The Spring of the Tiger

by Victoria Holt

  "Whenever I hear of snakes I think of this," said Clytie. "I did this morning when Ralph was telling us his fantastic tale about killing a cobra. It's rather odd, that clasp. Our father once told me that there is a sizable receptacle inside. Look at the snake's tongue. There is a small hole there. It is told that one of the lords of Kandy, wanting to be rid of his wife, filled the receptacle with some deadly poison, pricked her skin, and the poison from the serpent entered her body and killed her."

  "That's horrible," I said. "No wonder you feel there's something repulsive about it."

  "Don't you like it? Don't you think it's beautiful?"

  "The pearls are. They are fantastic. But I don't care much for the snake. Of course I know little of pearls, but I have never seen any like this before."

  "Nobody has ever seen pearls like these before. They are unique. That's why it is a great responsibility holding them in trust."

  She picked them up and placed them about my neck. The cold stones of the clasp made me recoil.

  "They become you, Sarah," she said. "They suit you better than they suit me. They make a diflEerent person of you."

  "Let me look," I said.

  Standing on the table was a small mirror in a frame set with pieces of amethyst quartz and turquoise matrix. I took it up and looked at the necklace. It was superb. The pearls seemed to grow warm on my skin and cling to me, as though they were alive, while the clasp was cold digging into my neck. I put up my hand to touch it. I said: "It's pricking."

  "You've got it round the wrong way," said Clytie. "There's no poison in it today," she added with a laugh.

  "Undo it now, Clytie."

  She obeyed.

  "Let me see it on you."

  She put it on and faced me.

  "Ifs too heavy for you," I commented. "You need something exquisitely dainty."

  'es," she agreed, "it's too heavy for me."

  She took the necklace off, laid it reverently in its case and put the thing in the safe.

  For the rest of the day I could not get it out of my mind. It had come between me and my pleasure in my sister's company.

  During the late afternoon Clyde took me back by v'ay of the woods, through those trees—palms as well as ebony and satin-wood.

  "We keep the coconuts for our own use," she said, "though I think Clinton has some idea of commercializing them. The people on the plantation eat the fruit when it's green and when it's ripe they extract the oil. They make a sort of toddy from the flowers and from the casing they weave mats. Even the empty cups they use as drinking vessels. Nature cannot have provided any growing thing as capable of being put to more uses than the coconut. Why they even plait the leaves to thatch their huts and use them as platters sometimes."

  The growth was dense in certain places.

  "Watch for snakes," Clytie warned. "I had quite a shock when Ralph talked of meeting a cobra. He could have done so. We've warned him. That accounts for the bow-and-arrow nonsense."

  We came to the river with its marshy banks. "There's old Sleepy Sam, I do beheve. Hush! Look. An egret standing there so close to Sam ... so still."

  I stood for a while watching. I felt very far from home.

  "Don't come through the woods yet, unless you're with someone. As I have said, wait until you get to know it better. You could get lost."

  "And the dark comes quickly here, I know. There's no twilight as there is at home."

  "Twihght must be very comforting," she said. "A gentle warning that the night is coming."

  We walked on and soon I saw the white walls of the house through the trees.

  Clinton came out. He looked very pleased to see me. "Have you had a good day?" he asked.

  I told him I had enjoyed it very much. "We are getting to know each other," I added.

  "All very praiseworthy. Come along in and have some refreshment, Clytie."

  "I think I should be getting back before it's dark."

  "I'm going to send someone back with you," said Clinton.

  "That's not necessary."

  "I shall send someone back," repeated Clinton.

  I wanted her to refuse and insist that she would do as she wanted, yet somehow I did not like to think of that frail and dainty creature alone in the dark jungle.

  Clinton had his way, of course.

  As we approached the house I saw something dart up the wall. I gave a little cry and jumped back.

  Clinton laughed aloud. "Only a harmless little gecko," he said. "A lizard, you know. You'll see many of those before you've been here very long."

  Yes, I felt I had come a very long way from home.

  During the next two or three weeks I began to grow accustomed to my surroundings. I was no longer startled to wake up and find myself shut in by a mosquito net. I had become used to the knowledge that my marriage had been one of convenience from Clinton's point of view. That he desired me ardently, I must accept; but then he was a man who had desired many women ardently. I was discovering every day that there was a ruthlessness about him that I had only half guessed at in England. I wanted to oppose him, and yet that passion between us, while it lasted, could eliminate all other feelings. Such emotion was, I knew, by its very nature, transient. It was not possible to visualize a comfortable future with Clinton. The dreams which I supposed came to every woman, of raising a family and planning for them with their father, could not fit in with my life with Clinton. I was sure he would want a son; in fact he had mentioned it—a boy who would be made in the image of himself and whom he could bring up to be as ruthless.

  As I have said, Clinton was a power in this place. That much was clear, and became clearer every day. All the workers on the

  plantation went in fear of him. His head man, Nankeen, seemed to regard him as a sort of god. Clinton thought highly of Nankeen. "He's worth two of Seth Blandford," he said. "I can leave him in charge with confidence." Nankeen lived in a house on the plantation and it was superior to those of other workers. I remembered, too, that he was Sheba's brother. He was a sort of overseer —a man of drive and integrity and, so Clinton told me, above all, loyalty.

