Flowers in the Blood (70 page)

“I suppose my plan for Dinah to be there might have been too soft,” Raphael interjected gracefully. “Ladies have been coming for many months now, so there was no novelty.”

“Right,” Edwin agreed. “Samuel could have dismissed her as another gawker, but he could not dismiss a direct bid from me.” He gave Raphael an embarrassed shrug. “I know I was a bad boy. Honestly, I could not find a fault in my plan, especially if I arrived late in the morning, after the attack was under way.”

Raphael smiled like a teacher recognizing a worthy pupil. “Splendid idea. I should have thought of it myself.”

“And it worked!” Awad Meyer pounded Edwin on the back. “I thought I was going to see the Benares top grade go for over two thousand. Historic highs! Did you notice Haythornthwaite? He turned every color of the rainbow.” He laughed heartily.

“The boy should put in for a bonus,” Jardine added with a wink to me.

Did I believe Edwin's tale? I mulled over his reasoning and decided the act had been more impulsive, less calculated, than Edwin had admitted. Fortunately, the result had been successful.

The circles broke up as everyone congratulated one another. My father moved into a corner along with Uncle Reuben and Uncle Ezra, and several of the next generation, including Mir and Nathaniel, stood on the outskirts listening. In the front of the chamber, Edwin signed some documents for Mr. MacGregor. Zilpah and I waited to see where we would be going next. To avoid a public confrontation with my husband, I kept away from him, studiously watching the faces of my uncles as they absorbed the scope of the Lanyados' crimes. Then, one by one, they turned to stare at me.

My face burned as if a hot light had been focused on me. A queer sensation, like a tug from a source far removed from my volition, propelled me toward my father. I felt myself resisting this unbidden urge. If I hesitated, I would be cementing my place as a dutiful daughter. If I moved forward, I staked my claim. Rigid with indecision, I swerved my neck slightly to catch Edwin's whereabouts. From the other end of the room his eyes were on me, but he did not move in my direction.

He should be at my side! We should be approaching them together. I did not want to make another mistake. Should I go to my husband and bring him along with me? No, that would be patronizing. Shouldn't he take my arm and insist I cross the chasm, or did he think this was something I had to do on my own? Maybe he was so furious he chose not to join me in this moment of triumph. The crucial seconds ticked by with the pounding of my heart.

As I straightened my shoulders, the high officer collar on my gown pinched my neck. With an enormous effort I steadied my head so the ostrich feathers would not tremble. Then I crossed the emptying auction room. The plum satin trim on my gown shone like a puddle of wine under the gleaming lights of the chandelier.

My uncles and cousins stood in respectful silence. Even my father did not speak at first. “We should adjourn to Kyd Street,” I said in the slow, clipped way in which I gave instructions when I was nervous.

“Before supper?” Uncle Reuben asked with polite surprise, but there was no challenge to his tone.

“We cannot rest until a few loose ends are tied,” I replied more steadily.

“Yes, of course you are right,” Uncle Ezra said, deferring to me.

After a hurried discussion of who would travel with whom, I climbed into an office jaun with my father and Gulliver, while Zilpah had commandeered Edwin, promising to meet us there.

My father lay back and unbuttoned his collar. His breathing was strident, his flesh moist. We did not speak for we both knew he needed to rest.

When we approached the house where he had been born, I broke the silence. “Are you certain you are up to this, Papa? It could wait until tomorrow . . .”

“No, you were right, we must resolve it now.”

“One more question, Papa. May I assume Jonah will inherit Theatre Road?”

My father nodded sadly. “By rights the property goes to Jonah.”

“Certainly it does. Don't apologize. I needed to know for certain,” I said, curious as to why I was baffled by this natural course of events. For some reason I had imagined myself living there again. Perhaps many people dream of inhabiting their childhood homes as adults in charge instead of as dependents, I decided as I put the whim aside.

Gulliver assisted my father down, buttoned his shirt, and dusted his jacket. My father stumbled on the steps, but the Gurkha caught him and took his arm. I plunged ahead toward the one uninviting lamp that burned by the door. And as I crossed the threshold into the gloomy colonnaded hall, I knew I had crossed over into a new phase of my life.

47

 

B
randy and soda, Bombay gin and tonic, bottles of imported Scotch as dear as liquid gold, decanters of sherry and port, bottles of lemonade, and crystal glasses were reflected in the mirrored sideboard in the Lanyados' dining room. Bowls of fruit, vases of flowers, and silver platters of pastries and savories had been readied. But not for us. A very different set of guests for a very different celebration had been expected.

For half an hour we had milled about in the entrance hall waiting for everyone to reconvene. The bearer's entreaties that we take seats in the parlor had been ignored. Nobody turned down the offer of cocktails, though, and soon most of my relatives were fortifying themselves. When everyone had been accounted for, I marched them into the dining room because the long formal table—center of so many Passover seders and Sabbath suppers and family transitions—seemed the place to congregate.

