by Tara Haigh
‘And then? Will you go back to Hamburg?’ asked Heather, looking Ella straight in the eye.
‘No, you’ll stay here. But not just for my sake.’ Heather answered her own question, and as she spoke, she cast a meaningful look back at the small fishing village. In the distance, they could see Amar standing by the horses and waiting for the arrival of the British soldiers.
‘I’d stay for your sake alone,’ Ella declared.
The sight of Heather smiling once more told her that was the right thing to say.
As arduous as the overland journey to Mersing had been, the voyage back by boat around the southern tip of the peninsula proved brief and straightforward – though this time, they were accompanied by two British soldiers, whom they had managed to convince with their account of the incident and Compton’s demise. It had been a matter of life and death after all. The sailboat they had seen moored in the harbour beside the freighter belonged to the British navy. It had brought Compton and Bennett to Mersing, and if the wind remained favourable, the very same boat would get all of them back to Johore by dusk. The presence of a naval vessel anchored in the port had made Ella, Amar and Heather’s version of events seem more credible to the soldiers, but even so, it had taken another two hours for their statements to be officially recorded. Bujang had nothing to fear, but he still needed to come with them to Johore so that the local police could conclude their inquiries.
On board with them were two linen bags containing the mortal remains of Compton and Raj, and one prisoner in the ship’s hold, who was already getting used to his future existence inside a dark cell. The tragedy of Raj’s death and his selfless sacrifice to save their lives had only fully sunk in for Ella after she had managed to digest her conversation with Heather. Raj had always seemed to believe in the power of fate – that everything was predestined. He may not have seen it as his duty to bring the truth about the Fosters to light, but he had contributed to it indirectly all the same.
Two hours into their voyage back to Johore, and Amar was still clearly shaken by Heather’s revelations. He was tactful enough to withdraw from them. It almost seemed to Ella as though he no longer dared to come near her when she was in Heather’s presence – but Heather sought out Ella’s company in his stead. She had grown from a friend into a sister, who in truth was her real mother, and yet that seemingly did nothing to change the friendship they had felt towards each other from their very first meeting. Ella was sure that the word ‘mother’ would never cross her lips, even though the emotional ties between her and Heather felt stronger than ever before, and she couldn’t tell whether they were speaking as mother and daughter, or as two friends, when their thoughts turned to Amar. He seemed to realise that they were talking about him, for he gave them a warm smile from the back of the boat.
‘It won’t be easy,’ said Heather.
‘I’m not British. The Brits dislike Germans anyway, and the local population won’t care who I marry.’
‘You must promise me that you’ll live with me one day. I won’t take no for an answer.’ Heather’s voice carried a tone of almost maternal admonishment.
‘But don’t they always say that it’s better for children not to live with their parents? That’s how it works in Germany, anyway,’ Ella said slyly.
‘Don’t argue with your mother!’
Ella laughed, and so did Heather. But then her face grew serious once more.
‘I hope Mother will go back to England,’ said Heather softly.
‘She’ll have to stand trial first. Compton wasn’t acting alone,’ Ella answered.
Heather nodded, but looked almost relieved.
‘Do you think she had something to do with Rudolf’s death too?’ Ella asked.
‘I’m trying not to think about it,’ Heather replied.
‘What about Amar? I’m afraid I’ve grown rather used to having him around. Where will he live?’
‘With us, of course. Amar can run the plantation – assuming that he wants to – and we . . .’ Heather sighed. ‘So many lost years.’
‘I want to show you my homeland. I know yours already . . . fairly well, anyway,’ Ella replied.
‘Then let’s go travelling. Hamburg, London, and if we’re in Europe anyway then I’d love to see the Eiffel Tower in Paris.’
Heather was looking to the future once more and making plans – yet Ella felt sure it would take her a while to leave the shadow of her past behind.
