The Hills of Singapore

by Dawn Farnham

  Charles moved between them and Charlotte and put up his hand in greeting. He knew his companions would be down to get him within a minute of two, and he did not want to expose Charlotte to the lewd talk of the soldier’s mess. It was the most unfortunate timing.

  He turned to her. “They will be here in an instant. I must go. Please, Kitt? I cannot bear to part with you not knowing if I shall see you again.”

  “Yes, yes, go with your companions. Of course you may write to me.” She put her hand on his arm. “Of course we shall see each other again. Perhaps I shall come to Sarawak.”

  Charles smiled. “Yes, yes, do. Come to Sarawak.” He glanced quickly as he heard the bustle of the men clambering onto the jetty.

  “Come?” he said, his eyes glittering.

  Charlotte nodded, and he put her hand swiftly to his lips. “I shall write every day,” he said and left her quickly, racing along the water’s edge. He was anxious she should not be compromised.

  Charlotte watched him go, striding athletically, gallantly, his concern for her evident. She felt a small, irrational happiness. That he liked her was no longer in any doubt.

  She turned and looked out over the bay, bathed in moonlight and reflected flame, waiting a moment for Charles and his friends to join the throng. Her thoughts were filled with him and with the promise of this future correspondence, close and intimate.

  Zhen had watched as this man took her to the water’s edge. Watched as they had stood close together, watched as he put her hand to his lips. The blood in his veins had grown warm. He felt a sudden and disastrous impulse to beat this man and clenched his fists, willing a calm. He watched as the man’s friends called him away, and then she had turned and gazed out over the water. Something in her attitude told him she was thinking of the red-coated English soldier. He murmured a few words to his companions and strode away. They paid no attention, and he made his way quickly down to the beachside.

  When she turned he was there, and she let out a gasp of surprise.

  “Zhen,” she said, and he saw a small flash of fear and knit his brows. Why should she fear him?

  “Xia Lou, do not be anxious. I surprised you. I am sorry.”

  Charlotte stared at him. She had not given any thought to his presence at this gathering, but it made sense. He had business arrangements with the Temenggong.

  “Yes, I did not expect …” she trailed off, unable to think what to say to him. She had a momentary thought that they had become strangers. After all they had shared, all the passion and the misery. She shook her head slightly.

  He saw it, and his heart felt a great coldness. Did she no longer love him? The thought made him tremble inside, and he spoke too harshly. “Who was that man?”

  Charlotte squared her shoulders and opened her fan. “I beg your pardon?” she said, raising her eyebrows. But the feeling of strangeness had fled in an instant. Even after four years, it was as if they had spoken just an hour ago.

  Zhen knew that when accompanied by this facial expression the English phrase meant something like “mind your own business”. He and Qian enjoyed playing games with the way the Europeans used their faces to express meaning. Zhen’s face remained impassive. “The man, who is he?”

  Charlotte took a few steps along the beach, meaning to go around him. She felt her face grow warm—with anger, with embarrassment too. But he stepped in front of her.

  “Zhen, stop this. Let me pass. We shall be seen.” Charlotte now feared a great scene before all the gathered dignitaries of Singapore.

  “Yes. Then tell me who he is?”

  She sighed and moved, now not towards the crowd but into the shadow of the overhanging palm trees.

  “He is a friend, that is all. I have friends, Zhen, you know.” She looked up but could not see his eyes, it was too dark. He had moved next to her into the shadows. “English women are not like Chinese women. We may have gentlemen friends. And, and, it is you who …”

  He looked down at her. He had moved close, overwhelming her with his presence. She could not continue. She wanted to remind him of his ultimatum, but it seemed pointless, trivial. In the dark she could only sense him, but it was as if she was dispossessed of her own body, as if he owned it, drew it into his, absorbing her into his shadow. She knew at that second that if he touched her, she would give in, melt into his will. Charles flew out of her mind and Zhen came crashing in. Even as she wanted him to pull her into his body, she felt a deep desperation to get away from him.

  “Please, I have to go,” she said shakily.

