Ryman, Rebecca (13 page)

Arthur
Ransome, Olivia recalled, had gone a step further— he had called him a mad dog!
"Insane?"

"In
some ways, yes. But then, on the other hand, one must concede that every man is
entitled to his obsessions. Jai Raventhorne too has his." They had arrived
back at the point from which they had started. The Maharaja held out a chair
for Olivia and then slipped into one opposite her. "Tell me, Miss
O'Rourke, why does this man interest you so much?"

Olivia
felt the heat climb up her face. The casual façade she had assumed had not
deceived the Maharaja. Suddenly, she found the inside of her mouth oddly dry,
but she met the probing gaze with contained calmness. "Only because even
during that brief encounter, your friend struck me as . . . unusual. I have not
met many men like Mr. Raventhorne."

"Many?"
he smiled. "If you had met any, I would have been surprised."

Not
so much by what he said but by the tone in which he said it, Olivia surmised
that the matter of Jai Raventhorne was once again closed. The hundred new
questions surging through her mind with even more impatience now would have to
remain unasked and unanswered. The conversation slipped back into neutral
channels as they chatted informally of Kirtinagar, of America and India, of
cabbages and kings. The Maharaja, Olivia saw, was an enlightened, well-informed
man whose interests were catholic and with whom it was easy to converse. Apart
from Jai Raventhorne, the other subject she did not bring up again was that of the
coal mine, as outside her ethical limits as was the Maharaja's enigmatic
friend.

"Has
Olivia been looking after you well, Your Highness?" Sir Joshua rejoined
them eventually, still full of high spirits. "She has a sharp intellect,
as I'm sure Your Highness has already deduced, and like many of her countrymen
never fails to call a spade anything but that!"

"Yes,
indeed. I am charmed by such refreshing candour," the Maharaja agreed with
alacrity.
"I
have greatly enjoyed our little chat."

Olivia
blushed. "Well, I hope the candour has not been
too
refreshing! I
have never before been in the company of royalty, and so my knowledge of
appropriate protocol is deplorably lacking."

The
Maharaja grimaced and arched an eyebrow. "You have no idea, Miss O'Rourke,
how tired one tends to get of protocol. Your 'deplorably lacking' knowledge,
believe me, comes as a breath of fresh air." He bowed. "I thank you
for a most entertaining interlude. I have learned much. Perhaps some day you
will give the Maharani and myself the privilege of offering you our humble
hospitality in Kirtinagar." He turned to Sir Joshua. "And, of course,
yourself, Lady Bridget and the delightful Miss Templewood."

Olivia
watched as her uncle bore off his prize guest to present to him the waiting
line of people ranged underneath the canopy. Many already knew the Maharaja,
but there was still a formality about the presentation that impressed with its
air of ceremony. However elated Sir Joshua appeared to be in his effusive
bonhomie, even from a distance Olivia could see that it was not shared by
Arthur Ransome as he solemnly shook hands with his partner's royal guest.
Ransome, in fact, looked visibly worried. Obviously, there were undercurrents
in the occasion but, as far as Olivia was concerned, none as insidious as those
now running within herself. Why had the Maharaja brought up the subject of Jai
Raventhorne at all with her? What was it that he might have seen in her face
that had urged him on to question the source of her interest? In retrospect,
she felt a sense of disquiet, of unreality, about their conversation, for it
had been about a man she had met only once and whose face she still had not
seen clearly! What an absurd situation!

"Come
and join us, Olivia. What on earth have you been doing with all those
antiquated fuddy-duddies?" Estelle's voice was loud enough to be
embarrassing. Quickly, Olivia joined her cousin and her friends.

"Yes
do,
Olivia," seconded Lily Horniman, a tall girl with
ginger-colored hair and an acute case of enlarged adenoids. "Estedde's
been regarding us with such tades of your derring-do and they're a
hoot,
readdy
they are!"

"Estelle
maintains," John Sturges said with a wink and his tongue resting in his
cheek, "that you were champion shotgun rider with the wagon train and once
fought off five redskins with your bare hands."

