Flowers in the Blood (65 page)

“I wonder if I should be jealous.”

“Edwin, he's here to protect us both.”

“Nonsense. If I go to the left and you to the right, Gulliver follows you.”

“I wouldn't care if he followed you.”

Edwin laughed. “He's no fool. Besides, I feel better knowing you have him as a shadow.”

“Why? You have never worried about my safety before.”

“Silas was not stupid. Everyone knows about your inheritance. The money has placed you in danger.”

“That's absurd. How is this any different from being the daughter of Benu Sassoon?”

Edwin shook his head. “I don't know, but I have a sense there is a change. Even your Uncle Samuel has never been nicer.”

“That's because he expects you will be leaving the firm.”

“That's what everyone thinks. What they don't know will hurt them!”

“First things first,” I reminded him. “Let's settle the Luddy business and then we can make our plans.”

 

The trip to Darjeeling brought memories both bitter and sweet. Not much had changed in seven years. Even the town, perched on the ridge, seemed unaltered from a distance. Up close the fissures in the plaster walls, the piles of chimney brick beside the houses, the incessant clanging of hammers, and the diminished holiday population were reminders of the disaster. Like Calcutta, Darjeeling had suffered a surprisingly small loss of life. The tremors had hit at a propitious time of day: after tea and before supper. If everybody had been in bed, many more would have been killed by countless collapsing roofs. The few casualties were the result of sad coincidences: an unfortunate passerby who was hit by a falling awning, two children trampled by a runaway horse, burns from overturned stoves, and the terrible plunge of the eccentrically perched Xanadu Lodge.

Gala's husband, Harold Ezekiel, and Gracia's husband, Israel Cohen, met us at the door to the Luddy offices. Their congenial greetings did nothing to allay my suspicions the meeting would be unpleasant. We were led to the conference room, where a sumptuous tea was set out. Six uniformed bearers wearing bright sashes that matched the various colored labels on the green tins manned six silver teapots, each marked with the name of a Luddy blend.

Once the tea was poured and introductions made, Harold cleared his throat. “We want you to know that it is our intention to cooperate with you in every way possible.”

“Thank you,” I responded, even though his words had been directed in Mr. Woodruff's direction. “Before we attend to the specific items that must be settled, I would like to know if you intend to challenge Silas Luddy's will.”

Harold shot a glance at Israel. Israel, the older of the two, spoke so softly I had to strain to catch his first words. “Since you have been frank in asking the question, I will tell you the idea was discussed and we did receive advice that we might have a case. Yet how would that improve our position? Years might pass before the estate was settled, and in that time irreparable harm might be done to the business. And if we lost, the enmity that would have built up would ruin our ability to cooperate with you.”

“Besides,” Harold interjected more forcefully, “you have seen the figures. There is more than enough to go around. You do have fifty percent, but if we vote our shares together, we could block anything you tried to do. The best way to push forward is to work together for everyone's benefit.”

With this announcement a great weight was lifted from my mind. I smiled at the two men whom I had hardly known because of the distance Silas had placed between himself and his family. Long ago my father had admired Maurice Luddy's acumen at running a family business gracefully. Considering the morass in the Sassoon Company, I thought his achievement was even more remarkable. I wondered what difference it would have made, for instance, if Bellore's husband had been given a share from the beginning.

“Where are Silas' sisters?”

“Here. They want to visit you after the business concerns are settled,” Harold replied.

“Might you ask them in now? I know they have never been involved in the company, but what I have to say is as much a family matter as a financial one.”

Harold excused himself and returned with Gracia and Gala. I greeted them each with a handshake and introduced Edwin and the solicitor. Stiffly we returned to our seats. “First, let me say that I am as surprised by these developments as you—that is, if Silas did not warn you of his intentions.” Their furtive glances indicated they had expected a different outcome. “I do not believe I have any moral claim to the Luddy fortune. What happened between Silas and me was settled at the time our marriage was dissolved. I never felt he owed me anything, and I told him this on many occasions. However, it seems I have a valid legal claim. In his documents Silas has explained why he wanted me to have his share. Though you or I may argue with his reasoning, his messages do reflect his wishes. Even if I were to be foolish enough to relinquish this gift, Silas made it clear he did not desire to increase the shares of the members of his family. Any action I might take to remove myself from the company would bring an unknown third party into your midst. I do not think that I will be better—or worse—than someone else. My intention is to continue my life in Calcutta and to have the company run essentially as it has always been, with minimal interference from me. If, however, either or both of you would like to sell your shares, I would like a written agreement permitting me to make the first offer. If you would negotiate an option agreement to that effect, I would pay ten thousand rupees on signing.” I looked around the room. Gracia's knees were shaking. Gala was pale but composed. Edwin brushed his hair back to conceal the grin that was spreading across his face.

