On Far Malayan Shores

by Tara Haigh

  ‘Wonderful,’ said Ella.

  ‘I just need to get changed first. My shoes are completely unsuitable for the rainforest,’ said Heather, before disappearing towards the stairs.

  Marjory sighed and took a sip of her gin. ‘It’s obvious Heather likes you. She rarely goes out, so it looks as though your company is doing her some good.’ As she spoke, Marjory laid her hand on Ella’s arm. Her smile was warm and maternal.

  Ella decided to use the opportunity to ask about Heather’s odd behaviour.

  ‘Is she afraid of going out on her own?’ she asked.

  ‘She has always been very shy, even as a child,’ explained Marjory.

  ‘Is it possible that she’s afraid of the guest house? I had that impression yesterday . . .’ Ella suggested carefully.

  ‘Oh, come now, don’t get carried away. You’re reading far too much into things,’ answered Marjory. Her smile had lost all its warmth and looked false. One thing was clear: the guest house was evidently a taboo subject among the Fosters. Yet Ella was burning to find out what the matter was with Heather.

  For all that Heather apparently never left the house, she proved to be a surprisingly adroit rider. The Fosters had their own stables for horses used on the plantation. Heather had advised Ella not to use her carriage horse, since those animals were unused to being ridden and tended to be skittish. Ella’s horse therefore remained at the Fosters’, where it was lovingly tended to by an Indian stable boy. Instead, they had ridden out on a pair of Bajau ponies. The breed had apparently been introduced by Chinese traders, and they were noble animals with narrow heads, high withers and a long, fine mane. They were also only around twelve hands high, so Ella was happy with Heather’s suggestion. She wouldn’t have felt entirely at ease on one of the big, sturdy horses used by the workers.

  It was fun to ride out on these agile yet elegant animals. Heather sat astride Marjory’s Bajau, which was a little more stubborn and headstrong – ‘Just like Mother,’ Heather had conceded with a wink while they were saddling their animals – while Ella’s pony responded sensitively to the slightest touch of the spurs or the reins. The ponies were as meek as lambs and virtually unflappable, making them an ideal choice, for after just fifteen minutes’ ride across the plantation and along a narrow trail through tropical vegetation, the path grew steeper. Heather’s incessant questions eased off at this point, as even she was forced to pay attention to the route – sections of which had fairly steep drops off to one side. Ella had been telling her about her work back at the hospital, including her unorthodox additional treatments. Surprisingly enough, Heather was very open-minded about naturopathic medicine, although she had never heard of Hahnemann. The Indians on the farm had already cured her mother of a few ailments with their Ayurvedic techniques.

  Ella was amazed at the surprisingly close rapport she shared with Heather. She simply had to be her older half-sister – there could be no other explanation for why they felt so at ease with each other, laughing together and dispensing with the usual formalities that strangers typically addressed each other with.

  ‘Your sunhat has slipped,’ Heather remarked when they had nearly reached the top of the hill.

  ‘My skin has already got used to the sun, but you’re quite right. At this rate, I’ll be mistaken for a local before long,’ said Ella. After her lengthy sea voyage and the many days she had spent sunbathing on deck, she could no longer pass herself off as a fine young lady with the fair, translucent complexion of a princess.

  ‘People here always stare at me like I’m a wonder of the world,’ said Heather.

  ‘Well, you’re as white as snow. I’m sure somebody with dark skin would feel exactly the same way in Rotterdam. But personally speaking, I like the Malayan complexion. People look healthier somehow with so much colour in their faces – especially the men . . . ’ Ella gushed.

  ‘I see they’ve made a more favourable impression on you than the men back home,’ remarked Heather wryly.

  ‘The average Dutchman isn’t nearly as fit and athletic, in any case,’ Ella declared. She had almost blurted out ‘German man’, and had nearly mentioned Hamburg instead of Rotterdam earlier, which would instantly have called her identity into question.

  ‘That explains why so many English ladies take native lovers. The better choice, no doubt,’ said Heather.

