Flowers in the Blood

by Gay Courter

  There I sat, tall and proud, from my purple satin slippers to the luxurious ostrich feathers on my hat, at the head of one of the most important families in Calcutta, if not India. Two days earlier my pride would have been overweening, but ever since I had discovered Edwin's nasty secret, I conceded that the reality of our perfect life was a gossamer curtain that could be dissolved by the pull of a silken cord. If only Aunt Bellore knew . . . But she won't, I vowed. My penetrating stare made the woman at the other end of the table cringe. So this was the moment I had waited for all these years. I wondered if retribution” would taste as sweet as I hoped it would. Perhaps it was wrong, perhaps it showed a flaw in my character, but I could not wait for my time to speak, my turn to grind that husk of a human being into dust!

  Edwin had finished. Everyone turned to me. They seemed a long way off, as though I had suddenly sighted them from the wrong end of the telescope. For some unexplained reason I reached up, removed my hat, and handed it to Gulliver. The tableau righted itself. My family was in perfect focus. And then I stood up.

  “My husband has estimated that Sassoon and Company is short by at least twenty-six lacs—this year. Would you agree with that figure, Uncle Samuel?”

  My uncle purpled under the scrutiny. “Well, I—”

  His brother-in-law Ezra pounded the table. “Come now, you bloody pukka badtnash,” he cursed in two languages, “you might as well make this easier on yourself:—and us.”

  “Your figures are not out of line,” he whispered hoarsely.

  “And, from what we can deduce, today you spent about forty-five lacs in your futile attempt.”

  Samuel covered his face with his hands and wept.

  “Save your tears for the Bengali moneylenders.” I sat down and waited for him to look up. “How do you expect to cover the debt?” I asked sweetly. I leaned back in my chair. “At your salary it could take a hundred years. From this moment you are ruined. Isn't that correct, Uncle?”

  His pitiful nod gave me no satisfaction.

  “Then let us examine if there is any way to protect the family name despite this disgrace.” I glanced down the row of my relations. Their eyes were with me! I plunged on, “You have many debts to settle—with the Bengalis, with your brothers-in-law—but first, let us begin with those to me.”

  I pointed to Aunt Bellore. “Please hold up your hand. No, not your left, your right. Yes. Now turn it and show everyone the ring on the middle finger. Does anyone recognize that ring? Does anyone recall that my Grandmother Flora's mother once wore it? And Flora gave it to Luna, her daughter—my mother. Does anyone remember Luna?” Several pairs of eyes looked away. “Aunt Bellore, do you think you could remove the ring and pass it along to me? Yes, I see that it is tight. It came from my mother's side of the family, not the Sassoons. It was never meant for your finger, was it?” My voice burst from the control I had been straining to maintain. “Was it?”

  “ Aunt Bellore trembled so excitedly she could not remove the ring. I waited patiently while she dipped it into a glass of sherry to lubricate it. At last the ring was passed to me. I held it up. The large stone glowed with a tinge of pink among a circlet of smaller matched pearls. “This pearl was handed down in the Cohen family from my Great-Great-Grandfather Shalom, who was court jeweler to princes and maharajahs, including Ranjit Singh in the Punjab. One day the maharajah asked Shalom to appraise his most prized possession, the Koh-i-noor diamond. 'It is worthless,’ Shalom declared. As you might imagine, this enraged the ruler. Then my ancestor explained, 'The jewel can be secured only as a gift or by the shedding of blood, not by an exchange of currency.' This reply won the maharajah's favor.”

  A murmur of approval went around the table, but Aunt Bellore's mouth was set in a grim line. “Did my mother give you this ring?” Bellore shook her head. “Did my mother leave you her pearls or any of her possessions by written or oral agreement?” Bellore shook her head again.

  “She w-was k-keeping them for you,” Samuel stuttered.

  My brother Jonah laughed. “That's preposterous.”

  “How many other pieces are there?” Nobody answered. “I remember the necklaces with pearls as big as marbles, the double-strand bracelet that Sultana has, two or three smaller rings, a gold tiger brooch with emeralds for its eyes, and more. . . . Am I right?”

