by Tara Haigh
‘What did he do to her?’
Raj’s smile vanished and he merely shook his head.
‘But you know what happened. Please tell me.’ Ella’s desperate appeal seemed to fall on deaf ears.
‘There’s a time for everything. Your presence here is fate. Nobody can change what has been preordained – but it’s not my fate, it’s yours,’ he explained.
Ella knew from experience that there was no point wasting her breath asking him any more questions.
Raj helped her into the coach and Ella cast a final look back at the Fosters’ house. There could be no doubt: somebody was standing at the window on the first floor. Heather seemed to be bidding her farewell, and Ella wondered whether Heather’s pain could be greater than her own at that moment.
Often, it’s the little things that breathe life back into the darkest hours – and in this case, the restorative was Lee’s smile. At first Ella wasn’t sure whether it was sincere or not, given the trouble she had brought to her house on her previous stay, but when she looked into the woman’s eyes, she could see that Lee’s delight was obviously genuine. Ella had briefly told her that her visit to ‘her friends’ had come to an end, and there were no further questions on the matter. Surprisingly enough, however, there was a letter waiting for her.
‘It was delivered yesterday, but I didn’t have any time to let you know,’ Lee apologised as she handed Ella the envelope.
The stamp on the back resembled a signet, making it clear that this was official correspondence. Ella opened the letter by the reception desk. It was from the police. The results from Rudolf’s autopsy had come in, and they had invited her to the station to discuss the matter in person.
‘Could you take my bags up to my room?’ Ella didn’t want to lose any more time.
Lee nodded.
It was quicker to walk the short distance to the police station than to wait for a rickshaw to come along. The sun was already setting, and Ella hoped it would still be open at that hour. On the way, she wondered what might have caused Rudolf’s death. Although Malacca’s climate certainly had fatal consequences for many visitors with heart conditions, Ella couldn’t for one moment imagine that Rudolf had suffered that fate. He had been a young man, full of vitality, and throughout the arduous crossing he hadn’t shown any sign of a weak heart – at least, not in any anatomical sense.
Less than ten minutes later, Ella found herself sitting in the back room of the police station, wondering why Officer Puteri was shaking his head in disbelief as he held the pathologist’s report in his hands.
‘No external injuries, nor any internal ones that could have been caused by a fall. No insect bites, and no signs of weakness in the heart. According to this report, Rudolf von Stetten was a picture of health,’ he explained.
‘But he must have died of something,’ Ella objected.
‘The only thing we can be certain of is that he died of a heart attack, and that it was likely accompanied by shortness of breath,’ Puteri declared.
‘I can assure you that Mr von Stetten was as fit as a fiddle. It’s impossible.’
‘The pathologist can think of only one explanation. He believes Rudolf might have ingested something poisonous. It wouldn’t be the first time this has happened. Foreigners often believe that the local plants are all edible, but many of them aren’t.’
‘But why would Rudolf have picked something from the side of the road and eaten it?’
‘I asked myself the same. And even if he did, the report states that there’s no way of proving it. So we’re still groping in the dark.’
‘Perhaps he had a bad reaction to an ingredient in a meal. There are so many stalls here selling food and drink,’ Ella conjectured.
‘Out of the question. There’s never been a case before of a foreigner eating something toxic in their food. Visitors sometimes suffer from diarrhoea, and there was a case of food poisoning once, caused by spoiled meat – but the doctor would have been able to identify that.’
‘But he must have ingested the poison somehow.’
Puteri nodded thoughtfully.
‘Did he have any enemies? Any business contacts here in Malacca?’ he asked.
‘Not that I know of.’ Should she tell him the truth about her search for her real father? That would doubtlessly prompt him to pay Marjory and Heather another visit, which would inevitably reveal to them that she was really German, and that she believed Heather to be her half-sister. After being thrown out by the Fosters, Ella was unwilling to let that happen.
