Ryman, Rebecca

by Olivia

  She forced herself to abandon the thought and harden. The involuntary weakness of her wedding night would cripple her mental processes no more; with each passing day, her hate for Jai Raventhorne was turning stronger. She would make it sustain her, nourish her. She would not allow it to lapse again.

  The dreaded summons for Olivia came three days after their return from Madras.

  In their absence, an independent apartment had been fashioned for them on the first floor of the Birkhurst mansion on the Esplanade. It had two connecting bedroom suites, a sitting-room and dining-room, a study, a pantry and a scullery. If the Templewoods lived in style, the luxury of the Birkhurst home spoke of far greater wealth and taste for good living. In its Gobelin tapestries, its scintillating crystal chandeliers, Belgian gilt mirrors, Meissen and Ming porcelain, clocks, oil paintings, French furniture with brocade upholstery and its series of well-stocked strong-rooms lay the accumulated treasure of family money as well as that earned through trading endeavours in India. The triple-storied house also boasted gun and games rooms, a music room, a library, a formal study, reception-rooms of which one was a full-sized ballroom with a dais for orchestra, guest suites, a portrait gallery and several porticoed verandahs opening out onto flawless gardens maintained by an army of gardeners. Behind the vegetable gardens were the stables, coach-houses, kitchens, store-rooms and servants' quarters and compound. Lady Birkhurst's apartment, to which Olivia had now been summoned, was on the ground floor adjoining the glass-roofed arboretum.

  Olivia was awed by the splendour of the manse, more so since, upon her return, her mother-in-law had consigned to her charge the hundreds of neatly labelled keys of the household. In the tacit abdication of authority were symbolised Olivia's new role as mistress of the house and the expectation that it would be discharged with responsibility.

  "I think, my dear, that it is time for our private little tête-à-tête." Lady Bridget sat in the sunny morning-room in which she spent much of her day. "You and I have promised to be frank with each other, have we not?"

  Olivia moistened her lips and nodded.

  "Then you must now tell me the true reason why you suddenly decided to accept my son for a husband." The grim solemnity of the occasion was such that a bowl of bonbons before Lady Birkhurst lay untouched. "I was given to understand that you were . . . romantically inclined towards some other person."

  "Yes." She swallowed hard.

  "The attachment did not develop as you had hoped?"

  This time Olivia smiled inadvertently. How had she hoped the attachment to "develop"? "No." Her chin rose a fraction. "I do not love Freddie. He is aware of that. But then, love was not one of your conditions, was it? You wanted someone who would accept him for what he is, to forgive his excesses and to take care of him well. I think I fulfil all these conditions."

  Lady Birkhurst nodded. "Yes. I did mean every word I said, Olivia. My opinion of you as the perfect wife for my son has not changed an iota, nor will it no matter what you reveal to me. You are honest and honourable and you have courage. Also, the very fact that Freddie no longer drinks is a testimony to your success as his wife. What Freddie does with his soul is God's business. As a mother, I am interested only in ensuring his physical salvation, and in this my gratitude to you is immense. But, whatever your virtues, Olivia," her tone sharpened, "you are not a crusader. It is not for my son's benefit that you have opted to become his wife. I now want the real reason, Olivia—the truth."

  Against her ribs Olivia's heart thudded compulsively and the sweat on her clasped palms felt cold. But, in a way, it was almost a relief to be rid of at least one pretence. "I am pregnant. The child is not Freddie's."

  With a sharp sibilance Lady Birkhurst sucked in her breath. The expression on her face, however, changed only inasmuch as her beady eyes became even more alert. For a while she sat immobile; then she sighed.

  "Freddie knows the truth, naturally," Olivia proceeded with as much calmness as she could muster. "There was never any question of not telling him. I know that few men, if any, would have accepted me as I am. My debt to Freddie is not one I can ever repay."

  All of a sudden, Lady Birkhurst laughed. "I had assured you that as Freddie's wife you would have a certain moral. . . independence. I had not thought that you would have taken my words quite so literally or, indeed, with such dispatch!" Just as suddenly she sobered. "Why didn't you tell me about your condition earlier?"

