“But there weren’t any papers,” Orlov had said. “There was a small strongbox, but you said not to break anything, so I left it as it was. I’d plenty of time—the men kept the servants busy.”
“Thank you. No word of this, now.”
“Do you take me for a fool!” Orlov had said, his dignity offended. “By the way, Mrs. Quance and the five children are settled on the small hulk. I said Quance was in Macao and due to arrive on the noon tide tomorrow. Had a job avoiding her cursed questions. She’d pester an answer out of a barnacle.”
Struan had left Orlov and had gone to the boys’ cabin. They were clean now and had new clothes. Wolfgang was still with them and they were not afraid of him. Struan had told them that tomorrow they would be going with him to Canton, where he would put them on a ship for England.
“Yor ’Onor,” the little English boy had said as he had turned to go, “could I be a seeing you? Privy like?”
“Aye,” Struan had said, and he had taken the boy into another cabin.
“Me dad said I were to give you this’n, Yor Worship, an’ not t’tell nobody, not Mr. Wu Pak or’n even Bert.” Fred’s fingers trembled as he undid the cloth bundle that was still attached to the stick and laid the cloth open. It contained a small knife and a rag dog and a bulky knotted kerchief. He passed over the kerchief nervously and, to Struan’s astonishment, turned his back and closed his eyes.
“What’re you doing, Fred?”
“Me dad sayed I weren’t t’look and to turn me back, Yor Worship. An’ not to see,” Fred replied, his eyes tight shut.
Struan untied the kerchief, and gawked at the contents: ruby earrings, diamond pendants, rings studded with diamonds, a big emerald brooch and many broken, twisted gold belt buckles, heavy with diamonds and sapphires. Forty to fifty thousand pounds’ worth. Pirate loot. “What did he want me to do with this?”
“Can I open me eyes, Yor Worship? I be not to see.”
Struan knotted the kerchief and put it into his frock-coat pocket. “Aye. Now, what did your dad want me to do with it?”
“He sayed it were me—I forgits the word. It were, it were somethin’ like ‘mittance’ or ‘ritance.’ ” Fred’s eyes filled with tears. “I beed a good boy, Yor Worship, but I forgits.”
Struan squatted down and held him firmly and gently. “No need to cry, lad. Let’s think. Was it ‘inheritance’?”
The boy stared up at Struan as though he were a magician. “Yus. ‘Ritance.’ How’d’yer knowed?”
“No need to cry. You’re a man. Men dinna cry.”
“What’s a ‘ritance’?”
“It’s a gift, usually money, from a father to a son.”
Fred mulled that a long time. Then he said, “Why’d me dad sayed not to tell bruvver Bert?”
“I dinna ken.”
“Wot, Yor Worship?”
“Perhaps because he wanted you to have it and not Bert.”
“Can a ‘ritance’ be for lots of sons?”
“Aye.”
“Can me bruwer Bert an’ me share a ‘ritance’ if we gets one?”
“Aye. If you have one.”
“Oh good,” the boy said, drying his tears. “Bruvver Bert’s me best friend.”
“Where did you and your dad live?” Struan asked.
“In a house. Wiv Bert’s mum.”
“Where was the house, lad?”
“Near the sea. Near the ships.”
“Did the place ever have a name?”
“Oh yus, it were called ‘Port.’ We was livin’ at a house in Port,” the boy said proudly. “Me dad sayed I were to tell you everythin’, truthful.”
“Let’s go back now, eh? Unless there’s anything else.”
“Oh yus.” Fred quickly tied up the bundle. “Me dad sayed to tie it up like before. Secret like. And not to tell. I be ready, Yor Worship.”
Struan opened the kerchief again. God’s death, what do I do with this treasure? Throw it away? I canna do that. Find the owners? How? They might be Spanish, French, American or English. An’ how do I explain how I got the jewels?
He went over to the huge four-poster bed and pushed it away from the wall. He noticed that his new evening clothes were laid out meticulously. He knelt down beside the bed. An iron strongbox was cemented into the floor. He unlocked the box and deposited the bundle with his private papers. The Bible that contained the other three half coins caught his eye and he swore. He relocked the box and moved the bed back in place and walked to the door.
“Lim Din!”
Lim Din appeared immediately, glassy-eyed and beaming.
“Bath plenty quick!”
“Bath all ready, Mass’er! Never mind!”
“Tea!”
Lim Din vanished. Struan crossed the bedroom to the special room that had been set aside solely for the bath and for the toilet. Robb had laughed when he had seen the plans. Even so, Struan had insisted that the innovation be built exactly as he had planned it.
The high copper bath was set on a low platform, and a drain led from it through the wall and into a deep rock-filled pit that had been dug in the garden. Above the bath a holed iron bucket was suspended from the beams. A pipe led into the bucket from the freshwater tank on the roof. There was a cock on the pipe. The toilet was an enclosed cabinet with a movable lid and removable bucket for the night soil.
The bath was already filled with hot water. Struan stripped off his sweat-sour clothes and stepped into the bath gratefully. He lay back and soaked.
The bedroom door opened and May-may came in. Ah Sam followed her, carrying a tray with tea and hot dim sum, Lim Din close behind. They all walked into the bathroom and Struan closed his eyes in quiet exasperation; no amount of explaining and chastizing had made Ah Sam understand that she could not come into the bathroom while he was having a bath.
“Hello, Tai-Pan,” May-may said with a glorious smile. All his irritation faded. “We’re having tea together,” she added.
“Good,” he said.
Lim Din picked up the soiled clothes and vanished. Ah Sam set down the tray merrily, for she knew she had won her bet. She said something to May-may in Cantonese, which caused May-may to laugh, and Ah Sam giggled and ran out of the bathroom and closed the door.
“What the devil did she say?”
“Woman’s talk!”
He lifted up the sponge to throw it, and May-may said hurriedly, “She said you were a mighty built of a mans.”
“Why for the love of God, will Ah Sam na understand a bath is a private matter?”
“Ah Sam’s very private, never mind. Wat for you’re shy, hey? She’s lots of pride in you. You’ve nothing to be shy of.” She took off her robe and stepped into the bath and sat at the other end. Then she poured the tea and offered it.
‘Thanks.” He drank the tea and then reached over and ate one of the dim sum.
“The fight was good?” she asked. She noticed the well-healed scars that her teeth had made in his forearm, and hid a smile.
“Excellent.”
“Why were you angry?”
“Nae reason. These are good,” he said, eating another of the pastries. Then he smiled at her. “You’re beautiful and I canna think of a nicer way to have tea.”
“You’re beautiful too.”
“Is the house feng-shuied?”