  “I don't recall,” Bellore replied in a surly manner. I wanted to lash out at her, to scream, but held myself in check.

  “What does this have to do with the problem at hand?” Cousin Noah asked foolishly. Must remember to use him in the business sparingly, I thought, making a mental note.

  “Please allow me a personal indulgence. My family's jewels may not be the Koh-i-noor, but they are priceless to me. Since I did not receive them as a gift and since I am not violent by nature, I must demand their return. In any case, I am as entitled to recover my mother's stolen possessions as the company is to recover its losses, especially since it was my personal guarantee to cover the overbids that saved the situation.” Perhaps I sounded overbearing, but I did not care. The respect that registered on the faces of those who did not yet know that fact was immensely satisfying.

  “I'll be brief with the private portion of this business.” I rose to my feet again. “Aunt Bellore, I want everything that belongs to me returned at once. That includes the jewels you own and the ones you gave to your daughters.”

  “That's impossible,” Bellore moaned. “Abigail is in France—”

  “France is not the far side of the moon. Tomorrow you will deliver the jewels that are in Calcutta, plus a note listing missing items and swearing to their timely return.”

  Bellore bowed her head in defeat, but that was not enough. “Do you agree?”

  “Yes, I do,” she muttered.

  “Good. That makes the next part simpler. Now, Uncle Samuel, we have estimated that today you have purchased something in the area of twenty-five to twenty-seven hundred chests. Is that correct?”

  “I am not certain.”

  “Refer to the receipt in your breast pocket if you must,” Edwin said contemptuously.

  With a stare of astonishment at Edwin's audacity, my uncle fumbled for the document. “There were two thousand, six hundred and forty.”

  My own guess had been only sixty off. My spine tingled. How right I had been from the first! Ever since my promise to go along with my intuition, everything had fallen into place. Well, almost everything, I reminded myself so I would not explode with arrogance.

  Edwin, pen in hand, boldly scribbled a series of calculations on the linen cloth. “We will purchase your chests for seven hundred rupees each.”

  “What? You are a thief!”

  “No,” Edwin reminded him gently. “You are.”

  “But I paid more than seventeen hundred for many of them,” Samuel sputtered.

  “With stolen Sassoon money and usurious credit.”

  It was as if Samuel hadn't heard Edwin. “You spurred the price to record highs, you—”

  Now most everyone was laughing. The man was unhinged.

  I rapped the table and the room silenced. “The seven hundred rupees should almost pay off your debt to the Bengalis, since that will bring in one million, eight hundred and forty-eight thousand rupees, and I presume you owe them one million, eight hundred and eighty-eight thousand—or less, since you bought some earlier lots close to the reserve.”

  Uncle Samuel tried to blurt something, but choked on his words. Edwin's rising voice stifled his feeble sputters. “You will complete the payments for the lots by using your stolen capital. Then, when the Sassoons resell the opium in China, we will retrieve our losses.”

  I turned from my distraught uncle, and with a wave of my hand I captured everyone's attention. “Here is the situation: if we take Samuel's twenty-six hundred and forty chests, combine them with the three hundred that Edwin managed to obtain for the sake of baiting Samuel, and add them to the Sassoon percentage, we control almost five thousand, or more than half, of the curr
ent crop. However, because I covered the overages in the auction, I may either take the profits from, or take possession of, twenty percent of the lots in the splitting group. If Sassoon and Company agrees to go in with me—on my terms—my twenty percent, or twelve hundred chests, brings us to six thousand, one hundred and forty, enough to establish control of the marketplace.”

  “Easily,” Uncle Reuben said with confidence. “The auction was extremely fragmented because people were unsure of what was happening. And certainly the consortium will go along with our pricing.”

  “That means we can set the prices in Hong Kong and thus we will lose nothing,” I said, beaming at Uncle Reuben, then at my father. “In fact, what I propose is not to raise the rates by the twenty-percent premium we had to pay, but by, say, fifteen percent across the board. Then, working with the others, we could maintain that price for a long while. With the next auction bound to be more predictable, the increased profits could average out to be substantial over a few years.” I was about to suggest that some of the profits might be moved into other industries when Uncle Reuben cleared his throat. I acknowledged him.

