by Dawn Farnham
There is no government anywhere in the world so inadequate at addressing its people as that of the Straits, the editor had written. Chinese translations of new laws must be made in Hong Kong. Judicial work falls to the Governor and the Resident Councillor almost entirely without help. Cases go unheard for months and the jail is packed with men awaiting trial.
Charlotte found a great deal of sympathy with Mrs Norris, for Robert too, worked so very hard with too few ill-paid policemen. A force of 130 men was left to deal with a population which, she read in the paper, had grown in ten years or so from 17,000 to 50,000.
Keeping his policemen from the corruption of bribery was a great headache and Robert could not even blame them, their salary was so poor. He was forced, through a lack of senior officials, to double up as Magistrate and Officer of the Court. It was not his salary which had made him comparatively rich. Like all the government officials, they sustained their existence by property development or plantations in the countryside. It was Robert’s properties in the town and his coconut plantation at Katong which provided the bulk of his income.
Isabel da Silva, who had fidgeted during this conversation, sighed with relief at its end and now found a degree of animation. Isabel’s engagement to the man from Manila had fallen through. He had got some other woman pregnant and been forced to marry her. She had not wanted the man from Manila, but now that he was no longer available Isabel bemoaned her fate and found that she had been almost in love with him.
Charlotte was sure that Maryanne, Isabel and Elizabeth spent many hours together discussing these and other injustices at length. Currently, Isabel’s mother was seeking a new husband for her daughter. Appeals had gone out to Isobel, her twin, to find a husband like her own, an English merchant. Unfortunately, Charlotte could see, the strain told somewhat on Isabel. Her face was bloated and red, and she had gained weight. She had never been a pretty girl and now … well, she was well over twenty, with looks waning.
“Actually, I am rather glad the Manila gorilla fell through. I would much rather have Captain Maitland.”
Charlotte looked up from her tea. Isabel had designs on Charles Maitland? Why not, she supposed, but thought Isabel must surely be disappointed. She was certain Sir Henry, Foreign Secretary to the Indian Government would balk, no matter how unfairly, at the prospect of a mixed-blood merchant’s daughter marrying his brother. Also, Captain Maitland hardly struck her as a man in search of a wife, or even remotely interested in women.
“Have you met him, Charlotte?” Isabel asked, picking up another piece of cake.
“Yes, briefly. He seems a rather introspective sort of man.”
“Oh, no! Not at all. He is not the least like that. Serious perhaps but I admire a man of science. But he comes often to our house for musical evenings. He sings very well and he is part of the players at the Theatre Royal in the Hill Street Assembly Rooms.”
Charlotte was astonished. The seemingly taciturn Mr Maitland, a player?
“Why, there is a performance next Saturday night of The Merry Monarch. He plays Mary Tree.”
“He plays females uncommonly well,” Elizabeth added and Isabel nodded, cramming cake into her mouth.
The prospect of the dour Mr Maitland in female apparel was too good to be missed, and Charlotte agreed to attend. Isabel said that she would go immediately to Little & Cursetjee to pick up the tickets.
The talk turned to the popular subject of Rajah Brooke. Isabel was entirely in love with James Brooke, she avowed. He must be so lonely, there in Sarawak without a woman by his side. So handsome, so dashing. Every woman’s dream. Yet he was alone. She could not understand it, she confessed.
Charlotte agreed that she too found the Rajah charming. She had been invited to visit him. “I do not intend to go but it is charming of him to ask.”
Isabel let out a loud cry, a small explosion of cake crumbs escaping her mouth. “Oh Charlotte, you must go. Will you not take me? I should so love to see his house! And the head hunters. It is all so thrilling and romantic.”
She began to pout and Elizabeth too, joined the chorus of protestation. “Yes indeed, Charlotte, you must go and take Isabel. Such a pity I am so near my time.”
Elizabeth looked slyly at Charlotte. “Perhaps he means to marry you, Charlotte. A rich widow might be just the thing for a new king. I hear he is in need of funds. Would you not like to be the Ranee of Sarawak?”
Isabel looked at her friend with shock and her jaw dropped.
