On Far Malayan Shores

by Tara Haigh

  ‘Ah, Miss Kaltenbach . . .’ Gutenberg studied her pensively for a moment, and she felt uncertain. Perhaps she should have waited for him to call her in after all?

  ‘Please, sit down.’ He beckoned her to a chair.

  ‘You wanted to speak with me?’ Ella feigned ignorance.

  Gutenberg nodded, but said nothing as he continued to scrutinise her.

  Ella merely shot him an enquiring look in return.

  ‘I’m sure you remember Otto Krüger, don’t you?’ he asked, evidently trying to appear nonchalant.

  Ella instantly felt hot. Of course she remembered him – she had admitted him and set up a file for him. One thing was already clear: this wasn’t about the trip to the Baltic. Ella knew exactly why her stomach was starting to flutter.

  ‘He was a patient here,’ she said.

  ‘Correct . . . so he was . . . In fact, Doctor Röttgers was due to operate on him today,’ explained Gutenberg.

  Ella could guess what had happened, and immediately felt guilty. As cocky as she had been on entering Gutenberg’s office, she now felt very small. Not because of the accusations for which Gutenberg was laying the ground with his skilful managerial rhetoric, but because she had obviously been caught in the act. The extent of his knowledge was still unclear, but Ella could gauge it from his self-satisfied smirk.

  ‘Krüger has cancelled his operation. Does that surprise you?’

  Ella gave an innocent shrug. She couldn’t exactly admit to her boss that she had treated Krüger homoeopathically – at least, not until it was completely clear how much Gutenberg knew.

  ‘Krüger confronted Röttgers, called him a bungler, and suggested that he give up his trade, as he put it.’

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘Krüger’s ganglion has miraculously vanished,’ explained Gutenberg.

  Ella suddenly grew even hotter. Exposed. Caught out. Any minute now, Gutenberg was sure to turn his attention to just how the rock-hard, pea-sized lump between Krüger’s ring and middle fingers had been resorbed. Strictly speaking, it had only been an experiment, since Hahnemann himself had never administered more than one homoeopathic agent at a time. But some of his students had already deviated from this rule, as Ella had discovered in England, and so it had been worth a try to give Krüger both ruta and silicea at the same time. Hahnemann’s notes and subsequent research had both shown that these two agents could positively influence swellings of all kinds, especially inflammations.

  ‘Well . . . What do you have to say?’ Clearly, Gutenberg had already noticed the cogs whirring in her brain.

  ‘But that’s wonderful news.’ Ella decided to keep playing the innocent. It wasn’t easy, though, and her voice had already lost some of its spark.

  ‘Of course it is. But what is less wonderful, Miss Kaltenbach, is the reason behind this development.’ Gutenberg’s expression grew serious.

  How on earth had he got wind of this? Krüger had solemnly sworn not to tell anybody. He was a violinist and had been petrified that a surgical intervention would destroy the dexterity in his finger. Röttgers himself had made him aware of the risks. ‘It could even be left completely immobile,’ he had warned. It was easy to see why Krüger hadn’t wanted to go under the knife. That was why Ella had promised him she would look for alternatives. And when patients were already familiar with homoeopathy, that was like pushing at an open door.

  ‘I see you have nothing more to add, Miss Kaltenbach,’ Gutenberg prompted, with a stern expression.

  He followed that with a triumphant smile, which confused Ella. It gave her the impression that Gutenberg already knew everything. He didn’t keep her in suspense for much longer.

  ‘I wasn’t in the least surprised to hear about it, although I was aided by circumstance. You’ve already made a name for yourself among the internists with your potions. As for Krüger . . . Well, his wife and mine both go to the same hairdresser, and it’s a very talkative environment, as you know.’

  Now that it had finally come out, Ella’s anxiety dissipated. Did he really intend to hold it against her that she had saved a patient from undergoing surgery? That would be absurd.

  ‘You have violated the rules and you know very well that you have exceeded your professional boundaries, irrespective of the fact that your training in London means you are doubtless more capable than can generally be expected of an attendant.’

