32.

Righteous indignation fuelled Belle’s footsteps as she marched away from Oliver’s apartment building. Silently fuming, she barely noticed the usual mix of people, vehicles and animals in the streets, nor was she aware of the sun high in the sky and the sweat trickling down her back. All she could think was that she would definitely go to Sydney after all, leave everything else behind – leave him behind – certain now it was the only thing to do.

By the time she’d regained her composure she glanced about and found she had ended up in an unfamiliar area of the city riddled with alleyways. She came to a stop when a huddle of Burmese men, dressed only in skirts, blocked her path. One man was painting black signs on the bare chest of another and more waited in line, eager to be ornamented. Engrossed in this strange activity, they paid Belle no attention. As more men attached themselves to the group Belle sidled past and headed for what she hoped was the road leading to the Secretariat. She wanted to find Edward to tell him she was delighted to accept Clayton Rivers as her agent.

As she rounded a sharp corner and then headed towards a crossroads she heard a throbbing, rhythmical sound. The hairs on the back of her neck pricked up. What was this odd noise? She stood still and listened to the thump, thump, thump, and then it dawned on her. Marching feet. She was listening to marching feet. A moment later dozens of Burmans wielding swords, iron bars and axes came into sight. ‘Jesus,’ she whispered. What on earth was happening? She spun round trying to figure out the best way to get out but now men seemed to be pouring from every direction. In a flash she knew she was hemmed in. She flattened herself against a doorway, heart pounding, fear stealing her breath. As she stared, the mob tripled in size and a huge number of men were now beating a path towards her.

Rooted to the spot, she attempted to scream. Nothing came out. She willed herself to move but, glancing about, could not see a route through. She squeezed her eyes shut in a hopeless effort to block out the petrifying sight. Dozens of men, bent on attacking her, were brandishing their weapons, gesticulating and shouting. Marching. Thumping. In a state of shocked disbelief, she had frozen. Was this how her life was to end? Was she to be beaten to death on a street corner? She desperately wanted her mother, her father, anyone to come, but could only take a ragged, terrified lungful of air and wait for her fate.

When, after a few moments, nobody had touched her, she opened her eyes and realized the men leading the charge had begun pounding on the door and windows of a house two doors further up from where she cowered. She vaguely recalled being told this was the area where the Indians lived, and looked up to see Indians hurling bricks from the windows of the houses on the opposite side of the street. Panicked by what was happening, she scanned the street in the hope of spotting a policeman who might be able to get her out of there, but there was none.

She watched as a group of Burmans began crawling up the outside staircase of one of the Indian houses opposite. Aware the inhabitants were in terrible peril, Belle searched again for the presence of the police. At the top of the stairs the men hacked at the door until it fell open and then, even above the roar of the crowd, she could hear the terrified screams of the people within. She felt sure they would be slaughtered. Still unsure if it might yet be her turn, Belle wanted to weep, but now the crowd had shifted across the street she had to grab her chance. At first, panting, she slipped behind the backs of the men still gathered in the road and then, with only one thought in her head, she broke into a run with no sense of direction in mind.

As she ran she passed more and more armed Burmese men with painted chests, brandishing crowbars and bludgeons, and advancing on the Indian quarter. In one of the narrow side streets she picked her way around a few unarmed constables facing a mob of angry Indians bent on retaliation. Clearly this riot was something between the Burmese and the Indians, though she didn’t know why. Unable to understand why the authorities were largely absent, Belle knew it was even more important to reach Edward and alert him to what she’d witnessed.

When she arrived at a row of tenements in a narrow street leading off the docks, she realized she had set out in the wrong direction. The whole place reeked of drains and fish but there was something worse. Far worse. Stricken by the sickly-sweet smell of blood, she felt her throat close. The street itself, eerily silent, was empty of life and she backed away in shock as she saw the twisted corpses of half a dozen Indian men, women and children splayed out on the ground. She gazed about her in horror but saw that nobody had come to move them. She stared at the horrific purple bruising spreading across the face of one of the men and the dark congealing blood where the side of his head had been caved in. Then she saw his empty black eye sockets and felt sickened. They had gouged out his eyes. She closed her eyes and, holding her stomach, retched over and over. When she was done, she heard the buzzing of enormous flies and squinted up to see them already gorging. She looked away to where one woman lay in a pool of shining blood, her clothing ripped and with gaping stab wounds to her chest. A small child lay at an awkward angle close to her bare feet. Belle wanted to help but there was nothing, absolutely nothing she could do. No one had been left alive. She glanced over to where another man had clearly had the life beaten out of him. Horrified by the savagery, her one thought was to get away. The Strand Hotel couldn’t be far, and she twisted round to figure out the right direction. But then, hearing a baby crying, she faltered.

