Ryman, Rebecca (69 page)

"You
mentioned a debt, Olivia." The sonorous tone was now relentless. "And
yes, no man would have agreed to what my son has, but then we both know that he
is a fool. I do not expect you, an American, to be aware of the intricacies of
British inheritance laws, but Freddie certainly should have known better.
Now
do you see the cause of my distress?"

Unhappily,
Olivia nodded.

"If
you do wish to repay your debt to Freddie, then there is only one way in which
to do it. You have no legal need to do so, of course. Your obligation is
entirely moral. I have always known that you are a young woman of rare spirit.
I now realise that you have even more courage than I had initially
assessed." She paused to allow her words to sink in. "Tell me, does
your courage allow itself to be stretched even further?"

The
cost of her shoddy, opportune grab at respectability was to be higher, far
higher, than she had ever imagined! But with so much already lost, so much more
committed, the dye was set with indelible fastness. How could the bargain now
not be concluded?

"No,
my courage does not allow it," she said, trammelled with despair.
"But given time, somehow I will expand it. I cannot
let Freddie's
family be the losers." Unconsciously, she straightened her back to sit up.
"If God makes it within my power to so ensure, I will not let your direct
line be extinguished."

Unexpectedly,
Lady Birkhurst's stern face puckered and her lips trembled. She reached out to
take Olivia's hand in hers. "You are a remarkable young woman, my dear.
The decisions you have had to make in your short life have been horrendous. I
do not envy you them." Her voice rang with genuine feeling. "However
bizarre your circumstances, I still consider that my son is blessed to have you
by his side. Don't desert him now, Olivia; that is all I ask." She dropped
Olivia's hand to wipe her eyes dry, then asked with a return of composure,
"Tell me, what would you have done if my son had refused you? Would you
have returned to America?"

America!

In
searing anguish, Olivia shut her eyes. From where she was now, sinking steadily
into a vast bog of inescapable sludge, America might well be on another planet!
"Yes, I guess so," she lied dully. "With my aunt eventually
returning to England, as she is now contemplating, there would have been no point
in staying."

"I
take it that they are not aware of your condition? No, of course you did right
in keeping it from them." She dismissed the subject to state abruptly,
"You must not think of having your baby in Calcutta."

Olivia
frowned. "Why not?"

"Think
of the consequences, my dear! That wily old fox Humphries will not be fooled
for a moment that the child is before its time. More to the point, neither will
Millie and we all know how
she
can talk! Everyone will whip out their
calendars to make secret calculations. At best, you and Freddie will be
laughing-stocks; at worst, he will be dubbed a cuckold. Not even he deserves
that."

Once
again, Olivia was caught unawares; this too was not an aspect of the situation
she had considered. But, as always, Lady Birkhurst's wisdom was unquestionable.
Had she not been so totally desolate, Olivia might have seen the droll humour
in discussing such a subject with a woman who was her husband's mother. But
then, she was beginning to realise, this was an extraordinary woman indeed, so
out of the norm as to be unique. "But then, what would you suggest I
do?"

Lady
Birkhurst pondered. "I suggest you arrange for the birth elsewhere with an
unknown doctor in attendance. Return
to Calcutta after six weeks, by which
time it will not occur to anyone to ask discomfiting questions."

More
lies, more pretences, more webs of deceit and delusion! Dear God, would there
ever be an end? With an effort, Olivia pulled herself together. "I would
rather Freddie did not know that we have spoken about all this. I cannot bear
to wound him more than I already have."

"No,
we will not reveal our agreement to him." Lady Birkhurst's face softened.
"Tell me one more thing that troubles me. This man," she fixed Olivia
with her rapier stare, "is he likely to enter your life again at some
future date?"

"No."

"He
does not know about the child?"

"He
neither knows nor cares."

"And
you? Do you still care for him?"

Olivia
returned her probing look squarely. "No. My single act of madness was no
more than just that. For that insanity, I blame only myself."

Lady
Birkhurst asked no more questions.

Later,
in the solitude of her own room, Olivia exploded with resentment.
No, the
blame for the insanity was not only hers!
She rebelled against bearing the
intolerable burden alone, rebelled against being noble and logical and
forgiving. For her unspeakable situation Jai Raventhorne was as culpable as
she—more so. He knew that she was an innocent, reckless and a blind slave to
her emotions. He recognised her lack of comprehension of his twisted mind, his
perverted idiom. That she had been unable to understand his enigmatic hints,
his bewildering warnings, was no secret to him. He had talked in riddles to
which she could not possibly have put any answers. She had sought him out,
yes—but he had not lacked in reciprocation! He knew that she was bewitched,
besotted.
And knowing that he had led her on, only to betray her.

The
nebulous memory she was left with of a transient, illusory paradise, Olivia
dismissed; even that would evaporate soon. What would linger was the defilement
of every area of her life, of her future. Not even her unborn child, already
entangled in impostures and deceit, was to be spared. He had abandoned her to a
quagmire; the more she struggled for release, the deeper she was being sucked
in. Yes, perhaps during that one night Jai Raventhorne had loved her, but it
wasn't enough.

It
was not enough!

