by Olivia
That night in their bedroom Lady Bridget tackled her husband firmly. "I wish you wouldn't make these unkind remarks about the Birkhursts, Josh. I don't want Olivia to become unnecessarily prejudiced against Freddie."
Lying on his bed face down, eyes closed and a bath towel wrapped around his torso as Rehman gave him his nightly massage, Sir Joshua made little grunts of contentment. "Birkhurst is a walking testimony to his own God-given idiocy. My intervention is scarcely required to prejudice an essentially intelligent girl." He signalled Rehman to punch and pummel even more vigorously.
"All right, I concede that Freddie isn't, well, cerebral," she ignored his derisive hoot, "but what he has more than compensates for what he is not. Olivia will live like a queen."
With an effort Sir Joshua drove himself to open one eye. "Olivia might not wish to live like a queen with a king who is a brainless ninny. Besides, if I didn't want him for my daughter I certainly don't want him for my niece. Whether half Temple-woods or half O'Rourkes, future broods of imbecilic Birkhursts make me shudder with alarm."
His wife was very cross indeed. "Olivia needs to make a good marriage, Josh. I'm not sending her back to swill horse slop again, or to marry some foul-smelling cowhand with neither grace nor grammar. Olivia needs a decent life with decent people in England, not all this modern rubbish Sean has filled her head with." She prodded her husband's forearm with a finger. "You haven't been giving her ideas, have you?"
"No." He turned over and Rehman attacked his stomach with gusto. "Leave the girl alone, Bridget. Don't try and make her into something she isn't. Olivia has spunk and she has brains; let her enjoy herself as she pleases while she is with us. Unless she herself wishes otherwise, let her go back when her year is up." He turned on a side and faced her. "The girl loves and admires her father, Bridget, and rightly so. Whether you approve or not, she is a product of the New World. Accept it and let her return when the time comes."
"Let her return? You can't be serious, Josh!"
"I am. If that is what Olivia wants."
"At her age they don't know what they want! Did Sarah know what she wanted when she ran away with Sean? She learned her lesson the bitter way, through suffering and torment and terrible sicknesses—"
"Sarah was happy with Sean," Sir Joshua said sharply. "Don't distort facts to suit your arguments, Bridget. It was a good marriage, unfortunate but good. Sean loved his wife. He did the best he could for her."
Suddenly Lady Bridget's face crumpled. "And I want to do the best I can for this child, Josh. I have to, I must. I wronged Sarah. If it hadn't been for me she might still be alive . . ." In her distress she crushed her handkerchief against her mouth and started to sob quietly.
Sir Joshua quickly sat up, dismissed Rehman and put an arm around his wife's shoulders, startled by the uncharacteristic show of emotion. "Now, now, Bridget—I will not allow you to go through all that again. Sarah is dead and gone and history cannot be reversed. Stop punishing yourself for whatever happened. By marrying Olivia off to some well-heeled loon you still can't make Sarah come back."
"No, but I can at least make reparation, Josh," his wife sobbed. "If I hadn't persuaded Father to cut her out of his will, to disown her, she might have lived on in London in civilised comfort instead of dying in such penury, and Olivia would have been brought up a lady . . ."
Gently, he took her in his arms, his expression soft. "All that is hypothetical, Bridget. Sean made the decision to emigrate long before he met Sarah; he told me so when I met him in London. Sarah didn't want material comforts any more than Olivia does, my love. She was happy to follow Sean wherever he went and in whatever circumstances." Not knowing what else to do, he patted her back awkwardly. "And he's not a bad sort, you know. He might be an idealistic crusader without two cents to rub together, but he's given Olivia an education to be admired—"
"I loved Sarah," his distraught wife interrupted, not listening. "I would give anything to receive her forgiveness, but I can't! The only way I can make my peace with her soul is through Olivia. I at least have to give her a wedding she will never forget. And all that Sarah spurned."
"You can't force a headstrong lass into a marriage she doesn't want, Bridget!" He sighed and started to stroke her hair.
His wife's head jolted up from his shoulder. "Force her?" She looked surprised. "Oh, I won't have to force her, Josh! Olivia will marry Freddie of her own free will, of course."
