Babcott said, “If she’s not she’ll know in a few days. And so will we.”
“Christ,” Tyrer muttered. “What happens: if she is or if she’s not?”
Sir William shrugged. “We have to wait too. Now off you go, Phillip. Whisky or brandy, George? Do you mind bringing me up-to-date now—you’re not too tired?”
“No.” The two men were alone. “Brandy, please. Yedo was very interesting.”
“Health! And?”
“Health. Before Yedo, do we know more about Hong Kong?”
Sir William smiled. The men were old friends, and Babcott Deputy Minister. “It went perfectly. Yes. Tess wrote privately to thank me. Most of it I can tell you now: Hoag brought three letters for Angelique, she doesn’t know this, by the way. One Hoag gave her at once and told me there was no noticeable reaction one way or the other, no clue, he presumed it was just asking her to wait. Tess confirmed the contents of that letter to me, that she proposed a lull until it was established if Angelique was pregnant or not. If Angelique has her period, he gives her one letter, if not he waits to the second month to make sure and he gives her the other. Hoag swore he does not know the contents, nor did Tess reveal them in her letter to me.”
He sipped his whisky, his face set. “One issue Tess wrote that, I’m afraid, indicates her thinking: Struan’s solicitors are drafting a brief to nullify in court the ‘Ludicrous Ceremony’—she puts that in caps—whatever the legality or illegality, whatever the pregnancy result, and to contest any will if one is found there or in the Japans.”
“My God! Poor Angelique … how awful!”
“An emphatic yes to that. My letter asking for forbearance had no effect. Bloody, eh?” Sir William stalked to his desk and brought out a dispatch. “This is what I really wanted to discuss—highly confidential, of course.”
Babcott turned up the oil lamp. Daylight was fading fast. The Governor of Hong Kong wrote formally:
My dear Sir William, thank you for your dispatch of the 13th. I’m afraid it’s not possible to send extra troops at the moment. I have just heard from London that all troops are needed elsewhere, that budgetary considerations preclude raising new levies in India or elsewhere so you will have to do with what you have. However, I am sending another 20-gun, sailing frigate, H.M.S. Avenger, on temporary loan. Rest assured if there is a major attack on Yokohama, in due course the attack will be punished.
I am instructed by London to inform you of the following directives for immediate prudent action: you will collect the indemnity demanded, together with possession of the murderers (or witness their trial and execution), you will punish and bring to heel the petty tyrant responsible, Sanjiro of Satsuma. I am to advise you further that the Naval and Army forces you presently have at your disposal are considered more than adequate to deal with one petty princeling.
Babcott whistled tonelessly. At length he said, “They’re a bunch of idiots, the whole bloody lot.”
Sir William laughed. “I rather thought the same. But having said that, what do you think?”
“‘Immediate prudent action’? That’s a negation.”
“Diplomatic verbiage to cover their tails, obviously.”
“We have the indemnity, we …”
“The bullion was advanced on Sanjiro’s behalf. It was a loan, not a payment by the guilty party.”
“True. And both murderers are dead, probably.”
“Yes, by chance and not one hundred percent certain and not as punishment for the crime.”
“Well, yes. We …” Babcott looked at him and sighed. “What do I think? Between us I think you’ve already decided to launch a punitive strike against Sanjiro, probably at Kagoshima, particularly as Yoshi gave you tacit approval.”
“Possible approval. Is the dispatch and are my answers enough to convince Ketterer a strike, if any, is authorized?”
“No doubt about that, they’ve given you directives. The dispatch clearly makes it obligatory, however stupid and however much I disapprove of it.”
“Because you’re a doctor?”
“Yes.”
“If you ever have to take charge, George, I hope you’ll forget that you are.”
“You don’t have to say that, William. I know on which side my bread is buttered. Meanwhile Put not your trust in princes, bureaucrats or generals, they will plead expedience while spilling your blood from a safe distance.” He raised his glass. “To London. Christ, I’m tired.”