Israel stood up. “Since you have spoken so honestly and graciously, Mrs. Salem, let me open my heart to you. Ever since I married into the Luddy family, I have been treated like a beloved son. I grieved for Maurice as much as for my own father. In his lifetime, he was generous with both his money and his affection. I knew nothing about tea cultivation when I came into this business and I have learned as the company grew. Gala and I have a pleasant life in Darjeeling. Now that our children are older, we have been wanting to travel more, but that is the extent of our ambitions. You know the figures. You know there is more than enough wealth to sustain everyone. All the money in the world cannot purchase health or happiness. I don't think I speak out of turn when I say the greatest tragedy is that Silas was never able to find contentment. His appalling end was only the final pathetic chapter in a dismal life.”

His wife interrupted. “Israel, this is hardly the time—”

“When is the time if not now? For most of his life your brother was wretched. The reason we are here today is that Dinah gave him something the rest of us could not. We should be grateful to her for that. And from what has transpired thus far, I can see some of the reasons he placed so much faith in her.”

Edwin coughed to get everyone's attention. “Transitions are always confusing,” he began hesitantly. With my eyes I prodded him to stand. “This whole situation came as much of a shock to us as it did to you.” He shifted to face the sisters. “We have come to tell you that as long as you are not going to object to your brother's wishes, we are not going to alter anything. The tea company is doing splendidly. We are more than content with its present level of income, and we have become the beneficiaries of ample bank deposits as well. We are not going to sell off any tea-company assets. Later, after we learn more about the direction the tea markets are taking in general and the goals of the company in particular, we may have suggestions to contribute. For now, the status quo is the way to go.” He smiled at his silly rhyme and sat down.

After a cursory inspection of the landholdings, which Silas had extended when he came into his father's share, and a more thorough examination of the account books, Edwin and I returned to Calcutta, leaving the solicitors to transfer everything into my name. Xanadu had been declared a total loss. Nothing besides the bodies had been removed from the treacherous site. Thinking of Silas' paintings, books, and other precious collections, I financed an expensive salvage effort. “Take as much time and as many men as necessary. Move every timber and bring back anything of value,” I ordered. “Do what is required, as long as no lives are risked.” Eventually a portion of the treasures was recovered.

I directed that a simple platform with a sturdy railing be built over the exposed cellar, and mandated it be open to any pilgrim who wished to make darshan or tourist who wanted to view the snows. A wooden plaque noting this had been the site of Xanadu Lodge, the home of Silas Luddy, was placed where the balcony had once stood. Underneath was carved the Wordsworth quotation that had come with the Clive desk:

Every gift of noble origin

Is breathed upon by Hope's perpetual breath.

Nobody would ever live near Tiger Hill again.

44

 

E
dwin and. I and, of course, Gulliver, returned to Calcutta victorious. We could not wait to tell my father everything that had evolved and to get his advice on how to proceed. When we arrived at Theatre Road, however, we heard he was in the throes of another attack.

“The next time he is stable, we must speak to him,” I said to Edwin. He nodded glumly, for I had already told him that keeping Uncle Samuel's theft from my father had been a terrible strain for me.

“He is too weak. We'll have to wait.”

“We can't wait forever. People never recover from malaria entirely.”

“They gain strength between attacks,” Edwin said optimistically. “Soon he will be much better.”

“How can you be certain? The doctor says he has a very bad case. Every time he has a spell, other organs are affected. His heart is weak . . .”

“That is why we must manage this without him. The shock might be too much. Together we can work this out, if you think you can put your prejudices about opium aside and work with me on the solution.”

Prejudices! Is that what they were? In any case, whether the commodity were opium or tea or dung, the family's honor—and assets— had to be protected. Edwin, who had known about the problem longer than I, had formulated an ingenious idea about how to foil Uncle Samuel. All during our trip to Darjeeling, I had not been convinced it would work.

“I have been giving our plan some thought and have decided that we don't have to tell your father everything to get his counsel,” Edwin continued earnestly. “If he will help us with the auction, we can handle the rest on our own.”

“I don't know . . . He will become suspicious and demand an explanation for our queries,” I demurred.

“Haven't you seen how happy he is now that you have the Luddy estate? You are his oldest child. He wants you—he wants us both—to succeed.”

“Not at the expense of his brothers, or their children, or his other children.”

“Someone has to take charge before Samuel's stealing destroys everything. Without secrecy, none of this will work.”