The news had gone out rapidly. Almost everyone was there: my father and Zilpah, Jonah and Asher from my family; Uncle's Saul's son Adam; Uncle Reuben and his sons Noah and Nathaniel; Uncle Ezra and his son, Sayeed; Jacob's Mir and Yedid. Aunt Bellore and Uncle Samuel, of course. Curiously absent were Gabriel Judah, his wife, Sultana, and Lulu Lanyado. Edwin and I milled about on the fringes while the family was seated amid coughing and sputtering and the creaking of chairs. Suddenly the room fell silent. There were two seats left: one in the center of the table near the festive sideboard, the other at the head of the table.

With an expansive gesture to the far end, Edwin said, “Come sit here, Dinah.”

The expectant faces of my family clouded like those at the end of a dream. Edwin had stepped past me to the high carved chair that had once belonged to the patriarch of our family: Moses Sassoon. I held my breath tightly in check, trying not to cry. The click of my heels echoed in the room. With a flourish and a bow, Edwin pulled out the chair. Did everyone realize he was playacting? I looked up. No one was smiling. There was not a single expression of scorn or displeasure. At the far end, Aunt Bellore's face was a blank page ready to be written on by my words. Her husband seemed dazed, as though he did not know what was going on. Was he ill? Had he really suffered an attack in the auction hall? No, I realized he was drunk.

My father half-stood on wobbly legs. Leaning on the table, he began, “My daughter Dinah has agreed to explain the extraordinary events of the day.” He was interrupted by a spate of coughing. With some difficulty he cleared his throat. “Then, as a family, I believe we have some very serious decisions to undertake.” Zilpah pushed him back in his seat.

With a nod to Edwin, who had seen that I had this place at the head of the table, I returned the favor. “My husband,” I began, infusing the word “husband” with a halo of respect, “is the one you must thank. Without his alertness, the fact that someone was robbing our company might have gone undiscovered. Since the older records are in storage, we do not know the full extent of the loss, but as a preface to what we must do next, Edwin will explain the details of the altered accounts.”

Everyone turned his attention to Edwin, who had come prepared with a list of our discoveries. In a businesslike manner he began to explain the trail of missing money and how the deed had been accomplished. Only Aunt Bellore, the woman whom throughout my life I had most feared, seemed distracted. She could not stop gawking at me.

For a few seconds I squirmed under her gaze like a child. Then, as a terrible monsoon sky clarifies after a downpour, my mind sharpened. And possibly for the first time I saw myself from a long way off, as a newcomer might. It was as if there had always been two of me: twin sisters—one dark and difficult, one light and intelligent. I realized that many of my negative self-images had stemmed from Bellore's disapproval. She had disdained my height because it demonstrated a superiority her daughters did not have, so throughout my life I had seen my tallness as ungainly. My position at Theatre Road—the house Bellore had always coveted—the love of my father, Grandmother Flora, Grandmother Helene, and others had also upset her. Even my horrifying discovery of my mother's body had singled me out as special. Though I was bereft, lonely, lost in the world of ideas and books, my aunt had seen me as aloof and arrogant. Though I did not comprehend how she could have envied my childhood or my sad marriage to Silas, the fact was that—despite her wishes to the contrary—neither had harmed me permanently. Then my alliance with Edwin had brought a palpable joy we had flaunted, once again inciting her ire. And certainly our three sons could spawn covetousness in a woman who had no living grandchildren yet.

Relentlessly Edwin read off the figures. “. . . At least ten lacs were missing from the shipping ledgers, and then we turned to the disbursements to foreign agents,” he continued steadily.

Proudly I watched his angular jaw, his somber eyes, his magnificent brow. From Bellore's perspective I had it all: the ideal family, the inherited wealth, the newfound maturity, the power earned by triumph over transgression. In her tormented eyes she was not condemning me, but admiring me—if grudgingly.

There I sat, tall and proud, from my purple satin slippers to the luxurious ostrich feathers on my hat, at the head of one of the most important families in Calcutta, if not India. Two days earlier my pride would have been overweening, but ever since I had discovered Edwin's nasty secret, I conceded that the reality of our perfect life was a gossamer curtain that could be dissolved by the pull of a silken cord. If only Aunt Bellore knew . . . But she won't, I vowed. My penetrating stare made the woman at the other end of the table cringe. So this was the moment I had waited for all these years. I wondered if retribution” would taste as sweet as I hoped it would. Perhaps it was wrong, perhaps it showed a flaw in my character, but I could not wait for my time to speak, my turn to grind that husk of a human being into dust!

Edwin had finished. Everyone turned to me. They seemed a long way off, as though I had suddenly sighted them from the wrong end of the telescope. For some unexplained reason I reached up, removed my hat, and handed it to Gulliver. The tableau righted itself. My family was in perfect focus. And then I stood up.

 

“My husband has estimated that Sassoon and Company is short by at least twenty-six lacs—this year. Would you agree with that figure, Uncle Samuel?”

My uncle purpled under the scrutiny. “Well, I—”

His brother-in-law Ezra pounded the table. “Come now, you bloody
pukka badtnash
,” he cursed in two languages, “you might as well make this easier on yourself:—and us.”

