Empire's Children

by Patricia Weerakoon

  ***

  Appu stood with his arms outstretched, blocking the way to the steps. ‘No! Chinnamma! Go back to Colombo. You must not talk to Ashley-Cooper Periadorai.’

  Shiro stood with her hands on her hips. Today, she wasn’t the little girl returning home to the tea plantation. She was the budding professional. The slim fitting, black linen skirt and white silk blouse with a button open at the neck were a gift from Shiro’s uncle, George. They and the handmade black leather shoes had all been purchased from a boutique shop in Colombo. A silk medical-faculty-scarf, black with silver skull and crossbones, was knotted around her neck, exposing just a hint of cleavage at the neck of the blouse. With her hair drawn back in a low bun and a light sheen of makeup, she was cool and confident.

  ‘No, Appu. I will see William Ashley-Cooper.’ She growled in Tamil. ‘I am not the child I was when you last saw me. And none of the Ashley-Cooper family, William, Anthony or even their almighty father, James, can threaten me anymore.’

  The words were interrupted by a bout of coughing. The British accent was unmistakable. ‘Who the hell is that, Appu?’

  ‘Aiyoo. What will happen now?’ Appu wailed.

  Shiro tensed. She felt Jega’s hand on her back, his voice a whisper in her ear. ‘Hang in there. This could get nasty.’

  There was no going back now. Shiro took a deep breath. Walking past Appu, she climbed the three steps to the veranda. Jega moved up behind her.

  Standing closer to William Ashley-Cooper, Shiro barely controlled a gasp of surprise. He looked gaunt and unwell. The gold-flecked blonde hair was lank. His eyes seemed sunk in his eye sockets. The white linen suit and cashmere jumper hung on a frame that no longer filled it.

  ‘Good Morning, Mr Ashley-Cooper. I hope you don’t mind this early morning incursion on your time, but we need to get back to Nuwara-Eliya.’

  ‘I damn well resent your barging into my house at this ungodly hour. Who the hell are you two, anyway?’

  She tilted her head up and looked directly into William’s vicious blue eyes. A shudder went through her body. Jega increased the pressure of his hand on her back.

  ‘I am not surprised you don’t remember the last time we met, Mr Ashley-Cooper, given you tried to rape me on that occasion.’

  William leaned towards Shiro. His eyes narrowed, but registered no recognition. Her every instinct was to step back. Jega’s hand on her back held her in place.

  The silent pause on the veranda was interrupted by a female voice from the front door. ‘William, why don’t you invite your guests into the house? I’ve asked Appu to make a fresh pot of tea.’

  Shiro’s eyes flicked from William to the slim woman in a pale blue cotton dress and cardigan. So, William had a wife, a British one.

  ‘They are not exactly invited guests, Janet. More like early morning intruders.’

  The woman glanced from William to Shiro. She stepped closer to them and then gasped. She extended both hands to Shiro. ‘Is it you, Shiro? I’m Janet, I was Janet Irvine. We were friends when my father worked here.’ She stopped and glanced at William who was standing statue still. ‘I’m so sorry to hear about your father.’

  So he married Janet and continued to visit prostitutes in Diyatalāwa. How typical.

  Shiro took the proffered hands in hers. ‘Of course I remember you, Janet. Although I wouldn’t say we were exactly friends, given you didn’t respond to any of my letters after you left Watakälé.’

  Janet blushed and looked at her feet. ‘I’m sorry. I wanted to. But my parents and my uncle –’

  ‘Don’t worry about it, Janet. All water under the bridge now.’

  Shiro dropped Janet’s hands and faced William. ‘I understand tea plantation standards and moralities – or maybe we should say amoralities – a lot better now.’ She smiled at William. ‘I am Shiromi Rasiah, Mr Ashley-Cooper. The last time we met by the stream you called me some interesting names.’ She cocked her head and put her fingers to her chin. ‘Let me think, bit of fluff, delectable piece of flesh and even a she-devil. But you were not satisfied with discrediting your brother and breaking up our relationship, were you? You had to frame my father of theft and drive him to his death.’

  Janet slipped between Shiro and William. ‘Shiro, you’re distraught, my dear. Your father resigned. William had nothing to do with it. It was an accident that killed him. That area is notorious.’

