The Spring of the Tiger

by Victoria Holt

  I would never accept that, I told myself. And yet last night. . .

  There was something potent about the drink. Their voices seemed to come from afar. The room tilted shghtly. I was aware of myself speaking in a voice which seemed to come from a long way off, yet my answers must have been reasonably intelligible because they did not seem to notice that anything was other than normal.

  They stood up so I rose with them. I swayed slightly, but CHn-ton had taken my arm.

  "Very well," he was saying. "A quick look and then we must be off."

  So Anula showed me her house. It was small but charming. There were white flimsy draperies at the windows, which were covered with the inevitable fine-wire netting. The bedroom was dark for the curtains were drawn across the windows. There was a round bed with draperies falling from a canopy. There was a dressing table with a three-sided mirror and many ornamental pots, most of them studded with semiprecious stones. My eyes immediately went to the bronze Buddha, of which the one in my room was almost an exact replica. She saw me look at it and picked it up, caressing it with her long white fingers.

  "He is important to me," she said. "I commune with him. I could not sleep well without him beside me."

  Her eyes were mysterious and inwardly I shivered, feeling suddenly cold in spite of the heat. I could really believe as she stood there with the Buddha in her hands that she was malevolent, that she was indeed possessed of some evil powers and that she was directing them toward me.

  She replaced the Buddha and turned to me smiling. Clinton's eyes were on me, maliciously observant. I was picturing them together, and he knew it. It was the purpose of this visit.

  A strange fragrance wafted through the house and it was especially noticeable in this room. In a niche in the wall was a stone image. I went to it and studied it.

  "My namesake," said Anula, behind me. 'The first Queen of Ceylon."

  "A very formidable lady," added Clinton.

  "People feared her greatly," added Anula. "She had great power."

  "And a very special way with potions," put in Clinton. "As you

  have, Anula. I think the stuff you gave us was a httle stronger than usual. Did you find it potent, Sarah?"

  "Did it contain gin?" I asked.

  "It is my secret," said Anula, smiling and showing teeth which were quite perfect

  "I heard," I said, nodding towards the statue in the niche, "that the lady came to a bad end. Wasn't she burned at the stake?"

  "She ceased to be clever," replied Anula. "That was her fault. Had she not been foolish she would have gone on."

  "Taking her lovers, giving them poisoned draughts when they ceased to please," suggested Clinton. "That must have saved a great deal of trouble."

  "She might have lived forever," said Anula, her dark eyes glowing. "She was on the point of discovering the secret of eternal life."

  I felt I wanted to get out of this closed-in house, away from the implications, the humiliations and the sickly fragrance which filled it.

  "What is the scent?" I asked.

  "Do you like it?" asked Anula. "It is basically sandalwood, which has been for many years the sacred perfume of the Hindu. Shall I give you some?"

  I wanted to say: No, I hate it, but I thought that would betray my feelings, so I murmured a polite thanks.

  She opened a drawer and, taking out a bottle, pressed it into my hands.

  "It comes from the white wood of a tree called Santdum Album—2. parasite which attacks the roots of other trees. It takes a hundredweight of chipping to make thirty ounces of attar of sandalwood. It's about the only wood which white ants don't like. There are legends about it. If you sprinkle yourself with it you wash away any sins you may have committed during the past year."

  "You see why it's popular," said Clinton lightly. "So pleasant to be as wicked as you like and then . . . Where is the sandalwood? A few drops and . . . Now I am a saint because all my sins have been washed away."

  "Comforting," I retorted, "if one believes it."

  "You see, Anula," said Clinton, "this wife of mine is a skeptic.*' I felt relieved to leave behind the overpowering atmosphere of Anula's house.

  Clinton was watching me as we rode away, but I was determined to hide the fact that I was seething with fury and was thinking of some way in which I could take my revenge.

  When the idea came to me I could scarcely wait to put it into practice. I rode over to Ashington's where Clytie greeted me with pleasure. She felt a good deal better.

