On Far Malayan Shores

by Tara Haigh

  ‘You mean he gambled away the von Stetten fortune?’

  ‘It seems so . . . though what’s far more deplorable is to then seek women out in order to live at their expense,’ continued Otto.

  ‘But that can’t be. He was a close family friend. He knew we were only able to maintain our comparatively high standard of living thanks to an annuity – which turned out not to be an annuity, but payments sent from Penang. Rudolf didn’t know any more than that, so he can’t have thought that there was much money to be had from me.’

  Otto now fell into deep rumination. His thoughts seemed to be running in circles, just like Ella’s.

  ‘There’s only one explanation. He must somehow have found out that you are really the daughter of a wealthy Englishman. Everything suddenly makes sense then. He embarked on this journey with you knowing who your real father is, and then he paid a visit to the man’s family. But didn’t you just say that there is no Richard Foster?’

  ‘Not quite. There was a Richard Foster, but he’s dead, and I feel certain that he was my father.’

  ‘How can you be so sure?’

  ‘He had a daughter – Heather. She has a birthmark in exactly the same place as I do. I stayed with the Fosters for a few days, passing myself off as a tourist and enjoying their hospitality. During that time I grew close to Heather . . .’

  ‘So he must have confronted the Fosters – perhaps even blackmailed them . . .’ Otto conjectured.

  ‘Plausibly.’ It began to dawn on Ella that there was a motive for getting Rudolf out of the way.

  ‘It’s very possible that these Fosters, or somebody working for them, might have done away with Rudolf.’ Otto’s conclusions were logical, but she couldn’t bring herself to accept his reasoning.

  ‘I can’t believe that. Marjory Foster is a hard woman, but also a very upright one, and she loves her daughter more than anything. I don’t think she would do something like that. Though supposing you’re right and he knew more than I did before we left Germany – how in the world could he have proven that I’m Richard Foster’s daughter?’

  Otto stopped once more, deep in thought. ‘I think I need another whisky,’ he remarked. Whatever angle they approached the various motives and circumstances from, this thorny situation refused to make any sense – though there had to be some connection between the Fosters and Rudolf’s death.

  Ella was relieved to see that the bridge club had released Amar from their clutches and allowed him to join them once more – otherwise, Otto might have managed to persuade Ella to join him for a glass of the strong Scottish spirit. Yet Ella’s hopes of seeking solace at Amar’s side proved unrealistic when she saw that he was being escorted back by Mary.

  ‘Otto, why don’t you have a chat with Amar? He’s worked on a plantation for many years now, and I swear I’ve never met anybody who knows as much about cultivating and harvesting rubber as he does.’ Mary’s manoeuvre was easy to see through, and her glance at Ella made it clear that she wanted to speak with her in private. Ella could imagine what she wanted to ask her.

  Otto and Amar both seemed surprised at Mary’s suggestion. Otto in particular didn’t seem to know what to make of Amar.

  Ella was about to explain that he was her companion, but Mary seemed to feel there was another more pressing matter to discuss, and she took Ella’s arm.

  ‘Do you work here in the south?’ Otto finally broke the silence, thank heavens.

  ‘I’m just borrowing Ella to give her a taste of my homemade sherry,’ said Mary charmingly, before abducting her just as Victoria had done with Amar earlier.

  Otto seemed to take the hint, but Amar gave Ella an enquiring look. She nodded at him.

  ‘I can imagine what you want to speak to me about,’ said Ella, once they were a few steps away from the two men.

  ‘Oh indeed? What, then?’ smiled Mary.

  ‘Perhaps about the fact that the Dutch enjoy sherry just as much as the British?’ asked Ella wryly.

  Mary laughed out loud. ‘I had actually intended to leave that subject alone for the time being – however, I suffer from chronic curiosity. But you don’t have to discuss it if you don’t want to,’ she reassured her.

  ‘It would take a weight off my conscience, as I felt very uncomfortable pretending to be somebody else at your garden party.’

  ‘It is rather unusual, to be sure,’ Mary conceded.

