Ryman, Rebecca

by Olivia

  Sir Joshua was drunk!

  Olivia had never seen her uncle in a state of such unmistakable intoxication. Indeed, his boast was that he could drink anyone under the table and still walk a straight line. Also, there was something in his disjointed ravings that was ominous—something to do with "that Kirtinagar business" . . .?

  "Risks where, Uncle Josh?" she asked urgently, forgetting that the matter, whatever it might be, should no longer be of interest to her.

  He glared at her and through her, fuzzy eyed, unable to focus. "Slocum will earn his spurs this time," he muttered smugly. "This time he will not let go ... arrey, koi hai?" He rapped the table with his crop and Rehman crept fearfully out from behind a flowering bush but poised for instant flight, if necessary. With unsteady hands Sir Joshua poured himself another drink, spilling much of it over the table-cloth. "Get some of that jam roly-poly Babulal made last night, the thieving swine. And if there's none left, tell him I'll string his black hide up the Ochterlony tower, achcha?" With a stricken nod, Rehman fled again.

  "Not let go of what Uncle Josh?" Olivia asked impatiently, her alarm rising for more than one reason. It was not his drunkenness as such that worried her. At home she had seen plenty of brawls in the saloons, even killings, when men had swigged with abandon, then drawn their guns at the turn of a card, the sound of a hasty word. Apart from the fact that something terrible had happened, she was nervous at Sir Joshua's belligerence where the servants were concerned. What if he exercised his wrath on them physically . . .? He was a big man, well over six feet tall, with very solid strength in his muscled shoulders. She would not be able to restrain him, and for the servants to venture retaliation was, of course, unthinkable. Taking his arm firmly, she shook it. "Answer my questions, Uncle Josh!" Olivia commanded, not because she hoped to receive an explicit response but only to keep his attention diverted from the servants. "I want to know exactly what has happened." He did not reply, of course. Mouthing more graphic oaths, he merely laid his head down on the table.

  Just then, a second carriage raced in through the gates, and Olivia's heart sank. Her aunt? Home already from the church bazaar? But it was not Lady Bridget's carriage, nor did she emerge from it. The person who came flying out was Arthur Ransome. With a cry of relief, Olivia sprang up to hobble across the lawn as fast as her still-shaky legs would carry her. "Oh, dear God— thank heavens you've arrived! Uncle Josh is—"

  "I know. That's why I'm here," Ransome said shortly, his face grim. "He's been in his cups all day at the office. Bridget home?" Olivia shook her head. "Well, bless the Lord for small mercies! She would have been even more disgusted than I am."

  As he started to hurry across the lawn, Olivia stalled him with a hand. "Why has he been drinking all day? Something awful has happened, hasn't it?" He merely nodded, then left her standing where she was.

  She was suddenly exhausted. She had not enjoyed the confusing interlude. Barnabus Slocum, the magistrate, was somehow involved in it and there was talk of "risks," which made it all the more disturbing. Olivia went up to her room and lay down to rest. It was not until Sir Joshua had been carried up to his bed with much heaving and huffing and cursing, and the tread of heavy footsteps had retreated down the stairs, that Olivia ventured out again. She found Arthur Ransome in the study.

  "Is Uncle Josh asleep?"

  "Out cold, thank God. The blithering idiot!" His face drawn with strain, Ransome sat down and pressed shut his eyes with his fingers.

  Olivia held her questions for the moment. "Would you perhaps care to also have a drink, Mr. Ransome?"

  "By gad, I would, thank you. It's been quite a day, one way or another. Haven't seen Josh hit the bottle so hard since one Christmas in Canton when he slung seven coolies overboard for having dropped a barrel of first flush tea in the briny. They didn't drown, of course, but we had to sail out fast or there would have been hell to pay. By the way, Miss O'Rourke, I hope that you are finally over your dreadful bout of ague?"

  Over his whisky, which he drank in huge, thirsty gulps, Ransome made valiant conversation about the scourge that struck many in the tropics and the new miracle bark, the cinchona, that cured it, much to the wonder and relief of patients and medical community alike. It was only after neutral small talk was exhausted that Olivia asked, "Please tell me what exactly has been happening, Mr. Ransome."