It wasn’t long before Heather’s face grew gloomy once more – and not because the weary travellers had now passed Singapore and were following the narrow strait leading into the port of Johore by the last rays of the evening sun. Heather would soon have to face her mother. Ella could vividly imagine what a burden that must be – not least because of the possibility that Marjory had committed murder.
Ella’s thoughts revolved around her own impending obligations, which included a visit to Mary Bridgewater.
‘Do you think Raj guessed you were my mother?’ Ella enquired.
‘What makes you ask that?’ Heather replied.
‘He gave me certain hints that I couldn’t make sense of, about you and Jack . . .’
‘He must have realised what was going on. Jack had to cross the plantation to see me, and Raj would surely have wondered why I never left the house. Who knows, perhaps he even saw my belly . . .’
‘And do you think he knew about my abduction?’ asked Ella.
‘I’m quite certain of it.’
‘He always said that the truth would find a way. All in good time – that was how he put it,’ Ella recalled.
‘Whatever he knew, he’ll take it to his grave – or rather, into the flames,’ said Heather as they reached the dock. The two officers moored the boat.
‘Flames?’ asked Ella in confusion.
‘Hindus prefer to be ritually cremated. Ashes to ashes . . . I wish I could get rid of a span of my own life in the same way,’ Heather sighed.
‘But it’s part of you, and if it weren’t for you and Jack then I wouldn’t exist,’ Ella pointed out.
Heather nodded. She seemed to take comfort from the thought, for she gave Ella a hopeful smile.
On the way to Mary Bridgewater’s house early the next morning, Ella reflected that there couldn’t be many things that would ruffle that tough woman’s composure, but an unannounced visit at an ungodly hour would surely be one of them. They still had another half hour to go, travelling on Mohan’s cart, which Bujang’s mother had dropped off at Lee’s boarding house, as promised. Lee had also told them that Officer Puteri had taken a statement from her about the attack on her establishment, and he had privately mentioned to her that he hoped Ella would manage to leave the country unscathed. By now, Lee would be on her way to tell him that Ella was planning to visit him that afternoon, together with Heather. The reason for their visit ought to be obvious enough to him, given that he would have already heard the soldiers’ report and received Lieutenant Bennett into custody by the time Lee got there. Strictly speaking, Amar could have visited Officer Puteri on their behalf, but he needed to organise Raj’s cremation. That was also the reason Ella and Heather were now on their way to see Mary Bridgewater without him. It wasn’t just curiosity that had prompted her and Heather to disturb Mary so early in the morning, but also the need for Marjory to assume that Compton was in possession of her father’s diary. It would be for the best if she believed her position to be secure.
Mary Bridgewater’s house was already in view. An Indian servant came out to meet them. He knew Heather, and remembered Ella from her attendance at Mary’s garden party. That was enough grounds to request an audience with the grande dame.
‘Please, take a seat on the veranda,’ he said, before hurrying into the house.
Ella wasn’t in the least surprised to see Mary appear barely two minutes later, looking completely flabbergasted when she found them. A speechless Mary Bridgewater in her dressing gown – that sight alone made the journey worthwhile.
‘Before anything else, I think I need a strong cup of tea. Would anybody else like one?’ she asked, once she had recovered from her shock.
Heather and Ella both nodded.
‘I only learned of Amar’s arrest and trial three days ago,’ said Mary.
‘From Jones?’ Ella asked.
She nodded. ‘I drove to Johore on the day of the trial to speak with you, but when I called at that Chinese boarding house, I discovered you were no longer there. Where in the world were you?’ she asked anxiously.
Ella had planned to get straight to the point and ask her what Jones had found out – but what use would that be if Mary didn’t have all the facts? Whatever he had told her, she would only be able to make sense of it if she knew what had happened over the last two days, so Ella began to tell her. Given the nature of her account, Ella was unsurprised when Mary immediately poured herself a second cup of black tea – and then washed it down with two glasses of sherry.
