"Just listen, please." Angelique moved her chair closer to him. "I was raped in Kanagawa ..."
He stared at her, dumbfounded, as she told him what she thought had happened to her, what she had decided to do, how she had hidden the horror ever since.
"My God, poor Angelique, poor thing, how terrible for you," was all he managed to mutter, deeply shocked, while another piece of the puzzle fell into place. Sir William, Seratard and Struan had decided to restrict news about Dr. Hoag's operation at Kanagawa to as few people as possible--keeping it particularly from Angelique, both doctors advising that to be medically wise. "Why agitate her unnecessarily? She's upset enough about the Tokaido affair."
No reason yet to tell her, Andr`e thought uneasily, the irony rocking him.
He took her hand and caressed it, forcing himself to push away his own worries and concentrate on her. Seeing her there, sitting beside him in his office, so serene and demure, clear eyes and picture of innocence, only a few hours ago the belle of the best ball Yokohama had ever had, gave her story an air of total unreality. "This really happened? Really?"
She raised her hand as though taking an oath.
"I swear it, by God." Now her hands were folded in her lap. Pale yellow hooped day dress, tiny orange bonnet and umbrella.
Bewildered, he shook his head. "Seems impossible."
Throughout his adult years he had been part of many such man-woman tragedies: put into some by his superiors, stumbling into a few, precipitating many, and using most if not all for the betterment of his Cause: for France--the Revolution, Libert`e Fraternit`e Egalit`e, or Emperor Louis Napoleon, whoever or whatever the current vogue--and for himself, first.
Why not? he thought. What has France done for me, what will she do for me? Nothing. But this Angelique, she's either going to fall apart any moment--her serenity's unreal--or she's like some women I've known, born bad who twist truth brilliantly for their own purposes, or like some who have been pushed over the brink by terror to become a calculating, cold-blooded woman beyond her years. "What?"
"I need to remove the problem, Andr`e."
"You mean abortion? You're Catholic!"
"So are you. This is a matter between me and God."
"What about confession? You have to be confessed. This Sunday you must go an--"
"That is a matter between me and a priest, and then God. The problem must be removed first."
"That is against God's law and man's law."
"And has been done throughout the centuries since before the Flood." An edge crept into her voice. "Do you confess everything? Adultery is also against "God's law," isn't it?
Killing's against all law too. Isn't it?"
"Who says I've killed anyone?"
"No one, but it's more than likely you have or caused deaths. These are violent times. Andr`e, I need your help."
"You risk eternal damnation."
Yes, I've agonized over that with lakes of tears, she thought grimly, keeping her eyes innocent, hating him and that she had to trust him.
This morning she had awakened early and lay there thinking, reconsidering her plan, and came to realize of a sudden that she should hate all men.
Men cause all our problems, fathers, husbands, brothers, sons, and priests--priests the worst of all men, lots of them notorious fornicators and deviates, liars, who use the Church for their own rotten purposes, though it is true a few are saints. Priests and other men control our world and ruin it for women. I hate them all--except Malcolm. I don't hate him, not yet. I don't know if I truly love him, I don't know what love is, but I like him more than any man I've ever known, and I understand him.
As to the rest, thank God my eyes are open at last! She was looking at Andr`e, trustful and begging. Damn you that I have to put my life in thrall to you, but thank God I see through you now.
Malcolm and Jamie are right, all you want is to dominate Struan's or cause its downfall. Damnation that I have to trust any man.
If only I was in Paris, or even Hong Kong, there are dozens of women I could discreetly ask for the necessary help but none here. Those two hags? Impossible! They clearly hate me and are enemy.
She allowed a few tears to appear. "Please help me."
He sighed. "I will talk to Babcott this morn--"
"Are you mad? Of course we dare not involve him. Or Hoag. No, Andr`e, I've thought it all out very carefully. Neither of them. We must find someone else. A madam."
He gaped at her again, stunned by the calm voice and logic. "You mean a mama-san?" he stuttered.
"What's that?"
"Oh... that's the woman, the Japanese woman who, who runs the local whorehouses, contracts for the services of the girls, arranges prices, allocates girls. And so on."
Her brow creased. "I hadn't thought of one of them. I did hear there's a house down the road."
"My God! You mean Naughty Nellie's ... in Drunk Town? I wouldn't go there for a thousand louis."
"But isn't the house run by Mrs.Fortheringill's sister? The famous Mrs.
Fortheringill of Hong Kong?"
"How'd you know about her?"
"Oh my God, Andr`e, am I a foolish and bigoted English?" she said testily. "Every European female in Hong Kong knows about Mrs. Fortheringill's Establishment for Young Ladies though they pretend not to and never talk openly about it, or that all but the most stupid know their men visit Chinese Houses, or have Oriental mistresses. Such hypocrisy.
Even you would be astonished to know what ladies discuss in the privacy of their boudoirs, or when there are no men around. In Hong Kong I heard her sister opened the house here."
"It's not the same, Angelique, it caters for seamen, drunks, remittance men--the dregs.
Naughty Nellie isn't her sister, she just claims to be, probably just pays some squeeze for the use of the name."
"Oh! Then where do you go? "For entertainment"?"
"The Yoshiwara," he said and explained, astounded with this conversation and that he, too, could be so open.
"Do you have a special place, a special House? One where you're on good terms with the mama-san?"
"Yes."
"Excellent. Go to your mama-san tonight and get whatever drink they use."
"What?"
"My God, Andr`e, be sensible, be serious!