  It was Olivia's turn for amusement. "If I had, would you have allowed the marriage at all?"

  "No. I would have certainly tried to dissuade my son from exercising his gallantry with such careless bravado! But not for the reasons you might think, Olivia." Heavily she sat back. "I am a woman of the world. Nothing shocks me anymore. My regard for you is no less because you have, perhaps, loved unwisely and consorted with a man not your husband. Believe me, I've seen worse." She snorted. "My goodness, half the crowned heads of Europe would be hard pressed to name their real fathers! No, Olivia, my objections are purely pragmatic. You see, your marriage to my son rather muddies the future for us." Her eyes narrowed. "Who is the father of your child?"

  Olivia's chin firmed. "I'm sorry, that I am not prepared to reveal. I have told Freddie that once my baby is born, if he so wishes I will go away. Whatever waivers or legal documents need to be signed to renounce all claims to money and title I will sign willingly. There will be no question of inheritance."

  In Lady Birkhurst's spontaneous chuckle there was humour. "Oh dear, how dreadfully naive you Americans are! Do you really think that is all there is to the matter? If your child is a male, he will certainly stand to inherit the title."

  "But I do not want any part of all that!" Olivia cried. "You are free to disinherit, disclaim, declare dead both me and my child if you wish. All I want for the present is for my child to be born with a name."

  "You are still missing the point, Olivia," Lady Birkhurst sighed. "In any case, English titles cannot be renounced just because someone feels like it. The point I am trying to make is that unless you die, Freddie cannot marry again, which means that the direct Birkhurst line would die with him." For the first time she showed signs of agitation. "That is unthinkable! The next incumbent would be a loathsome cousin with pigeon-toes and bad breath whose wife is too stupid to be an English barmaid let alone an English baroness! To see them installed at Farrowsham would be an abomination to me, even in my grave."

  Overwhelmed by these complexities to which she had not given any thought at all, Olivia looked bewildered. "But then ... what is to be done? Is there a solution?"

  Lady Birkhurst pyramided her fingers and sank her several chins into her chest. "Yes, there is a solution. I have no objections to your child bearing our name for the present. Later on, we can arrange for him—if it is a male—to disappear and be declared dead. Fortunately, there is enough corruption in England to manage that somehow. If your child is a female the matter becomes much easier. Do I make myself clear?" Olivia nodded and the baroness's expression changed perceptibly. "Now we come to the crux. Whatever the sex of the child you bear, you will have to also produce a male child from Freddie's loins to preserve the direct line of his family."

  The bottom seemed to fall out of Olivia's world at this thunderbolt. She could only stare at her mother-in-law's determined face in appalled disbelief. But of course Lady Birkhurst was serious. It was an aspect of the matter that had not even occurred to Olivia. In resolving her dilemma, she had thought to satisfy only her own need.

  "You mentioned a debt, Olivia." The sonorous tone was now relentless. "And yes, no man would have agreed to what my son has, but then we both know that he is a fool. I do not expect you, an American, to be aware of the intricacies of British inheritance laws, but Freddie certainly should have known better. Now do you see the cause of my distress?"

  Unhappily, Olivia nodded.

  "If you do wish to repay your debt to Freddie, then there is only one way in which to do it. You have no legal need to do so, of cour
se. Your obligation is entirely moral. I have always known that you are a young woman of rare spirit. I now realise that you have even more courage than I had initially assessed." She paused to allow her words to sink in. "Tell me, does your courage allow itself to be stretched even further?"

  The cost of her shoddy, opportune grab at respectability was to be higher, far higher, than she had ever imagined! But with so much already lost, so much more committed, the dye was set with indelible fastness. How could the bargain now not be concluded?

  "No, my courage does not allow it," she said, trammelled with despair. "But given time, somehow I will expand it. I cannot let Freddie's family be the losers." Unconsciously, she straightened her back to sit up. "If God makes it within my power to so ensure, I will not let your direct line be extinguished."

