“If I understand correctly, Henry Tremayne must have taken over the plantation in 1887,” Jonathan said, looking up from his pile of books. He had spent two whole hours sorting through the files from the cupboard and putting them in order. “All the books until then were made out by Richard Tremayne.”
“Henry must have come out here a few months after receiving the news of Richard’s death,” Diana replied. “He received a telegram dated October 1886 saying that his brother fell from Adam’s Peak.”
“Was he a mountaineer?”
Diana shrugged. “No idea. Maybe he liked hiking. There must be a temple up there. Do you know?”
“There’s a pilgrim track, certainly,” Jonathan confirmed. “It’s really steep in places. If someone was careless it would be easy to fall. The ascent must have been even more dangerous a hundred plus years ago.”
“If we have enough time I’d like to see the path,” Diana said, running her hand thoughtfully over the pages of the book in front of her.
“Is there any indication of the place where Richard Tremayne fell?”
Diana shook her head. “I don’t think so. Maybe there’s something in the old police records, but I’m sure they won’t be kept here. If at all.”
“The English were pretty meticulous about things like that. There must be hundreds of old files languishing in some cupboard or cellar. But you’d need even more time to sift through those, and I don’t know if your clients could do without you for that long.”
He was right. Her old life was waiting for her back home, and at some stage she would have to bring this adventure to an end. But she didn’t want to think about it right then. She had managed not to look at her emails at all yesterday, and maybe her work could live without her doing so for the next two days.
As afternoon came to Vannattuppūcci, Diana leaned back with a sigh and pressed her fingers to the corners of her eyes. How many books had she gone through? Dry columns of figures, composed in beautiful handwriting, but telling her nothing. The enticing thought of simply reading the letter she had found kept resurfacing. But she had held out, recalling the words of her former professor who had warned his law students to choose the right moment to examine any piece of evidence.
Jonathan got to his feet. “I think we should take a little break. How do you fancy a walk around the plantation?”
“Good idea.” Diana pushed the documents back across the desk.
A pleasant warmth greeted them on the steps outside the house. After hours of artificial light, it took some time for Diana’s eyes to become accustomed to the sunlight. But she drank in the bright colours eagerly and tried to imagine how Grace Tremayne must have felt when she left the house for a walk.
“Maybe we should head for the garden first,” Jonathan suggested. “I saw some wonderful old rhododendrons from my window.”
He was forgetting that Diana had the same view, but she held back from reminding him.
Their feet crunching on the gravel, they rounded the house and came to the garden, which had a kind of communications aerial in the middle. It was probably there to ensure that the people here had a phone signal—a home comfort that seemed indispensable here, too.
Jonathan was right—the old rhododendrons were wonderful. The magnificent colours of their flowers ranged from snowy white to deep crimson.
Some of my gardening neighbours back in Berlin would kill for specimens like these, Diana thought with a smile. As well as the rhododendrons, they passed some bushes that must be the frangipani she’d read about in the guidebooks. They looked no younger than the rhododendrons, and had probably been here before the plantation was established.
Their magnificent flowers made Diana think of the white flower with a red eye that had been pressed between the pages of the old guidebook. It must have come from here. She was so fascinated by the idea that she felt compelled to go up to the nearest bush and touch the fleshy flowers. Had Grace and Victoria also done that? What a lovely, sweet smell! Diana hadn’t been conscious of it before, but now, standing in front of the source, she was reminded of the sweetness on the air that morning.
“Frangipani. Isn’t it beautiful?” Jonathan said as he came up behind her. “These bushes grow practically everywhere throughout India and Sri Lanka.”
“In Germany, magnificent plants like these would only flourish in a botanical garden or a good greenhouse.”
Diana stood for a while admiring the plants, playing out little scenes involving the girls from the painting in Tremayne House—except they were no longer little girls, but young women. She was suddenly overcome by a strange longing, and wished more than anything for a window in time through which she could observe her ancestors. But at best she had only fragments of such a window, its panes blurred by a dark film with only small tears in a few places to shed light on the scene.
Long moments passed before she could finally tear her eyes from the vision of the frangipani. As she turned, she saw the rear façade of the mansion in all its glory and noticed the typically English design of the gardens. They were similar to the grounds of Tremayne House, although those were a little better cared for.
When they reached the wing that housed their rooms, Jonathan stopped suddenly.
“Look there!” He pointed to a small gap in the hedge and a bald strip across the lawn that led to it, looking just like a beaten path. “Shall we have a look what’s through there?”
Diana looked up at the house. Would Mr. Manderley have anything against them slipping through it? Seeing no one at the window, she nodded and followed him through the hedge.
“What’s the likelihood of coming across a snake here?” she asked sceptically.
“It’s not very likely,” Jonathan replied. “I’m no biologist, but I think snakes are more afraid of us than we are of them. We should be more concerned about big cats. But they’re shy, too. Though you must have noticed there are plenty of monkeys around here. And parrots.”
After beating their way through the bushes for a while, feeling they were getting nowhere fast, they suddenly saw a palm-leaf roof rising up out of the undergrowth.
“Is that a hut? Here?”