  Ella pondered what excuse she could offer her, and decided to tell the truth – or at least part of it.

  ‘It was Amar’s idea. I have a limited travel budget, and he told me that the Fosters sometimes accept guests. The last one was a Dutchwoman.’ So much for the truth, Ella thought.

  ‘Yes, so I heard. She must have been a very charming lady.’

  ‘I’ve already told you that I lived in England for a year, and I couldn’t help but notice a certain amount of animosity towards Germans while I was there,’ Ella hinted.

  ‘And so you decided it would be better to pass yourself off as a Dutchwoman.’ Mary’s conclusion was welcome to Ella, as she could confirm it with a clear conscience.

  ‘What a barmy idea! Then again, it’s true that Kaiser Bill isn’t exactly well loved by the British. To be perfectly honest, his thirst for power fills me with some alarm too. We Brits worry that one day, he might surpass the political and naval supremacy of the British Empire.’

  As on so many other occasions, Ella thanked the Lord that she had managed to avoid falling into a trap, and she hoped that the rest of the conversation would be devoted to global politics. Her conversations with Otto over dinner on the Danzig had even taught her to enjoy such subjects – yet she was disappointed, for Mary suddenly chuckled to herself.

  ‘You won’t believe what I’ve been thinking about you all this time,’ she began.

  Ella had no idea what Mary was getting at, but she instantly felt hot.

  ‘You and Heather. You’re so similar that I thought you might be sisters at first,’ laughed Mary.

  Ella felt nauseous. She drew a deep breath and hoped she could manage to keep the conversation from going off the rails. After all, Mary was friends with Marjory.

  ‘Thankfully, I never met Richard – Marjory’s late husband – in person, but there were rumours about him.’

  ‘That he was unfaithful, you mean?’ Ella probed.

  ‘At any rate, that would explain why you look so similar to Heather. But my imagination ran away with me. I almost thought . . . Ach, it’s absurd . . .’ Mary downplayed her suspicions.

  ‘Come now, tell me,’ Ella urged, struggling to maintain her composure. She was drenched in sweat.

  ‘The same thing happened in my own family. My brother . . . well, he wasn’t exactly faithful either, and one day a young woman appeared at our door. Her mother had told her on her deathbed who her real father was. She didn’t introduce herself by her own name either,’ explained Mary.

  ‘Remarkable,’ Ella squeaked.

  ‘So I thought . . . you know?’ Mary hinted.

  The subject needed to be changed as quickly as possible. Mary was certain to know a few other things about the Fosters, thank heavens.

  ‘I take it you haven’t known Marjory for very long?’ asked Ella.

  ‘To be perfectly honest, I’ve known her for longer than anyone – but even so, we only became friends after Richard died. She was something of a recluse while he was still alive. Her husband must have been a very unpleasant person to live with,’ Mary revealed.

  Ella could well imagine how Heather must have suffered with a father like that.

  ‘It was only many years after his death that Marjory began to maintain . . . a few important social contacts, let’s say. After all, she was running the plantation all by herself, and that’s hard to do without being involved in the wider community.’

  ‘And Marjory told you about her husband? Did she suspect him of betraying her?’ asked Ella.

  ‘It’s interesting that you ask me that. No, to be honest, we’ve
almost never talked about Richard,’ Mary admitted.

  ‘But you’re her close friend. At least, that’s what Marjory implied to me.’

  ‘Certainly. We share the same passion – and please don’t draw the wrong conclusion there,’ laughed Mary.

  Ella realised she was alluding to her native lovers.

  ‘We both love oleander. I’m sure you’ve seen how magnificently it grows in Marjory’s garden.’

  ‘I’ve never seen such a beautiful house in my life. It’s like a fairy tale castle,’ Ella admitted.

  ‘The strange thing is that it doesn’t seem to flower properly at my house. There’s only one small bed in my garden where I can get it to grow at all,’ Mary sighed. ‘And now for the sherry,’ she added, as they reached the veranda. ‘Victoria and the rest of the bridge club are already quite addicted to it. People say that my sherry is worse than Chinese opium.’ She laughed as she bore down on a decanter standing on a small side table.

