On Far Malayan Shores

by Tara Haigh

  ‘I’m not implying anything, but I can tell you what I saw,’ he interrupted.

  Ella grew hot. Why in the world would Rudolf invent such a story? No normal person would do that.

  ‘The lavatory was on the way to the stables, so I thought it would be interesting to have a peek at them. They were certainly interesting. But what was much more interesting was the fact that Rudolf clearly injured his head on one of the beams in there.’

  ‘What?’ Ella was unable to say anything more. She realised that Otto would have no reason to invent his story either, unless his goal was to discredit Rudolf.

  ‘But why would he tell everybody about the gypsies?’ pondered Ella.

  ‘I don’t want to make any accusations, so I leave it up to you to draw the right conclusions,’ answered Otto.

  Off the top of her head, Ella could think of only one explanation. A person who struck their head so hard against the beam of a stable must be very clumsy indeed.

  ‘I’m sure Rudolf would have been very embarrassed to have had such a silly accident,’ she reasoned.

  ‘Certainly . . . Very silly indeed, since he didn’t hurt his head on one of the cross-beams; rather, he struck it against a beam that held up two upright posts attached to the wall.’

  Ella feverishly considered how he might have injured his head against a wall like that.

  ‘Did you see it happen?’

  ‘He stood in front of it and scraped his head against it. His face was twisted in pain,’ said Otto.

  Ella struggled to make sense of that at first, and endeavoured to come up with an explanation.

  ‘Perhaps you just didn’t see the gypsies. They might have pushed him against the wall . . . during a scuffle.’

  ‘Possibly,’ said Otto, more to himself. He didn’t seem entirely convinced.

  ‘You don’t like him, do you?’ asked Ella frankly.

  ‘I like you,’ he answered, before taking a deep breath. ‘You know, throughout my whole life, I’ve always been able to rely on my gut instincts. There’s something fishy about this story. I simply wanted to ask you to – just . . .’ Otto groped for words, and found them after another deep sigh: ‘Just be careful.’

  ‘I’m sure I don’t know why,’ said Ella automatically, in Rudolf’s defence.

  ‘You’re obviously wealthy, otherwise you couldn’t afford a first-class ticket,’ Otto replied.

  ‘What do you mean by that?’ Ella didn’t like the turn this conversation was taking. ‘Rudolf moves in the best circles and is a family friend,’ she stated.

  Otto remained silent.

  ‘I mean no offence, Miss Ella. I wish you a pleasant evening,’ he said, before turning away from her and continuing his stroll.

  ‘Careful?’ murmured Ella to herself. Why in the world did she need to be ‘careful’?

  What with all the new impressions she had been bombarded with over the last few weeks, Ella had finally brought herself to set them down in writing – partly in a letter to her mother, and partly as entries in a diary, although she didn’t keep it as diligently as her father had kept his. Following their last stop in Colombo to take on coal, they had only four more days at sea before they arrived in Penang. Ever since they had reached the Indian Ocean, the days had grown so hot that the upper deck was now festooned with white linen canopies. Ella sat in their shade, feeling the cool sea breeze blow across her face, and leafed back to the beginning of her diary. Now that they were so close to their destination, it felt good to take stock of the journey.

  The first entry had been written on the evening of their excursion into Lisbon. In hindsight, she was amazed at how agitated she had initially been following the events of that day. That was the advantage of a diary – you could look back on supposedly distressing events and laugh at them. Ella could clearly remember how she had wanted to confront Rudolf with Otto’s suspicions in order to gain peace of mind. Yet instead, she had casually asked him exactly how he had sustained his wound, since Otto had noticed blood on one of the beams in the stable. It had been exactly as she had assumed. Ella read the underlined sentence in her diary: The gypsies pushed Rudolf against the wall of the stable during the scuffle. That had settled the matter – although Rudolf had plainly been surprised to learn that Otto had seen him in the stables.

  All along the North African coast from Gibraltar, past Malta, to Egypt, Otto and Rudolf hadn’t exchanged a single word beyond polite greetings whenever they happened to cross paths on board. Yet curiously, their ill feeling had lifted when they went ashore at the Egyptian trading post of Port Said.