  Ella nodded, but without a trace of submissiveness.

  ‘Really, I ought to fire you on the spot.’

  She realised that the threat was an empty one.

  ‘Ought to?’ she asked.

  Gutenberg shook his head in disbelief and smiled once again.

  ‘Röttgers told Krüger that faith moves mountains. You should count yourself lucky that he only came to me with this, and not the hospital director.’

  ‘Do you share Röttgers’ opinion?’ Ella wanted to know.

  Gutenberg gave a start. The question evidently took him by surprise.

  ‘This form of treatment involves administering small doses of certain substances – some of which are toxic, although there is no suggestion of that in this particular case. Silicic acid is not toxic, and nor is rue in its herbal form,’ he said.

  That showed Krüger’s wife must have mentioned the specific agents – but also that Gutenberg was familiar with Hahnemann’s writings.

  ‘That’s right – and in any case, the substances in question are diluted to the point that they are chemically no longer detectable. Although, when administered in higher concentrations to healthy patients, those same agents cause roughly the same symptoms as the disease that they cure when diluted homoeopathically for treatment purposes,’ explained Ella.

  ‘And so you decided that a little mixing would restore Krüger’s health.’

  There could no longer be any doubt that Gutenberg had made a thorough study of the subject. He understood the principle of potentisation.

  ‘Did you use alcohol or distilled water?’ Gutenberg enquired.

  ‘Alcohol, and then I added it to his drinking water,’ Ella confessed.

  ‘Isn’t it marvellous how effectively the human body can heal itself, given just a little extra stimulation? Well, I suppose Hahnemann did train in Leipzig. If only he had continued his research here instead of moving to Paris.’

  What on earth did Gutenberg want from her? The conversation did not seem to be moving towards her immediate dismissal, at any rate.

  ‘You do realise that the most appropriate course of action in this case would be to punish you?’ His face took on a serious expression.

  ‘No, not in the least. Why should anyone be punished for having cured somebody?’ Ella replied confidently. But then she relented. ‘Of course, the rules. I know . . .’

  ‘Next year, this hospital will finally begin to train its own nurses, in accordance with the high standards applied in England. As part of that programme, you will assume responsibility for teaching our students the basic principles of homoeopathy. By the way, what do you give your patients on your current ward?’ asked Gutenberg.

  Now it was she who struggled to suppress a smile. But how had he got wind of this too? Yet another blind coincidence? She resolved to find out.

  ‘I take it one of our patients also goes to the same hairdresser as your wife?’ she asked.

  Gutenberg laughed. ‘I’ve simply noticed that people seem to recover more quickly under your care. I managed to put two and two together. Next week, I would like you to provide me with a rough training schedule, along with the topics you wish to cover. I can use that to persuade my colleagues. So, what do you say?’

  Ella could scarcely believe that Gutenberg of all people was on her side – a surgeon who wielded his scalpel with conviction.

  ‘I know it hasn’t all been scientifically proven yet, but I’ve read Hahnemann’s work. I expect you to say yes.’

  Ella nodded unhesitatingly. At that moment, it felt as though a long-nurtured dream was coming to fruit
ion. No more playing hide-and-seek; instead, she could be recognised for what she knew – could use all her hard-won experience to help people. That was exactly why she had once aspired to become a doctor.

  There were certain days when the weather seemed to match one’s mood. The sky cleared at around three o’clock, just in time for the end of Ella’s shift, and the clouds made way for the sun. She relished her walk home, especially the final section along the Alster. The endless grey of the morning had vanished, and she found herself surrounded by a vibrant springtime vista that seemed even more colourful than usual – no doubt thanks to Gutenberg’s earlier proposal. Ella was burning to tell her parents the good news, and Rudolf too, of course – a sophisticated man who paid tribute to her as a nurse, or a ‘healthcare pioneer’, as he had recently called her. He had given notice that he would be coming over for tea that afternoon – though, in fact, it was Mother who had invited him.

