On Far Malayan Shores

by Tara Haigh

  Amar was already waiting for them. He had had to make a statement about the attack on Lee’s boarding house and Compton’s death.

  ‘Will Bujang go free?’ was the first thing Ella asked.

  ‘Compton clearly exceeded the bounds of his authority and acted out of self-interest. He was prompted by base motives to murder Raj. I don’t think there will be any further consequences, not even when the new governor arrives,’ Puteri assured them.

  ‘Should I come with you?’ Amar asked.

  Heather seemed to consider the offer, but then shook her head. The road to Calvary was Heather’s alone, but Ella agreed with her that it would be better if only the two of them accompanied Officer Puteri.

  ‘I’ll wait for you at Lee’s,’ said Amar, and embraced Ella. Then he put his hand on Heather’s shoulder for a moment – a consoling and encouraging gesture, which Heather accepted with a grateful smile.

  ‘I have no choice but to place Mrs Foster under arrest,’ said Puteri before they reached the police carriage. He seemed to want to check that Heather was ready for what lay ahead of her.

  She merely gave an apathetic nod and climbed aboard.

  Ella could all too vividly imagine what was going through her mind.

  The journey to the Fosters’ house was now familiar to Ella, and life on the plantation seemed untouched by all that had happened. Raj’s absence was unnoticeable; the workers were still carrying their shoulder poles, their buckets filled with the white blood of the earth, as he had called it. As they passed the spot where Ella had met Raj for the first time, accompanied by Rudolf, she thought about how badly she had misjudged him back then.

  She could see that Heather was growing more tense the closer they got to her home, her hands gripping the iron frame of their padded seat. She wondered where they would find Marjory. Most likely she would deny everything in her imperious tone of voice. After all, it was impossible to prove that she had poisoned both Rudolf and her husband. That she had conspired with Compton and incited him to commit murder was beyond dispute, however, and for that alone she would land in jail – or so Officer Puteri had assured them.

  There was no need for Puteri to drive the carriage all the way up to the main building, for Marjory was sitting on the veranda of the oleander house. She must have seen them coming, but she didn’t stir. It looked as though she had sat down to rest in the shade after a hard day’s work. On the table in front of her stood a jug and a glass of cordial. She was staring into the distance, and she didn’t move even when Heather got down from the carriage. She seemed to be looking straight through everything.

  Officer Puteri approached her, presumably intending to tell her that she was under arrest, but he didn’t get the chance.

  ‘Compton failed, then. I thought he would,’ declared Marjory coldly. The last thing Ella had expected was for her to confess like this. ‘What’s keeping him? He should have been here this morning,’ Marjory went on.

  ‘The governor is dead,’ said Puteri.

  Marjory merely gave a contemptuous smile.

  Puteri exchanged astonished glances with Ella and Heather, but recovered more quickly than they did. ‘I must ask you to come with me, Mrs Foster. You stand accused of incitement to murder and blackmailing a Crown official. You are also suspected of having murdered Rudolf von Stetten.’

  Marjory cackled like a madwoman. Then she gave a deep sigh and reached for the glass in front of her, which she emptied in one draught.

  ‘Mother!’ Heather burst out. She instantly realised what Marjory had planned.

  ‘It isn’t worth arresting me now. I won’t live longer than an hour. A sweet death. The cordial masks the bitter taste,’ said Marjory.

  ‘Mother? Why are you doing this?’ Heather cried desperately. How awful must it be for Heather to watch her mother take her own life?

  Marjory’s iron expression softened slightly. ‘I can’t live with this guilt any more,’ she said dully.

  ‘Did you poison Father too?’ asked Heather. She didn’t dare to approach her mother.

  Marjory gave a bitter laugh. ‘Have you forgotten how badly you suffered? And who caused you all that pain? He did!’ Her voice told Ella of the hatred she nurtured for her husband. ‘Every day, I would look at his face in the drawing room so I could tell myself I’d done the right thing. I hope he burns in hell,’ Marjory went on. Then she turned to look at Ella.

  ‘Poor Ella . . . We didn’t want to give you away, Heather and I. But he felt otherwise, because he was afraid of losing his power and his reputation. He wouldn’t listen to me.’ Marjory’s voice broke. It grew soft, almost sentimental. ‘I begged him. “She’s just a child. Nobody will ask any questions. Nobody. Do you hear?”’