“Your figures are not out of line,” he whispered hoarsely.

“And, from what we can deduce, today you spent about forty-five lacs in your futile attempt.”

Samuel covered his face with his hands and wept.

“Save your tears for the Bengali moneylenders.” I sat down and waited for him to look up. “How do you expect to cover the debt?” I asked sweetly. I leaned back in my chair. “At your
salary
it could take a hundred years. From this moment you are ruined. Isn't that correct, Uncle?”

His pitiful nod gave me no satisfaction.

“Then let us examine if there is any way to protect the family name despite this disgrace.” I glanced down the row of my relations. Their eyes were with me! I plunged on, “You have many debts to settle—with the Bengalis, with your brothers-in-law—but first, let us begin with those to me.”

I pointed to Aunt Bellore. “Please hold up your hand. No, not your left, your right. Yes. Now turn it and show everyone the ring on the middle finger. Does anyone recognize that ring? Does anyone recall that my Grandmother Flora's mother once wore it? And Flora gave it to Luna, her daughter—my mother. Does anyone remember Luna?” Several pairs of eyes looked away. “Aunt Bellore, do you think you could remove the ring and pass it along to me? Yes, I see that it is tight. It came from my mother's side of the family, not the Sassoons. It was never meant for your finger, was it?” My voice burst from the control I had been straining to maintain. “Was it?”

“ Aunt Bellore trembled so excitedly she could not remove the ring. I waited patiently while she dipped it into a glass of sherry to lubricate it. At last the ring was passed to me. I held it up. The large stone glowed with a tinge of pink among a circlet of smaller matched pearls. “This pearl was handed down in the Cohen family from my Great-Great-Grandfather Shalom, who was court jeweler to princes and maharajahs, including Ranjit Singh in the Punjab. One day the maharajah asked Shalom to appraise his most prized possession, the Koh-i-noor diamond. 'It is worthless,’ Shalom declared. As you might imagine, this enraged the ruler. Then my ancestor explained, 'The jewel can be secured only as a gift or by the shedding of blood, not by an exchange of currency.' This reply won the maharajah's favor.”

A murmur of approval went around the table, but Aunt Bellore's mouth was set in a grim line. “Did my mother give you this ring?” Bellore shook her head. “Did my mother leave you her pearls or any of her possessions by written or oral agreement?” Bellore shook her head again.

“She w-was k-keeping them for you,” Samuel stuttered.

My brother Jonah laughed. “That's preposterous.”

“How many other pieces are there?” Nobody answered. “I remember the necklaces with pearls as big as marbles, the double-strand bracelet that Sultana has, two or three smaller rings, a gold tiger brooch with emeralds for its eyes, and more. . . . Am I right?”

“I don't recall,” Bellore replied in a surly manner. I wanted to lash out at her, to scream, but held myself in check.

“What does this have to do with the problem at hand?” Cousin Noah asked foolishly. Must remember to use him in the business sparingly, I thought, making a mental note.

“Please allow me a personal indulgence. My family's jewels may not be the Koh-i-noor, but they are priceless to me. Since I did not receive them as a gift and since I am not violent by nature, I must demand their return. In any case, I am as entitled to recover my mother's stolen possessions as the company is to recover its losses, especially since it was my personal guarantee to cover the overbids that saved the situation.” Perhaps I sounded overbearing, but I did not care. The respect that registered on the faces of those who did not yet know that fact was immensely satisfying.

“I'll be brief with the private portion of this business.” I rose to my feet again. “Aunt Bellore, I want everything that belongs to me returned at once. That includes the jewels you own and the ones you gave to your daughters.”

“That's impossible,” Bellore moaned. “Abigail is in France—”

“France is not the far side of the moon. Tomorrow you will deliver the jewels that are in Calcutta, plus a note listing missing items and swearing to their timely return.”

Bellore bowed her head in defeat, but that was not enough. “Do you agree?”

“Yes, I do,” she muttered.

“Good. That makes the next part simpler. Now, Uncle Samuel, we have estimated that today you have purchased something in the area of twenty-five to twenty-seven hundred chests. Is that correct?”

“I am not certain.”

“Refer to the receipt in your breast pocket if you must,” Edwin said contemptuously.

With a stare of astonishment at Edwin's audacity, my uncle fumbled for the document. “There were two thousand, six hundred and forty.”

My own guess had been only sixty off. My spine tingled. How right I had been from the first! Ever since my promise to go along with my intuition, everything had fallen into place. Well, almost everything, I reminded myself so I would not explode with arrogance.

Edwin, pen in hand, boldly scribbled a series of calculations on the linen cloth. “We will purchase your chests for seven hundred rupees each.”

“What? You are a thief!”

“No,” Edwin reminded him gently. “You are.”

“But I paid more than
seventeen
hundred for many of them,” Samuel sputtered.

“With stolen Sassoon money and usurious credit.”

It was as if Samuel hadn't heard Edwin. “You spurred the price to record highs, you—”