  ‘You must come and pay us another visit. Perhaps for a cup of tea? My goodness, the last time must have been with your father, when you were just a little boy,’ she had said to him during the anniversary celebrations at the dockyard the previous week.

  ‘I can still remember your superb pastries,’ he had answered charmingly. Mother’s baking must certainly have made a lasting impression on him. She knew as well as Ella did that Rudolf was making advances towards her daughter, and she obviously felt he was a suitable candidate. What mother wouldn’t dream of marrying off her only daughter to an aristocrat? That was what people called matchmaking. But she might just as well have saved herself the trouble, for Rudolf was very handsome, and blessed with superb manners and witty repartee. A man of his rank could have any girl he wanted, and he moved in the highest circles. Ella had only made his acquaintance thanks to the happy coincidence that Rudolf’s recently deceased uncle – a distinguished naval captain – had been a friend of her father’s. Rudolf had accepted the invitation to the dockyard in his uncle’s stead in order to honour his memory. And after all, flirting with an attractive bachelor whose uncle had been a friend of the family was a perfectly harmless activity.

  Despite their lower social standing, thankfully Ella’s family didn’t live in the sort of run-down tenement that Rudolf von Stetten would presumably never have set foot in. Their apartment block on Harvestehuder Weg was perfectly respectable. It was an imposing three-storey building facing directly onto a boulevard where one could go for a stroll on a Sunday and encounter the city’s wealthiest residents. Ella’s family belonged here, even though they weren’t rich. She knew very well why nobody called her family’s social status into question: they dressed appropriately for their surroundings and didn’t draw attention to themselves. Besides which, nobody knew that Father could only afford their apartment thanks to a substantial lifelong annuity paid by his brother, who had emigrated to America and made his fortune. The official story was that her father had inherited a considerable sum. Fortunately, talking about money in these circles was generally frowned upon. People preferred to maintain their privacy, exchanging at most a few words about the day’s events, or the weather. Apart from the fact that it was a pleasant part of town, the contacts they made here had greatly influenced their decision to live in the area. If it weren’t for their neighbour, who was involved in the steel trade and had influential family connections in England, it would never have occurred to Ella to complete her training in London; nor would she ever have been taken on at St Thomas’s.

  ‘Good afternoon, Miss Kaltenbach. Isn’t it wonderful weather?’ Mrs Rottman, the wife of a wealthy banker, was coming out of the house next door. She seemed to confirm Ella’s reflections on her neighbourhood.

  ‘Indeed,’ she replied with a pleasant smile after returning the woman’s greeting.

  The building Ella was walking towards looked particularly splendid in the light of the afternoon sun. The Roman-style columns and friezes that protruded from between the ground-floor windows and reached all the way up to the rounded arches of the balconies on the upper floors were bathed in a golden glow and thrown into stark relief by the long shadows. The elegant coach in front of the building lent the scene a touch of extra glamour, since it must belong to Rudolf. This seemed to be a perfect day.

  Ella had hoped she would have time to get changed, although there was nothing wrong with the clothes she was wearing. All the same, she paused to examine her reflection in the glass pane of the door to her apartment and smooth down a few stray locks of hair. Working the early shift could leave dark circles under one’s eyes, but not today.

  Her mother seemingly had the ears of a bat. She appeared at the door before Ella could even dig her key out of her bag. And how she had spruced herself up! Anyone would think that the Kaiser himself was paying a visit.

  ‘He finished his business sooner than anticipated, so he arrived a little early,’ her mother whispered in an almost reverential tone.

  Ella didn’t even have time to remove her coat before her mother seized it and hung it up in the wardrobe. She clearly had no time to lose.

  Ella could already hear Rudolf’s voice from the living room – though she felt sure that Mother would have referred to it as ‘the parlour’ in his presence.

  ‘My uncle told me a good deal about your travels together. Life on the high seas must certainly be a very rich and varied experience,’ Ella heard their guest say.

  ‘Certainly, but you shouldn’t believe everything you hear. There’s always a little sailor’s yarn woven in,’ her father replied, and Rudolf laughed. Before they could continue, Ella entered the room. Her smile of greeting came straight from her heart, which beat even faster than it had on their first encounter during the reception at the dockyard. Rudolf’s fetching grin wrought its usual effect.