For a long while, Mary sat in silence. Ella could tell she was still trying to digest everything she’d heard. Ella had been expecting that – but there was one small detail that caught her attention: Mary hadn’t seemed particularly surprised to hear that Heather was Ella’s mother rather than her sister.
‘I went to see Jones – I assume you know that already,’ she then began.
Ella nodded.
‘I asked him to do some digging into the past. I simply couldn’t stop thinking about it. I wanted to know if Richard was Ella’s real father,’ she explained to them both.
Ella stared at her every bit as intently as Heather.
‘My goodness, the things he managed to find out,’ declared Mary – more to herself – as she poured another sherry.
‘Jones looked through the newspaper archive and asked around among his clients. It was the similarity between you and Heather that struck me most, and when I stopped to consider Richard’s penchant for minor infidelities . . . Richard simply had to be your real father – or at least, that’s what I thought at first. But Jones went to a good deal of trouble. It seems Richard and Marjory wanted to adopt a child at one point. Applications of that kind are noted in official registers. And then there was the report to the police saying that a child had been abducted, allegedly by the Chinese. It seems that the case was closed at the Fosters’ request, since such kidnappings aren’t unusual around these parts and the investigations generally lead nowhere. I can well imagine that nobody would have asked any questions about that – not even on a purely human level, as it’s easy to think that the parents wouldn’t be able to develop an emotional bond with an adopted infant in such a short time. That was when I managed to put two and two together. And then there was Jack. Although you tried to keep it secret, my dear Heather, men are stupid. They like to brag about their love affairs . . .’ said Mary.
‘Jack did that?’ Heather plainly found that hard to believe.
‘He was just a man. A British officer at that, and one of the most contemptible kind, if you’ll permit me to say so.’
‘Contemptible?’ Heather was so bewildered that she couldn’t speak in full sentences.
‘Did he ever formally agree to marry you? You must have been seventeen years old, am I right?’
Heather exchanged glances with Ella.
‘I thought so,’ Mary went on.
There was no need for Heather to say anything more.
‘You see, Jack was already married – to a woman named Isabel, who I’m sure had no idea about his escapades,’ Mary continued.
‘What?’ Heather was open-mouthed with astonishment.
‘Now, just imagine the scandal. Isabel has blue blood in her veins, and Jack’s family is one of the most distinguished in England,’ Mary added.
Heather clung to Ella’s hand.
‘Fortunately, there appears to be such a thing as poetic justice, for Jack’s life came to a tragic end.’
‘I know. He drowned. Somewhere in the Strait of Malacca,’ Heather interjected.
Now it was Mary’s turn to look astonished. ‘He did nothing of the sort, my dear. In point of fact, he contracted a venereal disease, which he expired from a year after his return to England. Hopefully in agony,’ she added indignantly.
‘But Father told me . . .’ Heather objected.
‘What else could he have told you? The truth? You might have decided to get on the next boat to England and hold him to account.’ Mary’s logic seemed unimpeachable to Ella.
‘My parents lied to me the whole time. Even Mother . . . She must have known about all this . . .’ Heather seemed to slowly grasp the true dimensions of the lie.
‘So I assume,’ said Mary, taking another sip of her sherry. ‘Yet there is another interesting aspect to this affair that I’m sure you will find no less astonishing.’
She seemed to be enjoying her role as a bringer of light into darkness.
‘Haven’t you ever wondered why Compton was such a close friend of the Fosters? Marjory only needed to snap her fingers for him to come running,’ Mary went on.
‘You mean the accusations against Amar had nothing to do with Compton’s jealousy or the fact that I rejected him?’ Ella asked.
‘That might have played a role – but I can see another more pressing motive. Jack Jenkins was Edward’s youngest cousin.’
For a moment, Ella was completely thunderstruck.
‘Sherry?’ asked Mary.
Heather and Ella nodded simultaneously, and a slug of Mary’s famous pick-me-up soon restored Ella’s faculty of speech. Suddenly, everything made sense. All the same, she felt the need to sum up the situation to make sure that she had understood it all correctly.