  Zhen heard the irresolution in her voice. He knew he had only to put out his hand. But suddenly he, too, began to have doubts. To begin again—all the anguish. She was trying to make a new life without him. This thought robbed him of air, and he turned and walked swiftly away from her.

  Charlotte watched him go, shocked at the suddenness of his departure. She leaned against the trunk of the palm. What she had wanted only a second before, she now regretted and she put out her hand towards his parting back.

  “Zhen, oh God,” she whispered. Two minutes in his presence, and she was reduced to quivering indecision.

  When she had regained her composure she went slowly back to the village and sat down next to Teresa. The Chinese party had disappeared.

  24

  Robert sent for Charlotte when the labour pains began. Teresa’s last days had been difficult. The heat was intense, and she had been forced to bathe frequently and lie under the punkah. But at least she had carried this baby to term. The first child had died in utero, and Teresa had taken a long time to recover.

  Robert and Charlotte were sitting on his verandah. The evening was cool, with a good sea breeze, and she was glad for Teresa. Dr Little was here, and Teresa’s mother and sisters. That things were proceeding well was the last they had heard, and now they could only wait. Robert’s arm had healed, and Dr Oxley had removed the gutta-percha cast. Robert was rubbing it now and flexing his hand.

  “How is the arm, Robbie?”

  Robert looked at his sister. “Aye, grand. A little stiff, but that will go. It’s nice to be on horseback again.” He rose and went to the sideboard and poured them both a tot of whisky. She no longer drank it often, and it seared her throat.

  “Oooh, Rob,” she spluttered. “Got out of the habit.”

  He tossed his down and smiled. “Grandmother would have been ashamed of you.”

  She laughed and remembered.

  “I got a letter from Aunt Jeanne on the last packet. I forgot to tell you. She has sent you some nice warm socks she has knitted.”

  Robert smiled. With every letter came a package. Sometimes biscuits, grown mouldy over the voyage, usually knitted goods. It was clear that no matter how often they reminded her, she thought Singapore as cold as Scotland.

  “She is talking of coming here, Robbie. Now that the voyage is less arduous, you know. Waghorn’s route has made the voyage very short. Jeanne’s letter was dated a mere forty-one days ago. It is miraculous. The voyage on the Mediterranean is comfortable, and the voyage overland in Egypt has become quite interesting. The Peninsula and Oriental Company accommodations seem adequate, although one does hear complaints. Could she do it, do you think?”

  “How old is she, Kitt?” As soon as he spoke, they both realised this question had never before entered their heads.

  “Fifty, perhaps, something like that. She seems never to be ill. I think she would be all right.”

  Robert nodded. They both sat silently for a moment, remembering their childhood time together. Jeanne had been their support, the one who loved them in the face of their disapproving grandmother. She had lost her fiancé in the last months of the war with Napoleon and had never married. They had been the children she never had.

  “It would be wonderful to see her,” Robert said quietly, and Charlotte nodded. They had never known their grandfather. When their grandmother had died, the house and grounds had passed to Robert as the first boy of the eldest son, their fath
er. Jeanne lived there, and Charlotte supported her with a generous pension. This last was something Tigran had insisted on when she married him, and she had always loved him for it.

  “I miss Tigran,” she said suddenly, voicing her train of thought.

  Robbie looked at her. “Yes,” he said quietly. “He was a wonderful fellow.” He was horrified to see Charlotte’s face crumple and tears begin to roll down her cheeks. He rose and went to her, sitting next to her and putting an arm around her. She put her face into his shoulder.

  “I want him back, Rob. He understood everything. Why did he have to die?” She began to sob, and he held her tight. He could find no words of comfort. It was simply unfair. Tigran had loved his sister, and they had had a good marriage, good children.

  “It’s hard, Rob. To start again. It wearies me.”

  She sat up, handkerchief to her eyes; she took a deep breath. “I have been writing to Charles Maitland. He is in Sarawak.”

