Flowers in the Blood (63 page)

“Look at this!” Edwin shouted. He pointed to the second page from the back. One figure at the top of the horizontal columns was underlined: the figure four. “In this book, the shortfall must occur every fourth page,” he guessed. He opened to the next-to-last page in another ledger. There the underlined figure was seven. “In this one it occurs every seventh page. That's the clue!”

I rushed to check several other ledgers. He was absolutely right. “You are a genius!”

“No, you are the one who found this in the first place.”

“There isn't time to pat ourselves on the back. If s getting dark, and I don't want to light the lamps.”

“You're right. Anyhow, Ram Singh could return any minute.”

“It would take the whole night to figure this out, maybe longer. Hundreds of thousands of rupees have disappeared, and we have no idea where. Who keeps these journals?”

“A group of clerks make the entries under Gabriel Judah's command, and he reports to his father-in-law.”

I checked a few of the pages in different volumes. “The line items are in different hands, but the totals may be in the same one. It is difficult to tell, though, because the ink matches and the work is very standard, very tidy.” As I looked up at Edwin, his gaze locked with mine. We both had realized that my Uncle Samuel was the thief.

Just then we heard footsteps outside. I tiptoed to the door, and when I peeked out, a shadow on the wall caught my eye. Was he coming . . . or going? “Ram Singh?” I whispered.

“Does he know we are in here?”

“I'm not certain. I will see to him while you put the books away.” I strolled down the hallway and called nonchalantly, “Ram Singh? Hello! We are about to leave, but I want to use the toilet. Would you mind checking to see if it is safe?”

“Certainly, memsahib.” We rounded the corner that put us out of sight of Uncle Saul's office. The durwan opened the door to the Sassoons' private toilet. He banged around inside, then reported, “Everything is in order. I will wait by the door.”

“Thank you, Ram Singh.”

Sitting on the toilet, I held my head in my hands. My knees would not stop shaking. My stomach contracted as my bowels emptied. Was my distress from the fright at almost having been caught or at the horror of the magnitude of our discovery? I heard voices in the hall.

“Dinah!” Edwin called. “Are you all right?”

My stomach lurched. I thought I might be sick, and had to face the dismal dilemma of whether to stand up or remain sitting.

“Dinah?” The voice was closer. He had opened the door.

“Yes,” I answered weakly. “I'm coming.” I thought I could stand. I straightened my skirts. At the basin I splashed cool water on my wrists and face. Yes, I'm calmer now, I told myself, walking to the door. Edwin offered me his hand and we started down to the street. I had taken the last step when my stomach churned so violently I thought I would lose control. I gripped Edwin. And he lunged for me. The huge chandelier rattled above us and I heard a clattering on the roof. We were a few yards from the entrance, where Ram Singh was holding open the heavy wooden door. Both Ram Singh and the door were swaying. Outside, a horse reared up. A carriage toppled. Ram Singh ran back into the building and grasped the rails of the staircase.

There were screams, and then a terrible roar like a train charging down the center of Clive Street.

“What?” I tried to ask, but my teeth were chattering.

Edwin pulled me out the door. We could barely stand upright. Bent over, we half-ran, half-crawled to the steps. Across the way an awning crashed to the pavement. Reflexively Edwin backed us inside. I stared at Ram Singh's terrified face and in his eyes read the meaning of what was happening. It was an earthquake! A flash of light captured my attention, and I looked up.

“No!” Edwin screamed at Ram Singh. He pushed me away from the door and out to the sidewalk, instinctively covering my body with his. Behind us the chandelier fell and shattered on the marble floor. Shards of crystal shot through the air. A veil of glass blanketed us. With my eyes tightly closed, I shook my head and cleared my face. I squinted one eye and looked back inside Sassoon and Company. Ram Singh lay in a twisted maze of metal and broken glass. Rivulets of blood, like roving tentacles, seeped in every direction. As I started to crawl toward him, the ground heaved. Edwin held me down until the last tremor passed, only four minutes after the first had begun.

In the momentary calm, Edwin moved us away from the building, but kept me out of the street, where frightened ponies ran loose. Too soon, another tremble began to lurch from the once-steady base of earth. The government and bank buildings swayed like ships at sea. Sheets of plaster fell in flakes several yards long.

