The Devil in Clevely (Afternoon of an Autocrat) (8 page)

Outside the pavilion they turned sharply and stood before a gate in the marble wall. Surunda opened it and said: 'There are stairs; go with care.'

She recognised the place; it was the vast courtyard in which he kept his menagerie and it joined, at one point, the even larger court in which his elephants were stabled. Why was he bringing her here this afternoon? Perhaps, she thought, only half-mockingly, he intended to give her an elephant! Such a grotesque keepsake would be, somehow, in character. And one could have worse gifts. An elephant could carry all their baggage down to the coast, and would fetch a good price at the fort.

Surunda closed the gate and descended the stairs slowly, painfully. As he moved draggingly towards the first cage --the one which held the black-maned Nubian lion--she recalled that on the first occasion when he showed her his beasts he had been carried in a small litter, like a sedan chair. Thinking of this and the size of the yard, she said, as she would have said to any man, elderly or infirm: 'Would you like to take my arm? I'm really very strong.'

'No, no,' he said in the same testy voice, but this time the refusal was accompanied by a glance of...could it be?...disgust. She remembered that never once had he touched her, never shaken her hand, never shared a couch. Probably there was some law against it. Memories of childhood flashed back again, all those things in Genesis --'he shall be unclean for forty days'.

'I am managing.' Surunda said less crossly. 'I am slow, but there is light yet, and when the light goes there are torches.'

They passed the lion; and the long-necked, spotted giraffe; and the elephant that was here and not in the other courtyard because it had been born an albino; two striped wild horses from Africa; a reindeer which had been ailing on her previous visit and was now moribund; and an English hound dog with melancholy eyes.

The cages were much better built and cleaner than the hovels in which most of Surunda's subjects lived, the courtyard immeasurably better kept than any of the city streets, but the unmistakable, acrid odour of captivity was all about, a miasma of sadness. She thought of the Rajah's women, collected, held captive in much the same way. Then she shrugged the thought aside. Why should I pity them? Am I free, who chose my own gaoler?

They came to the archway which led to the elephant stables; they passed on. So it is not to be an elephant. Have I lost my sense of direction and are we in reality taking a short cut to some part of the palace? Perhaps a pullet-egg ruby after all.

Beyond the arch. the bird cages lay. Surunda, panting from exertion, had not breath for speech and passed the birds as he had passed the animals, almost without a glance. Linda, from a mixture of politeness and interest, looked for the second time at the tall ostriches, the birds of paradise, the humming-birds brilliant and fragile as flowers, the lone, duck-billed platypus. She too was silent lest any comment should evoke a response for which breath would be grudged. But before the cage of the tiny birds which looked like blossoms she said, 'How beautiful!'

"Wait. Until now you are seeing nothing.' In front of the last cage he paused, moved the stick forward and leaned on it with both hands. 'The golden pheasants of China,' he said simply. There were two of them; and even upon eyes so lately dazzled by the humming-birds their beauty struck with a pang. About the disposition of their green and white, red and blue, yellow and bronze feathers there was a suggestion of deliberate artifice, as though upon the instinctive skill and prodigality of nature a more mature and cunning design had been imposed. By comparison the other birds were gaudy, the work of a happy haphazard child: these were from a master hand; and it seemed that they knew it, for in addition to their complete beauty there was a real dignity, a matchless grace.

Now she knew why he had brought her here; to show her his newest and loveliest acquisition. She said, without the care with which she ordinarily chose her words with him: 'They are the loveliest things I have ever seen in all my life.'

'I am glad,' he said. 'They are for you.' They had arrived only two days earlier. He had wanted them for years, just as he had wanted one of the tiny dogs with feathered tails which were also Chinese. It was very difficult indeed to get anything out of China. All China was closed to all trade, just as he had closed Kilapore to the Company's trade. Nothing came out of China by legal means. Some silk, some porcelain was smuggled out, because hungry peasants and avaricious merchants could lay hands on silk and porcelain; but the golden pheasants were to be found only in the gardens of the wealthy, and the little dogs were strictly the preserve of royalty. Surunda had wished, but he had never hoped to own a specimen of either rarity. Almost four years earlier he had done one of his minor Polygars a great favour, and when repayment was mentioned he had brushed it aside airily, saying, 'One day you may give me a Chinese pheasant, or one of the dogs of Pekin'; which was tantamount to saying, One day you shall give me the moon or a slice of a rainbow.