No matter what I felt, there was no contradicting this point. “I suppose you are correct, Edwin,” I replied dejectedly.

“The next auction is only a few weeks away. If we are going to do it, there is no time to waste.”

 

“A contrived conspiracy to do business” was how my father described. the opium auctions to Edwin and me. Wrapped in a rug and wearing a cap on his head, even though the day was warm, my father sat on the sunny side of the rose garden and shivered. “The crown owns the Patna fields, always has, and always will, for this is how they control their share of the revenue,” he rambled on, telling us what we knew perfectly well, but once he started, he might clarify several areas we needed to understand more about. “What a brilliant system! The government grants licenses to ryots who apply for them, and—here is the key—they advance money for cultivators without interest. Does the crown do that for cotton or jute or potatoes or rice? No. Not a rupee do they give for any other agricultural purpose. Their condition has always been that every drop of juice the cultivator extracts from the poppy head must be delivered to the government agent at a price set by the government. Now, why do we get involved at this stage even though we don't own any part of the fields or crop?”

“Because the government pays by the pound weight,” Edwin filled in. “A pound of water or a pound of Patna's finest will bring the same three to four rupees.”

“Right. We supervise the ryots and the processors to have a voice in quality. If we didn't know who grew the poppy or how it was prepared, we would have no say over which lots we would want to purchase, and so the grades would decline.” His cheeks pinked, his eyes brightened. His enthusiasm for his subject had overcome his debility for the time being. “But is that the extent of the government's participation? Of course not. With a small extension of credit they not only own the crop, they have set the price. Do they bother grading, storing, shipping, or marketing the substance? Absolutely not! That is where we, the merchants, come in. Every chest of opium finds its way to the periodic auctions in Calcutta. Here the British don't exactly set the final price, they control their revenues by placing a reserve and then taking an excise tax on the final sale price to profit from any upswing in the market. Clever, eh?” As he began to cough, Edwin handed him a glass of water.

When he recovered, he continued, but with less zest than before. “Now, the reserve price means they will not sell below a figure, minimizing any loss. The excise tax guarantees they will not be cut out of the proceeds. The way we merchants win is by creating favorable trading conditions with our customers. If we buy carefully, assure a fine product that sells for the top price, and control the flow to sustain the high rate, we make money. If the market becomes flooded and the price drops below our costs—which includes that minimum price, the crown's taxes, the costs of doing business, shipping, Chinese taxes, and more—we lose. On paper it seems simple enough, but out there, whether in the fields of Patna or the warehouses of Hong Kong, only the smart ones survive.”

As he finished, his voice cracked with the strain of talking, and I rolled my eyes at Edwin to warn him against going on. He avoided me, however. “Tell us more about the auctions.”

“Not now,” I said, since he hadn't heeded my gesture. “Maybe tomorrow we—”

“Nonsense. How tired can I get sitting about all day?” my father asked, throwing off the rug. “Another drink . . .”

Edwin poured from a pitcher of lemonade laced with quinine. Papa took a few sips, then spat in the grass. “Too bitter. Water!”

I passed the water. With the covers removed I could see how badly his body had wasted. His wrists were smaller than mine and his skin sagged on his upper arms. Once he had emptied the glass, he looked up. “Now, what do you want to know?”

“Does the reserve price change, and is it made public?” Edwin asked.

“Yes and no. Yes and no.” He grinned. “Remember what I said about a conspiracy.”

“They don't tell you, but you have ways of finding it out.”

“Very good deduction, Edwin.” My father's eyes twinkled out from his gaunt face.

Maybe I was wrong. Maybe this was the medicine Papa required.

“The reserve never varies by more than ten percent, even less if one studies the seasonal aspects of the price,” he said excitedly. “There are tables for the last ten years. We research the average for the previous auctions in, say, August, and then use other figures to pinpoint the price.”

“What other figures, Benu?”

“Why do you want to know?”

“Curiosity,” I said, to deflect his suspicion from Edwin.

“Well, you will have to be curious a bit longer. Several clerks work diligently to estimate what it will be on each lot. The total number of chests coming to auction is one factor, as are quality and certain climactic variables. Anyway, the question is academic and has no bearing on your participation in the company.” After a few seconds he gave each of us a sly smile. “Tell me, what are you two scheming to do?”

I laughed to distract him. “Now, Papa, aren't you the suspicious one?”

“What do you think we are going to do?” Edwin asked smoothly.

“I suspect you want to bid for a few lots on your own. You. think that is the way you will garner a share of the opium trade for yourself. Why bother? If I were you, I would get as far away from the Sassoon enterprises as I could and concentrate on the Luddy situation. You have more than you will ever need as it is, although you could develop it into an even more substantial pile for the sake of your children.” He gave Edwin a piercing look as he continued: “I know a man your age has personal scores to settle. These last years in Calcutta have not been easy, my son, but you have weathered the difficulties admirably. You can leave with your head high.”