  “Hong Kong may not agree entirely,” he warned.

  “I could assist in that arena,” my father promised.

  My brothers clapped their hands and Edwin joined in. I could not help grinning as the others expressed their elation at the scheme. There would be plenty of time to discuss my other ideas.

  “Where does that leave us?” Aunt Bellore asked weakly after the commotion subsided. “We will have nothing.”

  “I am certain you have put something away for a rainy day,” my father said to his sister.

  “This house costs a fortune to run. I have an unmarried daughter and . . .” She threw up her hands. “What could I do? A woman must follow her husband.”

  “Bellore!” Samuel bellowed. “Don't start blaming me! If it wasn't for your endless demands . . . your declaration that what we did wasn't wrong, since you had never received the same share as your brothers and—”

  Bellore stood and tried to leave the room, but Zilpah was swift on her feet and blocked the way.

  “Yes, I can see your expenses have been a burden,” I, said over the din. “I know the strain you have been under. We have had to stretch my own husband's salary to support the much smaller household in Free School Street. I will be happy to pay you a fair market price for Kyd Street. That would give you a nice account to settle your other affairs in Calcutta.”

  “Where would they live?” Zilpah asked facetiously.

  “In France. I am certain Abigail would be honored to have her family nearby.”

  “You can't make us leave the country!” Uncle Samuel shouted stubbornly.

  “What about my other children?” Bellore gasped.

  “By the way, where are Sultana and Gabriel and Lulu?” Edwin asked. “Their absence condemns them. I expect they should follow you to hell or wherever you will be going.” Bellore struggled under Zilpah's grasp. Zilpah steered her back to her seat and passed her a brandy. She gulped it like a thirsty peasant. When she finished, the silence was as welcome as the calm after a squall.

  Uncle Reuben stood up. “We have had enough for one day. Also, it is fair to admit the guilt for this debacle must be shared by those who put too much trust in the wrong man and who did not have the sense to check the records more thoroughly. Each of us who works in the firm can probably recall items that did not seem quite right, but in our indolence we did not analyze the situation thoroughly. Ever since Saul passed on, we may have been too content to take our portion and too lax on many matters. I am not trying to minimize the shocking behavior of a member of our family. All I am saying is that unfortunate circumstances made a tempting situation for a weak and greedy person.” Pouring from the decanter, he gave me a charming smile, then turned to my father. “My dear brother, we must thank you for giving us Dinah and bringing Edwin into the family.” He raised his glass. “To Dinah and Edwin, who have earned everything they have and who deserve more than they will receive.”

  One by one the Sassoons joined in the toast. I tried to acknowledge each with a nod. When Edwin avoided my smile, I locked my eyes on my father's, which were swimming with tears of pride. He coughed. The glass wobbled in his hand. He managed a respectful sip before he had to set it down. He coughed again. This time his cheeks puffed and his watering eyes streaked his face. His chest contracted and his head snapped back. Zilpah and I both leapt in his direction as his mouth opened. Blood flowed out and coated his chin like a red beard.

  It was long past midnight before we were able to get back to Free School Street. The doctor had not been alarmed by my father's attack. “These things happen from time to time because the parasites lodged in his lungs cause hemorrhages. However, he must have complete quiet or more unpleasantness may result,” he chided Zilpah.

  I felt responsible, but Zilpah reassured me. “He would not have missed today for anything in the world. Even if he has a setback, we are in your debt.”

  Edwin had supported me while I wept. “Take her home,” Zilpah insisted, “or she will have her own collapse.”

  Edwin and I were too exhausted to do more than crawl into the carriage that Gulliver had standing by. There was no discussion of the previous night, which seemed eons ago, nor any review of the stunning events of the day. Concerns about my father's health had muted our victory. I doubted if he would ever recover, and I brooded that despite what the doctor and Zilpah said, the strain of the auction had been a fatal blow.