  Unexpectedly, Lady Birkhurst's stern face puckered and her lips trembled. She reached out to take Olivia's hand in hers. "You are a remarkable young woman, my dear. The decisions you have had to make in your short life have been horrendous. I do not envy you them." Her voice rang with genuine feeling. "However bizarre your circumstances, I still consider that my son is blessed to have you by his side. Don't desert him now, Olivia; that is all I ask." She dropped Olivia's hand to wipe her eyes dry, then asked with a return of composure, "Tell me, what would you have done if my son had refused you? Would you have returned to America?"

  America!

  In searing anguish, Olivia shut her eyes. From where she was now, sinking steadily into a vast bog of inescapable sludge, America might well be on another planet! "Yes, I guess so," she lied dully. "With my aunt eventually returning to England, as she is now contemplating, there would have been no point in staying."

  "I take it that they are not aware of your condition? No, of course you did right in keeping it from them." She dismissed the subject to state abruptly, "You must not think of having your baby in Calcutta."

  Olivia frowned. "Why not?"

  "Think of the consequences, my dear! That wily old fox Humphries will not be fooled for a moment that the child is before its time. More to the point, neither will Millie and we all know how she can talk! Everyone will whip out their calendars to make secret calculations. At best, you and Freddie will be laughing-stocks; at worst, he will be dubbed a cuckold. Not even he deserves that."

  Once again, Olivia was caught unawares; this too was not an aspect of the situation she had considered. But, as always, Lady Birkhurst's wisdom was unquestionable. Had she not been so totally desolate, Olivia might have seen the droll humour in discussing such a subject with a woman who was her husband's mother. But then, she was beginning to realise, this was an extraordinary woman indeed, so out of the norm as to be unique. "But then, what would you suggest I do?"

  Lady Birkhurst pondered. "I suggest you arrange for the birth elsewhere with an unknown doctor in attendance. Return to Calcutta after six weeks, by which time it will not occur to anyone to ask discomfiting questions."

  More lies, more pretences, more webs of deceit and delusion! Dear God, would there ever be an end? With an effort, Olivia pulled herself together. "I would rather Freddie did not know that we have spoken about all this. I cannot bear to wound him more than I already have."

  "No, we will not reveal our agreement to him." Lady Birkhurst's face softened. "Tell me one more thing that troubles me. This man," she fixed Olivia with her rapier stare, "is he likely to enter your life again at some future date?"

  "No."

  "He does not know about the child?"

  "He neither knows nor cares."

  "And you? Do you still care for him?"

  Olivia returned her probing look squarely. "No. My single act of madness was no more than just that. For that insanity, I blame only myself."

  Lady Birkhurst asked no more questions.

  Later, in the solitude of her own room, Olivia exploded with resentment. No, the blame for the insanity was not only hers! She rebelled against bearing the intolerable burden alone, rebelled against being noble and logical and forgiving. For her unspeakable situation Jai Raventhorne was as culpable as she—more so. He knew that she was an innocent, reckless and a blind slave to her emotions. He recognised her lack of comprehension of his twisted mind, his perverted idiom. That she had been unable to understand his enigmatic hints, his bewildering warnings, was no secret to him. He had talked in riddles to which she could not possibly have put any answers. She had sought him out, yes—but he had not lacked in reciprocation! He knew that she was bewitched, besotted. And knowing that he had led her on, only to betray her.

  The nebulous memory she was left with of a transient, illusory paradise, Olivia dismissed; even that would evaporate soon. What would linger was the defilement of every area of her life, of her future. Not even her unborn child, already entangled in impostures and deceit, was to be spared. He had abandoned her to a quagmire; the more she struggled for release, the deeper she was being sucked in. Yes, perhaps during that one night Jai Raventhorne had loved her, but it wasn't enough.

  It was not enough!

