Ryman, Rebecca (80 page)

Estelle
stared in surprise, then, slowly, her expression changed. "How droll, how
very droll, considering it was
you
who objected most to his name being
forbidden in our house! It was
you
who insisted he shouldn't be treated
like a pariah, it was
you
who—"

"Stop
it,
Estelle!" Trying to leash her rage, Olivia crossed her arms against her
chest but her eyes glittered. "Don't try to force any more issues. What
you have already forced will do us for a lifetime."

With
equal belligerence Estelle spun around to confront her enraged cousin.
"Isn't it time somebody
did
force some more
issues? I'm
sick
of talking in hushed whispers behind locked doors about issues that are
being swept under the carpet, issues that are never held up to light, issues
that are neither explained nor understood. What is everyone so frightened
of—what are
you
so frightened of, Olivia? Gossip? Poison tongues and
scandal? Well, the pox on all that, I say, the
pox!"
Breathing
hard, she put her hands on her hips, and the corners of her mouth drooped in a
sneer. "You are the person I admired most in the world, Olivia, because I
thought you were fair and just and liberal and independent. Was that all a
sham, then?"

"Yes,
it
was all a sham! I am not the person you thought I was, nor the person
I
thought I was. Satisfied? Now, please get out of my way and allow me to
leave."

Estelle
did not move. Instead, her lip curled further. "Isn't it strange, Olivia,
that now
I
should be the one with courage? Well, I
do
love Jai
Raventhorne, and I don't care who knows it. At one time you too had some
empathy for him, some curiosity about him. You made a thousand excuses for him,
gave him the benefit of so many doubts. And now, like the rest of them, you
hang him without even a trial? Or could it be that," she turned skittishly
sly, "what suddenly motivates you is
jealousy,
darling Coz! I seem
to remember—"

Before
she could complete her sentence, Olivia's palm had flattened to slap Estelle
hard, so hard that she stumbled back and almost fell. In the hushed silence
that followed, Estelle cowered against the wall, nursing a face distorted with
horror. For a while neither of them spoke, their sense of shock mutual. Olivia
recovered first. Sick at herself, she stepped forward to place a frigid little
kiss on her cousin's forehead. "I'm sorry. I should not have done
that." Her voice was low but she showed no other sign of repentance.

With
a whimper, Estelle slunk past her to fold limply onto her bed. "You've
changed, Olivia," she whispered. "You've changed so . . .
dreadfully."

"Changed?
Who, I?" Olivia started to laugh. "It's only your imagination, dear
cousin. I haven't changed at all. I'm exactly the same as when you left on your
little—what was it you called it? Oh yes, escapade.
Exactly
the
same."

Still
laughing, she turned and walked out of the room.

Inevitably,
many aspects of Olivia's daily life altered with her cousin's return. For
instance, her onerous duties in the Templewood house were considerably reduced.
It was impossible to avoid Estelle entirely, but she became adept at visiting
Sir Joshua when her cousin was out, as she frequently was. When they did have
an encounter, Olivia made certain that it was brief and passably amiable. That
she had lost her control so completely as to strike out at her cousin, Olivia
regretted deeply—although by no means out of sympathy for Estelle; for daring
to make her impertinent suggestion she deserved to be punished. What Olivia, in
all her innate honesty, was beginning to wonder about were her own motivations,
and her self-doubts were starting to turn troublesome.

Estelle
did not mention Jai Raventhorne to her again.

The
aspect of Estelle's return that Olivia resented most was that she was forced to
be without her beloved son. She missed Amos desperately, yearned to hold and
cuddle him again, to listen to his marvellously eloquent babblings, to bask in
the dazzle of his smiles. She missed watching his day-to-day development that
she had made a habit of observing so meticulously. Kinjal wrote that Amos had
started an upper tooth, and Olivia was inconsolable; oh, to be forcibly denied
such a momentous event! Amos was now sitting up with confidence, Kinjal
informed her, and was surely attempting his first intelligible word,
Mama.
Over
that, Olivia cried, longing to fly like a bird to Kirtinagar, where her child
was learning to call out to her. The information Kinjal dispatched every second
day by her personal courier was received joyously by Olivia, but with each
delivery her bitterness against her prodigal cousin turned more and more
unforgiving.

However,
personal and private animosities apart, appearances still had to be maintained
within the suffocating surrounds of the society that Lady Bridget and her peers
held in such reverence, especially in Lady Bridget's absence. Not without
considerable sourness Olivia recognised that it was only proper that she
arrange some kind of social reception for Estelle and her husband. It was what
Calcutta's society would expect, and not to fulfil the mandatory obligation
would further encourage already busy tongues. However facile the explanations
she had improvised for Estelle's abrupt departure from station, there had been
plenty of whispered innuendo about it at the time. Arthur Ransome, Olivia was
aware, had sternly warned Estelle against either elaborating on the alibis
already propagated or inventing new ones. However, if whatever rumours that
persisted were to be laid to rest once
and for all, then Estelle and her
husband had to be formally introduced into the station's society as a
respectably and happily united man and wife.

When
Olivia mentioned her proposal to Arthur Ransome, he was instantly approving and
endorsed the idea heartily. Her added suggestion that, in the absence of
Freddie, he could perhaps assume the duties of host he also accepted with
alacrity although with many protestations of inadequacy and many modest
blushes. If not for herself, Olivia was pleased for Ransome. There was so
little in his life these days apart from endless bills and creditors and
headaches that even one evening of light revelry would be worth-while. And,
after all, this was the last service she would ever need to perform for her
cousin Estelle.

