Ryman, Rebecca (78 page)

"Well,
there never was any danger of the poor-house for dear, dear Olivia, was
there?" Millie Humphries privately compared her present opulent
surroundings with her own rather shabby medical officer's bungalow, and burned
with jealousy.

"The
poor-house for Olivia?" the Spin exclaimed with a malicious smile.
"Why should the dear girl have crossed the ocean at all if that was the
fate she envisaged for herself? What a hoot!"

Smiling
graciously as she dispensed the endless tea and cakes and sandwiches, Olivia
remained the perfect hostess, wondering if they realized just how little she
was touched by their chatter. "Dinna listen to these cats, lassie. They na
ken nothing but to mock and mewl." When everybody was gone, Cornelia
Donaldson squeezed her hand in sympathy.

Olivia
shrugged them all off with a laugh. "Oh, they don't worry me, the poor
dears. Since Freddie expects us to join him in England by next year, I shall be
gone soon anyway."

Cornelia
Donaldson looked genuinely saddened. "My Willie will miss you, lassie. He
might na say it, the sore-headed bear, but he'll miss you soondly aroond the
office."

Olivia
was moved. "Oh, but some day of course we'll be back," she lied.
"In the meantime, you both will come to the christening, won't you?
Freddie had wanted a grand affair at St. John's, but now, under the
circumstances . . ." She left the rest unsaid with a gesture of helplessness.

"Oh
aye, lass, to be sure," Mrs. Donaldson agreed solemnly. "A grand
affair would na be fitting noo, would it?"

It
was the last of the lies she would have to tell, Olivia thought in relief. Once
the shores of India were behind her, so would also be the need for demeaning
deceptions.

It
was after the simple christening was over that Arthur Ransome handed Olivia a
mail packet, which had arrived for Sir Joshua that morning. It was from London,
and it was from Estelle!

Drugged
into deep slumber (for the last time, Olivia vowed ferociously) and with his
hair shorn down to the skull as the only measure that would ensure safety under
the circumstances, her son had been officially named Amos James Sean Birkhurst,
the ninth heir apparent to the barony of Farrowsham. There had been only six
witnesses present at the Templewood home: Sir Joshua, Arthur Ransome, the
Donaldsons, Mary Ling and Olivia herself. The same cherubic chaplain from St.
John's who had officiated at the wedding had performed the honours. Tea was served
to the guests after the ceremony, sweets and cash were distributed to the staff
at both houses and then it had all been over, easily and painlessly.

Now,
at the sight of her cousin's familiar but forgotten flowery handwriting on the
large brown envelope, Olivia went rigid. It was as if, magically, the clock had
whirled back a year and in the process whipped away every anaesthetic benefit
time had given. The envelope, she noticed, had been opened by Ransome. "I
considered it wise to vet the contents," he explained in a fluster,
"in case the silly girl had more shocks planned for her father."

"And
has she?" Olivia pulled herself together and returned the envelope to him
without making any move to read the contents. For all her assumed
offhandedness, she could not help a shudder of revulsion in the light of what
she now knew.

"Yes.
In a manner of speaking. But, for a change, the shocks are not
unpleasant." He withdrew a sheet from the envelope and scanned it again.
"Estelle is in England. Apparently, she has been there now for six months.
Three months ago, just before this was dispatched, she was married to John
Sturges." He could hardly keep the astonishment from his face. "John
has since been posted to Cawnpore. They should both be arriving in Calcutta
forthwith." Succumbing to his incredulity, he sat down quickly and
swallowed some tablets from a bottle that had lately become an inseparable
companion. His expression was one of perplexity; he kept staring at the letter
as if to convince himself that his eyes did not deceive him. "She mentions
nothing about. . . the rest, not a word. Perhaps she gives more information to
you, Olivia." He withdrew a square, sealed envelope from within the packet
and handed it to her.

"Yes,
perhaps." Olivia thrust Estelle's letter into her purse
without reading
it. Later, she intended to burn the envelope unopened.

There
was no letter from Lady Bridget, and one from her Cousin Maude to Sir Joshua
gave only expected news. Ransome read it with care in case there was in it
something that might agitate his friend further. "Maude writes that
Bridget's religious zeal continues," he said for Olivia's benefit.
"She spends hours with her Bible and her rosary, Maude says, and appears
to think or talk of little else but sin and absolution. But, Maude feels,
Bridget has yet to find peace." Fingering his chin, Ransome saddened.
"Maude makes no mention of Estelle except to say that she has seen her. I
fear that it is not all sunshine and light, as Estelle would have us,
particularly her father, believe." He scanned Olivia's ungiving face, then
asked with a trace of anxiety, "Would you ever be able to make your
wayward cousin welcome, my dear?"

"Why
ever should I not?" Olivia countered. "Whether or not she has been
forgiven by her mother and father, who am I to sustain grudges? I have no axes
to grind, remember? As a matter of fact, on reflection, Estelle's return will
be a boon. I will shortly be gone and she can start discharging some of those
filial duties that have been neglected for so long.
And
damn well start
clearing up some of those sorry messes that she left behind."

Not
for the first time Ransome sensed Olivia's bitterness— that steady,
all-pervasive anger that seemed to lie so close under the skin and seep through
once in a while like a festering sore. Goodness knows, she had just cause for
resentment; had it not been for the girl's quick thinking and determined
labour, the scandal would have blown their world even higher. That he
understood well, yet there was much that baffled him about her. But, silent in
his discretion, he did not question her.

Olivia
knew that her glib assurance to Ransome was false; under no possible
circumstances could she ever make Estelle welcome again. For more than one
reason, her cousin's return filled her with dread.

