by Gai-Jin(Lit)
"Ah so sorry I don't know Lord..."
"My Master says, Ask after the health of
Lord Yoshi, say we here as asked. As soon as well please make new day." Deliberately
Tyrer had dropped all real pleasantries. The Governor had flushed, bowed as to superiors, apologized again and hurried off disgusted that the gai-jin were still in place--naturally every civilized person from here to Yedo had seen the fires and presumed the gai-jin, those left, would be licking their burns, boarding their ships to join the exodus and sail away.
After the Governor and his entourage had left,
Sir William had suggested a leisurely lunch, guiding Seratard to their substantial cellar. "We deserve a celebration, Henri.
What would you like to drink? We were truly lucky last night--apart from Andr`e, poor chap."
"Yes. Pity. The will of God." Seratard frowned, still looking at labels. "Ah!
Montrachet, '51. Two bottles?"'
"At least two. George is joining us.
Might as well taste a Margaux--I recommend the '48, Ch`ateau
Pichon-Longuville--and a Ch`ateau d'allyquem with the pudding."
"Perfect, shame we have no cheese. No chance Yoshi will appear now?"'
"If he does we won't see him."
"At the Club meeting you said dinner tonight. You want to discuss something special with the others?"'
"Yes." The cellar was cool and pleasant.
A few glasses stood on a sideboard beside the racks. Sir William selected a half bottle of champagne and began to open it. "I think we must pretend the fire is not the disaster it really is and press ahead against Sanjiro, and his capital Kagoshima."
"Now?"' Seratard was very surprised. "But surely sending the fleet when we're so exposed is highly dangerous, isn't it? Tempting them?"'
"Very, but that's my point. My proposal is that we send British warships only, keeping your flagship and the Russian here, with the armed merchantmen. We cancel sending army units for the proposed landing and send only marines. Simply make it a sea bombardment." He popped the cork and poured. "That'll make Ketterer's mission much easier, he never liked the idea of commanding a seaborne landing. Now he can stand off in the bay and pound the devil out of them. Health."
The two men touched glasses, Seratard churning the proposal around to find the pitfalls, any places where his adversary had planted mines to disrupt French interests. There were none. On the contrary, this helped his long-term plan to ingratiate himself into Yoshi's confidence, making him realize the British were the barbarians, not the French, and that France, which he equated with himself, could be trusted to be more patient and far seeing. "Marvelous vintage, William.
En principe, yes but I'd like to consult my
Admiral."
"Why not? Then that's what we'll do..."
Lunch had been pleasant. In good time they were aboard and now Sir William swung nimbly on deck as the cutter tied up alongside the
Brock wharf, an unheard-of happening. He saw Gornt with a clerk beside some trunks near the jetty steps. "Hope you didn't mind, Mr.
Gornt," he said. "I commandeered the cutter, it's under my flag not Struan's."
"My pleasure, Sir William. How was the meeting?"
"Damn fellow didn't turn up, didn't expect us I suppose."
"He's lost face from here to Timbuktu."
"Q." Which was the whole idea, Sir
William thought with a secret smile and pointed to the trunks. "You're not leaving surely?"
"No suh, but I am going to Hong Kong by tonight's packet to arrange building supplies for ourselves and others."
"Good idea. Have a safe journey and safe return." He raised his hat and walked off with
Seratard. Tyrer, sick with tiredness, reeled after them, hardly acknowledging Gornt.
"Put these aboard, Periera," Gornt said.
"Tell the Captain I'll be aboard in good time. Oh hello, Doc." Hoag hurried up with some coolies bowed under a sea trunk and bags.
"I say, Edward, heard you're on the
Atlanta Belle too." Hoag was out of breath and harassed, his clothes and hands bloodstained and filthy, eyes red-rimmed. "Could I prevail on your people to put these aboard for me,
I've still a dozen or so arms and legs to set and burns... thanks awfully." He rushed off, not waiting for an answer.
"Put 'em aboard, Periera." Gornt frowned. Why is Hoag in such a hurry to leave? he asked himself.
Everything packed that should be, everything done to ensure Brock's would operate correctly while he was away: which traders to give credit to, which to deny; tomorrow or the next day Choshu representatives were due to discuss arms shipments--a nice business to acquire for himself when the Brocks went under and, as also planned, he acquired the premises and staff here at... well, fire sale prices. He laughed to himself at the joke. Next, the Yoshi coal concession that he had heard might be transferred from Struan's to Seratard through the late Andr`e Poncin's trading company, might still be available to offers. He had instructed his shroff to make such an offer secretly.
