by Dawn Farnham
Only then could she allow the tension to drain from her body.
She burst into tears.
Harriette and Isabel were sent for, and she had never been happier to see two women more in her life. Her face was swollen and bruised from Palmer’s blow, and Harriette sent for a paste made from the leaves of the hibiscus plant to salve it.
Thereafter began a great telling of the story. Mr Crookshank made notes but said nothing. They had all been sleeping, she said, she in one room, Charles and Inchi in the other. She woke to a noise, and the attack was underway. She had taken her dagger and opened the door. There was a low candle burning. The man had his back to her and was about to kill Charles. She had stabbed the man with her kris in the neck and back. He had flung a blow which caught her face, then had fled. She could not say who it was, but it was a white man.
Crookshank began to press her for more details. Did she know Captain Palmer was missing? Could it have been him? If so, what possible reason could he have?
Charlotte began to weep again. Palmer had visited them briefly and gone away, she said. She did not know why Palmer should do such a thing or even if it was him. She’d had not one moment of sleep since the attack. Her distress was obvious to all, and in the face of it, Harriette and Isabel both rose in unison and frowned at Crookshank. She had been incredibly brave, they told him warningly. Now it was time to let her rest.
Finally Charlotte went to her room and lay down. Though she had thought the haunting spectre of the violence might prevent her from rest, within a moment the deepest exhaustion filled her, and she slept.
She woke hours later as the sun was setting. Isabel was sitting by her bedside.
“Oh, Kitt. Are you all right?” she said. She rose and kissed Charlotte’s hand.
Charlotte nodded. “Could I have some tea, Isabel, do you think?”
Isabel called the maid and ordered some tea and some fresh water.
“Charles?” Charlotte asked.
“Well enough, well enough. Don’t worry. His wounds were not fatal. A wound to the shoulder and the chest, but Dr Treacher says he should recover.”
Charlotte rested her head back on the pillow. Thank heaven, Charles was all right.
“You saved his life, Kitt. Everyone is talking about how brave you were. It must have been terrifying.”
Charlotte put her hand on Isabel’s. “I shall tell you all, but not now, dear Isabel. What of Palmer?”
“No one knows. It must have been him, but he has disappeared. Mr Crookshank has made enquiries of his ship, but he is not there, nor anywhere as we can see. It is most queer, for no one can understand why he should attack Charles and you.”
The tea came, and Charlotte drank cup after cup. Her thirst seemed unquenchable. Finally she let her head drop back on the pillow and went to sleep again.
In short order the bungalow was examined, the natives questioned, an inquiry held. Charles confirmed the attacker was Palmer. But for Charlotte, he attested, he should certainly be dead. Her courage was beyond all belief. Palmer had disappeared. From his ship, witnesses attested to his vicious and violent nature. He could be volatile and unpredictable. Certainly he was capable of such an attack.
Thus, the matter was concluded judicially, but gossip and talk went on for weeks. It was the most thrilling and exciting thing to have happened in Kuching, and the small English and Malay communities relinquished the subject with reluctance. Charlotte was obliged to repeat the events so often that they had ceased to be horrific and began to feel merely like a conte de fée. From time to time, native sightings of Palmer were reported. He had assumed the life of a dreaded ghost. Gradually the town settled down.
Charles recovered enough to walk in the grounds of the Lodge. He and Charlotte spent hours talking about the attack. He was filled with remorse at not believing her. His dismay and her own lingering concern for him caused her to reveal more than she might have otherwise, and Charlotte told him of the assault in Java. How sorry she was not to have trusted him with this information, for it might have saved his injuries. That Palmer had returned to harm her, Charles no longer doubted. Charlotte had no remorse at killing him. She was glad his dead body had been consumed by crocodiles and glad Charles did not know.
One evening as they sat in the semi-darkness of the garden, he turned to her. “Kitt, we have survived something terrible. To do so changes a man. I think I have been annoyingly timid.” He took her hand.
“Marry me, my darling Charlotte. I love you most deeply and tenderly. I cannot imagine life without you.”