  Robbie returned to his chair. “Charles? Really? Well he is a very decent man. After all that ridiculous hullabaloo over Dalhousie’s visit, I’m not surprised he took off. Salutes, dinners, the Chinese and Indian merchants dressed to the nines, cute children’s dances, what a carry-on. Naturally the visit served no purpose whatsoever. However, we do now have a ghastly obelisk on the sacred place his noble footsteps fell. Poor Johnny Thomson got the job of building the damn thing.”

  “Rob, pay attention. I’m not talking of Dalhousie, for heaven’s sake.” Charlotte smacked his hand.

  “Sorry, Kitt. Charles. Yes. Does he have intentions?”

  “I don’t know, Rob. Yes, perhaps. You know I am rather sick of being a widow.”

  Robert nodded.

  “But I have feelings still, you know.” She stopped, and Robert frowned, for he guessed what might be coming.

  “Feelings for Zhen?” he asked.

  She looked up sharply and then down again.

  “Not difficult for me to guess.”

  Charlotte wiped her eyes and sipped some whisky. The letters from Charles were filled with warmth, with news of his studies and travels, of Sarawak which he described so well. Filled with affection too, for her, she could feel it, though he was careful to profess nothing. He had asked, again, for her to come to Sarawak, and a letter from James Brooke had arrived, pressing his invitation. It was most flattering. But in the back of her mind lay Zhen. Those minutes on the shore of Telok Belangah had unsettled her. The old feelings, buried, had resurfaced so quickly. The simple proximity to him had been enough. What was the use, though? They could never be married, never lead a normal life.

  “I have renewed my life with Shilah,” Robert announced.

  Charlotte’s head shot up, and she looked at him. He was gazing at her. “God help me. I am in love with Shilah, and my wife is having my baby upstairs.”

  They stared at each other.

  “Both as bad as each other, it appears,” Robert laughed, but she felt the anguish under the surface.

  “First loves,” Charlotte said softly.

  “So, you are not the only one, sister,” Robert said. “That’s what I mean. I understand.”

  Charlotte nodded and they smiled at each other.

  At that instant there was a flurry of activity and the front door burst open. Teresa’s sister appeared on the verandah. “A boy,” she proclaimed joyfully. “And mother doing well.”

  Robert and Charlotte rose and went inside the house.

  25

  Charlotte was waiting for Alex. School was almost over. She needed to talk to him. She had made a decision. It was time to go away. She needed to put a space between herself and Zhen. Charles had written that he was waiting for her. That was enough. She would go. But she would not take the children. Alex and Adam would stay here. Life, she had understood, was hazardous in Sarawak. Uprisings were common. It was not a place for children. She felt little fear for herself, however. Pirates were a nuisance, Charles had warned her, but Captain Elliott had fitted the ship with extra cannon. Pirates rarely attacked really big, well-armed ships. They had plenty of booty from smaller, less well-defended vessels. The captain had sailed from Batavia for this voyage carrying a cargo of Japan wares and island goods: diamonds, gold dust from Pontianak, rattans and hardwoods. These had been placed on commission, and now her brig awaited only her.

  For trade in Sarawak, the ship would carry opium, cloth, iron wares, ship’s chandlery, furniture, guns and gunpowder to the Rajah’s new town. And for Charles and the other Europeans, medicines, bibles, books, newspapers and magazines, wine, beer, cheeses—things from home which she intended as gifts. Charles had written of their isolation, the need for familiar objects. A request for sheet music had come from Harriette McDougall, the wife of the newly arrived Anglican pastor, and Charlotte had scoured the town and had a vast amount copied. She had added a new upright piano, and tobacco and brandy as gifts for the Rajah.

  Charlotte had also purchased a magic lantern. Alexander and Adam loved the magic lantern show, in particular the Rat Swallower which featured a sleeping man whose mouth opened and closed as the projectionist made snoring sounds. The image of a rat would then move across the man’s sleeping body, and jump into his mouth as he snored. She had also purchased the life of Jesus, the stories of Mother Goose and other children’s stories, pictures of Christmas, ships, archers and animals, pictures of horseback riding and cowboys from the Wild West of America, all beautifully painted. Everybody loved the magic lantern.