  Once we were inside the house, I began to climb the stairs, using the banister to inch my weary body along. Edwin followed behind. For a moment I thought I could blot out the opium incident like a bad dream. We had triumphed. We were together. What more could we want? At the door to our bedroom I paused. Edwin was no longer behind me. He was heading up another flight of stairs.

  “Where are you going?” I asked in a strangled voice.

  “To my study.”

  “Are you going to sleep there?”

  “Possibly.”

  “No!” I gasped. “Don't do it.”

  “What do you mean?” he said with a challenging edge I had never heard him use before.

  “You don't need it!” I shouted.

  “How dare you tell me what I need? Today has been the longest of my life. I did my part and more. Now, leave me to find peace the only way I know how.”

  “Once you found peace in my arms,” I quavered.

  “You may now be the head of Sassoon and Company, but you are not master of my soul.”

  “How can you say that? We did it together. I told everyone how you found the discrepancies—”

  “Did you, now? You gave me credit when it was in your interests to do so. Then you made certain everyone knew who was boss.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Oh, Dinah, really.” He sounded weary. “Let’s not pretend anymore. Let me see if I can recall some of your phrases . . .” It was almost as though I could hear the latch click as those tidy compartments of complete recall opened in his mind and he spewed forth the evidence with a vengeance. “ '. . . I may either take the profits from, or take possession of, twenty percent of the lots . . .' and '. . . If Sassoon and Company agrees to go in with me—on my terms—my twelve hundred chests establishes control of the marketplace.’ “

  I had made the same mistake in my discussions with Abner Raphael. Even after Edwin had told me how offended he had been by my arrogance, I had thoughtlessly repeated the error. “I am sorry, Edwin, I cannot help myself, it is how I think. Everybody knows we act together—”

  “Do they? Do they know you were against the plan and I had to convince you? No! I'll let you take the credit, but I must be allowed to have something of my own. If I choose to go upstairs and have a quiet smoke to relax myself with the very substance you and your kin have been buying and selling today, then I shall.”

  “How long has this been going on?”

  “What dif
ference does it make? It has never affected you one way or the other.”

  “I must know.”

  “I told you yesterday. Since before we ever met. Since my first visit to Travancore when Amar and I were boys.”

  “Amar! I should have known.” I recalled the last time I had been with the maharajah, and he had tried to turn Edwin against me and me against Edwin. Because Amar had lied about me, I had assumed he had lied about my husband. How ironic that he was telling the truth when he had said, “Even your husband can be corrupted, if the pipe is filled with something sweet to smoke and the woman who wants him is persistent enough.” If the first part was true, could the second be as well? I shuddered, but said nothing.

  “Come now, Dinah. Not every opium smoker is a criminal. Many of my friends, and yours, enjoy a pipe now and again.”

  “Who?”

  “Abdul Moquith, Howard Farrell, and Krishna Mukerji, among others. I am not a crazed addict, nor are my friends. Sometimes I go for days, maybe a week, without a pipe. Other times I enjoy one nightly.”

  “Then you could stop,”

  “I suppose I could if I wanted to.”

  “You must.”

  “Why, because you say so?”

  “No, because it is harmful.”

  “The only harm that has ever come has been your recent discovery and objection. You would not have complained if you had found me pickled in gin or tamping a. tobacco pipe or smoking a cheroot, so why shouldn't I have the right to be amused by the poppy's blush?” He smiled at the attractive allusion he had conjured.

  Who was this man? I did not know him. I opened my mouth to reply, then saw it was no use. The selfish ugly sister that had been mirrored in Aunt Bellore's eyes reappeared. There was nothing here to keep Edwin away from his pipe or anything else. I turned my contorted face from him and opened the door to our room. His footsteps moved up the stairs, irrevocably widening the fissure between us.

  I leaned against the door for balance. How had it come to this? We had won our battle with the Lanyados, but at what cost? My father's bloody sputum convinced me that he was certain to die soon. How had I managed to prevail at the auction and garner the approval of my whole family—as well as obtain justice from my deceitful aunt and uncle—yet insult my husband in the process?