Charlotte laughed, not least to allay Isabel’s rather bizarre fears.
“I have no intention of marrying Rajah Brooke, I assure you both.”
Charlotte shook her head slightly. The whole town had become crazed with the Rajah.
An idea suddenly entered her head. Her thoughts turned too much to Zhen lately. A change of scene might be just the thing. And Rajah Brooke was a charming man. She was suddenly curious about his life in this strange place called Sarawak. Perhaps she would go after all.
13
Charlotte went to kiss the children. Adam was sleeping in his small bed, his face in sweet repose. He was every inch Tigran’s son. Adam’s babu was eating in the servants’ kitchen, but later she would sleep at his side together with Alexander’s babu. She touched his cheek. She moved over to Alex. He too was asleep, his arms flung round his head. She stood and looked down at him. When he was asleep, his face unanimated, she could see Zhen in his lips and the turn of his jaw. He was so handsome, like his father. She bent and kissed his cheek.
Alex was eight years old. It was time to allow him greater freedom. She had given this a great deal of thought. No father, no man could truly guide Alex or Adam. Robert was a good uncle but too busy. She had decided to get a syce for Alex, a young man who would go about with him, protect him, be his friend but also an example to him. The choice was not easy.
She left the room and went downstairs. She was looking forward to a visit to the Assembly Rooms on Hill Street, and the presentation The Merry Monarch at the Theatre Royale. She knew a little about this play from the playbill which she had received with her tickets.
When his mistress, Lady Clara (Charles Dyce), accuses the Earl of Rochester (Captain James Scott) of being “the chief cause of the king’s irregularities”, the Earl agrees to help reform Charles II (William Napier). He takes the King to a seaman’s tavern run by old Captain Copp (Robert Macleod). There he deserts the King, leaving him to fend for himself without any money. Copp threatens to have the King arrested, but the King escapes through a window. Realising the Earl and the lady have had his best interests at heart, the King is forgiving and promises to mend his ways. He pays his debt to Copp and gives him a fine watch as well. The role of Mary, Captain Copp’s niece, is played by Captain Charles Maitland, and that of Edward, a page, by Thomas Keane.
She took up her bag from the hall table, went outside under the porte-cochere and took a seat in her carriage. Her syce, Ravi, led the horse and began to trot down the driveway. Charlotte still could not quite get used to this manner of conveyance, with the Indian man, a flaming torch held aloft, guiding the horses to their destination. It was somewhat irksome in that the horses proceeded only as fast as the syce could run, which, to be fair, was often very fast indeed. It was peculiar to Singapore, she was sure.
The Assembly Rooms was an unprepossessing building nestled into the base of Bukit Larangan on the corner of Hill Street and River Valley Road. It had little to recommend itself, Charlotte thought, as the carriage drew up. No elegance at all. In fact it was downright ugly. It was constructed not of brick and marble but of lath and plaster, with an attap roof—no more, really, than a large hut. To the left of the main lobby was a ballroom and, to the right the theatre, with a well for the orchestra. The musicians from the regiment were playing and the music at least, was good.
Charlotte saw Teresa in conversation with her mother and Eliza Dyce and went up to them. Teresa greeted her sister-in-law warmly. Teresa’s baby was due in a month and the heat
was a trial, she said. Fortunately tonight was cool, a breeze blowing in from the doors and the punkahs waving above them. Acquaintances came up to the group to pay their compliments. The hall filled up, and Charlotte could see that the evening was not confined as one might have imagined, to simply the Europeans of the town.
A great many Chinese and Indians were present. The two richest Arab merchants in the town were also there. Perhaps, they all wanted to see the amusing spectacle of the white people making fools of themselves, Charlotte thought. Why not? She did. A bell sounded and the gathered throng moved slowly to their seats. There was not one free place, Charlotte noted. Theatricals, amateur or otherwise, were rare in Singapore and when they were staged, very well attended. She took out her fan and waited, eager now for the play to begin.
