On Far Malayan Shores

by Tara Haigh

  ‘Mother told me about last night’s events at the market,’ she began.

  Ella merely nodded.

  ‘Did the soldier really shoot at that man? How did it come to that?’

  ‘They found guns in his home. It seems that he’s part of the resistance. Mohan ran away, so they fired a warning shot, but he wouldn’t stop,’ answered Ella.

  ‘I don’t understand how people are capable of things like that . . . of shooting at their fellow human beings.’ Heather looked indignant, and Ella was surprised that she was standing up for her worker. ‘Perhaps we would behave in exactly the same way if we had foreigners in our country . . . rise up against them, defend ourselves,’ Heather mused.

  ‘All the same, Marjory will let him go,’ Ella pointed out.

  ‘She has no choice. Besides, she’s a royalist through and through and she’s convinced we aren’t doing the country any harm,’ explained Heather.

  ‘She told me to pay no heed to the interests of the native population in future,’ said Ella.

  ‘Well-intentioned advice. That really is frowned upon,’ Heather confirmed.

  ‘By whom? By you British, or by the Malays?’ Ella asked.

  Heather merely laughed, to Ella’s bafflement.

  ‘Why are you laughing?’

  ‘Did you ride to Johore alone last night, perchance?’ The question took Ella completely by surprise.

  ‘Of course not,’ Ella replied.

  ‘Did Raj go with you?’ Ella could tell from Heather’s expression that the question wasn’t a serious one.

  ‘No.’

  Heather was clearly bursting with curiosity.

  ‘I suppose Marjory has already discussed this with you,’ Ella stated.

  ‘She thinks you rode into town on your own.’

  ‘Marjory? But nothing escapes her – she can practically hear the grass growing,’ exclaimed Ella in surprise.

  ‘You overestimate her.’ Now it was Heather’s turn to be mysterious. Ella’s curiosity was piqued too.

  ‘Come, tell me,’ Ella urged.

  ‘I asked the stable boy this morning. He sleeps in the outbuilding, in case a fire breaks out or a storm frightens the horses,’ Heather explained.

  ‘And? What did he say?’ Ella probed.

  ‘He said only one horse went into town.’ Heather grinned.

  ‘Well, there you are, then. That tells you I was alone.’

  Heather laughed again. The conversation was evidently amusing her more and more.

  ‘Amar’s horse was the one missing,’ Heather finally revealed.

  ‘So you’re spying on me now.’ Ella delivered her accusation with a mischievous grin.

  ‘A most attractive man, isn’t he?’ said Heather.

  ‘You know him, then?’ Ella was surprised. Amar had told her that only Raj was allowed onto the Fosters’ property, and that he had barely seen Heather at all.

  ‘We met once in the stables,’ said Heather.

  Ella was astonished at her directness.

  ‘Do you like him?’ Heather asked.

  Ella saw no reason to lie to her, and nodded.

  ‘You wouldn’t be the first woman to fall under the spell of the men around here.’

  ‘I haven’t fallen under his spell.’ Ella’s protest rang hollow even to her own ears – after all, she was already missing him, and had been wondering how he was all day long.

  ‘No man is worth wasting your feelings on,’ declared Heather abruptly with a stony expression. She seemed to be drifting back into the same dark mood as before. Ella was familiar enough with Heather’s views on the male sex by now, but she had thought that her dismissive attitude applied only to Englishmen.

  Heather dug her spurs into her horse’s flanks and rode on ahead towards the sea, which now lay before them at the end of the road, enticing them onwards with snow-white sand and shady palm trees.

  Ella couldn’t make sense of Heather. How was it possible for anybody to have such dramatic mood swings? No sooner had they reached the sea and tethered their horses in the shade of a palm grove than Heather’s eyes once again began to sparkle more brightly than the sun. Ella had been expecting her to continue interrogating her about her feelings for Amar, but the subject of men seemed to have been dropped altogether.

