Ryman, Rebecca (113 page)

"Olivia
was not delirious." Serving him a large snifter of brandy, which he downed
almost in a single gulp, Estelle wiped
her red rimmed-eyes and blew her nose.
She glanced at Kinjal, received a nod, and proceeded to tell him the facts.
That Olivia was not to keep her child would be common knowledge soon anyway.

Dr.
Humphries was astounded. He lost no time in announcing that he had never heard
anything so preposterous in all his years of practice! "That infant is
premature! By God's grace he's a healthy little nipper, but you can't subject
him to mortal danger by whisking him off to
England
because of someone's
idiotic fancy!"

"He
will not be 'whisked off,' Dr. Humphries," Estelle assured him earnestly.
"Nothing will be done without your express approval and advice. It is only
because of you that Olivia has pulled through."

"Oh,
fiddlesticks! She's a sturdy filly, she would have pulled through anyway."
But he looked pleased. "Well, what is this plan you have then for the
child? May I be permitted to know?"

Estelle
amplified her explanations without giving him the reason for Olivia's decision.
That was irrelevant in the present context. The baby, she told him, was to be
moved to a caretaker's lodge on Her Highness's estate in Kalighat. Mary Ling
and the wet-nurse, now arrived from Kirtinagar, would care for the child under
the Maharani's personal supervision. "We will not arrange passages for
England until you give us permission, when you consider that the baby is fit to
make the voyage. Mary, the wet-nurse and I will go with him." She started
to weep. "I beg of you, please help us, Dr. Humphries. We must do our best,
our very best. Or we will have made a travesty of Olivia's noble act of
self-denial."

In
spite of his shock, he was moved. "Well... I can't pretend to understand
the situation," he muttered gruffly, "but then, in forty years of
anatomy and physiology, I've never been able to make sense of a woman's mind
anyway. However," he sighed, "whatever her reasons, your cousin has
my sympathy. She is a brave young woman who deserves support. I suppose I too
will have to do my mite. But I warn you," he dropped his banter, "neither
mother nor child is out of the woods. They will need meticulous care,
meticulous."

Suppressing
her shyness, Kinjal proceeded to give him her assurances and to answer fully
all the probing questions he put to her. Eventually he appeared satisfied. Promising
to return in the evening, he left behind many grim warnings and a lengthy list
of
instructions. He prescribed medications for Olivia's sadly depleted blood,
energy and weight; for her mutilated spirit, however, he had nothing. But then,
neither did anyone else.

"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 that 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.