Free The Devil in Clevely (Afternoon of an Autocrat) by Norah Lofts Page B

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