Ryman, Rebecca (17 page)

Estelle's
sense of thrill was infectious; fantasy flared also in Olivia's secret mind. On
the clipper's quarter-deck she saw Jai Raventhorne watching her. On the same
wind that ruffled his untamed hair she heard his voice, deep and rich and
commanding, boom out orders to be obeyed this instant. In her imagination he
even taunted her—unlikely to miss the chance!—for her fluttering heartbeat, her
soaring excitement, the flush on her cheeks, knowing all about them as he
seemed to know everything else.

"And
I found out something else about him." Estelle's voice disturbed Olivia's
daydream and cut it short.

Embarrassed
by her own childishness, Olivia thought, I shouldn't be encouraging her in all
this dreadful gossip. But aloud she asked, "What?"

Estelle
looked over her shoulder, then pulled Olivia to one side. "They say he's a
... a
bastard!"
She gasped at her own daring and clamped a hand
over her mouth. Then, for Olivia's benefit, she added, "That means his
father and mother were never married—isn't that
awful?"

The
information did not surprise Olivia. Most Eurasians in India and the Orient
bore the stamp of illegitimacy—the
brand!
Raventhorne's bitterness was
neither unfair nor excessive. "Especially for him," she murmured,
astonished that she could feel pity for someone who deserved it so little.

"Mama
says bastards are born out of sin," Estelle said piously, disappointed at
her cousin's lack of shock.

"Bastards
are born out of women, just like everybody else! It's we who make illegitimacy,
not God. Who were his parents, do you know?"

Estelle
brightened again, pleased at being asked. "They say his father was some
drunken English sailor, or at least white man, who jumped ship in port, and his
mother was a servant girl. He seduced her and then ran away. That means—"

"Yes,
I do know what 'seduced' means. He never came back?"

"No.
At least, Mrs. Drummond believes that Jai Raventhorne knows something more than
he . . . oh! I said his name, how
dreadful!"
She gulped and again
her hand flew to her mouth.

"Why?"
Olivia surprised herself with her sudden spark of anger. "If your parents
do not wish his name mentioned in their house, I respect that. But that doesn't
mean we must never talk of him anywhere else at any time. Oh, don't be so
silly, Estelle!"

The
reprimand halted Estelle in her steps. "Well,
I
don't want to talk
about him at all," she said, aggrieved. "I've only been gathering all
this because
you
keep asking." Raising her nose, she walked away.

Which
was, of course, quite true. Reluctantly, Olivia bit back all the other
questions tumbling around in her mind and hurried behind Estelle to smooth her
ruffled feathers. "It's just idle inquisitiveness on my part, my dearest
Coz,
and hardly worth arguing about." With a laugh she gave her cousin a
hug. "Come on, let's go and see what all the pother is about at the
jetty." Perforce, the subject of Jai Raventhorne was dropped.

At
the wharf there was chaos. Europeans, newly arrived, and those who received
them jostled each other among piles of cabin trunks, carpet-bags, wooden
crates, tin boxes, gunny sacks, bedding rolls, furniture and mountains of cargo
from the recently docked ship. The noise was cacophonous. Everyone talked at
once as Customs and Port Trust officials fought to hold tempers trying to
answer a dozen questions at the same time. Clad in loin-cloths,
mahogany-skinned coolies bargained hotly as
budge-row
boats delivered
more passengers to the jetty.

"I
say, what a splendid coincidence! Are you here to receive the unfortunates
arriving from the good old mother country?"

Olivia
and Estelle turned to see the vapidly grinning face of Freddie Birkhurst.
"No," Estelle answered, "but you are, we know."

Freddie's
mouth dropped. "Indeed. The mater is about to land and take charge of her
wayward son. You must both come for tiffin anon to meet her."

They
made polite noises. Then Olivia inquired, "This isn't Lady Birkhurst's
first visit to India, is it?"

"Good
God, no. Mother is an old India hand. Lived here for years when the pater was
doing his bit for the Empire—and taking his bit in return." His glumness
deepened. "She's a tough old rhinoceros, you know. Laps up this damned
country like whipped cream."

"Well,
never mind, Mr. Birkhurst," Estelle comforted cheerfully. "Olivia will
help revive your flagging spirits. She's
dying
to meet your
mother."

"Are
you,
Miss O'Rourke?" If anything, he looked astonished. "Well, in that
case, would you both do us the honour of lunching with us at the Tolly Club
next Sunday? There's a frightfully exciting polo game on. Of course I shall get
Mother to write to Lady Bridget immediately on arrival." He brightened
considerably.

Olivia
was furious but Estelle was not yet done. "A polo game? Oh, how
adventurous! Just yesterday Olivia was complaining of how little she understood
this native game that is suddenly all the rage with you English gents. I'm sure
she'd
adore
some explanations."

He
went purple with happiness. "I would be delighted, er,
honoured
to
explain the game to you in detail, Miss O'Rourke! Shall we then take luncheon
next Sunday as said?"

"Oh,
would you please excuse me for a moment?" Avoiding her cousin's outraged
glare, Estelle started to move away. "I've just seen Charlotte, I think,
and there's something I absolutely
must
..." She waved and vanished.

It
was impossible for Olivia to follow suit without seeming unforgivably rude.
Trapped within the adoring gooseberry gaze of Freddie Birkhurst, she relapsed
into sullen silence. He coughed and cleared his throat. "I have, er, been
waiting for an opportunity to, er ...," he ran a finger inside his collar,
"apologise to you most profoundly for my unfortunate, ah, lapse, yes
lapse,
at the Pennworthys the other night, Miss O'Rourke, er, Olivia. I should
have written
but my, ah, nerve failed me. Are you totally disgusted with my behaviour and
with me?"