  ‘Isn’t it glorious here?’ she called instead. With that, Heather unselfconsciously began to undress. Ella would never have thought that an Englishwoman would go swimming without a bathing costume – in fact, she hadn’t expected to swim in the sea at all. She didn’t have her own costume with her, in any case.

  Barely a minute later, Heather was in the water, as naked as the day she was born.

  ‘Come now. There’s nobody around, and nobody will find us here either,’ she whooped over the waves as she dived and splashed.

  Ella preferred to verify that for herself, and she cast her eyes over the small cove, which seemed to consist of only three clumps of palm trees. There was just a single path leading here – the one they had come down – and so she decided to trust Heather. She still had to muster her courage before she could strip off entirely, but she eventually managed it and joined Heather in the sea. The water was refreshing, and it was such fun to fling herself into the gentle surf and be pushed back by the crests of the waves. Although she and Heather appeared not to have as much in common as she would expect two sisters to share, they really did seem to be cut from the same cloth when it came to their love of water. They drifted on their backs together like boats, and Ella savoured the feeling of floating and the saltwater splashing against her skin.

  ‘You’ve gone red,’ Ella declared. Heather’s skin was unused to the sun.

  ‘On my neck?’

  Ella looked more closely, and gave a start. Heather had a crescent-shaped birthmark in exactly the same place as her own. There could no longer be any doubt that they were half-sisters.

  ‘What’s the matter? Is it as bad as all that?’ asked Heather, placing her hand on the spot.

  ‘No . . . but we should still go back into the shade.’

  Heather waded out of the sea and sat down at the foot of a palm tree that had grown into a sort of natural bench, making it an ideal place to sit and rest.

  Ella lingered in the water and looked over at her half-sister. Although her growing certainty about that made her happy, and gave her the feeling that her journey had been worthwhile, it came with the bitter realisation that she had also acquired a stepmother who had her workers flogged and who certainly wasn’t easy to get along with.

  ‘Come on. We need to dry ourselves off, and we shouldn’t get back too late,’ Heather called over to her.

  Ella suddenly remembered that she had been press-ganged by Compton to accompany the Fosters to the annual garden party thrown by a British woman who lived locally. Family obligations must be met.

  A formal visit called for thorough preparation – and not just in terms of clothing. Heather’s suggestion that they should get back as early as possible had proven wise. Ella was very glad that she had packed a suitable dress, and her blue evening gown – which she had already worn on special occasions during the crossing – was exceptionally elegant. Her curls had grown particularly unruly in the hot climate, but Heather lent her a few hairpins to tame them with. Like Heather, Ella opted to wear her hair up, leaving two strands that wound down her temples and curled playfully around her earrings – likewise borrowed from Heather’s jewellery collection.

  Marjory’s hairstyle was austere compared to Ella’s and Heather’s, as was her black outfit, while Heather’s salmon-pink dress was more understated. She must have put on a corset too, judging by her perfect waist – and to think that she was wearing one in this heat! Even Raj, who had been promoted to an elegant coachman for the evening, was clad in a grey suit that looked very smart on him.

  The hour-long coach ride to the north proved entertaining, albeit rather exhausting, as Ella was given a lengthy who’s who account of the invited guests. Marjory h
eld forth, with Heather adding titbits here and there. It was impossible to remember the names of all the high-ranking officials, fellow British plantation owners, tin mine operators travelling down from the north, and influential traders. All Ella had taken away from the lesson was that the powerful people who effectively governed the country all congregated at Mary Bridgewater’s once a year to celebrate and do business. The only details she had found interesting enough to retain were those concerning Mary Bridgewater herself – though they were limited to vague conjecture, since nobody seemed to know exactly why this sixty-three-year-old woman exerted so much influence throughout Malacca. She didn’t come from a noble family, nor did she occupy a particularly high rank.