  Whatever the sherry tasted like, Ella knew she would need more than just a glass of it.

  CHAPTER 16

  Ella had stayed up late with Amar, wrapped up in endless speculations about the Fosters and Rudolf’s death; yet against all expectations, she must have finally fallen asleep from sheer exhaustion. Not even Amar’s presence and his consoling words had been able to slow down the whirling carousel that was her mind. In his view, it wasn’t worth wasting any more thought on the matter. Some things were best left alone. A worthy suggestion, but one that even he had found hard to put into practice. He had promised her that everything would feel like far less of a burden in the morning, but as the first rays of the sun began to fall upon their bunk, her thoughts all came flooding back – partly because her conversation with Otto had stirred up her emotions, but also because she was preoccupied with her experiences last night as a European woman at Amar’s side.

  That was another topic that she and Amar had discussed until late in the night. The guests of the amiable and easy-going Hamiltons certainly weren’t typical for Malacca, but it had still been heartening to learn that there were people out there who didn’t reduce Amar to the status of a mere lover, nor her to that of a woman of loose morals – a tourist in search of adventurous dalliances with native men. Otto had listened to her confession that she and Amar were a couple without blinking an eyelid – though that was probably due in part to his whisky consumption. She had found the admission easier to make after a few glasses of Mary’s sherry too. Otto seemed to like Amar and had chatted to him for a long while – about rubber, naturally.

  The dawn of the new day did nothing to dispel these thoughts, but that changed when Amar sleepily opened his eyes. His kiss put a stop to the chaos in her mind, at least for now.

  ‘When do you want to leave?’ he asked.

  ‘Preferably never,’ answered Ella. Not because she would rather spend the entire day lying in Amar’s arms, but because she faced an unpleasant duty – one that she had learned of the night before when Otto had accompanied them back to Johore. Lee had handed her Officer Puteri’s message straight away. At one o’clock in the afternoon, a ship would leave for Germany, and Rudolf’s mortal remains would depart with it. There were papers to be signed, so Ella thought it best to arrive early at the harbour in Johore. From there, the coffin would be taken to Singapore before being loaded onto a steamer for the journey home.

  ‘I’ll come with you.’

  Ella was hoping Amar would say that, for she felt sure she would find it difficult to say goodbye – especially in light of what Otto had told her the night before.

  ‘Did you love him?’

  She had been wondering when Amar would ask her that question, and she saw no reason to hide the truth from him – although it would probably have been better not to discuss the topic over their hastily eaten breakfast.

  ‘I loved him, yes, but I couldn’t give free rein to my feelings,’ explained Ella.

  ‘How do you mean?’ It seemed that Amar really could be jealous sometimes.

  ‘I only realised it on the way to Singapore. Whenever we had an intimate moment, it didn’t quite feel right,’ she admitted to him.

  ‘Perhaps you could sense that something about him didn’t add up.’

  Amar’s point was an obvious one, though she hadn’t fully realised it until now.

  ‘And why did you fall in love with him?’ Amar’s persistence left her feeling flustered.

  ‘He was an eligible bachelor . . . from a good family who were friends with my own. He was good-looking and . . . he pursued me.’ At that moment, Ella realised it was his social status that had drawn her to him more than anything else.

  Amar nodded thoughtfully.

  ‘I was a humble hospital nurse, and when a gentleman takes an interest . . . Well, I started to daydream . . . and then he was there for us when Father died.’ She tried to justify herself.

  ‘I’m just a humble plantation worker. Not a gentleman.’ A sad note crept into his voice. Was he trying to suggest he wasn’t good enough for her? What nonsense!

  ‘He was a fraud,’ Ella pointed out.

  Amar really seemed to take it to heart that he was no von Stetten – even though Rudolf had proven to be a swindler.

  ‘But what if a man came along one day who could offer you all that? A man of the world, with plenty of money and . . .’

  ‘Look at me,’ Ella demanded, for Amar was currently addressing himself to the slices of mango on his plate. He did as she said.