‘Give it some time. Perhaps something will occur to you,’ he said. Evidently he could see that she was struggling with herself.
‘All I know is that he was on his way to the Foster plantation,’ Ella finally blurted, for she knew that Puteri had already visited the Fosters.
‘We’ve already made inquiries there. He met with Marjory Foster to discuss buying rubber.’ Puteri gave a start. ‘But didn’t you just say that he didn’t have any business contacts here in Malacca?’
‘He never discussed business with me,’ explained Ella.
Puteri accepted her explanation. ‘We found his horse too, halfway to Johore. A local boy managed to catch it. There was something about it that raised my suspicion, though.’
Ella gave him a questioning look.
‘The saddlebag had a leather case inside it, but the strange thing is that it was empty.’
‘You mean somebody might have stolen documents from him?’ Ella surmised.
‘It’s possible.’
‘But what kind of documents would they have been? I found nothing in his suitcase beyond personal effects, books and maps,’ said Ella.
‘Perhaps a permit, or a deed of ownership?’
‘Impossible. He would have told me about something like that, or at least hinted at it. We spent a lot of time together on board the ship.’
Puteri gave a somewhat helpless shrug. ‘I’m afraid we’ll have to close the case. There’s nothing more we can do,’ he said.
What in God’s name could Rudolf have had in his saddlebag? He had been carrying his map in his pocket, along with his wallet. Ella could make no sense of it.
‘I presume that Rudolf von Stetten is to be transported back to his home country?’ asked Puteri.
‘Of course,’ answered Ella mechanically, though she hadn’t given it the slightest thought – and not just because it would have been pointless to do so before the autopsy results were available. She had drawn a line under her relationship with Rudolf, and whom would she have notified of his death anyway? His mother, Clara, who suffered from dementia? He had no other relatives, and even if there were someone to contact, it would take weeks for a letter to reach them.
‘A ship will be leaving for Europe in a few days. We can take care of the formalities for you, if you like. You’ll need papers . . .’
‘Thank you. I’m very grateful for your help,’ she said. As she spoke, Ella wondered whether she shouldn’t go straight back to Hamburg too. But if she did, she would probably never see Amar again.
‘I hope you have a pleasant stay here in Malacca. Do you plan to remain here a while longer?’ he asked as he escorted her to the door.
Ella gave an indecisive shrug, but she knew she wouldn’t leave – and not just because of Amar. She couldn’t shake off a vague feeling that this wasn’t the right time to depart. And hadn’t Doctor Bagus just offered her the opportunity to do what she had always dreamed of doing back in Germany?
There was even more bad news waiting for her that evening: Marjory had decided to dismiss Amar. He had left a message with Lee to let Ella know. Although his handwritten note included a sketched-out map, and the description of the route to his new home didn’t look too complicated, Ella decided to wait at the side of the road for the next available carriage to take her to him. That proved a wise decision, for the journey was longer than she had anticipated and took her outside the town centre. She would have been sure to get lost on the way.
<
br /> All the houses looked identical in the part of town where he now lived, and there were no house numbers as she was used to back home.
The young Chinese coachman stopped in front of a stilt house, which was simple but looked well maintained, just like the garden surrounding it. It lay in the shade of a thicket of enormous fan palms, set back from a road that was still just about navigable by carriage. There was a horse tied to the veranda, standing next to a manger full of hay.
The trip cost just a few ringgits and Ella debated asking the driver to wait until she was sure that Amar was here, but then dismissed the thought. Who else would the horse in front of the house belong to?
At first, however, it looked as though she was mistaken as he wasn’t inside the main room of the house – a large, high-ceilinged space capped by a pointed roof. Ella cast her eyes over the simple yet functional furniture. There was a cooking stove in the middle of the room and an aperture under the roof to let the smoke escape. Cushions on the floor served as a sofa, with a low table to go with them. It took a while for her eyes to grow accustomed to the dim interior, and only then did Ella spot the sleeping area. A small staircase led up to a kind of balcony, and when she stood still, her ears caught the sound of regular breathing, which she followed.
