“I swear by God I’ve begged forgiveness.”
“I’m so glad, dear brother. But there is no God,” she said, her voice flat and cruel. “I forgive you. But that won’t make me virgin, will it?”
“Mary, I beg you, please, for the love of God, please—”
“I forgive you everything, brother dear. Except your rotten hypocrisy. We didn’t sin—you did. Pray for your own soul, not mine.”
“I pray for yours more than mine. We sinned, God help us. But the Lord will forgive. He will, Mary.”
“This year, with joss, I’ll marry George and forget you and forget Asia.”
“You’re not the age of consent. You can’t go. I’m your legal guardian. I can’t let you go. In time you’ll see how wise it is. It’s best for you. I forbid you to leave. That scum’s not good enough for you, you hear? You’re not leaving!”
“When I decide to marry Glessing,” she hissed, her voice clawing him, “you’d better give your fornicating ‘approval’ in a hurry, because if you don’t I’ll tell everyone—no, I’ll tell the Tai-Pan first and he’ll come after you with a lash. I’ve nothing to lose—nothing. And all your godrotting praying to your nonexistent God and to Father’s sweet Christ won’t help you a bit. Because there’s no God and never was and never will be, and Christ was only a man—a saint but still a man!”
“You’re not Mary; you’re”—his voice cracked—“you’re evil. Of course God exists. Of course we’ve souls. You’re a heretic. You’re a fiend! It was you, not me! Oh Lord God, give us Thy mercy—”
Mary struck him with the flat of her hand. “Stop it, brother dear. I’m sick of your useless praying. You hear? You’ve made my flesh crawl for years. Because I know from the lust in your eyes that you still want to bed me. Even though you understand incest, and you understood it before you began.” She laughed, a terrifying laugh. “You’re worse than Father. He was mad with belief, but you—you only pretend to believe. I hope your God exists, because you’ll burn in hellfire forever. And good riddance.”
She left. Her brother stared after her, then ran blindly into the night.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
“Heya, Mass’er!” Lim Din said, throwing open the door with a flourish.
“Heya, Lim Din,” Struan said, checking the barometer. Fair weather, 29.8 inches. Excellent.
He began to walk down the corridor, but Lim Din stood in the way and motioned importantly to the living room. “Missee say here-ah can. Can?”
Struan grunted, “Can.”
Lim Din gave him the brandy that was already poured and bowed him into the highback leather chair and hurried away. Struan put his feet on the ottoman. The chair smelled tangy and old and comfortable and mixed nicely with Shevaun’s perfume that still seemed to surround him.
The clock on the mantel read twenty minutes to twelve.
Struan began to hum a sea chantey. He heard a door open, and the approaching rustle of silk. Waiting for May-may to appear in the doorway, he again compared her and Shevaun. He had been comparing them all evening, trying to weigh them dispassionately. Shevaun was a beautiful toy, dynamic certainly, and vital. A woman he would like to tame, aye. And as a wife Shevaun would be a superb hostess—assured, clever, and the opener of many doors. May-may would be an extreme gamble in England—as a wife. As mistress, nay. Aye, he told himself. Even so I’m going to marry her. With the power of The Noble House behind me, and an exclusive Russian license in my pocket, I can risk thumbing my nose at convention and break an almost insurmountable barrier between Occident and Orient. May-may’ll prove, beyond all doubt—for all time—among the people that really count in society, that the Oriental is completely worthy and worthwhile. May-may hersel’ will hasten the day of equality. And it’ll be in my own lifetime.
Aye, he exulted to himself. May-may’s a marvelous gamble. Together we can do it. For all time. With joss, the whole of London will be at her feet. Then his joy shattered.
May-may was standing in the doorway, a radiant smile on her face as she twirled. Her European dress was violently multicolored, bejeweled, its skirt huge and bustled. Her hair hung in curled ringlets on her bare shoulders and a feathered hat was on her head. She looked hideous. A nightmare. “God’s blood!”
There was an awful silence as they stared at each other. “It’s—it’s very . . . nice,” he said, unconvincingly, crushed by the pain in May-may’s eyes.
May-may was eerily pale now, except for two crimson splotches high on her cheeks. She knew she had lost face terribly before Struan. She swayed, near fainting. Then she whimpered and fled.
Struan rushed after her down the corridor. He tore through her private quarters. But the bedroom was bolted against him.
“May-may, lass. Open the door.”
There was no answer, and he was conscious of Lim Din and Ah Sam behind him. When he turned they vanished, petrified.
“May-may! Open the door!”
Still no answer. He was furious with himself for having been unable to mask his feelings, and for having been so stupid and unprepared. Of course May-may would want to be part of the ball and of course all her questions should have warned him, and of course she’d have a ball gown made and—oh Jesus Christ!
“Open the door!”
Again no answer. He crashed his foot against the door. It burst open and hung precariously on its shattered hinges.
May-may was standing beside the bed, looking at the floor.
“You shouldn’t have bolted the door, lass. You—well, you—the dress and you just stunned me for a moment.” He knew that he must give her back her face or she would die. Die from misery or die by her own hand. “Come on,” he said. “We’re going to the ball.”
As she fell to her knees to kowtow to him and beg his forgiveness, the dress got in her way and made her stumble. May-may opened her mouth to speak, but no sound came out. The feathered hat slid off.
Struan hurried over to her and began to pick her up. “Come on, May-may lass, you mustn’t do that.”
But she would not be helped up. She buried her face deeper in the carpet and tried to claw into it with her nails.
He lifted her awkwardly and held her. She would not look at him. He took her hand firmly. “Come on.”
“Wat?” she said dully.
“We’re going to the ball.” He knew that it would be a disaster for himself and for her. He knew he would be socially destroyed and she would be ridiculed. Even so he knew that he must take her or her spirit would die. “Come on,” he repeated, a scarred edge to his voice. But she continued to stare at the floor, trembling.
He pulled her gently but she almost fell. Then he grimly picked her up and she lay in his arms, a dead weight. He began to carry her out. “We’re going, and that’s the end of it.”
“Wait,” she croaked. “I—I—I must, the—the hat.”
He put her down and she went back into the bedroom, her swaying gait made ugly by the dress. Struan knew that nothing would ever be quite the same again between them. She had made a horrible mistake. He should have anticipated it, aye, but—