Tai-Pan

  Scragger dropped his voice. “Fred’s ma were convict. Transported ten year for stealing coal in the depth of winter. We was married by a priest in Australia but he were renegade so maybe it weren’t proper. We was married anyways. I give her me oath afore she deaded to do right by the lad.”

  Struan took out more papers. “These give me guardianship of the boys. Until they’re twenty-one. You can sign for your sons but what about Wu Pak? Should be a relation.”

  “I’ll put me mark on all. You got one for me to show Wu Fang? Wot I signeded?”

  “Aye. You can take one.”

  Struan began to fill in the names, but Scragger stopped him. “Tai-Pan, doan put Scragger on the boys. Put another name. Any you likes—no, doan tell me wot,” he added quickly. “Any name. You think of a good one.” The sweat was beading his forehead. His fingers trembled as he took the pencil and made his mark. “Fred’s to forget me. An’ his ma. Do yor best with Bert, eh? His ma’s still me woman and she bain’t bad, for a heathen. Do yor best for ’em and you’ve a friend for life. Me oath on’t. They both beed taught to say their prayers proper.” He blew his nose in his fingers and wiped them on his trousers. “Wu Pak’s got to write once a month to Jin-qua. Oh yus, and yor t’bill Jin-qua for the schooling and wot. Once a year. They’s all to go to the same school and vittle together.”

  He beckoned to the Chinese boy. Wu Pak came forward reluctantly. Scragger jerked a thumb toward the boats and the boy left obediently. Then he beckoned his sons.

  “I be off now, lads.”

  The boys ran to him and clung to him and begged him not to send them away, their tears streaming and terror overwhelming them. But he pushed them off and forced his voice hard. “Be off with you now. Obey the Tai-Pan here. He’s t’be like a dad to yer.”

  “Doan send us’n off, Dad,” Fred said piteously. “I beed a good boy. Bert’n me be good boys, Dad, doan send us’n off.”

  They stood in the enormousness of their grief, their shoulders heaving.

  Scragger cleared his throat noisily and spat. After a second’s hesitation, he jerked out his knife and seized Bert’s queue. The Eurasian squealed with horror and tried to fight free. But Scragger chopped off the queue and cuffed the hysterical boy hard enough to bring him out of shock, but no harder.

  “Oh, Dad,” Fred said tremulously in his little piping voice, “you knowed Bert promised his mum to keep his hair proper.”

  “Better I do’s it, Fred, afore another,” Scragger said, his voice breaking. “Bert doan need it now. He’s t’be toff like you.”

  “I doan want to be toff, I want t’ stay home.”

  Scragger tousled Bert’s head a last time. And Fred’s.

  “’Bye, my sons,” he said. He rushed away and the night swallowed him.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  “Why go so early, Tai-Pan?” May-may asked, stifling a yawn. “Two hours’ sleep last night for you is na enough. You will lose your vigor.”

  “Get on with you, lass! And I told you na to wait up.” Struan pushed his breakfast plate away and May-may poured him more tea. It was a glorious morning. The sun beamed through the latticed windows and cast delicate patterns on the floor.

  May-may tried to close her ears to the pounding and sawing from the building that was going on all over the foreshore of Happy Valley, but she could not. The noise had been permanent and overpowering day and night since they had arrived three days ago.

  “There’s a lot to be done, and I want to be sure all’s well for the ball,” Struan said. “It’s to start an hour after sundown.”

  May-may shivered with delight as she remembered her secret gown and the beauty of it. “Breakfast at dawn is barbarisms.”

  “‘Barbaric,’” he said. “And it’s not dawn. It’s nine o’clock.”

  “It feels like dawn.” She arranged her pale yellow silk robe more comfortably, feeling her nipples hard against its texture. “How long are horriblitious noises going on?”

  “It’ll settle down in a month or so. No work on Sundays of course,” he said, half listening to her, thinking about all he had to accomplish today.

  “It’s too much noises,” she said. “And something’s bad with this house.”

  “What?” he said absently, not listening.

  “It feels bad, terrifical bad. Are you sure the fêng shui is correct, heya?”

  “Fêng what?” He looked up, startled, and gave her his full attention. May-may was appalled. “You did not have a fêng-shui gentlemans?”

  “Who’s he?”