During the next lull my thoughts went to Ram Singh. “We must help him.”

“He's dead.”

“How do you know?”

“He took the full weight on his head.”

“We should see—”

“I saw—”

“But—”

“It cracked . . . like a melon.”

43

 

O
h, no!” I shuddered miserably. “The children!”

Our hired carriage was nowhere in sight, and in the chaos it was unlikely we could find anyone to take us home, so we made our way on foot. Because it was dark, it was difficult to assess the extent of the destruction. Here and there fires flared. Fallen debris blocked some streets; others were remarkably clear. Finally we found a rickshaw-wallah willing to take us home. Gathered in the living room, the children and servants were agitated but unharmed. Books had fallen from the shelves, ornaments were shattered, but the scene of Jeremiah yanking Zachariah's hair while Aaron tried to pull them apart was wonderfully ordinary.

The discovery of the juggled books at Sassoon and Company was dwarfed by the calamity. None of the Sassoon residences were badly damaged, although a house farther down Theatre Road lost a balcony. The steeple of the Maghen David Synagogue required extensive repairs, but a few contrary members of the congregation decided this was a sign the steeple should be removed entirely, since it had no place on a Jewish house of worship. Others disagreed, saying that if it was a sign, the sign was also meant to deter Christians as well, since they had more damage to their steeples than we had to ours. “Besides,” Zilpah sniffed, “that is what makes our synagogue unique.”

I thought petty arguments like these took away from the misery around us. Many had died in pitiful accidents like the one that had befallen poor Ram Singh. Even though I came to believe the durwan had been killed instantly, I never could shake the feeling we should have gone back to him. As it was, we never acknowledged being there, for it was imperative to keep our findings a secret until we could determine our course of action.

News spread along the railway lines. Telegrams brought reports that the whole of northern India had felt some degree of the shocks, especially around the Himalayas. Picturing Xanadu Lodge perched on that steep slope, I searched for news from Darjeeling as the dispatches came in. At last a correspondent got a message into
The Englishman
under the headline:
“DARJEELING CUT OFF FOR THREE DAYS.”
I read rapidly to see if there was mention of the Luddys or their friends.

The shock, which was first felt on Saturday, electrified hills and valleys with startling suddenness. People who were standing on the viceroy's tennis court describe how they had to balance themselves and plant their feet so as not to be thrown over. Those who were out saw, after hearing a terrible rush of sound like a whirlwind, chimneys swaying and falling, trees beaten to and fro, walls falling like cards in a toy house, and people rushing frantically out of their houses to save themselves from the crashing and falling interiors. . . . Sunnyside, Hillside, Annandale, Manor Mansell's House, and Mr. Gayer, the private secretary's, house have fallen inside, and some of the outer walls of other houses have fallen and have to be deserted!

Finding no indication of loss of life, I felt a sense of profound relief, even though the next day's news included the times and dates of severe secondary shocks that continued to sway the area. Coolingridge, the Maharajah of Cooch Behar's residence, was declared uninhabitable. Many houses had been destroyed by chimneys collapsing inward. My pulse leapt with anxiety when I read that “the surrounding tea plantations have suffered greatly. Bloomfield is a ruin and Mr. Nash's estate at Soom is totally destroyed. Tukvaar reports many injuries.” The Luddy houses were in that region! I wondered how Silas and Maurice had fared. In fact, I wondered if Maurice was still alive. Since my marriage to Edwin, I had had no word of the Luddys and nobody who might have known them had volunteered any information.

Zilpah had family in the area and we were anxious about them as well. A few days later the papers brought further descriptions of the events in Darjeeling as the repaired railroad brought back home hundreds of families who were fleeing the hills in the height of the season. My heart pounded as I scanned the listings for any mention of Silas. I was encouraged when one reporter wrote, “The south side of the hill seems to have been the least affected.” What a relief! Xanadu was south of the town. I leaned back in my chair and closed my eyes. A defused image of Silas' pale face hovered in my mind. It had been so long since I had given him a moment's thought. . . .

“Mummy!” Aaron ran into the room, “A man has come.”

“What sort of a man?”