  "I'm sleeping peacefully," she told me. "The nightmares seem to have stopped."

  "Now that it's all over you must be wondering what difference it's going to make. In a way you've lost your inheritance."

  "I know. Seth worries a lot."

  "You're all right at the plantation, you know. I should never allow you to be . . . ousted."

  She was silent for a while and then she said: "It is what Seth fears."

  "I have made up my mind what I will do. I am going to set your minds at rest. While I own the plantation you are safe and I am going to make a will leaving it to you on my death."

  "But you are not going to diel"

  "I don't propose to yet but one never knows, does one? Just imagine if I died now . . ."

  "I don't want to. It's too horrible."

  "People have to be practical. I'm going into Kandy and to a solicitor. Not Clinton's. I am going to make sure that this is all tied up legally. You would have nothing whatever to worry about then, would you? While I live you are safe and if I died . . . then you are still safe."

  "Oh Sarah, I do love you so!"

  "Of course you do. I'm your sister."

  "But what does Clinton say?"

  "It's no affair of his."

  I could not hide the smile of grim satisfaction. If I were honest this was not only because it would make my sister safe. It was to show Clinton that he could not treat me as his slave.

  Clytie made a half-hearted attempt to dissuade me, at least to give myself time to think. I overruled.

  The very next day I went into Kandy, saw the solicitor, drew up the will, which was witnessed by two of the solicitor's employees and held by them in safe custody. I brought away a copy with me.

  When it was all settled I began to feel uneasy.

  Clinton had married me for the plantation. But for that he might have married Anula. Why not? Mixed marriages were frowned on, it was true, by both sides, but once they were a fait accompli they were sometimes accepted. There was my father's marriage for one.

  I contemplated Clinton's anger if he ever found out. I would not tell him yet. I would save it for one of those moments when I needed some strong weapon with which to strike him. I was sure that moment would come.

  When the letter came I was still feeling nervous. Sometimes when I was with Clinton I was deeply conscious of his power. He was so forceful, so very much the master, that I, too, almost accepted him as such. But I could never be entirely sure of my feelings for him. I knew that sometimes I hated him and longed to defeat him. At others . . . well, the fact was that he could fill me with an excitement which while it persisted I found irresistible.

  When I remembered what I had done I would shiver with fear.

  The letter then was like a friendly hand stretched out to me, a secret knowledge that if I needed help it was not far away.

  We collected our post twice a week from the post office in Manganiya. I always enjoyed riding in to get it. There had been one or two letters from the aunts and nothing more. It was chiefly mail for Clinton which came.

  This time there was one for me and the sight of that handwriting, which I knew so well, filled me with delight

  I tore it open there and then and read:

  My dear Sarah,

  I have for so long wanted to write to you to find out how you were getting on. Everything must have been so strange to you and I know how homesick one can get. I came back here and plunged into work, which was useful. I have thought about you so


  much. I really don't see why we shouldn't keep in touch and

  write to each other now and then. What do you feel about

  that?

  I do so want to hear from you that all is well.

  Affectionately,

  Your old friend and tutor,

  Toby

  It was ridiculous to feel so light-hearted, to experience what I can only say amounted to relief.

  Toby was not so far off. I looked at the address at the top of the letter. Delhi. We were just an island off the tip of India. Toby, the kindest person I had ever known, was close.

  I could see no reason why I shouldn't write to him. WTiat comfort that would be!

  Suppose Clinton discovered that I had made a will. He would be very angry. He had planned so cunningly to bring about our marriage because I owned the plantation. Oh yes, he would be angry . . . murderous 1

  If I wanted to run away I could run to Toby.

  I tucked the letter inside my blouse. It was a comfort to feel it against my skin.

  As soon as I returned home I wrote a long letter telling Toby about the plantation, about my newly found sister whom I already loved and my delightful nephew Ralph. I did not mention the kidnaping. I thought it was a littie too dramatic to start off with.

