by Gay Courter
“We resume with lot two hundred eighty-one,” Mr. Chappell said, his rested voice as bright as a brass bell. “Sixty chests, grade-A Patna, processed at Monghyr. Do I hear a hundred thousand?”
A communal gasp rumbled through the room. A hundred thousand? What audacity to open at almost seventeen hundred per chest! And he was staring at Edwin! Edwin nodded his chin. Mr. Haythornthwaite could not master his grimace of satisfaction. The competing bids flew in fast and furious.
“One hundred and seven thousand, four hundred.” The gavel fell. An anonymous agent at the back of the room purchased the lot. Uncle Samuel, I suspected, had taken it for 1,790. At least Edwin hadn't managed to succeed again.
Edwin also started the next few lots, which were closed by a broker at around the eighteen-hundred level. Was Edwin merely compelling my uncle into higher and higher ranges? Had Samuel's hostility toward my husband forced his hand sooner than he had expected? If so, I suspected Edwin would tone down his efforts for a while. And indeed quite soon my husband refrained from beginning any bids and merely nodded halfheartedly in the center of the action, quieting long before the gavel fell closer and closer to the nineteen-hundred mark.
Energy flowed through the room as the lots in the three-hundred numbers came up. Some of the choicest grades from Dinapur were on the block. I watched as Jardine paid 1,925 for a double-A and the Gubbay firm bested him for a similarly ranked Benares at 1,932.
“A new record,” murmured the crowd.
Uncle Samuel was perspiring openly. True, the room had become stuffier in the late afternoon, but the punkahs were flapping and few of the ladies were as perturbed. Obviously the prices at these unimaginable levels distressed him. And if he was going to wrest control of the market, it was at this high range where he would have to make his play to buy everything in sight.
Edwin bid again. Why would he go after an inferior Gorakhpur that had opened at a measly fifteen hundred? Instead of letting others pick up the pace, Edwin stayed in the fray. I was aghast when I realized my husband had purchased his second batch for seventy-seven thousand rupees—over sixteen hundred per chest! Not a huge amount, considering the numbers we had been hearing, but a great deal more than the reserve. What in the world was he doing now? My palms began to perspire. I felt dizzy, for after Edwin's purchases the prices went soaring. While Raphael, Gubbay, and the Meyer brothers bid aggressively, they ended up deferring each overpriced lot to anonymous agents. I circled a figure on my page, 2,700, and whispered to Zilpah, “That's how many I think Samuel has taken. Although he's been conservative and the average price is under fifteen hundred, he must have spent more than forty lacs by now. That is way over what he can afford—almost double our estimate of his capital.”
“Probably he was waiting for the price to fall before taking everything. Now he has no choice,” Zilpah added knowingly. “Won't he need most of the balance to take control?”
I looked up. The gavel had fallen. I was relieved that Jardine, Matheson had taken the lot. “Yes, he will.”
Davidson had the next two. Jardine stole a few in the fifteen hundreds because of the auctioneer's seeming to ignore the agent behind Uncle Ezra. Gabriel Judah was on his feet about to register a protest when Edwin reached forward and pushed him down. Gabriel spun around and shot him a malignant glance. The whole room noticed the altercation, but the auctioneer did not miss a beat. For a while the prices soared to panicky heights near the two-thousand-rupee mark. Haythornthwaite did a merry jig as the numbers peaked. A pity the crown will profit handsomely from my uncle's evils, I thought sourly.
There was no evidence that anyone other than our tight circle of conspiring merchants had paid inflationary prices. We had scared Uncle Samuel off! Gabriel trembled openly. Sultana dabbed her eyes, pretending she had a difficulty with a lash to hide her anguish. Aunt Bellore's shoulders sagged.
“Lot four hundred twelve.”
The numbers were getting higher and higher.
We were on the next-to-last page. “Lot four hundred twenty-five.”
My uncle could never recover now!
“Seventy thousand . . .” There were no longer any bidders willing to open at over sixteen hundred per chest. Nonplussed, Mr. Chappell backed off to sixty thousand. Silence. Aware the room had cooled significantly, but ignorant of the forces at play, the confused auctioneer fell to forty thousand and finally sold the lot for the paltry—if more ordinary—figure of 1,345 rupees per chest.
