Flowers in the Blood

by Gay Courter

“If we had found a few isolated errors, I would agree with you,” I replied softly.

  “How long has this been going on?”

  “We aren't certain,” Edwin added. “The oldest records are in storage and we have not been able to retrieve them.”

  “I suspect he has been taking what did not belong to him since Uncle Saul and Uncle Jacob died,” I continued. “Possibly even before then.”

  “No!” Raphael spat. “He would not have dared.”

  I backed down instantly. “I suppose you are right. Even so, we place the loss between twenty and thirty lacs.”

  Edwin nodded somberly. “We are also fairly certain Gabriel Judah helped his father-in-law.”

  For about a minute Raphael was silent. “How could they conspire against their own family?”

  “Greed,” Edwin filled in simply. “What else could it be?”

  I stared at our host imploringly. “We need your help to put an end to it.”

  Raphael threw up his hands. “What can I do? This is a matter for the Sassoons to settle. Why doesn't your father step in?”

  “He doesn't know,” Edwin replied resolutely.

  “The doctor warned us that his heart was weak,” I added.

  Raphael's face seemed carved in ice. For a moment I didn't think we would succeed with him. “What can I do?” he repeated with a catch in his throat.

  I took a deep breath. “We have reason to believe that Samuel has saved the bulk of the money to make a run on the opium auction.”

  “Ridiculous! Nobody has ever been successful at it. We work together to sustain our shares. Besides, as I recall, he tried once before. He learned his lesson then.”

  “He didn't have twenty-five lacs then,” Edwin offered.

  Raphael gave us an indulgent smile. “That is not nearly enough.”

  “It's enough if he buys on margin,” I said. “He has made deals with Bengali moneylenders.” Doing his part to back me with solid figures, Edwin went over the mathematics.

  Raphael shook his head. “Even if the numbers worked in his favor and he bought enough chests, he would have to sell the stuff in China. How could he get rid of it—and at a higher price at that—without an organization?” Suddenly the color drained from his cheeks, and he filled in his own answer. “If he amassed seventy-five percent, he would control the Sassoons.”

  “We cannot allow him to get that far,” I said, hoping the bold use of the “we” wouldn't put him off.

  Before Raphael could interrupt, Edwin launched into our plea. “The way he will gain control of the lots is to outbid everyone else. He'll be clever, probably working through several of the independent bidders who pay more for smaller lots of the medicinal grades. We estimate that he might let some chests go close to reserve, escalating the price as slowly as possible. In the end it will be obvious that a run is on, and unless the rest of you band together to fight him, he'll garner what he needs.”

  “How do you children know this?” Raphael asked with a tinge of condescension in his tone.

  “We spoke with my father.”

  “You. said he was ignorant of the Lanyado matter.”

  “He is,” I insisted. “We told him we wanted to learn more about the business. Then he became suspicious. He accused us of trying to do our own run, using the Luddy money.”

  “How do I know your story about your uncle isn't a falsehood to get the others and me to back down while you take over the Sassoons? I have more confidence in your holdings than the amount your uncle supposedly embezzled.”

  “I promised my father I would not attempt to control the auctions for my own gain. I am trying to protect the Sassoons now, and the rest of you in the future. Do you really want a man like Lanyado running the show in Calcutta?”

  “You are a clever girl, Dinah, but what do you know about the opium trade? Why should a Jardine or a Davidson, a Gubbay or the Meyer brothers, an Eliahu or a Raphael, for that matter, want to give up any fraction of this year's profits to help you settle a family feud?”

  “Nobody will have to give up a single anna,” I said, laying most of our cards on the table. “If you will orchestrate the auction so the rest of the merchants bid up to twenty percent above your highest agreed lot price, I will cover the difference.”

  “That is crazy! You might lose everything.”

  “I can afford that out of my capital. None of the Luddy Company assets will be affected. We must be certain to give my uncle enough rope to hang himself, then recapture the balance of the chests so he has no ability to repay the Bengalis.”

