On Far Malayan Shores

by Tara Haigh

  Despite the seriousness of the situation, Ella couldn’t suppress a smile. It seemed Lee had decided to make her Chinese for the day.

  Ella looked at her reflection in her bedroom mirror and laughed at what she saw. She didn’t recognise herself. Lee had done a sterling job, and now Ella finally knew how it felt to wear a rice hat – and she also understood why they didn’t constantly slip off the wearers’ heads, for there was a ribbon tied under her chin. Lee had lent her the biggest one in her collection, which had the advantage of concealing most of her face, making it the perfect disguise. The robe covered most of her body, but that was fairly typical for this style of clothing. Her hair was dyed black and woven into a plait that hung down her back, and thanks to Lee’s face powder, there was no longer any sign of the ruddy complexion she had acquired since arriving in the tropics. Ella marvelled at the transformation, and Lee seemed satisfied with her work too – her glance made that much clear when Ella appeared at the reception desk.

  ‘We need to hurry. I’ve already told my brother. Come on!’

  Lee headed off towards the kitchen and opened a door, revealing a darkened corridor behind it. Ella followed her for a few yards into another, much bigger kitchen. A portly Chinese man – presumably Lee’s brother – beckoned them in and gestured for them to hurry. In just a few steps, they reached the restaurant area, which lay directly behind Lee’s reception desk. There were no diners around at this time in the morning, and there was a cart waiting outside the door. It was much smaller than Mohan’s, which Ella had left in a prominent position in the courtyard of the boarding house for all the world to see.

  ‘Good luck,’ whispered Lee, once Ella had mounted the cart and picked up the reins.

  Everything had gone according to plan so far, but she now faced the riskiest part of her mission. The restaurant lay on a dead-end street, and the only way to leave it was via the main road. Just a few minutes earlier, she had taken one final look out of the window of her room and seen a young officer pacing back and forth in front of the boarding house. She had every faith in her disguise, but she still felt her heart pound faster as she turned onto the main street. Only after a full minute had passed did she venture to look back over her shoulder. There was nobody suspicious following her – only a wagon laden with fodder that had turned onto the road behind her, which fell further and further behind her smaller, faster cart.

  After a few minutes, Ella turned off from the main road and drove on past Mohan’s house, keeping her head lowered, although Compton’s people would probably be under the impression that she was still in the boarding house. According to Amar’s directions, she would come across a small waterfall before long – and sure enough, it appeared. Now all she had to do was drive along a row of houses until one with a conspicuous red façade came into view.

  Bujang’s parents’ house looked like a wooden cabin of the sort one sometimes came across in rural areas in the far north of Europe. Unlike Mohan’s family home, it had windows and a door that concealed what went on inside. There was a lay-by on the road directly in front of the house, and Ella stopped her cart there and dismounted. As she made her way up to the door, she noticed the curtain twitch – somebody was watching her from the window. Amar had already warned her that the occupants of the house would exercise the utmost caution, and so it proved. All the same, she walked up to the door and knocked. It opened a crack, and she could just make out a figure in the gloom.

  ‘What do you want?’ asked a female voice.

  Ella’s eyes had by now grown accustomed to the dark, and she saw it belonged to an elderly woman.

  ‘Amar sent me. I’m here to see Bujang,’ she stated.

  For a moment there was silence. The woman remained at the door.

  ‘Who are you? And why are you wearing Chinese clothes?’ she asked suspiciously.

  Ella was unsurprised at the question, for her European origins were obvious close-up.

  ‘You should leave. They’ve been watching the house for days. Don’t look towards the barn. Do you know the small lake nearby?’ asked Bujang’s mother.

  Ella nodded.

  ‘Bujang will meet you there in half an hour. Wait . . . I’ll give you a couple of baskets to take with you. That way, it will look as though you were here to collect something,’ she said.

  Ella could almost feel a pair of eyes boring into her back, but she didn’t dare turn round. Bujang’s mother vanished into the house, then returned a few seconds later wearing an exaggeratedly friendly smile and handed her two empty baskets.

  Ella took them from her and gave a small bow, mimicking the manner of giving thanks that she had seen among Chinese people elsewhere in Malacca. Then she carried the baskets back to the cart. As she climbed onto it, she couldn’t resist glancing at the barn. There was a carriage parked behind it. Ella turned her cart around and made her way back down the road.

