Fields of Gold

by Fiona McIntosh

  Ned wasn’t sure what a gimlet was, but he certainly wasn’t going to say no to something that sounded like it wasn’t a soft drink. Minutes later the mali returned bearing a tray, and on it a tall tumbler, ice clinking and a slice of lime balanced on its rim.

  ‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘Sabu, I won’t be offering drinks to my visitor.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Where should I see him, do you think?’

  ‘Mrs Walker said he is to be shown into the drawing room.’

  ‘That will be fine. He will not be staying long.’

  Sabu wobbled his head in the way that was now extremely familiar to Ned and withdrew into the shadows of the house. Ned steeled himself by taking a gulp of his gimlet. He had noticed the thick rivulets of a syrupy liquid swirling in the drink when he stirred it with the glass cocktail stick. And now he tasted that it was Rose’s Lime Juice – unmistakeable – and he suspected he was drinking it with a healthy slug of gin. There was no giveaway spritz of soda on his tongue and he took another big sip to steady his nerves. He wanted to be forthright and as aloof as possible with Brent.

  Jack was right. He had to face him. But he was reassured that Jack would arrive soon too and then, hopefully, the ordeal would be over. Ned tugged at his collar to loosen it and sipped again. The gimlet was nearly finished. He inhaled the mild evening air, mercifully cooler today. The crickets were already chirruping – or were those cicadas? And as usual the heady fragrance of the evening blooms wafted gently across the garden. He thought he heard a distant voice and a fresh spike of fear stabbed through him, but he drained his glass and forced himself to settle. Ned felt the liquor hitting his empty belly.

  Sabu returned. ‘Mr Brent is here, sir,’ he murmured.

  ‘How is he?’

  ‘Not at all like you and Mr Walker, sir.’

  Ned swung around. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘He pushed me out of the way when I answered the door and asked me not to breathe on him, Mr Sinclair, sir.’

  ‘That’s because he’s a fat, arrogant, English swine, Sabu.’ Ned saw the recognition flare in Sabu’s expression. ‘I despise him, which is why we shall be polite simply because he is a guest in Dr Walker’s house but I shall rid us of him as soon as I can.’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ Sabu said in his deadpan manner, but Ned noticed his eyes glittering.

  ‘Let’s go.’ Ned straightened his jacket and tie, glad to note that his voice sounded steady. He followed Sabu through to the entrance of the drawing room and nodded before silently taking a long, deep breath and opening the door.

  On the opposite side of Sheshadri Road Jack watched. He’d seen the heavyset Brent arrive, by foot curiously. Obviously the man had been dropped close to the house but he was cautious enough to have taken his time to stroll to his destination, no doubt taking stock of his surrounds. A careful man, then. He was dressed in pale linen and the suit looked lived in. Jack could tell by the confident walk, the apparel, even the arrogant way Brent tapped a beggar out of his path with his cane, that this was a man who was at home in the colonies – had been here long enough to know the ways, to cope with the heat, and to feel comfortable in his superiority.

  From what he’d gleaned it appeared that Brent had been happy for Ned to disappear, but because his sister had escaped as well, that meant Ned was free to say whatever he liked about the scheming doctor. Jack suspected the visit was to warn Ned against opening up.

  He watched Brent rap on the door, then he was over the threshold in a blink, pushing at the mali’s chest aggressively. Just as the door was closing, Sabu caught a glimpse of Jack. The mali hesitated only for a moment but in that split second Jack had felt naked. Why did he feel guilty? He shouldn’t, but what would the servant be thinking?

  Jack bit his lip. Should he arrive earlier than planned? That way he could remark that he’d seen the visitor arriving and hadn’t wanted to encroach on the household at the same moment. It sounded contrived but he was sure he could make it work.

  Brent turned from the mantelpiece where he was standing and smirked at Ned. ‘Hello, Edward.’

  ‘What are you doing here?’

  Brent made a clicking sound of admonishment. ‘That’s not a very polite welcome, is it, young man?’

  ‘That’s because you’re not welcome here.’

  ‘Dr Walker invited me to make myself at home.’

  ‘You’re not staying.’

  ‘Not even going to offer me an hospitable aperitif? Where are your manners?’

  ‘How did you find me?’

  Brent regarded him with contempt. ‘It was easy.’

  ‘I asked you how?’ Ned’s tone was so dry it sounded brittle enough to break.