She had assumed everyone had been killed and longed to make her escape from this terrible carnage, but how could she leave a baby to die alone? She tried to work out where the baby might be and made her way along the street, forcing herself not to glance at the blank eyes of three more men she found lying beaten and dead on the ground. She stopped in front of one of the tenements where the crying had become more insistent but wavered in fear of the bloodshed she might discover within.

The front door was hanging open and she shouted out in the unlikely hope someone might still be alive. Fear settled in her stomach and in her bones. Get a grip of yourself, she whispered, get a grip. Then, avoiding the worst of the slippery blood-sodden wooden steps, she cautiously picked her way up, and with every step felt more and more nauseous, unable to prevent herself from heaving.

The three rooms leading off the landing were empty but for one old man sitting against a wall with a serious wound to his head and glassy, dead eyes. She let out a sob but carried on up to the next floor, the baby’s cries weaker now. Just before she reached the top she felt her legs slip from beneath her and she slid down to the landing below. She lay still for a moment, but when she tried to move a searing pain shot through her left leg. Still she tried again and eventually managed to haul herself upstairs step by step. Only now the crying had ceased.

In the first room two women lay dead on the floor and Belle was just wondering if she could bear to try for the third floor when she saw movement. She limped over to one of the women and, bending down, gingerly lifted the corner of a thin blood-soaked blanket to see a baby curled up inside it. With a sinking heart, Belle checked to make sure the woman was dead and then gently lifted the child. It blinked, and she gasped. The child was alive. She stared at its huge brown eyes then examined it for injury, stroking its soft skin and hair, before wrapping it in the soiled blanket again and cradling it to her. What was the right thing to do? Should she leave the baby in the hope the authorities might find its relatives, or should she take it to safety? If she left the baby it might die, or the murderous mob might return. She made a snap decision. After stumbling to the stairs, she held the baby tightly and slowly edged down.

Outside, she glanced about so she’d be able to identify exactly where she had found the child, and then she began weaving through the alleys, finally ending up in an empty street, the pain ripping through her leg now so excruciating she shouted out. She stopped to catch her breath, all the while terrified and watching for the return of the armed men. Dizzy and sick, her leg burned with a ghastly pounding throb. On the verge of fainting, it became so overpowering she knew she was about to keel over, so steadied herself against a wall before stumbling on. The baby whimpered and tried to wriggle free. Belle considered putting her down beneath the shade of a tree, just for a moment, but heard a car travelling at speed towards her. As it drew up she saw it was a police squad car from which three uniformed men alighted followed by … She blinked. It couldn’t be. But the fourth man, this one not in uniform, ran towards her. She wiped a bloodied hand across her eyes, the world tilted and then she dropped to the ground.

She woke in darkness. For Belle, unable to differentiate one hour from another, time drifted. A thing, blacker than she could ever imagine, hovered in the night-time shadows of the room. A light from the nurses’ station slid under her door. The fear had changed her. Made her cringe at sudden noises, startle when a shadow moved. Made her tight inside herself. Small. Her whole being made up of fear. She did not call out.

Her mouth felt impossibly dry when she woke again and opened her swollen eyes. Lying very still, Belle saw a clean white room with gauze curtains gently blowing in the breeze from the open window. Strangely light-headed and stiff, she sniffed the air. Disinfectant and something floral. A uniformed nurse, arranging some pink peonies in a vase on the bedside cabinet, noticed Belle was awake.

Lungs constricted, painful, breath rasping and raw, Belle forced out the words. ‘How long have I been here?’

She squinted in the brightness for a moment before a wave of nausea turned her stomach as memories of the massacre began racing back. She covered her eyes and groaned. Images of blood and death swam in her muzzy head. The women lying dead in the house, the people in the street, the killing, all the killing. And the baby … The poor little baby. Oh God! She remembered the feel of her warm soft skin and silky hair. And her eyes, her huge eyes. What had happened to her?

The nurse handed her a bowl and Belle sat up and retched into it, but there was hardly anything for she hadn’t eaten, had she? She couldn’t entirely remember the order of things. There had been the row with Oliver. Yes, she remembered that but what had happened directly after? Too weak to sit up for long, she fell back against the pillow and the nurse wiped her face with a cool, damp cloth.

‘Thank you,’ Belle murmured, then struggled to sit up again. ‘How long have I been here?’

