“I imagine there’re others, Gorth,” Struan said easily, “if you’re prepared to track them down. By the way, Tyler, as soon as the new land lots are surveyed, perhaps we’d better discuss our position.”
“My thort too,” Brock said. “As before, Dirk. But thee pick first this time.” He passed the deed back to Tess, who caressed it.
“Culum, be thee still deputy colonial secretary?”
“I think so.” Culum laughed. “Though my duties have never been specified. Why?”
“Nothing.”
Struan finished his wine and decided that it was time. “Now that Happy Valley’s abandoned and solved, and the new town’s to go up at the Crown’s cost, Hong Kong’s future’s assured.”
“Yus,” Brock said expansively, some of his humor returning, “now that the Crown be risking along o’ us’n.”
“So I think there’s nae need to delay the marriage. I propose Tess and Culum marry next month.”
There was a shocked silence.
Time seemed to be standing still for all of them. Culum wondered what was behind the smile that Gorth wore so badly, and why the Tai-Pan chose next month, and—oh God, let it be next month.
Gorth knew that next month would obliterate his hold over Culum and that, by God, this must not come to pass. Whatever Da’ says, he swore, no marriage soon.
Next year perhaps. Yes, perhaps. Wot’s in that devil’s mind?
Brock too was trying to divine Struan’s purpose—for Struan must have a purpose and it boded no good for him or for Gorth. His instinct immediately told him to delay the marriage. But he had sworn before God to give them safe harbor—as Struan had—and he knew that such an oath would bind Struan as it would bind him. “We could have the first banns read next Sunday,” Struan said, deliberately breaking the tension. “I think next Sunday would be fine.” He smiled at Tess, “Eh, lass?”
“Oh yes. Yes,” she said, and held Culum’s hand.
“No,” Brock said.
“It’s too fast,” Gorth snapped.
“Why?” Culum asked.
“I was just thinking of you, Culum,” Gorth said placatingly, “and your uncle’s sad loss. It’d be unseemly haste, very unseemly.”
“Liza, luv,” Brock said throatily, “you an’ Tess be excused. We be joining thee after port.”
Tess threw her arms around his neck and whispered, “Oh please, Da’,” and the four men were left alone.
Brock got up heavily and found the bottle of port. He poured four glasses and handed them around.
Struan sipped the wine appreciatively. “Very good port, Tyler.”
“It be the year of ’31.”
“A great year for port.”
Another silence fell.
“Will it be convenient to postpone your leaving for a few days, Mr. Brock?” Culum said uncomfortably. “I mean if it’s not possible—but I’d certainly like Tess to see the land and the architect.”
“With abandonment and land sale and all, we baint leaving now. Least,” Brock said, “Gorth and me baint. Liza and Tess and Lillibet should, soon as possible. Macao be healthful this time of year. And cooler. Baint it, Dirk?”
“Aye. Macao’s fine now,” Struan said, lighting a cheroot. “I hear the inquiry into the archduke’s accident will be next week.” He looked searchingly at Gorth.
“That were bad joss,” Brock said.
“Yes,” Gorth echoed. “Guns be going off all over.”
“Aye,” Struan said. “Just after he was hit, someone shot the leader of the mob.”
“I did that,” Brock said.
“Thank you, Tyler,” Struan said. “Were you fighting too, Gorth?”
“I was for’ard getting afloat.”
“Yus,” Brock said. He tried to remember if he had seen anyone firing. He recalled only sending Gorth forward. “Bad joss. Mobs be terrible, and at a time like that who knowed wot might happen.”
“Aye,” Struan said. He knew that if the bullet had been aimed, Gorth was the culprit. Not Brock. “Just one of those things.”
The oil lamps that hung from the rafter swung gently to the heel of the ship as the wind backed slightly. The seamen, Gorth, Brock and Struan, were suddenly alert. Brock opened a porthole and sniffed the breeze. Gorth was peering out the stern windows at the sea, and Struan listened to the spirit of the ship.
“Baint nothing,” Brock said. “Wind’s backed a few degrees, that be all.”
Struan went out into the passageway where a barometer was hanging. It read 29.8, steady. The air pressure had varied but a fraction in weeks. “It’s bonny steady,” he said.
“Yus,” Brock replied. “But soon it baint steady and then we be battening down. I see thee’s set storm buoys off thy wharf in deep water.”
“Aye.” Struan poured more port and offered the bottle to Gorth. “You want some more?”
“Thankee,” Gorth said. “Dost smell storm soon, Dirk?”
“Nay, Tyler. But I like to have the buoys ready just in case. Glessing’s ordered them set out for the fleet, though.”
“Thy suggestion?”
“Aye.”
“I hear rumors he be marrying young Sinclair’s sister.”
“Seems that marrying’s in the air.”
“I think they’ll be very happy,” Culum said. “George idolizes her.”
“Be right hard on Horatio,” Gorth said, “her leaving him abrupt-like. She be all the kin he has. An’ she’s young, under age.”
“How old is she?” Culum asked.
“Nineteen,” Struan said.
The tension increased in the cabin.
“Tess is very young,” Culum said, his voice anguished. “I wouldn’t want her hurt in any way. Even though—well, can we . . . what do you think, Mr. Brock? About the marriage? Next month? Whatever’s best for Tess is right for me.”
“She be very young, lad,” Brock said, fogged with the wine, “but I be glad that you be asaying what you be saying.”
Gorth kept his voice kind and steady. “A few months baint troubling you two, eh, Culum? Next year’s hardly half a year away.”
“January’s seven months away, Gorth,” Culum said impatiently.
“It baint up to me. Wot’s good for the two of you is good for me, says I.” Gorth drained his glass and poured some more. “Wot say you, Da’?” he said, deliberately putting Brock on the spot.
“I be thinking about that,” Brock said, examining his glass carefully. “She be very young. Haste be unseemly. You knowed each other bare three month and—”
“But I love her, Mr. Brock,” Culum persisted. “Three months or three years won’t make any difference.”
“I knowed, lad,” Brock said, not unkindly. He remembered the joy that had bloomed in Tess when he told her that he would accept Culum. “I just be thinking for thy good, for her good. I needs time to think.” To figure what’s in thy mind, Dirk, he said to himself.
“I think it would be very good for them and for us.” Struan could feel the warmth that radiated from Culum. “Tess is young, yes. But Liza was young too, and so was Culum’s mother. Marrying young’s the fashion. They’ve money to spare. And a rich future. With joss. So I say that it would be good.”
Brock rubbed his forehead with the back of his hand. “I be thinking. Then I’ll tell thee, Culum. It be a sudden idea, that be why I needs time.”