Ryman, Rebecca

by Olivia

  Olivia swallowed, red faced and still speechless.

  Lady Birkhurst's watery blue eyes twinkled faintly. "Don't worry, Miss O'Rourke, we all tell social white lies on occasion. It's quite the accepted thing, I assure you. If I had been in your shoes I too would have chosen a shoot rather than a dismal luncheon at the Tolly with a lot of stuffed-shirt gas-bags and all that horse dung."

  Finally, Olivia's breath released itself with a whoosh. "I enjoyed the shoot very much, Lady Birkhurst," she said steadily. "We managed to bag the tiger. It was a man-eater."

  Lady Birkhurst nodded her approval, then laid a plump, spongy hand over Olivia's. "I would rather you did not tell your aunt that I saw through her little fabrication. It would embarrass her and I would not like to do that. Now, to come to my next question, what do you think of Calcutta?"

  Olivia hesitated but only briefly; if her aunt refused to take her attitude seriously, she would see that no such misapprehension remained in Lady Birkhurst's mind. "To be frank, Lady Birkhurst, I am not much taken with it although India as a country I realise is fascinating."

  "Indeed! May I ask what your objections are to Calcutta?"

  "Well, in the main, I find society here narrow, frivolous and quite uninspiring, especially the ladies. I am not used to an environment in which there are so many restrictions, not that my aunt and uncle have not been kindness itself to me," she added hastily. "My life here is marvellously comfortable in every way. It is just the artificiality of our existence so divorced from the surrounding realities that I find difficult to adjust to." She was surprised that she should be talking so openly to an Englishwoman she had met not two hours ago, but if she didn't say all this now she knew she might never have another chance before matters got out of hand.

  "Upon my word!" Lady Birkhurst peered narrowly into Olivia's face, flushed and defiant. "I see that you do have a mind of your own!"

  "I am sorry if I have been blunt, Lady Birkhurst, but in America that is our way. I do not mean to give offence, I merely wish to be perfectly straight in my answers to you."

  Quite unexpectedly, Lady Birkhurst laughed. It was a strange sound, almost a cackle, and her pendulous jowls shivered like blobs of blancmange. "Well, good for you, my dear! I like women who show spirit and call a spade exactly what it is. For one, it saves time. We will get on well, Miss O'Rourke, I can see that." Raising an imperious finger, she summoned a uniformed bearer.

  As she dipped each finger delicately into the bowl of warm water the bearer laid before her, Olivia examined her hostess with interest for the first time. With her obvious eccentricities she fitted into no mould Olivia had seen so far in Calcutta, and her attitudes, to say the least, were most unusual. She was a very large woman with a strong, decisive voice, and her hair, white and shiny, was arranged in a series of tight curls in a style far too young for her. Waves of loose flesh hung everywhere, from under her chin right down to her flabby wrists, and the hanging jowls gave her the look of a rather mournful spaniel. Her appearance, to all intents and purposes, was formidable, but her small, button-like eyes that dug deep into heavy lids showed signs of a humour Olivia would not have earlier considered possible.

  "Are you serious about returning home when your year is up?" Lady Birkhurst dried each finger-tip with a napkin and sat back again.

  "Quite serious."

  "And the prospect of extending that period does not appeal to you under any circumstances?"

  An unexpected and flash image rose in Olivia's mind's eye of Jai Raventhorne, but, angry with herself, she discarded it immediately. "No. Much as I enjoy being with my uncle and aunt and, of course, Estelle, I have to think of my father, who is alone in . . ." She stopped; in view of her aunt's dreadful fictions, was it wise to mention her father?

  "I see." Lady Birkhurst seemed uninterested in her father. "Now tell me, Olivia—I may call you that, may I not? All these formalities are so tedious and goodness knows I get enough of them at home with Caleb's pompous friends in the House of Lords." With some difficulty she heaved herself onto a side so that she could face Olivia. "What do you think of my son?"

  The bald question, without either preliminaries or warning, winded Olivia. With all Lady Birkhurst's forthrightness she had not expected so frontal an attack. "I . . . he . . . that is . . ." She faded into scarlet-faced silence, threading fidgety fingers through each other.