As if propelled by something painful on his seat, Uncle Samuel stood up. His arms jerked wildly before he sank back into his chair clutching his chest. Abner Raphael turned around and directed the man next to my uncle to unbutton his jacket. The agent who had won many earlier rounds—probably for Samuel—passed up a flask. Samuel pushed his helpers away. Stumbling up the aisle, he scattered curses. Weeping openly, Aunt Bellore followed him out.
Somehow the others managed to conclude the sale. Over nine thousand chests had passed from the hands of the crown to those of the merchants. Zilpah took my hand, and together we walked onto the trading floor. In the aftermath, men gathered around in tight circles, comparing versions of what had occurred, those not in the know gleaning what they could.
Abner Raphael greeted my father with a luminous smile. “Benu! I did not expect to see you here. I thought this was to be a secret from you.”
“It was, but I had a premonition.”
“Now that you know, you won't be too hard on them, will you?” He lifted his furry eyebrows, which seemed crested with frost.
“I don't think I know the half of it yet, Abner, but it seems to me you made out rather well.”
“Indeed I have.”
Winston Davidson patted my father on the back. “Wasn't that amusing, Mr. Sassoon?” He chuckled. “I am pleased you were able to see what evolved, for no words would have done it justice, eh?”
“I suppose it is easier to enjoy oneself when the risks have been assumed by another party.” My father gave a sardonic laugh.
“I, doubt there will be any regrets in the house of Sassoon, my dear friend,” added the plumper of the Meyer brothers. “Your daughter is a treasure. How many men, let alone sons, would have taken that chance to save the family firm?”
“She's a wonderful girl,” my father agreed. “I always said she had the flowers in her blood.”
“And gold in her pocket,” Abner Raphael interjected. “Do you have any idea of what her position is now?”
My father scratched his head, for I had not explained the details of my twenty-percent guarantee. As Raphael filled him in, a realization began to dawn. My percentage gave me ownership of about twelve hundred chests, plus the several hundred Edwin had bought for some crazed reason of his own. After lot splitting on the usual basis, the Sassoon company would control at least another two thousand. And then there were the approximately twenty-five hundred that Samuel was stuck with at prices too high to market on his own. If I could make a deal to get Samuel's lots and combine them with mine and those of the Sassoons, I would monopolize the essential seventy-five percent to rule the marketplace!
My thoughts were diverted by the sound of Edwin's voice. “That is very kind of you.” He was talking to Awad Meyer, beaming under the man's lavish compliments. “No, I wasn't planning on bidding. I wasn't even planning to come . . .”
Raphael tugged at Edwin's sleeve. “Then why did you bid, my boy?” he said without rancor.
I held my breath for my husband's explanation.
“I knew you wanted Dinah there as bait for her uncle, but I was afraid I could not hide my emotions, so I forced myself to stay away. Throughout the morning I thought I would go mad wondering what was happening. Then, as I humored myself at Ranken's”—he touched his showy lapel with a chagrined smirk—”I realized I did not want to miss the moment a man who stole from his own family was put in his place. That sort of creature deserves no pity. Nor even the slightest chance to wheedle out of the mess! I thought: If only the bastard could be
coerced to bid beyond any limits he had set for himself, he would disintegrate that much sooner. After that I wondered what would make him bid the highest. Suddenly I realized that the reason he had always treated me abominably was that he was afraid of me. If he saw me openly making a move on behalf of Dinah, he could not tolerate it.”
“I suppose my plan for Dinah to be there might have been too soft,” Raphael interjected gracefully. “Ladies have been coming for many months now, so there was no novelty.”
“Right,” Edwin agreed. “Samuel could have dismissed her as another gawker, but he could not dismiss a direct bid from me.” He gave Raphael an embarrassed shrug. “I know I was a bad boy. Honestly, I could not find a fault in my plan, especially if I arrived late in the morning, after the attack was under way.”
Raphael smiled like a teacher recognizing a worthy pupil. “Splendid idea. I should have thought of it myself.”