Amar was lying on a raffia mat, his chest rising and falling evenly. He was sound asleep.
Ella sat down beside his bed and simply looked him. His relaxed features radiated a natural warmth – but his hand moved in a surprisingly targeted manner for somebody who was asleep, fumbling for hers and resting on top of it. Then his face suddenly came to life. Was he smiling in his sleep?
‘Miss Kaltenbach.’ The sound of his voice sent an agreeable shiver down her back. Then he opened his eyes. They didn’t look sleepy, and were focused on her face.
‘You weren’t asleep at all,’ Ella protested.
‘We Orang Asli have ears like bats – especially us rebels. We always need to be on our guard, since the British are hunting us.’ Then he laughed.
Ella gave him a shove on the shoulder.
For a moment, Amar looked at her in silence. ‘Did you leave the Foster plantation?’ he asked in a serious tone.
‘I’m no longer welcome there,’ she answered.
‘Did you talk to Heather?’ he enquired.
Ella nodded, and was forced to admit to herself that the hopes she’d had when she arrived in this country had dissolved into thin air.
‘I feel sorry for her. She’s plagued by events from the past, and I expect I probed too deeply. But the strange thing is I’m glad not to be there any more.’
‘You mean, because you’ve discovered where you come from and it’s different to what you dreamed of?’ Amar asked.
‘That might be it . . . I just wonder why he gave me away. I could have grown up in that house with Heather – I would have been there for her, and she for me.’
‘These things happen among my people too,’ he said.
‘The men sleep with whores and then give their children away?’
Amar sat up and seemed to be trying to recall something.
‘In my home village, I was told that there was a woman who almost died during the birth of her first son. Her husband wanted to have another child, and she conceived, but her life hung in the balance once more. The baby needed to be cut out, and the woman was left disfigured. She wanted to kill the child, so her husband gave it to a foster family.’
Ella had heard similar stories at the hospital. Of course, there could be all manner of explanations, but one at least could be ruled out: Marjory couldn’t be her natural mother.
‘It’s not uncommon for the British to produce illegitimate offspring with the local population. The English orphanages must be full of children like that. Were you ever in an orphanage?’ asked Amar.
‘No. My father passed me off as his own child, and the story was corroborated by a German captain. False documents were issued. My parents told everyone I was adopted, and they kept the truth from me too. Richard obviously paid an annuity for me – but to this day I don’t know why.’
Amar looked surprised. ‘But how exactly did it all happen? Why would a British man living in Malacca seek out a German family? He could have left you in the jungle, in front of a church or a temple, or given you to a local orphanage,’ he asked, with good reason.
Amar’s train of thought raised a new possibility.
‘If Richard Foster was my father . . . My adoptive father was a sailor. Perhaps Richard left me at the port in Singapore in the hope that somebody would find me and take me to a local orphanage.’
‘But in that case, why would he pay an annuity for you?’ asked Amar.
Ella sighed. She had no idea. ‘Rudolf . . . He probably knew the truth, although I don’t know how,’ she said.
Amar shot her a questioning look.
‘He knew why I was here. And he’d already marked the Foster plantation on his map before we’d even begun our search.’
‘Do you think Rudolf tried to blackmail Marjory over the fact that you’re Richard’s illegitimate daughter? But how would he have known that? What did you tell him?’ asked Amar.
‘I thought Rudolf knew only that I was adopted. Though I also told him we received money from Penang for my upkeep.’ Ella sighed again. Her thoughts were going around in circles. None of it made any sense.
‘The police think Rudolf was poisoned,’ she said.
‘Marjory is an extremely morally upright person, and anyway, Rudolf was seen on the plantation. She would never take a risk like that,’ declared Amar with conviction.