Sir Joshua said nothing; he merely shook his head pityingly and reached for his clothes. He rose from the bed, secured his towel more firmly around his girth and started to shrug into his shirt.
Lady Bridget blew her nose, patted her eyes dry and vacated expression from her face. "Could he have . . . planned that meeting with her, Josh?" She did not look at him.
His hand paused briefly in mid air. "Don't be absurd, woman!" His rebuke was unduly incisive. "Olivia went on the embankment on an impulse that night."
"He is the devil incarnate, Josh . . ." Her voice trembled.
"No. Nothing as exalted. He is only a sewer rat, a guttersnipe, who has recklessly stepped out of his place. Don't elevate him with false values, Bridget!" He was visibly angered.
Lying in her lap, her fingers plucked nervously at each other. Nothing in her face moved except her bloodless lips. "He will do what he has said he will. His kind never forgives, never forgets. You should have listened to Mother, Josh. You should have killed him when you had the chance."
"Perhaps," he said tightly. "There will be other chances."
"And one day he will talk . . . !" Her voice withered into a frightened whisper. "And one day you will again weaken to—"
"That will be enough, Bridget!" He strode up to her angrily and pincered her chin between his fingers. "Talk is one thing he will never do! That is all you need to remember." Releasing her roughly, he snatched his remaining clothes off a chair back and stalked into his dressing-room.
Lady Bridget stared at his vanishing back, then at the door that slammed behind it. Her eyes were still wide with fear, but in them there was also hate.
On Friday morning a courier arrived from Kirtinagar. He brought an unexpected invitation from Their Highnesses. A tiger shoot had been arranged for the weekend now upon them. Sir Joshua, Lady Bridget and their family were cordially invited to join the royal party. The extreme shortness of notice was profoundly regretted; the tiger, a troublesome man-eater, had been resighted only the day before and the expedition hurriedly organised. It was begged that Sir Joshua would overlook and forgive the inadequate notice and give Their Highnesses the pleasure of offering the Templewoods their humble hospitality. It was emphasised that Sir Joshua's renowned and expert marksmanship would prove an invaluable asset to the hunt.
In the family everyone reacted as expected. Sir Joshua was immensely flattered, Estelle was indifferent, Olivia was frankly thrilled and Lady Bridget was furious. "I wish you would occasionally listen to me, Josh," she flared. "I've been telling you for days about Lady Birkhurst's kind invitation to luncheon on Sunday. I wouldn't dream of sending regrets at the eleventh hour for this thoughtless last-minute summons!"
"Damn!" Sir Joshua sucked in his cheeks as he pondered. "Saturday evening is our meeting with the insurance underwriters. There's no question of my not being present." He tapped the letter. "The old boy has something up his sleeve; I smell it. By Christ, I'd like to find out what it is!"
Lady Bridget's anger soared higher with the profanities. "If you want to go running because he snaps his royal fingers, then cancel your appointment and take Estelle with you. Olivia and I will certainly not cancel ours."
"You never listen to anything I say either, Mama!" Estelle warmed to the fray. "I'm spending Sunday with Charlotte to practise some new carols her brother has brought out from England. Even if I weren't, I'd rather stay here on my own than go on another silly shoot. Last time I was bitten half to death by midges."
Nobody paid her any attention.
"There is a motive behind this,"
Sir Joshua mused, still lost in his own introspections. "They're wily fellows, these princes, and touchy as all hell. I can't refuse out of hand; he'll take umbrage and instantly sense slights where none are intended."
"Well, he should have given us more notice then!" Lady Bridget cried.
Her husband appeared not to hear her as he suddenly snapped his fingers, having arrived at a solution. He turned to Olivia as she sat in discreet but breathless silence. "Arvind Singh has our written proposal. I'd give a great deal to know how it has been received. The man seemed to take quite a shine to you, my dear. Would you be interested in going for the shoot? One member of the family is better than none, unless Estelle reconsiders."
Estelle merely rolled her eyes and left the room, but Olivia's heart leapt. "Oh, indeed I would ..." Catching her aunt's enraged expression she hastened to add, "that is if Aunt Bridget doesn't object."
