On Far Malayan Shores

by Tara Haigh

  ‘Don’t worry. Our clinic might not look like a hospital in your homeland, but we’ll take good care of him,’ explained the doctor in a friendly manner while the attendants lifted Mohan onto a wheeled bed.

  ‘Do you have any rock rose tea?’ she asked.

  The doctor looked as though he had never heard of it.

  ‘Myrrh resin tea?’ Ella hoped this description would be more familiar to him.

  He gave a start, and paused for a moment at the door. ‘Are you a doctor?’

  ‘No, but I’m a nurse and I’ve studied naturopathic medicine. In England.’

  ‘Why rock rose?’ he asked.

  ‘It’s antibacterial, and it combats infections. You can also use it externally to clean the wound,’ she explained.

  ‘Do they teach that in your homeland? Where do you come from? Germany?’ he enquired.

  Ella automatically answered in the negative. She had to stick to the same story she had told everybody else.

  ‘I’m from the Netherlands,’ she replied.

  The doctor took note of her words. ‘I’ll be sure to try that out. You should come back again tomorrow, or whenever you have time – or are you just passing through?’ the doctor asked.

  ‘No, I think I’ll be here for a while yet,’ said Ella spontaneously.

  ‘Doctor Bagus,’ he said, extending his hand.

  ‘Sister Ella.’

  ‘Pleased to meet you,’ came the reply.

  One of the sisters called to him from inside the hospital.

  ‘I’m looking forward to hearing what you have to tell us about the state of medicine in your home country,’ he said, before hurrying indoors.

  Ella was surprised. The doctors here seemed to be much more open-minded than in Germany. Perhaps it was because they hadn’t distanced themselves as much from the traditional healing arts that had been handed down to them – and then of course there was the presence of Indian medicine in the region, which recognised only two categories: surgeons and Ayurvedic doctors, who were responsible for everything else.

  ‘Miss Kaltenbach,’ she heard Amar cry in the distance. Ella wondered why he had only just arrived. A wagon transporting a severely injured patient surely ought to have been much slower than his horse. Perhaps he hadn’t been able to get away any quicker, what with all the confusion at the market.

  ‘How is he?’ he asked when he reached her.

  ‘He’ll be in good hands here,’ said Ella with such conviction that Amar sighed in relief.

  ‘Jump on,’ he urged.

  ‘Don’t you want to see Mohan?’ she asked in surprise. She thought the two of them were friends.

  ‘The British will question you if you stay here,’ he explained, and held out his hand to help her onto his horse.

  Ella didn’t hesitate. Being questioned sounded dangerous. Compton might find out what had happened – and whatever he knew, Marjory would know too before long.

  Although it was quiet in front of the hospital and there were no British officers in sight, Amar dug his spurs into his horse’s flanks and rode off as if the devil himself were in pursuit.

  Ella had thought that Amar would take her straight back to the Fosters’ house, but instead, after a short while, he stopped at a clearing that bordered a small lake hidden inside the jungle. Fed by a waterfall and bathed in a pale glow from the nearly full moon, it lay just a stone’s throw from the centre of town. Even so, Amar told her that the lake was only ever frequented by locals and never by the British.

  He soon revealed the reason why they had stopped here. ‘I think I owe you an explanation, and it’s possible that your absence tonight has already been noticed. If that’s the case, I won’t be able to talk to you undisturbed.’

  It had already occurred to Ella that Jaya would probably have returned to collect the tea things – or that Marjory might even have gone out to check on her guest herself.

  ‘The officer told me that Mohan is a rebel and that they found weapons in his house, but I thought he was a simple plantation worker,’ Ella said as the two of them made the short walk down to the shore of the lake.

  Amar was plainly struggling with himself. Only once they had reached the water’s edge did he begin to speak. ‘The officers are telling the truth.’

  ‘A rebel? But what does that mean?’

  ‘Resistance against the British occupation.’ The emphasis Amar placed on that final word made it clear that he wasn’t particularly fond of the British either.

  ‘Taking up arms against the English?’ Ella could scarcely believe what she was hearing.

