When the tears stopped, she dried her eyes and silently studied her reflection in the silver mirror. No lines, some shadows, face a little thinner than before. No outward change. She sighed heavily, then began to write again: "Crying simply doesn't help. Today I MUST talk to Malcolm. I simply must.
Andr`e told me the mail ship is already one day overdue and the news of my catastrophe is bound to arrive with it--why is it English call a ship she or her? Her. I'm terrified Malcolm's mother will be aboard--news of his injury should have reached Hong Kong on the 24th, which gives her just enough time to catch this mail ship.
Jamie doubts she would be able to leave at such short notice, not with her other children there, her husband dead just three weeks and still being in deepest mourning, poor woman.
"When Jamie was here, the first time I've ever really talked to him alone, he told me all sorts of stories about the other Struans--Emma is sixteen, Rose thirteen and Duncan ten-- most of them sad stories: last year two other brothers the twins, Robb and Dunross, seven, were drowned in a boating accident just off a place in Hong Kong called Shek-O where the Struans have lands and a summer house. And years ago when Malcolm was seven, another sister, Mary, then four, died of Happy Valley fever. Poor little thing, I cried all night thinking of her and the twins. So young!
"I like Jamie but he's so dull, so uncivilized--I mean gauche, that's all--he has never been to Paris and only knows Scotland and Struans and Hong Kong. I wonder if I could insist that if..." She crossed that out and changed it to "when we're married..." Her pen hesitated. "Malcolm and I will spend a few weeks in Paris every year--and the children will be brought up there, of course as Catholic.
"Andr`e and I were talking about that yesterday, about being Catholic--he's very kind and takes my mind off problems as his music always does--and how Mrs. Struan was Calvinist Protestant, and what to say if that ever came up. We were talking softly--oh I am so lucky he is my friend and forewarned me about father--suddenly he put his fingers to his lips, went to the door and jerked it open.
That old hag Ah Tok, Malcolm's amah, had her ear to it and almost fell into the room. Andr`e speaks some Cantonese and told her off.
"When I saw Malcolm later in the day he was abject in his apologies. It's unimportant I said, the door was unlocked, my maid was correctly in the room, chaperoning me, but if Ah Tok wants to spy on me, please tell her to knock and come in. I confess I've been distant and cool to Malcolm and he goes out of his way to be extra pleasant and calm me, but this is how I feel, though also I must confess Andr`e advised me to behave so until our betrothal is public.
"I had to ask Andr`e, had to I'm afraid, ask him for a loan--I felt awful. It's the first time I've ever had to do it but I'm desperate for some cash. He was kind and agreed to bring me twenty louis tomorrow on my signature, enough for incidentals for a week or two--Malcolm just doesn't seem to notice that I need money and I didn't want to ask him....
"I really do have an almost permanent headache, trying to plan a way out of the nightmare. There is no one I can really trust, even Andr`e, though so far he has proved his worth. With Malcolm, every time I start the speech I have rehearsed, I know the words will sound forced, flat and dreadful before I begin so I say nothing.
""What is it, darling?" he keeps saying.
""Nothing," I say, then after I've left him and relocked my door, I cry and cry into my pillow. I think I shall go mad with grief --how could my father lie and cheat and steal my money?
And why can't Malcolm give me a purse without my having to ask, or offer some so that I can pretend to refuse and then accept gladly.
Isn't that a husband or fianc`e's duty?
Isn't it a father's duty to protect his beloved daughter? And why is Malcolm waiting and waiting to make our betrothal public? Has he changed his mind? Oh God don't let that happen...."
Angelique stopped writing, tears beginning again. One dropped on to the page. Again she wiped her eyes, sipped some water from a tumbler, then continued: "Today I will talk to him. I must do it today.
One good piece of news is that the British flagship came back into harbor safely a few days ago to general rejoicing (we are really quite defenseless without warships). The ship was battered and had lost a mast, to be closely followed by all other vessels, except a 20-gun steam frigate called Zephyour, with over two hundred aboard. Perhaps it's safe, I hope so. The newspaper here says that fifty-three other seamen and two officers died in the storm, the typhoon.
"It was terrible, the worst I have ever known. I was terrified, by day and by night. I thought the whole building would be blown away but it is as solid as Jamie McFay. Much of the native quarter vanished, and there were many fires. The frigate Pearl was damaged, also losing a mast. Yesterday a note came from Captain Marlowe: I have just heard that you are sick and I send my deepest and most sincere condolences etc.
"I don't think I like him, too haughty though his uniform makes him very glamorous and accentuates his manhood--which tight breeches are of course supposed to do, just as we dress to show our breasts and waists and ankles. Another letter arrived last evening from Settry Pallidar, the second, more condolences etc.
"I think I hate both of them. Every time I think of them I'm reminded of that hell called Kanagawa and that they did not do their duty and protect me. Phillip Tyrer is still in the Yedo Legation but Jamie said he had heard Phillip was supposed to be coming back tomorrow or the day after. That's very good because when he does I have a plan th--"' The dull echoing roar of a cannon made her jump and pulled her attention to the harbor. It was the signal gun. Far out to sea another cannon answered. She looked beyond the fleet to the horizon and saw the telltale smoke from the funnel of the arriving mail ship.
Jamie McFay, a briefcase heavy with mail under his arm, guided a stranger up main staircase of the Struan Building, sunlight flooding through tall and elegant windows of glass. Both wore woolen frock coats and top hats though the day was warm. The stranger carried a small case. He was squat, bearded, ugly and in his fifties, a head shorter than Jamie though wider in the shoulders, an unruly thatch of long grey hair sprouting from under his hat. They went down the corridor.
McFay knocked gently. "Tai-pan?"
"Come in, Jamie, door's open." Struan gaped at the man, then said at once: "Is Mother aboard, Dr. Hoag?"
"No, Malcolm." Dr. Ronald Hoag saw the immediate relief and it saddened him though he could understand it. Tess Struan had been vehement in her condemnation of the "foreign baggage" she was sure had her hooks into her son. Hiding his concern at Malcolm's loss of weight and pallor, he put his top hat beside his bag on the bureau. "She asked me to see you," he said, his voice deep and kindly, "to find out if I could do anything for you and to escort you home --if you need escorting." For almost fifteen years he had been the Struan family doctor in Hong Kong and had delivered the last four of Malcolm's brothers and sisters. "How are you?"
"I'm... Dr. Babcott has been looking after me. I'm, I'm all right. Thanks for coming, I'm pleased to see you."
"I'm pleased to be here too, George Babcott is a fine doctor, none better."
Hoag smiled, his small topaz eyes set in a creased and leathery face, and continued breezily, "Filthy voyage, the tail of the typhoon caught us and we almost foundered once, spent my time patching up sailors and the few passengers--broken limbs mostly. Lost two overboard, one a Chinese, a steerage passenger, the other some sort of foreigner, we never did find out who he was. The Captain said the man just paid his fare in Hong Kong, mumbled a name. Spent most of the time in his cabin, then came on deck once and, poof, a wave caught him.