  "A quality, my dear wife," he added, "which is to be desired above all others."

  In our drawing room was a bookcase full of books about Ceylon and many of them on the growing and production of tea. I made up my mind to study them.

  Clinton laughed.

  "Why are you amused?" I demanded. "It is natural that I should want to learn. I own a plantation. Have you forgotten that?"

  "I believe you want to set up as my rival."

  "It would be a piquant situation."

  "And you, my darling Sarah, do enjoy a piquant situation. I think it would be a good idea to run them jointly. It would save costs."

  "I don't think it would be a good idea."

  He smiled ruefully. "Your father discussed it with me. To tell the truth, Sarah, for a long time Ashington's has not been as profitable as it should be."

  "Not as profitable as Shaw's, you mean?"

  "That's exactly what I do mean. I have ideas for Ashington's."

  "I might consider them."

  He picked me up, twirled me around and then held me against him.

  "Put me down," I said. "You may find that your little ruse to get possession of Ashington's was not quite so clever as you thought."

  "Dearly beloved wife," he mocked, "what are you threatening to do? Make Ashington's a rival of Shaw's? Buy us up in time, I shouldn't be surprised. Let me tell you this. Producing tea profitably is not learned in three weeks by reading books. It's trial and

  error. It's failure and success. There are more problems in this business than you have ever dreamed of in your philosophy, my love. Look! Why not be a good wife? Be guided by your husband, who will love you and cherish you for the rest of your life."

  "I know he will love and cherish my plantation," I said.

  "That plantation does need a good deal of love and cherishing.'*

  The more he mocked, the more dete
rmined I became to oppose him. I had to admit that this gave a fillip to the day's excitement and I looked fonvard to our encounters. I was gratified to realize that he did too.

  I did not see a great deal of him during the day. The plantation covered many acres and he often went off at sunrise and returned at sunset. I was at Ashington's most days where Clytie always welcomed me and Seth was very pleased that I was taking an interest in the place. If he bore any resentment towards me for inheriting what should clearly have gone to his wife and through her to him, he did not show it. I think he knew of my opposition to Clinton and rejoiced in it.

  I would ride with him around the plantation. Sometimes Clytie came with us. She managed to look beautiful in Western clothes, but what became her most were her filmy saris, which often glittered with gold and silver thread and were made charming with fine embroider}'. She had them in all colors—chiefly pastel shades which suited her dark and delicate beauty. Sometimes I would Just want to gaze at her in admiration.

  From Seth I learned a good deal about the work of the plantation, which was carried on in the various seasons. He explained how planting could be done to most advantage at the time of the southwest monsoon although, because of the annual rainfall, this operation could be performed at any time of the year. He pointed out the importance of pruning, which kept the bushes from growing too tall and thus making plucking difficult. I walked with him through the plantation and watched the women at work. They looked at me with curious eyes and I realized that this was not only because I was my father's daughter and owner of the plantation but because I was the wife of Clinton Shaw.

  I fancied they were a little uneasy, wondering what the future held in store for them, and I expect many of them beUeved that

  Ashington's would soon be under Clinton's control. There was a slight difiference in the demeanor of those workers whom I came to think of as mine and those employed by Clinton. His worked more steadily. They were in awe of him, as I guessed my father's workers had ne'er been of him. And although they were respectful to Seth, I could see they had no fear of him.

  Clinton was just, I believed, but that inherent ruthlessness was known to all. I gathered that if a man or woman offended against some code of behavior which he had set up, he or she would be instantly dismissed and it would be no use appealing for mercy. Once a law is made, he had explained to me, it had to be enforced or it became useless.

  The fact remained that he had a thriving plantation while Ashington's hmped along and I gathered made too small a profit to plow back much into the business and bring about necessary improvements.

  I found Seth interesting because, like most people who have a c«tain knowledge, he liked to impart it to someone who was ignorant of the subject. He would talk to me of the trials which beset a tea planter and what had to be looked for. With him I watched the spraying of the crop with a zinc sulphate because, as he told me, there was a deficient' of zinc in the soil, and while we watched he told me woeful tales of what happened when red root disease attacked the plants, reducing them to a wet pulp which was not visible until it was too late to save the plants.

  How I loved to talk to Clinton of black root disease and charcoal stump rot. He would listen to me with that supercilious smile about his lips and let me run on and then shoot some question at me of which, by answering, I would betray my ignorance. Then he would kiss me and tell me he adored me and that the budding tea plantress was every bit as fascinating as the girl with whom he had spent that night in Parrot Cottage.

  That was the pattern of those first daj'S. Ashington's seemed to have become more of a home to me than Shaw's. Every day I would go over there and I would spend a great deal of time with both Seth and Clytie, for Clytie would not allow me to stay all day out of doors.

  "You don't know the climate," she told me. "You must not go out in the middle of the day and never without your hat."

  I saw that she was right and I looked forward to my mornings with Seth and then the return to the house when I would be with my sister.

