Ryman, Rebecca (72 page)

Early
the next morning, as Olivia was preparing to leave for the Agency, a visitor
was announced. According to the card the bearer brought, it was a Captain
Mathieson Z. Tucker, master of the Lone Star line vessel
Maid of Galveston
out
of Texas. He had, he wrote on the card, brought for her gifts and messages from
Mr. Sean O'Rourke in Hawaii.

Wild
with excitement, Olivia flew down the stairs to greet Captain Tucker. "How
very kind of you to call personally!" She gripped his huge hand and clung
to it. "Do I understand that you have actually seen and talked to my
father?"

"Sure
thing, m'am. And that ain't all, Mrs. ah, Brixton . . .?"

"Birkhurst."

"Pardon,
Mrs. Birkhurst... I was there, right there m'am, at his weddin'. And a mighty
fine weddin' too, as is only fitten for a fine gent such as yer Paw." He
squeezed her hand and shook it so hard that her knuckles cracked, his bright
red hair bobbing up and down at the same time. "As to yer own weddin',
m'am, yer Paw said nothing. T'was to the Templewood house I went lookin' for
yerself this mornin'."

"Yes,
well, the news could not have reached Papa yet when you left him, Captain
Tucker." Eagerly she led him into the dining-room, where she had ordered
an elegant table laid for
breakfast. "Oh, I'm so impatient to hear all the news you bring,
Captain!"

Over
a gargantuan meal to which the Captain did full justice, Olivia listened in
enthralled silence as he gave her a detailed account of the great event. The
ceremony itself, he said, took place in a wooden shack of a church built
entirely out of sandalwood, for which the islands of Hawaii were famous. Sally
had worn a dress of shell pink and in her hair she had tucked a red double
hibiscus in deference to the native custom. The groom had been in a morning
suit (How he must have hated that! Olivia chuckled inwardly) and so had Sally's
boys. Dane, the younger, had been best man and Dirk had given his mother away.
Later, they had celebrated with a luau on the beach with spit-roasted suckling
pig, taro bread, sweet potatoes, sand-baked fish and " 'Nuff danged
coconut wine to float my goddam ship, beggin' yer pardon, m'am." They had
sung and danced till dawn. It had been, he concluded fervently, the best goddam
wedding he had ever been to, including his own. Shaking his head, he thrust
another vast spoonful of scrambled eggs through the shock of red whiskers that
all but concealed his mouth.

For
more than two hours over endless cups of good, strong Brazilian coffee, a gift
from the Captain, Olivia plied him with questions about all those thousands of
details that could never be put into a letter. Hawaii, he said, like America
was becoming an amazing melting-pot of folks from everywhere because the
islands were heavenly. "Many Americans too, m'am, like yer Paw, runnin'
away from California, where the gold scramble's bringin' every kinda scalawag
there is. There's not a crooked son of a sea cook who ain't headin' West for
the loot, m'am. And," he wagged a stern finger, "there's other
rumblin's. In the South, I've even heard talk of open defiance by the
slaves."

"And
the house Sally and my father live in?" Olivia asked, eager for more
personal news. "What is that like?"

Captain
Tucker chuckled. "Houses on the islands ain't always like in America,
m'am. This one's of grass, tapa cloth and blocks of coral." He told her
that in the yard Sally had planted bread-fruit, taro and such vegetables as
would grow on the islands' generally poor soil. They were lucky to have fresh
water on their land and the fishing was good. When not at the missionary school
or being tutored by her father, the boys were learning woodcraft, goat hunting
and shearing and skinning, as well as marine engineering down at the shipyard.
When they were old enough, her father planned to send them to Yale
on America's
East Coast. " 'Tis a fine sight to see those lads on a surfin' board,
m'am. Brown as berries they are, and happy as bloody sandpipers." Captain
Tucker's sigh was deep and hearty. "A few more voyages, a few more shekels
and, by Christ, I'm ready for the fragrant isles m'self."

Olivia's
eyes, far-away and wistful, filled with longing.
So was she, oh God; ready
but unable!

Captain
Tucker pointed to the large parcel he had brought. "If it's more news yer
after, 'tis all in there, I guess."

"Yes,
I suppose it is." Loath to let him go, she forced another cup of coffee on
him. "You bring with you sights and sounds of an outside I had almost
forgotten is still there, Captain Tucker. I am very grateful for your time and
trouble. Do you plan to stay awhile in port?"

"Alas,
no. We only stop long 'nuff to collect cargo, m'am, a day or so at most."

"What
cargoes have you been carrying so far?" she asked only to prolong the
conversation a few more minutes.

"Mostly
goat skins from Hawaii to Canton, bolts of silk now from China to Europe and
America. And some of that carv'd, curlicu'd furn'ture the Chinks make. Too fancy
for my likes but," he grimaced, "goes like free booze to the thirsty
for them that has the cash in the West."

"Does
it?" Olivia's eyes had suddenly turned thoughtful. "Did you say you
plan to touch England too, Captain Tucker?"

"Aye,
m'am. Southampton."

"In
that case," she said crisply, "would you be so kind as to give me
another few minutes of your time? There is a small matter I would like to
discuss."

Arthur
Ransome stared. "Yarrow has just returned from the docks. The
Maid of
Galveston
can carry no more cargo. Her holds are full."