Periera was left in charge. Last night, hearing from Maureen that Jamie's new offices were gone, he had planned to appoint Jamie, but to his surprise this afternoon Jamie had thanked him and refused, saying he thought he would be able to re-start his own business.
Jamie would be more icing on the icing, he thought.
Doesn't matter, Jamie'll take over for me when this is all Rothwell-Gornt's. He felt in his pocket.
Norbert's chop was there and the two backdated letters for Tess. His money belt was heavy with more than enough Brock silver Mex and gold for expenses. Good. All done.
Now for Angelique.
"Hello Edward," she said, her smile warm.
This was the first time she had received him in her upstairs boudoir. Ah Soh stood by a wine cooler and he noticed the door to the bedroom was closed, curtains were drawn though the light had not yet completely gone, oil lamps lit, the room feminine, inviting, her manner demure, odd. His tension increased.
"White wine for a change," she said pleasantly. "La Doucette. Bourbon if you wish."
"Wine, please, Ma'am. I've never seen you look better."
"Nor you, my friend. Please sit here, by the fire." Her afternoon, blue-black mourning dress was new, the cut enhancing, the neckline square-cut and modest. But for his pleasure, and hers, she had draped a multicolored silk shawl around her shoulders, the effect startling, a breath of spring on this January day.
"Ah Soh, wine," she said, and when they had the glasses, "Wait outside! I want, I call!" The maid shuffled out and carelessly banged the door closed.
Gornt said softly, "She'll have her ear hard against it."
Angelique laughed. "To hear secrets?
What secrets could there be between us? To a safe journey, Edward!" She sipped and put her glass down. "You're all packed?"
"Yes, yes I am. You look wonderful and
I love you and would like an answer to my question."
Her fan slid open and she began using it as it should be used by a young lady of quality with an eligible man of quality--and ones of dubious reputation--to tantalize, flirt, to promise but not promise, to give answers, or avoid them, to questions that were dangerous to acknowledge openly.
The fan fluttered. "I admire you greatly,
Edward."
"No more than I admire you. But a yes or a no?"
The fan snapped shut. Then she smiled and opened a box on the bureau, handed him an envelope. It was addressed: Mrs. Tess
Struan. "Please read the letter. I am sending it by Hoag to Hong Kong in answer to hers."
Her handwriting was neat:
Dear Mrs. Struan, Thank you for your letter, and generosity.
I agree to everything you requested: I solemnly swear and agree freely to relinquish all and any claims to your son's estate, I agree never again to use the title Mrs.
Struan, I agree I am Catholic and was never married according to my Church,
I agree never to set foot in Hong Kong except for transshipping, or will ever try to contact you and any of your family, I agree to remove myself from these premises within the week, and accept, with sincere thanks, the offer of a trust of Two Thousand
Guineas a year until I am dead.
The space for her signature was blank and then below it: Verified as a true signature by Sir William Aylesbury, Minister
Japan, and another space for his signature and date.
Gornt looked up. "You can't mean this. This gives her everything."
"Didn't you advise me to accept her conditions?"
"Yes, but to compromise--to renegotiate."
"Ah, yes, I remembered that. If you agree I'll ask Sir William to witness it now, before you leave. Dr. Hoag has promised to take it tonight on your ship, so it will be there when you arrive."
"But surely you know this yields everything--how can
I, or anyone negotiate for you?"
"There's a second page." She took it out of the box, her fan slid open and began to move.
Gently.
Again he concentrated. The writing was not so clear and here and there smudged--could those be tear stains, he asked himself?
Dear Mrs. Struan, for obvious reasons this part must be separate as it is just between us, and no concern of Sir William. Again I thank you for your generosity. The kind offer of a third thousand if
I remarry, or marry as you would say, within a year, I cannot accept because I do not intend to remarry or marry whichever you consider correct
...
Again he looked up at her startled. "Is this my answer?"
The fan fluttered. "Finish it," she said.
Now his eyes flashed down the page:
Before God, I cannot avoid the belief I was married, though freely relinquish any public and legal pretension to that state as above. I will not take another... I do not wish to hurt or offend you but to marry again... no. It is my intention as soon as possible to settle in
London, I feel more English than French, my mother tongue English rather than French, my aunt was my real mother.
I will never use the Mrs. title as I have agreed but I cannot stop others here referring to me as such. Sir William will not accept
Angelique, or Angelique Richaud but insists that I sign as Mrs. Angelique
Struan, n@ee Richaud, to make the above binding, for, according to him, and his understanding of English law, that is presently my legal name until
I remarry.
"Has he said that?" he asked sharply.