  ‘There are rumours that Mary is distantly related to the royal family.’ Marjory’s explanation seemed the most likely to Ella. From all these descriptions, she imagined Mary’s house to be more magnificent than it was, and certainly bigger and more impressive than the Fosters’ – yet the exact opposite proved to be the case. At first glance, it reminded Ella of the middle-class cottages she had seen in England. It had a masonry foundation and a wattle-and-daub façade with dark beams intersecting patches of white plaster, and was capped by a steep tiled roof lined with dormer windows. There was even a lawn, and if it weren’t for the palms dotted throughout the extensive garden, the European plants would have made Ella think that she really was in England. Rose bushes wound their way up the sides of the house – perhaps thanks to the altitude. It was significantly cooler up here than on the plain or by the coast.

  ‘Little England,’ exclaimed Ella, as Raj stopped the coach by the entrance to let them out.

  ‘You’re right – though Mary’s house is the exception to the rule around these parts. If you aren’t put off by the thought of a three-day overland journey then you and Heather should travel even further north, to the Cameron Highlands. The climate there is almost the same as at home, except that one can also grow tea,’ said Marjory. Then she began to wave almost frantically at a woman of around her own age. That must be the hostess. She was wearing a hat adorned with a floral arrangement that perfectly matched the pattern of her dress. This walking flower shop immediately abandoned two uniformed officers and their female companions and hurried over to Marjory, greeting her and Heather with a warm smile.

  ‘Mary,’ trumpeted an overjoyed Marjory as she climbed down from the coach.

  ‘Marjory,’ came the no less delighted reply. Then it was Heather’s turn. The lady embraced her like her own daughter.

  ‘Let me have a look at you.’ Mary had clearly known the Fosters for many years, and appeared to be a close friend of the family.

  ‘We have taken the liberty of inviting a delightful young lady from the Netherlands. She’s our guest, and has quickly grown very dear to us.’ Ella was almost embarrassed by Marjory’s effusiveness, so she decided to introduce herself directly.

  ‘Ella van Veen.’

  ‘Delighted to make your acquaintance. I can still vividly recall the wonderful flowers that grow in your homeland. What wouldn’t I give to plant a few tulips here, but I fear they wouldn’t thrive in this climate.’ Ella sensed that Mary’s pleasure at her visit was genuine. Some people simply radiated warm-heartedness and generosity, and Mary Bridgewater was one of them.

  ‘Malacca is blessed with such wonderful floral variety that not even the flower market in Rotterdam can compare,’ answered Ella.

  ‘Very true. I fear that’s why I’ve fallen so deeply in love with this little patch of earth,’ admitted Mary.

  ‘Mary,’ came a voice from the stables, where the arriving guests were leaving their horses to be looked after. Another new arrival, then – and a weighty one at that, judging by both his girth and the many medals dangling from his uniformed chest.

  ‘My guests are calling . . . But we must talk again later. It’s rare that one encounters a fellow flower enthusiast, and I want to hear all about the market.’ With that, Mary made her excuses, nodded at Heather and Marjory, and departed to greet her guest.

  ‘I think she likes you,’ Heather remarked.

  Ella was unable to escape the impression that Marjory wasn’t pleased with this development. After all, Mary had spent longer talking to Ella than to her supposedly close friend. It seemed that the value of a visitor here was gauged by how much time this mysterious Mary Bridgewater spent conversing with them.

  ‘Let’s join the other guests,’ suggested Marjory.

  The idea wasn’t a bad one, but Ella had spotted somebody among the throng of people surrounding the buffet whom she truly wasn’t looking forward to seeing again: Edward Compton. She hoped he wouldn’t ask her about her night-time intervention at the market in Johore.

  Ella had successfully freed both herself and Heather from her mother’s invisible reins – Marjory had become engrossed in conversation with a woman around her own age who was also a major landowner, and hadn’t noticed Heather absconding with her guest, whom Marjory had intended to show off to the other partygoers. The two of them headed towards the garden, as far away from Compton as possible, and Heather took it upon herself to give Ella a little taste of colonial life.