  He swilled his drink around the glass and evaded her eyes. "What did Josh say to you?" His voice was low and unsteady.

  She sensed his caution. "Nothing coherent. However, I got the impression it was something to do with Kirtinagar."

  "Something to do with Kirtinagar?" He looked astounded. "Then you haven't heard?" She shook her head as he walked to the desk and picked up the English language newspaper that did for the local community. He handed it to her. "Nothing I can say will be more explicit than this."

  Not having seen a newspaper during her illness and not especially interested since, Olivia was startled by the bold banner headline: "Explosion in Kirtinagar coal-mine kills one." She read the rest at a glance. The explosion had occurred a few nights ago, collapsing the roof of the main shaft in the coal-pit and burying a night-watchman. By the time he could be extricated from the debris, he was dead. Sabotage was strongly suspected and the rubble left by the explosion was being investigated for remnants of dynamite. No one else was present at the mine site when the explosion took place, but several witnesses are said to have seen and recognised a certain person on horseback fleeing from the vicinity soon after the disaster. Since the man seen by the witnesses is a known resident of Calcutta and is now strongly suspect, Mr. Barnabus Slocum is in Kirtinagar requesting permission from His Highness Maharaja Arvind Singh to actively participate in the investigation. The newspaper quoted the magistrate as saying, "The prime suspect, unmistakably identified by five eyewitnesses, resides under the jurisdiction of the Calcutta police authorities. As such, it would be in the interests of the Maharaja to avail himself of our assistance and press charges without delay." The remainder of the story traced the history and development of the mine, repeated the importance of the coal find for British industry and related some cursory details about the State of Kirtinagar. These Olivia skimmed through; her throat felt tight, and within her was a feeling of distinct coldness.

  "This Calcutta resident," she asked slowly, knowing already what the answer would be, "is said to be Raventhorne?"

  "So the witnesses swear."

  "Raventhorne would sabotage his own mine, kill his own man?"

  Ransome's normally genial countenance was profoundly unhappy. "He has openly declared in the presence of many that he would rather see the mine closed than let a single lump of that coal fall into British hands. We know that there has been bitter dissension between him and Arvind Singh over the matter."

  "But Arvind Singh has already rejected your proposal," Olivia said tiredly. God, how she was beginning to hate that damned coal and everything to do with it!

  "Reading between the lines of his refusal, it is evident he might reconsider if the consortium agreed to make a higher offer," Ransome replied with dogged persistence.

  "In that case, wouldn't Raventhorne have sabotaged it then, rather than destroy the mine before it was necessary?"

  Ransome got up and turned away from her. "Raventhorne is known to be capricious, unpredictable, vengeful—especially when his hatred of the English is provoked. If he can also damage us, he would not hesitate to cut off his nose to spite his face. And with the mine destroyed, there is now no prospect of anyone getting that coal, at least not for months." Still not turning to face her, he quickly poured himself another drink.

  His explanations rang hollow and Olivia's sense of dread compounded. "No!" she said angrily, throwing caution to the winds. "The rumour is that Raventhorne would have raised money for the irrigation project from the Indian money-market. Why needlessly ruin a valuable asset, and his friendship with Arvind Singh? Why execute the goose that would have laid golden eggs for both partners and
Kirtinagar?"

  "Perverse satisfaction!" Ransome cried, now distinctly agitated. "A means of extracting insurance money—who knows the mind of a madman?"

  "Satisfaction also from killing a harmless watchman in his own employ?" Olivia asked with a caustic smile. "That makes the least sense." She ignored the possibility of an insurance fraud; it was too trivial to even consider.

  "Ah!" At last Ransome turned towards her, trying hard to disguise his excitation with an unconvincing smile. "That appears to have been his miscalculation. He had obviously reckoned that on the first night of the immersions everyone, including the night-watch, would be out roistering with friends and family. Naturally, all the other men were. The watchman, however—"

  "First night of the immersions?" Olivia had gone very still indeed. "Is that when the explosion took place?"

  "So I read," Ransome muttered, pointing to the newspaper. "Five witnesses, unknown to each other and two of them Englishmen, profess to have recognised Raventhorne riding away from the mine site on that cursed black devil that he favours. All five have given sworn testimony."