Olivia
cursed silently; Estelle was incorrigible! But it was difficult not to laugh at
her cousin's fertile imagination. "Actually,"
she said
lightly, settling herself down in their midst, "there were ten. And I
didn't just fight them off with my bare hands, I
strangled
half of them.
If I didn't ride shotgun, considering I was only eight, I still sure was
champion of s
ome
thing."

"Wot?"
Polly Drummond asked wide eyed, not certain if all this was serious or a joke.

"I
was champion of the buffalo chip collecting team,
that's
what!"

They
stared at her blankly, then Estelle asked with marked suspicion, "What's a
buffalo chip?"

Olivia
told them and John bellowed with laughter while everyone else looked taken
aback. "Well, you must admit Estelle's imagination does her credit and she
does spin a yarn well!"

"Ugh!"
Marie
Cleghorn shuddered delicately. "How
could
you, Olivia?"

"It
was quite easy," Olivia assured her callously. "They were old and
perfectly dry, our only assured source of fuel."

"Well,
I don't believe it," Marie said flatly.

"Oh,
I
believe it," Charlotte Smithers sniggered. "I'd believe
any
thing
about Americans. My aunt comes from Memphis and she once hit my uncle on the
nose with an umbrella and he couldn't smell anything for a
week!
Isn't
that gruesome?"

"But
since 'e could'n' breathe neither, presum'bly, I s'pose she was quite 'appy, eh
luv?" Dave Crichton added with a broad wink.

Charlotte
Smithers tossed her head haughtily but everyone
else laughed, except for
Estelle. "Well, that's what Olivia told me herself," she muttered,
snatching her hand out of John's. "At least that's what I
think
she
told me."

Dinner
was announced with a silver gong, then served and eaten with considerable
aplomb as tribute to the splendid display of wines, viands and three kinds of
dessert. After dinner the long trestle tables were removed and the arena
cleared for dancing.

"Disgusting!"
Lady Bridget pronounced fiercely under her breath, "dis
gus
ting!"
Sitting down briefly next to her aunt to cool her aching heels, Olivia followed
Lady Bridget's shocked gaze fixed on a corner of the tent. Next to the liquor
table, Mrs. Drummond clung tenaciously to the arm of a retired naval admiral.
It was obvious that both were in an advanced state of intoxication. "How
Bertie can encourage the woman I don't know. I've never seen such a shameless
display of immodesty." Angrily she tapped on her knee with her fingertips.
"I shall have words with Estelle tomorrow, believe me!"

Olivia
believed her. Mrs. Drummond was making rather a spectacle of herself, but it
was obviously with the approval and participation of "Bertie," who
made no secret of enjoying the coquettish attentions. But there was evidence of
lack of inhibitions elsewhere, too, which was not surprising since an
inordinate amount of liquor was being consumed. Nevertheless, Olivia remained
silent in the knowledge that it was her intervention that had included Mrs.
Drummond in the revelry, and that Lady Bridget's promised "words"
would have to be shared equally between her cousin and herself.

"And
how Josh can
demean
himself so by pandering to the man's vanity is
beyond me! I'm astonished he can't see how it debases him in the eyes of his
equals."

Her
aunt referred, of course, to the Maharaja. Immediately after supper Sir Joshua
and some of the other prominent merchants had withdrawn with him to the formal
sitting-room in the house. A flurry of bearers was now busy flitting to and fro
with choice brandies, cigars and liqueurs. "The coal is of importance to
Uncle Josh," Olivia started to explain. "He is preparing the ground
for further negotiations, that's all."

A
strange, indecipherable expression came over Lady Bridget's features as she
slowly swivelled to face her niece. "Josh will never get that coal,
Olivia,
never!
If he thinks he will with his clownish endeavours and his
grovelling, he is an even greater fool than that native prince must consider
him to be."