  "Freddie is, of course, besotted with you," Lady Birkhurst proceeded calmly, "which is hardly surprising. You are most presentable and I myself have seldom seen such long legs on an English girl. So far, my son's taste in women has been, frankly, deplorable. However," she paused to offer Olivia a sweet mint from a silver bowl, took one herself and continued, "I have the impression that Freddie does not appeal to you as much as you do to him—am I right?"

  "I... hardly know how to answer that...," Olivia muttered unhappily.

  "Answer it with perfect frankness. I would appreciate it." A sudden shudder rippled through her huge frame and she sank back into the cushions. "My son, Olivia, is the most sought-after bachelor on two continents. He can have the pick of London and colonial society, and why not?" She snorted. "His family is wealthy, titled, with a seventeenth-century seat in Suffolk and one of the most elegant estates in England. Freddie will one day be the eighth Lord Birkhurst of Farrowsham since our two other children are girls. In the marriage market that alone makes him a plum prize." She paused to let it all sink in. "At the same time I am also aware that my son is an idiot, unblessed by anything even closely resembling intelligence."

  "Oh, that is perhaps—"

  Lady Birkhurst stayed Olivia's gallant attempt at protest with an impatient gesture. "I have long since come to terms with the truth, Olivia. Freddie is not only a fool, he is an inebriate, a weakling and a dedicated debauch." She emitted a short laugh that had no humour. "It no longer wounds me as it once did, Olivia. I am a confirmed realist, which is why I know that if Freddie marries one of his own—rich, spoilt, mindless and self-indulgent—he will be destroyed." The diluted, darting blue eyes went as flat as her tone. "Freddie is headed for perdition. He drinks like a fish, whores like a randy beggar and abuses his body without remorse. I am not a prude, Olivia, far from it. I accept that young men need to expend certain energies in order to expand others. When Caleb was younger, his doxies were black, white, blue and brindle—and in plenty. But Freddie's constitution is weak; it cannot tolerate his excesses much longer. If he is not leashed soon, within a year he will be dead."

  Olivia was shocked. Yet, beneath the seeming lack of emotion with which Lady Birkhurst had made her terrible pronouncement, she sensed the profound sorrow of an embittered mother. Determined as she was to reject the ludicrous proposition, sheer compassion silenced Olivia for the moment.

  "For his salvation Freddie needs a woman of strength," Lady Birkhurst continued in the same unvarying tones. "A woman of character, of good horse sense, sober, and unused to frivolous luxury. Whether or not she loves him is irrelevant. As long as she takes care of him, stiffens his spine, accepts and forgives his faults, which are many, and of course provides him with an heir, I will be content."

  Olivia stared at her, almost laughing out her incredulity. Could any girl of "strength" and "character" possibly agree to such a nefarious bargain? And with what cavalier disregard the need for love had been dismissed! As if reading her thoughts, Lady Birkhurst said sharply, "Love passes; material compensations persist, Olivia." She leaned towards her, the watery blue eyes hard and her voice even more matter of fact. "Consider, Olivia, that there would be no threshold in the world over which Freddie's wife would not be welcome. An English title, even without money, is held in high regard also in America; with money it is the key to every door. Besides, there is one compensation I have not yet mentioned ..." She paused and stared at her corpulent knuckles. "Whatever his inadequacies, Freddie is generous of heart. He asks little of others, which is perhaps, why he is such a fool. His wife would enjoy many freedoms not available to others. D
o I make myself clear?"

  If Olivia was shocked earlier, she was now scandalised. "Yes, quite clear, Lady Birkhurst. Obviously, you do not find it iniquitous that a man should be expected to tolerate an openly unfaithful wife!" Her mouth swilled with distaste at the callous "compensation."

  "Freddie would not complain," his mother said drily, "if indeed he noticed at all!"

  Taking a deep breath, Olivia rose to her feet to stand by a window. She could not believe that she could be participating in a conversation so bizarre and so offensive. She felt humiliated and revolted, and outraged that her aunt should have plunged her into a situation of such monumental indignity. Her inclination was to walk out of the room in disgust, but certainly not until she had expressed that disgust in terms as blunt as those Lady Birkhurst had used. She pulled herself up to her full height and turned to face her. "I am flattered by your extraordinarily high evaluation of me, Lady Birkhurst," she said as briskly as she could without sounding offensive. "I assure you that I am undeserving of such praise. And, therefore, I feel I must tell you before you proceed any further that what you suggest is impossible! I hold nothing personal against your son, but a cold-blooded bargain such as this revolts me. Since you asked me to be forthright, Lady Birkhurst, I have to say that I find your proposition utterly unacceptable—although I have no doubt that some others might not." Having said her piece she sat down again, her cheeks hot with the effort.

