by Dawn Farnham
Finally Talip arrived, and she and Isabel were permitted to descend. Charlotte had not expected so many ladies; she had thought there would be three or four at the most, but here, seated on the gold cushions, clothed in silk brocades and gauzy veils of rose, lime, blue and lilac, were some twenty women. Charlotte was reminded somewhat of an animated bed of brightly coloured flowers. At her arrival, Talip signalled the women to rise, and they did so in unison, their silk skirts rustling like a summer breeze through leaves.
Two ladies came forward, the wives of the principal Malay chiefs and, placing a hand under both Charlotte’s and Isabel’s elbows, ushered them to their places, one cushion higher than themselves. Charlotte could not repress a small smile at this exquisite etiquette. It was most charmingly done, however, and the ladies were lovely, young, with dark hair, fine skin and long eyelashes.
Large jugs of lukewarm coffee appeared, laced, Charlotte knew, with lashings of sugar, for the Malays liked their coffee like syrup. Politeness meant she could not decline, and Isabel, who was accustomed to it, drank hers down with gusto. It took some time to serve everyone, and in the meantime no one spoke to her or Isabel at all. They stared at the two foreigners, though, inspecting every garment and jewel, and chattered quietly and gravely amongst themselves. Finally the coffee was served and the gossip was silenced by Talip, who took centre stage in the middle of the room.
“Makan! la … Minum! la … Jangan malu!”
Thus exhorted to eat and drink without shame, the women rose and helped themselves. Talip placed plates of cakes for Charlotte and Isabel on the floor in front of them. As Isabel was about to tuck in, Charlotte put her hand on her friend’s arm and looked at her severely. Not only was it bad manners to begin before anyone else, Charlotte was determined Isabel should not gain the weight she had lost. She was looking better than she had in months. The maid had stitched in her dresses, her skin was looking fresh, and she had a vitality that had been lacking. To be overweight in the tropics was burdensome, dangerous and exhausting. Isabel looked momentarily annoyed but submitted and smiled at Charlotte.
Finally everyone was seated again, and Charlotte stood up and spoke to her guests.
“Datus, Daiangs, thank you for visiting us today. We are very happy to be in Sarawak and amongst ladies of such distinction and beauty.”
This pretty speech broke the ice, and the women all moved forward around the English women’s feet and began asking them questions. Charlotte laughed, and Isabel struggled gallantly with her Malay. The betel and sireh sets were brought out for her guests, and the afternoon was a success. Her lapis lazuli earrings had disappeared, a gift to the head Datu, in exchange for her own made of silver, glass beads and mother-of-pearl. Charlotte was glad she had not chosen to wear diamonds.
Later, in her room, resting before dinner, Charlotte wondered at the extraordinary richness of the garments and ornaments the ladies were wearing. She had been led to believe that Sarawak was a primitive place, but the materials made here were as fine as any she had ever seen.
As evening approached, Charlotte’s maid set out the sandalwood incense to burn on the verandah outside her room and Isabel’s. This incense, Charlotte had found in Batavia, was efficacious at keeping insects at bay, and she went nowhere without it.
Dinner was a boisterous affair. After an all-female afternoon, the evening was to be all male. Charlotte realised immediately that she and Isabel would be the only women present. She was glad to have Charles by her side, for the large dining room was overrun with men of various ages and various nationalities. Several of the native princes were present, as were a group of young Dyak boys. The oldest man by twenty years was the Rajah, and during dinner he kept up a constant stream of conversation, telling stories of his arrival in Sarawak and the encounters with pirates, constantly calling out words in Dyak to the group of young boys.
He was an amusing companion, and the young men hung on his every word. Charlotte was reminded of the informality of a mess hall. The men, after the initial introductions, seemed hardly to notice the presence of the women, though Charlotte’s looks attracted attention and several paid some flattering attention to Isabel. As the cherry brandy passed around, the party grew increasingly more boisterous.
