"You haven't failed him, Ma'am.
Everyone knows that."
"You won't fail me, will you, Edward? You'll deliver my letter to her, everything, as we discussed?"
"At once. A promise is a promise.
A matter of honor. Ma'am." He looked at her directly.
"And I promised too. Didn't I? A matter of honor. Eternal friendship."
The way she said the two words was a promise and not a promise. For the life of him he could not read her as he had before. Earlier he would have known how far that promise would take him. Now there was a barrier. I'm glad, he thought, for if there's a barrier for me it will exist for every man. Six months is still not much to wait and a perfect time.
So she may not be in Hong Kong. How does that affect me? "My plans, Ma'am? They depend on Tess Struan." He wanted to tell Angelique his real plan, but was far too shrewd to indicate that, even obliquely.
"I'm hoping she'll act on the information I'll give her. That will take a month, at least. If she wishes I'll wait the month and help, she'll need help, Ma'am. It all depends on her. If you arrive by mail ship we can talk more there. If not, may I write?"
"Of course, yes please. I would like that. By every mail. I promise I will keep you advised of my plans." She opened the drawer and took out an envelope. It was addressed to Mrs. Tess Struan. And unsealed. "You may read it."
"Thank you, Ma'am, but that's not necessary."
Angelique took it back, did not seal it but just tucked the flap into the back. "This will save you the trouble of steaming the flap open, Edward."
He laughed. "What makes you so sure I'd do that?"
"I would. It would be too much of a temptation.
But please seal it before you give it to her."
He nodded. "You once said, now you knew why your husband liked me, why I would be a dangerous enemy, an even more dangerous friend. Perhaps that applies to you, Angelique."
"Perhaps it does," she said simply. "I'm feeling my way in this new world, Edward. It's fraught with difficulties, and the quicksands. But you will find me very dependable once I've given my word, as I have. Do not forget I am French." A little smile. "Read it."
The letter read: Dear Mrs. Struan, by now you will have heard the terrible news about Malcolm--sorry that I cannot tell you in person but I have been advised by Dr.Hoag not to travel by Prancing Cloud or the mail ship.
I cannot tell you how distraught I am and have been. Let me just say simply I loved him with all my heart and tried to do the best I could while he was alive, and, too, after his death have been desperately trying to bury him as he wished, at sea, like his adored grandfather. But that was forbidden me.
Please, I beg you, please do for him what I failed to do.
But I have not failed him in a further duty.
The bearer of this letter was your son's friend. He brings information of great importance--that he had promised to give Malcolm the day he died, that he, Malcolm, was rushing to give you by Prancing Cloud: the means to destroy your everlasting enemies, Tyler and Morgan Brock. Mr.Gornt has sworn to me he will give every last detail to you. I beg you to implement it if it is what he purports it to be. The successful conclusion to that feud, and the elimination of that agony from your head is, I know only too well, all the epitaph Malcolm would wish.
She had dated it, and signed it Angelique Struan, Yokohama. There was a P.s.: Strange, isn't it, we who have so much in common--I hate my father too, he tried to destroy me too--have been so far apart, so unnecessarily.
Edward Gornt sealed the envelope thoughtfully.
He put it in his pocket and raised his glass.
"A long life, you're a remarkable woman, remarkable."
"How so?"
"You ask for nothing, give everything," he said with genuine admiration, and did not add, And you do not mention thirty days when, as women, that will be uppermost in both your minds--for if you are carrying his child, the Struan empire is mostly yours whether daughter or son, though a son would be perfect!
And even if you're not, an immodest claim on Struan's is just as perfect and unassailable.
In either case you will still marry me! "You are a great woman," he said calmly, "I hope I may be allowed to share an everlasting friendship."
He got up, gallantly kissed her hand and did not linger.
Alone again she nodded to herself, content, then poured wine into his glass--there were other glasses within easy reach but she chose his deliberately and sipped with added enjoyment. Then grimly raised the glass seawards: "God speed, Prancing Cloud." Another sip. And she smiled.
"Phillip!"
"Yes Sir William?"
"Here, take these. Are the rest of our dispatches ready?"
"Yes sir. I've done extra copies of both the Inquests, the death certificates, etceteras. I'll get your "private and confidential" to the Governor from the safe and that's the lot. Best if I take them aboard Cloud personally."
"Yes, that's wise. I've one more. Give me a couple of minutes." Weary from all the writing and the stress of the last few days, and grinding awareness of how exposed Yokohama was, Sir William shook off his headache, thought a moment, made sure the nib was clean, chose his most official letterhead and wrote firmly: Dear Mrs. Struan. I'm sending this by special dispatch via Prancing Cloud for special reasons, both formal and personal.
First I would like to offer my deepest condolences on the unhappy demise of your son whom I numbered amongst my friends as well as colleagues. Second, the circumstances and facts of his marriage and death were established under oath in an official Inquest, a copy of whose findings are enclosed.
To the best of my belief the shipboard marriage is legal--I have asked the Solicitor General for a formal ruling.
To the best of my belief Mrs.Angelique Struan had nothing whatsoever to do with the death of her husband, and was in no way responsible--a fact supported by medical evidence of Doctors Hoag and Babcott (and part of the Inquest documents) that you will no doubt receive in person.
To the best of my belief your son died as a result of wounds suffered during the unwarranted attack on the Tokaido and was, in effect, murdered then. The King, or daimyo, who ordered these attacks has not yet been brought to justice. I assure you he will be.
To the best of my belief, and personal observation, your son was in love with Mademoiselle Richaud to the point of obsession, and pursued her for marriage in every way he could conceive. She reciprocated his affections in exemplary, ladylike fashion. She is a brave young woman and anything to the contrary are lies spread by scoundrels.
Lastly, to the best of my belief, your son wanted to be buried at sea like his grandfather. His ...
Sir William hesitated a moment, continuing to be careful in his choice of words. He formulated his thought, then continued with his firm strong hand: His widow pleaded strongly that this should be done, here, wanting to grant him his wish (we have found no will yet, nor a formal letter to that effect) but it is my belief that this was what he wanted. I overruled his widow's request and decided his remains should be sent to Hong Kong to you. Again he hesitated as variations presented themselves, then wrote, I strongly recommend this request be granted. I am, Madam, your obedient servant.
For a moment he reflected, then went to his sideboard and poured a brandy, drank, and sat down again. Now he read the letter carefully.
Twice.
He made a couple of edits and changes and rewrote the letter, signing it Her Britannic Majesty's Minister to the Japans. Again he reread it. Now he was satisfied. The key changes were: after She is a brave young woman he had cut out and anything to the contrary are lies spread by scoundrels as inviting the question "what lies?"' adding, in its place, and I commend her strongly to your benevolence. After buried at sea he eliminated like.his grandfather, not knowing the truth of that claim.
"Much better," he said aloud. "Takes the sting out of it." Rather like that, I commend her to your benevolence, he thought, though what those two will finally do to each other only God knows. A week ago I would have wagered it was no contest but now I'm not so sure.
Thankfully he opened his desk diary and added the name Tess Struan to today's long list of letters sent by Prancing Cloud. An entry on Tuesday, 9th, leapt at him: "Malcolm Struan married Angelique Richaud aboard Pearl with Ketterer's connivance." It was written in Russian as was the whole diary--a lifetime habit insisted on by his Russian mother--both to keep it private from most eyes, and also to maintain his fluency. That reminded him. His fingers opened his new, 1863 diary and he put a question mark on January 11th, adding a note: January 11th We should know about now if A is carrying or not.