“Meanwhile remember that Machiavelli also said, The safety of the State is the overriding duty of the ruler, or some such platitude.” His eyes crinkled. “Now Anjo.”
Babcott told him. And being asked, gave his considered diagnosis. “Six months. A year, no more. Subject to my tests.”
“Interesting.” Sir William thought long and hard. Outside night had settled, the fleet bedding down. He closed the curtains against the drafts, went over to the fire and poked a blaze. “Putting that aside for the moment, my inclination is to order an immediate naval presence off Kagoshima, immediate bombardment if Sanjiro gives us no satisfaction—as much for Yoshi’s benefit, Anjo and his Council of Elders as for scallywag Sanjiro, especially Yoshi.”
“Sending the fleet there leaves the Settlement naked. What about the reports of samurai quietly surrounding us—we saw a great number around the Tokaidō.”
“That’s the risk.”
Babcott looked back at Sir William steadily and said no more. The decision was not his. He would happily obey like everyone else, insisting on being part of the expedition. He got up. “Think I’ll nap before dinner, didn’t sleep much last night. By the way, Phillip did a cracking good job. I’ll start my tests later and let you know.”
“Do you want to have a late bite to eat? Nine o’clock? Good, and thanks for Anjo, that’s very important. That makes Yoshi even more important. If he can be trusted. If.”
“In this land that’s a major problem.” Then Babcott said, still sickened by Tess’s attitude, “Rotten about the ‘court case.’ That’s going to be messy for Angelique, so unfair, isn’t it?”
“Has life ever been fair, old man?”
At dinnertime, Angelique knocked on the tai-pan’s office door, dressed to go out. “Albert?”
“Come in! I say, I love your hat.” It was an elegant dinner hat, discreet, still suitable for mourning, dark blue, yet made chic with a few silk flowers she had tucked into the band.
“Thank you. You’re working late.”
“Part of the job.” Like everyone else he wondered what was in the letter Tess had written to her, wild rumors around the Settlement, from ordering her to get out of Asia to charging her with murder. There was no sign on her face, only a becoming melancholy.
In his own letter Tess had cautioned him to be wary about making commitments on armaments, and if proposed, to keep them very confidential. To use McFay if need be.
I have asked him to cooperate with you. Of course, his main interest will be to promote his own business but you are to treat him as friendly. Now that Mr. Edward Gornt has assumed control of Brock’s in Japan, he is enemy—be careful of him, he’s more cunning than we presumed. As to that other person, Dr. Hoag has agreed to assist me. I understand she still occupies quarters in our house granted by my son. You will be informed later of new arrangements.
“Where are you dining? French Legation?” he asked.
“I accepted to sup next door with Mr. Gornt.” She saw his face harden. “It was a last-minute supper invitation with mutual friends, Dmitri, Marlowe. He asked me to ask you to join us to—to escort me if you would—are you free?”
“Sorry, can’t, glad to take you to the door and to call for you, but that’s Brock and Sons, he’s the head of it and this’s the Noble House.”
“You should be friends, you could still be competitors. He really was my husband’s friend, and mine, and Jamie’s.”
“Sorry, it’s my problem, not yours.” He smiled again. “Come on.” He took her arm, not bothering abou
t a coat, and they went into the cold. The wind tugged at her hat but did not displace it. She had secured it with a chiffon scarf.
“’Evening, Ma’am.” The guard on Brock’s door bowed.
“’Evening. Thank you, Albert, no need to come and fetch me, one of the others will see me home, off you go or you’ll catch cold.” He laughed and was gone. In the same moment Gornt was there to greet her.
“’Evening, Ma’am. My, but you look smashing.”
Now, as he accepted her wrap, her worries began to well up again. What trumps? A burst of laughter came from an inner room. She recognized Marlowe, saw that the guard had gone and there were no servants about and they were alone for the moment. “Edward,” she whispered, her concern overcoming her caution, “why are you so sure I’ll be all right?”