  They were now riding side by side, and Ella noticed that Heather was lost in thought.

  ‘Why? Aren’t there any handsome Englishmen available? Is there nobody you’ve taken a fancy to?’ asked Ella innocently.

  ‘Englishmen?’ answered Heather, making a scornful noise.

  ‘Haven’t you found the right man yet?’ Ella enquired. They had been chatting like good friends so far. Why shouldn’t she be able to ask her this question?

  Heather seemed to have lost her humour. She looked sad, but forced herself to smile and answered: ‘The right man can turn out to be the wrong one too.’

  The happy, carefree mood they had enjoyed during the ride so far seemed to vanish into the depths of the valley that now opened up before them. Ella decided not to ask any more questions. Like Heather, she gazed out over the rainforest, which extended into the distance, meeting the sea just before the horizon. The shrieks of parrots rang through the jungle and the spray from a waterfall churned the surface of a river into an incessant roar, while monkey calls and the twittering of exotic birds added their weight to the cacophony. From their vantage point, the result was an almost hypnotic wall of noise. It was an appropriate moment for silence, though not an uncomfortable one. All the same, Ella hoped that Heather would recover her cheerful disposition on the way home.

  Later that day, as she sat on the small terrace in front of the guest house and reflected on the afternoon, Ella came to the conclusion that Heather must be a little temperamental. She couldn’t believe that it was solely because she’d been disappointed in love, though her response to that topic had been fairly unambiguous. She seemed to be carrying another weight on her shoulders too. Why else would she have such an aversion to this beautiful guest house? It was all very strange. In any case, Heather’s dislike of male company showed itself once more over their early dinner, when Marjory reminded them both that a family friend would be coming to visit – a certain Edward Compton, who was the local British governor. At that, the relaxed atmosphere of their lavish meal – which they had seasoned with recollections from the day’s excursion into the jungle – quickly disappeared. Heather made no secret of her reluctance to spend the evening with him.

  ‘We need to stay on his good side.’ Marjory attempted to lay down the law after growing tired of Heather’s sorrowful expression, but she failed.

  ‘But he has absolutely nothing to do with the rubber trade,’ she objected.

  ‘They safeguard our lives, though, and our business. What do you think would happen around these parts if the British Army weren’t here? We would have to leave the country. The military presence ensures law and order,’ Marjory went on. She drained her glass of brandy as if to emphasise her words.

  ‘Law and order? Mother, they’re here for exactly the same reason as in every other colony – it’s all about rubber and tin.’ Heather’s retort took Ella by surprise.

  ‘Malacca only became a Crown colony very recently, and it still has the character of the Straits Settlements – as you very well know,’ explained Marjory with a disapproving look at her daughter.

  ‘Straits Settlements?’ Ella ventured hesitantly.

  ‘Unlike the Portuguese, we Brits didn’t march in to conquer the region with military might. Your own countrymen in the Netherlands made an agreement with the local sultan, and Penang was then acquired legally by the British Crown over one hundred years ago.’ Marjory appeared to be a full-blown British royalist.

  Ella nodded submissively – after all, she was officially a Dutchwoman and had to pretend to be well-informed.

  ‘Don’t listen to her, Ella. All that talk of the Straits Settlements
is just splitting hairs. We took possession of this country through entirely underhand means,’ said Heather rather pointedly. She clearly wanted to pick a fight with her mother.

  ‘Heather is misrepresenting the facts. There are treaties with the local sultans. Trade treaties. Most of the bumiputras are happy that we’re here – there haven’t been any tribal wars since our arrival. The country lives in peace, and business is flourishing,’ Marjory explained to Ella. She had apparently decided not to discuss the topic with Heather any further.

  ‘You sound like Father.’ Heather clearly took a different view.

  To Ella, Heather’s remark seemed almost childishly petulant – yet to her great surprise, it hit home, as Marjory took it visibly to heart. She fell silent, firing only a disapproving look at Heather, before pouring herself another glass of brandy.