  ‘Ella.’ He made no secret of his pleasure at seeing her again. The gleam in his eyes made her feel like she was falling under his spell. If any other man were to look at her the way Rudolf did, she would be offended.

  ‘I hope I haven’t come at an inconvenient time, but I was in the area, and I had already spent half an hour wandering the neighbourhood to pass the time,’ Rudolf explained.

  ‘On the contrary, I’m very glad to see you,’ Ella answered, and even though this was the expected response in a social situation, she meant every word.

  ‘Do sit down, Ella.’ Mother had already drawn up a seating plan, as expected. Naturally enough, she gestured towards the empty spot by the window – next to Rudolf.

  ‘Another cup of tea?’ she asked him.

  ‘Yes, please.’

  Ella was tickled not only by her mother’s behaviour, as she poured tea for Rudolf like a parlour maid, but also her appearance. She normally paid little heed to her unruly grey hair, but in his presence, she had subdued her mane under a hairband and dolled herself up like a peacock. As a fundamentally elegant woman, it suited her. By contrast, however, Father’s suit and waistcoat made him look like a dressed-up sailor, whose face and hands were marked by a rough existence on the high seas. A permanently reddened nose – the sign of excessive rum consumption – rounded off the picture. The only thing that matched his elegant outfit was the lavishly carved gold-rimmed pipe, which he puffed with evident relish.

  For his part, Rudolf was wearing an obviously tailor-made grey suit that did full justice to his good looks and charismatic demeanour. His burgundy neckerchief suited his dark hair, and overall, he looked every bit the immaculately dressed gentleman.

  ‘You look so radiant today, one might think you were trying to outdo the sun,’ said Rudolf, who had clearly noticed that her pleasure at seeing him was genuine. It would be unbecoming for a young lady to admit to such a thing, but since today had furnished her with another reason to be happy, she decided to tell them about her new opportunity at the hospital straight away. She felt sure that Rudolf would be interested, and her parents were guaranteed to be.

  ‘Well, I’ve had some good news. I am to instruct the new nurses in the principles of homoeopathy.�
�

  Father nodded appreciatively, while Mother raised her eyebrows in astonishment. Rudolf was the only one who spoke – probably because her mother wanted to let him go first.

  ‘My warmest congratulations. You are more than living up to your role as a pioneer,’ he said admiringly.

  ‘Indeed – that’s our Ella. Whatever she does, she does it properly,’ remarked her father.

  ‘Anything else would be a waste of time,’ retorted Ella archly.

  ‘You take the words out of my mouth, Miss Ella. By the way, my uncle always used to say the same thing about you, my dear Heiner,’ he continued, turning to Ella’s parents. ‘Such attitudes are likely passed down through the generations.’ Although he grinned as he spoke and doubtlessly intended it as a compliment, her parents exchanged troubled glances. It was no secret that Ella was adopted, but it wasn’t a matter one discussed over tea.

  ‘It’s time for your medicine, Heiner,’ declared Mother abruptly, changing the subject – though it was also a convenient excuse to leave her daughter alone with Rudolf.

  Father stood up, grumbling. As far as he was concerned, he didn’t need any medication for his weak heart.

  ‘Please excuse us,’ he announced to the company before following Mother, who was already at the door.

  ‘I hope your father’s illness isn’t serious,’ said Rudolf sympathetically once her mother had closed the door.

  ‘It’s his heart. He really ought to stop smoking his pipe.’

  ‘My father was just as stubborn. He drank too much whisky. I suppose we all have our little vices,’ he ruminated.

  ‘And what’s yours?’ asked Ella directly, to Rudolf’s surprise.

  ‘I love life,’ he answered.

  ‘Is that a vice?’

  ‘Perhaps, if one doesn’t get enough of it,’ he mused. His smile vanished. He looked her directly in the eye and grew pensive.

  ‘I suppose you’re wondering what vices I might have,’ speculated Ella.