"This has nothing to do with Mr. Skye, Jamie, he didn't suggest this, nor have I consulted him. Yet. But I do know my rights, and husband's wishes, and they will be carried out."
"But... but..." Jamie was in such shock he could not get the words out, then they came with a rush, "but you can't override what Sir William and ... and what Doc Hoag and Babcott and I think is best for you and him, what we're sure is best for you and everyone. You're overwrought.
Angelique. It's best, Angelique, it really is."
"Overwrought? Me? How silly you are, Jamie." She allowed a small glacial smile. "I'm not overwrought at all. I'm merely going to put my husband's wishes into effect."
"But everything's arranged, Prancing Cloud's ready to leave and the... everything's arranged."
"I'm glad the clipper's ready. By all means send her at once, his mother should hear the terrible news as soon as possible--you should do that yourself, Jamie, go with Prancing Cloud, you're the senior here, you should. I beg you don't wait until tomorrow, go tonight, you can break the terrible news to her, it will lessen her hurt. You must."
"Of course I'll do that if it's necessary," he said, hating the idea. "But Angelique, this is ridiculous, you can't be serious, you must see it's best! Good God, Angelique, you must see this is--"
"Best for you and others perhaps but not for my husband and therefore not for me. He has a right to be buried as h--"
"You must allow us to do what's best, his body will--"
"My husband's body will not, will not go back aboard that ship, nor will I," she said quietly.
"Tell me, old friend, if I was to go with her as you suggest, where would I stay? In the state room?"
He stared at her, that problem not having occurred to him. "No, of course not," he said quickly, "of course you have the pick of the cabins. I guarantee everything will--"
"I guarantee every little thing will be done as my husband wished."
Jamie wiped his forehead, his mind working like never before, slightly sickened and out of balance whereas it was obvious she was nothing if not in control. A sudden idea. "Perhaps you're right. Prancing Cloud's wrong, perhaps. We'll charter another ship--wait, the mail ship's due to leave day after tomorrow, we'll get space aboard her for you, Hoag and... and him, and I'll persuade her captain to sail early. Tomorrow... That'll solve everything, right?"
"No." She sighed wearily. "Sorry, Jamie, no." Now there was the barest edge to her voice that cut through plainly. "Please understand me, no. No! He will be buried here as he would wish. The day after tomorrow."
"You can't. Mrs. Struan must... I mean Tess Struan must be given time. We'll send Prancing Cloud for her, she would want to be at the funeral, must be."
"You can do what you like but my husband will be buried the day after tomorrow in the way he would want--I don't think there would be time to do what you suggest.
I'm not going to argue with you. Sorry, old friend, it's you who are overwrought and I can well understand it. Please ask Sir William, and Mr.Skye to come by together now, as soon as possible and I will settle the matter formally."
"For God's sake, the family crypt in Happy Valley is where his grandfather, father and brothers and sisters are buried."
"Jamie, I tire of repeating: Please ask Sir William and Mr. Skye to come here as soon as possible. Together."
He did not know what to do so he shrugged helplessly and went out.
For a few minutes she sat still and breathed deeply. That wasn't so bad, she thought, then stretched and got up and went into her own room.
There she selected a clean dress, conservative, dark grey, put it on the bed. The wind rattled the windows but did not chill her.
Her mirror beckoned her. She studied herself.
Critically. No smile. What she saw pleased her. And the new person she had become also pleased her. It was like fitting into a new dress-- no, a new skin. "I hope it lasts," she said to her reflection. "We must work to make it last. This me is better than the other one."
Then she took up the first of the letters, Tess Struan's letters. She wanted to leave his to last.
Sir William was stony-faced. So was Jamie. Doctors Hoag and Babcott were frowning. Heavenly Skye had a bemused glint in his eyes. All were sitting on chairs in front of Malcolm's desk. She faced them from his tall chair, tiny but secure in it. Darker dress than before, three-quarter sleeves, square neckline, her back straight, coiffure perfect. Without makeup and somehow regal. "The day after tomorrow?" Sir William asked.
"Yes, please," she said. "My husband should not be laid out for long for people to pay their last respects, if they wish to. Isn't three days normal, Doctor?"
"Normally, yes, Angelique," Hoag said. "But we've already made arrangements for the preservation of the body during the voyage home.
Everything will be fine, you've no need to worry."
He added gently, "He should be buried there, he really should. We all agree."
"You've embalmed him? Already?"
The men shifted uneasily. Hoag said, "No, that's not usual. You, er, you use ice to ensure the preserv--"
"Would you relish being packed in ice and sent to Hong Kong like a carcass of mutton from Australia?"
The tension in the room spiraled, the men more embarrassed than before. Her voice remained quiet, firm and friendly, which tended to further infuriate them. Except for Skye for whom she was taking on a very new dimension.
Sir William said, "That's not the point, Madame. We feel for his sake and family's sake that burial at home is wise."
"He admired his grandfather, the tai-pan, didn't he?"
"Indeed he did," Sir William said.
Abruptly, he relaxed, no longer concerned, for now he had the answer to the conundrum, whatever she said. "Everyone knows that. Why?"
"Many times, in various words, Malcolm said he wanted to live like him, be remembered like him and be buried like him. And that's the way it will be."
"Very correct, and wise." Sir William added crisply, "His grandfather's buried in the family crypt in the cemetery in Happy Valley." He added kindly, "Angelique, I agree it should be the same for him. Now I unders--"
"But Dirk Struan wasn't buried in Hong Kong," she said, startling them. "Oh I know his name's carved into the stone but he was buried at sea.
My husband will be buried at sea, in the same way."
"Sorry, Angelique, but you're wrong,"