  Lady Birkhurst appeared untroubled by her outburst as she leaned forward to pluck a grape from the fruit bowl. "The others!" she rasped in contempt. "They see nothing beyond the glory, the title and wealth—"

  "And are you so certain that eventually I too will not turn mercenary?" Olivia cut in spiritedly. "We Americans are also snobbish about titles, as you yourself pointed out. Also, you must be told that my father isn't—"

  "My dear child, I wasn't born yesterday! I have married off two daughters and I know that in the marriage market there are certain permissible liberties one takes with the truth. Frankly, I do not much care who or what your father is. As the daughter of Lady Bridget's sister, you satisfy any requirements of pedigree I might have. I am interested only in what and who you are."

  "But you know nothing about me!" Olivia cried in mounting desperation. "And if you did, you would also know that I could never barter away my life for—"

  "I know what is necessary for me to know." She waved away Olivia's protest almost with anger. "You are young, healthy, lovely to look at, of sound character and mind, straightforward, intelligent, with a will of your own and—as long as you put on some weight—excellent breeding stock. Also, let us not forget that Freddie worships the ground you walk on." She clucked as if in exasperation. "Not one day passes without some silly woman dragging her pampered little brat here for my inspection, like a milch cow up for auction. Every one of them has reduced me to nausea. They are already die-hard mems, infantile and indolent, with no thought in their empty heads save the next burra khana or cricket game or pig sticking tamasha where they can ogle and be ogled by young men. They come here with probing, avaricious eyes evaluating my jewels, already arranging and rearranging my furniture, practising silently their new signatures on documents that will make them rich overnight."

  Pinned to her chair by the needle-pointed stare, Olivia started to feel trapped even as her temper rose. Whatever Lady Birkhurst's problems with her wretched son, why should she be involved in devising solutions? But, out of consideration for the woman's obvious unhappiness, Olivia kept her tone controlled. "First appearances are deceptive, Lady Birkhurst. Among those you discard there must be at least one who will be as you wish."

  Lady Birkhurst sighed. "I am more than sixty years old, Olivia. If I have learned anything as the wife of a gentleman farmer, it is to separate the wheat from the chaff. When you walked in today you looked neither left nor right. You had no desire to impress, although your aunt did. You, in fact, showed signs of deep resentment, of anger. You still do." She chuckled softly. "No other girl would have agreed to miss luncheon with us last Sunday. Indeed, they would have all come leaping and bounding like spring lambs anxious to put in their bids before others did. Even now, though you do me the favour of listening to me, all that is on your mind is flight." She laughed again and patted Olivia's hand. "No, Olivia. In this case, first appearances are not deceptive, which is why I have taken the liberty of making you a proposition that would be, to a woman such as you, iniquitous. And," she breathed in sadly, "also a seeming paradox. I choose you because you are not impressed by money and title, and yet these are the very inducements I use to tempt you!"

  Despite her inner rage, Olivia could not suppress an involuntary stab of admiration for Lady Birkhurst's courage. It could not have been easy to swallow pride and resort to such brutal honesty. "I am sorry that my answer has not come up to your expectations," she began gently.

  "You have made your opinion known to me frankly, Olivia, and for that I am grateful," Lady Birkhurst interrupted, clasping her hand. Her tone was pleading. "But I beg of you, don't say anything more yet. All I ask of you is the favour of giving at least some more thought to what I have been bold enough to suggest. I have opened my heart to you, Olivia, because you are too astute to be given less. If after further thought you still refuse, as I fear you will, I will of course be bitterly disappointed and poor Freddie will be distraught, but I will accept your decision without either argument or rancour. Freddie intends to speak to you soon, but he will, as usual, make a hash of it. This is why I wished to say my piece earlier." Like a deflating balloon she shrivelled into her chair and her shoulders sagged. "You must forgive me, my dear, for having shocked and perhaps repelled you, but I am so tired of pretences, so tired. I am just an unhappy, aging woman, perhaps foolish and garrulous as well, who would like to see her only son produce an heir before he dies." Tears glistened in the corners of her eyes. "No matter what Freddie is, Olivia, I do love him to distraction. To balance his faults he has many fine qualities and in his own way he deserves the best from me. In my panic to ensure his salvation I have perhaps not been tactful, but it breaks my heart to watch him destroy himself while I stand by unable to do anything . . ."