Charlotte took Charles’s hand and put it to her lips. “Finally, Charles Maitland. I thought you would never ask.”
Charles smiled, his joy glowing in his eyes. “I shall write to my brother tonight. It is a mere formality, but I must announce our prospective marriage to him and, indeed, to the Company.”
“Oh, Charles, it’ll take months!” Charlotte dropped his hand.
Charles took her waist in his good arm and pulled her tightly against him. “It will take three months, the time for letters to come and go. We shall be married in four. I shall have a ring made here, with Sarawak diamonds, by the clever Chinese jeweller in the bazaar, and we shall announce our engagement in one week. I shall be much recovered, and the Rajah will give a dinner. I shall see to it.”
“Kiss me,” he said, and she smiled and put her lips against his. He made them soft, and she put her arms around his neck and fell into the kiss. He was a changed man, the restraint and reserve gone, as if this almost deathly experience had fundamentally altered him.
“Nothing will stop this marriage, Charlotte, nothing,” he said, when they had kissed. “I’ve never wanted anything more in my life. I know that now.”
“In Batavia, then, Charles. We shall be married at Brieswijk by the English bishop. You’re right. Three months will be nothing. And you will see the estate. I will make the arrangements.”
Charles smiled. “Whatever you desire. You see? We need three months. I shall be fully recovered and ready for my conjugal duties to Mrs Maitland. Very ready indeed.”
She laughed, delighted, full of love for him. Three months, yes. Time for her boys to get used to this idea of a new father. She would take Alexander and Adam back to Batavia, and they would see the place they were born. The wedding would be as lavish as hers had been to Tigran. They would honeymoon in the hills, at her mountain home in Buitenzorg. She could hardly wait.
37
“Oh, Kitt, it’s lovely,” Isabel squealed, holding her hand with the ring of three translucent, pale yellow diamonds.
Charlotte hugged her friend. The announcement of the engagement had galvanised the town. The community was small, and English and Malay alike had turned out to celebrate.
“I hear that you have some news yourself, Isabel,” coaxed Charlotte.
Isabel flushed and looked towards Tomas, in conversation with Dr Treacher. She looks so well, thought Charlotte. This place, away from her overbearing mother, the centre of such adoring attentions, this has been good for her. And apparently Tomas Stahl had been even better. Harriette had confided that Tomas was smitten, and Isabel was beside herself with love for him. It was a delightful match, and one of which her mother would most certainly disapprove.
“Yes,” Isabel said. “I am sorry you are leaving so soon. We plan to marry in one month, the time for my mother to get used to the idea that I am to marry a carpenter, and perhaps come here.” She looked wistful.
“I am useful here, Kitt, can you understand? I love Tomas so very much, of course, but I can also do some good.”
Charlotte nodded. Isabel would be happy here. She was carrying Isabel’s letter to her mother and father back with her on the Queen. Captain Elliott was here at the grand dinner which the Rajah had prepared for the occasion. The Queen was waiting for her.
Now that their plans had been made, Charlotte longed to go home to Singapore and see Alexander and Adam. Letters had been few, for ships called rarely at Kuchin
g. She felt this awful isolation. She would miss Charles terribly, but soon, very soon, they would be together. She had so much to prepare, so many letters to write. And Charles would come to Singapore in two months, his duties done in Kuching. After their marriage, he planned to return to London to address the Society. They and the children would stop in India to stay with his brother, then all go together and see England and tour Europe. The future lay bright before them all, and she was impatient to begin.
Harriette and Frank came up, and she embraced them warmly. What good friends, what stalwart people, stout-hearted and genuine. She loved them both very well. Frank was a doctor and had taken over the care of Charles, for Dr Treacher was always busy elsewhere. And Harriette had given Charlotte a little orphan monkey which had been brought to her, as a gift for Charlotte’s boys.
She looked at them all. They were all so very good and brave here in this strange outpost. She was sorry to leave them, but not sorry to depart Sarawak. What had seemed, from the distance of Singapore, something rather inspired, brave and romantic, now seemed merely folly: the hot-headed dream of a man not quite grown up and his schoolboy companions.