“Let’s have a look!” Jonathan pushed the branches aside eagerly. The path had faded away in places, overcome by encroaching greenery, but they finally managed to reach the building. The hut, built of timber poles and boards, reminded Diana of the stilt houses she had seen on the coast, except that here the design was not to protect it from flooding.
The roof had been practically destroyed, and the hut itself was crooked from years of wind-battering. Its windows looked out like sad eyes from a dense tangle of heveas and palms, as though remembering better days.
“What sort of a building is this?” Diana asked as she looked around the cleared space in front of it that was lined with timber planks. Although the grass had pushed through the cracks, the original shape could still be made out.
“I’m not sure. It could have been the house of a guru, a religious leader. Or a meeting place for the inhabitants of the nearby village.”
“But why would it be out here?” Diana wondered.
“You’d have to ask the people of the village. I’m going to take a look inside.”
Jonathan climbed the steps and entered the room to look around. He emerged with a broad smile and a long staff in his hand.
“I think I know what used to go on here.”
Diana raised her eyebrows. “You know that from the stick in your hand?”
“It’s not any old stick; it’s a practice stick. I can’t be completely sure, but I’d say this building is a former martial arts school.”
Diana approached, climbed the ladder up to the veranda, and looked into the room. A number of objects and old rattan furniture lay all over the floor, covered by a thick layer of dust.
“A martial arts school? Do they have something like karate here?”
“Something much better!” Jonathan whirled the stick through the air and cried out
, “Kalarippayatu!”
“I’m sorry?”
“That’s the name of the martial art. Kalarippayatu.”
He briefly explained to her what it was all about. Impressed, Diana said, “A very wise way of measuring strength. Just think how many of the overwhelming losses in the two world wars could have been avoided by it . . .”
“But there are risks involved,” Jonathan said. “Imagine if the wrong side had the better fighter and would then be entitled to subjugate an entire population on the basis of that victory.”
“You’re right. Of course that would be unfair.”
Diana watched Jonathan looking around the building reverently. “Do you practise this martial art?”
Jonathan shook his head. “I’m an academic, not a sportsman. Kalarippayatu is very demanding. Fighters usually start training at a very young age, like in judo or karate. The fighters literally spring at one another, and undertake a complicated series of moves with swords or their bare hands. You can only recognise the patterns if you watch incredibly closely and have practised a little yourself. It’s a fascinating spectacle.”
Diana pushed her lower lip forward in wonder, as she imagined the young pupils sitting on the broad veranda, trying to learn from watching the fighters on the wooden platform. “A martial arts school near my ancestors’ plantation! I wouldn’t have expected that.”
“It was probably already closed by Henry Tremayne’s time and fell into disuse. But it’s also possible that men from the village met here to practise. If so, you have to marvel at their courage—if they’d been caught by the plantation owners, things would have gone very badly for them.”
Since they hadn’t expected to make any such discovery, Diana didn’t have her camera with her to record it.
As if reading her mind, Jonathan said, “I’m going to come back and take photos of it all. A testimony to the past like this would make a great addition to my book.”
“Really?” Diana asked with a smile. “It’s only a martial arts school.”
“But also a symbol of the Tamil tradition in colonial times. As I’m examining the causes of the present-day conflict, it’s entirely relevant.”
They fought their way back through the undergrowth, and this time Diana thought she saw a monkey above their heads. She caught only a brief glimpse of the brown pelt, which in retrospect could have been the plumage of an exotic bird, but she wanted to believe it was a monkey.
They had barely left the hedge behind when they saw Manderley coming towards them, a few tea leaves clinging to his khaki pants.
“Well, where did you two pop up from?” he said.
“We’ve made a fascinating discovery,” Diana replied. “Did you know there’s a former martial arts school behind the plantation?”
“A martial arts school?”
Jonathan pointed to the gap in the hedge. “Haven’t you ever noticed this narrow path?”
Manderley shook his head. “I haven’t. But my mind’s usually on things other than the lawn.”
“Well, perhaps you should have a look at the building. It’s looking a bit the worse for wear, but it’s a piece of history,” Jonathan said. “If you had it restored, you could either use it as guest accommodation or market it as a local attraction. There aren’t many clandestine martial arts schools from the colonial period left. The English kept a stern watch against it, and not all the fighters who practised despite them had buildings like this to use.”
Manderley’s eyes widened. Diana knew that look. It was the same one her clients would show when she explained the potential that lay in a particular defence strategy.
“I’ll think about it. Thank you very much for the information.”
He excused himself and hurried on.
“We ought to get back to work, too,” Jonathan said to Diana.
“True.” She turned again to look at the gap in the hedge, then looked across to the Turkish-style windows behind which her room lay.
She suddenly had a thought. Would Grace or Victoria have been able to see the fighters slipping by here? Had either of the girls ventured to the school?
Diana shook her head. Probably not. After all, they were well-bred young ladies. But she really liked the idea that Grace might have been able to watch the men fighting.
13
Vannattuppūcci, 1887
Miss Giles looked a picture of displeasure when Grace fetched her to go to the language lesson. The role of chaperone did not suit her routine, and it robbed her of the opportunity of more frequent chance encounters with Mr. Norris. But, for better or for worse, she had to obey her master’s instructions.
