Tess. Yes, Tess, I will bear it.

His eyes focused on Jamie, feeling so old, and so lonely. "Let's get ashore."

Jamie started to say something, stopped. His face was strange. Then he pointed to the seat opposite. More packets of mail there.

"What is it?"

"That's... that's Wee Willie's mail.

Bertram, the Legation's new dogsbody, was sick so I said I'd... I'd fetch their mail for them." Jamie's fingers were as shaky as his voice. He picked up the large bundle of letters. Its crisscrossed string was government-sealed in the center but it was still easy to leaf through the corners and find her two letters.

To Sir William and Admiral Ketterer.

"We, with a little time, and, and luck you could, I, I might be able to, to get them out."

The hair at the nape of Malcolm's head seemed to stiffen. To rob the Royal Mail was a hanging offense.

The two men stared at the bundle of letters, in turmoil, consumed with dread. The cabin was claustrophobic. Malcolm said nothing and watched Jamie who was silent, both of them drained. Then, making the decision for him, Jamie's shaky fingers ripped at the string but this galvanized Malcolm into his own decision and he reached over and grabbed the bundle and stopped him. "No, Jamie, you mustn't."

"It's the, the only way, Tai-pan."

"No it isn't." Malcolm straightened the string, relieved the seal was not broken, then smoothed the letters out and put them back on the other pile, the touch of them hateful.

"It's just not right," he said, his voice as weak as his knees, despising his weakness--was it weakness?

"I'd never forgive myself if you... if you were caught and, and well I just don't have the courage --apart from that it's not right."

Jamie's face was wet with sweat. "Right or not, no one's to know. If we don't, you've no chance. Maybe we can find a captain--even Brock's, they've a ship next week."

Malcolm shook his head, his mind blank. A wave rocked the launch against the pilings, screeching the rope fenders. With an effort he forced himself to concentrate. All his life, whenever he was in quandary, he would ask himself what Dirk Struan, the tai-pan, would do--but never a real answer came forth.

At length, so wearily he said, "What would he do, Jamie? Dirk Struan?"

At once Jamie's memory took him to that devil-may-care giant of a man, the few times he had seen him, or been in his company for a few minutes--he himself so junior and just arrived.

"He'd..." After a moment, a smile began.

"He'd... Dirk would... yes, that's it. I think he would order us and the Bosun ashore and take the launch out himself "to test her as something feels amiss," and then... then when he was well away and in deep water, he would calmly open the sea cocks and, while she filled, he would make sure all this mail was well weighed and could not float free, then he'd go to the stern and light a cheroot and wait till she sank and swim ashore. Had he interfered with the mails?

"Perish that thought, laddie."" Jamie's beam became seraphic. "Why not?"

Before Tokaido Malcolm was a strong swimmer. Now he knew he would sink like an anchor. "I'd never make it ashore."

"I could, easily, Tai-pan."

"Yes, but this isn't your problem, Jamie, and even if you did, it would only buy me a week or so and that's no good. Joss. We can't interfere with the Royal Mail. Let's agree to forget this happened. Eh?" He held out his hand.

"You're a real friend, best I've ever had.

Sorry I was rotten to you."

Jamie shook warmly. "You weren't, I deserved what you said. No harm's done. Tai-pan... please, it would be easy."

"Thanks but no." For the ten thousandth time, Malcolm knew he was not Dirk Struan and could never do what the tai-pan could do, in this case either blatantly remove the letters or sink them. Before Tokaido, perhaps I would have dared, but now... now it's fifty times worse. Tokaido, always Tokaido, he thought, the word branded into his mind, so frustrated he could scream. "I have to face it alone."

He hobbled ashore and went to his own suite.

The small bottle was full but he took none of it, firmly putting it back into the drawer.

Painfully he pulled his chair nearer to the window and sank into it with relief.

I'm going to win, he promised himself. Please God, help me. I don't know how but I'm going to win Angelique, I'm going to conquer the pain, the opium, the Tokaido, Tess, and I am going to win...

His sleep was deep and restful. When he awoke Angelique was there, seated near and smiling at him.

"Good afternoon, darling, my, but you slept well.

It's almost time to change for the party!" Her eyes were sparkling. She came and kissed him and knelt beside him. "How are you?"

"Seeing you makes me so happy." His voice was filled with love but it did not hide his inner worry.

That decided her. It was important to take him out of his usual seriousness so he would enjoy tonight's party he had promised was a celebration.

"I've a surprise for you," she said, mischievously.

"What?"

She scrambled to her feet and began to twirl as though dancing, her afternoon dress sibilant.

Suddenly she chuckled and called out, "Look!" and lifted her skirts and petticoats, revealing the long length of her perfect legs enhanced by silk stockings, saucy garters under her knees, and garter belt and multilayered frilly panties. He had been expecting the traditional, all-concealing pantaloons. The sight of her took his breath away.

"Christ Almighty..." he spluttered.

"It's for your pleasure, only, my darling," she said, flushed at her daring, laughing at his color, then coquettishly raised her skirts over her head for an instant, letting them fall as suddenly, and fanned herself, saying breathlessly, "It's the latest fashion, no more pantaloons! Pantaloons are finished. The columnist of Le Figaro says nowadays some of the most famous ladies of Paris don't even wear panties at the Opera--on special occasions--for the secret pleasure of their lovers."

"Don't you dare," he said, laughing with her, swept up in her exuberance. He caught her hand and settled her into his lap. "The thought would drive me wild."

She buried her head in his shoulder, pleased that her stratagem had worked. "I think I'll whisper in your ear during dinner, sometimes, or when we're dancing, that I've forgotten them--just to tease my Prince Charming, but only when we're married and to amuse. You don't mind, cheri, do you--the new fashion, no pantaloons?"

"Of course not," he said, man-of-the-world, secretly not. "If it's fashion, then it's fashion."

"You said tonight's party was to be a celebration?"

Most of his lightness left him. "Yes, yes it was. But... be patient with me, Angel.

In a few days I'll be able to tell you the real reason--I just have to delay a little. In the meantime, know that I love you love you love you..."

In the evening the weather became changeable but it did not dampen the spirit of Malcolm's party. The main Struan dining room had been built for this purpose and dwarfed the rest of the Settlement's private facilities except for the Club.

Sparkling silver, crystal glasses, the finest Peking china, the thirty-odd guests in evening dress or dress uniforms. Hoag had declined as he had a fever.

Dinner was immense as usual and at length over. Now to roars of approval, the long table was set against the wall--a rare occurrence but almost obligatory whenever Angelique was present, all guests wanting to dance with her. Except Jamie--but only tonight. By prior agreement with Malcolm, Jamie had quietly left during the mayhem of moving the table; "Sorry, but I don't feel much like dancing, I'll slip out, Tai-pan."

"We both swore to forget about the launch today."

"It's not that, just want to collect my wits."