"No, but Mr. Skye says if asked, he would have to agree."
"Ah." Gornt nodded thoughtfully, gulped some wine and went on reading, slower and more carefully:
Should any of the above be unsatisfactory, please draw up what you further require, give it to Mr. Gornt who tells me he is going to see you again, then to return here almost immediately, and I will sign it. I commend him to you, he was a very good friend to your son, and has been kind to me--he advised me to accept your kind conditions as Mr. Skye was against. Sincerely yours...
Angelique.
Gornt sat back, exhaled and stared at her, awed. "It's marvelous. Marvelous. You agree to everything but still hold the sword of Damocles over her."
The fan stopped. "How so?"
"You plan to live in London therefore under
English law, a latent, obvious threat. Never once do you use "husband" but that threat is there, you put me squarely on center stage as friend to both sides and in a perfect negotiating position. And however devious she is, whatever she draws up for you to sign, you can shed more tears and sigh, Duress, and would win. Twenty-four carat marvelous!"
"Then I should ask Sir William to witness my signature?"
"Yes," he said, enthralled by her, so clever and daring, and dangerous. Perhaps too dangerous. "This is checkmate."
"How so?"
"Tess is safe in only one way: if you remarry and you've blocked that." Though the fan stopped, her eyes watched him over the edge. Then the movement began again and he handed her back the letter, thinking, Devilishly clever--for you, but not for me. "Skye advised you brilliantly."
"No one advised me, except you--something you said guided me."
His heart skipped. "No one else has seen this?"
"No. And no one else will. It can be secret between us."
He heard the "can be" and wondered where that led, despondent now but hiding it. The fire in the grate needed attention so he got up and used the poker to give himself time to think. The air was still strong with the smell of smoke and burning but he did not register it, only her.
How in the hell did she figure that all out?
It's totally brilliant, all the pieces are on the board, for both of us. She's won, she'll beat Tess, but I've lost. I'll still have to negotiate for her, and now I'm surer than hell I can up her stipend, but Angelique's conceded nothing and left her game plan open.
I've lost. I don't share in the big prize:
Her. "So the answer to my question is No, must be
No?"
Only the fan moved. "Why?" she asked, without emotion.
"Because the moment you do, you lose the game, you lose all power over Tess Struan."
"Yes, I would." She closed the fan quietly and let it rest in her lap. Her eyes never left his, nor their intensity.
For a moment he felt hypnotized, then his mind flared into action, and sudden hope spread through him.
"I would, you said, meaning you would. But I wouldn't? I wouldn't lose power?"
Now she smiled. It was an answer.
The Mona Lisa again, he thought, strange how her face changes, how I think it changes, how really devious she is, and how vigilant I'm going to have to be to tame this filly. I still don't understand but a faint heart never won a fair lady. It took all of his will to keep his feet planted where they were. "I love you for all the usual reasons, and I love your cleverness.
Now, formally, please, will you marry me?"
"Yes," she said.
"Hallelujah!" Gornt said, lightheaded, but did not move from the fireplace.
The fan stopped. "Hallelujah? Is that all?" she murmured, heart picking up tempo.
"Oh no, but first tell me what are your conditions."
She laughed. "Should there be conditions?"
"I'm beginning to know the way your mind works--some of the time."
"When will you board Atlanta
Belle?"
"At the last moment. There's much to... to talk about."
"Yes. Edward, would our children be brought up
Catholic, and would we be married in a Catholic church?"
"Is that a condition?"
"A question."
He frowned, letting his mind race ahead and all around, wanting to be cautious in this rock-infested sea. "I don't see why not.
I'm not Catholic as you know," he said slowly,
"but if that's what you want it would be all right--"
The final piece of the jigsaw blinded him with its power. "Hallelujah!"
"What?"
"Just an idea. We'll talk about in a minute. Now, no more games, Angelique," he said, chiding her. "Conditions? What's in that magic mind of yours?"
She got up. On tiptoe she touched her lips to his in a gentle kiss. Her lips were soft and breath sweet. "Thank you for asking me, and for what you've already done for me."
He rested his hands on her hips. Both noticed that their bodies seemed to fit though neither acknowledged it.
"The conditions?"
"Tell me what they are, Edward."
Now that she had answered the main question, and had given him the keys, he was in no hurry.
"I'll guess three," he said, amused. "If
I'm right, you'll tell me the rest?"
"Agreed." His body, hard against hers was pleasing to her. And so was her soft curving against him, diverting his concentration. Effortlessly. Careful, it's her major trump card and this game's n
ow in its most dangerous stage--to settle the future.