  ‘They’re exploiting our country – they have done for many years now, all under the pretext of trade and treaties.’ Amar’s voice was filled at once with both resignation and rage.

  ‘And what about your nobles, the sultans? Shouldn’t they be taking action?’ Ella wondered.

  ‘They were the ones who signed the treaties with the British in the first place! They’ve sold our country. First the Portuguese, then the Dutch, and now the English.’

  ‘Does that mean that you’re also . . . ?’ She didn’t dare to finish the question.

  Amar nodded.

  ‘But there must be another way.’ As soon as she had said it, Ella realised that she couldn’t come up with any better alternatives.

  ‘They don’t take us seriously – they think of us as beasts. If we’re lucky, we might find work on a plantation or a job in the factories. But that isn’t the life we want, and the raw materials – tin, rubber – they belong to us, and not to the colonial occupiers,’ Amar explained, his voice seething with fury.

  How could she argue with that? ‘But what’s the use of taking up arms and rising against them? The British will certainly outnumber you, and even if you manage to kill them all, more ships will arrive with even more soldiers, and then you’ll be at war.’

  Amar took her words to heart, and shrugged helplessly.

  ‘I don’t know what I would do in a situation like that either, but in any case, I abhor violence,’ said Ella.

  ‘The guns . . . They’re just for our own protection,’ he explained.

  ‘Protection?’

  ‘Why do you think so many plantations are British owned? They always want more land, and they threaten the small farmers who don’t want to give up their property. They scare them, say they’ll burn their plantations down if they don’t sell up. We want to protect ourselves. How can we do that without weapons?’

  ‘By not letting them intimidate you. By not showing any fear in front of them,’ asserted Ella with conviction.

  Amar paused for thought once more, gazing out for a while at the pale grey of the lake, before turning back to face her.

  ‘You are a very brave and clever woman,’ he said. In his eyes, she saw respect mingled with surprise – but once again, she also felt that sense of connection; a warmth that could sweep all troubling thoughts aside in the blink of an eye. If only this incident hadn’t ruined their wonderful evening and brought such a brutal end to her daydreams. Under any other circumstances, this beautiful place would have elevated her burgeoning feelings for this man. ‘Not now; not here,’ Ella thought to herself, but she still felt an urge to kiss him. Why couldn’t they look away from each other?

  ‘We should go back . . .’ she said eventually, not because she was afraid that her absence might be discovered, or because she missed the oleander house; rather, it was the fear of giving in to her feelings for a rebel – one who was sincere, who had confided in her. For that very reason, she felt more drawn to him than ever before.

  Ella peered through the open door of her bedchamber at the grandfather clock in the small parlour, which she could see from her bed. It was already half past eight in the morning. The excitement of the previous evening had taken its toll, for it had been well after midnight by the time Amar brought her back to the plantation – unnoticed, since he knew routes on which they would be guaranteed not to meet another soul. All the same, the edge of the f
orest was an exposed spot, so their farewell had been brief.

  ‘Look after yourself.’ His words still echoed in her ears. She could have said the same to him, for the British would very likely find out about the connection between him and Mohan. Ella fervently hoped that nothing would happen to him. Yet she too had drifted into dangerous waters, and not just because she had helped Mohan and confronted the officer. Jaya must have collected the tea things last night and no doubt would have tried to ask the house guest if she needed anything else. That meant Jaya at least must have realised Ella had slipped out. Then again, who would Jaya tell? Reassuring herself with that last thought, Ella got out of bed. She still felt as heavy as a bag of lead, but if she stayed in her room any longer, she would be forced to explain herself, since she had retired early yesterday, just like Heather. All the same, she placed her cheek on the pillow one last time, closed her eyes, and recalled the wonderful moments of the night before – the look in Amar’s eyes, and that moment by the lake when she had yearned for him to kiss her. Her daydreams came to an abrupt end with a knock at the door, however. It was probably Jaya with her breakfast. She was evidently under the impression that Ella had already completed her morning ablutions and was dressed for the day.

  ‘I’m still getting ready. Could you leave the tray on the table outside?’ Ella called loudly enough for Jaya to hear. She had come a little later today, which suggested she was aware of Ella’s absence the night before. When somebody went to bed late, it made no sense to bring them breakfast first thing in the morning.

