“When is the dress judging?”
“Midnight. Why?”
She shrugged. “Half before midnight, will you come back here?”
“Why?”
“I like to see my man. Take him away from that cow-busumed weevil mouth.” Her foot slid under the water. Struan recoiled at the intimate attack and almost dropped his tea. “Will you na do that and be careful, by God.” He intercepted her hand and laughed. “Now be a good girl.”
“Yes, Tai-Pan. If you’re likewise careful.” May-may smiled sweetly and let her hand rest quiet in his. “You dinna stare at me like you did at that devil womans, even though I’ve no clotheses on. What’s wrong with my busums?”
“They’re perfect. You’re all perfect. Of course you are. Now stop teasing.”
“So you will come back, half an hour before?”
“Anything for peace.” Struan drank some more tea. “Oh, yes. You did na answer me. Has the house been feng-shuied?”
“Aye.” She picked up the soap and began to lather herself. But she said nothing more.
“Well, has it or has it na?”
“Aye.” Again she was silent, a beautiful infuriating sweetness about her.
“Well, what happened?”
“I’m horrified sorry, Tai-Pan, but we’re right square on the dragon’s eyeball and we’ve to move.”
“We will na move and that’s an end to it.”
She hummed a little song as she finished using the soap. She washed off the lather and looked at him, wide-eyed and gentle. “Turn around, I’ll soap your back,” she said.
“We’ll na move,” he said suspiciously.
“Ma-ree came over this afternoon and we had a nice talk.”
“We’ll na move! And that’s the end to it.”
“Really, Tai-Pan, I’m na deaf. I heard you fantastical well the first time. Do you want your back scrubbed or do you na?”
He turned his back and she began to soap him. “We’re going to move and that’s the end to it. Because your old mother’s decided,” she said in Cantonese.
“What?” he said, moving his neck a little, glorying in her probing touch as her hands exquisitely massaged his shoulder muscles.
“An old Cantonese proverb: ‘When swallows nest, the sunrise smiles.’ ”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“What it says.” She felt very pleased with herself. “It’s just a happy thought, that’s all.” She scooped some water and rinsed away the soap. “Ah Sam, ahhhh!”
Ah Sam ran in, carrying huge towels. May-may got up and Ah Sam wrapped one around her and held the other for Struan.
“Tell her I’ll do it mysel’, by God!” he said.
May-may translated and Ah Sam put down the towel, giggled and ran out.
Struan emerged from the bath and May-may swathed him in the towel. To his surprise he found it was heated.
“I tell Ah Sam in future to cook the towels a little,” May-may said. “It’s good for health.”
“It feels splendid,” he said, and rubbed himself dry. He opened the door and found that the bed had been turned down and his new clothes put on the bureau.
“You have time for short rest,” May-may said, and when he started to argue, she added imperiously, “You will rest!”
Struan glanced at his watch. There’s plenty of time, he thought, so he climbed into bed and stretched out luxuriously.
May-may beckoned to Ah Sam, who went into the bathroom and closed the door. Kneeling, Ah Sam unbound May-may’s feet and dried them. She powdered the feet and replaced the bandages with clean dry ones and put new embroidered slippers on them. “They are so beautiful, Mother,” she said.
“Thank you, Ah Sam.” May-may pinched Ah Sam’s cheek tenderly. “But please don’t make so many remarks about Father’s appendages.”
“I was only being polite, and they are more than a little worthy of respect.” Ah Sam unpinned May-may’s hair and began brushing it. “Normally a father would be very happy to be complimented. Really I don’t understand our barbarian father a little bit. He hasn’t taken me to bed once. Am I so disgusting?”
“I keep telling you that barbarian fathers don’t bed all the women of the house,” May-may said wearily. “He just won’t do it. It’s against his religion.”
“It’s really very bad joss,” Ah Sam sniffed, “to have such a father, so endowed, and for it to be against his religion.”
May-may laughed, and gave her the towel. “Run along, little oily mouth. Bring some tea in one hour, and if you’re late I’ll give you a good whipping!”
Ah Sam fled.
May-may put perfume on herself and, thinking excitedly about the ball gown and her other surprise, she went into the bedroom.
Liza Brock opened the cabin door and went to the bunk. She could feel cold sweat running from her armpits. She knew it was now or never for Tess. “Come on, luv,” she said, shaking Brock again. “Time to get up.”
“Leave me be.” Brock turned over again, rocked gently by the tide nudging the hull of the
White Witch. “I be dressing in good time.”
“Thee’s been asaying that for half an hour. Get thee up or thee be late.”
Brock yawned and stretched and lifted himself in the bunk. “Baint even sundown yet,” he said blearily, staring out of the porthole.
“Gorth be arriving soon and thee wanted to be ready early. Then there be books to go through with compradore. Thee ask’d me to wake thee.”
“All right, doan carry on, Liza.” He yawned again and looked at Liza. She was wearing a new dress, dark red silk brocade with a large bustle, and the dress showed many petticoats. Her hair was tight in a bun. “Thee look right smart,” he said automatically and stretched again.
Liza played with the huge feathered hat that was in her hands, then put it down. “I’ll help thee dress,” she said.
“Wot be this! I told thee my old suit were nice,” he exploded as he saw the new clothes on the chair. “Dost think brass be so easy to come by that thee can spend it like salt water?”
“No, luv, thee needed new dress clothes and thee’s to look thy best.” She offered the small corset that fashion decreed a man must wear to give him a neat waist. Brock cursed and got out of bed. After tightening the corset over his long woolen underwear, he grudgingly allowed himself to be helped into his clothes.
But looking at himself in the mirror, he was most pleased. The new ruffled shirt billowed on his chest, and the maroon velvet frock coat with gold-embroidered lapels fitted perfectly: huge on the shoulders and snug at the waist. His tight white trousers were held into a smooth line by thongs under polished soft black evening boots. Orange-embroidered waistcoat, gold chain and fob seal.
“By gum, thee looks like King of England, luv!”
He brushed his beard and it jutted violently. “Well,” he said gruffly, trying to hide his pleasure, “mayhaps thee was right.” He turned to profile and smoothed the velvet closer against his chest. “Mayhaps it could be tighter to me chest, eh?”
Liza laughed. “Get on with thee, lad,” she said, less afraid now, “I think the ruby pin in thy cravat’d be better’n the diamond.”
He changed the pin and continued to admire himself. Then he laughed and caught her around the waist and hummed a waltz and forced her into a dance. “Thee’s the belle of the ball, luv,” he said.