and courage as well. She, and not poor delicate Freddy, should have been the boy, of course; but what was the use in regretting what was? Alexa was no longer a girl but a grown young woman—an attractive young woman too, with a kind of aura about her that made her somehow unique, although she herself was as yet quite unaware of this special quality in herself that would always cause her to be noticed and singled out wherever she went. She was still quite immature, for all of her book-knowledge and education and that quick mind of hers. But there was so much potential there! Potential he had helped to nurture and had hoped to see realized some day if only…Well, what was the point in thinking about it now? His doctors had decreed otherwise, and mortal man cannot circumvent fate. So be it! At least he had been able to arrange that she’d always have enough money, so that she need never have to feel herself obligated to sell herself on the marriage market, even when Freddy inherited. Beyond that, his greatest hope was that when she was ready she would find the right kind of man for her—one she could converse with, who would appreciate her intelligent mind and free spirit and love her for what she was and not for what he thought he could make her into.
Sentimental old fool! You can only do the best you can and hope for the rest; and since you won’t be around to see how it turns out in the end, there’s no use worrying about it, is there? Clearing his throat fiercely, Sir John relit his cigar and dragged on it far too deeply, forgetting his doctor’s orders. Even though he had chosen an exceptionally mild one, it made him cough, and he swore inwardly. When he looked up at last after his coughing fit had ended, Sir John realized with disgust that his butler was hovering over him while pretending to rearrange everything on the silver tray in an ostentatiously significant manner that obviously called for comment.
“Well?” Sir John grumbled testily. “And what the devil d’you think you’re up to, fiddling about like that? If you’ve anything to say to me, be out with it!”
Velu, who had run his master’s house in Colombo for over fifteen years, merely turned down the corners of his mouth with a look of patent disapproval.
“I hear doctor say only half cigar, and much better Master take no cigar!” And then, noting indications of an imminent explosion, Velu went on hastily and with some relish, “But I come to tell Master that it is better, maybe, that Master retire to Study Room with door locked? Ladies make many arguments and the big lady is very angry. With mouth open like this…”
Velu’s imitation of Mrs. Langford actually left speechless for a change tempted Sir John to chuckle, and he was not able to compose his features quickly enough to prevent the sharp-eyed Velu from noticing his mouth twitch before he said drily: “I see. And I won’t ask you how many times you invented excuses to go in there, you old rascal, but I’m sure you didn’t miss anything, did you, eh? What of the young ladies?”
“Ah…” Velu rolled his eyes with pretended concern. “Big lady’s young missy crying and our missy Alex she smile but speaking sharp like knife. Good thing she have no knife or gun or maybe I think big lady be dead! Too bad!”
“I won’t ask how that last pithy statement was meant to be taken,” Sir John said after he had cleared his throat loudly to cover his involuntary chortle. He added thoughtfully, “But I suppose you are right in suggesting that I’d do well to take myself off to my study, where I have urgent correspondence to deal with and must on no account be disturbed.”
As Velu sprang to pull back his chair, Sir John reflected with a grim kind of amusement that this was certainly the first time anyone could have accused him of running away from a battlefield. But under the circumstances, and in view of his decided partiality, there could be no question that in this case at least discretion was most definitely the better part of valor.
“Oh, and Velu…” Settled before his desk with the open French doors bringing in the night-smells of dew-wet grass and frangipani and jasmine, Sir John held up one hand to halt his servant. “If by some chance you might have reason to visit the drawing room—perhaps to ask if the ladies need anything before they retire—you might just say a few words to Miss Alexa in your tongue, perhaps a mumbled undertone. You’re good at that when you imagine you’ve something to grumble about, eh? Tell her…The devil take it! Just make sure she’s not about to lose her temper and start throwing things, you hear? You might move my Ming vases out of there. That ought to give her a hint. Tell her those were my orders and she’ll understand very well what I meant. That’s all. And since I might go outside for a stroll later on, I don’t want you sitting up for half the night either. That clear? You’re getting to be an old man too. Hah!”
Poor faithful old Velu! He’d be getting a pension, of course, and enough money to buy himself that land in Jaffna he’d always wanted, as well as a young wife to give him children before it was too late. Too late…You spent your time and energy accumulating money and possessions and forgot why you were doing so in the process, until suddenly it was too late to enjoy their use and you saw them for what they were—more clutter and things to leave behind when you had to go.
No, dammit! Sir John slammed down the glass he had been holding and began to pace about the large, shelf-lined room as he usually did when he was deep in thought. Dammit, he thought again, I haven’t gone yet! Still got some time left to me if all those doctor chaps were right and if I don’t overdo things. Time enough, perhaps to make sure it wasn’t all for nothing after all, not just wasted! Made use of—enjoyed. That’s what money was for, and possessions. And why the deuce should the Crown get any of it, anyhow?
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