Ryman, Rebecca (106 page)

There
followed a page from a sermon she had heard and admired at a local church
service, but all that Olivia merely skimmed over. It was too depressingly full
of the wages of sin, of penances and expiations, of the hellfire and brimstone
that awaited all mortals in the hereafter, to make either pleasant or
informative reading. What Olivia searched for was personal news of her aunt; it
was contained in the final paragraphs of the letter and it twisted Olivia with
pity.

I
break my one long silence, my beloved niece, to inform you of another that I am
about to enter; it will be a state of such blessedness, such rewarding
serenity, that I am filled with ecstasy. I have been granted residence in a
convent of Our Lady situated on the Yorkshire moors. In her generous and
Christian charity, the Mother Superior will administer to me next week an oath
of silence whereby I will pledge my life—or whatever remains of it before I am
summoned to the Great Meadow beyond—to the humble service of the Lord who is my
Shepherd. Do not ever mourn for me, Olivia, or think of me as a refugee from
the world. For those of us to whom the gates of the kingdom of man are forever
closed, there is another Kingdom, far, far above this miserable one, where
there is always rapture.

I
pray that you stay forever happy in your life. I cannot forget, even in the
midst of my godly devotions, what it is that I owe to you. In my mind, I talk
to Sarah every day. At last, at last, I am forgiven! Sadly, what I receive from
Sarah I cannot find it in my heart to give to others. In your God-given wisdom
you will understand what I mean, and in your understanding, not think too
harshly of me. May the Good Lord smile upon your endeavours, dear child,
whatever and wherever you might want them to be. I send my warm greetings to
dearest Freddie. To you and to Amos, I send all my love. I will pray for the
safe delivery of your second child. Think of me sometimes, Olivia, but never,
never with grief.

Neither
her husband nor her daughter nor Arthur Ransome was mentioned. Olivia wept,
mostly for Estelle, unaware that she too had received the news, but from her
Aunt Maude. Neither cousin spoke of it to the other.

Mercifully,
Estelle's depression did not last beyond the first day or two of her arrival.
Because she was naturally cheerful and because her sense of duty towards her
cousin was strong, Estelle again forced her own feelings into the background to
apply herself to the single-minded aim of making her company useful to her
cousin. She informed Olivia, with much amusing detail, that she hated,
absolutely
hated,
Cawnpore. It was dreary and dusty,
the military
wives more so and the civilians even worse. "All they do is complain about
the mofussil
all
the time,
ugh!"

"Like
you?" Olivia teased, glad for once at the return of trivia.

"Yes,
but they
add
to the drear, I
don
V. And I hate mahjongg. I can
never remember which tile goes where, and I'm hopeless at gin and bridge and
écarté and all
the other silly card-games. John has his nose buried in his wretched garrison;
I hardly
see
him." But she said that Arthur Ransome and her
parents-in-law got on splendidly, and in his anxiety to make as good a host as
possible, John had promised them all a trip to Lucknow to see all those
fabulous native palaces. Discreet as always, John's parents asked no questions
either about Sir Joshua's death or anything they had witnessed at the reception
at Olivia's house.

Olivia
was deeply touched by Estelle's return, but she was also nervous. The favour
she needed to ask of Estelle was grotesque; Estelle would argue endlessly. She
would also talk, inevitably, about Jai Raventhorne and there would be even more
arguments then.

With
so many friends in town, Estelle spent her first week making social calls,
receiving them and partying, if with subdued enthusiasm. Olivia did not
begrudge her her gregariousness, knowing how badly she needed a release from
her festering grief. Also, it was pleasant to have hordes of young people in
and out of the Birkhurst house; the desolate rooms echoed with rare laughter.
Knowing now who Amos's father was, Estelle took exceptional care never to
expose the child to her friends. With what excuses she fended them off Olivia
did not know, but they were evidently effective. Amos, in his nursery suite
upstairs, continued to remain undisturbed.

It
was on their first quiet evening at home together that Estelle asked, as Olivia
knew she would sometime, "So, what's all this about a
hotel?
Are
you seriously considering the idea?"

"Yes."

"But
how extraordinary! What made you think of such a project?"

"It
will be, I hope, a good investment for the future."

"Well,
I suppose in a way it's rather sad. I was born in that house, you know."
Estelle stifled a yawn, perhaps to avoid any relapse into nostalgia, and said
with a quick shiver, "I don't ever want to live there again. It is Uncle
Arthur whom I trust to make all my decisions now." She swallowed another
yawn. "But I
would have thought the house too small for a proper
hotel.
Surely you
should have more rooms to offer."

"Yes.
We will. We plan a new construction."

"A
new construction? Oh my, how grand! Where, in the garden?"

"No.
In the servants' compound."

Estelle
aborted a third yawn. "You mean, you plan to pull down all those
quarters?"

"Naturally.
How else do we make enough space for a new building?"

"Well,
yes, I suppose that is sensible." She went on to describe, with some
relish, a hotel in London where she had eaten with Jai. "It was terribly
grand, you know, with
hot
towels and fancy soaps and a menu card as long
as a yardstick. And the food was French, all a la this, that or the other. I
even tried the
escargots,"
she made a face, "but they were
delicious." She spent a moment or two describing more of the gustatory
delights, but then something began to scratch at the back of her mind.
Frowning, she seemed to be trying to mentally put it into focus; then suddenly
she saw it. "Those servants' quarters," she said slowly, "Jai
was born in one of them. His mother lived in it with him for eight years."

"Was
he? Oh yes. I had forgotten."

Estelle's
expression changed. "He ... he might not want those rooms demolished, you
know. I told you how strange he is about everything to do with his
mother."