  “God’s blood, Tai-Pan!” she said, exasperated. “You build house and dinna consult fêng shui! How crazy mad! Ayee yah! I deal with that today.”

  “What does the fêng-shui gentleman do,” Struan asked sourly, “apart from costing money?”

  “He makes sure that the fêng shui is correct, of course.”

  “And what, for the love of God, is fêng shui?”

  “If the fêng shui is bad, the devil spirits come into the house and you’ll have terrifical bad joss and terrible sickness. If the fêng shui is good, then no devil spirits come in. Everyone knows about fêng shui.”

  “You’re a good Christian and you dinna believe in evil spirits and mumbo jumbo.”

  “I absolute agree, Tai-Pan, but in houses fêng shui is fantastical vital. Dinna forget this is China and in China there’s—”

  “All right, May-may,” he said resignedly. “Get a fêng-shui gentleman to cast a spell if you must.”

  “He does na cast spells,” she said importantly. “He makes sure the house is positioned right for the Heaven-Earth-Air currents. And that it’s na built on a dragon’s neck.”

  “Eh?”

  “Good sweet God, as you say sometimes! That’d be horrifical, for then the dragon that sleeps in the earth would no longer be able to sleep peaceful. God’s blood, I hope we’re na on his neck! Or head! Could you sleep with a house on your neck, or head? Of course na! If the dragon’s sleep is disturbed, of course fantastical worst things happen. We’d have to move instantaneous!”

  “Ridiculous!”

  “Fantastical ridiculous, but we still move. Me, I protect us. Oh yes. It’s very important that one protects her man and her family. If we’re builded on a dragon, we move.”

  “Then you’d better tell the fêng-shui gentleman that he’d better not find any dragons around here, by God!”

  Her chin jutted. “The fêng-shui gentlemans will na learn you to sail a ship—why for’ll you learn him about dragons, heya? It’s very gracious hard to be a fêng-shui gentlemans.” Struan was happy that May-may was beginning to be her old self. He had noticed that since she returned to Canton from Macao, and during the journey to Hong Kong, she had seemed piqued and distracted. Particularly the last few days. And she was right, the noise was very bad.

  “Well, I’ll be off.”

  “Is all right I invite Ma-ree Sin-clair today?”

  “Aye. But I dinna ken where she is—or if she’s arrived yet.”

  “She’s on flagship. She arrive yesterday with her amah, Ah Tat, and her ball gown. It’s black and very pretty. It’s going to cost you two hundred dolla. Ayeee yah, if you’d let me arrange the dress, I’d save you sixty, seventy dolla, never mind. Her cabin’s next to her brother’s.”

  “How do you know all that?”

  “Her amah is Ah Sam’s mother’s sister’s fourth daughter. Wat for is the use of a mealy mouth slave like Ah Sam if she does na keep her mother inform and have connections?”

  “How did Ah Sam’s mother tell her?”

  “Oh, Tai-Pan, you are so funny,” May-may cried. “Na Ah Sam’s mother, me. All Chinese slaves call their mistress ‘Mother.’ Just as she calls you ‘Father.’”

  “She does?”

  “All slaves call the master of the house ‘Father.’ It’s ancient custom and very polite. So Ah Tat, Ma-ree’s slave, told Ah Sam. Ah Sam, who is a good-for-nothing lazy maggot and needs a whipping, told her ‘mother.’ Me. It?
??s really very simple. Oh yes, and to be absolutal correct, if you could speak a Chinese language, you’d call Ah Sam ‘Daughter.’”

  “Why do you want to see Mary?”

  “It’s lonely na to talk. I’ll only talk Cantonese, dinna worry. She knows I’m here.”

  “How?”

  “Ah Sam told Ah Tat,” she said as though explaining to a child. “Naturally such an interesting piece of news Ah Tat told her mother—told Ma-ree. That old whore Ah Tat’s a jade mine of secrets.”

  “Ah Tat’s a whore?”

  “God’s blood, Tai-Pan, that only a figured speech. You really should go back to bed. You’re very simple this morning.”

  He finished his tea and pushed his plate away. “And I’ve nae wonder, listening to all this nonsense. I’m lunching with Longstaff, so I’ll send word to Mary. What time shall I say?”

