Ryman, Rebecca

by Olivia

  "You will go to England too, Estelle?" Kinjal inquired wonderingly after the doctor had left. "I was not aware of that, but your decision relieves me."

  Estelle coloured. "Yes. I wrote and begged John to allow me this final duty to my cousin. He has agreed, of course. I will not be able to rest, Kinjal, until I have delivered Olivia's little one into his father's arms. It will at least help me to hate myself a little less. What small beginnings life's major tragedies have!" she ended sadly.

  "Amos ...?"

  It was Olivia's first and only question in the flickers of returning consciousness. When Kinjal shook her head and turned it away, she heaved a tired little sigh, then slipped back into her private world of silent misery. About her new-born son she made no inquiry.

  "Somebody loses a son and somebody gains one," Kinjal said. "Is there no end to the ironies of your cousin's fate?" Olivia's fragile condition and the loss of her will to mend it alarmed both Kinjal and Estelle. Neither had ever seen her at such a nadir, mentally and physically, and neither could think of effective devices to pull her out of the swamp into which she sank deeper daily. "Let us at least be content that in this situation there has been one winner."

  "Olivia has lost not one but two sons," Estelle reminded her, totally unforgiving of the crime that had been committed.

  "But Jai does not know that."

  "That cannot correct the enormity of the injustice to someone who is already so bereaved," Estelle contested. "I can think of no defence for him, not one, however much he was goaded."

  Kinjal lowered her head. "To be honest, neither can I, whatever he might have considered his provocations. I merely voice a selfish thought to justify my own reading of him. Surely, I cannot have been totally wrong in that reading."

  In the meanwhile, the relentless search for Raventhorne and his hostages continued, but with little success. Almost a week had passed since the abduction; there was still no information that could be considered useful. Had Olivia been aware of the situation, she would have perhaps again recalled Arthur Ransome's remarks of long ago; not only was India again on Raventhorne's side, but ranks had once more been closed against a common enemy, the British. There were plenty of witnesses who swore they had seen him here, there and everywhere, but each testimony conflicted with the other and every one of the leads proved fruitless. Not even Arvind Singh's impeccable reputation and the high regard in which Indian India held him could elicit results. He had offered not thirty but many times those pieces of silver in the hope of inducing treachery, but if a Judas did exist somewhere, he did not step forward.

  It was impossible that some rumours should not fly about, but on the whole the abduction remained a fairly well kept secret from at least the European community. But for how long? When the bubble did burst, it would explode with the force of dynamite and the aftermath would be ugly. In the meanwhile, further lies had to be woven and sustained: Because his mother was so ill and the situation would distress him, that Amos had been quietly sent to Kirtinagar was the discreet and plausible explanation given. There could be no further doubt that it was indeed to Assam that Jai Raventhorne had taken the child he must know now to be his son. He had chanced upon a prize the existence of which he had not even suspected. Having secured it with such serendipity, he would not be fool enough to relinquish it. There was no doubt in the minds of either Kinjal or Estelle that Amos would not be returned to his mother. What Olivia thought they did not know; she never spoke about it. But in her sinking health itself was subsumed her conviction.

  Only once did she ask about her new son, just as only once she had asked about Amos. "Is he well . . .?"

  "Yes, very well," Estelle assured with well-meaning enthusiasm. "He is marvellously cared for and looks bigger every day. His eyes are amber, like yours, not," she giggled, "like Freddie's boiled goose—"

  "Don't!" A rare spark of animation returned to Olivia's wasted face. "You must not say any more."

  Bursting into tears, Estelle fled, unable to contain her sorrow.

  According to his mother's wishes, the infant had been named Alistair.

  One further flash of irony had briefly lightened the grim tragedy being unfolded at the Birkhurst mansion. While Olivia lay gripped in the coils of her deathly labour, Hal Lubbock had arrived at the house with a plaintive inquiry. He had waited at the Templewood bungalow for several hours in anticipation of instructions to start the demolitions. Should he proceed now or wait a while longer?

