The evening sky was by now spreading swathes of purple silk over the plantation. The setting sun made black patterns of the trees and palms, which now looked like silhouettes from an animated film. The calls in the trees—birds announcing either that they were settling down for the night or just waking up—now seemed much louder.
“Surely the weight of this bag means I’ve got everything I need in it,” Diana groaned in reply. “I see you’ve brought my laptop, anyway. That’s the most important thing. I can manage without underwear and clothes if need be.”
Jonathan’s right eyebrow shot up. “Really?”
Only then did Diana realise what she’d said. “Of course not! But I’m perfectly used to managing with minimum luggage. Clothes can be washed.”
He grinned and she realised with dismay that she was blushing.
“I think I got everything,” he said. “You hadn’t even fully unpacked. Were you secretly wishing we’d be staying here, perhaps?”
He winked, then shouldered his own bag and accompanied her into the house.
“Mr. Manderley came to see me earlier and gave me the keys to our rooms,” Diana said as they crossed the hall, the keys clinking softly in her bag. “He thinks they were the two Tremayne sisters’ rooms. Sadly, there’s nothing left of the original furnishings, but my room has a fireplace and a window that looks as if it could easily have been there back then.”
“Maybe you’ll find a secret diary stuffed up the chimney,” Jonathan replied with a smile.
“If I’m honest, I hope I do. But I don’t believe in coincidences like that—it would be like hoping for a lottery win and then not getting it.”
“Never say never.” Jonathan looked down the corridor. “Who knows what’s been left behind within these walls? Perhaps you’ll even meet a ghost you can ask. The people of Sri Lanka firmly believe in spirits who watch over the living.”
“I thought most Tamils were Hindus.”
“They are, but they still believe in ghosts. Some souls resist the divine scheme of things and don’t pass to a reincarnation, but are left behind as shadows.” He suddenly fell silent, and Diana was struck by the strange atmosphere of the house.
At the first door she handed him a key.
“You weren’t here when he was allocating us our rooms, so of course I chose the best one,” she joked. “Mine has a nicer view of the garden.”
Jonathan unlocked the door and smiled as he opened it.
“Well, I can’t complain about my own view, and I seriously doubt you’d be so selfish as to take the best room for yourself.”
Diana grinned. “Actually, I think our rooms were once one. Look at the wall.”
Even a layman could tell that it was positioned too close to the window.
“You’re right. The room probably used to be too big. A ballroom, perhaps?”
Diana shook her head. “No, the former ballroom is now an open-plan office. If this was the Tremayne sisters’ room, they must have had an incredible amount of space.”
“Well, if that’s the case I’ll definitely check my chimney for documents.”
Diana pointed to the small tiled stove on the right-hand wall. “I don’t think you’ll find anything in there. At most they’d have burned a few old papers in it.”
“In that case, let’s hope they don’t include any important papers concerning your ancestors.”
Diana wanted to object that it most definitely wouldn’t be the case, but she recalled Emily’s reluctance to betray secrets. It would hardly be surprising if the Tremaynes had attempted to make anything that wasn’t intended for the eyes of the public disappear.
“Anyway, I’m happy with my room.” Jonathan’s words brushed aside the awkward silence. “I’ll tell you if I find anything important.”
After stowing their bags in their rooms, Diana and Jonathan went back to the archive. She proudly presented him with what she had uncovered so far.
“I’ve only got as far as the first cupboard. The files are all over the place.”
“I’m not surprised,” Jonathan said, his eyes shining with an eagerness to explore and his fingers running down the leather spines of the commercial records. “After all, this isn’t a museum, but a private archive. The main focus is on tea production and not research into old files. In this age of productivity, the past takes second place.”
“But it still affects what happens today, I’m afraid,” Diana replied, unable to take her eyes from his face. She noticed for the first time a slight twitch at his temple and the fine hairs at the edges of his eyebrows.
“Well, let’s get down to it,” he said. Their eyes met. “But not without something in our stomachs. I’m starving!”
Mr. Manderley had kindly given them the run of the kitchen, and Jonathan offered to cook a Tamil-style rice dish.
“With coconut milk,” he said as he positioned himself at the stove. “This is a traditional birthday meal in the rural parts here.”
Diana looked at him dreamily. What would Michael say if he could see us here now? When I get back I’ll have to give him a blow-by-blow account. He deserves it, since he’s been such a great help.
Half an hour later, they sat down to eat. To accompany the rice, Jonathan had cut up a few mangoes that he had bought from the jeep driver. The man had brought a whole box of them for his family, whom he was going to see after dropping Jonathan off.
“Like it or not, we’re stuck here for a while,” Jonathan said as he took a slice of mango. “The driver’s not coming back for four days.”
“Four days?” Diana said, shocked. “But my flight . . .”
“Isn’t there any way you can postpone it?”
Diana wanted to say no, but it was suddenly as if a small voice whispered in her ear: Why not?
“Of course it would be possible . . .”
Jonathan beamed at her. “Excellent! In any case, I doubt we’ll find anything here in a hurry. Those cupboards need to be thoroughly investigated. We don’t want to miss anything, do we?”