  ‘Those two own a tin mine in the north, and they’re so influential that a railway line is currently being built out to their property,’ Heather whispered as they walked towards an English couple around Marjory’s age. They must be very wealthy indeed, for there was a young Malayan boy standing beside them holding a parasol over the lady’s head to shield her complexion from the sun. How absurd – it was about to set anyway. Imperial power was on full display here, though their hostess seemed to convey the exact opposite of all that in her manner.

  ‘There you are!’ There was no mistaking it – that was Edward Compton’s voice. Ella couldn’t believe her eyes. He was bearing a small plate laden with samples of Mary’s legendary English cheese selection, which he had lovingly arranged especially for her.

  ‘We British may not be famous for our cheeses, but you should at least give us a fair chance and try them for yourself,’ he said with a charming smile.

  Even Heather was unable to suppress a grin. It seemed that Compton could be pleasant after all, though his attempt to flirt with Ella by pursuing her with a plate of cheese was somewhat clumsy.

  Ella sampled a slice, and not just out of politeness. ‘Indeed! The Cheddar tastes just like in your homeland – perhaps even better,’ she declared.

  ‘Are you familiar with England?’ he asked in surprise. Marjory obviously hadn’t told him everything about her yet, as Ella had assumed.

  ‘I trained as a nurse there, and learned to love the country,’ she answered truthfully.

  ‘Then I’m sure you must feel very much at home here,’ he concluded.

  ‘Mary’s house certainly does remind me of my trips to Oxfordshire. I saw some similar architecture there.’

  ‘You can detect the English influence everywhere in Malacca these days,’ Compton replied, while Ella swallowed a second piece of cheese in polite acknowledgement of his kind gesture. She also offered a slice to Heather, who accepted somewhat more reluctantly.

  ‘One wonders whether that is entirely a good thing,’ she remarked. After all, the neatly arranged cheeses on the plate couldn’t distract from the fact that this was the man who ordered his troops to shoot at young Orang Asli. Ella couldn’t bring herself to swallow a third slice.

  ‘Schools, roads, trade . . . Malacca has never had it so good,’ gushed Compton with such conviction one was almost inclined to believe him.

  But Ella knew better. ‘Apparently not everybody sees it that way,’ she stated.

  Compton gave her a knowing smile, which didn’t surprise her, since she knew from Marjory that he was aware of her nocturnal escapade.

  ‘Perhaps you’ve merely gained the wrong impression,’ he suggested.

  ‘In all honesty, I don’t believe that’s the case.’ Ella saw no reason to curry favour with Compton.

  ‘If I weren’
t so impressed with your courage . . . but it was also for Marjory’s sake that I spared you from being questioned over the incident at the market.’ He had finally come out with it. There was no longer any reason to stand there exchanging meaningless pleasantries. Besides, Ella could see that Heather was already suffering in his presence. She clearly preferred to remain silent, which had the advantage that the remaining slices of cheese were disappearing one by one into her mouth.

  ‘Is it a crime to help an injured man?’ Ella asked frankly.

  ‘Not in the least . . . But it’s all over and done with now. Let’s move on to more pleasant topics. At any rate, I couldn’t possibly hold anything against such an enchanting lady.’ Coming from a man of his stature, the compliment was a flattering one, and Ella accepted it with a polite smile.

  Heather handed the plate to Compton.

  ‘Delicious, quite delicious . . . But cheese makes one so thirsty. Please excuse me while I visit the buffet for a refreshing glass of wine.’ With that, she was gone.

  Compton seemed glad to have Ella all to himself. She could sense that the other guests – mostly officers – had begun to notice them and were starting to whisper, which made her feel uneasy. They might think she was flirting with him. A patronising glance from a man around Compton’s age wearing a pith helmet and shorts was enough to confirm that impression.