by Dawn Farnham
Shilah nodded. Charlotte suddenly felt sorry for Shilah. She had been loyal and faithful to Robert. None of this was her fault.
“Robert is a fool, really. Why on earth didn’t he just marry you when he had the opportunity? It is entirely ridiculous.”
“Please. Please don’t be hard on Robert. He was young, his position new and I was a child of criminals, half Indian, not at all suitable to be the wife of an English servant of Her Majesty. I understood all that quite early.”
Charlotte sighed. “Nasi sudah menjadi bubur,” she said. Shilah nodded. There was no going back. The rice had become porridge; it could not become rice again.
In the evening Charlotte went up the stairs to the children’s bedroom. Adam was asleep already, and she kissed him on the forehead. His babu was in the garden, Charlotte knew. She had recently become promised to a young Bugis man, and they were permitted to meet, with a chaperone, from time to time. The marriage would take place in some three months’ time, well after her return from Sarawak.
This was the subject that Charlotte now wanted to raise with Alex. He was sitting in his bed, reading the Robinson Crusoe book by the light of the lamp. He looked up as she sat by him, and he closed the book, yawning. His mother’s arrival usually meant it was time to turn out the light. His babu would come soon and sleep by the side of his bed. This was a subject Alex wished to raise with his mother.
“Alex, darling,” Charlotte said, putting his book on the side table.
“Mother, may I ask you something?”
“Why, yes. What is it?” Charlotte said surprised.
“Mother, must I have the babu here every night? I am nine years old.”
Charlotte smiled. “Mmm, well, let me see. You are nine. It is true that you probably do not need a babu at night. But what of Adam? He is just seven. He still needs his babu, doesn’t he?”
Alex reflected a moment. “Yes,” he said hesitantly, evidently searching for a way around this problem.
“Zan, you know that Adam’s babu will be married in a few months. Then she will not be living here all the time. She will be living with her husband in Kampong Bugis.”
Zan nodded. He knew the man who was going to marry the babu. He was the son of one of the village chiefs. “Will she still look after Adam?” he asked.
“Well, Adam is still young, so yes, she will come in the daytime to care for him, but perhaps we can talk to Adam and see if you can both do without a babu at night. Will that be all right?”
Alex smiled broadly and put his arms around his mother. “Yes, that would be fine, Mother. I shall see to Adam at night. I can read to him. I will make sure he is all right, not frightened. I know the lullabies. I can sing to him.”
Charlotte held him tight and kissed his neck, overwhelmed with love for him. “Then we shall speak to Adam tomorrow,” she said. “I’m sure he will be agreeable if you are planning to be such a lovely brother.”
Alex nodded against her shoulder. “And we can make a room next door for your babu in case Adam needs anything. Would that be a good idea?” she asked. Alex nodded again.
She released him and put her hand on his face. “Darling, you are such a treasure to me. Since your father left us, you have been such a brave young man. Thank you.”
Alex was pleased and leant forward and kissed his mother on the cheek. “My father was a great man, wasn’t he Mother?”
“Yes, a great and good man who loved you and Adam a great deal.”
Alex looked suddenly very sad. “I can hardly remember him.” Tears sprang to his eyes. Charlotte touched his cheek, then took her locket and opened it, showing him the small picture of Tigran. As she gazed at it, she too felt tears well. She talked to her son of Tigran for a while, reminding him of what they used to do together, of Tigran’s gentle nature. Then she took the locket from her neck and put it into Alex’s hand. “Keep it for now, to remind you a little.” Alex nodded and gripped the locket. Charlotte brushed away her tears and sighed.
“Alex,” Charlotte began again, pushing the hair from his forehead. “I am planning a little trip.”
Alex nodded and waited.
“I am going to Sarawak in the Queen to visit some friends there.”
“Visit friends. Are you visiting the Rajah, Mama? Oh, may I come?”
“Well, Alex, I think that this time I need you to stay here. I need you to take care of Adam, of course, for who else is there better to do that? And there will be tests at the school after I get back. You need to pay attention to your books, of course.”