11
Vannattuppūcci, 1887
As he had promised, Mr. Stockton took Henry to the famous Hill Club and introduced him to numerous plantation owners and other influential men. They didn’t hesitate long before accepting him into their midst and making him a full member of the club. After all, Henry Tremayne was from a good family, and there was sympathy for his brother’s accident from all quarters.
Out of gratitude for obtaining him this apparently all-important membership and contacts that would certainly be useful in future, Henry invited Stockton, together with his family and some other men from the club, to their house-warming reception, which Claudia had been planning for quite a while.
In the days leading up to the reception, Mr. Wilkes drove the maids to work ever harder, and successfully asked for the appointment of a houseboy, a young Tamil who had only recently left the school that Henry had generously allowed to continue. Mr. Wilkes also gave the cook the benefit of his experience. He showed her how to make scones and how to adapt the recipe for tea loaf to suit the local ingredients. When the delivery man arrived punctually with the vegetables and fish he had ordered, the butler seemed to be floating in seventh heaven. Claudia, too; even if she did not feel that Mr. Stockton was particularly likeable, she was determined to show the Stocktons that it was not the maids’ dress that mattered—the uniforms still had not arrived—but the manner in which a good hostess entertained her guests.
The reception also meant that her two daughters were to wear new, or at least new-looking, dresses. As the developments in fashion over recent years could not be fully adopted due to their straitened financial circumstances, Miss Giles had had to alter their existing dresses with the help of a magazine that Wilkes had obtained for her in Colombo.
To help her in her task, she engaged two young Tamil girls, who in addition to their picking work on the plantation also mended the clothes of the other workers. The girls frequently broke out in giggles as they wo
rked, and Grace was sure that this was over the clothes and undergarments that seemed so strange in their eyes. Victoria was right in that the local women did not wear bodices or corsets; their hard work kept them slim, and their dark skin seemed to defy ageing more effectively than the skin of white women.
Whenever Miss Giles tugged at her lacing, making it even harder to breathe, she envied them.
Growing weary of being constantly present during the alterations, Grace left the room under the pretext of fetching herself something to drink. Miss Giles was about to ring for a maid, but Grace stopped her, saying that they already had too much to do, and immediately vanished from the room.
She made her way downstairs towards the kitchens. Back in Tremayne House her mother had frowned upon the sisters being seen in the kitchen because it would upset the servants, who were not used to having members of the family among them.
She was still some way off when the sound of a commotion drifted towards her. The cook was giving her assistants orders in strident Tamil, which Grace could not understand, but she nevertheless sensed that the cook was anything but satisfied with the girls. Grace peered cautiously around the corner. For the first time she saw the cook, who was around her early forties and herself a Tamil.
The girls were all about her own age and cringed fearfully at the cook’s commands. Mr. Wilkes remained aloof, limiting his involvement to polishing the silver.
After she’d observed the activity for a short while unseen by the servants, Grace’s eye was caught by a girl under the table. The child clearly did not belong here. She must have slipped in unnoticed, and now she was trapped in her dark hiding place.
She didn’t seem unduly concerned, as she had swiped a few pieces of fruit from the table. But when the girl saw Grace looking, she froze and turned pale. She dropped the fruit from her fingers. Mr. Wilkes would probably have boxed her ears if he had seen the theft, but Grace smiled at her. Miss Giles would have argued that it was not helpful to the child’s moral well-being to ignore an act of stealing, but the girl looked at her with such dark eyes and soft cheeks, smeared with traces of fruit, that Grace did not have the heart to betray her.
After a while, the girl’s features began to relax and she glanced towards the back door, which was ajar.
At once Grace realised what she could do to help. She moved away from the doorway and entered the kitchen.
“Good morning, Mr. Wilkes!”
For a moment they all turned to look at her. The servants’ eyes widened, the cook wound a strand of hair around her finger, and Mr. Wilkes hastily put the cutlery down.
“Good morning, Miss Grace!” The butler straightened up and indicated to the maids and the cook that they should do likewise. “Forgive me. I hadn’t noticed you arrive.”
At the very moment when everyone except Grace had their backs to her, the little thief made a dash for it. Concealing a smile, Grace said, “I’ve only come to see how things are coming along in the kitchen.”
“I presume your mother has sent you.”
Grace didn’t contradict him. The fact that her interest in proceedings below stairs was hers alone would only have thrown him off balance.
“The preparations are in full swing, and I can assure you that everything will be to the full satisfaction of Madam Tremayne. We’re well aware of the great responsibility that lies with us, and we will all”—his gaze wandered to the kitchen assistants, who had only moments before been on the receiving end of the cook’s scolding tongue—“every one of us do our very best to meet the expectations of the Tremayne family.”
“I’m sure my mother will be delighted to hear it, Mr. Wilkes. Please continue with your work and . . . please could you be so kind as to pour me a cup of iced tea?”
With the house-warming imminent, Vannattuppūcci radiated all the magic that had transformed the old Tremayne House on special occasions. The ballroom, which had probably not been used for years, was prepared by an army of servants. Since there were not enough staff, Claudia had brought in a few tea pickers from the village. Even though her doubts about this place had by no means vanished, she put them aside in her determination to celebrate a major triumph.