  “Thank you, Tai-Pan, never mind. Ah Sam will be better. Then no one knows except the servants and they know all anyway, never mind.”

  Lim Din opened the door. He was Struan’s personal servant as well as cook boy, a small squat man in his middle fifties, neat in black trousers and white tunic. He had a round, happy face and darting, cunning eyes. “Mass’er. Missee and Mass’er come see my. Can?”

  “Mass’er wat?” Struan was astonished that anyone would be so impolite as to come uninvited.

  Lim Din shrugged. “Mass’er and Missee. Wantshee wat Mass’er, wat Missee?”

  “Oh, never mind,” Struan said and got up from the table.

  “You expect guests?” May-may said.

  “No.” Struan walked out of the room and into the small anteroom. He opened the far door and closed it behind him. Now he was in the corridor that led to a hallway and to the separate quarters in the front of the house. And the moment he was in the corridor he knew that one caller was Shevaun. Her fragrance, a special Turkish perfume that only she used, had delicately changed the quality of the air.

  His heart quickened and his anger lessened as he strode down the corridor, his soft leather half boots clicking on the stone floor, and turned into the living room.

  “Hello, Tai-Pan,” Shevaun said.

  Shevaun was twenty and graceful as a gazelle. She wore her dark red hair, darker than Struan’s, in long ringlets. Her full breasts, under the discreetly décolleté green velvet dress, sailed over an eighteen-inch waist. Her delicate ankles and feet peeped from beneath a dozen petticoats. Her bonnet was green, her sunshade a startling orange.

  Aye, Struan thought, she gets prettier every day.

  “Morning, Shevaun, Wilf.”

  “Morning. Sorry to arrive uninvited.” Wilf Tillman was exceedingly uncomfortable.

  “Oh, come now, Uncle,” Shevaun said blithely, “it’s a good old American custom to wish a house well.”

  “We’re not in America, dear.” Tillman wished he were, today. And that Shevaun was safely married to Jeff Cooper and no longer his responsibility. Damn Shevaun. And damn Jeff, he thought. I wish to God the man’d formally press his suit. Then I could simply announce the marriage and that would be that. But all this shilly-shallying around is ridiculous. “Give her time. There’s plenty of time,” Jeff is always saying. But I damn well know now there’s very little time left, now that Struan’s wifeless. I’m absolutely sure Shevaun’s set her cap for the Tai-Pan. Why else insist on coming here this morning? Why else keep asking questions about him?

  All the way to Struan’s house he had been pondering the wisdom of a match between Struan and Shevaun. Naturally there would be definite financial advantages, but Struan was totally opposed to their way of life in America; he just simply wouldn’t understand.

  He would certainly turn Shevaun against us, Tillman thought. He’d force the issue through her. Jeff would be furious over losing her and he’d probably break up Cooper-Tillman. Nothing I could do to stop that. If the company goes on the rocks, there’s no money for brother John to entertain so lavishly in Washington. Politics is expensive, and without political pull life for the family will be very hard, and we need every bit of help against the blasted Northern states. No, by Heaven. Shevaun’s going to marry Jeff and not the Tai-Pan, and that’s that.

  “Sorry to arrive uninvited,” he repeated.

  “You’re both very welcome.” Struan motioned Lim Din to the decanter and glasses. “Sherry?”

  “Well, thank you, but I think we ought to be going,” Tillman said.

  Shevaun laughed and her tilted nose wrinkled prettily. “But we’ve just arrived. I wanted to be the first to welcome you to your house, Tai-Pan,” she said.

  “And you are. Sit down. It’s good to see you.”

  “We bought some gifts for the house.” She opened her carrying bag and took out a small loaf of bread and a tiny container of salt and a bottle of wine. “It’s an old custom to bring the house good luck. I would have arrived by myself, but Uncle said that that would be in the worst possible taste. It’s not his fault at all.”

  “I’m glad you came.” Struan picked up the bread. It was gold-brown and crisp and fragrant.

  “I baked it last night.”

  Struan broke off a piece and tasted it. “It’s excellent!”

  “You’re not really supposed to eat it. At least, well, it’s just the idea.” She laughed again and picked up her carrying bag and sunshade. “And now that I’ve done my duty, we’ll be off.”

  “My first guests will do no such thing. I insist, at least a sherry.”

