Ryman, Rebecca (55 page)

The
household was stirring. In the pantry, Rehman was washing apples preparatory to
slicing them for breakfast. The milk, gathered each morning by the resident
gwala
from the two cows tethered in the shed behind the servants' compound, was
already on the boil. The second bearer was stacking cutlery and crockery to lay
the breakfast table in the back verandah, where the meal was taken in winter.
Outside the pantry door, Babulal waited for orders and money to do the daily
bazaar. The
jamadar,
the coachman, the gardeners, the day-watchman—all
stood in line outside, sombre faced and unspeaking, because everyone knew
something bad had happened. The stable-boy was the only one who spoke. Sidling
up to Olivia, he followed her into the dining-room with the sotto voce
information that the
Ganga
had already left anchorage when he reached
the river bank. He waited with some anxiety for her to demand back the rupee
she had given him for the boatman. But Olivia had already forgotten about it.
Taking the envelope he held out, she tore it into small pieces and tossed them
in the waste-paper basket.

"Yes,
I know."

One
by one she dealt with the servants. Devising a menu for the day she dispatched
Babulal to the market, ordered oatmeal porridge and fruit juice for her aunt
and uncle and returned
upstairs to rouse the ayah. Lady Bridget was starting to toss restlessly. Her
forehead felt warm to Olivia's touch, so she moistened a towel, doused it with
eau-de-Cologne and pressed it against her aunt's face.

"Estelle
. . .?" Lady Bridget's eyes flew open.

"No,
dear. It is I, Olivia."

Lady
Bridget gave a little moan. The effect of the sleeping draught was still strong
with her and her senses were scattered. Olivia spoon-fed her the two other
mixtures Dr. Humphries had prescribed, then went to her own room for a bath and
change.

Estelle
and
Jai?

Oh
sweet mother of God, there was still so much to be done! She sat down to write
an urgent note to Arthur Ransome.

"Mrs.
Drummond?"

Polly's
mother's yawn as she opened her front door turned into a round-mouthed "oh"
of surprise. It was almost nine o'clock but signs of a hasty departure from bed
at the ring of the doorbell were obvious. Her Chinese kimono was only partially
on, barely covering her undergarments, and her eyes, full of drowse and smudged
kohl, were still half shut.

"Why,
Olivia!
What a surprise!" She was flustered and not entirely
pleased, her eyes suddenly alert and darting inward towards the room behind.
Patting her dishevelled henna-dyed hair that framed her face like a bizarre
haystack, she quickly rearranged her kimono and opened the door wide.
"Come in, dearie, do. What brings you our way so early this fine sunny
morning?"

Olivia
followed her into a large, untidy front room with shabby, chintz-covered
furniture and the smell of stale cigar smoke. The debris of some past
conviviality was strewn everywhere—dirty glasses and plates, overflowing
ash-trays and a pair of gentleman's boots, which, with a deft kick, Mrs.
Drummond sent sliding behind a settee. Sitting down on the lumpy sofa with
bulging springs into which she was waved, Olivia flushed as she heard the sound
of a door being shut firmly somewhere behind her.

"I'm
sorry to be disturbing you so early in the morning, Mrs. Drummond, but I wonder
if I could have a word with Polly. Is she back yet from Chandernagore?"

Mrs.
Drummond's wide mouth, smeared with the remnants
of very bright lip salve,
twitched in a smile as she cast another sidelong glance in the direction from
which the sound of the door had come. "Er . . . Polly? No, I'm afraid
she's not back yet but due any day." She ran hasty fingers through her
mass of hair. "You must forgive the mess, love. I was . . . entertaining
last night, you see." Her smile was apologetic. "I haven't had a
moment to clean up—not that
I
have to. I do have servants, you know, for
what they're worth, which isn't much." In an affected, high-pitched accent
she subjected Olivia to a lengthy homily about her woes with her domestic
complement before returning to the subject at hand. "What she's still
doing in Chandernagore goodness knows, with rehearsals for the panto due to
start soon and Hicks yelling bloody murder—but didn't Estelle tell you she's
not back yet?"

It
was the opening Olivia was waiting for—hoping for, rather. She smiled and
leaned back, then quickly shot forward again as a spring bit sharply into her
spine. "Actually, no, Mrs. Drummond. You see," she conjured up a
small laugh, "Estelle was in such a state of high excitement before she
left, as you can well imagine, she didn't have time to tell anyone anything!
And I do so want to borrow those new music sheets Polly told me she had sent
out from England. With Christmas so—"

"Before
she left?" Mrs. Drummond stopped fussing with an array of glasses on the
piano lid and frowned. "Left for where? I didn't know Estelle was going
anywhere. I thought she was going to be in the panto."

Olivia
feigned surprise. "You mean Estelle didn't even tell
you
she was
sailing for England yesterday? How terribly remiss of her!"

Slowly
Mrs. Drummond folded onto the piano stool, her face a picture of amazement.
"Sailing for
England?
Estelle . . .?" Her black-rimmed eyes
widened in disbelief. "Well, bless my soul! No, she never breathed a word
to me, not a
word,
and I saw her only the other day buying ribbons in
Whiteaways!" She looked very put out. "Fancy that! Fancy going off
without even a hint to anyone,
fancy!"
She picked up a palm leaf
fan and waved it briskly in front of her face, her untidy eyes not only envious
but also suspicious. "But I thought her father absolutely refused to let
her go home until after she was married—at least, that's what Estelle has
always said."