“A
small
man with a
big
knife!”

“Aaron!” I chastised, for my eldest son sometimes told fanciful tales.

“Really, Mummy! Hanif said I should fetch you,” he cried, tugging at my sleeve.

Tilting my head, I gave in reluctantly. “All right, Aaron, but this had better not be one of your games.” As I stood up, the newspaper fell to the floor. No matter, I thought, I would get back to it later. I allowed Aaron to lead me into the entranceway. There, standing at attention beside the front door of Free School Street, was Gulliver, his kukri curving beneath his belt. He gave a little bow, then squared his shoulders. The moment my eyes met his, I knew something terrible had happened.

His cap was filthy and his snowy coat was torn and stained. How had he found me? My churning mind recalled that he had come to Calcutta for my wedding. He had accompanied us back to Darjeeling, serving us on the train, wrapping me in blankets, arranging the tongas . . . so very long ago. He must have gone to Theatre Road looking for me, and they had sent him here.

“Gulliver? Why have you come?”

“The sahib sent me.”

“Silas!” Thank God he was all right!

He nodded.

“Is he in Calcutta?”

Gulliver shook his head.

“He sent you from Darjeeling? The earthquake was terrible there, wasn't it?”

He nodded.

“Does Silas need help?”

He shook his head.

“Oh, that is good news. I was just reading about the disasters in the region, thinking about all of you and—” Gulliver's usually impenetrable eyes flashed a signal that silenced me.

“Mr. Luddy sent me to you.”

“I don't understand.”

“Mr. Luddy said I was to come to you if anything happened to him.”

“No!”

“Mr. Luddy has perished.”

“Mummy?” Aaron was beside me. “Mummy?” Feeling him pulling my skirt, I swatted him away. He began to cry. I lifted him to me and nuzzled my face in his hair.

“How?” I managed weakly. “When?”

“They were on the balcony having a drink. The rains had stopped. The evening was warm. I had served them and gone downstairs for some more soda water. The earth moved. In the cellar we felt a shaking and then the timbers above creaked. There was a crash. The ceiling opened to face the sky. By the time we climbed upstairs, the house was gone.”

I thought of Xanadu perched on the cliff, of the cantilevered balcony miraculously balanced in the treetops. What was below? Nothing— nothing for thousands of feet.

Gulliver shook his head. “All gone . . . everything above the top of the stairs.”

“Did you find him?”

“Yes, the next morning. They say the fall killed them instantly.”

Them? “Who else?”

“Mr. Euclid.”

Together. Having a drink, watching the sunset dapple the hills, the burnished snows. Together savoring the last light of the day . . . the last light for eternity.

“Anyone else? What about his father?”

“He has been dead for more than three years.”

Yes, I felt as if I had known that all along. Just as I had sensed something had happened to Silas the moment I had heard the quake had reached Darjeeling. I should have followed my instincts more. From the moment we had met, I had perceived Silas was the wrong man, as I had sensed instantly that Edwin was the right one. What else? I had never trusted Amar. I had felt Travancore would be a mistake from the moment the Orchid House was offered. What else? Since childhood I had known there was something devious about Aunt Bellore, and something amiss as soon as Uncle Samuel began to act in Uncle Saul's stead. The confirmation found in the altered totals was merely the black-and-white proof of a far deeper knowledge.

The unpleasant memories wove in and out of my grasp like a moth in the moonlight. I blinked my eyes. Gulliver was standing before me straight and proud.

“Gulliver, you must be tired and hungry. Please, come in and have a rest.” I looked around for Hanif. He stood in the shadows awaiting my instructions. “Take this old friend and make him comfortable.”

“Yes, memsahib.”

Aaron wiggled down. “Hello.” He gave Gulliver a shy smile.

“This is your son,” Gulliver said softly.

“Yes.”'

“May I ask, where are the other two?”

The question stunned me. How could he have known about the “twins? “They are upstairs. You shall meet them later, but who told you about them?”

“The sahib,”' he said matter-of-factly.

“But. . . ?”

“He always reported how you were doing. From time to time there were messages from the family of your father's wife.”