Alex looked crestfallen, but his triumph with the babu had softened the blow, and she was now very grateful he had raised the issue. He nodded.
“Next time?” he began.
“Oh yes, next time, definitely. When you are both a little older and we can explore together. Adam is too young just yet, isn’t he?”
Alex nodded more strongly now. Of course, it was Adam; he was much too young. “Very well, Mother. Will you write to me?”
Charlotte smiled. “Every day. I shall bring back a present for you both.”
Alex almost jumped out of bed. “A monkey, Mama? Could we have a pet monkey?”
Charlotte sighed. “I shall see. If all the reports from Malik, and Robert, and Aunt Teresa, and Aunt Shilah and …” Alex put a finger to her lips smiling. “… are good ones,” She mock-frowned.
He laughed. Then he threw himself back onto the bed, and she pulled up the cover.
“I shall be very good, Mama, don’t worry.”
Charlotte kissed him and turned down the light. She went to the study and made a list of instructions for Malik and Tarun. Shilah had agreed to move into the house with Amber whilst she was away, and Charlotte had made sure Malik knew that in her absence Shilah was the mistress. Malik could be something of a snob, and, despite all his kind and quiet efficiency he was somewhat set in his ways. Still, Amber was Robert’s child, and Shilah, he knew, was a respected visitor. There would be no problem.
As for Tarun, she had simply told him not to visit the Chinese town. Alex had studies to complete. His Malay needed improvement. They should spend time in Kampong Glam or even at the Bugis village. She had ordered a kite to be made for him. It was a Malay kite, a wau bulan, a moon kite, covered in a vine-and-leaf pattern, with a humming bow at its head. He would receive it after she left. Tarun would teach him to fly it down by the beach near the Sultan’s compound. The Malay boys played there.
She put down her pen and poured a glass of Madeira from the crystal decanter. The children, she was certain, would do very well without her for a while. Adam had many friends who came to play, and he adored Amber. He would be thrilled to be living in the same house with her. They would all play with Tarun’s boys and the other little children on her compound. Alex would be busy. She planned to be away for two months, no more. She had asked Isabel da Silva to come with her, for Isabel, too, she thought, needed a change of scene. Another prospective marriage had come to nothing when the poor fellow had died.
She looked at the wine in her glass, the ruby darkness of it captured in the flickering light of the lamp. Her thoughts went to Zhen. She drank down the wine and took up her pen and began to write to Charles Maitland.
26
“Na Mo Kuan Shi Yin Pu Sa,
Na Mo Kuan Shi Yin Pu Sa,
Na Mo Kuan Shi Yin Pu Sa.”
Noan’s head was bowed before the many-armed statue of the goddess Kuan Yin as she joined the throng chanting the mantra.
“Na Mo Kuan Shi Yin Pu Sa.”
“Refuge in the bodhisattva who hears the cries of the world.”
This chant, with the priests and the women around her, gave Noan great peace and comfort. Kuan Yin was the compassionate one, filled with benevolence. This mantra brought Kuan Yin instantly to your side, and the thought filled Noan with light and calm. She raised her eyes to the goddess, her thousand arms embracing the world, encompassing her and her children in goodness and mercy. She loved this goddess above al
l.
The child in her belly moved suddenly, causing a pain to shoot round her hip. She put her hand to it and waited, head down, for the pain to pass. Her neighbour, noticing, stopped chanting and put out her hand to Noan, who gripped it. The women here were always a great comfort to her. They all understood suffering, and Noan found the greatest relief with them in prayer.
The chant slowed and then, finally, with the beating of the silvery bell, stopped. Noan rose with the other women and lit a bundle of incense sticks, waving the fragrant smoke around the goddess, thanking her. She put the sticks into the censer and bowed one last time. The other women departed, but Noan stayed. She needed to offer one more prayer. She lit some incense sticks and moved the smoke around her and before the goddess.
“Na Mo Kuan Shi Yin Pu Sa. Compassionate One. Bless my children, bless the one who is to be born and bless my husband’s son.”
As she uttered the words she felt a presence at her side and turned. Her sister stood close by and was looking at Noan in amazement.
