Not My Blood

“Not the easiest thing to supply to order, I’d guess—in India. A child. You don’t find offspring in the Gamages catalogue, colonial edition. Wide choice of colour and size,” Lydia said thoughtfully.

“No indeed! And you know what India’s like! Worse than Wimbledon! Tight community, and the memsahibs have eagle eyes, suspicious minds and tongues like razors. Now, if a dark-haired policeman passing through the province on duty were to get close to the Collector’s wife—and they were discreet about their closeness—it might just go unremarked if, nine months later, she has a dark-haired child—because her husband also has those same dark looks. Careful girl, Nancy. I have to say. She made apparently i

Lydia risked a smile. “Good old Fate! I’d guess then that the child looks like his mother. And she went to all that trouble for nothing!”

“Not for nothing. And whatever it was, it was no trouble,” Joe said with a fleeting grin. “At the time. Though after I found out what they’d been scheming towards I was a bit miffed. I loved her, Lydia.”

“A bit miffed!” Lydia was reddening with anger, a sisterly outrage gathering to pick up and counteract his understatement. “This pair used you for breeding purposes—that’s what it amounts to—like a Black Angus bull! Except that, unlike a good Scottish stockman, Drummond didn’t pay a stud fee before he let you loose in his paddock, I’ll bet!”

“Lydia!”

“Sorry. But, Joe, are you quite sure you had no idea … they didn’t ask your permission or drop a hint they were about to steal.…” In her emotion, Lydia groped for an acceptable word. “… your essence?”

Joe fought down an untimely rush of hilarity. He shrugged and answered seriously. “No, not a clue. I put it all down to my manly allure. By the time I caught on it was—evidently—too late, and no amount of indignant spluttering was going to affect the issue.”

“Ah, yes. The issue.” Lydia’s voice softened as she nodded towards the bathroom door. “Wherever he came from and whoever’s issue he is—I’ll tell you something, Joe: that’s a fine boy. Plucky. Resourceful. Handsome. A worthwhile addition to the human race, you’d say. And one can hardly unwish him. But I can imagine your feelings. Poor Joe! I knew you’d changed when you got back but then, I told myself, India does change people. I never guessed about the broken heart. Wouldn’t it have helped to talk about it?”

“Lord no! Hard to talk about the event without sounding self-pitying—or, worse, comical. Why burden others with my tales of woe? My mates would have gri

“We must look after him. If you think about it, Joe, and your calculation is correct, well, then, he has an aunt now. A real one! That’s a role I can take on and play openly. Besides, I’ve had plenty of experience—there’s always some waif or stray of yours hogging my spare room. But what are we going to do with him?”

“I can’t tell. But I’ll tell you what I’m not going to do and that’s send him back to that school. Whatever happened this evening, it was something damned dangerous. That was blood all over the front of his uniform. A large quantity of blood, I’d say.”

So they talked on in hushed and urgent voices until Jackie, scrubbed and cleaned in pyjamas and an old shirt of Joe’s, came back through the door.

“There are things,” said Joe, “that I need to know, Jackie. Lyd, see if you can find a cup of cocoa. One for me too while you’re at it. Suit you?”

“Yes please, sir. Two sugars, if I may.”

Joe took Jackie’s hand and sat him down on the sofa. He plumped up a cushion and poked up the fire. “You told me you were on your way to see this Rappo. Is that right? Tell me some more. Pick it up from there. What happened when you got to him?”

“Well, I went up to his room and banged on the door. No answer. I banged again. Still no answer. I opened the door and looked in. As far as I could see, Rappo wasn’t there so I went in and looked round the room. I was right—he wasn’t there, and I began to think ‘Oh, crikey, he’s forgotten!’ I didn’t quite know what to do. I just walked round the room a bit and then I saw my ru

“What did you say, Jackie?”

“Can’t remember exactly but something like: ‘Came to see you at six and waited for a bit. Sorry about the mess. Signed, J. Drummond.’ Something like that. I left it in the middle of his desk and weighed it down with a paperweight so he’d be sure to see it. Well then I went out onto the landing, and there were people standing about, talking, on the front stairs. I didn’t want anyone to see me in case they thought I was sneaking off … you know … in a funk. Then I remembered the back stairs. They go down to the changing room and the kitchen and the back door and places like that. I don’t know what I was going to do. Perhaps I was going to hide a bit but well anyway I set off down the back way and … oh … Uncle Joe, it was terrible! There was Rappo standing halfway up the stairs. He was standing there just staring at me. He was holding onto the banisters with both hands and he looked all fu

“What did he say?”

“He didn’t say anything except, ‘Ah, ah, grrr.…’ Like that. Growling and spluttering. I think he hardly saw me. He was panting for breath—I thought he’d been ru

“Jackie,” said Joe, “it’s all right. I’m here. You’re safe. Of course you gave him a push. It sounds as if it was very frightening. So what happened?”

“He fell! He fell backwards down the stairs all the way to the bottom and he sort of crumpled and rolled over. He landed on his front. He looked broken up. Like Humpty Dumpty. All his arms and legs were sticking out. I knew I ought to go to him and I made myself climb down the stairs after him. I tried to turn him over to see if he was still breathing. But he was too heavy. I couldn’t move him. I couldn’t hear anything so I put my ear to his chest to see if his heart was still beating but … Uncle Joe, he was dead! When I touched his jacket my hands got all sticky!”