  The demolitions! Nobody had had time to give them even an idle thought! In fact, Estelle had known little about her cousin's exact arrangements with Lubbock. "No, Mr. Lubbock, I don't think you should proceed," she said, riven with sorrow. "Those structures no longer need to be demolished."

  He looked visibly disgruntled. Done out of a decent fight with an evenly matched opponent rather than some prettified pouf alleged to be a gentleman, he made no secret of his disappointment. "Yuh mean the gah's changed his mind about makin' trouble? Aw, hell! Ah was lookin' forward to splashin' his brains all over the doggone brickwork!"

  "If you had, Mr. Lubbock, I promise you we would have all stood and cheered," she assured him glumly. "About making trouble, no, Mr. Raventhorne doesn't seem to have changed his mind so don't lose hope yet. The man is truly evil. He will never reform."

  But in her categorical condemnation of Jai Raventhorne, Estelle was to be unjustified. One morning in the predawn dark, exactly seven days after the kidnapping, an unfamiliar carriage pulled up outside the gates of the Birkhurst mansion. Having only one function to fulfil, it halted very briefly. Without a word spoken, the coachman summoned the night-watchman. And into his care he silently surrendered Amos, his ayah and a sealed long brown envelope.

  It happened to be the morning of Amos's first birthday.

  At the Farrowsham offices during this past week there had been grave concern for the rapidly deteriorating health of Lady Birkhurst. But, at the same time, it was impossible not to show some signs of joy at the birth of a second Birkhurst son. The celebration Donaldson arranged was intimate, subdued and discreet and to it were invited the European officials of the Agency and their wives. The Indian employees were given a month's extra wages, baskets of fruits and sweets, and toys for their children. A bottle of champagne was uncorked and then an entire case demolished with remarkable ease. But on the fifth day after the celebration (which also happened to be Amos Birkhurst's first birthday), Willie Donaldson was to rue the fact that his entire stock of choice champagne had been exhausted. Not even one bottle now remained to celebrate what other electrifying news the day was to bring.

  It was around noon that Ranjan Moitra arrived and, with customary daintiness, laid before Donaldson a folder containing several formal notifications. A new contract between Farrowsham and Trident had been drafted with concessional freight rates, and awaited Donaldson's approval. The Tapti, which was to sail on the morning tide two days hence, had hold capacity for Farrowsham cargo; likewise every subsequent sailing. The Agency's credit facilities were being restored in full and compensation would be made for losses incurred during the freight embargo. The folder also contained a letter of assurance. Since the Farrowsham Agency and Trident had always enjoyed a cordial business relationship, there was no reason to believe that the same cordiality would not continue in the future. It was not an apology, but the closest they could come to one. The notifications and the letter were all signed by Ranjan Moitra. Jai Raventhorne was not mentioned. Through the reading, Moitra sat stone faced and utterly inscrutable. When it was over, he quietly got up and left.

  For a long while after he had gone, Willie Donaldson sat frozen, convinced that he was dreaming. His first reaction, when mobility finally returned to his nerveless body, was to fly to the Birkhurst manse and deliver his astounding news without delay. But then, recalling Her Ladyship's sorrowful condition, he restrained himself somehow. Also, he remembered something else. She had predicted it all anyway.

  It was the first time in his life tha
t Willie Donaldson came close to fainting. Even in his shaky condition, however, he did not forget every self-respecting Scotsman's essential priorities. Firstly, even though the cost of it might well break his goddam heart, he ordered a fresh case of champagne bought from wherever it might be found for all Farrowsham staff to have their fill. Then he sent a note to Cornelia warning her not to expect him home for at least three days. And finally, he went to the Bengal Club and got gloriously drunk.

  All of Donaldson's jubilation was, without his knowledge, being shared at the Birkhurst mansion, but for other reasons. None the worse for the adventure of which he was blissfully unaware, Amos looked fit and well fed and cheerful. The clothes he was wearing were new. Accompanying him was a galaxy of expensive toys, also new, and—a fact the ayah confirmed—with her as companion, the child had not fretted at all.