“Bless your husband’s son? What son? What are you talking about, Noan?”
Noan recoiled, astounded to see Lilin here in the temple. “You. What are you doing here?”
Lilin looked at her sister shrewdly. She had come to the temple knowing Noan would be here. Lilin wanted to talk to her sister about this white woman. She knew Noan had been out. A servant had tattled that she had seen her arrive in Philip Street in a white woman’s carriage. This was news indeed, and Lilin wanted to know more.
She had waited as the temple was filled with chanting and the striking of bells. She used to come here often, but now she almost never set foot inside a temple, except occasionally to light incense on the anniversary of her son’s death. She liked the perfumes and sounds of the temple, though. It was pleasant, she found, to be there, and she had taken a place at the back of the courtyard listening to the mantra, inhaling the scent of the incense, waiting. Now she was very glad she had.
“Well, sister, I am here to help you home. You look so tired. Come take my arm.”
Noan was tired, but she could not make out what Lilin was talking about. Come here to help her? This was unbelievable. But Lilin took up her cloth bag and took her sister by the arm. They bowed to the priest in the large front courtyard and stepped up over the log, into the street.
Lilin put her oiled-paper umbrella up, over their heads, and they made their way along Telok Ayer Street to the market. At a fruit stall, Lilin stopped. There were some benches, and Noan sat, tired. Lilin paid the Malay stall keeper to prepare two coconuts, and they watched as he took out his large parang and, with the deftness of experience, opened the top in one slice. They both drank through the bamboo straw.
Noan smiled at Lilin. They hadn’t done this for years. As children they had played here on the bayside. Their amah always had a coin to buy them each a coconut. Lilin looked up and smiled at her sister. She too remembered that time long ago. How different things had been then. They had been close, played and laughed together easily. Even after they had been secluded they had found enjoyment in each other’s company.
It was Noan’s marriage that had changed everything. She had gotten Zhen, and from that moment Lilin could find no contentment, no forgiveness that she, the lovely one, had not received this gift. Her reward for her beauty, her devotion to her family, her hard work at embroidery and cooking, had been nothing more than Ah Teo and a dead child. That thought surfaced now, and she finished her coconut noisily.
“Well, sister, what is all this about a son? I know you have been to see the ang mo woman?”
Noan too finished her drink. The stall man took the coconuts, cut them swiftly in two, tied them into a banana leaf and handed them back. At home the maids would scrape and dry the flesh or make the milk to use in cooking. The husks were used as simple bowls and ladles or fuel for the stove.
Lilin waited, sensing her sister’s reluctance. “Well, you might as well tell me,” she prodded. “You have told Kuan Yin. I have heard you, and now I shall not give up until you have told me.”
Noan knew this was true, and suddenly she wanted to unburden herself. Lilin had seen this woman too, knew more than she. What difference did it make?
“I will tell you what I know, but first tell me about her, the ang mo.”
Lilin smiled. “I know she is a widow of a belanda in Jawa who has a lot of money. She is very rich and has a large house. Her brother is the chief of the police. She has two children. She’s a lucky creature isn’t she? Luckier than us. I should like very much to be a widow and have lots of money.”
Noan looked at Lilin sharply, but Lilin merely shrugged. “No use pretending. I am, in any case, to all intents and purposes a widow. Ah Teo has his new wife and a child on the way. Not that I care.”
Noan rose. She wanted to go home, to lie down. Her legs felt heavy, and her headache had started again. Lilin rose too, seeing her sister’s distress. She was slightly alarmed. Noan had not been well with this pregnancy, and despite everything she held against her sister, Lilin had, by moments, felt sorry for her.
“Come. Hold my arm. Let’s go home,” she offered.
Noan took Lilin’s arm, glad of the support and glad of the umbrella.
“The boy, the boy with the white woman, he is my husband’s son,” she said, her voice low and tired.
Lilin gripped her sister’s arm. “Can you be sure?”
“Yes, if you saw him you would know. He is like Zhen and has something of Lian’s eyes, too.”
