Ryman, Rebecca (47 page)

Just
then, a second carriage raced in through the gates,
and Olivia's
heart sank. Her aunt? Home already from the church bazaar? But it was not Lady
Bridget's carriage, nor did she emerge from it. The person who came flying out
was Arthur Ransome. With a cry of relief, Olivia sprang up to hobble across the
lawn as fast as her still-shaky legs would carry her. "Oh, dear God— thank
heavens
you've arrived! Uncle Josh is—"

"I
know. That's why I'm here," Ransome said shortly, his face grim.
"He's been in his cups all day at the office. Bridget home?" Olivia
shook her head. "Well, bless the Lord for small mercies! She would have
been even more disgusted than
I
am."

As
he started to hurry across the lawn, Olivia stalled him with a hand. "Why
has he been drinking all day? Something awful has happened, hasn't it?" He
merely nodded, then left her standing where she was.

She
was suddenly exhausted. She had not enjoyed the confusing interlude. Barnabus
Slocum, the magistrate, was somehow involved in it and there was talk of
"risks," which made it all the more disturbing. Olivia went up to her
room and lay down to rest. It was not until Sir Joshua had been carried up to
his bed with much heaving and huffing and cursing, and the tread of heavy
footsteps had retreated down the stairs, that Olivia ventured out again. She
found Arthur Ransome in the study.

"Is
Uncle Josh asleep?"

"Out
cold, thank God. The blithering idiot!" His face drawn with strain,
Ransome sat down and pressed shut his eyes with his fingers.

Olivia
held her questions for the moment. "Would
you
perhaps care to also
have a drink, Mr. Ransome?"

"By
gad, I
would,
thank you. It's been quite a day, one way or another. Haven't
seen Josh hit the bottle so hard since one Christmas in Canton when he slung
seven coolies overboard for having dropped a barrel of first flush tea in the
briny. They didn't drown, of course, but we had to sail out fast or there would
have been hell to pay. By the way, Miss O'Rourke, I hope that you are finally
over your dreadful bout of ague?"

Over
his whisky, which he drank in huge, thirsty gulps, Ransome made valiant
conversation about the scourge that struck many in the tropics and the new
miracle bark, the cinchona, that cured it, much to the wonder and relief of
patients and medical community alike. It was only after neutral small talk was
exhausted that Olivia asked, "Please tell me what exactly has been
happening, Mr. Ransome."

He
swilled his drink around the glass and evaded her eyes. "What did Josh say
to you?" His voice was low and unsteady.

She
sensed his caution. "Nothing coherent. However, I got the impression it
was something to do with Kirtinagar."

"Something
to
do with Kirtinagar?" He looked astounded. "Then you haven't
heard?" She shook her head as he walked to the desk and picked up the
English language newspaper that did for the local community. He handed it to
her. "Nothing I can say will be more explicit than this."

Not
having seen a newspaper during her illness and not especially interested since,
Olivia was startled by the bold banner headline: "Explosion in Kirtinagar
coal-mine kills one." She read the rest at a glance. The explosion had
occurred a few nights ago, collapsing the roof of the main shaft in the
coal-pit and burying a night-watchman. By the time he could be extricated from
the debris, he was dead. Sabotage was strongly suspected and the rubble left by
the explosion was being investigated for remnants of dynamite. No one else was
present at the mine site when the explosion took place, but several witnesses
are said to have seen and recognised a certain person on horseback fleeing from
the vicinity soon after the disaster. Since the man seen by the witnesses is a
known resident of Calcutta and is now strongly suspect, Mr. Barnabus Slocum is
in Kirtinagar requesting permission from His Highness Maharaja Arvind Singh to
actively participate in the investigation. The newspaper quoted the magistrate
as saying, "The prime suspect, unmistakably identified by five
eyewitnesses, resides under the jurisdiction of the Calcutta police
authorities. As such, it would be in the interests of the Maharaja to avail
himself of our assistance and press charges without delay." The remainder
of the story traced the history and development of the mine, repeated the
importance of the coal find for British industry and related some cursory
details about the State of Kirtinagar. These Olivia skimmed through; her throat
felt tight, and within her was a feeling of distinct coldness.