  Ella heard the rattle of porcelain and breathed a sigh of relief that it really had just been Jaya.

  Now that she was fully awake, she could no longer daydream about the romantic atmosphere of the night before; instead she began to wonder how it was even possible that her heart had begun to burn for Amar so quickly. Just a few weeks before, Rudolf had ignited a fire of almost equal intensity. How had it been with him? The question tormented Ella as she washed herself in the bathroom. ‘Different’ was her immediate answer, but that didn’t satisfy her in the least. After all, she had thought she was in love with Rudolf too, and her heart hadn’t beaten any slower in his presence. Ella paused and looked at her reflection in the mirror. No – with Amar, it was more than just butterflies in her stomach. It was the sense of familiarity and intimacy – the urge to touch him, to yield to him.

  With Rudolf, that feeling had been purely erotic in nature – an illusion born of primal urges – but with Amar, it originated more in a desire to be closer to him. Ella was shocked at this realisation, for Amar not only came from a completely different culture, but was also embroiled in the resistance against the British. Yet those facts did nothing to dampen her feelings for him. ‘It’s his openness,’ she said to herself. That was a major difference between him and that fraudster whom she had been so taken in by . . . And there was something else too, which she mulled over as she ran her brush through her hair: the honest feelings of a straightforward man who eschewed convention, and to whom all shallow repartee was foreign. That was the diametrical opposite of Rudolf’s world, with its hierarchies and intricacies. Amar quite simply wasn’t the kind of man who felt he had to play certain roles in order to impress women. That was what it boiled down to.

  Resolving her dilemma in this way felt more invigorating to Ella than even the heartiest breakfast, though she still sat down to enjoy the food that had been left for her on the terrace. The peace didn’t last for long, however, for a carriage was approaching the house. It was audible even at this distance. Ella assumed that the British would be looking for her, and a lump of toast caught in her throat. To her great relief, however, she saw that it was the Fosters’ coach. Barely a minute later, it stopped in front of the house and Raj helped Marjory down. They must have driven into town to go shopping, for the back of the coach was laden with bags and boxes, which Raj carried into the main building. As he did so, Marjory cast a glance over at the oleander house and waved. Ella had been expecting that. Part of the terrace was visible from the main house – the section that caught the sun in the morning. If only she had taken a seat in the shade, where she couldn’t be seen! There was nothing for it but to return her greeting. Ella hoped that Marjory would have to go inside first to help put the shopping away, but to no avail; Marjory walked directly towards her. Ella just had time to swallow her toast and wash it down with a gulp of tea.

  ‘Good morning, Ella. I hope you slept well,’ Marjory said.

  ‘It’s simply wonderful here. It must be the scent of the oleander – one falls into a deep sleep that couldn’t be more restorative,’ Ella gushed.

  Marjory gave a knowing nod and cast her eyes pensively over the oleander bushes.

  ‘Do you have any tea left? I could do with some refreshment. My mouth is quite parched from all the dust on the way into town.’

  Ella made an inviting gesture, and she sat down in the wicker chair opposite her while Ella poured her some tea.

  ‘It seems that the town is no longer a safe place,’ Marjory began.

  Ella shot her a questioning look.

  ‘Last night there was a fracas at the market. I heard it from Edward. By the way, he asked about you,’ said Marjory.

  From her tone, Ella could tell she wasn’t just making small talk and her hand began to tremble involuntarily. It cost her some effort to pass the teacup without spilling anything. Marjory’s watchful eyes took note of everything and Ella tried to downplay her growing nervousness with a winsome smile.

  ‘He told me that one of our workers was injured. It appears that the man is an insurrectionist – they found some guns in his possession,’ Marjory went on.

  Ella felt sure that Compton would also have mentioned the European woman who tended to the ‘insurrectionist’ and stood up to his subordinates.

  The way Marjory was looking at her felt familiar – there was something maternal about it that reminded Ella of the way her mother looked at her when she knew she had done something wrong. She felt cornered. What should she do? Deny all knowledge and risk being exposed? She would lose Marjory’s trust if that happened. Ella decided to go on the offensive, just as she had always done with her own mother in the hope of avoiding punishment.

