The Mysterious Alexandra Tarasova-Yusupov Read online

  “Hey, Kramer, take easy. What’s up?” Elder Durrell said reminding the rest of how much Elder Smith looked and acted like one of the characters on their favorite rerun show, Seinfeld, whose entrances were guaranteed to be hilarious and outlandish.

  “We-eel, lookee here!” Elder Smith said and spread out photocopies of documents on the empty table top.

  There were four copied pages, excellent facsimiles of a birth certificate. It was written in Cyrillic characters which might have been Martian for all anyone could understand.

  “I only recognize one thing for sure,” Katherine Durrell said still squinting at the copies. “This document is about our mysterious Alexandra Tarasova. I presume the Yusupov part came much later.”

  “Right you are, young detective. You’re are on the right track. I–suspicious as I am–had this translated at the Consular section of the Embassy of the Russian Federation in Canberra last week. Here is that translation into real letters and words.”

  The eight missionaries crowded around the translation.

  “Citizen: Last Name-Tarasova,

  Mother-First name-Irina

  First Name-Alexandra, Patronymic-Abramovna

  -Last name-Inkjinoff

  Was born on: April 1, 1861 the first day of

  -Nationality-Buryat

  April eighteen hundred and sixty-one

  Place of registration

  [Name and Location]

  Place of birth City,

  -Irkutsk Office of Vital Records

  Village-Baranskaya

  -Irkutsk Imperial Executive Committee

  District -Irkutsk Oblast

  -Empire of Russia

  Region Vladivostok, Far Eastern

  Date of Issue -1 April, 1861

  And the record No. 19338

  Official Seal of the Office of Vital Records

  Book of Registration on April 1, 1861

  Head of Office [Bureau] of Vital Records

  -Nationality Russian, Buryat

  Signed:

  Father-First name and Patronymic-Abram Timurovitch

  -Last name-Tarasova

  Vladimir Olmanovich Yevstrophsky

  -Nationality- Buryat

  Date of Issue -April 1, 1863

  Official Seal of the Office of Vital Records

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  BIRTH OF A PRINCESS

  Deep in every heart slumbers a dream, and the couturier knows it: every woman is a princess.

  -Christian Dior

  Balagansk Prison Infirmary, Balagansk, Irkutsk Oblast, Far Eastern Russia April 5, 1861

  A last-of-season blizzard howled outside the walls of Balagansk Prison while delicate little Irina Ishmaelovna Inkijinoff Tarasova underwent a fairly easy delivery of her fourth child and first daughter. The baby was larger than her other children at delivery and unusually so for a girl. The new daughter was a lusty red-faced squalling bundle of energy from the moment her head peaked out into the world. Irina placed the baby’s mouth just below her right nipple and watched with pleasure as the infant crawled and squirmed to find the nipple and to get her first bit of nourishment outside the uterus. Father Abram Timurovitch Tarasova jumped up and down with pride and excitement when he saw the vigorous baby fight her way into the world. From that moment, she would always be his favorite, his princess.

  Balagansk was founded in 1654 on the left bank of the Angara River opposite to the mouth of the Unga River by a Cossack detachment led by Dmitry Firsov in the course of Russian colonization of Siberia. The choice of that location for baby Alexandra Abramovna Tarasova’s arrival was occasioned by the fact that the best physician in Far East Russia was assigned by the imperial army to the Balagansk Prison infirmary, a cleaner and safer facility than the more prestigious Far East–Vladivostok Naval Hospital of the Pacific Fleet located in the rapidly growing larger city. Abram could afford the best the region had to offer and studied the facilities carefully before making his decision. As it turned out his methodical decision-making practice paid off with a healthy, happy wife and a daughter that was remarkable and precocious—and a genuine beauty from the moment of her birth.

  By the age of three–owing to naturally occurring immersion in a polyglot society–Alexandra spoke Russian almost like an adult as well as the native languages of the Irkutsk oblast: Buryat, Siberian Tatar (Volga Tatar), and Mandarin Chinese. She caught on to the languages of trade and amused traders who frequented Abram and Irina’s fur trading emporium with her attempts to mimic French, English, Italian, and Chosŏn speakers. By the time she was six she had mastered Russian, Ukrainian, French, German, Chinese, English, and Chosŏn as well as Buryat—at least to the extent that she could keep up a moderately complex conversation.