Grace’s satchel contained a wad of paper from her father’s study, along with a freshly sealed inkpot, a fountain pen, a little box of spare nibs, and a pencil.
She felt a little as though she were back in her childhood, when she obliged to take her school things with her on Mr. Norris’s natural history walks. Her heart was beating nervously as she saw Vikrama standing by the door. She had nurtured a small hope that he would be wearing Tamil traditional dress, but he was in the same clothes as he had been wearing about the plantation earlier in the day. He smelled of soap, was wearing a new white shirt with subtle red stripes, and had trimmed his beard—she could almost see where Victoria had got her “dandy” notion from.
They found a suitable place for the lesson in an open space near the new tea field with a wonderful view of Adam’s Peak. Grace felt a shiver of pleasure at the thought that one day she would climb the mountain from where, as the sailors claimed, she would be able to survey the whole island.
Miss Giles, on the other hand, had little time for the wonders of nature. She kept making comments about the condition of the ground, and when she wasn’t complaining, she was flapping her hands at various insects.
“And where do you think you’re going to sit around here?” she finally said to Grace and Vikrama.
“Over there, Miss Giles!” he said, pointing to a number of rocks that had rolled down the slope a very long time ago and settled here.
“We’re supposed to sit on rocks?”
“For the time being, Miss Giles,” Vikrama replied, to Grace’s amazement remaining calm and friendly despite the carping.
“I’m going to ask Mr. Tremayne to provide a table and chairs for the purpose. Miss Grace’s decision to learn Tamil was rather sudden, and I don’t know whether she’ll actually take to it.”
He gave Grace a look of inquiry and she nodded. Oh, she’d take to it, all right! If only for the fact that he was the teacher!
Once they had all found somewhere to sit, Miss Giles withdrew to the shade and Vikrama began with some simple words and phrases. He spoke sounds that seemed impossible to her with enviable ease. He listened patiently to her clumsy attempts, managing to pass over Miss Giles’s bored interjections with a friendly smile.
At the end of the lesson, Grace felt exhausted, but filled with a satisfaction she had rarely experienced before. She finally had the feeling of doing something meaningful!
Her parents’ hopes that her enthusiasm would be short-lived were dashed over supper, as she chattered effusively about the words she had learned and their meanings.
“It’s amazing how rich this language is! And the script—it’s like a secret code!”
It may not have been her intention to incite her father’s suspicion of his employees, but she quickly corrected herself after the remark about a secret code by saying she hoped he would allow her to continue with the lessons. She could only reassure him by telling him what she knew: that the people here were far from plotting against him.
“I wish I could learn Tamil, too,” Victoria complained as Grace sat that evening copying the characters into a small notebook that she had obtained from Mr. Norris.
“It’s more complicated than you realise,” Grace replied without looking up from her work. “Learn French first. There’ll be plenty of time after that to learn the local language.”
�
�But French is no use at all to me here.”
“Of course it is, for when you receive invitations from the society ladies. You heard how enchanted they all were with you.”
“But I’m not interested in spending my time with their boring daughters. They’re not interested at all in walking in the countryside.”
Victoria fell silent and Grace sensed something else hidden behind her words.
She set her pen down on the desk and went over to her sister. Victoria refused to meet her eye.
“What’s the matter?”
“Do you like Mr. Vikrama?” Her eyes blazed.
Grace was caught unawares. “Of course I like him. He’s very kind.”
Victoria gave her a searching look. “You will tell me when you fall in love with a man, won’t you?”
Grace was speechless now. Could she tell her? She knew what her father and mother would think of it. They would never tolerate a union with a native man!
But what was she thinking? She liked Vikrama, nothing more. And even if she’d never admit it, the prophecy on the palm leaf kept niggling at her. She certainly didn’t want to bring misfortune on her family!
Grace drew Victoria into her arms. “Of course I’ll tell you. But there’s nothing to tell. Vikrama is very nice and a patient teacher, that’s all.”
The two sisters remained in their embrace for a while, then Grace picked up the exercise book to show her sister that it contained nothing other than Tamil characters, and nowhere near enough of those to constitute a secret diary.
Grace gradually learned her first few phrases and expressions, and took great delight in using the foreign words when she visited Naala to ask how she was. Her wounds had begun to heal, but Vikrama was right when he said the scars would never disappear. She would not forget who was responsible for them. At first the villagers regarded Grace a little suspiciously, but the healer made sure they knew who she was.
As it was time for a pause in the picking season, the colourful saris had vanished from the tea fields, giving the plants a chance to grow some more. The pickers were now mainly employed in packing the tea. This didn’t mean they were free from Mr. Petersen’s constant harrying—his gaze roved over their heads like that of a bird of prey. None of them had time for “sloppiness,” as Petersen called it. As soon as he caught a woman packing slower than the others, he went up to her and stroked her back menacingly with the rolled-up whip. He might be obeying the ban on whipping the workers, but the women couldn’t be sure of it. Whenever they got chance, they complained of it to Vikrama, but there was little he could do. As long as Petersen held back from beating one of the women again, Tremayne left him to his own devices.
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