Charlotte was amazed to see that the boys jumped all over the Rajah as he sat on the long sofa after dinner. Hoddy Doddy was practically seated on his knee, and the Rajah kept a loose arm around the boy’s waist. The Dyak boys hung around his legs, stroking him from time to time. No one seemed to think anything particular in this attitude, although Charlotte sensed that Spenser St. John was not entirely approving.
Then the sound of the piano began, and Charlotte turned to see Isabel seated before the instrument. It was not unexpected because all the da Silva children were musical in one way or another.
Charlotte was glad. Isabel had a lovely singing voice and played the piano very well. Her voice rose in a song she knew would please the gathered naval contingent, The Lass that Loves a Sailor.
“The moon on the ocean was dimmed by a ripple
Affording a chequered delight;
The gay jolly tars passed a word for the tipple,
And the toast—for ‘twas Saturday night:
Some sweetheart or wife he loved as his life
Each drank, and wished he could hail her:
But the standing toast that pleased the most
Was ‘The wind that blows,
The Ship that goes,
And the lass that loves a sailor!’”
The Rajah had risen and all the men had gathered around Isabel.
“Some drank ‘The Queen’, and some her brave ships,
And some ‘The Constitution’;
Some ‘May our foes, and all such rips,
Yield to English resolution!’
That fate might bless some Poll or Bess,
And that they soon might hail her:
But the standing toast that pleased the most
Was ‘The wind that blows,
The Ship that goes,
And the lass that loves a sailor!’”
Everyone was clapping and dancing to the lively tune. Charles invited Charlotte for a jig, which she smilingly agreed to dance.
“Some drank ‘The Prince’, and some ‘Our Land’,
This glorious land of freedom!
Some that our tars may never stand
For heroes brave to lead them!
That she who’s in distress may find,
Such friends as ne’er will fail her.
But the standing toast that pleased the most
Was ‘The wind that blows,
The ship that goes,
And the lass that loves a sailor!
The wind that blows,
The ship that goes,
And the lass that loves a sailor!’”
All the men joined in for the refrain of the final verse, they raised the roof, stamping their feet and clapping wildly. When she played the final note, Isabel rose and bowed and every man there applauded her. Her eyes were bright, her skin ablush, and she had never looked finer, Charlotte thought.
Calls immediately went up for her to play it again, and she obliged, this time every refrain sung with gusto by the men led by Rajah Brooke. By the time she had played ten songs twice over, and her finale, Rule Britannia, she was finally released, the most popular woman in Sarawak, to a refreshment, and the Rajah called for the Malay band.
To Charlotte’s consternation, James Brooke jumped to his feet and came up to her and, without a word, swung her into his arms and set off in a gavotte up and down the living room. James St. John had gathered up Isabel and was doing likewise. All the young men swung into action. Each gathered up a Dyak boy or one of the Malay princes or each other and, arms around each other, began whooping and galloping up and down the floor.
Charlotte was glad to be rescued, finally, by Charles, and the Rajah turned his attention to Hoddy Doddy, who he swept into his arms and began whirling ar
ound the floor. Thinking it best to make her escape, she took Charles’s arm and called to Isabel who, rather reluctantly, relinquished the arms of Henry Steele, a pleasant-looking young man who was the Rajah’s court interpreter. She made her way unsteadily to Charlotte’s side.
“Good heavens, is it always like that, Charles?” Charlotte said, fanning herself.
Charles laughed. “No, no. James is very gay tonight. It is the presence of guests and, quite obviously, the presence of Miss Isabel and her singing.” He bowed to Isabel, and she smiled gaily.
“Usually we dine together, of course, for we have no other companions but each other, after all.”
Isabel, yawning, wished them a goodnight and kissed Charlotte lightly on the cheek. Charles and Charlotte sat outside her room on the verandah.
Soon curiosity got the better of Charlotte. “Charles, the Rajah seems partial to young men, wouldn’t you say?”
Charles looked at Charlotte and smiled. “Young men, young women. The Rajah is friendly with everyone. Hoddy Doddy is his favourite certainly.”
“Well, yes, I can see that.” Charlotte did not know how to pursue the matter further and decided to let it drop for now. She was tired in any case. It had been a long day.