  ‘I saw it all for myself last night. A most regrettable incident that ruined a perfectly pleasant evening for everybody there,’ she said.

  ‘Really? You were in town?’ Marjory looked surprised.

  ‘For the shadow play . . . My boarding house recommends it to all visitors, and I have to say, it was breathtakingly beautiful,’ Ella enthused, entirely truthfully. At the same time, she thanked heaven once again that she was so adept at finding plausible excuses.

  ‘A young European woman is supposed to have tended to our worker,’ Marjory hinted. It wasn’t a question. She knew full well that the woman she spoke of was sitting opposite her. Another reason for Ella not to regret having put her cards on the table.

  ‘I was the one who treated him. The man would have bled to death if I hadn’t,’ she admitted openly, and with a nurse’s inner conviction that couldn’t be denied.

  Marjory raised her eyebrows in surprise. ‘In that case, I owe you my thanks. From what Raj tells me, he is a hard worker – leaving aside his questionable inclinations,’ said Marjory.

  ‘Do you really believe that this man is an insurrectionist?’ Ella asked the question to sound Marjory out – to see whether she suspected Ella of any political motives, or of having sided with the local population. That wasn’t implausible, given that her conduct had bordered on rudeness during Compton’s visit.

  ‘Why else would he be stockpiling firearms? Malays don’t go hunting – not with guns, at any rate,’ said Marjory.

  Ella nodded to show interest.

  ‘As much as I would like to keep him on once he has recovered – particularly because he is a good worker – I am obliged to let him go. Even we plantation owners can’t afford to get on the wrong side of the authorities.’


  So a British landowner apparently had no choice in how she dealt with the matter – but Ella could see through Marjory’s words, and she refrained from commenting.

  ‘It’s very much to your credit that you saved a man’s life – but these days, when one fraternises excessively with the locals or cares too much about them, one can very easily fall into disrepute,’ Marjory added in an unmistakable tone.

  ‘My interest in politics has always been small. People are all that matter to me, and to be perfectly honest with you, I can’t approve of British soldiers shooting at young Malay men.’ Ella too made herself unmistakably clear.

  Marjory nodded respectfully, despite her differing views. What needed to be said had now been said. She emptied her teacup and stood up.

  ‘I’m sure Heather will be waiting for you most impatiently. I’m truly delighted that you’re both getting along so well.’ With these words, Marjory suddenly seemed a different woman.

  Ella sensed that her joy was unfeigned and she acknowledged the compliment with a warm smile. She too was happy at the prospect of doing something with Heather, though she would have much preferred to spend the day with Amar. Yet that would evidently be much trickier now, given Marjory’s attitude and the many eyes and ears that carried all news to her.

  CHAPTER 11

  Although they hadn’t explicitly discussed it the evening before, Ella knew that Heather would once again have come up with plenty of plans for the day. Going to bed early seemed to have done her good, for Ella hadn’t expected to find Heather in such an upbeat mood after Compton’s visit last night. Her high spirits were infectious, and helped Ella shake off the tensions from the morning.

  ‘Let’s ride to the coast.’ Heather’s wish was Ella’s command. Anything, so long as they could spend time together.

  ‘That will certainly do you good.’ Marjory’s remark had cemented their plans, and it went without saying that Heather had already instructed the stable boy to saddle their ponies.

  The ride this time was significantly less taxing than their excursion into the hilly hinterland, and much shorter too. Ella knew part of the route already, for they were riding south towards Singapore. They were aiming for a road just a couple of miles outside the town, which branched off towards a beach Heather had occasionally visited as a child with her parents to strengthen her constitution with the salty sea air. Halfway through their journey, Ella was surprised to find that Heather still hadn’t asked her about her trip to Johore the night before. Marjory must have told her all about Ella’s confession that she had tended to one of her workers – and yet Heather hadn’t mentioned it once, instead regaling her with childhood memories and descriptions of the local beaches. By now, however, they were travelling at a leisurely pace along well-paved roads that were easily navigated, and Heather used the opportunity to question her after all.