  ‘I expect that right now, every country in Europe is searching for a place in the sun somewhere,’ said Ella in a conciliatory tone. Marjory responded with a grateful smile.

  Heather likewise nodded and shrugged – presumably a conciliatory gesture too.

  The palpable tension in the room slowly dissipated once Marjory topped up their drinks and the alcohol began to soothe their spirits, diverting them towards more trivial topics. They discussed horses, and of course the weather – especially the unusually dry conditions for this time of year. Yet Heather still didn’t seem quite at ease, for the closer the hour of Compton’s visit drew, the more often she looked at the clock on the wall. Ella thought she saw Heather literally flinch when she heard the distinguished guest arrive. She too could hear the sound of his coach approaching the house.

  ‘Perhaps it would be better if I retired to bed,’ Ella suggested. What business was it of hers what the British discussed among themselves?

  ‘Out of the question.’ Marjory insisted that she stay.

  Heather shot her an almost imploring look.

  Barely two minutes elapsed before Jaya opened the door and announced ‘Governor Compton’ in such a reverential tone, one might think that a royal visitor was entering the house – and indeed, this Edward Compton did have a certain regal air. A powerfully built, smartly dressed man in uniform stood before her, with neatly trimmed hair and a moustache. He cut a rather good-looking figure, all told.

  ‘Marjory,’ he cried, as she virtually fell into his arms. ‘Heather,’ he said next, with no less enthusiasm, though she gave nothing more than a polite smile in return. But he paid her no heed, for his gaze had already fallen on their guest. Two rows of pearly white teeth and a glittering pair of eyes flashed at Ella.

  ‘Our visitor from the Netherlands – Ella van Veen.’ Marjory presented her much as a market trader would present some fresh vegetables, and soon enough, she found herself face-to-face with the governor.

  ‘Enchanté.’ The royal visitor had courtly manners. He would doubtless have got on well with Rudolf.

  ‘Why don’t we make ourselves comfortable?’ Marjory suggested – though really it was an order, which even Heather obeyed. She avoided the sofa, instead choosing an armchair positioned as far away as possible from Compton, who sat down next to Marjory.

  ‘I hope you like it here in Malacca,’ Compton opened the conversation. How could Ella have responded other than in the affirmative?

  ‘I love the intoxicating floral diversity one finds here,’ she said.

  ‘With your arrival, Malacca is certainly richer by one particularly enchanting flower.’ Compton’s remark was charming and flattering, and a man in his position could no doubt afford to hand out compliments of this kind.

  Ella received it with a modest smile and looked over to where Heather was sitting. She was wearing a contemptuous smirk and looked like a wax figure. Ella realised that Heather couldn’t stand this Compton, and she had presumably known him for a long time. But then Ella noticed his restless eyes wandering down to her décolletage, and she began to favour maintaining a certain distance too.

  ‘What news is there, Edward? How is the railway coming along?’ Marjory was evidently interposing herself to prevent any further flirting.

  Compton instantly adopted a serious expression, making him seem more like a businessman.

  ‘We’re hardly making any progress at all in the north. The bridge over the Perak River might be finished by the end of the century, if we’re lucky,’ he went on.

  ‘Three years to build a bridge?’ exclaimed Marjory in surprise.

  ‘We don’t have enough good workers, and above all biddable ones. The Chinese were hardworking, but lately they prefer to trade. The Indians would rather work in the factories, and as for the Malays . . . they don’t understand the meaning of the word “work”, damn them. They’re like little children; no use whatsoever. It’s as though they’ve just been vomited out of the jungle.’ Edward’s tone was so contemptuous that Ella lifted an eyebrow in consternation.

  ‘I probably haven’t spent enough time in the country yet, but I’ve had the good fortune to have encountered nothing but warm, intelligent and thoroughly refined people so far.’ Ella enjoyed his reaction to her comment. He was obviously unused to being contradicted by a woman.

  ‘Perhaps here in civilisation – but believe me, the Orang Asli are good for nothing at all.’ By that, he meant the indigenous Malays who still lived in the rainforest, as Ella knew from her reading on the boat.