"An
earlier sailing, Your Ladyship?" The next morning Willie Donaldson
received her request with astonishment. "Any special reason for the sudden
change of plan?"

"No.
It's just that the sooner we are away, the sooner we join His Lordship in
London."

That
Donaldson appreciated and understood. "Och, aye. I reckon'd that. Well,
I'll make inquiries but I doot if an earlier sailing can be arranged." He
shook his craggy head. "I
hear Miss Templewood returns shortly from England
as Mrs. John Sturges. Och, that should gladden Your Ladyship's heart for
shure!"

It
did not surprise Olivia in the least that the news had spread so fast. Knowing
Estelle's expertise in disseminating information, she had no doubt her cousin
had already written to all and sundry. She marvelled anew at her brazenness,
not in what she had probably written but in what she positively had not!
"Yes, it surely does," she replied with a grim nod. "And now,
tell me Mr. Donaldson, have you made any progress with this American who is
considering leasing my house?"

Donaldson's
face fell. "Och aye," he said glumly. "His agent here tells me
the man's keen on the place and a five-year lease would suit him well." He
struggled for a moment, then added warmly, "But is it wise to give up the
manse to this unknown cotton farmer, probably a bloody uncouth boor who canna
tell glass from crystal? Na disrespect to your country, lass." In his
distress he dropped his formalities. "After all, the valuables in the
house will belong to the bairn some day and he may wish to make his life in
India."

The
prospect of drastic changes in a household that he had served so diligently for
decades was causing Willie Donaldson untold grief, Olivia realised. For a
moment she did not know how to respond, saddened that even this blameless man
should not be left unhurt one way or another. "Nothing of value will
remain unlocked in our absence, Mr. Donaldson," she soothed him gently.
"I am storing everything in the strong-rooms, for which you will retain
the keys until such time as our . . . future plans can be formulated." She
was lulling this good man with false hopes; neither she nor Freddie nor
Amos—especially not Amos!—would ever return to India to live in that mansion
again. "In the meanwhile, please finalise the details of the lease with
this man's agent."

They
went on to discuss other matters needing attention before her departure. She
would have to leave on the
Lulubelle
if an earlier sailing was
unavailable. (Oh, how she prayed that it would not be!) Freddie's generosity to
her was lavish, as was evident in all the copious arrangements he had made for
her continued support. Olivia had no intention of accepting any part of the
Birkhurst bounty, but she made no mention of that to Donaldson. He would not
understand and there was no point in upsetting him further. It was as she was
leaving the office that he suddenly broached quite another subject after much
hemming and hawing.

"I
gather from, ah, bazaar talk that Your Ladyship has been, ah, advancing funds
to Templewood and Ransome?"

"Yes,
that is correct." She continued to fill her portmanteau with papers that
she was taking home for perusal.

"I
also learned something I canna believe, I just canna: To raise the loan Your
Ladyship pawned a diamond bracelet with that stenchified bloody crook
Mooljee?" His sallow cheeks showed two high spots of bright red.

"You
can believe it, Mr. Donaldson," she replied, unperturbed. "It is
quite true. He gave me the best terms. My funds from Lloyd's of London have not
yet arrived; when they do, I will retrieve my bracelet."

He
was aghast at the easy admission. "But to pawn Birkhurst jewels—it's the
talk of the bloody town! If Lady Birkhurst heard, she'd be scandalised, bloody
scandalised!
In all my years with Farrow ... why you dinna ask
me
for...,"
he spluttered into shocked silence.

She
showed no sign of remorse. "First of all, Mr. Donaldson, it isn't
Birkhurst jewellery; it is mine from my mother's portion. Talk of the town or
not, I can do with it what I wish. Secondly, you know that I will not touch
Farrowsham's funds to help my uncle's firm. And thirdly," she pointed out
not unkindly, "are you forgetting that now
I
am Lady
Birkhurst?"

That
night Olivia sat down to write a letter to Kinjal.

Estelle
will be back shortly! Her return terrifies me for reasons I can tell you and
only you—she will want to see Amos and she cannot, she
must not!
Therefore,
once again I turn to you for help, my dearest, truest friend. I beg you to take
care of my son for as long as my cousin chooses to remain in Calcutta—or until
I sail, whichever is expedient. I will send Amos to you as soon as I receive
your answer.

But
even before receiving Kinjal's answer, Olivia knew what it would be. With no
questions asked, no explanations demanded, no conditions stipulated, Kinjal
wrote only one sentence.
Send Amos whenever you wish.

There
were no sailings to the Pacific prior to that of the
Lulubelle,
and
three days after Amos had been fortuitously dispatched to Kirtinagar with Mary
Ling and the ayah, Estelle returned to Calcutta.

Already
desolate at being without her son, Olivia received the news in abject
depression. The ship had docked in the early morning. By afternoon, while she
was at the Agency, Olivia had received a note from her cousin asking,
imploring, her to come immediately. "I am dying, just
dying,
to see
you again, my beloved Coz. Fly here the instant you see this." Olivia's
anger revived; she did not grace the note with a written answer. Instead she
merely asked the Templewood coachman who had brought the letter to inform missy
memsahib that she would come as soon as her day's work at the Agency was done.

Of
course there was no way that a meeting with Estelle could be avoided
altogether, but by the time Olivia forced herself to face the prospect, it was
well into the evening. She had used the intervening hours well. Ironing out all
the sharp-edged creases in her emotions, she had come to a pragmatic
conclusion. She had survived the past agonising months somehow; she would also
survive Estelle's return.