  ‘You’re as pathetic as your husband, Janet.’ Shiro’s eyes narrowed in disgust. ‘You don’t really believe what you are saying, do you?’

  William grasped Janet by her arm and shoved her out of the way. He glared at Shiro. ‘Your father,’ he shifted his eyes to Jega, ‘and whoever Rasiah was to you, was a useless do-gooder. My dear little brother, Anthony, your lover, pampered him to keep in your good books. Your father refused to listen to reason after I took over Watakälé.’

  Shiro prayed for patience, infinitely grateful for the comfort of Jega’s hand on the small of her back. ‘So you decided to get rid of him. You blackmailed Mr Wright, who was the one who was actually cheating you. You made him frame my father.’

  William laughed. It was a demon bray that reminded Shiro of the day by the stream. She dragged her mind back to the present.

  ‘You are hallucinating, girl. You can’t prove anything.’

  Jega stepped around Shiro. He slipped the tape recorder out of his pocket. ‘Actually William, we have a full confession from your collaborator, the current Tea-maker.’ He switched on the tape.

  Mr Wright’s agonised voice came through loud and clear. ‘I am sorry. I framed the man who trained me, my mentor – my friend. I did what William Ashley-Cooper asked me to do. He said he would destroy me. I have small children. I did what he wanted. I am damned. Damned!’

  William continued to laugh. He broke into a fit of coughing. ‘And who the hell are you?’

  Shiro glanced at Jega. Jega pressed the stop button on the tape recorder, then slipped it back into his shirt pocket.

  Slate grey eyes locked with blue. ‘My name is Dr Jega Jayaseelen. We haven’t met before, but I have heard all about you from your father and mine. You may be interested to know that he calls you a heartless bastard. For some weird reason he seems proud that he has moulded you to be like that.’ He took a step closer to William. ‘I am your half-brother, William. The son of the Indian woman James, your father and mine, kept here in this very house. The woman your mother, the doyen of British propriety, threw out when she came here as a bride. My mother was fifteen-years-old and pregnant when she left.’

  William glared at Jega. His eyes shifted to Shiro. He guffawed. ‘You two really are all into make-believe today, aren’t you?’

  Jega shook his head. ‘I really don’t care if you believe that I’m your brother or not. Frankly, given what I’ve learned about you and the way your brother Anthony treated Shiromi, I’d rather not claim any relationship to your family. But it’s true.’

  William swung back to face them. His face turned a mottled red. ‘You, Anthony and that minister, Robert Kirkland, you all think you are better than me. But I always have the last laugh.’ He stopped and coughed. Drops of spittle formed on his lips. The veins in his neck stood out. ‘Get off my property before I get you thrown off,’ William laughed again and turned away.

  Shiro stepped back. Jega pushed her behind him. ‘I’ve been to the manor, William. Your mother asked to see me. It was when I was doing my medical training at Queens University Medical School. Our father himself picked me up at Chesterfield Station in the Jaguar Phantom. It was autumn. The red gold of the ancient lime trees that line the avenue were amazing. Your father showed me your horses, I believe yours is Zeus? I met your mother in the Queen’s Room. The carvings of the Tudor rose and thistle on the ceiling is truly impressive. Ask her about our meeting. We had a lovely afternoon tea. The gold rim lavender design on your mother’s favourite
tea service is so elegant. And the lemon tarts from the manor kitchen are divine.’

  William didn’t turn round.

  Janet, standing at the door to the lounge, gasped. ‘William, he’s got to be speaking the truth. The manor is not open to the public. And your mother’s tea service …’

  Jega kept his eyes on William’s back. ‘Your mother apologised to me for what she did to mine. She told me she fully supported your father paying for my medical training. All she wanted was that he never acknowledges me as his son. A true, blue-blooded lady of the manor.’

  William swung back. ‘You bastard!’

  Jega smiled. ‘True. I am a bastard. And by tomorrow, father will have a copy of the tape and a transcript of Mr Wright’s confession. It’s on the way by express post. I will call him later today to fill him in. Father will know exactly what his legal firstborn son has been up to.’ He stopped and shrugged. ‘He probably will do nothing but he will know the truth about you.’

  Jega turned to Shiro. ‘Come, Shiromi. I think we are done here.’ They turned and walked down the steps to the car.