“Tess invited me back. Don’t worry, it’s in control. Better we talk during your promenade tomorrow—tonight is only for good conversation amongst friends, gentle pleasure. I’m truly honored you accepted my invitation—it’s due to you I’m head here.” Gornt took her arm and in a normal voice said, “Welcome to Brock and Sons, Angelique. Shall we go in?”
The dining room was as big as the one in Struan’s, as lush, the silver as good, the wine superior, the linen richer. Liveried Chinese servants. Marlowe, Pallidar and Dmitri stood in front of a roaring fire, waiting to greet her. They kissed her hand, admired her hat that she kept on as was custom, Marlowe and Pallidar in their informal uniforms. And while she greeted them and listened with her quiet charm, her inner motor was sifting Gornt, what he had said and what was missing.
“Shall we sit now that our honored guest is gracing us?” Gornt settled her at one end of the table. He took the other. The table was small enough to be intimate, large enough to be impressive. “Suhs, a toast!” he said, lifting his glass of champagne, “To the Lady!” They drank and his eyes never left hers. An invitation, discreetly given. She smiled back, neither yes nor no.
Plenty of time, he thought, delighted to be the host and even more delighted with himself. So much left to tell. Perhaps the best part. But not to her.
On the last day in Hong Kong, Tess Struan had again sent for him, secretly. “I’ve been through all the papers, Mr. Gornt. It’s not absolutely certain the support the papers give your scheme will bring about the Brock crash.”
“I think they will, Ma’am,” he said, impressed that she knew so much about business. “I truly believe you have everything needed to unlock Pandora’s Box”—this was the code name they had agreed on. “There’s one last piece of the jigsaw that would complete the picture and guarantee success.”
“And that is?”
“Norbert’s official chop. It’s in his safe at Yokohama.”
She had sighed and leaned back in the carved chair. No need for either of them to articulate that this chop on almost any Brock letterheaded document, correctly couched and dated, validated it, committing Brock’s of Yokohama through him to whatever was on the paper.
No need to say aloud that all kinds of incriminating information could be written now, backdated, and found or slid surreptitiously into the pile. Who could challenge such a letter with Greyforth dead?
Both of them knew its value.
Morgan and Tyler Brock had speculated heavily on this complicated but incredibly ingenious scheme to corner the Hawaiian sugar market—in principle already accomplished—bartering the sugar crop forward for Southern cotton which they had presold legally to guaranteed French interests—historic U.S. allies and not subject to Northern blockade in this instance through certain congressional help and safeguards—then to be shipped legally from France to Geneva, to be sent on legally to Lancashire cotton mills that were almost destitute and desperate for the raw material.
A tiny hazard: If the Union government discovered for certain the ultimate destination—Britain was formally neutral, most of the British were actively pro-Confederate—and this was made public knowledge, they would inhibit the export by interception. This was a minor risk because of high-level agreement to the French connection, which was, for the first time, proven by Gornt’s papers to be a Brock company shell, and governmental noninterference more certain because a goodly proportion of the sugar, also desperately needed, was to be bartered for diverted Union armaments, which Brock’s would promptly import to Asia. Projected profits were immense. Brock’s standing in the Asia-America entente would become preeminent, whoever won the civil war. In Asia they would be supreme. And no possible way the plan could fail, because the Victoria Bank of Hong Kong was the underwriter.
The bank, biggest in the Colony, had eagerly underpinned the venture, approved by the Board of twelve of whom Tyler Brock was one, with Brock and Sons shares and liquidity as nominal collateral. For all intents and purposes the Victoria was a Brock preserve. Old Man Brock had been a founder in ’43, he had chosen the other members—excluding any director of Struan’s perpetually from the Board—had retained a forty percent interest and had permanent voting control of at least nine to three. And while backing Brock’s on the international scene, the Board had meanwhile agreed to crush Struan’s through repossession of all Struan’s debt paper, due by January 30th—the timetable and questionable methods of the clandestine, long-term acquisition was also tabled in Gornt’s evidence.