"Well,
he's unlikely to be consulted in the matter."

Very
gradually understanding dawned. Estelle sat up very straight, no sign of sleep
now in her alert eyes. "That isn't what this . . . hotel is all about, is
it Olivia?
Is
it to wound Jai that you seek to destroy those
quarters?"

Olivia
shrugged off her questions. "Sentiments, his or anyone else's, are of no
value to me. I see the hotel as a sound business project for Farrowsham, that's
all."

"Do
you? Well, I don't believe you," she said, acutely distressed. "Uncle
Arthur told me about the sale of the
Daffodil
and about that
figure-head. Even though I knew how you had hit upon its significance to Jai, I
had not intended to bring up the subject. You see, Olivia—despite what you have
assumed—I have not and
cannot
forgive Jai entirely, not when Papa's
grave is still so fresh. I was
glad
that you could force Jai into making
even this minimal reparation. But that was only a matter of money. This, what
you do now, is . . .
inhuman."

"Humanity
and sound business propositions sometimes don't go together, as under other
circumstances your brother would be the first to agree."

"Neither
do humanity and exploitation!" Estelle cried. "You bought Papa's
property
only
to exploit Jai's irrational weakness, Olivia, admit it—a
weakness you happened to learn about from
me.
It's so . . .
cruel
to
hit him where he is least defended!"

Olivia
raised an eyebrow, amused. "My dear, where else would you expect me to hit
him—where he is fully defended? Have you not heard what he is attempting to do
to Farrowsham?"

Estelle
was immediately downcast. "Yes. Uncle Arthur told me."

"And
do you consider I should sit back and let him demolish poor, blameless
Freddie's company?"

"No,
but there must be other ways of retaliation. If you like, I could
perhaps—"

"Intercede?
Plead for charity? No!" Incensed, Olivia took care not to show it. Tedious
debates such as this she had expected; it was to other, more vital matters that
she wanted to turn now. "He attacks Farrowsham to punish
me
for
having married Freddie—no, don't say anything, Estelle, just listen." She
pounced before Estelle could interrupt. "You must see that I cannot allow
that, I must fight back. I don't have the resources he has, nor the physical
force. To retaliate effectively, I must make use of the
only
weapon
available to me—
information.
And it must be used accurately. Mine will
be." She raised her heavy, cumbersome body off the settee and stretched
the stiffness out of her limbs. "And now, would you join me in a glass of
hot milk? Before we retire to bed there is something I wish to tell you."

Estelle
knew that Olivia would not now allow her to reopen the subject. Unhappily,
swallowing the remainder of her comments, she nodded. The breach between them
was still not fully healed. As it was, she had said far more than she had
intended. But there was something about Olivia that was now beginning to
frighten Estelle. She saw that her cousin's attitude was not entirely
unjustified. Jai was behaving shockingly with her, going berserk; yes, she had
to retaliate, perhaps even with cruelty— inhuman as it was. What frightened
Estelle was not what Olivia plotted to do; it was the openly malicious pleasure
she seemed to derive from doing it.

Half
an hour later, however, having listened intently to Olivia about quite another
project, Estelle was devastated. "To
England?"
she gasped.
"You will do this for Freddie after the way he has treated you?"

"Don't
delude yourself that my motives are noble, Estelle! I do it for my own
salvation, for the way I have treated
him."

"But
how can Freddie dare to expect—"

"Freddie
expects nothing. For all I know, he doesn't even expect fatherhood! I do this
of my own free will because I must. From you, Estelle, I beg a very special
favour: You must ensure with Kinjal that I never lay eyes on my baby. It is
upon both of you that I depend to see to its care before it can be safely taken
away to England. And whatever happens, you must promise that my baby's birth
cry," an ache, a mere shadow of one, streaked across her face and was then
gone, "is not within my hearing. That I could not bear. It will make me
falter and I mustn't. No, don't cry, Estelle! To succumb to emotion now is to
make it even more difficult for me. But if you feel that you cannot help—"

"Of
course I can help! And of course I
will!"
Eyes pouring tears,
Estelle flung herself at her cousin and hugged her. "Oh, Olivia, how can
you even
consider
such a monstrous sacrifice!"

Olivia
put her arms around Estelle's heaving shoulders and stroked her hair. "I
do not see it as a sacrifice. My loss will be Freddie's gain, and that of my
baby. This child, at least, will not have to live deprived of a father. And
now, also promise me that you will not talk of this again. Not until the time
comes. Argument might convince me otherwise, and I know that would be
wrong."

Still
sobbing, Estelle nodded tacitly. Her one little seed of brattish
discontent—with what malignant fecundity it had germinated this seemingly
infinite forest!

The
following day was a Friday. Olivia gave the order for the demolitions of the
Templewood servants' quarters to commence on the coming Monday morning.

Whatever
Estelle's reactions, she now chose to keep them to herself, but young Mordecai
Abrahams was delighted. A Jew from Cochin and a building contractor by trade,
Abrahams had secured this highly lucrative and prestigious commission through
the good offices of his brother, Sol, who was employed at Farrowsham as a
messenger. Sol had warned his brother that, unlike
plenty of other
mems, this one could not be hoodwinked easily with inflated bills and false
expenses. Besides, she knew their language well, which meant he had to be
careful what he said to his men in her presence. Most important of all, he was
to obey her every instruction implicitly. Which is why, when Olivia instructed
Abrahams to announce far and wide that the demolitions would start on Monday,
he instantly dispatched runners all over Calcutta so that the news became known
in every locality. He had no idea why she should issue such an odd instruction.
But he did know that all white people were partially
sankhi,
eccentric.
If that was the way of their world, considering what she was paying him, who
was he to argue?