He
looked so woebegone that it was difficult not to feel sorry for him. "No,
of course not. I had already forgotten all about it." She smiled with as
much warmth as she could muster.

It
was as if heaven had opened up for Freddie. "You had? Oh, ah, splendid,
splendid!
Not for anything in the world, Miss O'Rourke... Olivia, would I wish you to
think badly of me. I—"

"I
don't think badly of you at all, Mr. Birkhurst, I promise you . . ."
Frantically, she looked around for escape but none seemed possible. She cursed
her cousin roundly and soundly, but then fate intervened.

"Damn,
I think I spy the mater..." He clasped Olivia's hand warmly. "I'd
better be off. Until Sunday then. I can hardly
wait
..." He hurried
away.

It
wasn't until they were both back in the carriage again that Olivia could vent
her exasperation. Estelle, however, was unrepentant. "My dearly beloved
Coz, you are now all of twenty-two years old, and Freddie Birkhurst is not only
the biggest catch in station, he's passionately in love with you—"

"I
don't care how big a catch he is and I'd rather he kept his passionate love to
himself. I'm
not
going to marry Freddie!" Olivia was very cross
indeed. "And if he is such a big catch, why hasn't Aunt Bridget tried to
make a match between you two?"

"Oh,
she tried all right. But Papa put his foot down; so did I." She shuddered.
"Fancy waking up to Freddie Birkhurst's boiled gooseberry eyes every
morning.
Ugh!"

"Well,
thank you very much! Having decided that, you now want to palm him off on
me!"

"No,
Olivia, that isn't the idea at all," Estelle explained patiently.
"It's the practical aspect of the matter that you must consider. Papa's
money guarantees a title for me anyway, but Uncle Sean doesn't have any money.
If you married Freddie you wouldn't
need
a portion because he's already
got plenty and he'd sell his soul to have you at any cost. Besides, you'd have
one of the best titles in England and estates in Suffolk and India—now,
wouldn't that be perfect for everyone?"

What
a calculating little minx! Even so, it was impossible to remain angry with such
barefaced effrontery for long and Olivia laughed. "Everyone except me! Why
don't you just worry about your John and leave me to my fate as an old maid?"

"Oh,
John I can have any time. He absolutely worships me." Estelle looked smug
as she waved the familiar contender aside.

"But
he
doesn't have a title."

"He
will one day, maybe soon. You see, John's father's older brother is the Marquis
of Quentinberry and he's a bachelor. So John's father is his heir, unless of
course his uncle marries and has children, which he won't because John says
he's impotent—not John, the Marquis." She paused to give a maidenly blush,
then opened her mouth again.

"Oh,
you don't need to explain," Olivia said, greatly amused. "I also know
what impotent means."

"Yes,
well, John's father is already ailing," Estelle continued unfazed,
"which is why John is going home on furlough. The chances are John will
outlive both his uncle and his father, so there! The Marchioness of
Quentinberry..." She rolled the name around on her tongue a few times and
looked satisfied. "Yes, that will do nicely, I think. Unless a, well,
dukedom
with
money happens to turn up. Especially since John is going to
be away for a year and there are other fish in the sea." Eyes narrowed in
coldblooded speculation, she absent-mindedly tapped a tattoo on the window with
her fingers.

Olivia
was so taken aback by this new aspect of her cousin that for a moment she could
only stare. "Other fish?" she then asked suspiciously. "Who? Not
Clive Smithers, by any chance? I hear he cuts quite a dash in his naval
uniform, and since his arrival Charlotte has suddenly developed a whole new
rash of friends including you who couldn't bear her not so long ago."

Estelle
first looked flustered, then haughty. "Huh! I
don't
have a case on
Clive, so there! I don't want to marry
anyone
yet, I just want to go to
London and have fun and be
free."
Her lips suddenly quivered and
her eyes welled. "I've never been anywhere, done anything, met anyone
truly wonderful. Do you know, I've never ever even seen
snow . . .?"

Lady
Birkhurst's formal letter of invitation to luncheon at the Tollygunge Club the
following Sunday duly arrived. The invitation kindly included Sir Joshua in
case he were not otherwise occupied, which, he lost no time in informing his
wife, he would make certain he would be. Lady Bridget, however, was openly
thrilled. To have so fortuitously outdistanced all the other ladies in Calcutta
also with marriageable girls on their hands!

"You
must wear your blue linen with the white organdie
ruffles and, of course, that
white leather belt since it suits you so well." Lady Bridget got down
immediately to essentials. "Or do you think the lemon with the polka-dots?
No, perhaps not. It heightens far too much the sunburn on your face and arms.
Mind you, I wouldn't entirely reject the pink. It does bring out the . .
."

Steeped
in depression, Olivia listened morosely. Inwardly, however, she burned with
resentment. No matter how diligent or well meaning her aunt's matchmaking
efforts, they had to be stopped. Should she do it now or later? Well, perhaps
later; after all, it was presumptuous to accept as granted Lady Birkhurst's
approval of her no matter how positive Jai Raventhorne's uninvited vote of
confidence! And it might never happen. With all her heart Olivia prayed that
Lady Birkhurst would absolutely hate her!

That
night in their bedroom Lady Bridget tackled her husband firmly. "I wish
you wouldn't make these unkind remarks about the Birkhursts, Josh. I don't want
Olivia to become unnecessarily prejudiced against Freddie."

Lying
on his bed face down, eyes closed and a bath towel wrapped around his torso as
Rehman gave him his nightly massage, Sir Joshua made little grunts of
contentment. "Birkhurst is a walking testimony to his own God-given
idiocy. My intervention is scarcely required to prejudice an essentially
intelligent girl." He signalled Rehman to punch and pummel even more vigorously.