"This
Calcutta resident," she asked slowly, knowing already what the answer
would be, "is said to be Raventhorne?"

"So
the witnesses swear."

"Raventhorne
would sabotage his own mine, kill his own man?"

Ransome's
normally genial countenance was profoundly unhappy. "He has openly
declared in the presence of many that he would rather see the mine closed than
let a single lump of that
coal fall into British hands. We know that there has been bitter dissension
between him and Arvind Singh over the matter."

"But
Arvind Singh has already rejected your proposal," Olivia said tiredly.
God, how she was beginning to hate that damned coal and everything to do with
it!

"Reading
between the lines of his refusal, it is evident he might reconsider if the
consortium agreed to make a higher offer," Ransome replied with dogged
persistence.

"In
that case, wouldn't Raventhorne have sabotaged it
then,
rather than
destroy the mine before it was necessary?"

Ransome
got up and turned away from her. "Raventhorne is known to be capricious,
unpredictable, vengeful—especially when his hatred of the English is provoked.
If he can also damage us, he would not hesitate to cut off his nose to spite
his face. And with the mine destroyed, there is now no prospect of anyone
getting that coal, at least not for months." Still not turning to face
her, he quickly poured himself another drink.

His
explanations rang hollow and Olivia's sense of dread compounded.
"No!" she said angrily, throwing caution to the winds. "The
rumour is that Raventhorne would have raised money for the irrigation project
from the Indian money-market. Why needlessly ruin a valuable asset, and his
friendship with Arvind Singh? Why execute the goose that would have laid golden
eggs for both partners
and
Kirtinagar?"

"Perverse
satisfaction!" Ransome cried, now distinctly agitated. "A means of
extracting insurance money—who knows the mind of a madman?"

"Satisfaction
also from killing a harmless watchman in his own employ?" Olivia asked
with a caustic smile. "That makes the least sense." She ignored the
possibility of an insurance fraud; it was too trivial to even consider.

"Ah!"
At last Ransome turned towards her, trying hard to disguise his excitation with
an unconvincing smile. "That appears to have been his miscalculation. He
had obviously reckoned that on the first night of the immersions everyone,
including the night-watch, would be out roistering with friends and family.
Naturally, all the other men were. The watchman, however—"

"First
night of the immersions?" Olivia had gone very still indeed. "Is that
when the explosion took place?"

"So
I read," Ransome muttered, pointing to the newspaper. "Five
witnesses, unknown to each other and two of them Englishmen, profess to have
recognised Raventhorne riding away
from the mine site on that cursed black
devil that he favours. All five have given sworn testimony."

Springing
back to life, Olivia grabbed the newspaper to verify the date of the explosion.
Then, hands shaking, she folded the paper neatly and replaced it on her uncle's
desk. "They are lying," she said quietly. "Every one of them is
lying."

Under
the quietness there was such ferocity that, for a moment, Ransome stared. His
complexion turned the colour of putty and his hand trembled so that he was
forced to put his glass down on a table. "How can you say that with such
conviction, Miss O'Rourke?" he cried as he went a shade paler. "Tell
me, I beseech you—what did Josh blurt out to you during his drunken rambling?
Please be frank, I would like to know everything."

Olivia
was shocked at how ill he suddenly looked. And in his staring eyes she saw
fear. Realising that she had been standing without having the need to and that
her knees were threatening to buckle, she quickly sank down onto the couch.
"Uncle Josh revealed nothing to me," she said, stone faced. "His
babbling was quite incoherent. But tell me, with what is Raventhorne likely to
be charged?"

In
his own turmoil, Ransome had fortunately not noticed hers. "It is for
Arvind Singh to prefer charges." Draining his glass, he tried to steady
himself again as he wiped his glistening face with a handkerchief. "Even
though Arvind Singh is a partner in the mine, if he chooses to do so, then
sabotage will be the secondary charge. The prime charge will certainly be
manslaughter."