  William’s raucous laughter stopped them both in their tracks. ‘Truth? You came here for the truth? Well you can have the truth. I had the mechanic fix the brakes in your father’s car the day before he died. I thought he’d go into a ditch, see it as an omen to resign. I didn’t expect him to go racing off on the hairpin bends of Haputale. I guess you could say I killed him. And you know what? I am not sorry. Not one bit.’ He laughed and broke into a rasping cough.

  Shiro shivered. William Ashley-Cooper had murdered her father. She had her evidence, but it wouldn’t bring her father back. It wouldn’t change anything.

  ‘Get in.’ Jega dragged her down the steps and bundled her into the car. He leapt into the driver’s seat, revved the engine and pulled away down the drive.

  Shiro sat dry eyed and rigid. Jega negotiated the winding road down the hill away from the superintendent’s house. ‘Damn the man. I knew I shouldn’t have brought you here.’

  The road took a sharp turn. Shiro was silent, staring across the valley. This place, the mountains, the smells, the very air reminded her of Anthony. Across the valley was the clear bubbling stream and a small waterfall. Shiro’s eyes fixed on a cluster of trees and the sentinel like rock.

  ‘Jega, please stop the car. There is a place I have to visit.’

  Jega pulled to a side of the road. ‘What is it, Shiromi?’

  He followed her as she pushed through the undergrowth on the now overgrown mud path. In a few minutes they came to the cluster of trees and the shield-like rock. They stood together on a ledge of rock overhanging the stream. Shiro turned to face him. ‘Jega, do you love me?’

  Jega stepped back. ‘You are upset, my dear. It’s been a stressful morning.’

  She grasped his arms. ‘You’ve been so amazing to me, Jega. I could not have done this without you. Please, I need to know. Do you care for me?’

  She felt his hands in her hair. The wind blew her curls around her head, just like it had when she had stood there with Anthony. The curls coiled around Jega’s fingers, just like they had Anthony’s. His arms drew her close to his body. Shiro felt safe. Secure. Jega was a good man, a man she could trust with her life. He would care for her heart. Could she give it to him?

  She felt his lips on her forehead. ‘Shiro.’ It was a whisper, almost a blessing.

  Shiro wound her arms around his neck. She threaded her fingers in his hair. She heard his sharp indrawn breath. She spoke into his neck. ‘Kiss me, Jega.’

  She kept her eyes shut as his lips travelled over her eyes and cheek. She pushed away the memories of Anthony. She must forget. Move forward.

  Jega’s lips paused at the corner of hers. He slipped a hand under her chin and turned her face up to his. ‘Open your eyes, Shiromi.’

  Shiro blinked and looked into his kind grey eyes.

  He raised a finger to wipe a tear from her cheek. ‘This is where you met Anthony, isn’t it? Where you finally said goodbye?’

  Shiro scrunched her eyes shut and willed herself not to cry. Not trusting herself to speak, she nodded her assent.

  ‘Shiro, you can’t exorcise your memories by pretending that I am Anthony, darling. It will only bring more pain to you.’ He pulled her tighter in his arms. ‘And to me too.’

  Shiro stepped back. Jega loosened his hold of her. ‘Is that what you think I am doing, Jega? You’re wrong. No, a million times, no. You are the kindest, most wonderful man I have met. I do love you.’

  Jega shrugged his shoulder. Shiro flinched at the similarity of the gesture to Anthony’s. ‘You may not even recognise it, Shiro. You may think you love me. But you love what you see of Anthony in me. As much as I care for you, I can’t accept that.’

  ‘Please.’ Shiro reached out and touched his cheek. ‘I don’t want that either. I want to love the wonderful person I know you are. Help me. Teach me to forget him and love you for yourself.’

  ‘All right.’ He took her hands in his and pulled her down to sit on the rock. He slipped his arm around her. She rested her head on his shoulder, pushing away the memory of sitting just this way with Anthony.

  ‘Shiromi, you need closure. Two years ago Anthony left you. You were devastated; hurt and depressed. You have recovered physically, but you have a way to go mentally. You need to know what happened to him, where he is now, what he is doing. Then and only then, can you move on with your life.’ His arm tightened around her. ‘Till you do that, you will continue to live in some halfway world of hopes and dreams about Anthony.’

  ‘There is only one person who will know what’s happening with Anthony. His best friend, Bobsy.’