The nurse passed her a glass of water.

Belle drank it and then the nurse gently helped her back down. ‘You need to rest.’

‘I need to know about the baby.’

‘Plenty of time for that.’

‘So, how long have I been here?’

‘Almost forty-eight hours.’

‘I think I woke in the night.’

‘Maybe, though the doctor gave you a sedative. You might have been dreaming.’

‘And can I go now?’ she said, wanting to get out of bed, stretch her legs and sort everything out. Wanting, too, to find a way to escape from everything she’d seen and the fear that had twisted her stomach and almost made her heart stop. Gin should do it. A few very large gins.

‘The doctor will see you later but now you have a visitor. He has been waiting most anxiously.’

Oliver, Belle thought, forgetting their quarrel, but when the nurse opened the door she saw with mixed feelings that the man was Edward. But she was grateful he’d come and attempted a smile.

‘I hope you like the flowers,’ he said with a broad smile.

She nodded distractedly and tried to peer through the open door to see what was happening in the corridors beyond. ‘Thank you. But the baby? Is she here?’

‘She’s safe and sound.’

‘Did you find her relatives?’ she asked, urgent in her need to know.

He gently closed the door and then explained they were taking care of the baby and she was not to concern herself.

‘I can tell you exactly where I found her if it helps. I’m sure I can tell you if you take me there. Please help me to get up.’ She began to shuffle up the bed. ‘I’m sure I can walk.’

‘Belle, there’s no need. We’re already making enquiries. Hopefully we’ll find a relative soon.’

‘Are you sure? I can’t bear to think of that tiny child ending up in an orphanage.’ She gulped back a sob. ‘Edward, can you imagine how terrible it must have been for her to be there when her mother was stabbed?’

He pulled out a chair and, after settling himself, took hold of her left hand and stroked it gently. ‘Now, now, no need to worry. I’ve already said the baby is fine. How are you feeling? That’s the important question.’

She frowned. ‘Grateful to be alive but extremely light-headed. I can’t quite remember everything.’

‘Possibly a good thing.’

‘But how did I get here? What happened to me?’

‘You know we found you close to the Indian quarter?’

‘Yes. I didn’t mean to be.’

‘I should hope not. You fell and injured your leg on some broken glass – at least we think so.’

She glanced down at herself. ‘I can’t feel it.’

‘They’ve given you painkillers.’

Tears began to fill her eyes and then spill down her cheeks. He quietly handed her a clean handkerchief and she wiped her face.

‘Better now?’ he said.

‘It was awful, Edward. Awful. The things I saw. Why were they killing Indians?’

‘I’ll explain it all when you’re feeling better.’

She pulled her hand away. She needed to get it straight in her head. Why had it happened? Why had it been allowed to happen? But she could see he wasn’t going to tell her now. She pressed both hands down on the mattress for leverage and pulled herself up the bed. ‘I must get up. I don’t want to be here any more. Please help me. Please. I have to see Clayton and get to Sydney.’

He shook his head and his eyes darkened. ‘Out of the question, I’m afraid. You’ve had a traumatic experience. The doctor wants to keep you here for at least a week, possibly longer.’

‘But Clayton?’

Edward’s mouth twisted to one side as he pulled a regretful face. ‘Sorry, my dear, but he fled as soon as the trouble started.’

She shook her head, disbelief bubbling up inside her. ‘No! I don’t believe it. You mean he isn’t going to take me on?’

‘Not at the moment. They’ve already hired a new understudy, I hear. I’m sure he will be back though.’

‘Couldn’t they have waited for me?’ Her voice had come out thin and high pitched and, in her weakened state, she struggled to prevent her disappointment from showing. Although, after everything she’d been through, she had the notion that disappointment over an agent was an awfully trivial thing. Did it really matter so much?

‘It seems they could not wait.’ Edward reached for her hand again. ‘I know you must be frustrated by this but show business does appear to be a somewhat cut-throat world.’

She gazed at him. ‘It was you, you know, who …?’

‘Yes. Lucky I came across you, especially as you were losing blood. But what on earth were you doing there?’

She shook her head. ‘I’m trying to remember but it’s all a blur. I just found myself caught up in the trouble and then in my panic I lost my way.’

He nodded. ‘You poor old thing.’

‘What was it all about? Please tell me.’

‘As I said, I’ll explain it when you’re feeling better. At the moment we’re still trying to piece it all together. Now you need to rest.’