  She no longer just amused the shrewd and calculating traders and titans of commerce in the far eastern Pacific but had to be reckoned with as a shrewd and careful trader always acting in the best interests of her family. Her activities at the market interfered with her formal schooling but did not keep her from excelling. Alexandra Abramovna Tarasova took prizes in French literature, Russian and Siberian history, calligraphy, Latin translation, and mathematics. In the latter subject, she exceeded the knowledge and capacities of her teachers, and Abram had to bring in a tutor from Germany for her and her brothers. The tutor added ancient Greek and Roman history, and the history and current affairs of modern Europe.

  All of that was of little more than passing interest to the precocious little girl. What truly fascinated her was trade, and especially trade outside of Russia which required ships. She nagged her ever-patient and forbearing father constantly to be allowed to travel on one of his ships to Shanghai, Seoul, Tokyo, and someday to Europe and maybe even the Americas. He finally gave in–much to Irina’s displeasure–when Alexandra was eight.

  Despite her mother’s subtle mix of native and Russian Nordic ethnic looks, by the age of eight, Alexandra was a striking, curly-haired, round-faced, cherubic, Viking girl, betraying every bit of her Rus inheritance. Her hair was so blond as to incorporate the tones of silver. It was fine and unruly, and Irina despaired of her daughter ever having one of the currently trendy hairdos. Most of the time, Alexandra’s locks hung down in enticing ringlets. She was taller, sturdier, and more athletic than even the boys in her school and was the equal of her brothers who protected her with lion-like ferocity. Heaven help any miscreant who gazed too long on her fragile porcelain beauty or might even accidently touch her alabaster skin. Her smile made her friends of the indigenous peoples, her fellow students, the expatriate Russians interned in the Far East, and the Chinese, Japanese, English, and German traders, even those whom she bested in contests and trade deals.

  The good ship Tarasova Fur Enterprises left Vladivostok Port for its regular run to Shanghai and Tokyo, and Alexandra’s first time at sea on July 13, 1869. The waters of Golden Horn Harbor were unusually calm that sunny day, hopefully, a portent of things to come. They sailed smoothly past verdant little harbor islands, the coasts of Chosŏn and China, and into the South China Sea. For the first time, Alexandra saw people significantly different than her: dark hairy Ainu on Hokkaido Island, bearded moon-faced Chinese junk sailors, haughty British naval officers, and ill-tempered monocled German traders. The ship’s goal was to make port in Shanghai, located in the East China Sea, on a major estuary of the Yangtze River, and for Abram and the ship’s officers to meet with the taipan, James Matheson.

  “What is a taipan, Father?” asked Alexandra, never one to let an opportunity to learn slide by.

  “Big business man. Mr. Matheson heads the hong trading house of Jardine, Matheson and Company. They manage and control trade throughout the China Seas, and from inland China. Nothing gets moved, bought, or sold without these foreign-born masters-of-commerce controlling the to-or-from policies regarding Japan, Chosŏn, China, or the Philippines. We have to go see the man before we can unload our freight and trying to make some money.”

  “What does he do for us, Father?”

&nb
sp; “He gives us a certificate of custom which allows us to buy, sell, and transport. With his signed approval, we can go anywhere in the region without paying local taxes, or having our goods impounded. You understand what that means, don’t you, Princess?”

  “Yes, Sir, I do. That doesn’t mean that I think it is right, though.”

  “Neither do I but we must keep such thoughts to ourselves if we want to remain in business. We also need his money. Promise me.”

  “I promise.”

  The port of Shanghai, Guizhou Province, was the grandest place Alexandra had ever seen or imagined. Ships thronged the harbor, coming and going from Great Britain moving opium, tea, and silk. Chinese cotton, silk, fertilizer, and gun powder, were being transported as far away as Polynesia, Persia, and Europe, and as nearby as Japan and Chosŏn. Alexandra was amazed by the great number of ships bearing the flags and emblems of the British East India Company which seemed to dominate the harbor. Father pointed out the various different settlements: Chinese, French, British, and American—the more western European half of Shanghai and the more eastern Chinese half. Each had its own grandeur and mystery, and for the young girl seeing them for the first time, a great measure of wonder.

