Experiencing it again, watching herself in the daymare, conscious of it all but not involved, not truly involved: watching herself being wakened by Chen's wailing shriek, torn out of sleep, seeing herself in panic trying to shake Malcolm awake too then glimpsing blood on her lower limbs, horrified for a moment she had cut herself too deeply and then realizing that it was him, his blood, and that he was dead, dead dead.

Leaping out of bed naked, not aware of it, terrified and shrieking, disbelieving what her eyes and ears told her, praying it was a dream, others rushing into the cabin, Ah Soh, Ah Tok, someone covering her, voices and shouting and screams and questions and more questions until the cabin smashed her into blackness and terror. Now on the bridge, freezing and burning and questions and no answers, her mouth locked, head afire, stench of blood, taste of blood, blood on her loins and on her hands and in her hair, stomach rebelling.

Ah Soh helping her into a bath, the water cool, never enough hot to clean away his death, more sickness and then the blinding poison filling her, drowning her until she saw herself shrieking at Hoag, a picture of ugliness, oh so ugly.

She shivered. Must I look like when I'm old? How old is old? Not very for some. What exactly she had said to Hoag, even now she could not recall, only that the poison had gushed away andwiththe torrent, good sleep came to pass.

I've much to thank Hoag for, and Babcott to loathe for--his sleeping draft began my sink into despair. I'm no longer afraid, no longer in despair, I don't understand why but it's true--thanks to Malcolm and Hoag, to that smelly little lawyer with his foul breath, and to Andr`e. Andr`e is still wise, still my confident and will remain so, so long as I pay. Yes he's a blackmailer. That doesn't matter. To help himself he has to protect me and then, well, there is a God in Heaven and the mills of God grind slowly but they grind exceeding small.

I can deal with my life now, I think, if I'm careful.

Madonna, we agreed so long ago that I had to help myself and could not be dependent on a man or men, like the rest of my poor sisterhood. I know I'm a sinner. Malcolm was truly the only man I've ever met I really wanted, really loved and really wanted to marry, loved as much as a silly teenager could love. Is first love true love? Or is love an adult emotion? I'm adult now. Was my love for Malcolm adult?

I think so, hope so.

But my darling is dead. I accept that. And now?

Tess? Hong Kong? Andr`e? Gornt?

Home? Tess?

One at a time.

First my darling must be put to rest. Properly.

She saw the safe, its door shut but not locked. She got up and opened it fully, reaching into the back, touching a small, concealed indentation. Part of the left wall swung open. In the cavity were some papers, another personal chop, another bag of coins and notes. A bottle of his medicine. A small box.

A week ago Malcolm had shown her the secret hollow, smiling at her. "There's nothing much to hide yet, all the important stuff's in Hong Kong with Mother, papers about being tai-pan, a copy of father's will, mother's will and so on, the tai-pan's chop. This is for," he shrugged, his eyes alight, "for odds and ends and secret presents I might give you, if you're very good and love me to distraction..."

She opened the box. A gold ring, set with rubies. Not very valuable, but valuable enough. The papers were business papers she did not understand, lists of figures.

And no will.

Damn, she thought without anger. It would have made the future more simple. Andr`e had pointed that out.

He had been summoned this morning by Vargas at her request from the list of people who had called and left cards. "Monsieur Vargas, first my tailor, I must have mourning clothes urgently, after him, Monsieur Andr`e, then Mr. Skye --no need to disturb Mr. McFay until I send for him. To anyone else I'm resting, and Monsieur," she added carefully, "please treat all this with the discretion my husband told me you possess. I'll see everyone in the tai-pan's office."

She had seen a flicker in Vargas's eyes at "tai-pan" but he had said nothing so no need to be firm. The office had been chosen with care and when the old dressmaker arrived with Vargas she said, "Please ask how long it would take to make a mourning dress, black, like this." The one she wore was long-sleeved, high-necked, dark blue.

"He says three days. Mourning, senhora?

The color for mourning in China is white."

"I want it in black. Silk. And tomorrow."

"Three days."

"If he takes my other dress, the pale blue one he made for me and dyes it black, how long?"' "He says two days."

"Tell him the widow of the tai-pan of the Noble House requires such a black dress tomorrow.

Tomorrow morning."

The old Chinese had sighed and bowed and went away. Then Vargas announced Andr`e Poncin.

"Hello Andr`e."

"Hello. I've never seen you more beautiful."

It was a statement, not a compliment. "I need advice, quickly, privately. We must be very quick, very wise. My marriage is legal, yes?"' "We think so, yes, according to British naval law, we're not sure about French law. Both are grey areas."

"I don't understand?"' "Subject to argument. If there was an argument between French and British lawyers, British law would prevail. The reality of him being a minor, both of you in fact though in this he's the important one, sorry, and his disobedience of the written dictates of his legal guardian means that the marriage ceremony will probably be challenged."

"Where? Here? By whom?"' "By Tess Struan. Who else?"' he said mockingly.

"Malcolm's death is meaningless to you, isn't it?"' "On the contrary, it has complicated my life immeasurably, Madame," he added, the first time using the title. "It is a serious complication for both of us."

She had chosen to sit behind Malcolm's desk, in Malcolm's office, for her future was at stake and she had to have a hundred percent of this man's cunning, and then more. In her suite, she would be less confident, though ordinarily at her best in her boudoir. Is that why men have offices, and women are limited to the chaise and the femininity of a semi-bedroom? "How can this be made uncomplicated, Andr`e?"' "The first complication you've already uncomplicated."

When she had fled in misery to the Legation he had intercepted her almost dragged her into his office, cursing her once the door was closed, shaking her angrily, saying, You stupid bitch, are you mad? Get back to his house and stay there and don't move, you can't hide here or you'll ruin yourself! Go back there, you fool, we'll talk later and for God's sake don't sign anything, don't agree to anything, go on, get out!

"You were quite right, Andr`e," she said, not resenting his venom, or violence, understanding clearly. "Thank you for telling it to me so it got through to me, got through my anguish. That was the first. Next?"' The lines in his forehead deepened. This was a new Angelique, an unknown quantity, unexpected. He had seen such a change twice before in men, never a woman. Both had been enemy spies released after extreme torture. The doctors had no explanation other than to say, the men no longer feared, or feared more torture, or feared dying. They had been dragged to the brink and had survived, and were now convinced, beyond doubt, they would survive again whatever was done to them, or they would die and that no longer mattered. The doctors had said that death itself wouldn't matter until the day, weeks or months or years ahead when the terror raised its vile head again as it was bound to do.

Poor Angelique sitting there so confident, so grand. There'll come a day when it will all spill out, will tear you asunder. Will you conquer it or end up in the madhouse?

For himself he would have bet that so many calamities would prove too much for such a young girl: the flight of her father, theft of her dowry, rape and pregnancy, the shooting of the rapist, and now this new and ghastly death that he and all the Settlement knew in its most graphic details. He and Seratard had expected her mind to be turned, at least for months, still expected it to happen, neither believing Hoag whom they had cross-questioned closely.