"Smell it, Elder Sister."
Ah Tok obeyed. The odor was pungent, slightly familiar. "What is it?"
"I cannot be not sure... but it smells to me like Dark of the Moon. I think the bottle this corked, contained Dark of the Moon... with other herbs."
The older woman gasped. "The expeller?
To cause a miscarriage? Impossible! Why should she want to do that?"
"Very bad face for your son to be named a father before marriage, eh? You know how foreign devils carry on about marriage and scandals and virginity, no fornication before the wedding--the man always blamed, how foolish! Bad face for your son. Then there's Tai-tai Tess to answer to, as well as her foul and vengeful foreign devil god."
Both women shuddered. Ah Tok sniffed the cork again. "You think Pointed Nose threw the bottle into the sea?"
"I'm missing a teapot too, that could have been for the accompanying herbs, she wanted hot water and honey too."
"To take away the taste! Ayeeyah!"
Gravely Ah Tok said, "My son is... is quite unbalanced about that woman."
"What should we do?"
"You were right to tell me. We will write at once to Illustrious Chen and send him the cork in the first mail. He will know if you are right, and then what to do." Shakily Ah Tok poured another glass of wine for each of them.
"Keep your eyes wide, be like a clam, I will do the same--not a word to her, my son, or anyone until we hear from him what to do."
Malcolm Struan was hobbling across the High Street heading for the Struan Building, leaning heavily on his sticks. The sky was overcast, a slight wind off the sea, the afternoon chilly and his crushing worry had dropped away. Seeing Angelique, convinced that she was all right, more lovely than ever, though pale and drowsy had done it. He had stayed only moments not wanting to tire her.
A group of mounted traders reined in politely to allow him to pass, raised their riding crops in salute. "'Day to you, Tai-pan,"
Lunkchurch said, grim-faced like the others. "Will you be at the Club at sundown?"
"What's amiss?" Struan said.
Lunkchurch jerked his thumb at the squat, black-hulled, two-masted steamer anchored in the bay near Marlowe's frigate. She flew the flag of Brock and Sons. "Her and her news.
Norbert's called a meeting: just traders, not Sir William."
"I was going to do the same. Sundown, good, I'll be there," Malcolm said tightly.
Ocean Witch--all Brock's major vessels were surnamed "Witch" as Struan's used "Cloud"--had unexpectedly arrived late yesterday evening with news, mails and the latest Hong Kong papers. "Bloody stupid!"
Major editorials in all papers were about Admiral Ketterer and the fleet's highly successful attack on Chinese pirate nests in and around Mirs Bay and that now he was en route to Shanghai for coaling. The Guardian, using big, angry type, summed up the problem: In a dispatch to the Governor, Admiral Ketterer wrote that they had suffered some casualties caused by Chinese shore batteries being armed with modern cannon--cannon made in Birmingham, emanating from Hong Kong, and acquired through fair means or foul by Wu Sung Choi, leader of the White Lotus fleets who, regrettably, was not captured or killed.
Astonishingly, because of this minor incident (the cannon were spiked by a landing party of marines) the Admiral recommended that all sales of all arms--and all opium--be declared illegal and embargoed throughout Asia at once, particularly to China and Japan, with the stiffest penalties for any infraction.
This unwarranted interference with legitimate trade, this unconscionable imputation of blame on all China traders--renowned for their fair-mindedness, their intrepid Empire-building capabilities, their loyalty to Her Majesty, God Bless Her, and of putting the Mother Country before profit--must be protested in the strongest terms.
The Editors would like to ask the Admiral: who provides the taxes to pay for the greatest navy the world has ever seen (of which he is undoubtedly an admirable member though clearly misinformed on vital matters of interest to the Crown) without which our Empire ceases: Only and always hard working traders and their trade...
"Ketterer's a bloody fool," Struan said. "Norbert's right in that. Perhaps now Sir William will see the light and ask for a replacement at once. We've got to deal with the Jappos here ourselves and Ketterer won't move without crossing the t's and dotting the i's."
"We certainly needs a bugger with balls,"
Lunkchurch said. "Ketterer's a damp fart."
One of the other men said, "Hey, Charlie, he smashed the pirates when he'd the order, he'll do the same here. Wot's an extra few months, eh? Tai-pan," he asked anxiously, "can we know how Miss Angel is?"
"She's fine, she's fine now."
"Thank God for that!"
News that she had taken to her bed had flashed around the Settlement yesterday and when it was learned she had refused to see Babcott, Hoag or even the tai-pan concern escalated: "Christ, it's the Frog cooking, she's poisoned...
No, she's caught their plague... Frogs don't have plagues for God's sake, just lice... We all got lice... I heard it was cholera...."
Universal relief permeated Yokohama at noon today when Minister Seratard had put out an official bulletin that she was in perfect health, merely suffering from a temporary indisposition-- quickly whispered it was just her period.
"My fiancee's fine," Malcolm said again. Proudly.
"That's a relief," Lunkchurch said. "You hear Witch's leaving on tonight's tide?"
Malcolm glanced out to sea, much of his disquiet returning. Last night when he had first heard of the ship's arrival he had been filled with a nauseating, sudden panic that Tyler Brock or Morgan Brock were aboard. It was only when Jamie reassured him they were not that he could think clearly.
Why the hell does Tyler Brock terrify me, even now? he asked himself again. I can understand it when I was small but now Tyler's not much taller than me, though ugly as ever, rough-visaged and foulmouthed, with his big belly and his one eye always bloodshot. What does that matter? There are many men in Hong Kong like him, many uglier. Many such enemies. But they don't frighten me. He's always been our enemy and we've contained him every time--Dirk did, my father did, Mother did, has and I must but... Christ Almighty I hate that bugger for all the grief he's caused Mother and the family.
He took a deep breath and concentrated on Ocean Witch. "She's not due out for two days."
"That's the rumor."
"But why? Why so fast a turnaround?"
"Don't know, but that's the poop."
"We'll soon find out. 'Day!" Malcolm cast off his foreboding and continued across the road.
Ahead was the Struan Building where he was heading and beyond that the spire of Holy Trinity. He had been to the early service this morning and had prayed for Angelique and for strength and afterwards had felt better. But God curse all Brocks forever, let me kill Norbert quickly an-- "Tai-pan!"
Startled from his revery he looked up around.
Phillip Tyrer was hurrying from the British Legation. "Sorry but we all just wanted to know how Miss Angelique was?"
"Fine, she's fine," Malcolm said. Now, behind Tyrer, he saw Sir William peering at him out of one of the ground floor windows.
He waved a stick and gave an awkward thumbs-up and saw the Minister wave back. Just before Sir William retreated into the room he caught a glimpse of another man beside him.
"Oh, that your tame samurai, Nakama?"