  Olivia would not have thought it possible to feel sympathy for anyone who could have originated so immoral and insulting a scheme, but that was what she found herself feeling. It astonished her to realise that, in spite of everything, she actually liked this extraordinarily forthright woman. "I wish that I could have comforted you in some way, Lady Birkhurst, but it would be so wrong of me to fill you with vain hope . . ."

  "All I ask is that you reconsider your answer, Olivia," Lady Birkhurst reminded her tearfully. "And I feel we must keep our little . . . discussion between ourselves for the time being. Your aunt is a splendid woman, Olivia, but I would be distressed if she were to pressure you into a decision not of your liking. Come and see me when we return from the plantation. We plan to leave within the week."

  As the rest approached from the verandah, making further discussion impossible, Olivia was flooded with relief. "How long will you be away?"

  "As long as I can keep Freddie tethered away from the Golden Behind," Lady Birkhurst assured her with a grim smile.

  Lady Bridget and her reluctant entourage entered noisily. "Lids, Mr. Birkhurst, that's the secret of hygienic kitchen management." Flushed with triumph, Lady Bridget settled herself comfortably in her chair. A visibly baffled Freddie and a rudely bored Estelle did likewise on the window seat. "All containers need lids, and Rashid Ali can easily make them out of old kerosene tins. As for white ants, I will send you some of my own home-made solution. All you must do is spray the burrow heads and, if possible, inside the holes in the walls."

  There followed an energetic discussion between Lady Bridget and Lady Birkhurst about the menace of weevils in the flour and semolina and about how much extra money the cook and the chief bearer were making on the side, considering Salim had recently bought two new pairs of shoes and Rashid Ali was t
hinking of acquiring a third wife. Lady Bridget continued to shower Freddie with salutary suggestions on kitchen-house economics (since his mother made it quite clear she had no intentions of interfering in his messes), and then it was time to leave.

  As they were about to climb into the open landau with its matched greys, Lady Bridget appeared to have a brain-storm. "Olivia is extremely fond of riding and exploring the town, Mr. Birkhurst, and since it is unthinkable for her to wander about on her own, would you perhaps oblige by providing escort?"

  Just as Olivia's face collapsed, Freddie's lit up like a beacon. Freddie as an escort? Olivia wailed inwardly, oh mercy, no! But it was too late. "By Jove, Lady Bridget, I would be delighted, privileged! We leave for the blasted plantation—begging your pardon, ladies—within the week," briefly he looked stricken, "but until we do, I am entirely and most decidedly at your service."

  Mortified by her aunt's transparent ploy, Olivia glared. "I ride very early in the morning, Mr. Birkhurst, I warn you."

  "Er, how early?" Freddie asked with a hint of alarm.

  "Just about the time you eventually get to bed," Estelle muttered from behind a hand and grinned.

  "No later than five o'clock," Olivia answered, deliberately moving the time back by an hour.

  Freddie's Adam's apple bobbed up and down as he gulped. "Oh, ah . . . splendid, splendid. Then shall we say five tomorrow morning?"

  "If you absolutely insist," Olivia mumbled ungraciously. With her aunt listening and watching closely, it was hardly possible to say more, but silently she fumed. As if her conversation with Lady Bridget hadn't been harrowing enough, she was now faced with the diabolical prospect of the insufferable Freddie in tow on her precious and enjoyably solitary early rides each morning! It would be an invasion of her privacy that was unforgivable, and Olivia determined not to put up with his presence for more than one occasion. But for the moment there was little she could do but concur.

  "What did Lady Bridget talk to you about, dear?" The moment the carriage left the Birkhurst compound, Lady Bridget turned eagerly to her niece. "Was she . . . cordial?"