“And it worked!” Awad Meyer pounded Edwin on the back. “I thought I was going to see the Benares top grade go for over two thousand. Historic highs! Did you notice Haythornthwaite? He turned every color of the rainbow.” He laughed heartily.
“The boy should put in for a bonus,” Jardine added with a wink to me.
Did I believe Edwin's tale? I mulled over his reasoning and decided the act had been more impulsive, less calculated, than Edwin had admitted. Fortunately, the result had been successful.
The circles broke up as everyone congratulated one another. My father moved into a corner along with Uncle Reuben and Uncle Ezra, and several of the next generation, including Mir and Nathaniel, stood on the outskirts listening. In the front of the chamber, Edwin signed some documents for Mr. MacGregor. Zilpah and I waited to see where we would be going next. To avoid a public confrontation with my husband, I kept away from him, studiously watching the faces of my uncles as they absorbed the scope of the Lanyados' crimes. Then, one by one, they turned to stare at me.
My face burned as if a hot light had been focused on me. A queer sensation, like a tug from a source far removed from my volition, propelled me toward my father. I felt myself resisting this unbidden urge. If I hesitated, I would be cementing my place as a dutiful daughter. If I moved forward, I staked my claim. Rigid with indecision, I swerved my neck slightly to catch Edwin's whereabouts. From the other end of the room his eyes were on me, but he did not move in my direction.
He should be at my side! We should be approaching them together. I did not want to make another mistake. Should I go to my husband and bring him along with me? No, that would be patronizing. Shouldn't he take my arm and insist I cross the chasm, or did he think this was something I had to do on my own? Maybe he was so furious he chose not to join me in this moment of triumph. The crucial seconds ticked by with the pounding of my heart.
As I straightened my shoulders, the high officer collar on my gown pinched my neck. With an enormous effort I steadied my head so the ostrich feathers would not tremble. Then I crossed the emptying auction room. The plum satin trim on my gown shone like a puddle of wine under the gleaming lights of the chandelier.
My uncles and cousins stood in respectful silence. Even my father did not speak at first. “We should adjourn to Kyd Street,” I said in the slow, clipped way in which I gave instructions when I was nervous.
“Before supper?” Uncle Reuben asked with polite surprise, but there was no challenge to his tone.
“We cannot rest until a few loose ends are tied,” I replied more steadily.
“Yes, of course you are right,” Uncle Ezra said, deferring to me.
After a hurried discussion of who would travel with whom, I climbed into an office jaun with my father and Gulliver, while Zilpah had commandeered Edwin, promising to meet us there.
My father lay back and unbuttoned his collar. His breathing was strident, his flesh moist. We did not speak for we both knew he needed to rest.
When we approached the house where he had been born, I broke the silence. “Are you certain you are up to this, Papa? It could wait until tomorrow . . .”
“No, you were right, we must resolve it now.”
“One more question, Papa. May I assume Jonah will inherit Theatre Road?”
My father nodded sadly. “By rights the property goes to Jonah.”
“Certainly it does. Don't apologize. I needed to know for certain,” I said, curious as to why I was baffled by this natural course of events. For some reason I had imagined myself living there again. Perhaps many people dream of inhabiting their childhood homes as adults in charge instead of as dependents, I decided as I put the whim aside.
Gulliver assisted my father down, buttoned his shirt, and dusted his jacket. My father stumbled on the steps, but the Gurkha caught him and took his arm. I plunged ahead toward the one uninviting lamp that burned by the door. And as I crossed the threshold into the gloomy colonnaded hall, I knew I had crossed over into a new phase of my life.
47
Brandy and soda, Bombay gin and tonic, bottles of imported Scotch as dear as liquid gold, decanters of sherry and port, bottles of lemonade, and crystal glasses were reflected in the mirrored sideboard in the Lanyados' dining room. Bowls of fruit, vases of flowers, and silver platters of pastries and savories had been readied. But not for us. A very different set of guests for a very different celebration had been expected.