For the next couple of days Belle did little but eat and sleep, although when awake she felt choked by the cloying scent of the flowers in her room. She had gleaned a little of what had happened from the nurse, but Edward hadn’t yet returned. Had she even thanked him for rescuing her?

But then the image of the man with no eyes swam before her … Oh God! She covered her own eyes with her palms.

How had it all come about? And why? What could have been the cause of such terrible carnage? Edward would come back and tell her – surely, he must – for nothing had ever seemed so important as her need to understand. Without understanding there would be no respite from the violence and brutality she had witnessed on the streets. The sleeping pills they mercifully gave her at night made her woozy and unfocused in the morning but without them she wouldn’t have slept at all. In the daytime, still with the awful stench of blood in her nostrils, she continued to weep over the sound of buzzing flies and the appalling silence of the dead looping round and round. Her sorrow for the baby with its enormous dark eyes did not abate and she prayed the authorities would do their best for her. She vowed to ensure the little baby girl was safe and cared for, as soon as she was better.

One morning, when all Belle wanted to do was hide from the world and bury her head under the pillow, Gloria turned up.

‘Darling, you really have been in the wars. Silly girl, whatever were you thinking?’

At the tone of her friend’s voice Belle felt herself tensing. She forced a weak smile and saw Gloria was looking especially glamorous in a black-and-white suit with a matching hat, and she was armed with chocolates and wine. But really Gloria was the last person she wanted to see right now.

‘Won’t you sit down?’ Belle managed to say.

‘Actually, I have to dash, but I wanted to bring you these.’ She placed her gifts on the already crowded cabinet. ‘But, darling, you don’t seem terribly pleased to see me. And I am the herald of extremely good news too.’

‘Sorry. I don’t feel so good. It was terrible, Gloria.’

‘I’m sure it must have been and, naturally, you don’t feel well. Only to be expected.’

Belle shifted herself into a more upright position and ran a hand over her hair. ‘I saw such awful –’

‘Of course, of course.’ Gloria waved her hand dismissively and then tilted her head and seemed to be scrutinizing Belle’s appearance. ‘Hmmm. You could do with a trip to the hairdresser. I’ll arrange it. But now for the good news.’

‘Well, I could certainly do with some,’ Belle said despondently, wondering how anything could make her feel better.

‘Tra-la! Listen to what I’ve got. Harry has postponed his trip. He’ll wait until you’re well enough to go.’ She winked. ‘After I had a few well-chosen words in his ear, that is.’

‘Oh God, what did you say to him?’ Belle asked, unsure how she was expected to take this.

‘Let’s simply say I reminded him of a little indiscretion I had witnessed.’

‘You blackmailed him?’ Belle was horrified.

Gloria smiled complacently. ‘Only a teeny-weeny bit.’

‘But he’ll absolutely hate me.’

‘Of course he won’t. He’ll hate me. The difference is, I couldn’t care less.’

Belle looked away, completely unconvinced and certain the man would resent her.

‘He’s actually managed to arrange a meeting with the District Commissioner of Mandalay, just as he promised. The man’s been there for donkey’s years apparently and if anyone knows anything it’ll be him. Say thank you nicely.’

Belle managed another weak smile. How typical. Of course Gloria didn’t want to hear anything about what had happened. Belle couldn’t help thinking of Oliver and wishing they could talk.

‘Anyway, as I said, I have to make tracks.’ She leant across to kiss Belle on the cheek. ‘Bye, darling. Get well soon.’

And with that she swept from the room in a cloud of scent infused with jasmine, rose and sandalwood. Chanel No. 5, Belle thought as she picked up the novel somebody had kindly left for her. The Murder at the Vicarage by Agatha Christie. She read for a few minutes but still found it hard to escape the dreadful images in her head. As she laid the book down a slip of paper fell out and landed on the bedcover. She picked it up and read it, then, with a gulp, tore it into shreds. She could not let this touch her. And though she wanted to see him, there was no chance she would make the same mistake again. Oliver had sent his love and hoped she was over her horrific ordeal. He had expressed the wish she would soon be feeling better and suggested they might meet up for a drink. In the aftermath of the massacre Belle felt vulnerable, as if the shock had shaken something loose within her and all the insecurities she had tried so hard to conceal were now slipping out. She badly needed a friend, but it couldn’t be Oliver. It just couldn’t.

She was remembering more and more now, reliving the immobilizing terror she’d experienced when she’d believed the men were going to attack her. It lodged inside her stomach, this fear, and it kept her tightly coiled, had become part of her, inseparable from who she was. She pressed a hand hard into her stomach as if to force it out, but it only made her choke and splutter. In the end she managed to doze out of sheer exhaustion until she heard dogs barking in the street outside and then the door opening again. She closed her eyes but sensed his presence even before he was ushered into the room.

