“That was considerate of you, Tyler,” Struan told him.
“I send Gorth last night to inquire after thee. Right proper strange, eh, Culum?”
“What’s strange, Mr. Brock?”
“Why, that that devil midget doan knowed yor da’s aboard. An’ no one be allowed aboard till noon, so I hears. An’ anchoring under the guns o’ flagship—right proper strange.”
“Did Gorth touch the flagpole?” Struan asked.
“Aye. He were proper sad. He sayed it were like putting another nail in yor coffin. He were turrible reluctant.”
Struan passed over a banker’s order—twenty thousand guineas.
“Thankee, Dirk,” Brock said without touching it or looking at it. “But it baint mine. Mayhaps thee’d best give it to Gorth. Or send it aboard. It baint payment to me.”
“As you wish, Tyler. He’ll be at the land sale?”
“Oh, yes.”
Struan picked up the catalog. “The choice marine lots are 7 and 8 to the west of the valley, 16 and 17 in the center, 22 and 23 to the east. Which do you want?”
“You be giving me a free pick, Dirk?”
“There’s enough for both of us. You choose which you want. We’ll na bid against you. Nor you against us.”
“I’d the same thort. That be fair. An’ wise. 16 and 17 of the marine lots and 6 and 7 of the suburban lots.”
“We’ll take marine lots 7 and 8. Suburban lots 3 and 4.”
“Done. And that leave the knoll. You be planning on bidding, eh?”
“Aye.”
Brock swallowed some rum. He could sense Culum’s unease. “The fleet be leaving tomorrow, Dirk. Did thee hear?”
“No. Leaving for where?”
“North. To fight the war,” Brock said sardonically.
“I’d forgotten about the war,” Struan said with a short laugh. “To stab at Peking again? In winter?”
“Yes. Our leaders be ordering ’em north. Yor lackey’s cannon balls in his head. I beared the admiral screamed, but Longstaff just ranted, ‘North, by God, you be ordered north! We’ll teach the heathen treaty-breaking scum! Teach ’em a proper lesson!’”
“They will na go north.”
“With thee back, mayhaps not. It be a sorry state when the likes o’ Longstaff’s Tai-Pan. Ridikilus. An’ when the likes o’ you’ve his godrotting ear. When we’ve to rely on thee t’save our fleet.” He cleared his throat noisily, then sniffed the air. “There be a right proper strange smell aboard.”
“Oh?”
“Smells like bullion. Aye, bullion to be sure.” Brock shot a glance at Culum. “So you baint bankrupt, be you, lad?”
Culum said nothing, but the blood soared into his face.
Brock grunted. “I smelled it when thee anchored, Dirk. Why, even when thee come into harbor. So thee doan sink and thee’ve brass to pay and I be beat again.”
“When are the notes due?”
“Today, as thee well knowed.”
“Do you want to extend the time?”
“Weren’t for the lad’s face, an’ all aboard, I’d ask meself if you was bluffing. That mayhaps the bullion weren’t in yor hold. But I knowed better. It be writ in every face on board ’cepting yourn—and Robb’s. I’ll take yor banker’s draft today, by God. No credit.”
“After the land sale, we’ll settle.”
“Before. Aye, before. Thee’d better be clean o’ debts afore you bid,” he said, his eye glittering, his anger surfaced. “Thee beat me again, God curse you and the devil you serve to hell! But the knoll be mine. It be mine.”
“It belongs to The Noble House. Na to the second-best.”
Brock got up, his fists clenched. “I’ll spit on yor grave yet, by God.”
“I’ll spit on your house from my knoll, by God, before sunset!”
“Mayhaps there hain’t enough treasure in Asia to pay the price, by God! Good day to you.”
Brock stormed off, the sound of his seaboots clattering up the gangway.
Culum wiped the sweat off his hands.
“The knoll’s trapped you, Dirk. He’ll stop bidding and ruin us,” Robb said.
“Yes, Father. I know he will.”
Struan opened the cabin door. “Steward!”
“Yus, sorr!”
“Mr. Cudahy on the double!”
“Yus, sorr.”
“Listen, Dirk,” Robb said. “Here’s your chance. Do to him what’s he’ll do to you. Stop bidding suddenly. Leave him holding the mess. Then he’s ruined.
He is! Not
us!”
Struan said nothing. There was a knock and Cudahy hurried in.
“Yes, sirr?”
“Get the cutter alongside. Tell the bosun to take Mr. Robb and Mr. Culum to
Thunder Cloud. Wait for Mr. Culum and take him to the flagship. Then report back here. All hands on deck and aft!”
Cudahy closed the door again.
“Father, Uncle’s right. For the love of God, don’t you see that that damn pirate has you trapped?”
“Then we’ll have to see if the love of God will get us out of the trap. It’s a matter of face!”
“Dirk,” Robb pleaded, “will you not listen to reason?”
“Sarah wants you aboard. Nae word of the bullion yet. And, Culum, lad, if Longstaff asks about me, just say I’m aboard. Nothing more.”
“Dirk, here’s your one chance—”
“You’d better hurry, Robb. Give my best wishes to Sarah and the children.” He returned to the pile of papers on his desk.
Robb knew it was useless to argue further and left without another word. Culum followed, sick at heart. He knew nothing would change his father—or Brock; that The Noble House was committed to a worthless hillock on a worthless rock. Stupid, he shouted to himself. Why is Father so damned stupid?
CHAPTER TWELVE
That afternoon Struan was standing beside the large tent that he had had set up on the foreshore of Happy Valley. He was watching Captain Orlov supervise the seamen as they hauled barrels from the longboat and stacked them neatly inside the tent. He was so engrossed that he did not hear Mary Sinclair come up behind him.
Her face was framed by a bonnet which tied under her chin. Her maroon broadcloth gown swept the sand, tight at the waist to make a fashionable hourglass figure. But the cloth was of poor quality and the cut old-fashioned. She carried a ragged muff, and around her shoulders was a gray shawl that matched her eyes. She appeared neat and plain and poor, demure, ladylike.
“Hello, Tai-Pan,” she said.
Struan came out of his reverie. “Oh, hello, Mary. You look very pretty.”
“Thank you, kind sir,” Mary said with a fleeting smile. She curtsied gracefully. “That’s praise indeed.”
The beach and valley were filling up with traders and their wives and children, festive and in their best clothes, greeting one another and conversing volubly. Groups of soldiers and sailors, their officers resplendent, were dotted about. Longboats were bringing other families and officers ashore. Close to the shore were clusters of sampans fishing, and to the west a mass of noisy, curious Chinese, cordoned off from the valley by soldiers.