  Every day at sunset, a bewitching display of colour is reflected on the surface of the sea – and after that, in the evening, the sight of the moon casting its pale light on the waters is a balm for the soul.

  Ella smiled as she read this entry. It was impossible to bear anyone any rancour in such surroundings. During their trip ashore in the land of the pharaohs, Rudolf had even submitted to Otto’s description of how Bedouins lived in a village to the south of the port without puffing up like a peacock.

  Ella read on, and was once again amazed at the thirty-five thousand marks that the Danzig had paid to enter the Suez Canal. The passage had taken eighteen hours, but it had been worth it. Flamingos, egrets and pelicans had all put in an appearance.

  The lakes behind the dams were simply magical. A colourful ribbon lined their sparsely vegetated shores, with the desert beyond shimmering in gold.

  Ella sighed at the memory of this natural spectacle, and the sound woke up Rudolf, who had been dozing in a lounger alongside her all the while. He stretched and looked at her sleepily.

  ‘Your diary . . . I should write a diary too. What are you reading about right now?’ he asked.

  ‘Suez, and the journey past the mountains of the Sinai Peninsula. Do you remember those blazing colours – everything bathed in light, and those gleaming bluish shadows?’

  Rudolf closed his eyes and nodded, relaxing at the memory.

  ‘I can also vividly recall that blazing heat,’ he added.

  Ella had to agree. There had been no cooling sea breezes in that region. Over the Red Sea, the air was still, and the columns of smoke from the funnels on the Danzig had risen almost vertically into the sky. Some of the crew had been forced to stop working, and no wonder, for down in the engine room, the temperatures had easily reached around sixty degrees centigrade. Four of the workers had been taken ill with circulatory collapse, a condition that resulted in convulsions. Ella had helped the ship’s doctor tend to the men, though all that had really been needed was to bring them on deck so they could rest and breathe in the fresh sea air. Cold compresses had also helped them recover.

  ‘Do you remember the flying fish too?’ asked Ella, although she knew what Rudolf would recall most vividly in that context. He nodded and smiled at her.

  ‘Nobody at home will believe it. A fish leaping in a huge arc and landing directly in the chef’s cabin,’ he said. ‘I also remember the lights in the sea on our second night on the Indian Ocean.’ So Rudolf had decided to bring that up after all.

  Ella could recall it too. Rudolf was referring to the pulsating colours of the sea – a magnificent spectacle that had revealed itself to them one cloudless night. Thousands upon thousands of jellyfish had risen from the depths like spirits, only to sink back down again, and the sea had genuinely begun to glow as a result. A luminous carpet drifting past them. Dolphins had accompanied their vessel in droves almost daily at that time. It was one of the most thrilling sights the ocean had to offer. On that evening, they had grown close to each other. Closer than ever before.

  Why didn’t I kiss him? it said in her diary. I wanted to so badly when we were at home. Even now, Ella was unable to answer that question, though she had vowed to herself that she would carry that beautiful moment in her heart for the rest of her life. It was hard to imagine a more romantic evening: dinner on deck under a starlit sky; a glass of red wine; reminiscences about the voyage so far; l
oving glances; his hand on hers; the same flutter she had experienced during their first encounters in Hamburg; and then the magical moment – the glowing lights in the sea, beneath a twinkling firmament. He had looked deeply, silently into her eyes, and she had seen that he desired her. She could see the same yearning in his eyes again now. Once again, she wondered why she couldn’t give in to her own desire to kiss him. She had so often imagined how it would feel to kiss a man. His lips must be rougher than her own – would explore hers ardently. His kiss would surely heighten the fluttering sensation in her belly – would strengthen her desire to yield to him – yet once again, her mounting passion dissipated without a clear reason. Ella fended off his amorous looks with a kindly smile, which he accepted without pulling a face. Why couldn’t she give way to her feelings and accept that she was growing closer to him – to her ‘fiancé’, who had played that part so impeccably? Ella didn’t know.