  CHAPTER 14

  If it was impossible to give Freddie love, Olivia compensated by giving him dedicated service. In a hundred, a thousand different ways each day she devised reparations for the one thing he could never have from her in order to correct the yawning imbalances of their oddly mismatched lives. She threw open her house for his friends, keeping what soon became known as the finest table in town. She gladly suffered burra khanas and polo matches and brunch sessions at the Tolly Club, spending hours on the screamingly tedious social circuit listening to fatuous, frivolous talk. Gracefully she tolerated Freddie's idiocies, tended his clothes, kept him ungrudging company and never complained of the ludicrous hours he kept. In the process, she suppressed all her own desires, because the rewards of her labour were great. Despite her constant worry, Freddie remained true to his word. Since that impulsive vow on the Seagull, he had not touched a drop of liquor.

  Two months after the wedding, when neither full skirts nor loose, waistless dresses could help, the fact of Olivia's pregnancy was admitted publicly by Lady Birkhurst. Of course the news spread in the station like wildfire and, inevitably, Freddie came in for much risque ribbing. For the most part, he took the banter in his stride with his usual good humour, but Olivia could tell that sometimes, just sometimes, he hated every minute of it. Once, in answer to a particularly ribald remark, he actually snapped back and sparks of anger glowed in his normally placid eyes.

  "Hark, the worm turneth!" Peter Barstow drawled with an arched eyebrow. "What's been getting into you lately, old chap— losing your sense of humour?" He looked squarely at Olivia and the look was questioning and sly.

  Poor Freddie!

  That evening he looked so thoroughly woebegone that Olivia could not help asking, "Tell me truthfully, Freddie, have you ever regretted marrying me?"

  His denial was instant. "No! Dammit, a chap doesn't make a lifelong commitment one day and take it back the next! You think I'm that low? Dash it all, I love you!"

  Olivia sighed. "I know you do, Freddie dear, and I'm so grateful ..."

  "I don't want your gratitude," he protested morosely, suddenly even more desolate. "All I want is your love. Not much," he was quick to add, "just a little, a very little."

  "I do love you in my own way, Freddie! I. . . I'm extremely fond of you . . ." She trailed off and bit her lip.

  "You still love this ... man, don't you?" With a clenched fist he expended his uncharacteristic frustration on a table top. "My God, it's driving me potty just thinking about it!"

  "No, Freddie." Olivia forced herself to sound casual, offhanded. "I don't and I never did. I've already told you—"

  "If only I knew who he was," too engulfed in his own jealousies, he was uninterested in her denials, "I swear I'd kill him!"

  She smiled acidly. "You would be in excellent company, my dear. You are by no means the only one who wishes him dead."

  But once more she filled with compassion for Fr
eddie.

  Since her return Olivia had tried to visit her aunt and uncle as often as possible. Sir Joshua refused to go to England and Lady Bridget refused to stay, so her aunt was to leave alone, and her departure was imminent. As such, there was a great deal to be done about the house. Some of the rooms had to be locked, dust sheets fitted over furniture, store-rooms cleared of accumulated clutter, silver packed and put away in the strong-rooms and a good home found for Clementine, Estelle's little dog. It was a lifetime that Lady Bridget was leaving behind, and lifetimes are not easy to shed either mentally or physically.

  Most worrisome was that copious means had to be devised for the continuing care of Sir Joshua, who was still refusing to entertain thoughts of a country where the sun never shone and, as he said with contempt, people ate hog slop and stewed dish rags. Olivia's marriage to Freddie had made little impact on him save to elicit one cryptic comment, "Teach him to at least pass out on his own doorstep next time." For the rest, he seemed to recede each day farther into himself. He spent hours pruning the roses or just sitting on an upturned flowerpot staring into space. For a man who had once prided himself on his sartorial elegance, his attire was careless enough to seem sloppy. And he had no interest in what he ate. Even though the indifference persisted between him and his wife, Olivia had secretly hoped that her aunt would be concerned about him, but there seemed no signs of a thaw; quite the contrary, in fact. Whatever resentments Olivia had once had against Sir Joshua had long since faded. In their own divergent ways they were all cogs in the same wheel. Who was she to allocate guilt?

  After all efforts to persuade him to accompany his wife back to England had failed, Olivia tried another ploy. "All right then, come and live with us," she pleaded. "I hate the idea of you remaining here all on your own."