  ‘Did you know that the kidnapping was a lie?’ Heather asked.

  Marjory nodded, with a heavy heart. Ella could see that she was already struggling to hold herself upright.

  ‘How did you find out?’ Marjory gasped, her voice weakening.

  Heather was so distraught that she couldn’t utter a word.

  ‘Mary Bridgewater,’ said Ella.

  ‘Mary . . .’ Marjory emitted a noise that sounded almost amused. ‘Mary gets wind of everything . . .’ she coughed. Then she looked at the oleander. ‘Isn’t it beautiful? I’ve always hoped I would be able to sit down here one day and just peacefully fall asleep,’ she breathed. Her voice was barely audible. A convulsion passed through her body. She lifted her hand to her chest and wheezed.

  Heather now walked over to Marjory.

  Ella could see how helpless Heather felt – how uncertain about what she should do. But then she took her mother’s hand, and Marjory turned to face her.

  ‘I did it for you . . . Heather. Please believe me. I didn’t want you to suffer any more . . .’ Once again, Marjory gasped for breath. ‘I couldn’t forgive Richard . . . and then that German, after all these years . . . I couldn’t let him hurt Heather,’ she said, looking at Ella and Officer Puteri.

  She turned back to her daughter. ‘Please sit down with me, my child . . . It won’t take much longer . . .’

  Heather couldn’t refuse, and she sat down on the chair beside her mother. Her eyes filled with tears.

  ‘Forgive me, child. Please forgive me . . .’ she whispered, before clutching at her heart once more. Her breath began to rattle in her chest. Marjory no longer had the strength to hold her head up, and it sank on her daughter’s breast. She looked like a child seeking comfort from her mother, although the opposite was the case.

  ‘We should leave them alone,’ said Ella to Puteri, and he nodded sympathetically.

  Heather shot her a grateful look.

  Ella turned round and walked with Puteri back to the carriage, but they didn’t linger there.

  ‘The property has an extraordinarily beautiful garden,’ said Ella.

  ‘I would be glad if you would show it to me,’ Puteri answered.

  Ella sensed that she was doing the right thing. At least Heather could now make peace with her past. Although she still couldn’t believe that Marjory had murdered two people in cold blood, her deeds were mitigated by her motives: after all, she had been acting out of love for her daughter.

  EPILOGUE

  Wasn’t it said that time heals all wounds? There had been a time of funerals. Raj had found his peace in the flames. He didn’t seem to have any friends or family, and only Amar, Bujang, Heather and Lee had accompanied Ella to his cremation – though on arrival, they had all been surprised to find Officer Puteri there too. He had paid his respects, just like the rest of the mourners. The second ceremony had taken place two days later at the local cemetery. A stonemason had engraved Marjory’s name alongside that of Richard Foster’s. Ella had welcomed Heather’s decision that only the two of them should go to bid her farewell. Yet a few days later, a handful of new wreaths had appeared alongside theirs. The loveliest of these was from Mary Bridgewater. An arrangement of oleander was unusual for a funeral, but in this case, Mary’s choi
ce couldn’t have been more appropriate, macabre as it was. Mary had also done much to ensure that the days following Marjory’s death brought some positive news. Ella had casually mentioned to her that she missed her work, and that Doctor Bagus had offered her the opportunity to put her expertise to good use by giving lectures on naturopathic medicine at the local hospital. Two days later, Henry Jones himself had appeared at the door of the Fosters’ house to present her with a work permit – and Ella intended to use it.

  She had finally set all these events down in a letter to her adoptive mother too. Although Ella knew that many weeks would pass before she received a reply from Hamburg, she felt sure that her reasons for wanting to stay in Malacca would meet with understanding. Would her mother accept the invitation to join Ella here once she learned the truth about her daughter’s origins?

  Inside the house itself, very little had changed; only the painting of Heather’s parents had been cut in two and reframed, at Heather’s own insistence, leaving only her mother’s portrait on the wall. Ella had thus found herself attending a second cremation, although Richard was no Hindu. Heather had burned his likeness on a ceremonial bonfire as if she were executing a traitor.