Yet, two days ago they had arrived, beautiful and dignified in a cage of wickerwork, with nothing to show that almost four years, a sum of money equivalent to two thousand English pounds, and the lives of five men had been expended upon their transportation from one place to another. And because they were new, and so beautiful, they were, of all his countless possessions, the things which Surunda held dearest on the afternoon when Linda Shelmadine came to say goodbye to him. And for that reason he must give them to her.

Earlier in the day he had, with an eye to choosing a 'gift for memory', taken stock of his treasures. He had opened, and then dived into, several chests, the contents of some well known to him, others which he had forgotten, if he had ever seen them--sapphires bluer than the sky; emeralds green as young corn; diamonds, pearls. He had tumbled them back, dissatisfied. He had given too many jewels to too many other women, even to dancing girls who had relieved an hour's tedium. A jewel was far too ordinary a gift to mark the end of a friendship so rare. And with that thought came the knowledge of exactly what was the apt, the suitable, in fact the only gift.

Now, looking at the beautiful birds, he was satisfied with the Tightness of the gesture. It did not occur to him to reflect that by tomorrow or by the next day the Chinese pheasants would have lost their novelty and therefore their charm for him. Nor did he wonder whether a pair of largish birds, however rare and beautiful, was, in a practical sense, exactly the right gift for a woman about to set out on a journey of several thousands of miles. Even the look of blank dismay on Linda's face did not enlighten him; he took it for astonishment at his munificence. She had a vision of the pheasants in their wicker basket on top of the jolting ox-wagon which would carry their luggage to the coast; she knew in anticipation the difficulty of finding a place to put them while they waited to take passage; and finally the picture of their arrival in London drifted before her inward eye--a drizzling day at the docks, the hackney coach in which they set off to look for a cheap lodging. We want accommodation for a married couple and two rare pheasants.

She felt the spasm of half-hysterical laughter in her throat. She took a small piece of the inner side of her cheek between her teeth and bit it hard. One emerald button that would never be missed...Oh, the irony of it! When she could trust her voice she said: 'It is most kind, most generous of you...and in keeping with the way in which you have always behaved to me; but I could not take anything so valuable, so rare. I thank you from my heart for wishing to give me such a present, but I cannot accept it. For one thing you could never replace them.'

'That is why,' he said simply. And the words revealed the full value of the offered gift. She recognised the element of self-sacrifice...She thought rashly, I don't care what Richard says; somehow I will take them back and I'll send them to his father, at Clevely. He may not wish to receive me, or Richard, but he could not resist such a gift. They'll be safe there.

She turned to Surunda and tried to express not only her gratitude for the gift but her awareness of the subtle honour it conferred. He cut her short before she had completed her first sentence.

'I am glad that they please you,' he said. He beckoned to one of the watchful, unobtrusive servants, and said a few words.

'They will be ready. It grows dark. We go this way.' He opened another door and she saw ahead of her a long passage, already lighted by torches, each held by a servant immobile and expressionless as a statue. Fitting her step to the Rajah's slow, limping pace, she passed along the length of it, prey to an emotion unfamiliar and without a name. It was like dying, this feeling of 'never more'. Surunda Ghotal would remain here, with his great possessions, warding off the encroachments of the Company, growing old, dying. And she would go on to whatever the future held for her. They would never, in this world, meet again.

The passage led straight back to the high wide hall which lay just behind the door at the top of the marble steps by which she had entered the palace less than an hour ago. She expected that here he would take leave of her; but he hobbled forward through the doorway and down --awkwardly, clumsily down--the flight of marble steps upon which he had never set foot since the day when he had started out upon the expedition which had resulted in his disablement. As he had said, the pheasants were ready; the wide wicker cage strapped into position beside the driver of the litter. The sudden dusk had fallen and more torches lighted the scene. At the foot of the steps the Rajah paused.

'It is now,' he said.