On the evening of the reception ball, Grace was sitting nervously by the window. Fully aware that Daniel Stockton and his family would soon be appearing, she would have liked to flee to the garden and disappear.
“What do you think? Will one of the gentlemen ask me to dance?” Victoria raised her right arm and performed a pirouette.
Grace turned. At least her sister seemed to be enjoying herself.
“You can think of this ball as your debut,” Victoria said in an attempt to cheer her sister up a little. “After all, you’re being presented to the society of Nuwara Eliya.”
“And I’ve no doubt that Mr. Stockton will lose no time in hanging me on the arm of his son.”
“Maybe his son’s handsome. Even if you can’t bear him, you can’t deny that his father’s good-looking.”
“As if you had any idea about it,” Grace muttered. As her eyes wandered back to the window, she wondered what Mr. Vikrama was doing that evening. He certainly wouldn’t have been invited, as he was one of the staff. Matters were different with the Cahills—Mr. Cahill had asked her father if he would mind him bringing his wife and daughters. As a matter of courtesy, and because he felt obliged towards the lawyer, Henry had consented. Grace preferred the idea of spending time with those two wallflowers, whom she had met on one of her walks, than with Stockton and his son.
Before Victoria could object that she had eyes in her head and knew perfectly well whether a man was good-looking or not, Miss Giles appeared. As governess she did not have the means to compete with the elegant ladies, but she had made the best of the clothing she had available.
She and Mr. Norris were employees, but since they were responsible for overseeing the girls’ upbringing, they had been given leave to appear at the ball.
“You look stunning, Miss Giles!” Victoria said as she skipped around her governess. “I doubt Mr. Norris will let you off the dance floor all evening!”
Miss Giles had probably been about to give them yet another lecture on proper behaviour at the ball, but Victoria’s flattery distracted her so much that she blushed. By the time she had composed herself she had lost valuable moments, finally conceding that her lecture would cause them to be late.
As Grace rose from the window seat, she felt an unpleasant tension inside. The evening won’t last forever, she told herself. I’ll behave as a society lady ought and try not to let my family down.
When she reached the hall, she saw her parents waiting for her. Claudia was wearing a blue taffeta dress picked out with white lace. Henry looked splendid in his grey frock coat with a black waistcoat and dark-red cravat held with a pearl pin.
They both inspected their daughters critically before Claudia stepped forward and yet again straightened the bows on Grace’s light-blue striped dress.
“I do believe you’ll make a wonderful impression on the people here. Although that should be small wonder among Englishmen and women who haven’t seen their home shores for a long time.”
“Darling, please don’t prejudge the people here. The men whom I’ve met at the club were all very friendly and cultured. I hardly expect their families will have gone to seed.”
Henry bent towards Claudia and gave her a kiss. They heard the clattering of a horse-drawn carriage outside the house.
“I do believe the first guests are here. Let’s put our best foot forward!” Henry Tremayne brushed a non-existent speck of dust from the lapel of his frock coat and struck an appropriate pose while Wilkes moved to open the door.
Within the next few moments a large part of the society of Nuwara Eliya flowed through the door of Vannattuppūcci. Coaches drew to a halt on the drive, and elegantly dressed people made their way up the steps.
“Ah, here come the Stocktons!”
Her father’s exclamation pierced Grace like the la
sh of a whip, and she lost control of her features.
“Don’t look so gloomy,” her mother warned. “You’ll scare the boy off.”
This, of course, was exactly what she wanted to do! Pale and red-haired, George Stockton resembled his mother much more than his father. Despite this, she could see nothing about him that made her want to get to know him. She couldn’t even begin to imagine him as her husband.
Dressed in a blue-green brocade frock coat, Stockton walked ahead of his family like a puffed-up cockerel. His eyes took in her parents first before falling on Grace. Satisfaction spread across his face as Henry greeted him.
“I’m delighted to welcome you here, Mr. Stockton!”
“The pleasure’s all mine,” Stockton replied, before introducing his family. George, who wore a light, reddish beard on his cheeks, was accompanied by his sister, who had inherited her father’s dark hair, but who also seemed to be quite frail with translucent skin and delicate limbs.
Grace gave them all a friendly smile, noticing as she did so that the boy was eyeing her keenly, as though his father had already told him a good deal about her.
Her suspicion was confirmed—Stockton wanted to pair her off with his son. And from the look he exchanged with his father, he, too, would be pleased at the prospect.
“Your ladies look delightful, Mr. Tremayne,” Stockton said after kissing Claudia’s hand with perfect elegance.
“May I return the compliment,” Henry replied politely. “And I should add that you have a most impressive son and heir. I congratulate you. I’m sure this young man gives you much to be proud of.”
“He does.” Stockton laid a hand on his son’s shoulder. “And he’s been dying to meet your daughter. After all, one day they’ll both be in charge of the plantations, won’t they?”
Grace didn’t miss the implication of his words. As a woman, she wouldn’t be able to run the plantation on her own, but only with a husband by her side.
Butterfly Island Page 25