  Certain changes to the household had proven inevitable, however. Although Ella wouldn’t have minded staying at Lee’s, Heather had insisted that she move in with her instead. Ella had been unsure whether Heather would agree to Amar joining them; after all, she still hadn’t quite overcome her aversion to men, and on top of that, she was unused to a male presence at home. But to Ella’s surprise, she had welcomed him with open arms. Amusingly, Jaya had initially thought that Amar was now employed in the house – until she saw him walking arm-in-arm with Ella, that is.

  ‘Why should I care what people think?’ Heather was already beginning to sound like Mary Bridgewater, who came to visit them at least every third day, with a different excuse each time. Ella was unsurprised to find that she had already been researching mixed marriages and their legal status.

  Amar spent his days on the plantation, doing the same work he had always done. The men respected him because he had already been one of the two foremen before the tragic events had unfolded. At any rate, there would be no more whippings on the Foster plantation from now on.

  Over the last few days, Ella and Heather had taken to sitting together by the oleander house to escape the midday heat. The shady terrace was the perfect place for that. Today, Heather took the opportunity to tell Ella about Jack. It seemed as though she almost had to force herself to think only of the beautiful moments she had spent by his side, in order to gloss over his betrayal.

  ‘Who knows – perhaps he really did love you, and was just too cowardly to stand by that love,’ Ella ventured to say.

  ‘He truly did,’ Heather answered. She rose to her feet. ‘Come, I want to show you something.’ Heather gave Ella her hand and beckoned for her to follow.

  Ella couldn’t imagine what she was getting at. ‘Do you mean the heart on the tree?’ she conjectured.

  She allowed Heather to lead her to the spot, but when she arrived, she saw something on the tree that she hadn’t expected. A second heart had appeared alongside the first. Ella took a closer look. The letters ‘A’ and ‘E’ were engraved on it.

  Ella laughed. ‘Did you carve that?’ she asked.

  ‘With Amar’s help.’ Heather gave a rather wistful sigh. ‘He loves you very much,’ she added, but then she retreated into her own thoughts for a moment. ‘Even when you’re married, you’ll always think of him as your lover,’ Heather declared.

  ‘Well, that’s exactly what he is,’ Ella answered with a smile.

  ‘Yes – and as for me, I’ll probably end up a lonely old woman who spends her days looking after her grandchildren,’ said Heather.

  ‘For now, you’re just my mother. I’d rather wait a while before I make you a grandmother,’ said Ella frankly. ‘Besides, you’ve spent far too long hiding from the world! We should go out together. Singapore isn’t far from here,’ she hinted. She hoped that Heather would one day be receptive to male company once more.

  Heather understood exactly what Ella was getting at.

  ‘At times, I have suffered greatly from my loneliness – but whenever I found a man I liked, I couldn’t get close to him. I was so afraid of being hurt again. But you’re right. Perhaps one day . . .’ she said, casting her gaze out over the plantation.

  Ella could scarcely believe what she had just heard Heather say. The mere fact that she could raise the subject so openly with her was a sign that Heather’s wounded heart was beginning to recover.

  What was it Raj had said? ‘The white blood of the earth. They say that it heals afflicted souls.’ Yet the trees of this plantation had taken a long time to go about their restorative work, Ella reflected silently. She followed Heather’s gaze over the endless lines of the rubber trees and said a silent prayer for her adoptive father, whose dying words had sent her on a voyage that had ultimately led to her real mother.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Tara Haigh has many years of experience writing hit television shows, as well as women’s fiction with plenty of heart and humour under the name Tessa Hennig. All of her books have been bestsellers, and many have already been adapted for film and TV too. Her carefully researched historical novels tell thrilling love stories in exotic locales and address aspects of world history that are comparatively little known or only rarely depicted in literature. For full information about Tessa’s work, visit: www.tessa-hennig.de; for news, discussions, reader events and competitions, or to get in touch, follow Tessa on Twitter – @tessa_hennig – or on Facebook: www.facebook.com/Hennig.Tessa.

  ABOUT THE TRANSLATOR

  Photo © 2014 Jozef van der Voort

  Jozef van der Voort is a literary translator working from Dutch, German and French into English. A Dutch–British dual national, he grew up in south-east England and studied literature and languages in Durham and Sheffield. He is an alumnus of the Emerging Translators Programme run by New Books in German and was also named runner-up in the 2014 Harvill Secker Young Translators’ Prize. His previous translations include Mother Dear by bestselling Dutch author Nova Lee Maier.