Tuesday, 14th October

Tuesday, 14th October: The engagement party was in full swing under the oil lamps that lit the crowded main hall of the Club --the whole building taken over by Malcolm Struan and bedecked for his party. All respectable members of the Settlement had been invited and were present, all officers who could be spared from the fleet and Army--and outside on the High Street patrols of both services were ready to inhibit drunks and undesirables from Drunk Town.

Angelique had never looked more striking-- crinoline, Bird of Paradise feather headdress and dazzling engagement ring. The dance was a pulsating waltz by Johann Strauss the Younger, brand-new and just arrived from Vienna by diplomatic pouch that Andr`e Poncin was playing with gusto on the piano, ably supported by a skeleton Marine Band in full dress uniform for the occasion. Her partner was Settry Pallidar --his selection to represent the Army had been greeted with a roar of approval, and total jealously.

Victoria Lunkchurch and Mabel Swann were also dancing, this time partnered by Sir William and Norbert Greyforth, their dance cards filled the moment the party was announced. For all their girth both were good dancers, both wore crinolines though these could not compare with Angelique's in either richness or decolletage.

"Thee's a right rotten skinflint, Barnaby,"

Victoria hissed at her husband. "Mabel and me're going to have new folderols if it costs thee thy whole company by God! And we wants titfers like her's by God!"

"Wot?"

"Yes wot! Titfers--hats!"

Angelique's headdress had been the final coup de grace for both women. "'Tis war, her against us'n." Even so their popularity overcame their jealousy, and they twirled with abandon.

"Lucky bloody bastard," Marlowe muttered, eyes only for his rival. His blue naval uniform jacket glittered with the added gold braid of an aide-de-camp, white silk trousers and stockings and black, silver-buckled shoes.

"Who?" Tyrer asked, passing by with another glass of champagne, flushed and excited with the evening and with his success in spiriting Nakama, the samurai, out of Yedo and, with Sir William's approval, into his house as a Japanese teacher. "Who's a bastard, Marlowe?"

"Get stuffed--as if you didn't know!"

Marlowe grinned. "Listen, I'm the Navy's rep, I've got the next one and I'll show the bugger what's what or die in the attempt."

"Lucky devil! What is it?"

"Polka!"

"Oh my word--did you arrange it?"

"Good God, no!" The polka, based on a Bohemian folk dance, was another recent addition to the dance floors of Europe and all the rage, though still considered risqu`e. "It's on the program! Didn't you notice?"

"No, never did, too much on my mind,"

Tyrer said happily, bursting to tell someone how clever he had been, and even more that tonight, as soon as he could, he was heading across the Bridge to Paradise and into the arms of his beloved-- regretting that he was sworn to secrecy on both counts. "Dances like a dream, doesn't she?"

"Hey, young Tyrer..." It was Dmitri Syborodin, well oiled and sweating, a tankard of rum in his fist. "I asked the Band Master to throw in a cancan. Guy said I was the fifth to ask."

"My God, is he going to?" Tyrer asked appalled. "I saw it performed once in Paris --you won't believe but the girls didn't wear any pantaloons at all."

"I believe it!" Dmitri guffawed. "But Angel Boobs has 'em on tonight, and not afraid to show 'em either, by God!"

"Now look here..." Marlowe began hotly.

"Come on, John, he's just joking.

Dmitri, you're impossible! Surely the Bandmaster wouldn't dare?"

"Not 'nless Malc gives him the nod."

They looked across the room. Malcolm Struan sat with Dr. Hoag, Babcott, Seratard and several of the Ministers watching the dance floor, eyes only for Angelique as she dipped and swayed to the enchanting, daring modern music that exhilarated all of them. His hand rested on a heavy cane, the gold signet ring sparkling as his fingers moved to the beat, dressed in sleek silk evening clothes, winged collar, cream cravat and diamond pin, his fine leather boots from Paris.

"Pity he's so still so disabled," Tyrer murmured, genuinely sorry, but blessing his own luck.

Struan and Angelique had arrived late.

He walked with extreme difficulty, hunched over as much as he tried to remain upright, his weight on the two canes, Angelique radiantly on his arm. Dr. Hoag was with them, attentive and ever watchful. There were cheers for him and more for her and then, gratefully sitting, he had welcomed them, invited them all to partake of the feast that had been laid out on tables, "But first, my friends," he said, "please raise your glasses, a toast to the most beautiful girl in the world, Mademoiselle Angelique Richaud, my bride to be."

Cheers and more cheers. Liveried Chinese servants brought iced champagne by the case, Jamie McFay added a few words of joy and the party was on. Wines from Bordeaux and Burgundy, a special Chablis much favored in Asia, brandies, whiskies--all exclusive Struan imports--gin, beer from Hong Kong. Sides of Australian roasted beef, a few whole lambs, chicken pies, joints of cold salt pork, hams, Shanghai potatoes, baked and stuffed with roast salt pork slivers and butter, as well as puddings and chocolates, a new Swiss import. After supper had been cleared away and seven drunks removed, Andr`e Poncin took his place and the band began.

With great formality towards Malcolm, Sir William begged the first dance. Next was Seratard, then the other Ministers--except von Heimrich who was in bed with dysentery--the Admiral and the General, all of them and others taking turns with the other two women. After each dance Angelique would be surrounded by flushed and beaming faces, and then, fanning herself, she would make her way back to Malcolm's side, delightful to everyone yet completely attentive to him, every time refusing the dance, at length allowing herself to be persuaded by him: "But, Angelique, I love to watch you dancing, my darling, you dance as you do so gracefully."

Now he was watching her, torn between happiness and frustration, frantic that he was hobbled.

"Don't fret, Malcolm," Hoag had said this evening, wanting to calm him, the simple act of dressing a nightmare of pain and awkwardness. "This is the first time you've been up.

It's only a month since the accident, don't worr--"' "Tell me that once more and I'll spit blood."

"It's not just the pain that's tearing you apart.

It's the medication, or lack of it, and today's mail. You got a letter from your mother, didn't you?"' "Yes," he had said in total misery and sat on the edge of the bed, half dressed. "She ... well she's furious, never known her so angry. She's totally opposed to my engagement, to my marriage... if I listened to her, Angelique is the devil incarnate. She ..." The words stumbled out of him. "She dismissed my letter, dismissed it and said, here read it: Have you gone mad? Your father's not dead six weeks, you're not yet twenty-one, that woman's after your money and our company, she's the daughter of an escaped bankrupt, the niece of another felon, and, God help us, Catholic and French! Are you out of your mind? You say you love her? Rubbish! You're bewitched. You will stop this nonsense. You-will-stop-this-nonsense! She has bewitched you. Obviously you are in no frame of mind to run Struan's! You are to return without that person as soon as Dr. Hoag permits it."

"When I permit it. Malcolm, will you do as she says?"' "About Angelique, no. None of what she says is important, none of it! Clearly she didn't read my letter, doesn't give a fig for me. What the devil can I do?"' Hoag had shrugged. "What you've already decided: you will be engaged and in due time married.