The viceroy closes the curtain, livid. He’d been fearful of precisely this and had ordered that his carriage be decoupled at the shed, well before the platform. The locomotive driver mysteriously failed to receive that message, and miraculously during the night never encountered a red signal, thanks to every Anglo-Indian stationmaster along the way. As a result, the train arrives at six in the morning instead of at eight. The police brigade to escort the viceroy is nowhere to be seen, and in any case, they’d be waiting at the wrong place.
The crowd includes reporters and photographers from every Indian newspaper. Eventually, the red-faced viceroy, shaving cream still on the tip of one ear, appears at the carriage door, stooping so his head emerges, but not stepping out. He receives the petition from Jeb’s mother graciously. He clears his throat to make a speech, but when he utters the word “hearing,” a voice at the back bellows: “Chaa! Heard that one already, haven’t we, boys?” A woman shouts, “SHAME, SHAME, SHAME,” and the crowd picks up the chant. Flashbulbs pop and the viceroy ducks back inside, only to be subjected to the humiliation of hockey sticks hammering on the carriage, deafening the occupants within. The papers describe the scene in avid detail and with crisp photographs.
That night, the chief secretary to the viceroy comes home, catching Celeste unaware. Toby has the best features of the three brothers but is shorter than Claude. He ignores Claude and kisses Celeste, handing her a wrapped gift tied with a ribbon. She opens it at once. He says, “It’s an ancient ivory jewel box. I picked it up in Jaipur and I knew at once I’d give it to my favorite sister-in-law.”
“Your only sister-in-law, Toby. Oh, my word, this—”
“Celeste,” Claude interrupts, “have the boy bring the drinks tray. We’ll go to the study—”
“What is your hurry, Claude?” Toby says, annoyed. “And forget the drinks tray.” Claude’s smile is stuck on his face like egg yolk, but he’s silent. When the siblings gather, they allow Claude to play older brother. She wonders now if that is from pity at having so exceeded him.
Toby doesn’t let go of her hand. “Celeste? Give my love to Janaki, would you?”
Toby apparently has no wish to enter the study, because when she reaches the top of the stairs, she hears him speak in a tone so different than when he addressed her. “Of all the asinine things to do, Claude! Did you really think the viceroy wanted to hear your side of the story? Could you really not see how it would further embarrass him? And me?” Claude’s response is inaudible. “No, you listen,” Toby says. “No! Just the opposite. I came to tell you that by the viceroy’s order there will be a hearing. Our hands are tied.” She cannot hear Claude’s mumbled reply, but Toby interrupts him. “Stop! Not another word. I want to be able to swear that I came to see Celeste and I never discussed the case with you. Neither the viceroy nor your brothers will interfere. Do not send cables or call. Get it into your head, Claude. This isn’t a formality. The viceroy wants the truth.” There is a long silence. Then, she hears him say more gently: “I’m sorry, Claude. This will throw a spotlight on you. The past will come up. Take a hard look at yourself. For God’s sake, stay away from the drinks tray till this is over.”
Toby glances back at the door and sees her frozen on the landing. His face is painfully sad.
The papers report that the viceroy authorized a hardship payment for the Pellingham family, and named a commission chaired by a former governor, two stalwarts of the Anglo-Indian community, the head of the Indian Medical Service, and two distinguished surgical professors from the Bombay and Calcutta Medical Colleges. The date is set two months hence. The commission can call witnesses; its conclusion will be binding.
For the next few days, they go about their separate lives. If Celeste feels on edge, she can only imagine how Claude feels. He spends long hours at the club despite being the subject of gossip there. Perhaps staying home and facing her feels worse; at the club he finds refuge in some dark nook, either alone or with drinking mates too anesthetized to judge him harshly.
At the end of that week when she returns home in the late afternoon, she’s surprised to see Claude there. He comes to his feet graciously. Before she can pull off her bonnet, he sends for her tea. He is well into the gin.
“Darling,” Claude says, “this hearing is coming up soon.” She says nothing, her hands very still in her lap. “It’s political, you know. Bad things happen in surgery, after all. I’m hopeful I’ll prevail. I have a plan.” He smiles brightly. One must have faith. One must never give up.
There are bags under his eyes that are new. The fine arbor of capillaries on his cheeks and nose are more prominent. She might pity him if he showed remorse, or didn’t try so hard to conceal his fear.
“The thing is, darling, this could go badly. That is, if your friend Digby decides to malign me.”
“He’s your colleague, Claude,” she says, annoyed. “I took him once to Mahabalipuram ages ago and told you I was doing so.”
“Well, who do you think wrote that letter? Veritas? Had to be him.”
Her eyes widen. “You’re mad. Why would he pretend to be an Anglo-Indian?” This is the first they’ve spoken of his troubles. Perhaps for that reason she feels her anger bubbling up.
“Ah, well there it is, darling. Jealousy, what else? He wants my position. He just happened to be poking his nose in the theater when this . . . when there was a complication? Then, he misinterprets what he sees and the rumor mill starts spreading a false tale. That’s what I’m up against. If he sticks to his story, it could sink our ship.”
He waits. Celeste looks ready to laugh in his face. His courteous veneer is cracking.
“For God’s sake, Celeste, how do you think I’ll keep all this afloat? You have lived in comfort all these years. But the well might be shallower than you think . . .” Celeste sees the faces of her boys; she imagines them returning from England because Claude cannot pay their fees. It’s a happy thought, and not what Claude intended. “If I’m dismissed from the Indian Medical Service, if I lose my pension—damn it, Celeste, it would be the end.”
And once my children are back, I would have absolutely no reason to stay with you, Claude.
“The thing is, darling, I need to be certain that young Digby doesn’t testify falsely.”
“What do you want, Claude?” she says very quietly. “For God’s sake, just say it.”
“Nothing! I . . . don’t want anything from you, poor darling. But I must tell you . . . I’ll be getting word to Digby that I shall name him as co-respondent in divorce proceedings.”
At first, the words make no sense. But then she understands.
“Claude, how dare you use me like that? As currency in your sordid little scheme!”
“But listen, it won’t come to that, dear! Digby will change his tune. It’s just to remind him of his place. Who’d trust the word of someone who’d stoop to going to bed with a superior’s wife?”
“Going to bed with . . . with me?” She’s surprised at her own composure. His words are so contemptible that screaming at him would be far too generous a response. Instead she stares at him for a long time, watches him squirm. She smiles, which in his present state stings him more than if she had slapped him. “Claude, I’ve put up with so much from you over the years. Now you want to save your hide with a lie that makes me into an adulteress? Is that the best you can do? Forget about Digby for a moment; do you care so little about slandering me? Or being a cuckold? Or dragging my sons through this muck? Is there really no honor, no decency in you once you scratch the surface? It’s the missing piece. Your brothers have it and it has made all the difference for them, don’t you see?”
To hold his brothers up as a standard is to incite him. It’s a measure of his pathetic state that he doesn’t react, doesn’t flinch, but instead looks pleadingly at her.
“But I assure you, it won’t come to that, Celeste. It’s just a ploy,” he says piteously. “Damn it all, Celeste, can you think of a better way? It’s the children’s future I have in mind. Our future . . .”
She regards him with disgust. “Last time you threatened to divorce me was also ‘for the children.’ Fool that I was, I let you bully me into taking them away. Never again.”