Nothing was quite like the experience of amateur theatricals in a community so small as that of the Europeans in Singapore. Everyone knew everyone and the suspense of waiting for neighbours and friends to step out of their lives and onto a stage was one quite peculiar to such a place. The sense of pleasurable anticipation, the willingness to be entertained, to enjoy the evening, was heightened. She could hardly wait to see Robert as the corpulent and bibulous Captain Copp or Charles Maitland as a woman! As she gazed around the room, Isabel da Silva waved to her, and Charlotte smiled and waved her fan. The orchestra began to play softly and the curtains swished apart.
The play advanced, the appearance of each actor greeted with loud applause. The sight of Billy Napier bouncing on stage, bewigged and powdered, as the dissolute King Charles, brought the house to its feet. He took several bows but when the audience had settled again, the sound of his broad Scottish accent emitting from the King’s mouth, caused such hilarity that it took many minutes for the play to continue. When Robert appeared, almost unrecognisable as the fat Captain Copp, Charlotte and Teresa looked at each other and laughed. Then Charles Maitland entered, mincing, his body cinched into a corset, his face made up heavily, on his head a wig of long black hair. The audience raised a shout of hilarity, and Charles bowed slightly and turned to Robert, waiting.
“What Mary, my little blossom, what cheer? What cheer?” Captain Copp went up to his niece, who was the same height as himself.
Charlotte and Teresa, the whole house, burst out laughing. Anything looking less like a little blossom could not be imagined.
“Who are they, uncle, those people who make such a noise?” Charles said in a voice of feminine sweetness and looked pointedly at the audience. The house came down, tears were streaming down half the faces in the room.
The scene continued, with each reference to Mary’s feminine gentleness greeted with laughter. Then Robert, as Captain Copp, raised his voice in song. The audience waited. This song, repeated many times throughout the play, was always cut short. Robert turned to the audience.
“In the time of the Rump
As old Admiral Trump
With his broom swept the chops of the Channel
And his crew of ten breechers
Those Dutch sons of …”
Mary put her hand to his mouth hurriedly.
“Oh, oh, Uncle, don’t sing that horrible rough song.”
Charles threw a look of painful maidenly embarrassment at the audience and the whole house burst into laughter.
When the play was finished, the audience rose in prolonged and hearty applause. Afterward, Charlotte went to the dressing room. Robert turned as she entered and waved a hand lazily. He was still covered in make-up and she laughed again at his comical appearance.
Robert looked over her shoulder and she turned. There stood Charles Maitland, still bewigged and made up, the slightest sign of a shadow on his chin. Somehow, in this ridiculous feminine apparel, with a wig and make-up thick on his face, he still contrived to be utterly masculine. He turned his dark eyes onto her.
“Mary, my sweet child,” Robert said, laughing, addressing Charles as his stage character, “you know Charlotte I think.”
Charlotte turned her gaze to Charles. He bowed.
“Congratulations Captain, on your excellent and comical portrayal,” Charlotte said smiling.
“Mrs Manouk, thank you.”
He addressed Robert and mincing said a line from the play, “Ah, my good uncle, you are always so careful of me.”
Robert laughed and took Charlotte’s hand.
“Be careful Kitt, ‘the first glimpse of a petticoat—whew!—up boarding pikes and grappling irons. No child, mustn’t venture in those latitudes.’”
Charlotte laughed again and Charles smiled and bowed. “Forgive me, I must now quit these heavenly garments.”
Charlotte watched him move away.
The Dramatic Society had laid on a late supper. Charlotte and Isabel returned to the supper room. Within fifteen minutes Robert came up and took a glass of champagne. A few minutes later, Charles Maitland, restored to his masculine garb, joined them. Isabel da Silva immediately left her mother and slipped her arm through Charlotte’s.
“Oh, Captain, you were so very wonderful tonight. Had I not known, I should have thought you a woman, certainly.”
Charles smiled and bowed over Isabel’s hand. She giggled and fanned herself.
Charlotte could think of nothing to say. She found herself suddenly tongue-tied and could not imagine why.
Charles picked up a glass of champagne and tossed it back quickly, then bowed to the company. “I must depart, forgive me. My journey back to Kallang is quite long.” He put out his hand to Robert who shook it.