‘Hello, Edward,’ she said, opening her eyes. ‘Could you close the curtain properly? There’s a shard of light. It’s too bright.’

‘Rebecca was waiting to see you but I’m afraid I pulled rank. She said she’d be back tomorrow.’ He closed the curtain and sat on a chair he’d pulled close to the bed, taking hold of her hand and patting it.

She stared at him. ‘Please tell me what happened to the baby? I have to know.’

‘We think we might have found a grandmother. I promise I’ll let you know when we’re certain we have the right person.’

She nodded. ‘What was it all about, Edward? Why did it happen?’

He smiled sympathetically. ‘It’s somewhat complicated but I’ll try to keep it simple, though really you should never have become involved.’

Belle hoped he wasn’t going to call her a silly girl too and then, when he did not, tried to concentrate on his words. Apparently, it had all begun at the docks. Hundreds of Indian labourers employed to stow and unload cargo had gone on strike for better wages and Burmese men had been taken on to break the strike. Once the strike was resolved the Burmans were let go. These men had been accompanied to work by their wives who carried their lunch in baskets and had walked long distances to get there. As the Burmese were dismissed, the Indians made the mistake of laughing at them in front of their wives, and in so doing humiliating them. This contretemps led to blows, with Indians being killed and then thrown in the river. A rumour spread that some Indian men had cut off a Burmese woman’s breasts, which led to thousands of Burmese going on the hunt for Indians to kill. Unfortunately, there had already been resentment brewing as too many Indians had crowded in from their impoverished villages and the Burmans looked down on them as little better than vermin.

‘We’ve had no end of trouble,’ Edward was saying. ‘There have been hundreds of casualties and now the Indian population has barricaded itself in and won’t come out. Most of the food shops are Indian so the city is running out of necessities. Not only that, it’s Indian labourers who take away the city’s night soil and the whole place is beginning to stink to high heaven.’

‘What will you do?’

He sighed deeply. ‘At least seven thousand Indians have taken refuge in the old lunatic asylum. Most of their homes were destroyed in the riot.’

‘Riot? More like a massacre from what I saw. They must be terrified.’

He gave her a rueful smile. ‘Indeed. There’s not only been murder but looting too. So, to avoid a health epidemic, we are going to put them to work.’

‘I hope they’ll receive compensation for what they’ve lost.’

‘Unlikely.’

Suddenly disillusioned, she frowned. ‘But surely that can’t be right?’

He shrugged. ‘We don’t have the means to help them further.’

‘Nor the will,’ she said, and he looked surprised by her sharp tone of voice.

‘Look, Belle, things are tricky right now and there’s much you don’t understand.’

‘Well, enlighten me then.’

‘There has always been dissent between the races.’

‘And whose fault is that? We brought the Indians here and now we don’t care to protect them.’

‘It was their own choice to come.’

‘Lured by promises of jobs and money, no doubt.’

He shook his head, but Belle felt certain she was right. She stared at him, and knowing he was unlikely to say more, changed the subject.

‘Why did the Burmese men paint those strange signs on their chests?’ she asked.

‘Makes them invincible. They believe the signs magically protect them. You may already have gathered how superstitious they are.’

She nodded. ‘Yes, but I thought they were Buddhists. You know – peace-loving.’

‘Buddhism mixed with animism and goodness knows what else. But there has always been violence here.’ He sighed deeply. ‘Anyway, about this river trip. I strongly suggest you go with Harry as soon as you are well enough. Do you think you might? There’s likely to be civil unrest in Rangoon for quite some time, and you, my dear girl, have already suffered enough.’

He was right. She had. And, since she’d lost her chance with Clayton, the idea of the river trip had become tempting again. After everything she’d been through, it would be a relief to get away. Nothing would rid her of the persistent fear and the images that continued to torment her, but the further she was from Rangoon the better she might feel. She thought back to her arrival in Burma and how she’d been attracted to the golden coating of their Rangoon lives, but now she couldn’t rid herself of Oliver’s voice. He’d been correct about so much. Beneath the surface of this glittering colonial world lay tensions that would only become more pronounced and when it came to justice there was little for anyone who wasn’t British. She hardly dared consider the abuse of power, the rampant greed and the terrible racial prejudice, and her compassion for the dispossessed Indians made her wonder if she was more like Oliver than she had ever realized.