"Are you?" His eyes were red from fatigue, face pasty and puglike as ever but still a warmth about him that was comely. He peered at her. "Yes, I can see that. Be cautious, don't press yourself, take it easy, Angelique, be wise."
"I will, I promise."
"You were marvelous this afternoon."
"But I lost."
"Yes. George Babcott and I were sorry about that, outraged after your story and Heavenly's appeal. George's seeing Wee Willie for dinner and will try again but I, we, we don't hold out much hope." He saw her shrug, just a small gesture, and continue watching him, eyes enormous in the paleness of her face. "Do you need anything? To sleep or to calm--no, I can see you don't need any calming. I'm glad, so glad. I wanted to talk to you, chat, do you mind?"
"Of course not, please sit down. How did the inquest go? Oh, there's whisky or other drinks there if you want."
"Thanks." On the sideboard Waterford glasses and cut-glass decanters were lined up like soldiers in silver holders, with silver labels around their necks, the silver Georgian: Whisky, Cognac, Sherry, Port. He chose whisky and poured himself half a glass. "The inquest went as expected, Edward Gornt was exonerated of any blame and commended for bravery. The coroner, Skye, found that Greyforth's death was accidental and Gornt perfectly correct in trying to stop what could have been a brutal murder. We were surprised he used such strong words even though it was the truth."
He sat facing her, raised his glass.
"Health!"
"Salut! I'm glad for Edward.
He deserves much praise."
"And so do you. Your story touched me deeply,"
Hoag said.
"It's true. Don't you believe me either?"
"I believe it. That's what I wanted to talk about. You see, I understand it only too well." Then, eloquently, Hoag told her his own story, of his days in the Indian Army and falling in love and marrying against all conventions, the ostracism immediate, awful, then going home. Nothing better there. "It was worse in fact. Arjumand died, that was her name, the same as the beloved of Shah Jahan, who built the Taj Mahal," he said, his eyes locked into the fire, telling the story to the fire as well, seeing pictures of her there, her and him in the grand days before marriage.
"I'm so sad and yet glad that she didn't linger in the hatred, that she caught cold and died quickly like a gorgeous hothouse plant in an icy draft--that's what she was, you can't believe how exquisite, any more than I can believe she loved me--I know how ugly I look. I loved her to madness, and killed her."
"When you speak of her your face changes. You didn't kill her. It was fate. You weren't responsible." There's that word again, she thought.
"I was, marrying her and taking her home.
May-may would have died too, forlorn, lonely and desperate for home. Even the great Dirk Struan himself couldn't buck public opinion, not if they'd married. They were both lucky to have died like that."
She watched him, his eyes misty. "Was Malcolm lucky to have died, like he died? I mean, you said he was so peaceful. Was he dying anyway?"
Hoag said, "I'm afraid so. He could have gone any day, any hour. He was on borrowed time and I think he knew it."
This rattled her. "Why wasn't he told, why didn't you warn him, warn us?"
"It was an Act of God--we didn't know, not for certain as we do now, impossible to know or we would have."
"I, I don't understand. Tell me the truth, please, I need to understand."
Gently Hoag said, "His insides, under and near the wound were worse than we'd thought.
George couldn't probe around the wound much when he was brought in, that would have killed him anyway. The autopsy showed he was rotting away."
"The operation, it was well done?"
"Oh yes, first class. George's repair job was admirable, as good as anyone could do," he said and she believed him. "You see, Angelique, we can't replace, we can only repair, there was sepsis in pockets--the reason for all the pain, poor fellow--and bad lesions that prevented him from straightening up." He added sadly, "He was on the last of borrowed time.
Even so I'm certain you made his last days the happiest any man could have."
A coal fell into the hearth. Her eyes went to it. The flame flared and flickered and died--just like my Malcolm, poor man, poor love.
"Sad," she said to the fire, "so sad."
Hoag was weighing her, weighing himself and the memory of Arjumand--whom Angelique had reborn for him. Easy to decide now, after sharing Arjumand, he thought. Nervously he finished the drink. "May I?"
"Of course. Please."
Hoag replenished his glass, not so amply.
"About the burial, that's what I really wanted to see you about. You could, possibly, still do what you and Malcolm wanted."
"What?"
He sat opposite her again. "Bury him at sea like his grandfather, like he wanted, like you want.
I can help you."
"How?"
He mopped his brow. "You go to Sir William, say you'll bow to the inevitable and as much as you deplore his decision, you will allow the body to be sent to Hong Kong. Tomorrow, we, Babcott and I, we officially put his coffin aboard Prancing Cloud from Kanagawa where it is at the moment. You see the coffin off, officially, saying you could not bear to go with it on Prancing Cloud but you'll go by mail ship the day after tomorrow when she sails for Hong Kong.
Everyone's satisfied."
"But the coffin is empty?" she said excitedly.
He shook his head, his brow and jowls glistening in the firelight. "No. There'll be a body in it but not his, a fisherman, a Korean, who died in Kanagawa this morning, at the clinic.
Meanwhile Malcolm's remains are in the other coffin, still secretly at Kanagawa.
If Jamie was with us, he could bring the cutter there tomorrow evening, we go out to sea and if we could get Tweet to officiate, Malcolm can be buried as you wish. The next day you catch the mail ship and no one's the wiser--if we can swear everyone to secrecy."
"So many "ifs,"" she muttered, her heart thumping.
"Many more that I've thought of," he said, drying his forehead, throat tight. "It was just... The idea jumped into me a little while ago. I haven't thought it through, I may be quite off the mark, but I wanted to help. With or without George I can do the first part. Substituting the bodies. You have to do the other things. Perhaps I can help, I don't know," adding lamely, "I'm not good at keeping secrets. Sorry, we have to decide now if ... I'll have to get back to Kanagawa tonight while George is dining here. What do you think?"
She was out of her chair in a flash and put her arms around him, embracing him in a perfumed envelope of softness and gratitude. "Let's try... and thank you thank you."
"You wanted to see me, Ma'am?" Gornt said.