  She said nothing more, and looked him straight in the eye. He returned her gaze, and she could almost feel him reading her thoughts. Surely, he must know how strongly she felt about him.

  ‘I love you,’ said Ella, for it felt right to her at that moment, and she needed to say it to him.

  Amar’s eyes gleamed with emotion.

  ‘Anyway, what about you? The way those bridge players looked at you, I thought they were going to eat you alive . . .’

  ‘I find bridge very boring.’ Amar had emerged from his melancholy mood, thank heavens. He grinned at her. ‘But that suit yesterday – I won’t be making a habit of wearing it, I can tell you that now. I have blisters on my feet too,’ he complained.

  ‘That’s a pity. You looked like a real man of the world last night.’ Ella swallowed a piece of mango. How good it felt to laugh and feel carefree again.

  The harbour of Johore consisted of just three small landing stages, and very little trade came through it. Large sailboats and steamships never docked here. Officer Puteri had instructed her to meet him at the first jetty, and it didn’t take Ella long to find the meeting point, where Puteri was already waiting for her. Rudolf too, inside a wooden coffin that lay on the back of a police wagon.

  Amar drove the cart towards the landing stage, where a small sailboat was waiting to transport Rudolf’s body to Singapore.

  ‘Stop here,’ said Ella.

  Amar immediately pulled on the reins and brought the cart to a halt.

  ‘I’ll handle this on my own,’ she said, as Amar made ready to jump down from the cart too. He nodded, seeming to realise that this was a matter for Ella alone, and that it concerned an earlier chapter in her life. Yet it was also wiser for her not to be seen in the company of a Malayan man. Puteri would almost certainly be investigating Mohan’s rescue, and he might link her to the operation.

  ‘Miss Kaltenbach.’ Puteri’s voice was muted. After all, he was there to deliver the body of a deceased acquaintance of hers.

  ‘Aren’t you taking any luggage with you?’ he asked, looking towards the cart, which Amar had steered to one side in order to let others access the landing stages.

  The question took Ella by surprise. ‘I wasn’t planning on leaving,’ she answered.

  Puteri furrowed his brow – presumably because at their last meeting, she hadn’t said whether she would stay here or head back to Hamburg. It seemed he had assumed the latter.

  ‘I had understood that you were close to Mr von Stetten. My ap
ologies,’ he replied, though she had only told him that Rudolf was her travel companion. Evidently, he hadn’t really believed her.

  ‘I’m finding this hard enough as it is,’ she said in a reproachful tone. He nodded sympathetically and pulled out a folder containing two sheets printed with text in the local language.

  ‘I would kindly ask you to sign these documents, which confirm that the local police have released the body and that Mr von Stetten can be transported to Hamburg.’

  Ella hesitated. ‘Strictly speaking, I don’t have any legal grounds to do so. I’m not related to him.’

  Puteri nodded. ‘All that’s needed is for somebody who knows him to confirm that the handover has taken place,’ he assured her.

  Ella signed the papers and handed them back.

  ‘Thank you. If you have any problems at all or if you need help with anything – please, come and see me,’ he said. Something else seemed to be weighing on his mind.

  ‘The lost documents – they were never found,’ he suddenly announced. Ella was unable to follow.

  ‘The ones from the case we found in his horse’s saddlebag. We questioned the workers and paid another visit to the Fosters – after all, he might have left something on their property. Business information, or a quotation. I never asked about that the first time I was there,’ he explained.

  Ella’s stomach lurched. If he had visited the Fosters again then he would almost certainly have mentioned her name.

  ‘I presume your inquiries proved fruitless,’ she said.

  ‘I’m afraid so. Mrs Foster seemed unaware that he wasn’t here alone. She asked me to pass on her deepest condolences to you, although she doesn’t know you personally.’

  Ella felt as though an ice-cold hand were gripping her throat. She hoped that Puteri would attribute her pallor to the fact that she was here to bid farewell to her dead companion. ‘Although she doesn’t know you personally’ – what did Marjory mean by that?

  ‘Thank you.’ Ella was unable to say anything more.