“Thank you, I’d like that.” Struan would have continued, but Blore rushed up to them, dusty and exhausted.
“Almost ready to begin, Tai-Pan—you look whizz-o, Miss Tillman—afternoon, Your Highness,” he said in a run. “Everyone put your money on number four in the fourth, decided to ride her myself—oh yes, Tai-Pan, I checked the stallion last night. He took the bit, so we can use him in the next meet—Your Highness, best let me guide you to your position, you’re starting the first race.”
“I am?”
“Didn’t His Excellency mention it? Blast the—I mean would you care to?”
Never had Blore worked so hard and never had he been so excited. “Would you follow me, please?” He guided Zergeyev hastily through the crowd.
“Blore’s a nice young man,” Shevaun said, glad to be alone with Struan at last. “Where did you find him?”
“He found me,” Struan said. “And I’m glad he did.”
His attention was distracted by an altercation near one of the tents. A group of soldier-guards was hustling a Chinese out of the enclosure. The coolie’s hat fell off—and with it the long queue. The man was Aristotle Quance.
“Excuse me a second,” Struan said. He hurried over and stood in front of the little man, shielding him with his bulk. “That’s all right, lads, he’s a friend of mine!” he said.
The soldiers shrugged and moved off.
“Great thundering cannon balls, Tai-Pan,” Quance choked out, adjusting his filthy clothes. “Saved in the nick. Bless you!”
Struan shoved the coolie hat back on Quance’s head and pulled him behind a flap of the tent. “What the devil are you doing here?” he whispered.
“Had to see the races, by God,” Quance said, settling the hat so that the queue fell down his back, “and wanted to talk to you.”
“This is nae time! Maureen’s in the crowd somewhere.”
Quance blanched. “God protect me!”
“Aye, though why He should, I’ve nae idea. Be off with you while you’re safe. I heard she’s booked passage for home next week. If she suspects—well, be it on your own head!”
“Just the first race, Tai-Pan?” Quance begged. “Please. And I’ve information for you.”
“What?”
To Struan’s shock, Quance told him what Gorth had done to the prostitute. “Ghastly! Poor girl’s near death. Gorth’s mad, Tai-Pan. Mad.”
“Send me word if the girl dies. Then we’ll—well, I’ll have to think about what to do. Thank you, Aristotle. Best you vanish while you can.”
“Just the first race? Please, for the love of God! You don’t know what it means to a poor old man.”
Struan looked around. Shevaun was studiously ignoring them. Then he noticed Glessing walking by. “Captain!”
When Glessing recognized Quance, his eyes soared to heaven. “By Jove! I thought you were on the high seas!”
“Do me a favor, would you?” Struan said quickly. “Mrs. Quance is over by the post. Would you keep Aristotle out of trouble and out of her way? Better, take him over there.” Struan pointed to where the Chinese were milling about. “Let him watch the first race, then take him home.”
“Certainly. Good God, Aristotle, I’m glad to see you,” Glessing said, then to Struan, “Have you heard from Culum? I’m terribly worried about Miss Sinclair.”
“No. But I told Culum to see her as soon as he arrived. We should hear any moment. I’m sure she’s all right.”
“I hope so. Oh, where should I take Aristotle after the race?”
“Mrs. Fortheringill’s.”
“By Jove! What’s it like, Aristotle?” Glessing asked, his curiosity getting the better of him.
“Terrifying, my boy, mortal terrifying.” Quance grasped his arm and his voice hoarsened. “Can’t get a wink of sleep and the food’s hideous. Nothing but quent for breakfast, lunch, tea, dinner and supper. Can you lend me a few guineas, Tai-Pan?”
Struan grunted and walked off.
“What’s quent, Aristotle?”
“It’s, er, a kind of gruel.”
Struan rejoined Shevaun.
“A friend of yours, Tai-Pan?”
“It’s na politic to notice some friends, Shevaun.”
She tapped him lightly on the arm with her fan. “There’s never a need to remind me about politics, Dirk. I’ve missed you,” she added gently.
“Aye,” he said, realizing that it would be easy and wise to marry Shevaun. But na possible. Because of May-may. “Why do you want to be painted in the nude?” he asked suddenly, and he knew from the flash in her eyes that his hunch was correct.
“Aristotle said that?” Her voice was level.
“Great God, no. He’d never do that. But some months ago he was teasing us. Said he had a new commission. For a nude. Why?”
She blushed and fanned herself, and laughed. “Goya painted the Duchess of Alba. Twice, I believe. She became the toast of the world.”
His eyes crinkled with amusement. “You’re a devil, Shevaun. Did you really let him—well, see the subject?”
“That was poetic license on his part. We discussed the idea of two portraits. You don’t approve?”
“I’d say your uncle—and your father—would hit the sky if they heard about it, or if the portraits fell into the wrong hands.”
“Would you buy them, Tai-Pan?”
“To hide?”
“To enjoy.”
“You’re a strange girl, Shevaun.”
“Perhaps I despise hypocrisy.” She looked at him searchingly. “Like you.”
“Aye. But you’re a girl in a man’s world, and certain things you canna do.”
“There’s a lot of ‘certain’ things I would like to do.” There were cheers and the horses began to parade. Shevaun made a final decision. “I think I will leave Asia. Within two months.”
“That sounds like a threat.”
“No, Tai-Pan. It’s just that I’m in love—and in love with life as well. And I agree with you. That the time to choose the winner is when they’re at the starting gate.” She fanned herself, praying that her gamble would justify the risk. “Who do you pick?”
He did not look at the horses. “The filly, Shevaun,” he said quietly.
“What’s her name?” she asked.
“May-may,” he said, the light in his eyes gentle.
Her fan hesitated and then continued as before. “A race is never lost until the winner’s judged and garlanded.”
She smiled and walked away, head high, more beautiful than she had ever been. The filly lost the race. Only by a nose. But she lost.
“Back so soon, Tai-Pan?” May-may said thinly.
“Aye. I tired of the meet, and I was worried over you.”
“Did I win?”
He shook his head.
She smiled and sighed. “Oh well, never mind.” The whites of her eyes were pink, and her face was gray under the gold.
“Has the doctor been?” Struan asked.
“Na yet.” May-may curled on her side, but that did not ease her discomfort. She moved the pillow away, but that did not help either, so she replaced it again. “Your poor old mother’s just old,” she said with a forlorn grin.
“Where does it hurt?”
“Nowhere, everywhere. A good sleep will cure everything, never mind.”
He massaged her neck and her back and would not allow himself to think the unthinkable. He ordered fresh tea and light food and tried to persuade her to eat, but she had no appetite.