It
had never ceased to surprise Olivia that her aunt's interest in and
understanding of her husband's business should be so minimal, indeed, so
grudging. She spoke of Sir Joshua's professional affairs so seldom that Olivia
was beginning to wonder if she even knew what he did! But now, the categorical
remark she had made seemed so knowing, so profound, that Olivia stared. Lady
Bridget's eyes glittered like icy blue shards of glass, but her voice shook
with rare passion and her hands were clenched by her sides.

"By
gad, Bridget, splendid bash, splendid! Never saw anything like this in Dacca,
'pon my word!" A pompous jute manufacturer with a bright red nose and the
strutting gait of an old Army hand strolled up, waving a glass erratically and
splashing his drink in all directions. "Can't say I've enjoyed myself so
much in years!"

"I'm
so
glad, Tim." Carefully, Lady Bridget wiped the front of her dress
with a serviette without dropping her gracious smile. The fierce expression of
only a moment ago was gone as if by
magic. "You must come round for a
quiet tete-a-tete and tell us all about your furlough home."

As
the mood became more boisterous, so did the dancing, which continued till the
early hours of the morning. By then the gathering had thinned considerably.
Only the younger group remained, along with some sporting elders blessed with
more energy than their peers. Having danced every dance, Olivia's soles were
afire in the unaccustomed gold sandals, but there could be no question of
abandoning the party while the younger crowd persisted; Estelle would never
forgive her if she did not stay until the bitter end. Eventually, a hearty
breakfast of bacon and eggs was served to the determined handful that remained
until dawn, Sir Joshua and Lady Bridget having long since retired. Crippled
with relief and fatigue, Olivia dragged herself up to bed just before the first
streaks of daylight started to stain the eastern horizon. She was asleep even
before her head touched the pillow.

Her
slumber, however, was fitful and her dreams mysteriously ominous. Two black
mastiffs with blank, silverfish eyes had their fangs securely embedded in her
flesh. They were by the river and she was being dragged along the embankment.
Even so, she could not recognise the environment in which she was any more than
she could divine the direction in which she was being pulled. All she knew was
that the force with which she was being carried away was magnetic, and that she
no longer had the power to deflect it.

It
was Sunday.

In
the early morning the Maidan, a vast parkland across the White Town known as
the "lungs" of the city, had its usual complement of brisk walkers,
casual strollers and horsemen out for an hour or two of exercise when the city
was at its most pleasant. Water carriers jogged rhythmically, balanced by their
evenly distributed loads; palanquin carriers transported their customers with
geometrically measured steps; and a monkey man with his animal perched cheekily
on his shoulders looked around for an audience with the help of a small drum.
Along the Chowringhee Road, the town's main thoroughfare, sluggish bullock
carts creaked with the weight of fresh fruit and vegetables for the markets,
and a few carriages clip-clopped along with European passengers. Farther along,
at the Chowringhee-Dharamtala crossing, sweepers cleaned the steps of a church
in preparation for the morning service, although the congregation on this
Sabbath was yet to arrive, no doubt still asleep in bed after the Templewood
ball at which many had been guests.

Despite
her exhaustion, or perhaps because of it, Olivia had not been able to sleep for
long. She had risen early long before the household had even stirred, to set
forth on her customary ride. One of the incidental benefits of Estelle's
elaborate party had been that in the confusion that had prevailed throughout
the lengthy preparations, nobody had noticed that Olivia went out riding on her
own. On this morning, too, with all of Lady Bridget's servants still dead to
the world after their arduous labours of last night, Olivia had been unobserved
as she left the house on Jasmine. She had long wanted to explore the colourful
bazaar near the Chitpur Road, and Mr. Courtenay's (or Poultenay's)
recommendation last night had compounded the desire. That
circumstances
had turned out to be favourable for such a forbidden excursion was, of course,
fortunate; that she was disobeying her aunt's express dictates, Olivia did not
think of at all in her state of pleasant excitement. It was unlikely that her
casual and, in her opinion, entirely harmless sortie would be discovered.