  The most wonderful thing of all was the home of the Tai-pan. Abram and Alexandra rode in a jin-rickshaw up a winding gravel road. As part of the Bund, the framers of the International Settlement created China’s first Public Park–a place of peace and beauty–which was, of course, off limits to the Chinese, as was the rest of the International Settlement.

  Abram stepped off the cab seating portion of the rickshaw and helped Alexandra to step down. He haggled briefly with the rickshaw puller, then–with a heavy sigh–gave in and handed the man several round coins with square holes in the center. The man looked deeply offended; so, Abram gave the man two more coins and waved him off. The puller took the coins from the palm of his hand and placed them in a small purse he kept inside his pants. Then, he spat on his hand and left with a surly face.

  Alexandra laughed and that made her father burst out laughing as well. They were in a good mood when they climbed the long stone stairway to the front door of the big house. Four men stood lazily leaning against fountains, statues of dragons, and one of them on a wagon full of fertilizer.

  “Guards,” said Abram. “Do not cause them to be nervous about us. They would just as soon kill us as look at us.”

  Alexandra nodded gravely.

  The two great bronze doors opened unexpectedly. Each was held open by a uniformed man holding a Sharps New Model 1863 repeating rifle made in America. None of them smiled or nodded.

  A uniformed maid showed them in and had them sit on uncomfortable silk covered settees while she left to inform the the taipan’s staff of the arrival of the Russians. Half an hour later–as Alexandra sat fidgeting–a tall, powerfully built man with short cropped hair, a monocle, and a conspicuous scar on the right cheek, walked up to them.

  “Kommen sie mit,” the stern man said brusquely.

  Alexandra wiggled her face to mimic the man’s expression.

  “Ja wohl, mein herr,” she said as sternly as the butler.

  He seemed confused.

  “Sind sie Russen?” he asked, thinking he was talking to the wrong visitors.

  “Ja,” said Alexandra.

  The butler was beginning to think the older man with the girl was a mute. He made a smart about-face and started down the parquet hallway without looking to see if he was being followed. Alexandra and Abram trotted obediently behind him.

  “Der taipan werden sie jetzt sehen.”

  He said it hopefully, not yet quite sure that the interlopers spoke or understood hoch deustch.

  Alexandra marched confidently into the palatial office and right up to where an imperious thin elderly man sat behind a heavy Philippine mahogany desk. Taipan Sir James Nicolas Sutherland Matheson, 1st Baronet was not a large man, to Alexandra’s surprise. She had expected a powerfully built gruff man like her father. The taipan had sandy hair, bushy eyebrows, and mutton-chop mustache—what her mother called ginger. She had heard of it but had never seen such hair before, even in paintings or photographs. His skin was very white and spotted with freckles. His eyes were robin’s egg blue and would have been very attractive on a woman; but in his case, they were hard and unfeeling. He wore what Alexandra presumed was the latest fashion from England, or maybe Germany–close fitting tweed morning coat and matching five button wool vest, starched white shirt with cufflinks bearing the emblem of the house of Jardine-Matheson, a black bow tie, light brown pleated wool trousers, and side button burnished brown boots polished to a high sheen.

  He shot his cuffs and said, “Top of the mornin’ to ye,” in a thick Scottish brogue. “The famous fur man from the wilds of Russia, I take it, and his pretty lassie. Come girl, tell me your full name.”

  Alexandra curtsied, smiled, and said, “I am Alexandra Abramovna Tarasova, Sir.”

  “And how auld er ye, me tidy lassie?”

  Alexandra hesitated for a moment trying to translate the strange sounding sing-songy dialect into the King’s English she had learned and practiced.

  “I am eight-years-of-age, Sir. Thank you for asking.”

  “Wull me lassie, yur pure barry to be able to know so much at yur tender age.”

  “Thank you, Sir. My father and mother have worked to make me educated.”

  “And successfully, I wid sae. Most of the people yu’ll meet have heids full o’mince. Not worth wastin’ taem on.”

