"It's my job and I think Mal--I think he would like me to do that, and it might spare you a little."
"Yes," she said with her sweet smile, "I'm sure he would. Close the door, Jamie, and sit down a moment." When he had obeyed, she dropped her voice and told him Hoag's plan. "Can you bring the cutter to Kanagawa with the rest of us tomorrow evening?"
He was staring at her stupidly, completely off guard. "You're crazy. That plan's crazy."
"No, not at all. Dr. Hoag thinks..."
"He's over the moon too--you'd never get away with it."
"Why?" she asked calmly.
"Fifty reasons," he said. "So many reasons I'm not even going to mention any. Whole idea's ludicrous, insane, Willie will have you in irons."
"There's no law against what we would be doing, Mr. Skye says. The burial would be quite legal, he says."
"Mr. Bloody Know-all says that, eh? And what else's Heavenly going to do," he asked, "put his collar on backwards and read the bloody service?"
"Mr. Skye believes we can persuade the Reverend Tweet to do that," she said as though he were a child in a tantrum.
He threw up his hands. "You're both crazy and Hoag is stupid, off his head to have suggested it. We'll leave on the mail ship, you, me, and him." He stalked for the door.
"Jamie, can you handle the cutter by yourself or will we need a crew?" He turned back and stared at her. She smiled, determined, but nicely so.
"Would we need a crew?"
"Two men at least. Bosun, and engineer at least."
"Thank you. If you don't wish to help, may I ask the Bosun, yes?"
"I can't seem to get through to you. This idea is foolhardy, extremely foolhardy."
She nodded ruefully. "You're probably right and we won't be able to do it, but I'm going to try, and then try again. I can't seem to get through to you either, dearest Jamie. I promised to love honor and obey my husband and your friend, he was your friend, and I don't feel parted from him, not yet, nor do you. Tess Struan won't give him his wish, will she?"
All the time he had been looking down at her, not seeing her and at the same time seeing every detail of her, remembering all the years of Tess Struan and what she and Culum Struan had meant to him, and Malcolm Struan had meant and Dirk Struan had meant and the Noble House had meant. All gone and all wasted and all at an end, our Noble House no longer noble, no longer first in Asia. Well, not quite wasted and not quite over but its glory's gone and my friend's dead and that's a fact. I was his friend, but was he mine? God Above, what we do in the name of friendship.
He said, "Tess wouldn't bury him as he wanted. I suppose that's the least a friend could do.
I'll arrange the cutter."
He walked out. In the gathering quiet of the room she sighed, picked up the paper and, once more, began to read.
That night, when Dr. Hoag arrived at the Kanagawa Legation, part of the Buddhist temple, Towery, the Sergeant-in-charge, smart in his Guards uniform, tall hat, scarlet tunic, white trousers and black boots, met him. "Didn't expect you till morning, Doc."
"I just have to make sure everything's ready. We want an early start."
Escorting him to the part of the temple used as a morgue Towery laughed. "If you left him ready, Doc, he's ready 'cause he ain't about to've gone walkies." He opened the door. The room was large, with a dirt floor and access to the grounds through shutter doors. Towery sniffed the air. "They don't niff yet. Never did like corpses. You want a hand?"
"No, thank you." Two empty coffins were on trestles, lids beside them, others standing upright against the wall. The bodies were on marble slabs covered with sheets. At the far end were big barrels containing ice. Water seeped from them, discoloring the beaten earth floor. "What about the native? How long we've to keep him?"
"Tomorrow." Hoag felt faint, suddenly realizing, by custom, the body would be claimed for cremation according to Shinto ritual but now there would be no body...
"Wot's up, Doc?"
"Nothing, just a... thank you, Sergeant." His heart started again as he remembered the man was Korean, one of some shipwrecked fishermen who eked out a pathetic existence, no way to sail home, unwanted and despised by locals.
Babcott had agreed to have the body cremated in the Buddhist crematorium. "Actually, you could help, Sergeant."
Malcolm's corpse had been cleaned and dressed after the autopsy by their Japanese trainee assistants. With the help of the Sergeant, who took the feet, they placed him in the coffin.
"He looks right pretty for a corpse."
Malcolm's face was serene in death. "Let's do t'other one, Doc. No need t'give yourself a hernia, eh, not that this little bugger weighs but a stone or two."
"We'd better wrap him in his sheet."
The Korean was skin and bones. Dysentery had killed him. Together they put him into the coffin.
"Thanks, I'll just tidy things up, then turn in."
"All right Doc. I'll make sure your room's ready."
Once alone Hoag bolted the door. With Angelique's agreement, they had decided that there would be no traditional laying-out, with the coffin open for people to pay last respects to the dead man.
With care he slid the lid into place. It took no time to nail it tight.
Now the other one. There would be a great difference in weight. What to use? Earth. There was a shovel belonging to the gravediggers to one side--not every body was cremated. Outside the earth was soft, the night cold with a slight wind that rustled the vegetation. He dug swiftly and brought shovelfuls back, scattering the earth on and around the corpse, packing it tightly. A few branches filled up the gaps. Satisfied, he levered on the lid and hammered the nails in. He leaned against the coffin, his breathing heavy, sweaty and dirty and even more concerned than when he started.
Heavenly's right, he thought, washing his hands in a bucket. We'll never get away with it.
"You're off your rocker, Doc," Skye had said with his wheezing cough, "and so is she and so am I to say all right, I'm in. Wee Willie will have kittens but never mind, tomorrow night it is." This was in the Club a few hours ago, noisy and argumentative as always. "Have another whisky."
"I'll have a coffee, thanks, then I'd better be off."
"Her story reminded me of my Nellie, Doc. Married I was when I was an articled clerk, sixteen, she was fifteen, at least we pretended we were married and lived in a garret off Fleet Street, near the Old Cheshire Cheese Pub, Sam Johnson's place.
She died in childbirth and the nipper, he would have been a boy, he died too." He offered a cigar and lit one for himself. "Pauper's grave, a couple of pence to the nightly barrow, Bring Out your dead, and that was the last of them. Cholera was bad that year, dysentery too, cemeteries full to overflowing." Heavenly spat in the spittoon.
"Haven't thought of little Nellie for years. You been married, Doc?"' "Yes, once, she died in London too."
"Another coincidence, eh? Never felt like getting married after Nellie--swore I'd not be that poor again no matter what--always on the go, travelling too much. Had lots of girls but never did get the pox. Did you, Doc?"' "No." Hoag had crossed his fingers.
"Not yet."
"Hey, you're superstitious too, like me?"' "Yes. You're sure of our legal position in this?"' "As sure as can be, sure as shit--but if Wee Willie wants he can trump up a dozen charges, never fear. Listen, whatever happens, Tess Struan will bust her knickers and that's your stipend gone and you into the creek without a paddle."
"No. I'm going back to India..."
Strange how bad leads to good or good to bad.
All this has really decided me. I really am going back this time, going back to Cooch Behar in Bengal where I was stationed and where she came from.