  Lim Din offered the glasses. Shevaun took one and settled herself comfortably while Wilf Tillman scowled. Lim Din padded away.

  “You really cooked it yoursel’? All by yoursel’?” Struan asked.

  “It’s very important for a girl to know how to cook,” she said and stared back at him, eyes challenging.

  Tillman sipped the sherry. “Shevaun’s a good cook.”

  “I’ll take a loaf a day,” Struan said. He sat in the big leather chair and lifted his glass. “Long life!”

  “And to you.”

  “Your house is lovely, Tai-Pan.”

  “Thank you. When it’s finished I’d like to show you over it.” Struan knew that she was curious to find out whether the rumor about May-may was true. “Aristotle said you were poorly the last time I saw him.”

  “It was just a chill,” she said.

  “Are you having another portrait done?”

  “I’m considering it,” she said, unruffled. “Dear Mr. Quance, I admire his paintings so much. Uncle and I are trying to persuade him to try a season in Washington. I think he’d make a fortune.”

  “In that case I’d say you’ll have a visitor.” Struan wondered if the innocence in her face was assumed or real. He glanced at Tillman. “How’s business?”

  “Excellent, thank you. Jeff’s coming back from Canton this afternoon. Things are booming in the Settlement. Will you be going back there?”

  “In a few days.”

  “I hear Blue Cloud and Gray Witch are neck and neck. One of our ships, beating up from Singapore, passed them two days out, going at full speed. Best of luck.”

  While the two of them chatted politely about business matters, neither really interested in the other’s opinion, Shevaun sipped her sherry and studied Struan. He was dressed in a light woolen suit, well tailored and elegant.

  You’re quite a man, she thought; you may not know it, Dirk Struan, but I’m going to marry you. I wonder what your Oriental mistress is like; I feel her presence in the house. Mistress or not, I’m the girl for you. And when I’m your wife you won’t need to stray for a long time. A very long time.

  “Well, I think we’ll be going,” Tillman said, and got up. “Again, sorry to arrive uninvited.”

  “You’re always welcome.”

  “Oh, by the way, Tai-Pan,” Shevaun said, “I understand ladies aren’t invited to the prizefight this afternoon. Would you put a guinea on the navy man for me?”

  “Good God, Shevaun,” Tillman said, shocked. “You mustn’t say such
things. Most unladylike!”

  “And you’re most dishonest,” she said, “and old-fashioned. You men enjoy a prizefight, why shouldn’t we? You men enjoy a gamble, why shouldn’t we?”

  “A good question, Shevaun.” Struan was amused by Tillman’s discomfort.

  “After all, it’s an Oriental custom.” She looked innocently at Struan. “I hear the Chinese gamble all the time, particularly the women.” Struan blandly ignored the remark. “Gambling’s a bad habit,” Tillman said. “I quite agree, Uncle. How much have you wagered?”

  “That has nothing to do with it.”

  Struan laughed. “With your permission, Wilf, we’ll indulge her. A guinea on the navy?”

  “Thank you, Tai-Pan,” she said before Tillman could answer, and she held out her gloved hand to Struan. “It’s just the principle. You’re most understanding.”

  He let her hand rest in his a moment longer than necessary, then kissed it, fascinated by the thought of taming her, and escorted them to the door. “See you both this evening.”

  “If I don’t win that prize, I’ll be livid. And also in debtor’s prison.”

  “You won’t, Shevaun, but your poor long-suffering father and uncle may be,” Tillman said.

  When they had gone, Struan returned to May-may’s quarters.

  She stared at him coldly.

  “What’s amiss?”

  “That mealymouthed godrotting doxy’s after you. That’s wat’s amiss.”

  “Will you na be so foolish and will you na swear! How’d you see her, anyway?”

  “Huh! Have I no eyes? No nose? Wat for should I pore over plans of house, eh, hour after godrot hour? So it’s to be planned so I can see who comes here and who passes by without seen. Huh! That maggoty-drawers dung-heap doxy’s after you to marriage.”

  “To marry,” he corrected.

  “Kiss the hand, huh? Wat for you no kiss my hand, eh?” She slammed the teapot down. “Wat for you linger with cow eyes, hey? Ayeee yah!”

  “You ayeee yah yoursel’. And one more remark like that and I’ll paddle you. You want to be paddled?”