"Yes I did. Damn fools, though Gornt swore both had agreed to accept the other's apology, but he also said Norbert told him this morning he had changed his mind and was going to kill Struan. Miserable bastard!"
Uneasily Sir William shifted things on his desk, straightening papers, the small, silver mounted portrait. "What do we do now?"
"About Norbert?"
"No, Malcolm, what about Malcolm first?"
"I'll do the autopsy today, this evening. I've taken the liberty of arranging to have the body taken to Kanagawa--it'll be easier there. Hoag will assist and you'll have a report in the morning.
We'll sign the death certificate, it'll all be quite normal."
"I meant with the body," Sir William said testily.
"You can bury him at your leisure. In this weather there's no hurry, the body will keep."
"Will it, is there time to send Prancing Cloud to Hong Kong to find out what his, what Mrs.Struan wants to do? I mean she might want to bury him there an--"
"My God, I wouldn't like to bring her that news."
"Nor would I." Sir William tugged at his collar. As usual it was chilly in the office, the coal fire tiny and miserable, with a strong draft from ill-fitting windows. "Hoag's the family doctor, he could go. But, George, I mean, will he, will the body keep that long?
To send word to her, come back then take the body back--if that's what she wants?"
"You'd better make the decision, to bury him here or to send him back at once. We'd keep him on ice, surround the coffin with ice, on deck under canvas, he'll keep very well."
Sir William nodded, revolted.
"Phillip," he shouted through the door. "Ask Jamie to come by at once! George, I think the wisest course, provided he will, er, he'll keep would be to send him back. What's your advice?"
"I agree."
"Good, thank you, keep me advised about Angelique and don't forget supper tonight. What about our bridge game?"
"Best postpone both till tomorrow."
"All right, fine, that'll be fine. Thanks again ... damn it, I forgot. What about Norbert?"
"A quick burial, soon forgotten and not regretted."
"I'll have to hold an inquest, Edward Gornt's American, a foreign national--he's preparing a signed statement. Just as well Adamson's on leave or he'd want to be involved. He's a lawyer isn't he, as well as U.s. Charg`e d'Affaires?"
"Doesn't matter either way. Hoag and I can give medical evidence." Babcott got up and added coldly, "But the "shooting in the back"?
Not a very good advertisement for Yokohama."
"My whole point." Sir William's face screwed up. "My whole point. Wouldn't like that breezed about."
"You mean to our hosts?"
"Yes. They'll have to be informed, that's required. Can't formally tell them exactly what happened, in either case. Obviously Norbert's an accidental death. But Struan?"
"Tell them the truth," Babcott said, enraged by the waste and furious with himself that his work had not been good enough, and that, not as a doctor, he had desperately wanted to take Angelique in his arms to protect her from it all. "The truth is this unnecessary, early death of that fine young man was attributable directly to wounds sustained in his unprovoked attack on the Tokaido!"
Sir William added bitterly, "By murdering bastards who still haven't been brought to justice.
You're right."
He let Babcott out, waved Tyrer away, then stood at the window, upset with his present impotence. I've got to bring the Bakufu to heel quickly or we're finished, and our vision of opening up Japan is lost. They won't do it for themselves so we have to help them. But they've got to behave like civilized, law-abiding people... meanwhile the clock's ticking, I know in my bones they'll fall on us one night, put us to the torch and that will be that. Sure as God made little apples!
Oh yes, retribution would fall back on them--with great loss of life. Meanwhile I will have failed in my duty, we'll all be dead and that's a very boring thought indeed. If only Ketterer wasn't so pigheaded. How the hell do I turn that obstinate bastard to my will?
He sighed, knowing one answer: First you'd better make a peace with him!
Their stormy meeting late last night over the Admiral's blatant disregard of Mrs.Struan's request and his own advice, having had no suspicion of the real reason until he had wrung it out of Jamie McFay earlier, had deteriorated into a shouting confrontation: "It was ill advised to allow Marlowe to--"' "I thought it best! Now you listen to me--"' "Best? God damn it, I've just learned you thought it best to stupidly interfere in political and trade matters by trying to barter a nonenforceable agreement with the pretender to the Struan throne and so alienate the true head forever more!" he had said furiously. "Didn't you?"' "And you, sirrah, you interfere in matters that are the sole prerogative of Parliament--declaring war--and the real reason you are so ill advised with your language, sirrah, and so upset, is because I will not begin a war we cannot win, cannot sustain with our present forces, if at all, and in my opinion any attack on the capital will rightly be considered an act of war by the natives and not an incident. Good night!"
"You agreed to assis--"' "I agreed to rattle a few sabres, fire a few practice rounds to impress the natives but I haven't agreed to bombard Yedo, nor for the last time will I until you show me authority in writing, approved by the Admiralty. Good n--"' "The Navy and the Army are subject to civilian control and advice by God and I'm the control here!"
"Yes you are, by God, if I agree," the Admiral bellowed, neck and face purple, "but you're not in command of my ships and until I get orders to the contrary, approved by the Admiralty, I will run my fleet as I think best. Good night!"
Sir William sat back at his desk. He sighed and picked up a pen and wrote on his headed paper: Dear Admiral Ketterer, Much of what you said last night was correct. Please excuse my ill-advised use of some words in the heat of the moment. Perhaps you would be kind enough to stop by this afternoon.
You will have heard of young Struan's sad death that, according to Dr. Babcott is "directly attributable to wounds caused by the unprovoked Tokaido attack." I will have to make another, most serious complaint to the Bakufu about the demise of this fine English gentleman and would be very pleased to have your advice how this should be couched.
Most sincerely, my dear Sir, I remain your obedient servant.
"What I do for England," he muttered, then shouted, "Phillip!" signed the paper and powdered it to dry the ink.
"Yessir?"
"Make a copy, then send it to Ketterer by messenger."
"Jamie's just arrived, sir, and there's a deputation asking that you make this "Angel Day," a day of mourning."
"Refused! Send Jamie in."
Jamie was very bruised, his shoulder strapped up now.
"Jamie, you're feeling better? Good.
George Babcott gave me a report."
He told him what had been said about Malcolm's body. "What do you think?"
"We should send him home to Hong Kong, sir."
"Good, my thought too. You'll accompany the ... him?"