have such a father, so endowed, and for it to be against his religion.”

May-may laughed, and gave her the towel. “Run along, little oily mouth. Bring some tea in one hour, and if you’re late I’ll give you a good whipping!”

Ah Sam fled.

May-may put perfume on herself and, thinking excitedly about the ball gown and her other surprise, she went into the bedroom.

Liza Brock opened the cabin door and went to the bunk. She could feel cold sweat running from her armpits. She knew it was now or never for Tess. “Come on, luv,” she said, shaking Brock again. “Time to get up.”

“Leave me be.” Brock turned over again, rocked gently by the tide nudging the hull of the 
White Witch.
 “I be dressing in good time.”

“Thee’s been asaying that for half an hour. Get thee up or thee be late.”

Brock yawned and stretched and lifted himself in the bunk. “Baint even sundown yet,” he said blearily, staring out of the porthole.

“Gorth be arriving soon and thee wanted to be ready early. Then there be books to go through with compradore. Thee ask’d me to wake thee.”

“All right, doan carry on, Liza.” He yawned again and looked at Liza. She was wearing a new dress, dark red silk brocade with a large bustle, and the dress showed many petticoats. Her hair was tight in a bun. “Thee look right smart,” he said automatically and stretched again.

Liza played with the huge feathered hat that was in her hands, then put it down. “I’ll help thee dress,” she said.

“Wot be this! I told thee my old suit were nice,” he exploded as he saw the new clothes on the chair. “Dost think brass be so easy to come by that thee can spend it like salt water?”

“No, luv, thee needed new dress clothes and thee’s to look thy best.” She offered the small corset that fashion decreed a man must wear to give him a neat waist. Brock cursed and got out of bed. After tightening the corset over his long woolen underwear, he grudgingly allowed himself to be helped into his clothes.

But looking at himself in the mirror, he was most pleased. The new ruffled shirt billowed on his chest, and the maroon velvet frock coat with gold-embroidered lapels fitted perfectly: huge on the shoulders and snug at the waist. His tight white trousers were held into a smooth line by thongs under polished soft black evening boots. Orange-embroidered waistcoat, gold chain and fob seal.

“By gum, thee looks like King of England, luv!”

He brushed his beard and it jutted violently. “Well,” he said gruffly, trying to hide his pleasure, “mayhaps thee was right.” He turned to profile and smoothed the velvet closer against his chest. “Mayhaps it could be tighter to me chest, eh?”

Liza laughed. “Get on with thee, lad,” she said, less afraid now, “I think the ruby pin in thy cravat’d be better’n the diamond.”

He changed the pin and continued to admire himself. Then he laughed and caught her around the waist and hummed a waltz and forced her into a dance. “Thee’s the belle of the ball, luv,” he said.

Liza tried to be gay for the moment, but Brock could tell from her eyes that something was amiss. “Wot be the matter?”

She took out a handkerchief and wiped the perspiration off her forehead and sat down. “It’s, well, it be Tess.”

“She be sickly?”

“No. It’s, well—we be taking her to the ball!”

“Are thee out of head?”

“I’ve a dress done for her—oh, it be proper lovely—and done her hair and she be ready for thy approval afore—”

“Then tell her to get to bed, by God! She baint goin’ to no ball, by God! Thee knowed my mind on that! Thee’s made her a dress, have thee?” and he lifted his hand to strike her.

“Listen a moment,” Liza said, her strength dominating her fear. “First listen. Nagrek—and her.”

The blow stopped in midair. “Wot about Nagrek?”

“It be lucky he died that night. Tess, well, Tess she—” The tears welled. “I baint wanting to worry thee, but she—”

“She’s with child?”

“No. I be terrored this past month since thee beed in Canton. In case I were wrong. But her monthly start last week, bless the Lord, so that fear’s away.”

“But she baint virgin?” he asked horror-struck.

“She be virgin still.” The tears ran down her face.

“Then for the love of God, if she still be virgin, then wot the devil’s thy worry? There, there, Liza,” he said, patting her cheek.

Liza knew that she could never tell him that Tess was truly not a virgin. But she blessed the Lord for letting her convince the girl that it had been mostly her imagination and that she was still as pure as a girl must be.

“This past month be terrible,” she said. “Terrible. But it be a warning to us’n, Tyler. I be worried about thee and thy not seeing that she be growed up, and I’m afeared. Thee won’t see wot’s afore thy eyes.” He started to speak but she rushed on. “Please, Tyler. I’m beggin’ thee. Just look at her and if thee agrees she be growed up, then we takes her. If thee thinks otherwise, she doan go. I told her it were thy decision.”

“Where be Tess now?”

“In the main cabin.”

“Thee wait here.”

“Yes, luv.”

When night had firmly settled over Hong Kong, Culum walked to the edge of 
Thunder Cloud’s
 poop deck and gave the signal. The cannon boomed and there was a moment’s hush around the fleet. He stared nervously toward the shore of Happy Valley. His excitement mounted as he saw a flicker of light, then another, and soon the whole of marine lot 8 was a sea of dancing lights.