  The man fluttered his eyelids as he shook his jowls and shrugged. ‘A child could have tracked you down, Sinclair. After talking to the hotel in Rangoon I figured you’d try and get on a ship somehow. I asked around. And then I learned there had been an outbreak of cholera on a ship – it was in the local newspaper, in fact, and it reported that the single victim was an Anglo-Indian youth aged fifteen. Every chance it was Robbie, but I wanted to be certain. I was patient. I waited for the captain to return and of course discovered that the victim was a stowaway, travelling with two others, a sister and brother.’ He grinned malevolently. ‘You can see just how easy it was to slot the jigsaw pieces into place, Sinclair. You hardly covered your tracks in your desperation to get away.’

  ‘Go on,’ Ned seethed, reining in his anger.

  Brent opened up his hands in protest. ‘What’s to tell? It was a simple enough task to track down the ship’s doctor – I’d already been told that he’d taken charge of the two English stowaways. I contacted him and spun a beautifully crafted story about being the worried director of the orphanage, concerned for Miss Sinclair, who was my charge, after all.’

  ‘That’s a lie!’

  ‘No one cares. Perception is everything, Sinclair. You should learn that. And I am a responsible figure in Rangoon. I am trusted. You are an orphan of no means, a mere stowaway … an urchin. So is your sister. Dr Grenfell was most relieved to hear from me and was especially welcoming when I suggested he and Mrs Grenfell might like to consider formally adopting Bella.’

  Ned paled. He hadn’t heard about this turn of events. ‘You had no right,’ he murmured, stabbing a finger towards Brent. It sounded like a threat but he was calm and that was a relief to him.

  His remark won only laughter from Brent. ‘I say again, who cares? Grenfell was delighted to hear I was passing through Madras.’

  ‘Get on with it, Brent. Whatever you came here to say, spit it out and leave this house.’

  ‘Well, well,’ Brent said, moving lightly on his toes towards an armchair. ‘I presume I am permitted to take a seat at least?’

  ‘Don’t make yourself comfortable. I’m going out.’

  ‘Oh? Bangalore’s quite a buzzy place if you fall into the right circles. And it seems you’ve fallen into the bosom of a respected family.’

  ‘Brent, what do you want? I didn’t think I had anything more to say to you.’

  Brent’s demeanour changed. ‘Did you not? Well, I certainly have things I wish to discuss with you.’

  Ned glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece, ticking loudly. ‘Someone is picking me up in fifteen minutes. I’ll give you five.’

  Brent smiled again, oily and sinister. ‘How self-possessed you’ve become, Edward. You obviously feel more secure in these salubrious surrounds than when we last met. I suppose it is comforting to have the backing of a good family, when your own parents lie rotting in muddy graves in Rangoon —’

  ‘Good evening, Dr Brent. I shall call for the mali to show you out.’ Surprising himself that his voice sounded so controlled, even though he felt as though he were teetering on a precipice of rage, Ned turned and opened the door, making straight for his room. Come on, Jack, he begged inwardly. ‘Sabu!’ he called.

  ‘Not so fast.’ Brent trailed him down the dark,
slightly musty hallway. It seemed Sabu had not heard Ned’s call because for once the tall Indian did not materialise from the shadows. Ned had no choice but to continue into his room. To his dismay, Brent followed.

  ‘Get out!’ Ned snarled.

  ‘You thought you could beat me, didn’t you, Sinclair?’

  ‘We did!’ he hurled at Brent, backing towards his wardrobe, his ears straining for the knock on the front door.

  ‘Robbie didn’t.’

  ‘No, well, cholera’s a random killer. I hope it catches you one day.’

  ‘Oh, there was nothing random about Robbie’s death.’

  Ned’s mouth opened and nothing came out. He could sense his cheeks burning even though he felt suddenly cold. ‘What?’ he finally whispered.

  ‘Oh, dear. Did Robbie not tell you?’

  Ned was sure his shocked expression told Brent more than enough. Brent approached him and Ned flinched.

  ‘Robbie tried to murder me. Did he mention that?’

  Ned shook his head dumbly.

  ‘Probably all the excitement of his escape, which I will say was most ingenious. Perhaps you realised it was all too easy? You fell perfectly for my plan. That was a wonderful moment hearing that you’d … disappeared.’ He clicked his fingers before Ned’s face. ‘For good, I’d hoped. What I hadn’t foreseen was Robbie’s resilience. I take my hat off to him, but of course by the time Robbie had left the orphanage grounds, he was already dead.’