For half an hour we had milled about in the entrance hall waiting for everyone to reconvene. The bearer's entreaties that we take seats in the parlor had been ignored. Nobody turned down the offer of cocktails, though, and soon most of my relatives were fortifying themselves. When everyone had been accounted for, I marched them into the dining room because the long formal table—center of so many Passover seders and Sabbath suppers and family transitions—seemed the place to congregate.
The news had gone out rapidly. Almost everyone was there: my father and Zilpah, Jonah and Asher from my family; Uncle's Saul's son Adam; Uncle Reuben and his sons Noah and Nathaniel; Uncle Ezra and his son, Sayeed; Jacob's Mir and Yedid. Aunt Bellore and Uncle Samuel, of course. Curiously absent were Gabriel Judah, his wife, Sultana, and Lulu Lanyado. Edwin and I milled about on the fringes while the family was seated amid coughing and sputtering and the creaking of chairs. Suddenly the room fell silent. There were two seats left: one in the center of the table near the festive sideboard, the other at the head of the table.
With an expansive gesture to the far end, Edwin said, “Come sit here, Dinah.”
The expectant faces of my family clouded like those at the end of a dream. Edwin had stepped past me to the high carved chair that had once belonged to the patriarch of our family: Moses Sassoon. I held my breath tightly in check, trying not to cry. The click of my heels echoed in the room. With a flourish and a bow, Edwin pulled out the chair. Did everyone realize he was playacting? I looked up. No one was smiling. There was not a single expression of scorn or displeasure. At the far end, Aunt Bellore's face was a blank page ready to be written on by my words. Her husband seemed dazed, as though he did not know what was going on. Was he ill? Had he really suffered an attack in the auction hall? No, I realized he was drunk.
My father half-stood on wobbly legs. Leaning on the table, he began, “My daughter Dinah has agreed to explain the extraordinary events of the day.” He was interrupted by a spate of coughing. With some difficulty he cleared his throat. “Then, as a family, I believe we have some very serious decisions to undertake.” Zilpah pushed him back in his seat.
With a nod to Edwin, who had seen that I had this place at the head of the table, I returned the favor. “My husband,” I began, infusing the word “husband” with a halo of respect, “is the one you must thank. Without his alertness, the fact that someone was robbing our company might have gone undiscovered. Since the older records are in storage, we do not know the full extent of the loss, but as a preface to what we must do next, Edwin will explain the details of the altered accounts.”
Everyone turned his attention to Edwin, who had come prepared w
ith a list of our discoveries. In a businesslike manner he began to explain the trail of missing money and how the deed had been accomplished. Only Aunt Bellore, the woman whom throughout my life I had most feared, seemed distracted. She could not stop gawking at me.
For a few seconds I squirmed under her gaze like a child. Then, as a terrible monsoon sky clarifies after a downpour, my mind sharpened. And possibly for the first time I saw myself from a long way off, as a newcomer might. It was as if there had always been two of me: twin sisters—one dark and difficult, one light and intelligent. I realized that many of my negative self-images had stemmed from Bellore's disapproval. She had disdained my height because it demonstrated a superiority her daughters did not have, so throughout my life I had seen my tallness as ungainly. My position at Theatre Road—the house Bellore had always coveted—the love of my father, Grandmother Flora, Grandmother Helene, and others had also upset her. Even my horrifying discovery of my mother's body had singled me out as special. Though I was bereft, lonely, lost in the world of ideas and books, my aunt had seen me as aloof and arrogant. Though I did not comprehend how she could have envied my childhood or my sad marriage to Silas, the fact was that—despite her wishes to the contrary—neither had harmed me permanently. Then my alliance with Edwin had brought a palpable joy we had flaunted, once again inciting her ire. And certainly our three sons could spawn covetousness in a woman who had no living grandchildren yet.
Relentlessly Edwin read off the figures. “. . . At least ten lacs were missing from the shipping ledgers, and then we turned to the disbursements to foreign agents,” he continued steadily.
Proudly I watched his angular jaw, his somber eyes, his magnificent brow. From Bellore's perspective I had it all: the ideal family, the inherited wealth, the newfound maturity, the power earned by triumph over transgression. In her tormented eyes she was not condemning me, but admiring me—if grudgingly.