  She saw Alex as he left the classroom, as usual next to Ah Soon. Their friendship was very close, somewhat to the detriment of Ah Soon’s English as they usually prattled in Hokkien. The difference in their sizes was almost comical. Ah Soon was such a skinny stick next to Alex. It didn’t matter, though. Both boys played together, and Charlotte knew Ah Soon was wiry and strong. She waved as they looked up, and they both came racing towards her down the corridor.

  Ah Soon arrived first. He was very fast, and Alex punched him lightly on the arm. Charlotte shook the hand that Ah Soon proffered as he had been taught, and curtsied to him. Alex laughed and kissed his mother. She took both boys by the hand, and together they went out into the park of the institution and walked towards North Bridge Road. Today Ah Soon was coming to her house to spend time with Alex in the garden and to read together the new books which had arrived with the mail: Robinson Crusoe, Gulliver’s Travels and a new book of stories she had heard about by the Grimm brothers. Robinson Crusoe was their favourite at the moment.

  The sight of these two heads together always moved her heart. One was dark-haired, tousled, his locks tumbling over his face; the other was half-shaved, the queue neatly plaited down his back reaching only as far as his neck. She could not quite ever quit herself of the idea that Alex was a half-Chinese boy. In any other house, in any other life, his head would be as Ah Soon’s, and his father would be by her side.

  Then she shook this idea from her mind. It was ridiculous. The idea that Alex could be a Chinese boy. They sat poring over the words, Alex sometimes trying to translate into Hokkien for Ah Soon, both laughing together. This sight, as she sat in the shade of the trees, was a moment of pure pleasure. When Amber came with Shilah, the boys made room and began to tell her the story, for Amber could not yet read well. She was learning her letters. When the boys tired of the book, they got up and ran about playing hide and go seek. Alex always hid with Amber when Ah Soon was the seeker, and Charlotte and Shilah knew they had great affection for one another. Adam was sleeping, but when he woke, he too would join the children.

  Then the games changed to porok, the object of which was to kick a coconut shell towards another to strike it off its mark; or to main china buta, “blind chinaman”, which Charlotte knew as blindman’s bluff.

  When she called the children for tea, they came, tumbling over each other to the table set aside for them, and began to talk quietly amongst themselves, eating the biscuits and cakes that the cook had made. Charlotte was always amused to see
how much Ah Soon liked these English dishes. His favourite was, unaccountably, cabinet pudding with treacle, and she always ensured Cook made one when Ah Soon was coming. Adam and Alex both liked sweet sago with nutmeg and cinnamon, and Amber liked anything Alex ate.

  Charlotte poured tea for Shilah. She gave her another book which had arrived in the shipment. It was the Tales of Mother Goose, the book by Perrault, which she herself had read in French in her grandfather’s library. As Shilah looked through the stories, smiling, for they were as new to her as they were to her daughter, Charlotte wondered whether she should mention what Robert had said.

  When Shilah put the book down, she looked over at Charlotte. “Robert’s boy is doing well? And Teresa?”

  Charlotte looked Shilah directly in the eyes. “Robert hasn’t told you, Shilah? It has been over a week.”

  Shilah looked away, towards the children. “Ah, I see. Robert has mentioned that …” She stopped and looked back at Charlotte. “Do you mind so very much, Charlotte? I hope it cannot cause harm. I do not wish that to be so.”

  Charlotte put her hand out to Shilah’s. “No, no, of course I do not mind. It is not, truly, my affair. Robert’s little boy is doing very well, and Teresa is now somewhat restored. She is staying with her mother in River Valley Road for a while, but I think you know that.”

  Shilah’s cheeks became slightly rose, and Charlotte was sorry for her words.

  “They plan to call him Andrew, after our father. Such an abundance of A’s in the family, really. Amber, Andrew, Adam and Alexander. I shall insist that if there is another we move on to the B’s.”

  She smiled, and Shilah looked up and laughed lightly. “Thank you, Charlotte,” she said.

  “Oh, Shilah. My only concern is if Teresa should learn of it. That you should love Robert so much—this is not my concern. I love him very well myself.”