Gornt had excitedly pointed out that for the first time Brock and Sons were vulnerable—never before had they put up the control of their company as collateral. The Victoria was the key to the Pandora’s Box. The key to the bank was the Board. It had to be subverted, turned around, and financial support withdrawn suddenly from Tyler and Morgan on the correct day, leaving them destitute without the necessary funds to oil the wheels. Meanwhile evidence of the scheme from Gornt’s papers, and notice that the Victoria would not be supporting the deal any longer, had to be rushed by clipper to Washington to the right hands, which would make interception probable—without the Bank’s backing there was no sugar to barter for cotton or for armaments. But this had to be done now, before rearranging the Bank’s voting control.
How to turn the Board was the pivot of Gornt’s plan.
The papers revealed highly embarrassing facts on the background of two pro-Tyler Brock Board members, so serious that their votes would go to whoever had the documentation. Seven to five. More facts about one other man, less damaging and questionable, were also there. A possible six to six.
Gornt’s idea was that Tess should approach the chairman privately, give him the facts, tell him that details of the scheme were already en route to Washington, and propose “that they pull the plug on Brock’s and swing to you and Struan’s, granting an extension of six months on Struan debts, two seats on the Board, take immediate control of Brock’s and sell off the assets at bargain prices, enough to cover debts, leaving Tyler and Morgan Brock to drown in sugar they can’t pay for. And last the Bank agrees to split Brock’s forfeited forty percent bank holdings into four parts: one to the chairman, one to two Board members of his choice, one to the Noble House.”
“In return for what? Why should the Bank cross Tyler?” Tess had asked. “Double-cross, isn’t that the American word?”
“Yes, Ma’am, but this would be a triple-cross. Why should the Board gorge on the deal? Because they’ll be huge winners, the chairman and all of them, because they hate Tyler privately and fear him, like everyone else. They don’t hate you, you’re the Noble House and no threat to them. Hate, not money alone, is the grease that oils the world.”
“I don’t agree, but let that pass. Back to this mythical chop. What do you propose to do with it?” Her smile had been cynical. “If you obtain it.”
“Anything you like, Ma’am.”
“Perhaps you should bring it here by Prancing Cloud.”
“No, sorry, that’s too soon, unless you’ll leave her to wallow for a week or two. I’ll bring it in good time.”
“Why delay? Send it, Strongbow’s trustworthy.”
“I’ll bring it in good time.” He rem
embered how her eyes, so pale and seemingly so innocent most times, penetrated like molten iron. “I promise.”
“Put that aside for the moment. The price, Mr. Gornt?”
“I would like to tell you that when I return, Ma’am.”
She had laughed without humor. “I’m sure you would. I thought you knew me well enough by now not to try to squeeze me or Struan’s. You could delay till the last moment, by which time I will have had to launch the assault, on both Tyler and the Bank, Struan’s would be terribly exposed and I would have to agree, whatever you demand.”
“There must be trust on both sides. I’ve given you the evidence you need to crush Tyler Brock and Morgan, for a deal you promise me in the future, I’m trusting you to deliver, Ma’am. It’s not much to ask to delay, I swear I’ll be back in good time. What I would bring from Yokohama is the icing on the cake and the price will be fair.”
“I’ve never liked cake, or icing, Mr. Gornt—any liking was beaten out of me by my father, who disapproved of such vittles, when I was very young. The price?”
“May I assure you, Ma’am, it will be a price you will gladly pay, on my honor and my word as a gentleman.”
She had looked at him. “May I assure you, Mr. Gornt, equally, if you cross, or double-cross or triple-cross me, I will see you will be an extremely unhappy man, apart from being persona non grata in Asia and throughout the Empire—on my honor and my word as tai-pan of the Noble House …”
Gornt went cold, remembering the way Tess’s words had surrounded him, the pride with which she had said tai-pan of the Noble House even when she added, “however temporary.” All at once he realized that this woman really was tai-pan now, realized whoever held the title soon would not hold the power. Realized with a stab of fear that he would have to deal with her for a long time, that by destroying Brock’s perhaps he had created a monster for his own destruction.