"If
Mr. Yarrow goes again and meets Captain Tucker personally, he will find that
the situation has changed." Olivia explained her fortuitous encounter with
her father's friend. "He is willing to oblige on the basis of his
friendship with Papa. He tells me he has good contacts in Southampton. He will
sell your tea locally and," she leaned forward and smiled, "I will
purchase your
consignment before dispatch so that you can receive payment immediately."

Ransome's
eyes widened. "Good God, my dear, Willie would have a fit! To involve
Farrowsham in this—"

"The
involvement is not Farrowsham's, it is mine."

"But
I cannot allow Birkhurst money to—"

"It
is not Birkhurst money, Uncle Arthur. It belongs to me, personally." Her
tone turned persuasive. "If you miss this opportunity, Uncle Arthur, that
tea will deteriorate further and become unsalable. I assure you that the money
I offer is mine to do with as I wish without consulting either Freddie or
Willie Donaldson. I consider my investment safe since I am not looking for
profit. If I break even in Southampton, I will be satisfied."

Deeply
moved, Ransome fell silent. Then, noisily, he cleared his throat. "Your
offer is generous enough to render me speechless, but . . . ," he shook his
head uncertainly, "but you make yourself vulnerable and, through you,
Farrowsham."

"Farrowsham
is big enough to take care of itself. As for me, I neither fear nor care a
crooked cent for your Mr. Raventhorne's reaction. In fact, I dare him to do his
worst!" She flung the challenge with supreme confidence. For her,
Raventhorne's worst had already been done.

Eventually,
albeit reluctantly, Ransome capitulated, abandoning foolish pride to accept a
golden chance that might never again come. The other project Olivia had
envisaged for Ransom's benefit, while chatting with the obliging Captain, she
decided to reserve for later, following further investigations.

If
Arthur Ransome had been at a loss for words, no such reticence afflicted Willie
Donaldson the next morning when news of the impromptu sale and dispatch of the
moribund tea chests became known to the business district. "You should na
have done that, lass," he exclaimed heatedly. "By Christ, it ain't
our
business what bad blood exists twixt Trident and anybody else!"

"It
still isn't Farrowsham's business," Olivia reminded him, unruffled.
"And it isn't a matter of 'anybody else'; it's a matter of my uncle's
firm. Besides, there is no need for the Agency to be involved."

"There's
na need but it
might.
Because we dinna ever touch the damned poppy
trade, the cursed madman leaves us alone. To interfere noo with his affairs is
foolhardy. It canna but invite trouble." He was extremely put out.

"Trouble!"
Olivia's lips curled. "Why is everyone so damned
scared of trouble
from Raventhorne? He's a bully, not some magical genie with supernatural
powers!"

"He's
na genie but he
is
vicious and vindictive. What he's done to your
uncle—"

"What
he's done to my uncle he's done because everyone was too lily-livered to stop
him! Well, in my book he's just a cocky, self-opinionated smartass who's
sledge-hammered his way to the top because no one has had the guts to settle
his hash. Well,
I
have, Mr. Donaldson, I surely have!" Furious, she
stood up and glared down at him with flashing eyes. "And if in the process
I wish to help my kith and kin with my own money, I will damn well do so, and
to
hell
with every one of Calcutta's whey-faced, yellow-bellied
merchants!" Violently angry, she flounced out of his room.

Open
mouthed with astonishment, Donaldson gaped after her for a moment, then slowly
sat back and took a deep breath. He remained awhile rubbing his chin and
pondering and suddenly he broke out into quiet cackles. "Well, bless my
soul, bless my
soul!
For a wee lass na yet dry behind the ears, she na
runs short on bloody gall!" He roared and slapped his thigh. "But by
God
it's a grand pleasure to put one over the satchel-arsed bastard!"

Olivia
spent an evening of undiluted delight with the packages Captain Tucker had
delivered. She read all the letters contained in them over and over again. How
different they were in tone from her own blatantly fabricated, insincere
bulletins! Besides the letters with their welcome news, there were gifts
galore: carved sandalwood figurines and animals from Dane, similarly crafted
book ends from Dirk, clothes hand stitched by Sally, books, newspapers and
magazines from her father, cans of coffee-beans, coral jewellery and a
goat-skin jacket specially made for her birthday. Her birthday! Lost in her
fragile, perilous world so far away from reality, Olivia had forgotten even
that!

But
if the generous parcel from Hawaii filled her heart with sweet and sour aches,
the memory of another parcel from a different part of the world made Olivia's
heart burn with persistent curiosity. Try as she might, she could not forget
the sight of that fat brown bundle clutched in Ranjan Moitra's hand at the
docks! It was not idle news about Raventhorne that she craved. Only
one devouring
question dampened her forehead with cold sweat and brought a sick, hollow
feeling to her stomach:
Was he intending to return soon to Calcutta
...
?

As
it happened, no great deviousness was required to trap Moitra into somehow
releasing the information; two days after the encounter at the docks, he simply
walked into the office and requested an audience with her. Olivia's pulse
skipped—why the sudden call? "Yes, Mr. Moitra. What can I do for
you?" A few minutes later when he was settled opposite her in her room,
the front she presented to him was businesslike and composed.