by Dawn Farnham
Connolly, as he happily confessed to Coleman, was besotted with her. Coleman was delighted for his friend, for he saw all Charlotte’s qualities, her beauty, her inner resolve. She was a woman after his own heart and, were it not wholly owned by Takouhi, he might well have tossed his hat in the ring.
When Zhen first saw Charlotte on the arm of this white man, he thought his brain might explode. John and Charlotte had been visiting the old boy in the big house at Tanjong Tankap and emerged as Zhen was on the quay. He had stood as they approached, right in her line of vision. She had seen him, he knew; he saw her tense, drop the man’s arm and say something to him. Abruptly they turned, and the white man hailed a sampan, taking them back across the river. Zhen tossed all night.
In the chapel ground the following morning he stepped in front of her and, taking her arm, led her quickly into a grove of trees.
‘Who the man?’ he demanded.
Charlotte could see his anger. By what right? He was getting married. One kiss, no matter how wonderful, and a few walks didn’t mean she belonged to him.
‘Well, Zhen, you will marry. Perhaps I will too.’
She said this deliberately to hurt him. The effect was immediate. He was wholly unaccustomed to women resisting him.
‘So you marry, eh? My marry no love, you marry no love. What about us?’
He was suddenly sick of this shilly-shallying around.
Charlotte didn’t know what to say. What about them? Of course she didn’t love John, but this other seemed so hopeless, a fountainhead of endless pain. She found the hard little place where her determination lay.
‘We stop.’
Zhen was thunderstruck. Stop seeing each other? End the probability of being lovers, the prospect of which kept him going as all the Peranakan weirdness rained down on him? He thought his heart might stop, and drew a deep breath. He had been certain of her surrender.
He turned and left her. Charlotte watched him go, and now it was her turn to feel wretchedness. She burst into tears, wanting to run after him, throw herself at his feet. Only the prospect of this pursuit in the view of the priests rooted her to the spot.
Zhen returned to the godown in the filthiest of tempers. Very well, so be it. In the evening he visited Min, and for the first time he did not resist. He knew this was the most ridiculous and predictable of responses, but he did not care. She was, at first, delighted but as he got more savage with her she grew afraid of his dark mood. These bloody women who thought they could rule him. It was if he was back in the clutches of the concubines. Finally, as Min began to whimper, he got up, unfinished, threw on his clothes and left, filled with the blackest bile.
Charlotte was not totally taken by surprise when John proposed to her in the garden of Tir Uaidhne. He had told her of his feelings, asked her of hers. She had told him ‘care’ when he wanted to hear ‘love’, but he would be satisfied with that for the moment, certain he could make her love him in time. Charlotte was not sure. John was a good-looking man, kind and funny, but how on earth could she marry him and make a life here with Zhen constantly inhabiting her mind—as well as the other side of the river? She had put him off as kindly as she could.
Coleman felt for John, and one day, finding Charlotte alone, he began to plead for his friend.
‘Consider, Kitt, he is the very best of men. If there is someone else I understand but if not …’
Charlotte could not decide how much she should reveal to George. In the end she said nothing. He wanted to show her a house he had picked out for her, he said. Coleman knew he should not pressure her, but he was not sure Charlotte knew at the moment what was best for her. He suspected a love affair of some sort and had heard rumours about the Chinese lad who had helped Robert and saved her life. This was just the sort of romantic stuff that could get inside a girl’s head, and though he knew she was more substantial than that, yet it would end badly. The constant pull of the exotic. He knew it, had felt it insanely for Takouhi, still did.
‘Kitt, is it the Chinese man?’
Charlotte’s eyes flew to his face. ‘Oh, George, I don’t know what to do. I love him truly, I do, but it’s all so hopeless.’
Coleman listened. He felt the truth of her feelings and probably those of the young man. It was an endless story. He did not even know what to say to her, but he could see it was a relief to her to be able to confess it.
He took her in his carriage and they went to look at the houses which were just being finished. As they walked around she felt calmed, soothed by his sense and understanding. He offered her no advice, which was wise, for she knew she could take none at the moment. He showed her the mouldings on the ceilings, the pretty balcony on the first floor, the fancy woodwork, the cool, tiled courtyard. They talked of architecture and decoration. She was glad he was with her and began to feel that yes, she would like to have a house like this for herself, would like to have a husband like George and children of her own.
‘Kitt, don’t reject John too quickly. He loves you. I know it, for I’ve never seen him this way.’
‘George, if you lost Takouhi, would another do?’
Coleman smiled. ‘That is the only argument you could make which stops me in my tracks, my sweet Charlotte.’
They returned to the carriage, and as they drove down Middle Street, Charlotte suddenly spied Robert coming from a house. She called him, and George looked startled. He pulled up the carriage and Robert, looking somewhat shaken, came over to them. She could see the face of a woman at the upper balcony. George’s reaction. Robert’s face. The young girl. In a flash she understood. Robert had a lover, a native girl whom he kept here.
She looked at Robert, then George. Men could do anything they wanted! Stepping down from the carriage she thanked Coleman coolly, turned her back on her brother and began to walk towards the sea road, needing to clear her mind. Robert mounted his horse and followed.