The servants on the foreshore were hurrying to light the remaining lanterns. Hundreds had been placed around the huge circle of smoothed boards that formed the dance floor, and their light was warm and enticing. Tables and chairs were set in attractive groups, a lamp and flowers from Macao on each table. More lamps were strung on ropes between slender bamboos near the trestle tables and their weight of food. Others were draped over the barrels of Portuguese and French wines and rum and brandy and whisky and sack and beer. Forty cases of champagne were on ice and ready at hand.

Servants scurried everywhere, all neatly uniformed in black trousers and white tunics, their queues dancing. They were under the imperious supervision of Chen Sheng, compradore of The Noble House. He was a man of immense girth, his robes rich and his hat jewel-studded. A priceless piece of pure white jade formed his belt buckle, and his feet were encased in black silk boots with white soles. He sat like a huge spider on a seat in the center of the dance floor and played with the long hairs that sprouted from a small wart on his chin. A personal slave fanned him against the gentle night.

When all was ready to his satisfaction, he stood up ponderously and lifted his hand. The servants rushed for their positions and stood like graven images while he made a last inspection. Another wave of his hand and a servant hurried out of the circle of light into the foreshore darkness, a taper in his hand.

There was a monstrous cannonade of firecrackers which lasted for several minutes, and everyone in the fleet and on shore rushed to look. Next were fireballs and colored lights and more noise and smoke and thundering, and more firecrackers. And fire wheels and volcanoes of colored fire. The thundering continued for several minutes more, and there was a sound like a fleet’s broadside and a hundred rockets exploded into the sky. Their trails soared and vanished. After a moment’s silence the whole sky burst into feathers of scarlet and green and white and gold. The feathers dipped majestically and fell into the sea.

The servant lit the final taper and raced away. Red and green fire snaked up the huge bamboo scaffolding which soon was aflame with the Lion and the Dragon. The flag blazed for minutes, and died with a vast explosion, as suddenly as it had begun.

There was blackness for a moment, broken only by a mighty cheer that reverberated around the enclosing hills. As eyes adjusted to the darkness, the inviting lights of the dance floor glowed once more. And an expectant joy settled over Hong Kong.

Shevaun was whimpering with agony. “No more,” she begged.

Her maidservant took a firmer grip on the corset laces and put her knee into Shevaun’s rump. “Let your breath out,” she ordered. And as Shevaun obeyed, she gave the laces a final pull and knotted them. Shevaun gasped.

“There, me darlin’,” the bonneted maid said. “That’s done.” She was a small, neat Irishwoman with wrists of steel, and her name was Kathleen O’Rourke. She had been nurse and maidservant to Shevaun ever since Shevaun had been in swaddling clothes and she adored her. Her dark brown hair framed a nice face with laughing eyes and dimpled chin. She was thirty-eight.

Shevaun steadied herself against a chair in the cabin and groaned, hardly able to breathe. “I’ll faint before the evening’s over.”

Kathleen found the tape and measured Shevaun’s waist. “Seventeen and a half inches, by the Blessed St. Mary! And when you faint, me darlin’, be sure you’re as graceful as a cloud and that everyone’s watching.”

Shevaun was dressed in frilled pantaloons, her legs encased in silk stockings. The whaleboned corset gripped her hips, violently squeezed her waist and rose to cushion her breasts and force them up. “I’ve got to sit down for a moment,” she said weakly.

Kathleen found the smelling salts and brandished them under Shevaun’s nose. “There, me darlin’ heart. As soon as those doxies see you, you won’t feel faint at all at all. By the B’essed St. Mary, Mother and Joseph, you’ll be the belle of the ball.”

There was a sharp knock on the door. “Aren’t you ready yet, Shevaun?” Tillman called out.

“No, Uncle. I won’t be long.”

“Well, hurry it up, dear. We’ve got to be there before His Excellency!” He stamped away.

Kathleen chuckled softly. “Silly man, me darlin’ heart. He doesn’t realize a body’s got to make an entrance.”

Quance put his paints away. “There!”

“Excellent, Aristotle,” Robb said, and he held little Karen up to look at her portrait. “Isn’t it, Karen?”

“Do I look like that?” Karen said disappointedly. “It’s awful.”

“It’s immortal, Karen,” Quance said, shocked. He took her out of Robb’s arms and held her tight. “Look at the superb glow to your cheeks, the light to your beautiful eyes, the happiness that surrounds you like a halo. By the beard of Alcazabedabra, it’s marvelous good like you are.”

“Oh, good.” She gave him a hug and he set her down and she looked at the painting again. “Who’s Alcaza—who you sayed?”

“A friend of mine,” Quance said gravely. “A bearded friend who watches over painters and beautiful children.”

“It’s very, very pretty,” Sarah said, her face stretched. “Run along, now, it’s past your bedtime.”