His logic was unarguable, but it didn’t bring Ella any clarity over the events of the past.
At times like this, the best thing was to stop wasting words and simply fall into somebody’s arms. It felt so good to lean against his shoulder; feel his hand gently caressing her. This sense of closeness to him was almost more enjoyable than the thrill she normally felt at his touch. Simply to be held, when she felt so rudderless – that was exactly what Ella needed right now.
CHAPTER 14
Ella missed the iridescent morning light, the soft glow of the oleander blossom and its fragrance. Instead, a gentle puff of wind circulated from the entrance of the house up to the roof, wafting the scent of jasmine tea to her bunk, which had proven every bit as restful as the bed in the oleander house. All the same, it felt strange to sleep effectively on the floor, with just a woven mat and a kind of mattress that didn’t look particularly comfortable at first glance. Ella sat up and looked down at the hearth in the centre of the room. Amar was making tea and slicing fruit, dividing the pieces between two bowls.
‘Good morning, Ella. Did you sleep well?’
She was delighted that he had started calling her by her first name. She had insisted upon it. In light of his solicitude and hospitality the night before, ‘Miss Kaltenbach’ felt inappropriately formal.
She answered the greeting with a smile. Not for a second did she regret having stayed with him – partly because he had assured her that they were safe here, since the British had already searched the house multiple times. After all, it was Mohan’s home – an inheritance from his deceased parents. Mohan himself couldn’t expect to be a free man again any time soon, and the house stood empty. Amar had told her last night why the young man had become involved in the resistance. Mohan’s father had died in a tin mine. Nobody there cared about the safety of the workers, and he hadn’t been taken to hospital in time. Mohan’s mother was severely ill, and without his father’s earnings, there hadn’t been any money for medical treatment. Things often took on a very different light once one knew the background.
‘Do you Germans eat eggs for breakfast like the British? I don’t have any bacon, I’m afraid,’ said Amar.
‘I would have been surprised if you had!’ she answered. Amar was a Muslim, so he didn’t eat pork. They had discussed that last night too, while they sat outdoors. He loved to tell her about his homeland and its
traditions, including its religions. To this day, the arrival of Islam in Malacca was a thorn in the side of the British. Amar explained that the faith had been introduced five centuries ago by Arabic, Persian and Indian traders, supplanting Buddhism and Hinduism – though the Chinese and the non-Muslim Indians were allowed to continue practising their own religions. Amar’s account was borne out by the many Hindu and Buddhist temples Ella had already seen.
‘That’s what I love about this country. In Europe, there were wars just because the old Christians had different opinions to the new ones.’ Amar was already aware of the conflicts between Catholics and Protestants. It was truly amazing how much he knew about Europe.
‘So, would you like some bacon? I can get you some. There’s a Chinese family living two houses further down,’ he called up to the balustrade, where Ella was leaning out and pensively watching him make breakfast.
‘No – I’m German, not British. We prefer to eat bread and marmalade for breakfast,’ she laughed back.
‘I don’t have that, and I’m afraid I’m not going into town just to buy some from the British.’
‘They won’t have any German marmalade anyway – just the English stuff, which is bitter, unlike the German version. I don’t know how they can eat it,’ Ella grimaced.
‘I see, I see. It’s going to be difficult to keep you happy.’
She had to laugh. Amar’s sense of humour and his caring nature – right down to his attempts to make her the perfect breakfast – were balm for her soul.
‘I’m happy with anything,’ she said.
‘Well then, curry and flatbread for breakfast? And some eggs?’
Ella found that hard to contemplate, but she nodded bravely.
‘I couldn’t imagine anything better,’ she answered wryly.
‘All right, come on then . . .’
She didn’t need to be told twice and hurried down the wooden steps.
A jug of freshly squeezed mango juice and a flatbread were already standing on the low table. Amar served the eggs with a small helping of chicken curry, but thankfully on normal plates and not on a palm leaf this time.