If
it was impossible to give Freddie love, Olivia compensated by giving him
dedicated service. In a hundred, a thousand different ways each day she devised
reparations for the one thing he could never have from her in order to correct
the yawning imbalances of their oddly mismatched lives. She threw open her
house for his friends, keeping what soon became known as the finest table in
town. She gladly suffered
burra khanas
and polo matches and brunch
sessions at the Tolly Club, spending hours on the screamingly tedious social
circuit listening to fatuous, frivolous talk. Gracefully she tolerated
Freddie's idiocies, tended his clothes, kept him ungrudging company and never
complained of the ludicrous hours he kept. In the process, she suppressed all
her own desires, because the rewards of her labour were great. Despite her
constant worry, Freddie remained true to his word. Since that impulsive vow on
the
Seagull,
he had not touched a drop of liquor.

Two
months after the wedding, when neither full skirts nor loose, waistless dresses
could help, the fact of Olivia's pregnancy was admitted publicly by Lady
Birkhurst. Of course the news spread in the station like wildfire and,
inevitably, Freddie came in for much risque ribbing. For the most part, he took
the banter in his stride with his usual good humour, but Olivia could tell that
sometimes, just sometimes, he hated every minute of it. Once, in answer to a
particularly ribald remark, he actually snapped back and sparks of anger glowed
in his normally placid eyes.

"Hark,
the worm turneth!" Peter Barstow drawled with an arched eyebrow.
"What's been getting into you lately, old chap— losing your sense of
humour?" He looked squarely at Olivia and the look was questioning and
sly.

Poor
Freddie!

That
evening he looked so thoroughly woebegone that Olivia could not help asking,
"Tell me truthfully, Freddie, have you ever regretted marrying me?"

His
denial was instant. "No! Dammit, a chap doesn't make a lifelong commitment
one day and take it back the next! You think I'm that
low?
Dash it all,
I
love
you!"

Olivia
sighed. "I know you do, Freddie dear, and I'm so grateful ..."

"I
don't want your gratitude," he protested morosely, suddenly even more
desolate. "All I want is your love. Not much," he was quick to add,
"just a little, a very little."

"I
do love you in my own way, Freddie! I. . . I'm extremely
fond
of you . .
." She trailed off and bit her lip.

"You
still love this ... man, don't you?" With a clenched fist he expended his
uncharacteristic frustration on a table top. "My God, it's driving me
potty just thinking about it!"

"No,
Freddie." Olivia forced herself to sound casual, offhanded. "I don't
and I never did. I've already told you—"

"If
only I knew who he was," too engulfed in his own jealousies, he was
uninterested in her denials, "I swear I'd
kill
him!"

She
smiled acidly. "You would be in excellent company, my dear. You are by no
means the only one who wishes him dead."

But
once more she filled with compassion for Freddie.

Since
her return Olivia had tried to visit her aunt and uncle as often as possible.
Sir Joshua refused to go to England and Lady Bridget refused to stay, so her
aunt was to leave alone, and her departure was imminent. As such, there was a
great deal to be done about the house. Some of the rooms had to be locked, dust
sheets fitted over furniture, store-rooms cleared of accumulated clutter,
silver packed and put away in the strong-rooms and a good home found for
Clementine, Estelle's little dog. It was a lifetime that Lady Bridget was
leaving behind, and lifetimes are not easy to shed either mentally or
physically.

Most
worrisome was that copious means had to be devised for the continuing care of
Sir Joshua, who was still refusing to entertain thoughts of a country where the
sun never shone and, as he said with contempt, people ate hog slop and stewed
dish rags. Olivia's marriage to Freddie had made little impact on him
save to elicit
one cryptic comment, "Teach him to at least pass out on his own doorstep
next time." For the rest, he seemed to recede each day farther into
himself. He spent hours pruning the roses or just sitting on an upturned
flowerpot staring into space. For a man who had once prided himself on his
sartorial elegance, his attire was careless enough to seem sloppy. And he had
no interest in what he ate. Even though the indifference persisted between him
and his wife, Olivia had secretly hoped that her aunt would be concerned about
him, but there seemed no signs of a thaw; quite the contrary, in fact. Whatever
resentments Olivia had once had against Sir Joshua had long since faded. In
their own divergent ways they were all cogs in the same wheel. Who was she to
allocate guilt?

After
all efforts to persuade him to accompany his wife back to England had failed,
Olivia tried another ploy. "All right then, come and live with us,"
she pleaded. "I hate the idea of you remaining here all on your own."

"You
may not appreciate it, Olivia, but I have a great deal to think about," he
snapped irritably. "Do you believe that any man could think clearly with
that Birkhurst biddy about? No disrespect intended."

What
he had to think about nobody could tell, but he sometimes sat up all night
scribbling in his diary. "What Josh thinks about is between him and his
Maker," Ransome remarked when questioned. "Neither of them has seen
fit to make
me
privy to their deliberations! But don't worry about
Josh," he added. "I have decided to sell my house and move in with
him after Bridget goes. It is the height of absurdity for two lonely men to
each rattle about in separate establishments. And, of course, the financial
savings would be considerable."

When
Lady Bridget heard the news of Olivia's impending motherhood from Lady
Birkhurst, she wept with joy, but she also began to have second thoughts about
her departure. "I feel that Sarah would have wanted me to be here, by your
side," she wailed tearfully. "I feel you will need me."

Alarmed,
Olivia hastily conjured up passionate reassurances. Her aunt's presence at the
birth of her child would be cataclysmic! "Freddie's mother is very much
here, Aunt Bridget, and I shall be very well taken care of between her and Dr.
Humphries. I promise you there is absolutely no need for you to change your
plans. I know how desperately you want to be away."