  When the letter had gone I continued to feel happy. That certain blanket of uneasiness which had begun to wrap itself about me had lifted a little.

  Two or three weeks after I had answered Toby's letter I had a great surprise. I was in the garden one morning when Leila came hurrying out to tell me that a lady was waiting to see me. I went into the house. I stared in amazement, feeling for the moment that I was dreaming.

  Celia Hansen was standing there smiling at me.

  "Celia!" I cried. "Is it really. . . you!"

  She came towards me, her arms outstretched, looking faintly apprehensive.

  "I should have let you know I was here. I wasn't really sure

  whether I'd come to the right place. I couldn't go away without finding out. I had to come to see you."

  "Celia, it's a wonderful surprise. How did you get here?"

  "You knew I was traveling with my cousin."

  "Yes, you wrote and said you were going to and then I heard no more."

  "I was never much of a letter viriter. I always meant to write. I went away for a while and when I came back I called at the Grange. Your aunts told me you had married and had come out here with your husband. They gave me your new name and address. I said I wanted to write to you. Then my cousin and I set oflF on our travels again. We came to India and I promised myself that it would be better to see you than write. I lost the address and had to rely on memory. Then my cousin was called home suddenly. I should have gone home with her but I thought I'd stay away a little longer and see if I could find you."

  "I'm so glad you came. You must be tired. How did you get here?"

  "I took the P. & O. ship to Colombo. There I caught the train. I saw the name Clinton Shaw Plantation on bales in the docks and I asked a few questions. Your husband is very well known. There is a hotel near the station in Manganiya. I thought I might stay there for a week or so. Would you mind?"

  "Very much," I retorted. "We have plenty of room here. It is good to see you again, Celia."

  "Oh Sarah, we went through a good deal, didn't we? I often think of your lovely mother."

  "You were one of her most ardent admirers. She loved you for it. It was so good for her to know that there were still some who admired her."

  "It was all so sad, but it's over now. Are you happy, Sarah?"

  "It's interesting here," I answered. "I inherited a plantation, you know, and I'm learning about tea. You must have some . . . now."

  "Tea would be so refreshing and I should like it especially as it was grown on your plantation."

  "What are we doing standing herel It is such a nice surprise seeing you. I'll have a room made ready for you. You must meet my sister. I am so glad you came."

  Leila was hovering, darlc eyes alight with curiosity. This is a friend of mine from England," I said. "I want a room made ready for her. She is going to stay with us."

  The presence of Celia brought a normality to the house. To have a European woman there somehow detracted from that alien quality, and I felt more at ease.

  Celia was delighted with the room which had been made ready for her, although she was apologetic about giving trouble. I had to keep assuring her how glad I was to have her here.

  She reveled in the garden and was so interested in everything that it was pleasant to be with her. She and Clytie liked each other. Ralph showed her his elephants and tried to frighten her with his cobra, and having succeeded in doing so made her immediately his friend. She was rapidly growing fond of the boy and when she heard how he had been kidnaped, she was horrified. She fully understood Clytie's eagerness to give up the pearls. "In her place I should have done the same," she said.

  It was a joy to have her to talk to.

  Clinton liked her too and actually said it was good for me to have a companion from home. I took her into Kandy and to the club—of which I was now a member—and introduced her to various people, including the obnoxious Mrs. Glendenning. She was warmly welcomed.

  Christmas was almost upon us. It seemed incongruous to celebrate it in the heat. I think most of us felt a longing to be home with the cold of winter, the possibility of snow, the carols, the ivy and the holly. We did the best we could. Ralph hung up his stocking and provided some amusement. Clytie decorated a tree and we spent the day at Ashington's and the next day they all came over to Shaw's.

  It was a few days later and I remember the evening in detail because it was after that that things began to change.

  Celia and I had spent the afternoon at Ashington's where we had played with Ralph in the woods and he had proudly shown Celia the tree with his initial carved on it. I could never look at that tree without a shudder and I was sure that Clytie felt the same.