She could not speak. Her eyes were dry, but there were tears at the back of them; her lips moved, but from the painful constriction of her throat no sound would come. All she could do was to reach out with her mittened hand. Surunda Ghotal moved his stick from his right hand to his left and reached out his hand. Linda took it and they stood so for a moment.

Then he said, 'Go in peace.'

She tried to say, 'You also', but no words came, and she turned and hurried to the litter as though seeking shelter.

The Rajah stood and watched as the horses, under the whiplash, plunged forward. The men who had been hovering came forward with his chair and he sat down heavily and allowed himself to be carried up the steps. At the top the torchlight fell on his face, and anyone bold enough to look at him would have seen that his eyes and the heavy discoloured pouches below them were damp. But nobody saw; it would have been highly unwise to be witness to a moment of weakness in so stern and terrible a man.

'Well, and what glittering prize did that bit of bum-sucking gain for you, my pretty?'

'A pair of very rare, very valuable pheasants.'

Richard's laugh, thin and high and sneering, rang out, jangling her nerves until it was difficult not to cry 'Stop it I' and scream.

'Serve you bloody well right,' Richard said. 'And what do you propose to do with this loot? Have a feast of the Passover?'

There'd been a time when she would have said simply, 'Oh, but you wouldn't kill them,' and that would have been his cue and the birds' death sentence.

'Such a meal is hardly for the likes of us,' she said lightly. 'They're worth their weight in gold. They're Chinese, the only ones ever to be seen outside China. Plainly destined for Windsor, or Chatsworth--five hundred pounds the pair!'

As always, the mention of money arrested his attention.

'So valuable?' he asked incredulously and roused himself to go out and look at the birds.

'Now I wonder why His Fatness should give them to you,' he said.

She knew the answer. 'Because he is so rich that when he wanted to give a present that would cost something he was like a pauper; he could only give me the one thing he valued at the moment.' But that was not a thing one could say to Richard.

She said, 'Part of the general lack of reality. He'd have no idea what trouble ...' Inspiration visited her. 'Or perhaps he had! Perhaps he wanted to give you trouble.'

That was enough.

'Ha ha!' Richard said. 'I shall make no trouble of it. No trouble at all, and possibly a profit.'

She knew then that the pheasants were safe. Another small victory, at the price of another enormous betrayal. She turned away, sickened by the thought of what she had become. 

Sunset of a Philanderer

At first Damask thought that, after all, God meant to let her off lightly. Amos came home almost an hour before he was expected.

He wore an unfamiliar look, more unfamiliar than could be accounted for by the fact that he was wearing his chapel suit; his face was smooth and lightened with joy.

'I bring great tidings,' he said, as soon as he was inside the kitchen. 'It was decided this afternoon to build a chapel in Clevely.'

Neither his wife nor his daughter was capable, at that moment, of fully sharing his joy. To Mrs Greenway, now more or less house-bound, a chapel at Clevely and a chapel at Nettleton five miles away were much the same; and Damask was preoccupied with the matter of the Squire's unfinished boots. She knew this to be unworthy, however, and tried to force herself to enthusiasm. 'Where is it to stand, Father?' she asked. 'On Abel Shipton's little back meadow, the one they call the Flat Iron; he've promised the narrer end where Mrs Shipton hev kept her ducks. You know.' Amos said, glowing with honest self-abasement, 'I've wronged Abel Shipton in my mind many a time! Over and over again when a chapel in Clevely hev been mentioned I've thought him lukewarm in the Lord's cause not to offer a morsel of ground, he being the only one that could, no other Methodist being his own landlord. However, today he did so and there'll be a chapel in Clevely at last!'

It had been his dream for many years. The chapel at Nettleton served the six parishes and was large enough to accommodate all its members, so that at first sight there might not appear to be a crying Heed for one at Clevely; but when Amos thought of the six villages he could see one lighted and five in darkness. He would look around on Sunday evenings and count--ten souls from Nettleton, four from nearby Minsham, three, two, one or none from distant places, himself and Abel Shipton the only representatives of Clevely. Five miles was a long way to walk for old people, or children, or those who were not yet fully persuaded. He was certain that if he could build a chapel in Clevely he could make converts; if he could kindle the light people would gather around it.