In truth Charlotte did not really know how she felt about this discovery. She did not blame Robert, certainly. She was annoyed, for she had not thought he had secrets from her. But, she realised, she knew so little of his life here before she had arrived. Had he been very lonely? She suddenly felt her love for him, and as they turned onto High Street, she looked up at him.
Robert dismounted and, handing his horse to one of the peons to take to the stables, he took Charlotte by the hand and looked into her eyes.
‘Kitt,’ he faltered. She patted him on the hand.
‘Well, Robbie, perhaps we should have a talk.’
When he had explained about Shilah, Robert felt unburdened. Charlotte was no longer angry. After all, she had no right, since she herself harboured hidden feelings for a man which she did not yet feel ready to discuss with her brother. Still, she was curious.
‘Robbie, do you want to marry this girl? I have seen you often paying attention to Teresa Crane also. What do you intend by it?’
Robert was somewhat taken aback by the directness of this question, for it was one which he tried to avoid addressing even to himself. He ran his hand through his sandy hair. This gesture was one which always meant that Robert was pondering, and she smiled at him with affection. Her brother was a clever and brave policeman, she now knew, but when it came to affairs of the heart he was still a boy. And you still a girl, she thought.
When he had not spoken for several minutes, she added, ‘Rob, please we may be honest with each other at least, for we have no other family here.’
‘ Auch, Kitt the truth is that I cannot possibly marry Shilah. She is a native girl. She understands this, and for the moment we are so very happy. Think of what such a marriage would do to your own prospects, or my own. No, quite impossible. As for Teresa, I like her a good deal. I think that she might make me an excellent wife when the time comes to marry. And connections to the da Silva family do not hurt in this town.’ As he said these words he nodded, as if affirming them to himself for the very first time.
‘Well, what do you think Miss Crane will make of y
our native girl then when you are married? Or do you intend to drop her?’
Robert looked startled. ‘No, no, of course I don’t intend to drop her. Really, the Chinese have by far the best idea about the whole business. They have no qualms about having a wife and keeping other women, and the women do not seem to mind either.’
Charlotte thought that the Chinese women might mind a great deal, but given the status quo and their powerlessness to object, simply resigned themselves. She made this point to Robert, who merely shrugged. Philosophical discussions about human relationships were not his strong suit.
‘So what about your Christian beliefs then, Robbie, for you go faithfully off to church on Sunday and say your prayers with prodigious devotion, it seems. I can’t imagine that Reverend White would approve of your plans to keep a wife and a harem unless, of course, he is doing likewise.’
Robert smiled at his sister. ‘Kitt, don’t be silly. Teresa Crane need never know about any of this unless you choose to tell her. If he can afford it, almost every man in the town has a woman, whether he has a wife or not. Life here would just be unbearable otherwise, and this way the native women get a home. Yer must see that.’
Charlotte was not sure she saw that at all, although she remembered the women enslaved in whoredom that she had encountered at the mission. Perhaps this way was better than the other, but she did not say this to Robert. She merely said, ‘So, Robbie, what is good for the goose must be good for the gander, must it not? What if I chose to marry and keep a lover as well? Crimoney, Rob, can you image the outrage?’
‘Aye, Kitt it’s true. But life isn’t always fair. For my part, if you chose to do so and it made you happy I would not object. Do not forget our life has made us different to most, but for women choices are still limited. Scandal follows a woman more easily than a man.’
They sat in silence for a while, until Charlotte spoke up. ‘Robbie, may I meet Shilah? Would it be all right?’
It was a dilemma, and Robert ran his hands through his hair.
‘Well, well,’ Charlotte said sensing his thoughts. ‘Talk it over with George if you must, but I do not mean any harm. Simply curious, that is all.’
Robert was pleased that his sister had taken it all so calmly, for he knew most women of her age would have been scandalised. He took her hand in his and kissed it gallantly. He had police business to attend to, but for this evening it would wait for a few hours. He poured them a glass of whisky each, and as they watched the light show of the dying sun, he talked to her of his first years in Singapore.
30
The Church of Saint Andrew was bedecked with flowers from its portals to the altar. The deep, cool portico was filled with plants. Huge Chinese pots of sea almond with their large, tongue-shaped leaves and sprays of white starry flowers mixed with the green, shiny, plump-ribbed leaves of wild pepper, dotted with stubby white blooms. Orchids trailed the central aisle, bedecking the end of each line of pews. The pillars were wound about with white ribbon. The altar was surrounded by the feathery leaves of fresh green ferns and bunches of long plantain leaves. Today was the day that Jose da Silva was giving his daughter, Julia, in marriage to Lieutenant Benjamin Sharpe of the Madras Native Regiment.
Coleman had received the commission for this church after a series of plans from Calcutta had been rejected for lack of verandahs to shade the body of the church. George’s design had twenty-foot-wide verandahs and porticos enclosing carriage roads; there were shady galleries on the upper floor on three sides.