“Oh!” Zilpah's relations must have kept Silas informed about my marriage, my travels, my children, and probably my troubles. Silas might have known about the
Luna Sassoon
, about Free School Street, and what else? I hoped he had known how content I was with Edwin, and wished I had been able to learn that his life had been as satisfactory. It was too late now. . . . Tears streamed down my face unexpectedly.

“Gulliver, I am sorry, this has been a shock. I need time alone.” As I backed toward the parlor, Yali came forward and scooped Aaron into her arms. Hanif escorted Gulliver away.

The poor man, I thought as I sank into the nearest chair and covered my eyes with my hands. My tears could not blot Gulliver's tragic face. Nor the image of Silas, of Silas and Euclid, of Silas and Euclid talking together, feeling a tremor, staring with surprise and then horror as the bottom fell away . . . away . . . Over and over I replayed the scene. First they were standing, smiling; then they were two bodies pinned under piles of debris. The suspended seconds when they must have known their fate were too harrowing to contemplate. Had they died on impact? Might they not have been conscious for minutes or hours? The rescuers could not have known whether they suffered or not. They had said that to comfort the relatives. . . .

I saw scenes moving in front of me as though I were watching from a long distance off. Nepalese and Tibetan natives climbing down the ravine, lifting timbers, branches, using tree trunks like fulcrums to move boulders. I pictured Gulliver pushing through the crowd, clawing at the earth, and pulling Silas away. A jagged edge of a branch ripped Gulliver's sleeve. Mud dripped onto his cap as he lifted Silas' broken body from the soggy earth. Had he told me this? No! Yet the image was as real as a burning beacon.

What else did I know?

I found my tears had dried. I looked around the shabby room with its child-stained chintzes, ragged carpet, broken ornaments piled in boxes. This would not be my home for long. It had never been my home. Free School Street was but a stop on the journey—as were Xanadu and Jew Street and the Cochin cottage and Orchid House. Where would we live next? My mind focused on Theatre Road, but that was illogical. The knowledge would come.

I heard footsteps behind me. When I turned, I saw Hanif was waiting. “The man would like to speak to you again. He says he cannot eat or rest until he delivers his message.”

Was there more? “All right, Hanif.”

Gulliver appeared in the doorway. “Mr. Luddy sent me to you. He told me that if anything happened to him I was to come to you.”

“And so you have, Gulliver. I am thankful you told me yourself.”

“You do not understand, memsahib. I am to stay with you.”

“Oh, Gulliver, that is impossible. My home is now Calcutta. You would miss your people.”

“That is not important to me. It is my duty.”

“But, Gulliver, as you can see, we already have a bearer. This is a small household. Don't worry, if you want to stay in Calcutta, I can find you a position.”

“I will work only for you,” he said resolutely. I had forgotten how fine-boned and sensitive his face was. I hadn't meant to hurt him. My heart pounded as he added simply, “I can live on my own. Mr. Luddy provided for me.”

There was no use protesting. The gentle servant had no place to go. When he had overcome his own grief, we could settle the matter. “Very well, Gulliver. We'll make the necessary arrangements later. Is there anything else, or do you think you now could take that well-deserved rest? You must have been traveling for several days.”

“Yes, there is another matter. I was told to come to you and ask you to attend to something without delay.”

“What do you mean?”

“Many years ago Mr. Luddy sent you a bureau. Do you still have it?”

The bureau? For a moment I was puzzled. The Clive desk! “Yes, certainly.”

“Will you take me to it?”

“It is not here.” I had never moved it from my room at Theatre Road and now I wondered why. Cochin had been too far, Travancore too temporary. But why not Free School Street? Because it had never felt like home, I reminded myself with the new clarity of vision the shock had bestowed. “I have kept it at my father's house.”

“May we go there now?”

“Is it that important?” I asked, and as I did so I knew it was. In a moment I had ordered a carriage, made arrangements for the children, and was on my way. Before leaving the house, I turned to Hanif. “Go to Mr. Salem at the office and tell him to meet me at Theatre Road at once.”

“Yes, memsahib,” he said with a bow.

As we rode past the ruined houses and littered lanes of Calcutta, I didn't know what was happening and yet I felt that Edwin should be at my side when I discovered the mystery of the Clive desk.