  “But we will have forced the price up twenty percent,” Raphael said before he had thought through my offer. “The Chinese won't tolerate that much of an increase.” I didn't reply. At last comprehension illuminated his face. “The rest of us come on the market with a price close to the usual, while you personally absorb the loss. . . .”

  “Yes,” Edwin said with a lopsided, nervous grin.

  I was also on the edge, wondering if I would fall off the precipice as we played our last card. I glanced at Edwin. This was his hand.

  “In return, we would want a small concession.”

  Raphael lifted his bushy white eyebrows and waited.

  “Because we accept the entire risk—and don't forget, we are protecting your interests as well as the Sassoons'—we are asking that each of the merchants return to us twenty percent of his revenue after expenses on each chest, or twenty percent of the chests themselves, whichever we choose.”

  I squeezed in before Raphael could reply. “In other words, if the reserve was calculated at fourteen-seventy-five, you normally might bid up to fifteen-fifty. With us covering an additional twenty percent, you could bid another three hundred and ten per chest, paying up to eighteen-sixty.”

  “Nobody has ever paid eighteen-sixty based on that reserve!” Raphael said in a shocked tone.' “Nor would the Chinese pay over fifty-five hundred, which we would need to stay in line with last year's profits.”

  “I agree you might not do as well as last year, but that doesn't mean you couldn't unload it in China for around five thousand. You probably multiply the auction price times three hundred percent, the way the Sassoons do, and have something like our seventy-percent margin to work with, but even at five thousand you are making almost seventeen percent on your investment.”

  “But—” Raphael was about to jump in, but I didn't give him an opening.

  “If everything works out, I will have a chance to make a small profit. If the Chinese merchants accept a higher price, I would make substantially more, but if you are unable to get a price that gives you that level of profit, I lose. No matter what, I will have accomplished the goal of ridding Sassoon and Company of my uncle, and I will have kept a promise to my father to act responsibly with my Luddy inheritance.”

  “Are you suggesting the rest of us should forfeit twenty percent of our market this season?”

  “Yes,” Edwin agreed affably. “Look at it another way: if Samuel takes over, you will lose a minimum of fifteen percent for the whole year. However, twenty percent of this season is only one-sixth, or three percent, for the year, plus you will have purged yourself of a rival whom you could never again trust. On the other hand, think of what Samuel might do with those profits. What might he attempt at the next auction? By working with us, you limit your losses to three percent, and even those losses are a phantom penalty on income you hoped to make, not losses on funds depleted.”

  Raphael sighed. “Do you plan to take delivery of your chests?”

  “I'm not certain,” I answered truthfully. “Probably not, even if the Sassoon situation is secure. I do not want to mingle my money with theirs. As you know, I have no shares in the company. If I decide against delivery, you and the other merchants would sell my twenty percent and pay me with the last of the sycee from the season. I can afford to wait.”

  “How generous,” Raphael responded facetiously.

  I let his sarcasm slide. “Not at all. I wanted to
offer sweet coating for a bitter pill.”

  “You actually expect me to endorse this ridiculous scheme?” Raphael asked gruffly.

  “Only your word would convince the others,” I added softly.

  “You haven't done so badly yourself,” he complimented. He was thoughtful for a moment. “What if you hadn't found the evidence of the embezzlement?”

  “Samuel would have an easy time at the auction, wouldn't he?” Edwin answered.

  “Probably. What about after? How would he have explained having the capital?”

  “With lies about the size of his loans, I suppose,” I added. “Flushed with his success, he would have taken the reins at Clive Street, reorganizing his account books and the other evidence.”

  “Don't forget your uncle continues to think nobody knows what he's going to do.” Edwin stood up. “Secrecy is essential.”

  “I wish your Grandfather Moses could be here now.” Raphael pushed his bulk up with a groan. “Or your Uncle Saul.” He turned to Edwin.

  “Write out those figures for me and I'll see what I can do.”

  After that meeting, I had not returned to Raphael's house. Edwin had seen him again to organize the details. My husband came back from the last encounter with a startling suggestion.