As for the missionaries, though she loved them well, Charlotte could never quite grasp what drove Harriette and Frank to such extraordinary exertions and dangers and realised that perhaps she never would.
38
Charlotte watched the boys in the garden. The young monkey she had brought back was their constant companion. He was a delightful creature who cheekily roamed the house and garden at will, eating the fruit from the trees. He seemed to understand that he was safe only in the confines of this home and never strayed. The boys loved him, and called him “Rajah Brooke”.
Alexander’s examinations at the Institution had gone quite well. He had excelled in Hokkien and Malay but had done less well in English, which was somewhat worrying.
Today was the day the dhobi wallah came to attend to the washing. Tarun’s wife, Jun, was gathering the sheets and covers from the beds. The delicate laundry of the household she and her sister attended to, but the bed sheets and coverlets were given to the dhobi, and Charlotte insisted on boiling. This was carried out not down on the Rochor River but on her premises. This was a practice she had learned from Batavia, and it was strictly supervised. Bugs and infestations of all kinds could result from unclean bedding. Every six months all the mattresses were burned and replaced.
From Zhen’s love of cleanliness and from life in Batavia, Charlotte had seen the benefits of soap and water. The Mohammedans were particularly clean in Java, washing frequently, especially before attending mosque. In Scotland bathing was discouraged as harmful and even degenerate. Tigran, and his sister Takouhi, however, bathed frequently, enjoying the relaxing and perfumed waters. In the tropics, bathing was a physical necessity, and Charlotte simply ignored the Church’s restrictions on such matters, as, indeed, she did on all such other regulations.
Charlotte was finishing a letter to Charles. She smiled. She felt in a girlish whirl of happiness. She had given serious consideration to the marriage settlement. She would settle a large sum on Charles immediately but would retain control of most of her fortune and the guardianship of her children. She had not fully discussed this with Charles, but that could wait until he returned and they officially announced their engagement here in Singapore. This was when she intended to tell Alex and Adam about Charles and their forthcoming marriage.
A sudden scream disturbed these thoughts, and Charlotte rose and went onto the landing. Jun was standing in the doorway to Alex and Adam’s bedroom, her hand covering her mouth. She looked at Charlotte as she came along the landing. The sheets had fallen from her arms and lay in profusion about her feet.
Charlotte was somewhat worried. Sometimes a snake found its way into the house, usually downstairs. There had been a cobra in the kitchen once that had caused a fearful fuss. But occasionally other small creatures found their way upstairs. “What on earth is the matter?” she asked. Jun pointed mutely, and Charlotte approached the room with some apprehension. She peered around the door but could see nothing. She frowned.
Jun had gathered up the sheets and passed them to her sister. Both women were still standing staring into the room. Then, in the silence she heard a pretty sound, a chirpy cheery song.
The two Malay women stared at each other and then smiled. Charlotte looked at them.
“Sorry puan. My sister was frightened. I forgot to tell her about Master Iskandar’s cricket. Sorry, puan, sorry.”
They gathered up the sheets and went down the stairs. Charlotte followed the sound. Bending, she looked under his bed and there, in a small bamboo cage, she found the small culprit.
She pulled out the cage and looked at the cricket, which was still singing gaily. She examined the cage. It was beautifully made, and inside were small bowls of food and water. She shook her head and smiled. So Alex had found a cricket somewhere. Perhaps Tarun had purchased it for him. She put the cage on the bedside table and went back to her letter.
At dinner that night the boys were full of the simian Rajah Brooke and his antics. At night he was left outside in the garden. Charlotte had spoken seriously to the boys and told them she would not abide a cage. If Rajah Brooke stayed, then so be it. If he ran off into the jungle, then that was how it was meant to be. Charlotte knew, for now, the monkey was tame and happy, but as he grew he might seek the companionship of his own kind. Still, he must be free. The boys had reluctantly agreed.
