Ryman, Rebecca (114 page)

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 apparent 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."

The
parting, so close, so final, was painful for them both. But, swallowing her
heartache Kinjal ventured to ask, "The only one?"

The
spark in Olivia's dark, golden eyes died. "Yes. The only one."

"Olivia,
you once told me that as recompense for the gratitude your uncle expressed to
you, you had asked for a favour in kind. If I have indeed been this sanctuary,
then would you consider such a favour for me?" Knowing what might be
coming, Olivia turned away. "Before you sail for Hawaii, would you allow
Jai to be with his son once more?"

Trembling,
Olivia shook her head. "No!"

"I
know that you have closed your mind to the subject, but that does not make it
go away," Kinjal persisted. "Admit it or not, Jai acted with honour.
Having been through it yourself, can you not imagine
his
self-denial,
the extent of his sense of loss? He need not have suffered it—certainly, none
of us believed that he would. By denying himself so severely, don't you think
he has
earned
at least this meagre privilege?"