‘So . . . just one word from Marjory would have been enough to bring shame upon Compton’s family. Isabel – Jack’s wife – would have found out that her husband had impregnated a young Englishwoman, and that the woman’s child was still alive. Marjory knew where I lived because of the monthly payments. And that could have been dangerous for Isabel’s family, because my existence would mean they could be open to blackmail, which would probably leave them with no choice but to use their influence to posthumously ruin Jack’s reputation, which in turn would have caused the Comptons to be socially ostracised.’
‘That’s about the long and the short of it, my dear,’ Mary congratulated her.
‘So did the idea to get rid of Ella come from my father? Mother had insisted on adopting her after all,’ Heather recalled.
‘I imagine so. Perhaps he came under pressure from the governor and his family. Subtle pressure, of course, but he probably felt he had no other choice. . . People do say that Richard was always very worried about his personal reputation,’ Mary added.
‘Perhaps there really is such a thing as poetic justice, then,’ said Ella quietly to herself.
Heather and Mary both looked at her quizzically.
‘After all, he died soon afterwards,’ she added.
‘His heart. It was his heart,’ Heather interjected.
Mary stared at her. ‘Was it really, now? Didn’t Rudolf von Stetten also die of heart failure?’ Her question carried a note of alarm.
‘What do you mean by that?’ asked Heather.
Mary thought for a moment before she replied. ‘Come with me. I want to show you something in the garden.’
Heather shot Ella a puzzled look, but they both rose to their feet and followed Mary.
‘Ella, didn’t I once tell you that Marjory and I share a passion?’ asked Mary as they walked around the side of the house.
‘You mean the oleander?’ Ella recalled.
‘You must have seen the two of us in the garden often enough,’ Mary said to Heather, who nodded.
‘Rudolf von Stetten was found close to the Foster plantation. Of course, he might have been poisoned by the local flora or fauna, but when I learned about the circumstances of Richard’s death – Jones really did sterling work there! – I felt that was a coincidence too far. It seems that he died in th
e same manner as Rudolf von Stetten.’
‘You think Marjory murdered Rudolf and her husband?’ asked Ella in astonishment.
Mary stopped by the first hedgerow, knelt down and plucked one of the green stems, whose tip was covered in fresh buds.
‘Every part of the plant – from the branches and leaves to the stems and the flowers – is highly toxic, but the milk of the oleander is the most poisonous of all. Even diluted, it’s deadly – regardless of how it is administered. The poison works by gradually slowing the victim’s pulse, and it also causes shortness of breath. Eventually, the heart stops beating altogether. To all intents and purposes, the victim appears to have died of heart failure. Not many people know that, admittedly,’ Mary explained.
‘Did my mother know?’ Heather asked.
‘Yes. She warned me once that I should always wash my hands thoroughly after working in the garden, or wear gloves while pruning the hedge. It’s so easy to absent-mindedly rub one’s eyes,’ Mary explained.
‘But why would she murder her own husband?’ Ella could make no sense of it.
‘That, my dear, can only be answered by Marjory herself.’ Ella could see that Heather was just as desperate to find out the reason as she was.
It was no shock to Ella that Heather was torn about confronting Marjory. On their return to Johore, Heather had even seriously considered remaining at the boarding house – and not just because of Mary’s revelations and conjectures. Before her journey to the east coast, Heather had already inwardly bid farewell to her mother. After all, Marjory had lied to her and deprived her of her only child. Yet Ella felt certain that Heather was also afraid of seeing Marjory again – and with good reason, for she was Heather’s mother, and by Heather’s own admission had always loved her and cared for her.
Ella had already climbed onto the cart ready to drive to the police station when Heather finally plucked up her courage and decided to go with her.
‘I simply have to know the truth.’ That was all Heather needed to say, and no further words passed her lips. She maintained a tense silence until they arrived at Puteri’s office.