“Then you approve in a general way?”
“Oh yes—but it never occurred to me that . . . well, in due time, when she’s of age, I’m sure she’d welcome and be honored by your suit.”
“You feel I should wait until she’s twenty-one?”
“Well, I have only her interests at heart. She’s my only sister and, well, we’re very close to each other. Since Father died I’ve brought her up.”
“Yes,” Glessing said, feeling flattened. “Damn fine job you did too. Damned decent of you to consider me at all; she’s so—well, I think she’s wonderful.”
“Still, it’s best to be patient. Marriage is such a final step. Particularly for someone like Mary.”
“Yes. Quite right. Well, let’s have a drink to the future, eh? I’m in no hurry to—well, but I’d like a formal answer. Plans must be made, mustn’t they?”
“Of course. Let’s drink to the future.”
“Devil take it,” Brock said as Gorth came up to him. “Struan’s be having every godrotting foot of cargo space outside of our ships. How’d they be doing that? This morning? Baint reasonable!”
“It be almost like he’d advance news—but that be impossible.”
“Well, no matter, by God,” Brock said, smug with the knowledge that he had a ship speeding for Manila but unaware that Struan’s ship was hours ahead. “That were a dance all right, weren’t it?”
“Culum be fair taken with our Tess, Da’.”
“Yus—I marked that too. It be time she went home.”
“Not afore the judging.” Gorth’s eyes burned into his father’s. “A match twixt they two’d be right good for us.”
“Never, by God,” Brock said tightly, his face reddening.
“I say yes, by God. I heard a rumor—from one of our’n Portuguese clerks, who hav’ it from one of the Struans’: that the Tai-Pan be goin’ home in half a year.”
“Wot?”
“Leaving for good.”
“I doan believe it.”
“With that devil out, who’s Tai-Pan, eh? Robb.” Gorth spat neatly. “We can eat up Robb. Afore the land sale I’d say we could chew Culum like salt pork. Now I baint sure. But if Tess were his wife—then it’s Brock-Struan and Company. After Robb, Culum’s Tai-Pan.”
“Dirk be never leaving. Never. Thee’s crazy in thy head. Just because Culum be dancin’ with her doan mean—”
“Get it through thy head, Da’,” Gorth interrupted. “One day Struan be leaving. Common knowledge he wants in t’ Parliament. Like thee’ll want to retire. One day.”
“There be time enough for that, by God.”
“Yes. But one day thee’ll retire, eh? Then I’m Tai-Pan.” Gorth’s voice was not harsh, but calm and final. “I be Tai-Pan of Noble House, by God, not the second house. Culum-Tess’d fix it clever.”
“Dirk’ll never leave,” Brock said, hating Gorth for implying that where he had failed Gorth would succeed.
“I be thinking of us’n, Da’! An’ our house. An’ how you and me beed working day and night to beat him. An’ about the future. Culum-Tess be perfect,” Gorth added inflexibly.
Brock bristled at the challenge. He knew that in time he would have to pass over the reins. But not soon, by God. For without the house, and without being Tai-Pan of Brock’s, he would shrivel and die. “Wot makes thee think it be Brock-Struan? Why not Struan-Brock and he be Tai-Pan and thee out?”
“Doan thee worry, Da’. With thee an’ devil Struan it be like the fight today. Thee’s both equal matched. Both equal strong, equal cunning. But me an’ Culum? That be different.”
“I be thinking about wot thee says. Then I decides.”
“Of course, Da’. You be Tai-Pan. With joss, you’d be Tai-Pan o’ The Noble House afore me.” Gorth smiled and walked toward Culum and Horatio.
Brock eased the patch over his eye and watched his son, so tall and dynamic and strong, and young. He looked at Culum, then glanced around, seeking Struan. He saw the Tai-Pan standing alone, down by the shore, looking out into the harbor. Brock’s love for Tess and his wish for her happiness was balanced against the truth of what Gorth had said. And he knew with equal truth that Gorth would eat up Culum if conflict was joined between them—and that Gorth would force the issue in time. Beed that right? To let Gorth eat up the husband that mayhaps Tess loved?
He wondered what he would really do if the love blossomed—what Struan would do. It be solving us’n, he told himself. An’ that baint a wrong thing, eh? Yus. But you knowed old Dirk be never leaving Cathay—nor thee—and there’ll be a settling twixt thee and him.
He hardened his heart, loathing Gorth for making him feel old. Knowing that even so he must settle the Tai-Pan. For Gorth against Culum with Struan alive was no contest.
When the ladies came back, there was more dancing, but the Kankana was not repeated. Struan danced first with Mary and she enjoyed it greatly; his strength calmed her and cleaned her and gave her courage.
Next he chose Shevaun. She pressed close enough to him to be exciting, but not close enough to be indelicate. Her warmth and perfume surrounded him. He half noticed Mary being led off the floor by Horatio, and when he turned again, he saw that they were strolling down to the shore. Then he heard the ship’s bells. Half past eleven. Time to see May-may.
When the dance ended he escorted Shevaun back to the table. “Would you excuse me a moment, Shevaun?”
“Of course, Dirk. Hurry back.”
“I will,” he said.
“It’s a beautiful night,” Mary said awkwardly.
“Yes.” Horatio held her arm lightly. “I wanted to tell you something amusing. George drew me aside and asked, formally, for your hand in marriage.”
“You’re astonished that anyone would want to marry me?” she asked coldly.
“Of course not, Mary. I meant it’s preposterous for him to think you’d consider such a pompous ass as himself, that’s all.”
She examined her fan and then stared into the night, troubled.
“I said that I thought he—”
“I know what you said, Horatio.” She cut him off sharply. “You were sweet and sloughed him off with ‘time’ and ‘my dear old sister.’ I think I’m going to marry George.”
“You can’t! You can’t possibly like that bore enough to consider him for even a moment.”
“I think I’m going to marry George. At Christmas. If there is a Christmas.”
“What do you mean—if there is a Christmas?”
“Nothing, Horatio. I like him enough to marry him, and I’m—well, I think it’s time to leave.”
“I don’t believe it.”
“I don’t believe it myself.” Her voice trembled. “But if George wants to marry me—I’ve decided George is a good choice for me.”
“But, Mary, I need you with me. I love you and you know—”
Her eyes flashed suddenly, and all the pent-up bitterness and agony of years choked her. “Don’t talk about love to me!”
His face became deadly white and his lips trembled. “I’ve asked God to forgive us a million times.”
“Asking God to forgive ‘us’ is a little late, isn’t it?”
It had begun after a flogging when he was young and she was very young. They had crept into bed together, clutching each other to black out the horror and pain. She was comforted by the heat of their bodies, and she felt a new pain which made her forget the beating. There were other times, happy times—she too young to understand, but not Horatio; then he had left for school in England. When he returned they had never referred to what had happened. For by then both knew what it meant.