Father Leo blinked. "But there's your conversion, my son. That takes time and y--"
"I, well I don't want to convert, not yet, though I agree that, that the children will be Catholic." They'll all be brought up properly, and be intelligent, he reasoned, feeling sicker by the moment. They'll be able to choose for themselves when they're adult... What am I thinking about? Long before that we'll be properly married in a proper church.
"Please, next week, Tuesday, that's the day."
The eyes no longer smiled. "You're not going to embrace to the True Faith? What of your immortal soul?"
"No, no thank you, not at the moment. I, I will, I will certainly consider it. The, the souls of the children... that's important..." Malcolm tried to sound more coherent. "Now, the marriage, I'd like it private, a simple ceremony, Tuesday wo--"
"But your immortal soul, my son. God has shown you the light, your soul is even more important than this marriage."
"Well, I'll certainly consider it, yes I will. Now the marriage. Tuesday would be perfect."
The priest set his glass down, his mind tangled with joys and hopes and questions and fears and danger signals. "But, my son, that will not be possible, no, not for many reasons. The girl is underage, no? Her father's approval must be obtained, documents approved. You, the same, no?"
"A minor?" Malcolm forced a tentative laugh. "It doesn't apply in my case, not when your father is dead. It's, it's English law. I checked it with... with Mr. Skye." He just managed to stop using "Heavenly" but cursed himself anyway for mentioning him at all as he suddenly remembered Angelique telling him how Father Leo hated the man, hated the nickname, believing him, an open agnostic, to be an abomination.
"That person?" Father Leo's voice hardened.
"His opinion will certainly have to be approved by your Sir William, he's certainly not to be trusted and as to the senhorita's father, he can come from Bangkok, no?"
"He's... I believe he's returned to France. He won't be necessary, I'm sure Mr. Seratard can act for her. Tuesday would be perfect."
"But, my son, why the hurry, you're both young, so much life ahead, your soul to consider."
Father Leo tried a smile. "It's God's will you sent for me, in a month or two y--"
"Not, not in a month or two," Malcolm said, ready to explode, his voice strangled. "Wednesday or Tuesday, please."
"Reconsider, my son, your immortal soul should be y--"
"Forget my soul..." Malcolm paused to get a grip on himself. "I thought I would endow the church though it's not, not currently my church, endow it handsomely."
Father Leo heard the "currently" and the way "handsomely" had been said, ever conscious that God's work on earth required practical servants and pragmatic solutions. And funds.
And influence. And those two essentials came only from the highborn and the rich, no need to remind himself that the tai-pan of the Noble House was both, or that already today a giant step forward in the service of God had been made: he had been asked for a favor, and the children would be saved even if this poor sinner burned in the Molten Torment.
A shiver went through him, appalled for this youth and all those who would needlessly suffer such horror for all eternity when salvation was so easy to obtain.
He pushed that problem aside. The will of God is the will of God. "The marriage will take place, my son, never fear, I promise... but not next week or the week after, there are too many barriers."
Malcolm felt his heart about to burst. "God Almighty, if it can't be next week or the latest the week after, then it's no good, it has to be then--or nothing."
"But why? And why private, my son?"
"It has to be then, or nothing," Malcolm repeated, his face twisted. "You, you will find me a good friend... I need your help... For God's sake it's a simple thing to marry us!"
"Yes, yes it is, for God, but not for us, my son." The priest sighed and got up. "I will ask God's guidance. I doubt if... but perhaps. Perhaps. I would have to be very sure."
The words hung in the air.
"I hate to pour feces on your bouquet of roses, Tai-pan," Heavenly Skye said, steepling his fingers. He was slumped behind his desk in his drab little office. "But since you ask my professional advice I'd say your Father Leo's not to be trusted, not a jot or tittle, unless you convert. There's no way that can be done in time and I wouldn't advise that, oh dear no.
He'll puppet you like a will-o'-the- wisp and your vital dates will pass and you'll be truly buggered."
"Then for Christ's sake, Heavenly, what do I do?"
Skye hesitated, blew his bulbous nose and cleaned his pince-nez, small spectacles, a favorite ploy to allow time to compose himself, or to cover a lapse, or, in this case, to prevent an all-pervading beam.
This was the first time anyone important had consulted him since he had hung up his own shingle, H. Skye, Esq., late of Moodle, Putfield and Leech, Solicitors and Barristers, Inns of Court, London, initially in Calcutta ten years ago, then Hong Kong, and recently here. At long last he had, potentially, a perfect client: rich, beset with anxiety, with a simple problem that could become ever more complicated, with long-term possibilities from the cradle to the grave. And grand fees, for a solution, of which there were many, some good, some violent.
"Can't think of a worse pickle to be in," he said, solemnly, playing his part, liking and admiring the youth, not merely as a client, then offered a key, "The Gordian knot, eh?"
Malcolm was miserable. Obviously Heavenly was right, Father Leo can't be trusted. Even if I converted... I can't, that would be too much...
He looked up abruptly. "Knot?
Gordian knot? That was solved! Ulysses hacked it in two. No, it was Hercules!"
"Sorry, Alexander the Great in 333 B.c."
"Whoever did it, doesn't matter, my problem is... Heavenly, help me cut through my knot and you've my undying gratitude and five hundred guineas..."
The Harbor Master's signal gun echoed over the Settlement. They looked out of the mildewed window--Skye's office was in Lunkchurch's building and godown, stacked with books, fronting the sea. To their joy the fleet was rounding the headland in line ahead, flagship to the fore, with flags overall. Pride filled them, and relief. Cannonade salutes thundered from shore and ships, H.m.s. Pearl the most exuberant, with replying salvos from the fleet.
Both men whooped, and Skye said, "Now we can deal with the Jappos and sleep snug in our beds." Obliquely, he returned to the matter in hand, envying him Angelique and determined to help. "Not difficult to solve Jappos, Willie needs to be simple and decisive, the old iron fist in the iron glove, or velvet, applies in most, if not all cases. As with you."
Malcolm Struan looked at him. "How?
How? If you solve my problem you can... you can name your own price." Tiredly he reached for his canes. "Within reason."
"A moment, Tai-pan," Skye said, exuberantly polishing his glasses. My price won't only be money, not from the Noble House, your influence can help me become a Hong Kong judge, ah, what joy that will be! My only dilemma is should I reveal the solution now, or wait and risk losing the initiative. Not on your Nelly! A bird in the bed is worth two in the Yoshiwara.
No longer solemn, he set his pince-nez back on the tip of his nose, now like twin doors dominating his pink, babyish face, which seemed to overflow them. "I had a sudden thought, Tai-pan. It could solve your problem, in the time you need. Why don't you do what your mother did?"
Malcolm was thrown for a moment, then the meaning became clear. "Oh, oh you mean elope?
I've thought of that for God's sake," he said irritably, "but elope where and who's going to perform the ceremony, we're a million miles from Macao."
"What has Macao to do with it?" Skye asked.
"Everyone knows mother and father eloped and were married in the English Church in Macao, the ceremony performed quietly and quickly because of grandfather's influence."
Skye smiled and shook his head. "That's the published the story but it's not true. Your Captain Orlov married them aboard your clipper China Cloud en route from Macao to Hong Kong--your grandfather had made your father Master for that short voyage, and as you know the tai-pan's law is that at sea the Master was the law of the ship."
Struan was gaping at him. "I don't believe it."