  Then there was Ralph, who seemed to have taken quite a fancy to me. He liked to tell me stories of the fantastic adventures he had with snakes and elephants. He had a fantasy elephant called Jumbo because he had heard that there was an elephant who had gone to England to be in a zoo and who was so big that they called him Jumbo. His dark eyes would glow with excitement as he recounted his stories. Clytie and I would take him for walks in the garden and the woods and it was the woods which usually formed the background for his stories. He showed me a tall palm tree on which the letter R had been carved.

  "It's my tree," he said. "It comes alive when nobody's looking and talks to me. R. That's my name. Ashraf put it on so that the tree wouldn't forget it belonged to me."

  I fancied that Sheba was a little put out by his friendship for me. There was something about Sheba which made me very uneasy. She was always watching me. I supposed that she was a little resentful because I had inherited the plantation, which should have gone to her beloved Clytie. Her devotion to my sister matched that which she felt for Ralph and was very commendable.

  I believed she listened to what Clytie and I said to each other. There was one occasion when I was certain of it.

  Clytie said to me after we had taken lunch and were sitting drinking the tea which was always served afterward in place of the coffee we had at home: "I suppose CHnton talks to you about the plantation?"

  "Oh, he is amused by my interest. I believe he thinks I shall tire of it sooner or later."

  "Seth is a little anxious still. He does wonder what is in Clinton's mind."

  "I have told you, Clytie, that I shall be the one to make decisions."

  "Knowing Clinton . . ."

  "But you have to know me as well."

  "The fact is, Sarah, Seth loves the plantation. It is his life. When he joined my father and we married it seemed as though . . ."

  "I understand. There's no need to feel embarrassed. There shall be no changes at Ashington's. I promise you that."

  She smiled at me gratefully and it was then that I had one of those strange instincts or whatever they may be that someone else was sharing in this conversation. I turned sharply. The door was slightly ajar. Did I fancy it or did it move very slightly?

  "What's the matter?" asked Clytie quickly.

  "Oh, nothing." I turned back to her and she said: "I have been thinking a great deal about the ball. Everyone will want to meet you. Your father's daughter and Clinton's wifel It's a double distinction. What shall you wear?"

  "I had littie opportunity to wear ball gowns at the Grange. I think the aunts were planning some campaign to get me married, but Clinton came . . ."

  "And swept you off your feet. Shall we go into Kandy and buy some material for your gown? Leila is a wonderful seamstress. She will make what you want quickly and beautifully."

  "I should enjoy that."

  "Our balls are greatiy looked forward to. 'Ball' is perhaps rather a grand name for our httie gatherings. We haven't the amenities really, but when the folding doors are back we have a fairly sizable room. It makes a great excitement."

  We talked of the preparations we should have to make and so half an hour passed pleasantiy.

  When I rose I remembered that I thought we had been overheard. I noticed that the door was shut. Sheba, I thought. We had been talking of my inheriting the plantation. Poor Shebal She was so devoted to the family that she would certainly be interested in my plans, which could affect them. All the same, I couldn't help feeling uneasy when I thought of those bright black eyes watching me . . . wondering about me.

  I tried to laugh at myself. I was, in a way, an ahen in a strange land. It was only natural that I should be regarded with suspicion and perhaps regard some of them in the same way.

  Our trip to Kandy was a pleasant adventure.

  We were driven to the station at Manganiya in a sort of brougham by one of the servants and there was a boy of about fourteen who rode all the way on the back
steps and cleariy felt himself to be of the utmost importance.

  There we boarded the train for Kandy.

  The city was a delight—quaint and ancient, it had been the last stronghold of the kings of Ceylon. Situated as it was on the lower step of the great central mass of mountains, it was about sixteen hundred feet above the sea level.

  I was enthralled by the Temple of the Tooth and the artificial lake. The streets were crowded and I realized for the first time what a mixed people they were. So far those I had seen were mostiy Singhalese, but in the city were men and women of darker hue. They were the Tamils, Clytie told me. There were Moors too, for Arab traders used to come to the island and they had left evidence of their stay behind them. Many of the shops were run by them. There were a few Burghers—people who had descended from the Dutch or Portuguese settiers. They were chiefly engaged in the professions—lawyers, doctors and teachers.

  We did not arouse a great deal of attention for there were several people in European dress, although most of the women wore saris like Clytie.

  It was now a cosmopolitan city but it was easy to believe that it had once been the center of the mountain kingdom of Kandy, which had been in control of the entire island.

  There were shops of various descriptions. Inside some of these darkish interiors beautiful gems were on display—sapphires, emeralds, rubies and pearls. But it was material we had come to buy, and Clytie took me to a shop where we were greeted by an almost embarrassingly obsequious Arab who brought out bales of exquisite silks for our inspection.

  I chose a Bokhara silk, deep blue with a fine tracery of silver which I thought would be becoming.

  Our purchases made, we went inside one of the hotels where Clytie ordered tea, which we drank with little rock cakes called English buns because the recipe had been brought out from England. While we were thus engaged, a large woman with graying

  hair and skin that had obviously borne the brunt of several tropical years cried out: "Why, Mrs. Blandfordl What a pleasant surprise!"