"Aunt Bridget does object, and most strenuously! Josh, I think it's wicked, utterly wicked of—"
"I cannot risk Arvind Singh's displeasure; it's as simple as that." He waved all the rest aside and stood up. "The native mind is known to take offence all too easily, all too easily." He started towards the door.
"And what if Lady Birkhurst also takes offence all too easily?" Lady Bridget demanded, hand on hip.
"Tell her the girl has fever or something; you women are good at alibis. Now, I can't keep the man waiting any longer ..." Muttering to himself he disappeared in the direction of his study.
"Well!" Indignation robbed his wife of further speech. "Well. . . !" Flouncing out of the room she went in search of Estelle with a view to expending her wrath on her. How dare Estelle accept an invitation from anyone without the prior sanction of her mother!
Unnoticed, Olivia remained where she was, trying hard not to reveal her own jubilation at the utterly unexpected reprieve contained in the Maharaja's eleventh-hour letter. But underneath her jubilation there was perplexity. Like Sir Joshua, she smelled a motive in the invitation; unlike him, she had an uncomfortable instinct that it had nothing to do with the coal . . .
CHAPTER 4
If her journey through Bengal was hot and tiring and the road appallingly rutted, Olivia barely noticed; it was her first venture outside Calcutta and she was enthralled. The Empire's majestic capital was a British creation and as such many of its trappings were European—the architecture, its political and commercial life styles, its social ambience, the thinking patterns of its mercantile complexes and the dominating influences of the all-pervasive East India Company. Cocooned perforce within these narrow boundaries, Olivia had seen little enough of the true colours and character of the land. Even her brief glimpse of the Bengal countryside out of a moving carriage window she therefore found captivating.
The passing panorama was mostly of paddy fields, lime green and washed clean by the rains. In between were palm leaf-thatched mud huts tucked amid bamboo groves, clusters of banana trees and tracts of water covered with proliferating lilies. Farmers, wearing wicker hats, stood in ankle-deep water transplanting the paddy plants in neat, geometrical rows. In the ponds, fishermen trapped sweet-water shrimp in baskets. Women and children worked alongside the men, and in one pond a group of boys had devised an impromptu ball game with a coconut shell. The Templewood carriages with their armed outriders were an impressive sight, but the interest they created among the villagers was brief; with no more than perfunctory wide-eyed stares they continued undisturbed with their labours.
Very different from the rustic simplicity of the rural area was the walled palace of Kirtinagar, Olivia's destination. At the gates of the royal complex she was received by an imposing posse of mounted guards who then ceremoniously escorted the carriages inside. The landscaped gardens that formed the setting of the palaces—for there appeared to be more than one—were beautifully maintained with their cascading flowers, mango groves and shady forest areas of banyan, peepul and gulmohar, this last aflame with orange blossoms. The carriages swept up elegant driveways to a portico, on the white marble steps of which, surrounded by a positive army of aides and attendants, the Maharaja waited.
"Welcome to Kirtinagar, Miss O'Rourke!" With a folded-hand greeting he came forward personally to help Olivia alight. "I am delighted that the unavoidably short notice did not prevent you, at least, from accepting our humble invitation."
Somewhat nervous at the awesome formality of her reception, Olivia made her responses with due regard to the strict coaching she had received from her uncle. The Maharaja, however, presented a picture of complete informality both in manner and in dress, for he wore the traditional garments of a white cotton dhoti, loose silken shirt and a draped shawl. In his own environment, clad in everyday clothes, he seemed very different from how Olivia recalled him in his formal regalia. His head was uncovered and he wore no jewelry save for a diamond ring. He looked younger without his turban, perhaps not yet forty, for his thick, dark hair was as yet untouched by grey. The initial formalities exchanged included the expression of deep regrets from Sir Joshua and Lady Bridget at their inability to avail themselves of the Maharaja's kind invitation—and the presentation of a mahogany chest containing gifts for Their Highnesses.