  Ned shook his head with confusion.

  Brent smiled, filled with the familiar menace Ned recalled from months earlier. ‘I asked him to refill my water jug but given his nervousness I made him drink from it first.’ Brent laughed but it sounded like admiration. ‘He did! Without hesitation, I might add. That’s why I let him go that morning. I figured if he’d drunk the water, then my suspicions that you two were up to no good were unfounded. He left with your sister knowing he would likely die, for the water he drew was not boiled, I now realise. He was trying to kill me, the little snake.’

  Ned’s breathing had become ragged. Now he understood. Robbie had deliberately drunk infected water – to protect Bell.

  ‘Still, I didn’t trust the water,’ Brent was saying, but Ned had switched off. His thoughts had become chaotic as a fresh fury overtook him.

  He heard the front door knocker bang and then distantly a voice. It focused him again.

  ‘Ned?’ Jack called from the hallway.

  Sanctuary … safety. ‘I’ll be right out.’ Ned returned his angry gaze to Brent. ‘Get out of my room, get out of this house, Brent. If I have to see you again, I won’t be held responsible for what I do.’

  Brent guffawed.

  ‘Why are you here?’

  ‘Well, I am here on business, believe it or not. A happy coincidence for me, it seems, because it means I can remind you that I am very well connected, especially in Madras. It would be a great tragedy, now, wouldn’t it, should something happen to your darling sister? Just remember that if you, or anyone connected to you, start casting aspersions about my good name, it will be so much the worse for Bella. One snap of my fingers, Sinclair. That’s all it would take. Keep your mouth shut about me.’

  Jack, who’d stolen down the hallway and had heard the final minutes of the conversation, returned silently to the front room when he realised Brent was leaving.

  He dashed to the window and watched as the big man lumbered down the short garden path and turned towards the city, the back of his suit marked by sweat stains.

  He thought about it only momentarily before knowing his plan was the only solution to Ned’s dilemma. He marched by a surprised Sabu to Ned’s room and opened it without knocking. Inside, he found Ned, still frozen to the spot, staring at the ground, his fists clenched.

  ‘Ned?’

  ‘You were right, Jack. He openly threatened Bell.’

  ‘So I heard. The thing is, Ned, she is safe, or can be made so, but others aren’t. He’s buying your silence so he can continue his life untroubled by any claims you might have considered making.’

  ‘I hadn’t thought that much ahead. I just wanted to put Brent far behind me. He and I both want the same thing – to forget our paths crossed.’

  Jack considered this, then nodded. ‘Bella was the lucky one who got away. There will be others who aren’t nearly so fortunate.’

  Ned turned an angry stare on Jack. ‘What do you want me to do? Risk Bell?’

  ‘Oh, get a grip, Ned. The man is making empty threats. How do you reckon he snaps his fingers and people jump in Madras? How? It’s thousands of miles from Rangoon.’

  ‘Telephone?’

  ‘Really? And you think every dodgy crim in India has a phone that Bully Brent can just call on a whim?’

  Jack was right, of course. ‘I suppose not.’

  ‘You suppose not? It’s time to grow up, Ned. You’ve got to deal with this swine now.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I mean, you have to call his bluff.’

  ‘Bell —’

  ‘Is untouchable,’ Jack interrupted, exasperated. ‘Send a telegram to Grenfell today if you have to or put through a telephone call. She’s safe if you act swiftly.’

  ‘And what do you suggest?’

  ‘Well, first, follow Brent. See where he’s staying. Come on. I hate bullies like him. The fat, sweating slob is on foot. We can catch him easily enough.’

  ‘Jack —’

  ‘No time. Talk as we walk. Come on!’

  Ned found himself bundled out of the house past Sabu.

  The light was dim and evening was falling rapidly. Jack’s sharp vision just caught sight of their prey hailing a horse and carriage.

  ‘Got any bikes here?’ Jack murmured, never taking his eyes off Brent.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Bicycles, quick!’

  ‘Sabu!’

  The mali appeared. ‘Sir?’

  ‘Have the Walkers got bicycles?’ He mimicked riding.

  ‘In the shed, Master.’

  ‘Get them!’ Jack ordered and waited while Ned and the mali disappeared.