"Would
it not be proper to send the invitations out in the name of Uncle Josh?"
Olivia asked in order to clarify a point of social rectitude.

"No."
Ransome was firm in his disagreement. "Indeed, it might even be wise to
keep Josh right out of the picture. Although," he stopped and pondered a
minute with half closed eyes, "I strongly suspect that Josh
does
comprehend
more than he would have us believe."

"Oh?
What makes you think so?"

"I
will show you in a moment. Did you say you had matters to discuss with Estelle?
She's upstairs in her room. I will wait for you in your uncle's study."

Estelle
was indeed up in her room writing letters. At Olivia's sudden appearance, her
face lit up. It was the first time since their ugly confrontation that Olivia
had been in the room. Pecking her cousin impersonally on the cheek, Olivia
placed on the desk two cloth-wrapped packages. "When Aunt Bridget left she
gave me this to keep for you," she said indicating one of the parcels.
"I now ask you to take charge of it."

At
the formality of Olivia's approach, Estelle's smile dropped. "What is
it?"

"Your
portion. And this," from the second package she withdrew a crimson velvet
case, "is with our good wishes, Freddie's and mine, for a fulfilling
married life. We hope John and you will share many joys."

Estelle
opened the box eagerly. Inside, on a bed of white satin, rested an exquisite
diamond necklace with earrings to match.
"Oh!"
For a moment
she was speechless. About to give vent to her rapture with customary
effusiveness, she hesitated and turned sedate. "This is so ... so
generous. I hardly know what
to say. Thank you, thank you b-both." She
swallowed hard and fell into an awkward silence.

Impassively,
Olivia informed her cousin about the reception she planned as soon as John and
his parents arrived from Madras. Estelle's egg-shell thin sedateness cracked;
she was openly thrilled. "Oh, that would be
wonderful!
How very
kind of you to even consider such a lavish gesture, Olivia."

"Good.
I'm glad the idea appeals to you. I shall start to compose the invitations
tomorrow morning."

"Do
let me help,
do
—I would so love to!" Estelle begged.

"Oh,
that won't be necessary." Olivia forced a pleasant smile. "I have
plenty of experienced staff who can manage well." At the palpable
disappointment in Estelle's face, Olivia relented. "What you could
do," she amended quickly, "is to compile your own guest list. I will
place no restrictions; you can invite whom you wish."

It
was a small joke, a reminder of the clashes between mother and daughter at her
coming-of-age ball, and Estelle laughed. Encouraged by her cousin's apparent
softening, Estelle might have said something more had Olivia allowed her a
chance, but she didn't. Using Arthur Ransome's wait for her in the study as an
excuse, Olivia quickly left the room.

Sir
Joshua had not yet returned from his daily evening walk along the embankment
and Ransome was alone in the study. As Olivia went in, he hurried to the desk
and, signalling her to shut the door behind her, he unlocked a bottom drawer.
From it he extracted a large leather-bound diary. "Have a look at this
quickly before Josh returns."

Olivia
hesitated. "Oh, but should we . . .?"

"Yes,
we should! It is the reason why Josh refuses to go to, England. And the reason
why, more than any other, we must persuade him to go to Cawnpore with his
daughter."

Intrigued
by his tone of urgency, Olivia opened the diary. The top of each page was
neatly dated, the last entry being that of yesterday. Like a child's exercise
book with the same line repeated as a punishment, the diary was filled from
cover to cover with a recurring sentence:
The time has come; the hand can no
longer be stayed.

Olivia
looked puzzled. "What does it mean?"

"It
means that when Jai returns Josh intends to kill him." He pulled open two
adjoining drawers of the desk. They were packed tight with similar diaries.
"All the entries are the same. You see?"

"No,
I'm sorry, I don't."

Ransome
shut the drawers and relocked them. "The initial entry in the first of
these is dated a week after Estelle's elopement."

Despite
his intenseness, Olivia could not resist an acid little smile. "And that
surprises you? Uncle Josh would have helped him hang long ago had Raventhorne
not pulled the rug first!"

Ransome
gave her a strange look. "It is not as it seems, Olivia," he said
quietly. "Josh needs to be protected."

With
Estelle's entry into the room, the subject was not pursued, but Olivia was not
alarmed, neither for her uncle nor for herself. What a lot of fuss about
nothing! She trusted Ranjan Moitra's information. If and when Raventhorne did
return, it would certainly not be before Sir Joshua had been borne to safety by
his daughter, and she herself—with Amos!—had sailed away on the
Lulubelle.
Staunch
friend that he was, Arthur Ransome worried unduly.

By
the time Olivia had arrived home she had forgotten the matter—-and another
letter awaited from Kinjal. Her son was now reaching for objects with
discrimination, his favourite being his silver rattle. His grip was firm and
his determination to guard his precious possessions even more so. Kinjal's
children were teaching him to sing, convinced that his tuneless responses were
proof of potential musical genius. Over that Olivia cried again, then proceeded
to compose a pleading reply to the letter.

The
day following the ball that has been arranged for my cousin and her husband,
they depart finally for Cawnpore. Please, please send my darling boy home to me
that very day, my dearest Kinjal, that
very
day! Each moment without him
now is torture.