She rose, and Charles rose with her. They stood a moment in silence. Charlotte could not make out what Charles intended, and as the silence lengthened she smiled.
“Goodnight, Charles, until tomorrow.”
“Yes, yes, Kitt, goodnight.” He bowed over her hand and turned and quickly left the verandah.
Charlotte sighed and locked the shutters. Really this place was something of an enigma, more like a schoolboy’s camp than a kingdom. A place where women, white women certainly, were out of place. Even Charles seemed infected.
29
The yellow moon was full. It formed a golden backdrop to the high branches of the trees, which lay at the water’s edge. The river flowed in a dark trail to the kampong, which was bathed in the gleam of light. The sound of water, gurgling, running, falling, dripping, pounding, moved by oars; this sound was all pervasive in Sarawak but tonight it was muted. The air was tinged with wood smoke from the villages on either side of the river. Roofed boats moved in silhouette lazily along the water. Only at sunset did the river change its dully brown aspect. Then the setting sun covered its dun surface with tints of gold and lavender. In the distance the long shadow of Mount Matang lay against the sky, floating, in a stream of rose and purple. The heavy perfume of champak lay on the still night air.
Charles was facing this river scene when Charlotte came up behind him.
“It is very charming,” she murmured.
Charles turned and looked at her. She was half in shadow and light. “Yes,” he said. “Most charming.” He smiled, and she did too, lowering her eyes. When she raised them again, she found his had not wavered. His eyes were on her face, but he did not move. Charlotte put her hand to his face, and he took it and put it to his lips, but still he made no move.
“Charles …” she began, and then, as if the sound of her voice had awakened him, she felt his hands encircle her waist. He held her like this, searching her face. Charlotte put both her arms around his neck, willing him, waiting. He sighed suddenly and dropped his face to hers. Their lips touched. Charlotte closed her eyes and tightened her grip on his neck.
She ran her hand under his shirt, down onto the skin of his back, pulling herself into him. In an instant he withdrew his lips from hers and released her, so quickly she felt a shock. One moment they were crushed tight against each other; the next they were apart. She staggered slightly and put out her hand against the tree.
He had stepped backwards, and she stared at him, uncomprehending, trying to see his face in the darkness.
“Charles?” she asked, unable to see into his eyes.
“I—” he began and stopped. She waited, unmoving. “I think that perhaps this is a mistake. I’m sorry Kitt. I had no right.”
“No right?” Charlotte interrupted him. “I give you the right. I don’t understand, Charles. One moment so willing, the next so cold.”
There was a silence.
“Yes, I owe you an explanation,” he said finally.
He held out his hand and she took it. “Walk with me to the riverside,” he said.
They turned and followed the gently sloping path down to the edge of the river. At the bamboo fence there were some wooden benches, and he led her to one. They sat, and he released her hand.
“I was engaged to be married when I was a younger man.” He looked down. “I was rather madly in love with her, I’m afraid. My temperament is unfortunate. I have a tendency to fly headlong into these things.”
Charlotte looked at him. Headlong? Good heavens, Charles! she thought but she said nothing.
“I was twenty years of age and had asked for her hand before I had truly fixed my purpose in life. This was a great mistake. When I decided on a life of science and more particularly a life in the service of the East India Company, she, to my complete surprise, was adamantly against it. My brothers had joined, of course, so it seemed entirely natural to me. But she was so young, I suppose. Only seventeen. The thought of quitting her family, England, it was too much.”
Charles turned and looked at Charlotte. “You see, I had no idea what to do. I hesitated, vacillated. I became totally unable to make a decision. I was given a leave of absence from the university. It was all hopeless. I forgot what I wanted, for I thought I only wanted her. Her family was quite strict. There was no formal agreement, but they led me to understand that when she was fully nineteen years of age, such a prospect might … Two years! It seemed interminable.”
He rose and began to walk along the bank, pacing. She could detect, even now, after so long, the agitation of that time.