  Springing back to life, Olivia grabbed the newspaper to verify the date of the explosion. Then, hands shaking, she folded the paper neatly and replaced it on her uncle's desk. "They are lying," she said quietly. "Every one of them is lying."

  Under the quietness there was such ferocity that, for a moment, Ransome stared. His complexion turned the colour of putty and his hand trembled so that he was forced to put his glass down on a table. "How can you say that with such conviction, Miss O'Rourke?" he cried as he went a shade paler. "Tell me, I beseech you—what did Josh blurt out to you during his drunken rambling? Please be frank, I would like to know everything."

  Olivia was shocked at how ill he suddenly looked. And in his staring eyes she saw fear. Realising that she had been standing without having the need to and that her knees were threatening to buckle, she quickly sank down onto the couch. "Uncle Josh revealed nothing to me," she said, stone faced. "His babbling was quite incoherent. But tell me, with what is Raventhorne likely to be charged?"

  In his own turmoil, Ransome had fortunately not noticed hers. "It is for Arvind Singh to prefer charges." Draining his glass, he tried to steady himself again as he wiped his glistening face with a handkerchief. "Even though Arvind Singh is a partner in the mine, if he chooses to do so, then sabotage will be the secondary charge. The prime charge will certainly be manslaughter."

  "Will Arvind Singh prefer charges?" Mechanically, she rose to refresh his drink.

  He placed his palm over the rim and shook his head. "No more, thank you. One of us needs to keep his wits about him." There was a touch of bitterness in his tone. "Slocum will certainly try to persuade Arvind Singh to prosecute, and make the charge stick to secure a stiff sentence. Slocum detests Raventhorne. With good reason, perhaps. His sister was once . . ." He stopped and flushed. "Yes, Slocum will not give up easily."

  The aborted reference to Slocum's sister revived in Olivia's memory one of the many snippets of gossip Estelle had given her, but she did not pursue it. Instead she asked, hating herself for still wanting to know about the man whose name singed her lips each time she said it, "What has been Raventhorne's reaction to all this?"

  "He has not chosen to make his reaction known."

  "And he has made no effort to deny the fabrications?"

  He remembered suddenly her previous vehemence and stared at her with renewed alertness. "What makes you believe so forcefully that they are fabrications, Miss O'Rourke?"

  This time she was prepared. "Only what I am led to believe by rumours about the man. You yourself have insisted frequently that he is an uncommonly shrewd man, devious in the bargain. Given all this, can it be believed that if he did wish to play dog in the manger he would do so with such ham-fistedness? Or with a plot quite so transparently amateurish? Conveniently he is seen by five witnesses who identify easily not only the man but Raventhorne's unmistakable horse!"

  "As I pointed out, Raventhorne is not beyond cutting off his nose merely to—"

  "His nose, yes, but not his head!" Olivia knew she was teetering on perilously thin ice. At any moment Ransome might latch on to a reality that was, ironically enough, no longer a reality. Quickly regaining control, she assumed an air of nonchalance. "I am only stating the self-evident, Mr. Ransome, as even a simple-minded lawyer would do. But tell me, as a matter of mere curiosity, do you believe him to be guilty?" She did not look at him but instead made a ritual of playing with the tassels of her shawl.

  His expression instantly closed. "It is unimportant what I believe, Miss O'Rourke," he said woodenly. "It is what Slocum believes, or is made to believe, that is material. Barney is as vindictive as Raventhorne, and he has many personal axes to grind." His shoulders sagged as a measure of his distress. "There is much evil afoot, I fear, Miss O'Rourke. I am gravely disturbed at the chain of events that has been set in motion, for it will now not be reversed. Slocum will go after Raventhorne whether he is guilty or not. No matter what the facts, they will be trimmed to fit the desired pattern. Public opinion, already violently against Jai—not without good reason, I daresay—will support Slocum, force his hand even further. I don't know where it will all end, or indeed if it will now ever end." As if unable to carry some unseen burden, his shoulders slumped further.