“Alex, I see you have found another little pet. Your cricket half terrified the maid today.”
Alex, in the middle of a mouthful of curry and rice, suddenly swallowed noisily and began to cough. Charlotte looked up at him. She knew her son. Something was amiss; she felt it instantly. Alexander had his face down into his plate, his serviette in front of his mouth. He took a drink of water and said nothing.
“He is called Jinling, Mama.” Adam spoke up smiling cheerfully. Alex shot him a glance, but Adam did not see. “Ah Soon has one too; he is called Zhuling. I should like one too, Mama, when I am older. Alex says I am too young, but may I, Mama, when I am older?”
Charlotte looked at Adam and smiled. “Well, we shall see. What pretty names.”
Adam took another spoonful of curry and nodded seriously.
“And where did you find Jinling and Zhuling?”
Adam waited for his brother to answer, but when the silence continued a little he spoke up. “From Ah Soon’s father and his friend. They meet to have fighting matches. Alex told me.”
Alex said nothing but shot a glance of annoyance at his brother. This time Adam saw it and fell quiet. He put down his spoon and stopped eating, and his face crumpled a little. He had said something wrong, he knew, but he wasn’t sure what. He loved Alex and always wanted his approval.
Charlotte watched her sons. Seeing that Adam was suddenly upset, she changed the subject. “Well, well, never mind. There is fruit trifle for sweet. And after, shall we play pick-up-sticks or build a house of cards?
Adam looked up and smiled and picked up his spoon. Alex seemed to relax, and Charlotte decided to say nothing more. She knew now who had given Alex the cricket. It was Qian and Zhen. Zhen and Qian had been spending time with the boys whilst she was away. She would question Tarun tomorrow. She began to tell the boys about the Dyak warrior men and how they went on pirate raids to gather heads, and immediately the boys perked up and the matter was forgotten.
Afterwards, Charlotte thought about this matter for several days. Tarun had confirmed that the boys had gone once or twice into the Chinese town after they visited Ah Soon’s house. Charlotte could not blame Tarun. She had agreed that Alex could play with Ah Soon, and she realised that this cricket business had taken place at Qian’s home.
She sent a pleasant note to Qian: she understood the boys had fighting crickets. From now on she would like Ah Soon and Alex to meet at her house to enjoy this activity. If he was agreeable, they could meet every Friday after school,
and she promised that they would only speak English. She had several English books for Ah Soon and his little brother.
A day or so later, when Qian received the note, he understood instantly. Xia Lou knew about Zhen’s involvement with Ah Rex. She was trying to stop it without upsetting the children. He would have to speak to Zhen.
When Alex learned that he would not longer go to Ah Soon’s house for the cricket fights, his angry reaction was instant and totally unexpected. Alexander was a boy who was usually in command of himself. Charlotte had never really seen his temper since he had outgrown babyhood.
“It is not the same here. You don’t understand,” he announced.
Alex was containing his annoyance with effort, Charlotte could see. She waited to hear him out.
“It is not the same, Mother. It is a Chinese thing, not an English thing. Ah Soon’s cricket fights on his side with his father and my cricket fights for me and Uncle Zhen.”
Charlotte’s heart gave a jump, and she sat down and motioned him to sit also, opposite her. “Well, I see. I did not understand that. Perhaps you can explain it to me, Zan. Uncle Zhen?”
Charlotte’s eyes grew quite narrow, but Alexander did not see. He calmed down in the face of his mother’s words.
“Uncle Zhen, yes. He is a friend of Ah Soon’s father. He teaches me things, Chinese things. I like him so much. He tells me about China. We speak Hokkien together and he … well he shows me … Oh, I don’t know. I wish my father was here.”
Charlotte felt her heart go out to him. He sought a father. He missed Tigran, as she missed Tigran.
Instinctively, had they found each other, these two, who were father and son? She put out her hand to Alex, and he took it, drawing close to his mother.
“I’m sorry, Mama. Uncle Zhen says that a man must control his mind. He would not like this. I got angry. It is not acceptable. I am sorry.”