"Everything was more or less all right for several years. Until '42--the year after Dirk Struan practically single-handedly founded Hong Kong, the year before you were born. '42 was a bad year for Hong Kong with its Happy Valley fever plague, mal-aria, the Opium War with China, the great typhoon that obliterated the city there, and unholy bad for the Noble House because the same typhoon killed the great Dirk Struan." A sip of champagne. "He was responsible for Wilf Tillman's death and for ruining the Tillman family."
"I know nothing about that. Are you sure?"
Gornt smiled his smile, no animosity behind it. "Yes. Wilf Tillman was sick with the Happy Valley fever. Dirk Struan had cinchona bark that could have cured him, but wouldn't give or sell it to him, wanting him dead, like Jeff Cooper." His voice picked up an edge. "The Boston Yankee wanted him dead."
"Why? And why should the tai-pan want Tillman dead?"
"He hated him--he had different views than Wilf. Among other reasons, Wilf had slaves, not illegal at that time, or now, in Alabama. And to assist Cooper to take over the firm. After Wilf died, Jeff Cooper bought his shares for a pittance, and cut off my family's remaining money. Dirk was responsible."
Malcolm said, "We certainly have a joint venture with Cooper-Tillman in cinchona bark, Mr. Gornt, and are old friends. As to the rest, I know nothing about it, or believe it.
I'll check the story the moment I get back to Hong Kong."
Gornt shrugged. "Years later Cooper admitted he had never approved of Wilf Tillman. His exact words were, "Listen, young man, Wilf deserved everything he got, he was a slaver and useless, never did a day's work in his life, your Southern gentleman was vile.
Dirk was right to give the little cinchona he had to others who he judged deserved it. It's been my work, mine, that made the company that's paid for your mother, stepfather and you all these years..."
Gornt's face twisted, then he was calm again. Outwardly. "He said a few other things, suh, that... that's unimportant now. But cutting off funds, our rightful money, was very important. It was then the rows between stepfather and mother began and we moved, downwards. It wasn't till many years later I found out he had married her for her money, his cotton and tobacco businesses were shams, he was just a gambler and card player, not a successful one, and she had continually covered for him. When Mother was dying she told me all this. But he wasn't bad to me, evil to me, just dismissed me, I've been dismissed all my life. Now it's time for revenge."
"I don't see why you should blame me."
"I don't."
Malcolm stared at him. "I thought "fighting irons, or swords" was the beginning."
"That wasn't my idea, I told you. I told Mr. Greyforth it won't work. He'll be laughed at if he tries to insist."
After a pause Malcolm said, "It sounds as though you don't like him."
"I don't like or dislike him. I'm here to learn from him for a month and then take over when he retires next year. That's the plan--if I decide to join Brock's."
"You may have to take over sooner than you think." Malcolm's voice hardened. "Next Thursday--hopefully."
"You're set on having this duel?"
"Yes."
"May I ask the real reason?"
"He's gone out of his way to provoke me, surely at Brock's direction. It will be better for Struan's if he's removed."
"Will you try to remove me when I go against Struan's?"
"I will oppose you, compete with you, stop you if I can--I wouldn't want to fight you." Malcolm smiled a good smile. "This is a mad conversation, Mr. Gornt. It's mad to be so truthful and so open but we are and that's that. You said "revenge."
You're determined to have at us, because of what my grandfather supposedly did to Wilf Tillman?"
"Yes," Gornt said with a smile. "In due time."
"What about Jeff Cooper?"
The smile vanished. "Him too. In due time." Then, for a moment, Gornt's voice became thick with venom. "But that's not most of the revenge I seek. I want to destroy Morgan Brock, to do that I need your help ..." He burst out laughing. "My God, Mr.Struan, suh, sorry but if you could only see yourself."
"Morgan?" Malcolm spluttered.
"Yes." Gornt beamed. "I can't do it alone, I've got to have your help, that's ironic, isn't it?"
Malcolm groped to his feet and shook himself like a dog and stretched and sat down again, his heart in overdrive. He poured another glass and spilled some on his desk and quaffed it and all the time Gornt watched and waited, pleased with the effect his words had had. It took Malcolm a little time to respond. "Morgan? For God's sake why?"
"Because he seduced my mother when she was fifteen and ruined her life and abandoned her. In the Bible it says killing your father, patricide, is an unholy deed--my mama made me swear I'd not do it when she told me the truth of my parentage on her deathbed. So I'm not going to kill him, just ruin him." The words were said flatly, without emotion. "To do that I need Struan's."
Malcolm took a deep breath and shook his head again. None of this made sense to him though he believed it all--even Dirk Struan's behavior. Ayeeyah, so much to learn, he thought, and listened intently as Gornt continued, saying that Morgan was twenty at the time, apprenticed to Rothwell's and living in their countinghouse-residence, so it was easy for him to sneak into her bedroom: "At fifteen what would such a girl know, the classic Southern belle, nurtured like a rare plant? When Rothwell found out, he fired him, of course, but Old Man Tyler Brock laughed and quietly and secretly bought a controlling interest in the firm an--"
Malcolm was shocked. "Brock controls Rothwell's?"
"He did, for a time, just enough to fire Rothwell and all their directors and appoint new ones.
When Jeff Cooper found out, he had enough clout to force Old Man Brock to make it a hands-off deal, fifty-fifty. In return Jeff would run the company and keep it secret, particularly from Struan's. The deal's still in effect."
"Does Dmitri know?"
"No. Nor Mr. Greyforth, I stumbled on the details when I was in London."
Malcolm's mind was working hard. Struan's had been involved with Rothwell's over the years but no one had ever said they had been poorly treated, or cheated. Then something Gornt had said ran to the front of his mind. "Does Morgan know you know about him?"
"I wrote to him in London when Mama died. He replied it was all news to him and denied it, but telling me if ever I was in London to come to see him. I did. Again he denied it. Nothing to do with him, he told me, he'd been blamed for the mischief of some other apprentice, nothing to do with him. I was destitute at that time so he found me a job of sorts, then helped me get into Rothwell's." Gornt sighed. "Mama told me when Morgan had been confronted by Rothwell he had said that he would "marry the slut if her dowry be ten thousand nicker a year."" A shudder took him though his face did not change, nor the flatness of his voice. "I could forgive Morgan everything, maybe, but never that, never "the slut." That's in writing from Rothwell, he's dead now but his letter isn't. Thanks for listening." He got up and stretched and started for the door.
"Wait," Malcolm said, startled, "you can't finish there!"
"I don't intend to, Mr. Struan, but this sort of talk, confession is perhaps a better word, is good for the soul but exhausting. Also I can't spend too much time here or Mr. Greyforth might be suspicious. I'll arrange about the pistols, and about shooting from twenty paces, then come back."
"Wait a minute for God's sake! What help do you need? Why should I help you anyway?
What do you want from me?"
"Not much actually--you can kill Norbert Greyforth, but that's not essential," Gornt said with a laugh, then again became serious. "More important is what I can do for you. Before the end of January, the Brocks will crush Struan's, but that you already know, or should. I can stop them, for a price. As God is my witness, I can give you information that can turn their genius against themselves, to destroy Brock's forever."