"Oh,
that's quite true, Mrs. Drummond. Uncle Josh has always been adamant about
that. As you know, he couldn't bear
to be parted with his daughter even to
send her to school at home. It was all very sudden, you see. Not so long ago he
happened to meet this ship's captain who was voyaging with his sister on board.
Aunt Bridget took quite a shine to the sister and, when Estelle pleaded with
her mother to let her accompany them since such a worthy chaperone was
available, my aunt managed to persuade her husband to relent. It all happened
almost overnight, I'm afraid." She added with a pointed smile, "The
fact that John Sturges is also in England, as you are aware, no doubt had
something to do with Uncle Josh's change of heart."

"I
. . . see." Suspicion still lurked in Mrs. Drummond's shrewd little eyes
as she appraised Olivia thoroughly. "Which ship did you say she sailed
on?"

Olivia
was prepared for that, knowing only too well how many seagoing captains, naval
officers and personnel from the port Mrs. Drummond counted among her friends.
"I'm not very certain, Mrs. Drummond. It was all arranged when I was ill,
you see. I had very little to do with Estelle's preparations." That, at
least, she thought grimly, was perfectly true! "I think it was a Dutch
ship, or maybe Swedish. In any case, I'm almost sure it was European, although
it might have been English."

The
palm leaf fan again started to wave briskly. "Well, you can knock me over
with a feather, ducky, really you can!" At last she seemed reasonably
satisfied. "Polly will be green, absolutely
green
when she hears,
not that I'm not." She gave a shrill, discontented little laugh. "Of
course, I could get up and go anytime I wished, anytime. But then a girl does
have to be careful with
whom,
doesn't she?"

Hastily,
Olivia got to her feet. It surprised her that her mission had been accomplished
with such relative ease. She had established that Estelle had taken neither the
Drummond daughter nor the mother into her confidence. Also, with Mrs.
Drummond's propensity for spreading gossip, the doctored version of Estelle's
departure would soon be open knowledge. There would be talk, naturally, but at
least a scandal of monumental dimensions had been averted for the moment. Or so
Olivia hoped. There were other investigations to be made, of course, other
leaks to be plugged. And many more lies to be told. First and foremost she had
to find out just which one of her friends Estelle
had
taken as a
conspirator.

The
answer, when it came to her, arrived like a thunderbolt. For a moment Olivia
stood rooted to the middle of the narrow, crowded lane outside Mrs. Drummond's
house. Of course! How
could she have missed the obvious? Whatever else Jai Raventhorne might be, he
was not a fool. If there was one thing he must have learned about Estelle in a
hurry, it was undoubtedly that she was a compulsive blabbermouth. Whatever plot
had been concocted, he must have made damn certain that Estelle knew none of
the details, and what better place to ensure her silence than the house in
Chitpur? The use of the Pringles' name had been wise since they lived too far
away for immediate enquiries to be conducted. And, come to think of it, could
there be a better reason for getting Sujata out of the way during these vital
past few days?

Which
meant that while she herself was on the
Ganga
in Jai Raventhorne's bed
and arms, committing to him her body, her soul and her life, Estelle was in the
Chitpur house awaiting his summons to come on board and take her place in both
his arms and his bed!

Within
Olivia cold fury stirred, but she strangled it at birth. The luxury of emotion
was not yet to be hers; there was still so much, so
much,
left undone!
At the Templewood bungalow an answer awaited her from Arthur Ransome—true,
loyal friend that he was—promising his presence as soon as he had completed
some urgent paperwork at the office, and expressing concern at the sudden
"indispositions" of both Sir Joshua and his wife. Knowing that
Ransome would read between the lines and realise the urgency of the situation
even without knowing it fully, Olivia had refrained from elaborate
explanations. But Arthur Ransome was the only one who could, and must, be taken
wholly into her confidence. With Estelle's parents both stricken and disabled,
she desperately needed an ally or she would go insane. She could not bear the
burden alone.

Dear
Lord, would she be able to bear it at all?

Just
before luncheon, Dr. Humphries called again. After he had once more examined
his sleeping patient—unaware of the crumbling world around her—Olivia took him
downstairs into the parlour and dutifully repeated the story she had concocted
for general consumption. Millie Humphries was as avid a gossip as Mrs. Drummond;
between them, the plausible fabrication would have as wide a distribution as
possible. The doctor himself, Olivia realised with a sinking heart, would have
to be given if not the entire truth then a diluted version of it. As family
physician and long-standing friend of the Templewoods, he could probably not be
fobbed off with less for long. For the moment, however, the chain of falsehoods
already forged would suffice to ensure a brief breathing space.

Dr.
Humphries was astounded. "Great balls of fire, so Josh finally relented,
did he? Well, I'll be damned!" He accepted the story without question.
"I'm glad for your little cousin, my dear. India is no place for skittish
young things out to have fun. So,
that's
the reason Bridget has taken to
her bed, is it?" He nodded sagely. "She'll miss her, you know. No
matter how hot their battles, that girl is the apple of her mother's eye. Well,
I hope Josh knows what he's doing. Young Sturges is away on furlough, isn't he?
I suppose that has something to do with it. By the way, is Josh in? I didn't
see his carriage outside his office this morning when I passed."

"Yes,
he is in but he's . . . asleep. In his study." Olivia gave the doctor a
look that he interpreted as she had meant him to.

"Again?"
He tsk-tsked and frowned. "You tell Josh from me that if he doesn't let up
he's going to be in very deep waters pretty soon, although," he paused and
picked up his bag, "in a way I don't blame him. He's been under great
strain just lately. Mind you, it's nobody's doing but his own, the stubborn
fool. He's got that blasted coal on his brain, to say nothing of his obsession
with that half-breed scoundrel. Tell him from me it's got to stop, will
you?"