  The fevered inquisition to which the ayah was subjected revealed little that was not already known, except one thing: All along they had been on a boat. She could not tell where, because they had sailed many miles down river before they had anchored. But the region was desolate, with little or no habitation, and there had been tigers and jungle all around. She had been very frightened because she had heard the predators roaring at night.

  "The Sunderbans," Kinjal recognised instantly, "the eerie half world where the Hooghly joins the sea. There are thousands of islands and inlets. And it is this wild region that is the home of the royal Bengal tiger."

  "In all probability, he used a country craft," Estelle said excitedly, hugging Amos and covering his face with kisses. "How silly of us not to have even thought of that!"

  "Even if we had, the area is well nigh impenetrable, certainly on foot. And looking for a boat in that morass is like trying to find a particular leaf in a forest."

  Yes, the ayah—bewildered by her experience and hugely relieved that it was over—further confirmed, there was a very tall man with eyes "just like baba's." And yes, he had been very kind to them, especially to the child. She herself had been well housed and fed, and permitted to roam freely around the boat with its two small cabins. In any case there had been no one else about save for two oarsmen. The man with the frightening eyes had asked her many questions but had not answered any of hers. What he did mostly was to sit and stare at the baba, playing with him but not saying a word. It was obvious that he knew nothing about children, for when he picked up the boy, which he wanted to do all the time, his hands were clumsy. But there had been in them a great deal of tenderness. And when he had finally released them it had been with reluctance, for he had not been able to hide the tears in his eyes.

  Even Dr. Humphries was startled by the sudden spurt in Olivia's hitherto slow process of recovery. Having no knowledge of its true cause, he assigned credit to the veritable pharmacy of medications he had prescribed. Of course, nobody thought to inform him otherwise.

  Nevertheless, illness had rendered Olivia's cheeks pale and hollow. It had etched even more deeply the lines of bitterness that had become permanently grooved on either side of her mouth. Without its well-shaped contours, her body looked skeletal; only her breasts, swollen with milk, still retained signs of good health. Each day the milk was extracted by suction with a rubber device and sent for the benefit of the child whose whereabouts were unknown to her and whom she was destined neither to know nor to ever see. Olivia never asked after Alistair, seemingly content in the frequent assurance that he was well, that he too progressed satisfactorily. Outwardly, she had not shown any indications of joy at the return of her precious Amos, still too emotionally depleted to assimilate fully so sudden a shock, so unexpected a miracle. But she had cried softly when she again held him in her arms, still not strong enough to contain his boyish energy. If she rejoiced at all, it was inwardly. Her eyes remained secretive, guarding the concealments of her mind behind steely doors. What she was thinking, no one either guessed or dared to ask. Buried deep within the privacy of her self-constructed citadel, her thoughts continued to be her own.

  The sealed brown envelope that had come for her with the return of Amos, Olivia asked to be placed inside her almirah. She showed no desire to learn its contents.

  Through the month following Alistair's birth there was no question of visitors for either Olivia or her baby. Doing his "mite" manfully, Dr. Humphries placed an embargo on casual callers, however well meaning. He could not, of course, shield her forever. As her condition improved and it became known that he had permitted her to move out of her bedchamber, it was Kinjal who took over the delicate task of keeping inquisitive visitors away. Everyone in Calcutta knew, of course, that ladies of the royal households of India were surrounded by complex protocol and were in strict purdah. Since the Maharani was now in residence at the Birkhurst mansion, it was naturally not possible to call without a formal invitation. Since no invitations seemed to be forthcoming, except to a select few, stray callers were automatically eliminated. In any case, the community had long accepted, resentfully, that Lady Birkhurst preferred her own company to theirs. "Just as well, my dears," the Spin remarked tartly at the regular Tuesday morning mahjongg meet of the Gentlewomen's Institute. "After all, she's never really been one of us, has she?"

  Arvind Singh was one of Olivia's early visitors, soon after the return of Amos. Now aware of all his efforts in her direction, she thanked him warmly with seldom seen emotion. "I am indebted to you for life. I shall never forget your compassion."

  Deeply shocked by her dismal appearance, he waved away her words of gratitude as unnecessary and took his courage in his hands. "I have only done my duty as a friend. It is Jai who has been truly compassionate. He returned the child when he need not have. And he has made full reparation to your Agency. Can you not bring yourself to forgive him at least somewhat?"