  “Raphael wants you to attend the auction.”

  “Why? Women never do.”

  “Not true. Apparently some of the English ladies have been finding it entertaining. He told me that even Bellore went once. Nobody thought too much of it because she likes to do whatever is fashionable, and if Olivia Davidson finds some place new to parade about in her latest Parisian confection, your aunt is not to be outdone.”

  “But why me?”

  “Give the old man some credit. He's thought of some angles we neglected. Eventually the merchants will figure out that a run is on. Of course, almost everyone—except the independent agents and a few of the smallest houses who cannot be in on the plot because of secrecy— will know what is happening. Everyone except Samuel's coterie, of course.”

  “I don't understand. What good will it do for him to see me when he knows that he is the one, not me?”

  “What if he thinks that we might be trying to play the same game? He knows you have a fortune to invest. Raphael has a few independent agents who will bid a portion of his shares at a higher price early in the day so it will appear as though someone besides your uncle is trying to take over. If your uncle sees you there, you will be the prime suspect. Remember, he doesn't know that we surmise him guilty of anything. Our interference should escalate the bidding more rapidly and, more important, destroy his equilibrium. The sooner Samuel backs down, the cheaper the later chests will be, minimizing our risks.”

  I had been thrilled by this latest addition to the scheme. Earlier qualms about the nature of what we were bidding for diminished with the larger goal of using the lots and rupees to rout Uncle Samuel. And when this was over, Edwin and I would be able to wash our hands of the opium business forever.

  Yes, everything was almost perfect, like an ungilded dome with the promise of golden foil about to be pressed in place. My mind turned back to the children, who were running ahead as we left Wellington Square and made our way back to Free School Street. I liked this time of day best. After tea I was refreshed, filled with a balance of energy and patience. The children's vitality infused me. Now that the twins were able to converse, I had taken to supervising their nursery suppers while the ayahs had their own meal.

  A short while later we sat at the table together. Aaron entertained with a song he had heard me sing only once. His memory showed every sign of being as exceptional as his father's. Zachariah fussed about having too much rice on his plate. Jeremiah could not eat fast enough. Aaron used his implements with the precision of a little old man. The differences amused me. I idly wondered what a daughter might be like.

  “Ow!” Aaron cried as I wiped Jeremiah's mouth. I turned to see blood dribbling down his chin.

  “What happened?” I asked in alarm.

  Aaron was grinning, not crying. In his hand he held up a little pearl of a tooth. He stuck his tongue through the gap between his lower front teeth. “First one!” he said triumphantly.

  I clapped my hands in appreciation for the threshold he had crossed.

  “Papa! I want to show Papa.”

  I went out into the hall and called for Hanif. “Is the sahib home yet?”

  “Yes, memsahib, he came in while you were out. Shall I call him for you?”

  “No,” I said, because Edwin might be lying down, something he often did before dinner, since he liked to stay up and work in the coolness of the late evening. “Ask Yali to watch the little ones.” After I wiped Aaron's lip, he pulled the bloody napkin away and waved it around like a banner. I placed the tiny tooth in the other hand. “Hold this tightly and we'll show it to Papa.” I urged him upstairs, and in so doing opened a door that led not to a happy family celebration, but to a black shaft of despair.

  The man I loved lay on his side, his back away from me, as Aaron and I entered the room at the end of the corridor on the top floor, which had become Edwin's study. He said he liked this corner room because it had shutters on two sides and good ventilation in the hottest months. Even on this mild evening, the moment the door opened, a breeze rippled through the room and lifted my skirt. My husband's books lined one wall. The bed was covered with a silk rug and dotted with cushions. “My reading nest,” Edwin called it. The children were never permitted to disturb him there. Even I respected his privacy, for I had wanted to encourage his intellectual pursuits, which were his relief from the pressures of his work. However, the loss of his first son's first tooth justified a special exception.