Today the church was full. Every able-bodied member of the European community had turned out in their finery. The Peranakan merchants, too, were in attendance with their wives, dressed richly in their silk baju panjang and bedecked in glittering gold and diamond necklaces. The Indians were no less ornately arrayed, with the men in brocade jackets and turbans of every hue, the ladies in multicoloured saris, their dark, lustrous hair arranged in elegant coiffures. The Malays, Javanese, Bugis and Arabs had joined the throng. The Chinese merchants were dressed sombrely but were happy to be there, for a wedding of the white people was an interesting affair. Their wives would want to hear every detail when they returned home. The atmosphere was one of joyous gaiety, for the huge da Silva family and relations were not only popular but made up a good one- third, through birth and marriage, of the European contingent in the town. Everyone present was delighted to see this handsome young couple united in marriage, for their love for each other was so obvious and uplifting that it cast its spell over all present. Children ran around the church, sometimes shushed, sometimes indulged, as the guests waited for the bride’s arrival.
Charlotte noticed Miss Crane amongst her large extended family, looking pretty and demure in yellow muslin, her brown hair in ringlets which framed her face. Robert had bowed to her when they had entered the church, and Charlotte would have liked to know what he was thinking.
Meeting Shilah had been surprising. She found herself wondering what this child felt for her brother and, more than she should, about their sexual life together. This girl was young, younger than Charlotte, yet she knew the mysterious world of married love. Takouhi had called on her former servant girl, and Charlotte had been invited along. Robert had spoken to her and Shilah had agreed with some trepidation to meet his sister. Takouhi had told Charlotte of Shilah’s childhood. They had sat in the small front sitting room of the rooms she occupied on the second floor of the shophouse. Takouhi gave her a small package of personal items and then asked her to bring some coffee, with which she kept this little house supplied.
Shilah was a pretty girl, with coffee-coloured skin and black eyes. She bobbed a curtsy to Charlotte when Takouhi introduced them. Her English was very good, but other than answering some questions, she had little to say. Charlotte looked around the room. It was furnished well, clearly from George’s home, with some English and French furniture. Shilah was dressed in Malay fashion, in a cotton sarong and baju. Charlotte wondered what she did all day when Robert was not visiting her. For sex, she thought, mentally shaking her head.
Shilah, it transpired, helped teach letters to the children at Mrs Whittle’s school, an employment which George had arranged, for Coleman was not sure of Robert’s commitment and wanted her to try to make her way in life. Actually, Charlotte was struck with Shilah’s lack of shyness and this ability to read and write. Certainly the girl had not looked forward to this meeting, but she was clearly not daunted by it, and Charlotte felt that Robert had perhaps beware. As she grew older, this young woman might develop into a formidable personality who might well view dimly the prospect of Robert’s marriage to a Miss Crane or someone similar, especially if and when children came along. Later, when she had talked of this visit to Robert and aired her misgivings, he had simply waved his hand and told her that it was all straight with Shilah: she knew very well that native girls did not marry white men, and that was that. Charlotte could have reminded him of their mother, but she did not.
Charlotte thought the church looked magnificent. The shutters were open on every side, admitting a refreshing breeze over the plain from the sea. Despite this, the punkahs were in full flow, and the vault of the roof seemed inhabited by the flapping wings of flying creatures. The din of conversation in twenty languages surrounded her. Charlotte and Takouhi were seated in the third row.
Tigran Manouk was by her side. Charlotte had been surprised at his changed appearance. He had lost weight and grown his hair even longer. He looked a picture of elegance in his black frock coat, tight trousers and snow-white shirt, but there was now something piratical about him in the way he had braided his hair. His eyes looked deeper and darker. She thought he might be wearing kohl, as his sister often did, and this thought was provoking and exciting. When she had seen Charlotte on his arm, Lilian Aratoun had practically fainted with barely contained jealousy.
His personal ship had arrived two days before. Charlotte had watched from the verandah as it sailed elegantly into the harbour. It was a beautiful bla
ck brig, Queen of the South, full sailed, each white sail edged with black, bearing in its centre the emblem of his merchant house, a black Javanese leopard rampant, the emblem repeated in the flags which floated from the top gallants.
Tigran had brought gifts for everyone. She was now wearing on her bodice the beautiful blue diamond-and silver brooch he had given her, and which had made her gasp. It was a spray of sparkling flowers, the colour so nearly that of her eyes that she had looked at him in amazement. The box in which it had been presented was embossed silver, bearing in jet her monogrammed initials C. M. intertwined, the brooch resting on black velvet. It was magnificent and unexpected. Tigran merely smiled when she protested. Takouhi waved a lazy hand at her friend.
‘Alamah, goo’ness gracious. Don’ be silly-billy. Tigran love to give gift to pretty ladies.’
Takouhi had smiled indulgently at her brother. She would have liked to see him married, knew from his letters of his interest in Charlotte, detected in his changed appearance and the magnificence of his gift a desire for her friend that she had every intention of promoting. He had given his personal jeweller a great deal of trouble finding these stones, of that she had no doubt.
Meda had been invited to be a flower girl today, and over the previous weeks had talked of nothing else. This morning she had woken her mother and father well before the gun, jumping on George and rousing him in a way she did not dare with her mother.