"Come, Miss O'Rourke," the Maharaja said finally after the preliminaries were over and done with. "I must now escort you to the Maharani. She awaits impatiently to make your acquaintance. My wife looks forward to meeting English-speaking ladies so that she can practise her own English conversation—although, I hasten to add, that is not the only reason for her impatience."
"But surely there is no dearth of English-speaking ladies in Bengal?" Olivia inquired as, with a retinue following at a discreet distance, they walked side by side across a trim lawn bordered by flowerbeds. "The British civil service has many officers in the districts."
"True, but then," he smiled, "my wife does not choose to mix with English women. And, of course, she never appears before the men."
The system of purdah, Olivia was aware, existed widely in India and she was a little embarrassed not to have remembered that. At all the burra khanas where an occasional Indian gentleman had been present there had never been any Indian women. She wondered again what the Maharani would be like, steeped as she inevitably must be in conservative living with little experience of the outside world. Lady Bridget had warned her of the risks of boredom. "Native women, especially the high born, can be dreadfully tiresome. All they do is sit and simper in corners and jabber away in their own lingo." Still vastly annoyed at the disruption of her engagement with Lady Birkhurst, she had been witheringly pessimistic about the entire Kirtinagar weekend.
The Maharani's palace—and the zenana, as the ladies' quarters were called—stood away from the main building and were screened off from it by a forest belt of tall, leafy trees. Alongside was a small lake dotted with pink and white lotus blossoms as large as dinner plates. It was a very pretty scene indeed. The Maharani's personal apartment was on the first floor. It was spacious, bright and sunny, and at one end was a covered balcony where the Maharani waited. Formal introductions were made, greetings were exchanged and a tray of cold refreshments was passed around. Then, a little shyly, the Maharani said, "You must be tired after your journey, Miss O'Rourke. Four hours on an imperfect road must make you want to rest perhaps."
"No, not rest," Olivia quickly assured her, unable to stop staring. "I am much too excited for that. A bath and change would do me nicely for the moment." The woman who confronted her looked no more than about thirty. She was slim of build and not very tall, and had alert, intelligent eyes in a face of dusky smoothness. The English she spoke was not as fluent as her husband's but it was correct and clear and gave indication of much easy familiarity with the language. When Olivia remarked on this, unable to conceal her surprise completely, the Maharani blushed.
"I was tutored by an English governess until I was fifteen," she said, obviously pleased with the compliment, "but now I rarely have an opportunity to speak your language."
A
fter a few more moments of small talk the Maharaja excused himself, pleading unfinished work in his office. He regretted that he would not be able to join them for luncheon but promised they would meet again at length in the evening. In a way Olivia was relieved; it would be so much easier for her to get to know the Maharani better if they were on their own, as it appeared they would be. There was something very appealing about the young woman whose manner—apart from the mandatory touch of formality—seemed suddenly almost girlish to Olivia, which was surprising since, according to Sir Joshua, she was the mother of two children. The fact that, despite her aunt's dire predictions, communication between them would not be a problem was especially gratifying. Olivia started to relax; her apprehensions about the weekend promised to have been groundless.
"I confess that I am pleased you do not wish to rest, Miss O'Rourke," the Maharani said when her husband had left. "Time is short and there is much that we have to talk about." She made a signal and a maidservant materialised. "Your apartment is immediately below mine. Your bath awaits you. I hope you will find everything to your satisfaction." She paused and looked away, minimally awkward. "I have arranged for your ayah and other staff to be housed comfortably. I assure you, you will not require your personal attendants. Two of my maidservants will be entirely at your disposal, day and night."
It was only later that Olivia was to realise the significance of this arrangement. For the moment she accepted it at face value. Her aunt, determined to fulfil all proprieties despite her displeasure, had insisted on sending Estelle's ayah with her. In addition, Sir Joshua had arranged for two khidmutgars, a young errand lad and two armed outriders since bandits, particularly the dreaded thuggees, were not unknown in the area. And then of course there were the coachmen and their assistants in the cavalcade of three carriages. Apparently, it was customary in India for guests to take with them their own attendants. Olivia had considered all the fuss quite unnecessary but she had bowed to the rule without argument.