  The room was darkened. Shafts of twilight spilled through the wide-open slats. One shutter that was not completely fastened creaked slightly. My instinct was either to latch it firmly or to lock it open. I decided on the latter course so Edwin would see his son's toothless grin better.

  “What a funny smell,” Aaron said, wrinkling his nose.

  “Shhh!” I hushed him. Turning to admire the husky curve of Edwin's back, I moved around to see if he was asleep.

  His eyes were closed, but he was not asleep. Oblivious of our entrance, he was smoking a silver pipe.

  An opium pipe.

  “Edwin!”

  “Dinah . . .” His mushy reply reminded me of Amar's awful speech.

  “Papa, I lost my first tooth!” Aaron crowed, starting to climb onto the bed.

  Grabbing his shirt, I pushed the child back roughly. “Go to Yali!”

  “I must show Papa my tooth!”

  “Do as I say!”

  “Mama, no!”

  “Aaron!”

  The child burst into tears. Supporting himself on his elbow, Edwin sat up slightly. “Truth. He must show me the truth. Never too early for the truth . . .”

  Aaron's tears stopped as he giggled. “No, Papa, tooth.”

  Was this the truth? Had everything else been imagined? How could I not have known? The ungilded dome shattered like a raw egg rapped with a spoon.

  Mechanically I had Aaron give his father the tooth and a kiss on the cheek. Using enormous control, I steered him out the door and turned him over to the dhobi, who was stacking diapers on a table. “Go finish your supper, Aaron.” This time the child had the sense to do as told.

  When I returned to my husband, he sat at his desk. The pipe was no longer in sight.

  “How long?”

  “What does it matter?”

  “It matters to me. Is this something new?”

  “No.”

  “Why didn't you tell me?”

  “I knew you would never approve. Anyway, what difference does it make? A pipe of Patna's finest now and then has never affected me.”

  “How can you say that? I have always abhorred opium users!”

  “Then you must abhor me, for I have been fond of the essence of poppy since long before I met you.” There wa
s a mocking quality in his expression I had never before heard, and it penetrated my heart.

  “Tell me this is a mistake,” I begged. “I can understand you needing something on a day like today, a day when we are both on the brink. I too have been worried, wishing it would be over,” I continued in the hope that his response to one of my statements would ease the stabbing pain.

  Edwin's voice was soft and faraway. I felt I was falling into an abyss. “I never wanted you to know . . . I have always been careful. I don't usually smoke at home, and when I do, it is up here with the windows open wide.”

  “Do you use it every day?” I could barely speak above a whisper.

  “It depends. A few puffs in the early evening is what I prefer, but if I cannot have it, I do not suffer. What is the difference between a brandy or a pipe or a cheroot—or a four-o'clock cup of bloody tea?” he added in a burst of anger.

  “Opium is evil.”

  “Then you are as corrupted as I am—and worse, you are a hypocrite. The profits from that flower have supported you your entire life. Tomorrow you will barter your future with the black balls of its sap.”

  “It killed my mother.”

  “No, it did not! Some jealous madman murdered your mother.”

  “If my father had not been in China—”

  “What difference did that make? He could have been selling saddles or bricks or silver bars, and he might still have been away from home. Nothing could have saved her.”

  “If I had awakened earlier . . .” A sob enveloped me. Could I have saved her? Had I worried about this all these years without ever acknowledging it?

  Edwin tried to put his arms around me, but I pushed him away. He returned to his desk and shuffled a few papers. “It is true that a few people use opium to their detriment. The world is filled with failures who drink too much or smoke too much, but that shouldn't ruin the substance for the rest. A modern physician cannot cope without opium.” He read from the paper in his hand, his dark pupils wide and shiny in the dim light: “ 'In Great Britain, the chief manufacture of these salts of opium for medicinal purposes is carried on in Edinburgh by two firms, Mssrs. T. and H. Smith, and J. F. Macfaran and Co. Opium is undoubtedly the most valuable remedy for the whole materia medica. For other medicines, we have one or more substitutes; but for opium none—at least in the large majority of cases in which its peculiar and beneficial influence is required.' “