In spite of her resolve, Angelique felt the tears begin. But she gave no sound of crying.

For an hour after Sir William and the others left Skye and Jamie argued. She listened.

Nothing they said made any difference. She had lost. Following Skye's impassioned appeal, Sir William pronounced: "I regret I've heard nothing here this afternoon to change my mind. The body should go back to Hong Kong for burial, either with Prancing Cloud or the mail ship. As you choose, Madam. This meeting is over."

Skye said bitterly, "If we were in Hong Kong I could apply for a writ on a dozen grounds, but here Sir William is court, judge and jury. There isn't time enough to go there and back whatever we do."

"Then there's nothing more to be done." Jamie was grim, rocked by her story. "You have to accept it, Angelique. There's nothing more to be done, God rot it."

"I cannot go to Hong Kong--I must be at the burial."

"I agree," Skye said, nodding.

"Why? What's to stop you, Angelique?"

Jamie asked.

"Tess Struan," she said.

"What can she do? She can't stop you going to the funeral and she can't break the marriage.

Nettlesmith's afternoon editorial says it's perfectly legal even though you're both minors.

Go with the mail ship, I'll get her to sail at the same time."

"No. Sorry, Jamie, Mr.Skye already said the editorial is only an opinion. I know Tess Struan won't bury him at sea as he wanted, I'm sure she won't. And she will attack me in any way she can. Here, read her letters to Malcolm."

Both men were jolted by the intensity of venom.

Skye said queasily, "Pity, there's nothing actionable in them. She'd claim they were private letters from a mother to a son, desperately warning him against marriage as is her right, even to forbid it--as is her right. And the threats against you, you as a person, Mrs. Struan, there's nothing we could attack her with."

"That's not fair," she said.

"Heavenly, what about "if that woman ever steps foot in Hong Kong I'll make sure ..." eh?" Not wanting to hurt Angelique further, Jamie did not read all of what Tess Struan had written: I'll make sure every decent person in Hong Kong knows her history, her father's, uncle's and that her aunt was an itinerant actress in a travelling group of players, gypsies and mountebanks, and about her own personal finances.

"I'm not ashamed that my mother was an actress," she had said sharply, "even though most English consider them harlots. She wasn't, ever. And they weren't mountebanks. I'm not responsible for the sins of my father--I wasn't penniless, he stole my money, not only other people's."

"I know." Jamie wished he had not mentioned the letter. "Heavenly, can you get proof of Dirk's burial with May-may?"

"Oh yes, from Compradore Chen and Tess herself. But neither would volunteer, or admit it, would they? We would be jeered at and never get a court order to open the family crypt." Skye coughed and coughed again. "Mrs. Angelique Struan must go with her husband's remains, if she doesn't she'll immeasurably hurt her position, both legally and publicly. But to go to Hong Kong? Dangerous." He had asked Babcott and Hoag to smooth the wording of the death certificates but was told, as expected, it could not be done. "In my considered opinion, Mrs.Angelique is right not to take that risk at the moment, Jamie. I'm concerned she'd be more defenseless in Hong Kong than here."

"You'd go too, you can provide any shield necessary."

"Yes, but there's bound to be a scandal and I want to prevent that at all costs, for everyone's sake. Including Tess Struan's. She's not a bad woman if you look at her position from a mother's point of view. My considered opinion is that there's bound to be a stink--how to avoid it or minimize it, that's the question."

"Perhaps it can be contained," Jamie said.

"Tess isn't an ogre, she's always been fair in her way."

"She won't be fair, not with me,"

Angelique said. "I understand her. Only a woman can really understand. She'll believe I've stolen her eldest son and killed him. Malcolm warned me against her."

"To contain her we need time," Skye said.

"We need time to negotiate, and there's not enough before a burial."

When the two men left her, nothing had been resolved.

Never mind, she thought. I will bury my husband as he wished, I will inherit his worldly goods, if any, I will beat Tess Struan. And I will be revenged.

The letters had hurt, but not as much as she expected. Her tears were not tears as before. They had not racked her as before. Nor am I as before.

I don't understand. I'm really very strange. Will it last? I surely hope so. Oh, Blessed Mother, how stupid I was.

Through the window she saw that day would soon be night, and in the bay, ships' riding lights, port, starboard and at their mastheads, blinked with the rise and fall of the swell. In the fire bucket coals settled noisily, flames flared briefly drawing her attention back. What to do?

"Missee?" Ah Soh stalked in.

"Tai-tai, Ah Soh! You deaf heya?" she said curtly. Malcolm had explained tai-tai to her, and on his last night Malcolm had made Ah Tok, Ah Soh and Chen address her as such in front of him--and Skye had also reminded her to make the servants use it.

"Missee wan' my pack chop chop?"

"Tai-tai. You deaf, heya?"

"You wan' my pack, chop chop... tai-tai?"

"No. Tomorrow. If at all," she added quietly.

"Missee?" She sighed. "Tai-tai!"

"Missee-tai-tai?"

"Go away!"

"Med'sin man wan' see-ah."

She was going to say, Go away again, then changed her mind. "Medicine man what?"

"Med'sin frog, missee tai-tai."

Hoag. Yes, he is froglike, she thought and was surprised to find that she was smiling. "Yes.

See now," and when he came in she said, "Evening, Doctor. How are you? I'm fine, thanks to you."

"Are you?" His eyes were red from fatigue, face pasty and puglike as ever but still a warmth about him that was comely. He peered at her. "Yes, I can see that. Be cautious, don't press yourself, take it easy, Angelique, be wise."

"I will, I promise."

"You were marvelous this afternoon."

"But I lost."

"Yes. George Babcott and I were sorry about that, outraged after your story and Heavenly's appeal. George's seeing Wee Willie for dinner and will try again but I, we, we don't hold out much hope." He saw her shrug, just a small gesture, and continue watching him, eyes enormous in the paleness of her face. "Do you need anything? To sleep or to calm--no, I can see you don't need any calming. I'm glad, so glad. I wanted to talk to you, chat, do you mind?"

"Of course not, please sit down. How did the inquest go? Oh, there's whisky or other drinks there if you want."

"Thanks." On the sideboard Waterford glasses and cut-glass decanters were lined up like soldiers in silver holders, with silver labels around their necks, the silver Georgian: Whisky, Cognac, Sherry, Port. He chose whisky and poured himself half a glass. "The inquest went as expected, Edward Gornt was exonerated of any blame and commended for bravery. The coroner, Skye, found that Greyforth's death was accidental and Gornt perfectly correct in trying to stop what could have been a brutal murder. We were surprised he used such strong words even though it was the truth."

He sat facing her, raised his glass.

"Health!"

"Salut! I'm glad for Edward.

He deserves much praise."

"And so do you. Your story touched me deeply,"

Hoag said.

"It's true. Don't you believe me either?"

"I believe it. That's what I wanted to talk about. You see, I understand it only too well." Then, eloquently, Hoag told her his own story, of his days in the Indian Army and falling in love and marrying against all conventions, the ostracism immediate, awful, then going home. Nothing better there. "It was worse in fact. Arjumand died, that was her name, the same as the beloved of Shah Jahan, who built the Taj Mahal," he said, his eyes locked into the fire, telling the story to the fire as well, seeing pictures of her there, her and him in the grand days before marriage.