“Where will
you get the horses?”
“Australia, by God,” Blore burst out. “I’ve heard they’ve horses to spare down there!” He shoved the banker’s draft back at Struan and let out an ecstatic bellow. “Mr. Struan, you’ll never regret this.” He turned and rushed for the door.
“Where’re you going?” Struan asked.
“Australia, of course.”
“Why do you na see the general first?”
“Eh?”
“I seem to remember they’ve some cavalry. Borrow some horses. I’d say you could arrange the first meet next Saturday.”
“I could?”
“Aye. Saturday’s a good day for race day. And India’s nearer than Australia. I’ll send you by the first available ship.”
“You will?”
Struan smiled. “Aye.” He handed back the slip of paper. “Five hundred is a bonus on your first year’s salary, Mr. Blore, of five hundred a year. The rest is prize money for the first four or five meets. I’d say eight races, five horses each, every second Saturday.”
“God bless you, Mr. Struan.”
Then Struan was alone. He struck a match and watched the letter burn. He ground the ashes to dust then went below. May-may was still in bed, but she was freshly groomed and looked beautiful.
“Heya, Tai-Pan,” May-may said. She kissed him briefly, then continued fanning herself. “I’m gracious glad you’re back. I want you to buy me a small piece of land because I’ve decided to go to bisness.”
“What sort of business?” he asked, slightly peeved at the offhand welcome but pleased that she accepted his going and returning without question, and without fuss.
“You will see, never mind. But I want some taels to begin. I pay ten percent interest, which is first-class. A hundred taels. You will be a sleep partner.”
He reached over and put his hand on her breast. “Talking about sleeping, there’s—”
She removed his hand. “Bisness before sleepings. You buy me land and lend me taels?”
“Sleepings before business!”
“Ayeee yah, in this hot?” she said with a laugh. “Very well. It’s terrifical bad to tax yoursel’ in this hot—your shirt sticks already to your back. Come along, never mind.” She obediently walked toward her bedroom door, but he caught her.
“I was just teasing. How are you? Has the baby given you any troubles?”
“Of course na. I am a very careful mother, and I eat only very special foods to build a fine son. And think warlike thoughts to make him Tai-Pan-brave.”
“How many taels do you want?”
“A hundred. I already said. Have you nae ears? You’re terrifical strange today, Tai-Pan. Yes. Certainly very strange. You’re na sick, are you? You have bad news? Or just tired?”
“Just tired. A hundred taels, certainly. What’s the ‘bisness’?”
She clapped her hands excitedly and sat back at the table. “Oh, you will see. I’ve thought much since you gone. What do I do for you? Make love and guide you both terrifical good, to be sure, but that’s na enough. So now I make taels too for you, and for my old age.” She laughed again and he delighted in her laugh. “But only from the barbarians. I will make fortunes—oh, you will think I am cleveritious.”
“There’s nae such word.”
“You know very well what I mean.” She hugged him. “You want to make love now?”
“There’s a land sale in an hour.”
“True. Then best you change clotheses and hurry back. A small lot on Queen’s Road. But I pay no more than ten taels’ rent a year! Did you bring me present?”
“What?”
“Well, it’s a good custom,” she said, her eyes innocent, “that when a man leaves his woman, he brings her present. Jades. Things like that.”
“Nae jades. But next time I’ll be more attentive.”
She shrugged. “Good custom. Your poor old mother’s werry impoverish. We eat later, heya?”
“Aye.” Struan went to his own staterooms on the next deck above.
Lim Din bowed. “Bathe werry cold, all same, Mass’er. Wantshee?”
“Aye.”
Struan took off his limp clothes and lay in the bath and let his mind consider the implications of Sir Charles’s news, his fury at Cunnington’s stupidity almost overwhelming him. He dried himself and dressed in fresh clothes, and in a few moments his shirt was damp with sweat again.
Best I sit and think it out, he thought. Let Culum take care of the land. I’ll bet my life Tess told her father about his plan for the hill. Maybe Culum’ll be trapped into overbidding. The lad did well; I must trust him with this.
So he sent word to Culum to bid for The Noble House, and also told him to buy a small but good lot on Queen’s Road. And he sent word to Horatio that Mary was poorly and arranged for a lorcha to take him immediately to Macao.
Then he sat in a deep leather chair and stared out a porthole at the island and let his mind roam.
Culum bought the marine and suburban lots, proud to bid for The Noble House and to gain more face. He was asked by many where the Tai-Pan was—where he had been—but he answered curtly that he had no idea and continued to imply a hostility he no longer felt.
He bought the hill—and the lots that made the hill safe—and he was relieved that the Brocks did not bid against him, thus proving that Tess could be trusted. Even so, he decided to be more cautious in the future, and not put her in such a position again. It was dangerous to be too open with some knowledge, he thought. Dangerous for her and for himself. For example, the knowledge that the thought of her, the slightest touch of her, drove him almost frantic with desire. Knowledge that he could never discuss with her or his father but only with Gorth, who understood: “Yes, Culum lad. I knows only too well. It be terrible pain, terrible. Thee can hardly walk. Yes—and it be terrible hard to control. But doan worry, lad. We be pals and I understands. It be right to be frank, thee and me. It be terrible dangerous for thee to be like monk. Yes. Worse’n that, it be storing up troubles in the future—and even worse, I beared tell it be making for sickly offspring. The pain in thy guts be the warning of God. Yes—that pain’ll sicken a man all his life, and that be the mortal truth, so help me God! Doan thee worry—I knowed a place in Macao. Doan thee worry, old lad.”
And though Culum did not truly believe the superstitions that Gorth pronounced, the pains he endured day and night sapped his will to resist. He wanted relief. Even so, he swore, if Brock agrees to let us marry next month, then I won’t go to a whorehouse. I won’t!
At sunset Culum and Struan went aboard the
White Witch. Brock was waiting for them on the quarterdeck, Gorth beside him. The night was cool and pleasant.
“I be decided about thy marrying, Culum,” Brock said. “Next month be unseemly. Next year be probable better. But the third month from now be Tess’s seventeenth birthday, and on that day, the tenth, thee can marry.”
“Thank you, Mr. Brock,” Culum said. “Thank you.”
Brock grinned at Struan. “Do that suit thee, Dirk?”
“It’s your decision, Tyler, na mine. But I think three months or two’s nae different to one. I still say next month.”
“September suit thee, Culum? Like I sayed? Be honest, lad.”
“Yes. Of course. I’d hoped, but—well, yes, Mr. Brock.” Culum swore that he would wait the three months. But deep inside he knew that he could not.