  Again that unconscious use of the first name! Olivia sensed that Arthur Ransome concealed much from her, but she did not have the courage to question him further. Nor could she without exposing herself. Casual once more, she only asked, "Since Raventhorne does nothing to refute these charges, are there any rumours as to what his defence is likely to be?"

  Ransome pulled a grim face. "Does a rabid dog run when it sees trouble coming? Does it turn tail against a mob armed with sticks? No, it bounds ahead joyously to meet the mob, and that is precisely what this damned fool appears bent on doing. He neither refutes the charges, nor does he hint at any means of self-defence. Holed up on that fancy clipper of his, in all probability he awaits Slocum's knock with impatience." He threw up his hands in a gesture of resignation. "As I've confessed to you, I am severely perturbed, severely. Not because I lose sleep over Jai's problems—God knows, he can look after himself!—but because bitter experience has taught me to fear his reprisals."

  Lady Bridget's arrival put an end to any prospect of further discussion. Ransome hurried away to present loyal alibis for his friend's state of inebriation, and Olivia, restless and violently angry, returned upstairs to her room. They were preparing to lynch Jai Raventhorne for a crime he did not commit. And only she could prove that he was innocent!

  Either Sir Joshua had no recollection of his behaviour the previous evening or he chose not to remember; in any case he offered Olivia no apologies. Whether or not he had apologised to Lady Bridget was difficult to tell. Marble faced and sullenly silent, she made no reference to the occasion, but judging from Sir Joshua's own grim expression, words had certainly been exchanged between them. Torn with her own anxieties, Olivia took only cursory notice of their friction. That Jai Raventhorne's life should be in jeopardy in so gross a miscarriage of justice was not something she could forget easily no matter what the circumstances between them. She faced a hideous dilemma; one way or the other it had to be resolved. Somehow she had to secure confirmation from Sir Joshua.

  With no other option in sight, Olivia walked resolutely into his study that night. Engrossed in polishing his collection of Chou period bronze bells—a duty he always performed himself—he seemed nevertheless pleased to see her. "Still awake? Good. Come and sit with me while I get this done. See this?" He tapped the huge bronze before him with obvious pride. "Probably third-century chung from Shantung, part of a set. The chih-chung, handbells, are smaller, of course, like the harness jingles. A glass of Madeira, perhaps?"

  Olivia shook her head, relieved that last night's episode was not to be mentioned. There were other matters she had to talk about. The opening she wanted lay on the desk before
her. Picking up the newspaper, she asked boldly, "Who on earth could be responsible for this brutal vandalism? It's difficult to believe anyone could stoop so low."

  His concentration remained focused on the bronze. "Obviously someone has, m'dear."

  "This 'well-known Calcutta resident,'" she pretended to read, "has he been positively identified? They say he was actually seen leaving the mine site in a great hurry."

  "Well, there are rumours, of course." For all the interest his expression showed, they could have been discussing the daily bazaar.

  "Rumours? Surely more than that, considering five eyewitnesses!"

  "Perhaps. It's up to Slocum to verify their accounts." He lifted the bronze to replace it in the glass-fronted cupboard and returned with another bell, a smaller one.

  His reticence irked but did not deter Olivia. "In the dark, eyewitnesses can make mistakes. Or," she added pointedly, "they could have been drunk, considering the festivities."

  His hand with the chamois-leather paused briefly. For the first time his impassive eyes showed expression, a glint. "The moon was almost full," he reminded her shortly. "Drunk or sober, a mistake seems unlikely."

  Olivia felt her chest tighten in the effort to appear casual. "It says here that Mr. Slocum has gone to Kirtinagar. Has he discovered anything more of significance?"

  "We will know tomorrow when he returns."

  It was evident that her choice of subject displeased him, but if she were to take any action at all, she had to know everything. Ignoring his lack of encouragement, she recklessly probed further. "And the motive? I wonder what that could possibly have been—insurance fraud, perhaps, as some suggest?" By asking that, she subtly revealed that she knew the suspect was Raventhorne, but her uncle gave no reaction. She raised a light laugh and picked up one of the bronze bells as if to examine it carefully. "It's amazing what some businessmen will stoop to, isn't it? I know they do in America. My father has written about several cases of arson by small factory owners so as to collect insurance."