As they turned into Market Street, Noan stumbled slightly and Lilin held her. She could hear Noan’s breath, which had become a wheeze. “We are almost home. Look, a few more steps,” Lilin urged.
Lilin was relieved to arrive home. As they crossed the threshold she called for servants, and they helped Noan upstairs to the bedroom. “Thank you, younger sister,” Noan called as she left.
Lilin looked at her sister departing. What on earth did Noan feel about the secret she had just revealed? It was difficult to tell. Perhaps they would talk about it later, when Noan felt better. But more importantly, Lilin thought, what do I think about this?
Zhen had a son. Lilin settled her umbrella into a porcelain stand and began slowly to climb the stairs. Zhen had a son. She arrived at the landing and started to walk towards her room. Suddenly she heard a laugh. It was Lian, she knew immediately, for she was close to this child. She went to the nursery and saw the children playing. Lian was six years old. Lilin contemplated this child. Zhen’s child. Zhen’s child and half-sister of his son by the white woman.
Lilin turned from the door. They were brother and sister, of course they were. Did Zhen know? She was not sure, but something told her that he did not. Brother and sister. Well, if they were to come together, what would their offspring be? The idea appeared fully grown inside her head. Here was a way to destroy both Zhen and his white whore.
Lilin put her hand to her mouth. Incest. Her heart had started beating hard. Here was the way to ruin them, destroy their love for each other.
She smiled. At last, a reason to be living. She had only to plan and wait.
27
Captain Elliott had made the Queen ready and stood awaiting her instructions. They had been commended to join the Honourable Company’s war steamer Auckland in convoy with Sir James’s new gunboat Rajah, launched at Singapore only a few days ago and now made ready for Sarawak. Her sleek swiftness and her long brass guns were destined for active service in the suppression of piracy in the seas of Borneo and Sulu, but Captain Elliott was of the opinion that her four horsepower engine was insufficient for the intended purpose.
Nonetheless they were joined in convoy and set out together along the Straits of Singapore heading due east to Borneo. The Queen soon outstripped her companions, for the wind was high and the sails carried her far ahead. The going was thick and rough with driving rain, and the voyage uncomfortable. For three days there was no relief until, when the wind died down, they finally c
ame in sight of land. The call went up, and Charlotte came on deck with Isabel.
Isabel had never before in her life left Singapore, never set foot aboard a seagoing vessel. Her excitement and girlish boisterousness at the departure had quickly evaporated, and she had spent the entire voyage extremely seasick and confined to her cabin. She looked pale and wan and, through lack of appetite, had lost a good deal of weight. Charlotte had given her crystallised ginger to nibble, and the cook supplied hot ginger drinks. Ginger had long been known as a restorative for seasickness, and she had relied on her own supply during her voyage from England. It had proven efficacious for Isabel in stopping the nausea, but her appetite had yet to return.
Captain Elliott had slowed their rate to allow the other ships to catch them and now ordered sail lowered in order for the Auckland and the Rajah to come ahead. In the waters which ran about the coastal inlets and numerous rivers of this island, piracy and danger abounded. In convoy then, they began their approach along the northern coast of Borneo. Thunder and lightning, rain and a heaving swell made the voyage disagreeable until the distinctive peak of Mount Santubong signalled the twin entrances to the Sarawak River.
At dusk they rounded the Santubong peninsula and moved into the sheltered waters of the bay before the Morotabas entry to the river. For the first time the ship glided smoothly, and Isabel let out a cry of relief as tears sprang to her eyes. Charlotte put her arms about her friend’s shoulders, and Isabel was finally able to give a small smile.
“From here, surely our journey will be filled with sights we have never seen before,” Charlotte said, hoping to reassure the poor girl.
The Auckland dropped anchor near the Queen. For the journey upriver they would all board the Rajah under the guidance of Mr Richards, the pilot. When the Queen’s cargo had been ferried upriver, she would load with antimony, the chief mineral of Sarawak and for which, Charlotte had learned, the country was in fact named. The Rajah paid for his cargoes in kind, and antimony was his main source of income.