  “I beg your pardon, Sir. But I don’t know what heids full o’mince, means.”

  The taipan extended his head back and guffawed, a hearty, completely genuine, and affectionate laugh.

  “It means they have heids full o’ mush.”

  “I never heard it put that way, but, now that you say it, I know plenty of people like that.”

  “But not you, me lassie, yur too braw fer athat.”

  Not altogether sure what the important man had just said; Alexandra, nonetheless, extended her head back and laughed heartily enough to shake her gleaming blond ringlets.

  The taipan decided that there had been enough bantering with the precocious child; so, he turned his face to Abram.

  “Eno’ o’ bletherin’ Aye suppose,” he said, “lets get tae business, what da ye say, my friend?”

  “I came to ask the help of the House of Jardine Matheson to make my commerce larger and stronger. I need financial help to build more and better ships, to expand the types of goods I buy and sell, and to widen the range of my business locations.”

  “Aye like yur directness. That’s braw fer me. But why should Aye put me money into yer enterprise. How do Aye know that you not a right chancer, lookin’ ta chore mae outta loan money?”

  “You are a Scotsman, and as such your word is your bond. So is mine. I would never cheat you; first, because it violates my moral code, and second, because it would wreck my chances to do business in the China seas. I am in business for the long haul, and I want the support of an honest partner. I will do what I promise, and I will return every farthing I borrow with interest. You will prosper from a deal with me same as I will, Taipan.”

  “A nod’s as guid as a wink tae a blind horse,” Matheson said, his face all business now.

  Abram had heard the phrase before from Scottish ship’s captains; so, he knew the taipan wanted a no-nonsense, crystal clear communication about the Tarasova Fur Company’s carefully crafted business plan. He reached into his weathered leather satchel and pulled out the documents of the plan crafted by his lawyers which omitted nothing. It suggested a fairly modest profit for himself for the first few years and a larger profit margin in later years. The Jardine Matheson Company would have an iron-clad contract detailing the nature and extent of the Tarasova business and the best projections for future growth of the company and the partnership of Tarasova and Matheson.

  “Yae seem as clear and smart as yer fine lassie, mae friend. Let us start lo
w and go slow–mony a mickle maks a muckle. I will get yae the finances, but I have one condition that ‘tis critical.”

  Abram’s enthusiasm sagged, “what is that, Taipan?”

  “Aye will have one of mae people aboard each ship and on each expedition and major commercial enterprise. There’s nae negotiating on that. Aye hope that is braw fer yea as well.”

  Abram hesitated for less than a second, “Aye, Sir. That would be good business.”

  “Guid fer the both a us,” said the tai-pan.

  The men shook hands, and the taipan gave Alexandra a wink.

  “Now that we have a business enterprise together, Aye look forward to seeing this bonny lassie on some of yer ships. And, Lass, tha mun cum tay visit me in my wee cottage here anytime.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  DEBUT OF A BUSINESS TYCOON

  “...Love can give you the most exhilarating wonderful highs at times...

  ...Then there will be dives that will take all you have just to hold on...

  — Elizabeth Funderbirk,

  Love Torn Asunder, from the Title Page

  Aboard the Jardine-Matheson-Tarasova Brigantine, The Far East Transporter, South China Sea between the Chosŏn Coast and Hainan Province, September 12, 1873

  Twelve-year-old Alexandra Abramovna Tarasova sat in the captain’s quarters of the brigantine Far East Transporter pouring over the bills of lading, description of inventory, and scrutinizing the documents relating to customs and port requirements of the fifteen ports of call for the trading ship on this it’s fifth voyage. After four years, the Jardine-Matheson and Tarasova partnership had been successful beyond the greatest expectations of any of the partners. Trust among the partners had been proved over and over again; and now, there was an easy interdependence among them. Young though she was, Alexandra had established a friendly and respectful relationship with the nephew of the Matheson clan, Hugh Matheson, and was fondly referred to as the Tycoon of China by Hugh’s youngest son, James II. James was twenty-one; and–like Alexandra–he was all business and was–at the moment–studying the recent reports of piracy in the East China Sea. A worry line furthered his young brow.