"Will
Arvind Singh prefer charges?" Mechanically, she rose to refresh his drink.

He
placed his palm over the rim and shook his head. "No more, thank you. One
of us needs to keep his wits about him." There was a touch of bitterness in
his tone. "Slocum will certainly try to persuade Arvind Singh to
prosecute, and make the charge stick to secure a stiff sentence. Slocum detests
Raventhorne. With good reason, perhaps. His sister was once . . ." He
stopped and flushed. "Yes, Slocum will not give up easily."

The
aborted reference to Slocum's sister revived in Olivia's memory one of the many
snippets of gossip Estelle had given her, but she did not pursue it. Instead
she asked, hating herself for still wanting to know about the man whose name
singed her lips each time she said it, "What has been Raventhorne's
reaction to all this?"

"He
has not chosen to make his reaction known."

"And
he has made no effort to deny the fabrications?"

He
remembered suddenly her previous vehemence and stared at her with renewed
alertness. "What makes you believe so forcefully that they are
fabrications, Miss O'Rourke?"

This
time she was prepared. "Only what I am led to believe by rumours about the
man. You yourself have insisted frequently that he is an uncommonly shrewd man,
devious in the bargain. Given all this, can it be believed that if he did wish
to play dog in the manger he would do so with such ham-fistedness? Or with a
plot quite so transparently amateurish? Conveniently he is seen by five
witnesses who identify easily not only the man but Raventhorne's unmistakable
horse!"

"As
I pointed out, Raventhorne is not beyond cutting off his nose merely to—"

"His
nose, yes, but not his
head!"
Olivia knew she was teetering on
perilously thin ice. At any moment Ransome might latch on to a reality that
was, ironically enough, no longer a reality. Quickly regaining control, she
assumed an air of nonchalance. "I am only stating the self-evident, Mr.
Ransome, as even a simple-minded lawyer would do. But tell me, as a matter of
mere curiosity, do
you
believe him to be guilty?" She did not look
at him but instead made a ritual of playing with the tassels of her shawl.

His
expression instantly closed. "It is unimportant what I believe, Miss
O'Rourke," he said woodenly. "It is what Slocum believes, or is made
to believe, that is material. Barney is as vindictive as Raventhorne, and he
has many personal axes to grind." His shoulders sagged as a measure of his
distress. "There is much evil afoot, I fear, Miss O'Rourke. I am gravely
disturbed at the chain of events that has been set in motion, for it will now
not be reversed. Slocum will go after Raventhorne whether he is guilty or not.
No matter what the facts, they will be trimmed to fit the desired pattern.
Public opinion, already violently against Jai—not without good reason, I
daresay—will support Slocum, force his hand even further. I don't know where it
will all end, or indeed if it will now ever end." As if unable to carry
some unseen burden, his shoulders slumped further.

Again
that unconscious use of the first name! Olivia sensed that Arthur Ransome
concealed much from her, but she did not have the courage to question him
further. Nor could she without exposing herself. Casual once more, she only
asked, "Since Raventhorne does nothing to refute these charges, are there
any rumours as to what his defence is likely to be?"

Ransome
pulled a grim face. "Does a rabid dog run when it sees trouble coming?
Does it turn tail against a mob armed with
sticks? No, it bounds ahead joyously to
meet the mob, and that is precisely what this damned fool appears bent on
doing. He neither refutes the charges, nor does he hint at any means of
self-defence. Holed up on that fancy clipper of his, in all probability he
awaits Slocum's knock with impatience." He threw up his hands in a gesture
of resignation. "As I've confessed to you, I am severely perturbed,
severely.
Not because I lose sleep over Jai's problems—God knows, he can look after
himself!—but because bitter experience has taught me to fear his
reprisals."

Lady
Bridget's arrival put an end to any prospect of further discussion. Ransome
hurried away to present loyal alibis for his friend's state of inebriation, and
Olivia, restless and violently angry, returned upstairs to her room. They were
preparing to lynch Jai Raventhorne for a crime he did not commit. And only she
could prove that he was innocent!