“If we make an attempt, what harm could there be?” Edwin asked.

“Samuel Lanyado tried it five years ago, but it got him nowhere.”

My eyebrows lifted at this news, but Edwin seemed to know all about it and asked simply, “Why?”

“Let me explain what happens next. None of us merchants want to give the crown more than we have to, thus we have a gentleman's agreement, called 'lot division,' designed to hold the price down. This ensures that we aren't bidding against each other and thereby inflating the price. If we were, the government could try tricks of their own: keeping some lots back to make a false shortage, flooding the market with poorer grades. As it is, one company bids for a lot at the lowest, fairest price—calculated to beat the reserve—and then it is split among the others by proportions determined previously, based on investment levels.”

“I see. Therefore, in order to even stay in the auction, one has to make an agreement beforehand for a portion of the lots.”

“That is correct, Dinah.”

“How is that done?” Edwin wondered.

“It isn't. The same dealers have controlled the business since my father's time. There is no reason to permit outsiders to change the system and enormous reason to prevent their success at all costs.”

“What did Uncle Samuel try to do?” I asked in a way I hoped seemed nonchalant.

“He had saved enough to buy a substantial number of lots. He wasn't foolish enough to bid for himself, so he hired an agent through a middleman. However, the secret could not be kept, and everyone knew that when the agent bid for a lot, Samuel's money was behind a portion of it. The others cleverly bid those lots up, not enough to seem unusual, but enough to make his the highest-priced chests of the day. Then they refused to lot-split. Your uncle was left with the most expensive opium. This would not have been so bad if he could have sold directly in China, but like many others, he underestimated what went on at the other end. There was no way he could manage without another middleman. This drove his price out of the range of the marketplace. He took a loss on every chest.”

“Poor Uncle Samuel.” I laughed. “How did he cover the losses?”

“He must have taken loans. He didn't come crawling to the family, at least not for money. There were some—I won't say who—that did not want him to stay in the firm afterward. Your Uncle Saul insisted he stay because the Sassoons had, not been harmed by his shenanigans and he had been taught a lesson. Since that time, Bellore has tightened the purse strings at Kyd Street and they undoubtedly have recovered.”

“Do you think he would attempt it again?” Edwin wondered.

“There is a difference between foolishness and lunacy.”

“Aren't there any conditions under which a new person could enter the opium market?” Edwin dared.

Unwilling to see my father's reaction to this confrontation, I focused my gaze on a nearby bush bursting with yellow roses.

Watchful as ever, my father straightened his back and swung his legs down from the settee. “Dinah!” As I turned toward him, he patted the cushion. “Dinah, come sit beside me.” Crooking a bony finger at my husband, he commanded, “Edwin, sit here too.” Once Edwin had slid into the other seat, Papa went on, “Yes is the answer to your question. If someone had considerable resources to throw into the wind, one could outbid for most of the lots at a single auction. Then, for a short time, the winner would control the price. If that company had agents in place to handle the shipping and sales in China, they might make a profit. One thing about opium is there is always an anxious group of customers on the other end Who are not willing to wait until the price drops before they buy. But where would that get the newcomer in the long run? To prevent a monopoly, the auctions are held frequently. With the money they had saved, the other merchants would rush in and buy up the next stock of chests. I would guess they would be so irate at what had occurred, they might try any number of tricks to hurt the upstart.” He squeezed my hand tightly and stared from me to my husband. “Listen to me, Dinah and Edwin, and listen well. I don't know what you two have been thinking, but you must never use your Luddy funds to try a run on the auction.

First, it won't work. Second, you promised the Luddy sisters you would leave their tea holdings intact. Third, you don't require more than you already have. And if that isn't enough, I shall have to remind you the last time you made an impetuous investment, it landed on the bottom of the sea—where much opium has also ended up, by the way.”

As he pressed my hand to his lips and kissed it, tears welled in my eyes. “I am a very sick man, Dinah. I cannot pretend that I will be around to protect you or the others for much longer. You can't imagine how much lighter my heart has been since Silas left you his shares. Promise me that you will be judicious in the future.”

“Yes, Papa,” I said, and Edwin nodded also.

He closed his eyes and leaned back against Edwin. “Is that a promise?” This question was directed at me.

I stared at my pitiful father. His cheeks were sunken, his lips parched. Only the husk of the vibrant man remained. “I promise to act responsibly now and in the future.”