  Brent was now hauling himself up onto the seat.

  Ned returned with two old bikes.

  ‘You get the girl’s one. Come on!’ Jack urged, leaping onto one and pushing off.

  Ned followed suit, giving chase alongside Jack. ‘What have you got in mind?’

  ‘We’re going to threaten your Dr Brent right back,’ Jack replied. ‘Hurry, now. We can’t lose him!’

  Brent looked to be staying at the Bangalore Club. From a safe distance they followed him off the Richmond Circle and into the grounds, hopping off their bikes at the entrance and adopting a casual air as they walked the cycles through the entrance guarded by whitewashed pillars. The lights were just being lit by the staff and the whole club began to sparkle in the fading light. Brent was swallowed up beneath the arches and through the main, elegant entrance.

  ‘Okay. Let’s get rid of these.’

  ‘What do you mean? I’ll have to get them back to the Walkers.’

  ‘Just hide them behind the trees. You can pick them up later if they’re precious.’

  Ned glared, but disappeared with the bikes.

  A servant was approaching up the drive. Jack waited for him to arrive, using the time to casually pluck a cigarette from the silver case he’d won at cards recently. He banged the cigarette on its lid before taking it between his lips and reaching for his matches.

  The bearer finally arrived. ‘Good evening, sir. Did you have a good day?’

  Jack took note of the man’s name on a badge. ‘Evening, Ramesh. I had an excellent afternoon, thank you,’ he said, glancing towards Ned’s back, hoping Ramesh hadn’t noticed him. ‘Um, was that Dr Brent I just saw arriving at the club?’ he asked innocently.

  Ramesh beamed. ‘Yes, sir. Do you know him?’

  ‘Of him. He’s from Rangoon, I believe.’

  Ned hung back, deep in the shadows, terrified but
impressed by Jack’s nonchalance.

  Ramesh waggled his head. ‘A very important man in Rangoon. He tipped young Kumar handsomely.’

  ‘I’ll bet he did.’

  Ned’s eyes widened in the darkness.

  ‘He is here giving a talk, I understand. He wants to find new patrons and open more homes in the north and south of India. He’s a good man, sir. I’m sure you’ll meet him in the bar.’

  ‘Which room is he in? I might drop him a note,’ Jack said over his shoulder.

  ‘Twenty-three, Mr Bryant. His talk is tomorrow morning.’

  ‘I’ll stop by.’

  ‘Good evening, sir,’ Ramesh said, and glanced at Ned in the shadows, bowing his head before hurrying the passing chokra boy about his duty.

  ‘That man is a fount of knowledge.’

  ‘Jack, what are you doing?’ Ned asked nervously.

  Jack pulled his friend aside, so they were hidden again from the view of the main entrance. ‘Ned, as I told you, sometimes you just have to stand up to bullies.’

  ‘It’s all right for you. You look —’

  ‘I didn’t, that’s just it. When someone needed me to stand up for them, I ran away.’

  Ned frowned, confused.

  ‘It’s just another reason I’m here. I watched a man being tortured not so long ago. I wasn’t really in a position to do anything heroic but, Ned, I didn’t even try. Instead, as soon as I had my chance, I ran away … as fast as I could. I didn’t want it to happen to me, you see. And the bully got his way.’

  ‘But —’

  ‘But not for long, it seems. My father dealt with him.’

  ‘I don’t follow.’

  ‘It’s a long story and I think he always thought I’d never know the truth – and probably hoped I wouldn’t – because it was everything he stood against. But I heard that my father took care of the man so that no one else ever suffered his cruelty again.’

  ‘What did he do?’

  Jack shook his head and gave a mirthless burst of laughter. ‘I don’t want to think about it. If my mother knew …’

  ‘Jack, listen —’

  Ned found his jacket suddenly bunched in Jack’s fists. ‘No, you listen to me. You’ve got a chance to stop Brent by not running from him. This man uses his power and his influence to hurt people. He enjoyed telling you how he engineered Robbie’s death. Unless you stand up to Brent, Robbie won’t be the last. These are children, Ned. They have no one to fight for them. Now, you know what he’s doing and you could at least warn the authorities about him. You can’t let it go because you’re too scared or you don’t want anything more to do with it. It will be his word against yours, of course, but at least he’ll know he’s under scrutiny. And mud sticks, Ned. Word will get around. You can stop him!’