  Jega laughed. ‘Bobsy isn’t a very aristocratic British name!’

  ‘He’s the minister in charge of the church in Nuwara-Eliya. He and Anthony have been friends from schooldays. I know him from when he was the assistant minister in Colombo. He married our school chaplain, Miss Grace.’

  ‘Come on, then.’ Jega jumped up and took her hand. ‘Nuwara-Eliya is just a forty-five minute drive. We can be there by noon. Let’s go see this Bobsy fellow and get some answers.’

  Hand-in-hand, they scrambled up the path and got in the car.

  Chapter 38

  September 1969 Nuwara-Eliya

  Jega insisted they stop for a meal in Nuwara-Eliya, and it was almost noon when they headed towards the manse.

  ‘There it is!’ Shiro pointed to the wooden sign on which the words ‘Reformed Church of Scotland’ were painted in black. An arrow below the words pointed to a mud road winding up and away from the township of Nuwara-Eliya. ‘That’s where Bobsy and Grace live.’

  Jega swung the car up the road.

  Shiro felt queasy. Was this the right thing to do? Did she want to know? What if Anthony was happily married in England? Had a child? Wouldn’t it be better to hold on to her dream? A dream that maybe – No. Jega was right. She needed closure.

  She sneaked a side glance at him. Jega smiled. Steering the car with his right hand, he covered her fingers with his left. ‘It will be all right. Whatever you learn about Anthony, I’ll be there. I will help you get through today.’

  Shiro clung to his fingers. Yes, she could trust him.

  One final turn in the mud path and they were there. The sun bathed the minister’s manse and the little sandstone church on the hill. The wrought iron gate stood open. Jega drove up the muddy drive. The heady smell of roses and jasmine blossoms invaded the car.

  Jega pulled up outside the manse. A slim, dark woman dressed in an ankle-length, print cotton skirt and jumper stood on the veranda looking towards the approaching car. ‘Look, Shiromi,’ Jega pointed, ‘that’s probably the maid or the nanny. Let’s ask her where Reverend Kirkland is.’

  ‘Dear God!’ Shiro gasped.

  Jega swung around to Shiro. ‘
What’s the matter? Are you –’

  Shiro didn’t wait for Jega to park the car. She wrenched open the passenger side door and leapt out. ‘Lakshmi!’ Shiro screamed as she ran towards the woman on the veranda.

  The woman shaded her eye against the glare and stared at Shiro’s flying figure. Then with a matching scream of ‘Shiro Chinnamma,’ she jumped off the veranda and ran towards Shiro.

  Shiro hugged Lakshmi as she sobbed. ‘God, God, you have answered my prayers.’

  Keeping her arm around Lakshmi, Shiro moved a half-step back. ‘So this is where you have been all along. What’s the big secret? Why didn’t Mum want me to know? No, don’t answer. It’s to do with me making high class friends who are not from the plantation.’ She laughed and hugged Lakshmi again. ‘I’m babbling! Tell me, is your child here also? Surely Bobsy would have let you keep him? Why did you say he had to be adopted?’ She hugged Lakshmi again. ‘It’s good to see you.’

  Lakshmi smiled and disentangled herself from Shiro’s arms. ‘No, Chinnamma, I came here only a few days ago. I was working at Hemachandra Mudalali’s till then. And yes, my son is here.’

  Even as she spoke a little boy toddled down the veranda steps. ‘Amma,’ he called.

  Shiro dropped to her knees before the boy. Lakshmi squatted by her side. ‘His name is Daniel, Shiro Chinnamma.’

  ‘My, you are a sweetie,’ Shiro took the pudgy hand of the little olive skinned boy. The sun glinted on his brown-gold hair.

  The boy reached out and touched her hair. ‘Pretty,’ he lisped.

  Shiro looked into the cobalt blue eyes and felt a cold chill creep through her veins. ‘Lakshmi,’ she whispered, ‘Daniel’s father, the man who raped you.’

  Daniel turned at the sound of footsteps on the veranda. He pointed. ‘Da-da.’

  Brown leather shoes led up to a creased pair of brown wool trousers. Still on her knees, Shiro tilted her head up. A brown leather belt, then a white shirt open at the neck and tucked into the trousers. She gazed into cobalt blue eyes the exact colour of Daniel’s.