  Rudolf reached for her hand and, despite everything, she enjoyed the sense of closeness that came with it – though she also felt guilty for rejecting him during all these weeks at sea. She gave up searching for the reason, and all but forced herself to continue reading her diary. He would understand. She flicked forwards to their excursion into Colombo, where the Danzig had had to stop once again to take on coal. There had been plenty of time to explore the city, and they had been especially keen to visit Mount Lavinia and Victoria Park. The first of these was an exquisite spa hotel situated in front of a picturesque cliff face immediately overlooking the sea, and was run by a German landlord. How lovely their day in Victoria Park had been too – a landscaped garden full of beautiful trees, lakes and ornamental plants.

  Rudolf’s gaze lingered on her once more. It unsettled her. Had her behaviour towards him cooled lately because she didn’t entirely trust him? It felt dishonourable to always answer him with a kindly smile, which he could only interpret as a promise that she would one day yield to him. The thought of that caused her smile to freeze over. Rudolf noticed, broke off eye contact and looked back up at the sky, where heavy monsoon clouds hung in the distance.

  ‘It’s been a wonderful voyage,’ declared Ella out of pure embarrassment. What a meaningless phrase.

  Rudolf ignored her. That he didn’t pressure her was to his credit.

  Yet Ella still felt like a traitor – to Rudolf, to his concern for her, and to herself. The soporific sea waves brought forth a certain lethargy, and over the course of the voyage, they must have lulled to sleep the attraction she had previously felt towards him. Perhaps her feelings would change once more when they reached their destination and found themselves on dry land – yet Ella was shocked to find that in her current mood, she couldn’t even bring herself to hope that they would.

  CHAPTER 6

  As soon as the Danzig arrived in George Town harbour, Ella realised just how invaluable the English language skills she had acquired in London would be. Like the Malay Peninsula itself, the island of Penang was in British hands – an Imperial Crown colony. They had had eight hours to explore George Town, and only Rudolf had been identified as a foreigner by the local British residents, thanks to his unmistakable German accent. Ella wasn’t surprised that the United Kingdom had snatched up this island to the south of Siam, for Penang seemed to be one big botanical garden. George Town itself was full of impressive villas boasting magnificent grounds, while the native stilt houses were scattered from the tropical green hills all the way down to the sea. Between these dwellings burst forth luxuriant palms, thickets of bamboo, banana plants, vines, tropical ferns, breadfruit trees, and a whole host of other colourful flora that Ella didn’t recognise. The most impressive of these was a tree that must have been at least fifty feet tall, and consisted of a single trunk from which extended a fan of branches tipped with small palm leaves. Otto knew its name, of course – Ravenala, or the ‘traveller’s palm’.

  The first few hours on shore had been exhausting, and they were all glad to be back on board. It was just as hot there, but substantially less humid, for there was always a breeze in the harbour.

  ‘It feels as though somebody is constantly slapping me in the face with a hot, wet towel.’ Rudolf summed up how they all felt.

  It seemed to grow hotter by the hour on board as they made their way south. According to Otto, there were pirates operating in the Strait of Malacca, but they didn’t encounter any, thank heavens. They probably preferred to target small sailboats, and would never attack a steel colossus like the Danzig. That was Rudolf’s theory, and Ella found it both plausible and reassuring.

  The temperature didn’t drop even at night, as the Danzig finally entered the port of Singapore and moored at the Borneo Wharf, the landing stage belonging to the North German Lloyd. The harbour was gigantic, and lay behind a handful of small islands from which the lights of countless stilt houses cast a golden glow on the now ink-black sea. As far as Ella could tell, every single passenger was on deck to admire the view and to catch a first glimpse of Singapore.

  But it wasn’t just the chaos of the brightly lit port that nipped all romantic stirrings in the bud. Now that they had reached their destination, the many questions that had gnawed at Ella before her departure returned to the fore, and were suddenly joined by new ones. Had Father known this Richard for a while already? Where exactly had this mysterious man handed her over to his care? Was her real mother a whore, or was there another reason why her natural parents had given her away? On top of that, she needed to get used to the idea that the country now spread out before her was really her homeland.