  ‘But with such a superb governor in charge, I’m sure the industriousness of the local population will be quite the equal of any Liverpool docker in just a few years,’ declared Heather abruptly.

  Compton seemed to deliberately ignore her sarcasm, so Ella decided to lend Heather some support.

  ‘Clearly, the Netherlands fell lamentably short in educating the local workforce. We didn’t even get them to adopt a single variety of Dutch cheese,’ said Ella with a sigh.

  How Compton laughed at that.

  Marjory laughed too, presumably just to oblige him. Heather smirked, but for different reasons altogether.

  Ella had expected Compton to at least show some irritation, but the governor’s self-confidence was apparently unshakeable. Indeed, her words seemed to have the opposite effect. She had the impression that his gaze was no longer merely lascivious, but even somewhat besotted. When his eyes met hers, they betrayed his infatuation. He seemed to view her as a sporting challenge, and for a long moment he stared at her in silence, with a fascinated smile.

  ‘Mary Bridgewater always has plenty of cheese, at any rate,’ he said to Marjory, who was wiping tears from her eyes.

  ‘Is she Dutch?’ asked Ella.

  ‘I’m afraid she’ll only be able to offer you a selection of the finest English cheeses – provided we can persuade you to join us at her annual garden party,’ said Edward.

  ‘I’m sure Ella will be delighted to attend,’ said Marjory.

  Ella shot a questioning look at Heather.

  ‘Mary is the most amiable English lady I know – apart from Mother, of course,’ said Heather, to Marjory’s visible satisfaction – and Compton’s too.

  Since a second meeting with Compton now seemed inevitable, Ella decided to refrain from making any other satirical comments. After all, she was a guest at the Fosters’ house, and she had already had her fun.

  CHAPTER 10

  Enduring Edward Compton’s company for over an hour and a half cost Ella a superhuman effort. Self-congratulation bled into dazzling national pride and endless panegyrics on civilisation – specifically British civilisation, of course. Ella had wanted to point out that Berlin was actually on the verge of surpassing London in cultural terms, but she had bitten her tongue – partly out of politeness and respect for Marjory, but also to avoid raising any suspicions about her supposed Dutch origins. When Heather had finally grown exhausted from fulfilling her obligations towards her mother and had withdrawn to her room, Ella had seized the opportunity to follow suit. The encounter with Compton and her day out with Heather were both worthy of an entry in her diary, but Ella could
no longer summon the energy to write. Instead, she enjoyed the cooler air on her terrace now that the temperature had dropped. What a shame Heather couldn’t join her here. Ella and her half-sister could have made themselves very comfortable with the help of the tea and biscuits that Jaya had brought her.

  Yet the night was still young, and so Ella began to consider taking advantage of the quiet evening hours to write a letter to her mother telling her of the voyage – and of more recent events too, of course. Just as she stood up to fetch a pen and paper, she flinched in shock as a shadow emerged from the pitch-black forest of the plantation. Ella stepped out of the light of the paraffin lamp to help her eyes grow accustomed to the dark. Somebody was heading directly towards her, and had deliberately chosen a route that avoided the main house. She briefly debated retreating inside and locking the door, but then she recognised him: Amar.

  Her paralysing terror lifted instantly as he reached the terrace.

  ‘Amar?’ Ella was unable to hide her surprise, or her joy.

  ‘I wanted to see how you were getting on,’ he explained, and then glanced at the Fosters’ house. The lights were on downstairs, so Marjory must still be up.

  ‘I shouldn’t be here,’ said Amar.

  Ella quickly extinguished her lamp.

  ‘Nobody can see you now.’

  Amar exhaled and his expression visibly relaxed.

  ‘I have some tea, if you like.’

  Amar demurred.

  ‘The chairs are very comfortable,’ said Ella. At that, Amar finally overcame his reserve.

  ‘Did you find what you were looking for?’ he asked as Ella poured him a cup of tea.

  ‘It certainly feels that way. Heather must be my half-sister,’ she answered truthfully.