“Goodbye, dearest Uncle. Until Friday evening.” Charles grinned at Robert as he spoke, then held out his hand to Isabel and took hers, bowing over it. He then turned to Charlotte. She curtsied and held out her hand. He took it and she suddenly felt a shock, as if a little fizz of lightning had passed through her. She had not felt this sensation since she had touched Zhen.
Charles drew her hand to his mouth, not touching it with his lips though, and she drew in her breath sharply, trying to control these unexpected reactions. He dropped her hand and looked into her eyes. She read there too, an extraordinary surprise.
“Perhaps,” he said and paused, “perhaps you would care to visit the Magnetic Observatory on the Kallang River.” He gazed at Charlotte, then suddenly seemed to shake himself. “Miss Isabel too, of course.” He looked at Isabel and she simpered and giggled. Then, without waiting for a reply, he bowed, turned and left the room.
14
Charlotte’s carriage stopped in front of the doors of Qian’s compound on the corner of High Street and Hill Street. The high roof curved delicately upward, adorned by ornate porcelain tiling. The doors were a faded red with brass studs. Two huge paper lanterns covered in Chinese script hung to either side of the doors. The entire compound was surrounded by high walls. It ran from High Street to the edge of the river where the godowns lay. She was here to take Ah Soon with them to join the Munshi on a visit to the Sultan’s compound at Kampong Glam.
She stepped down from the carriage with Alex and hand in hand, they went up to the door. As she approached, as if secret eyes were watching, one door swung open and a servant bowed low. She stepped up over the threshold and entered the inner room. This, she now knew, was the first court, the visitors’ court, separated from the rest of the house by an ornate carved wooden screen that ran from ceiling to floor. A marble-topped table stood in the middle of the tiled floor and the walls were lined with heavy black carved wooden chairs. She stopped and waited. Alex looked around. Though Ah Soon had come frequently to his own house on North Bridge Road, this was the first time he had set foot in Ah Soon’s house.
He loved it, the high-pitched roof and curving tiles, the beams painted with golden dragons and swirling blue and white clouds. Charlotte too took a long look around. Everything was solid and restrained and yet exuberant at the same time. From Zhen she had learned an appreciation of the heavy symbolism which lay all around them in this room, the motifs of harmony, good fortune, longevity. The sym
bolism was so rich, it was difficult to remember.
A squeak of pleasure came from behind, and they turned. Ah Soon had arrived and behind him, his father, Qian. They both bowed solemnly and then smiled broadly. Qian held out his hand to Charlotte, and Ah Soon took Alex’s in his and waited.
“Welcome, Miss Charlotte,” Qian said, shaking her hand.
Charlotte smiled too. Qian, dear Qian, Zhen’s loyal friend.
“Miss no longer, Qian. I am Mrs Manouk as you know very well.”
“Always Miss Charlotte to me.”
Charlotte turned towards her son. “And this is Alex, my eldest boy, Ah Soon’s friend.”
Qian looked at Charlotte. She was still so lovely, this woman Zhen loved. He could see how difficult it must be for Zhen to give her up. Her figure was unchanged. She was still a willow, still exuded a kind and charming nature. She had a radiant beauty and a keen and tolerant mind. He could see it was a meeting of body and mind, an almost perfect union of Yin and Yang, she dark to his light, soft to his hard. Society, with all its laws and strictures stood in the way, but he could see that in a natural world they were meant to be together.
He nodded at her and turned his gaze to her son. He took Alex’s hand and shook it in the English way, and Alex bowed slightly. Qian looked at him and saw it immediately: this was Zhen’s son. Qian was absolutely sure of it. He recognised the Chinese tilt of his eyes, though they were not so dark, nor so narrow. But more than this, it was in the bones, the jaw and the cheek, that he read Zhen’s blood. Ah Soon was so much his own son, every skinny bit of him, his face the image of his own, that Qian could see Zhen everywhere in Alex. He made no sign however, and smiled at Alex.
“Come inside. Perhaps you would take some tea before you go off on your excursions.”
Charlotte could not believe how well Qian spoke English. Ah Soon said something quickly to Alex in Hokkien and Qian smiled.