“I fell into ways of which I am now not proud. I neglected my studies, barely dragged myself to my degree. I could meet her only rarely, she was so protected. Then, it seemed, this terrible waiting time would be over.
“Her birthday was only a month or so away. We began to make plans for the wedding. I was offered a position teaching at the university in London. Not a choice I would ordinarily have even considered. Then I received a letter. She was to be married to another, a baronet. All the cruelty, this forced waiting, had been for nothing. I was not permitted to see her, speak to her.”
He sat down on the bench again. Charlotte’s thoughts in a tiny flash went, for the first time in a very long time, to Lieutenant Mallory and the Madras. Had he felt like this, shattered, destroyed, unable to love again for years? She hoped not, but she had not thought men could be so struck. Now the evidence that it could be so was before her eyes.
“Well, it was a terrible time. I kept on hoping, of course, like a lovesick fool, writing letters, each more desperate, each more pointless. When I read of her marriage I immediately joined the East India Company, enlisted in the Madras Engineers and, fortunately, was asked to join the Magnetic Survey. It was the saving of my life.”
He turned and took her hand. “So you see, Kitt, I have rather a hard time allowing myself to …” He stopped.
“Yes, Charles, I see.” She gripped his hand. “But do you love her still? After so long? Nine years.”
“No, no, doubtless not. But it froze my heart. Can you understand?”
Charlotte nodded and put her hand on his chest. “And can no one thaw it, this frozen heart?”
He smiled and covered her hand with his. “I think you know the answer to that. You see, I felt so quickly for you what I had felt for her, and it was heady, unbelievable, but terrifying.”
“Fortunately, however, I am not seventeen or promised to a baronet.”
“No,” Charles smiled. “But I cannot rush headlong like I did before, even after nine years.”
Charlotte pulled her hand from his and wrapped her shawl around her shoulders. She was beginning to feel rather annoyed. “Very well, Charles.” She rose, and he stood too. She turned.
> “No, no, Kitt, please don’t be angry. By my calculations we have known each other truly only three months.”
Calculations, she thought, degrees of magnetic attraction, mathematical equations. He was infuriating. She made to move off.
He darted around her, stopping her, and put his hands on her shoulders, then took her chin in one hand very gently.
“While we are here, I would like to court you. Would that be so terrible?”
Charlotte looked at him. “Oh, Charles, I am not a girl. I am a woman. I have been a widow for many years.” She hesitated, realising the blatant meaning of her words.
Charles dropped his hand.
“Do you love me, Charlotte?” The question was sudden and unexpected. She could not immediately find an answer. Her body responded to him in a way that spoke of passion, but did she love him? She tried not to let the image of Zhen enter her mind, but there he was.
She shook her head. “I don’t know, Charles. Yes, you’re right. My feelings for you are, well, shall I say it? Not honourable.”
Charles laughed, and she laughed too.
“I have quite dishonourable feelings for you, too, make no mistake. So perhaps we could find out if there is something more profound? Something on which we could build a life together? And make these feelings honourable?”
Charlotte put her arm through his. “Yes, that would be nice. But occasionally, since we are no longer foolish young things, may we, from time to time, kiss?”
Charles stopped and faced her. He put her arms around his neck and took her waist in his hands. “Do you imagine that I do not want to kiss you every moment I am awake? Do you imagine I do not have the strongest desire for you?”
Before she could answer, he pulled her against him and put his lips to hers, enclosing her in his arms, kissing her. His lips were rather tight against hers. She sensed that Charles had not kissed very many women, that he was somewhat inexperienced, even nervous.
It was not an arousing kiss. She felt her own lips trying to open, to welcome his to hers in a soft way, but he did not respond. But she did feel his latent power, felt the strength of his arms around her. The wondrous power of a man’s arms, at once arousing, consoling and protective, the feel of her slender body tight against his chest overwhelming. Submission. She knew then she wanted to submit to him, not in everything, but in this intimate way she wanted to be ruled by him, tenderly, passionately. She sighed as he released her finally. She knew that she was vastly more experienced than him. It was a strange and tender realisation.