  Olivia's expression closed. She did not answer his question. And he did not ask it again. Painfully aware of the circumstances, neither did he ask after Alistair.

  But others did, with the kindest of intentions. Two of those select few who were invited to the house were, of course, Willie and Cornelia Donaldson. Unaware of the cruel realities, they were eloquent and delighted about Alistair's birth. Knowing that their affection for her was genuine and immense, Olivia herself volunteered the news that would soon be common knowledge. "My husband longs to see his son, and so does his mother, who gets older and more frail every day. Since I myself intend to go to Hawaii first, I have arranged for Alistair to be taken straight to England."

  The dispirited lie was hardly necessary. Not even the Donaldsons believed it anymore. The Birkhurst marriage, they realised in all sorrow, was over.

  Jubilation having settled into placid contentment, Donaldson finally brought himself to speak about the other matter. However raging his curiosity, he knew she would not satisfy it. "We have a new freight contract with Trident," he said, looking at her deeply. "And the credit has been restored."

  "Oh? That's good." Olivia had no more interest in Farrowsham. In any case, Estelle had already conveyed the news to her.

  "The Tapti sailed last week with our cargo, all of it. We have double the space in her bilges, at half the cost." He paused for a reaction. None came. "Trident has three more clippers on order. Smith and Dimon have already laid the keel of the third. They're na being delivered till next year but Moitra's willing to contract one to us exclusively."

  "Well, I'm very pleased to hear it, Mr. Donaldson."

  Had Donaldson been insensitive and a fool, he would have been thunderstruck by her lack of response, but he was neither. Sighing, he resigned himself to never learning the truth. But later he confided sorrowfully to Cornelia, "I still dinna ken the kind of war it was, love—but it's na been withoot some casualty, na by a bloody long-shot."

  The month of September, russet and golden and glowingly autumnal in northern hemispheres, was lush and green in the tropics. The rains had swept through, leaving a land verdant and brilliant in its blaze of new growth. Rinsed clean, the skies were endlessly blue and flawless. In a
pparent gratitude to nature, the soil of India burst forth in an abundance of fruit and flower and fields of fat grain. It was time again to prepare for worship to the goddess Durga and the ten-day feast of Dassera.

  It was also time for Estelle, now back from a month-long visit to Cawnpore, to bear Alistair away to his father.

  Nourished by the milk of his unknown mother, supplemented with that from the bursting breasts of the wet-nurse, Alistair had thrived. Delighted, the doctor had finally pronounced him absolutely fit for the voyage. One fine morning soon after, Estelle had taken him away, with Mary and the wet-nurse, to the ship that was to carry them all to England. There were no tearful farewells; Olivia had forbidden any demonstrations of emotion. But she did embrace and kiss Estelle with unqualified love and a whispered apology, for now no barriers remained between them. Mentioning finally the letter she had received from her Aunt Maude and the news it contained about her mother, Estelle could only say that she would not seek to disturb her mother's vow of silence; she would beg to merely see her once more.

  And then, all at once, it was also time for Kinjal to return to Kirtinagar. She had been away almost three months. Her husband had been alone; now her children were back, and they all needed her. Also, there were the Dassera worship rituals and ceremonies to prepare for.

  "To leave you alone now is against my better judgement," Kinjal said, anxious. "Will you truly not consider coming with me to Kirtinagar?"

  Waving her fan idly in front of her face, Olivia smiled and shook her head. "I must now prepare for my own departure. And I am not alone. I have Amos. Uncle Arthur returns soon from Cawnpore and I will be busy interviewing new governesses to choose one to take with me to Hawaii."

  "But you will surely not leave without at least one more visit to us, will you? I would be bereft, my dear, dear, friend if you did."

  Olivia's eyes, accustomed to remaining carefully blank these days, suddenly welled. "Of course I will come to see you before I leave! How could I ever not? It is you who have been my sanctuary between hope and despair, sanity and madness. If there is anyone with whom I leave part of myself in India, it is you, Kinjal."