  Celia and I had ridden back to Shaw's. Clinton came in and we had a drink together. Then we had dinner and afterwards sat in the drawing room. It was pleasant outside, but the mosquitoes were a pest and Clinton said that Celia would be in peril because they liked fresh blood from England.

  We were talking desultorily when the subject of my mother's death came up and Celia clearly became rather uneasy.

  At length she said: "I've always had it on my mind. I don't know whether I did the right thing in keeping quiet. I thought it better at the time. . . ."

  "In what way, Celia?" I asked.

  She looked at Clinton and he said: "Is it some secret?"

  "No, no," said Celia quickly. "I am sure Sarah would not want any secrets from you."

  Clinton leaned forward and put a hand over mine. "Of course not," he said. "That's so, eh, Sarah?"

  I did not answer. I thought of the great secret and imagined what his wrath would be like if he knew what I had done.

  "It's been on my mind ever since it happened," said Celia.

  "Tell us then," urged Clinton.

  She turned her frank gaze on him. "Do you know what it was like at the Grange? Miss Martha and Miss Mabel ... I mean."

  "I did meet them," he told her. "A pair of dragons. At least one was. The other moved in her shadow."

  "Yes, it was like that. Sometimes I think I imagined it. Your Aunt Martha is a very strong woman, Sarah, a woman determined to have her own way."

  "A not uncommon feminine characteristic," murmured Clinton.

  "She had an obsession," went on Celia. "It was to do with the family pearls. She told me about them. You see, there was some plan in her mind. It seems mad ... it was mad really. That's what I'm getting at. Your father was married to a woman who would never give him a son. They lived apart. Your aunt desperately wanted your father to beget a son and keep the name in the family. It all seemed rather involved. I would hardly believe this. But I know you were aware of it, Sarah. Your Aunt Martha had chosen me for your
father's next wife while your mother was living. Does that seem mad?"

  "I had an idea that it was in her mind," I said.

  "My background was right. I had no money at that time . . . but it wasn't a question of money. She wanted me to be the third Mrs. Ashington, to bear a son whose wife would wear the Ashing-ton Pearb before she bore a son whose wife . . . and so on. It all seemed quite crazy and so unlike her. She was so practical generally ... so down to earth. But there it was. Your father was to come home and marry me. But at that time he had a wife. I know it sounds wild. But I believe she was mad. A strange sort of madness. There are many kinds. This is a reasoning madneas . . . the sort that grows out of an obsession."

  "Celia," I said, "what are you trying to tell us?"

  "I find it hard. It sounds so difficult and quite absurd. You know, Sarah, that my room was on the same floor as your mother's. I heard strange sounds in the night. Your mother was ill. It was only a cold and she was always getting colds. This one had turned to bronchitis. One night I saw your Aunt Martha walking into her room. I thought she was taking a posset or something. I took no notice. Your mother was worse in the morning. Then that night ... Do you remember that night, Sarah? You came up and you saw it. . . . The cold room with that icy wind blowing in. I woke up suddenly and felt that something was wrong. I remembered your aunt's going quietly . . . almost stealthily . . . into the room and the next morning your mother was so ill. You went along to your mother's room and found the windows open and the fire out. It must have been like that for an hour or so. We couldn't be sure. . . . She may have done it herself. Sometimes I thought she must have. But then I had seen your Aunt Martha going into the room, on that other occasion. . . ."

  "You mean she murdered my mother!"

  "It was murder in a way ... if she did it. Your mother died of pneumonia but she must have caught her death in that bitter cold. You see I started to work it out. The potion to send her to sleep and then opening all the windows, creeping out and coming back later to shut the windows. If I'm right your aunt was mad. Of course I may have been wrong. That's why I didn't want to mention it. But it was on my mind . . . and has been ever since. I couldn't bear to keep the secret any longer."