  Even before their luggage was unloaded, Otto had offered to help them with anything they needed. For his part, he would remain in Singapore to meet with local businesspeople. It went without saying that they would disembark together.

  ‘I can recommend a hotel to you – unless you wish to continue your journey today? I’ll be staying there myself.’ Otto’s offer had convinced even Rudolf to follow suit.

  Standing with all that luggage on a foreign dock in the midst of the hustle and bustle of the port left Ella feeling rather forlorn. It was all so alien, and the new sights and sounds overwhelmed her. In addition to that, the mix of ethnicities and cultures made her mind swirl as the realisation dawned that she was the foreigner here. Around her, people of all nationalities and races flooded the docks – mostly, she guessed, these were Chinese, Malays and Indians. There was a lively jumble of dock workers, fruit sellers with their wheeled stands, and passengers, who either poured towards the jetties where smaller boats were moored or simply stood around and watched the goings-on in the port while they waited for their ships to depart. Ella was so busy trying to process all these different impressions that she didn’t even manage to cast a final look back at the Danzig to bid it farewell, as she had planned to do.

  ‘We should take a rickshaw.’ Otto was now in command, but neither Ella nor Rudolf knew what he meant by that statement.

  ‘A what?’ asked Rudolf.

  Otto pointed to a handful of miniature two-wheeled carriages at the side of the road, though not one of them had a horse harnessed to it. Instead, they rested on two wooden beams that lay on the floor. Ella thought she could see some Malayan ‘coachmen’ standing in front of them.

  ‘A Japanese invention. They’re quick, manoeuvrable and ideal for short distances,’ explained Otto; yet only after the muscular Malays had loaded their bags onto four rickshaws – they needed that many due to the sheer volume of Otto’s luggage – and gestured for them to board did Ella realise that the vehicles would be drawn not by horses but by humans.

  Otto spoke to the men in their own language – Ella understood only the words ‘Beach Road’ – and then they were off, at considerable speed. She had grown weary after just a few steps in this humidity, but the men pulling these rickshaws seemed completely untroubled by the heat.

  ‘Where are we going, anyway?’ Ella called ahead to where Otto was seated.

  ‘To Raffles. A small but very fine hotel,’ Otto answe
red, shouting over the background noise of the street and what sounded like the chatter of a thousand voices.

  After a journey of just a few minutes past seafront stilt houses and a handful of villas on the landward side of the road, Raffles came into view. It lay in an idyllic spot, directly overlooking an inlet of the sea. The regal-looking driveway was lined with palm trees and had a stately air, while the three-storey whitewashed building with its arcades on the ground floor gave the impression that it had been built fairly recently. Its location and its sea views were beyond compare.

  ‘It isn’t the cheapest hotel around here, but that improves your chances of getting a room. I’ve already booked mine by telegram,’ explained Otto once they had arrived at the entrance and had their luggage unloaded by the white-uniformed staff. At that moment, Ella decided it was high time to tell Otto the real reason she was here. He seemed to know everyone and anyone, so he might be able to provide them with some useful contacts to speed up their search for the sinister Richard F. A farewell drink, suggested by Otto, presented the ideal opportunity. Ella was surprised at how quickly the essentials were told. She only had time to take two sips of her drink, which a waiter had served to them as they sat on their rattan chairs, surrounded by palm trees.

  ‘The matter seems clear enough to me. This Richard is presumably your real father, who wanted to get rid of his illegitimate child . . . Unless his wife had an affair and he wanted revenge; but I consider that unlikely, since as far as I’m aware, the former scenario is nothing unusual in this part of the world. He must be an Englishman or a Dutchman. And however complicated or sensitive the circumstances that led him to do it, anyone capable of such a course of action must be a monster.’ Otto’s summary spoke to Ella’s heart, and once again raised the question of whether she even wanted to track down such a ‘monster’ in the first place.

  ‘I still need to know who he is,’ she nonetheless replied, for her curiosity outweighed both her moral sensibilities and the accompanying fear. ‘For that very reason,’ she added, since Otto fixed her with a pensive look.