  It was only a short distance from Bujang’s house to the lake, which she had visited once before with Amar. Ella hoped nobody would follow her, and so it proved – however, she wasn’t the only person there. A group of Malay children on the far shore were leaping excitedly into the water, while their mothers sat together on a raffia mat eating fruit. They scarcely took any notice of her.

  She walked down to the edge of the lake and whiled away the time with recollections of her stop here with Amar. It had been such a wonderful moment. She prayed that they would manage to get away safely.

  ‘Ella?’ She soon heard a male voice calling to her. That had to be Bujang. Amar must have already told him about her several days ago – there was no other explanation for how he knew her name.

  Ella turned and saw a man around Amar’s height, who must be roughly the same age too. Beyond that, however, they had little in common. There was something wild and rugged about Bujang. His alert, watchful eyes nestled deep in their sockets beneath a pair of bushy eyebrows and a shaggy mane of hair, and a large knife strapped to his waist completed the picture. Yet his smile was warm and friendly.

  ‘How is Amar?’ he asked.

  ‘He’s in prison.’

  ‘I know,’ he said, squatting down beside her.

  ‘His trial is tomorrow. He has a good lawyer, and we’re hoping he’ll be acquitted – but then we’ll need to leave the country as soon as possible,’ Ella explained.

  ‘Do you mean to go to Siam, like Mohan?’ he asked.

  ‘No, we intend to travel to the east coast, to Mersing. But we’ll need equipment for that – a carriage that can travel across rough terrain, and horses.’

  ‘I can find you those. You’ll need food and water too – you’ll be on the road for at least two days,’ he said.

  ‘I’m aware of that,’ said Ella, for she had already studied the map.

  ‘The way is perilous.’

  ‘I know. There are checkpoints,’ she said.

  ‘That’s not what I mean. You’ll need to go through the jungle. Amar doesn’t understand the dangers.’

  ‘We have no other choice,’ she said.

  ‘I’ll come with you,’ Bujang assured her.

  Ella looked him in the eye. He was determined to help them.

  ‘I’ll arrange everything we need. Let’s meet again here. I’ll wait for you at eleven o’clock the day after tomorrow.’

  ‘I don’t know how to thank you.’

  ‘Amar is my friend, and the Englishman our enemy,’ he explained.

  Ella knew that Bujang was referring to Compton.

  It almost seemed as though Lee had decided to join the rebellion too – for why else would she have sprung so joyfully into Ella’s arms when she finally arrived back in the boarding house’s small kitchen? The mission couldn’t have been more successful. Nobody on the street had taken any notice of her – and nor did the diners in the by now busy restaurant. Then again, who would pay any attention to a Chinese woman walking into a restaurant with two baskets?

  ‘But how will I get the dye out of my hair?’ Ella asked. She
could hardly appear in public looking like this.

  Lee merely laughed, and beckoned for Ella to follow her into the kitchen. There, a basin full of water and lye was waiting for her. Lee truly had thought of everything.

  ‘The dye comes from plant roots. We need to wash your hair in this,’ she explained.

  Ella dipped her head into the lye, but before she could start washing it, Lee took over. Ella submitted to being scrubbed. It reminded her of her childhood when her mother had washed her hair like this too, although unlike Lee, she hadn’t gone about it particularly gently.

  The lye solution was now stained black with dye, and Lee rinsed the final traces from her hair with two jugs of water. She had also remembered to leave Ella’s clothes out for her. Ella now understood why Lee was so firmly established as a businesswoman around here – she had a talent for organisation and she worked quickly.

  ‘Otto is in his room,’ Lee informed Ella, once she had changed back into her regular clothes. She had probably already told him that her guest wanted to speak to him. Ella really could depend on Lee for anything.

  The same could be said for Otto. He was already fully informed, and he immediately sat down to review their escape route towards the east. During their conversation, Ella also filled him in on what he didn’t know. He had noticed the near constant surveillance, and he suggested that they make a show of walking over to the main square, just to demonstrate to Compton’s people that she was still here. Otto too seemed to take great pleasure in helping her. That she managed to walk right under the nose of one of the officers without even glancing in his direction was only possible thanks to Otto’s presence at her side and his uninterrupted flow of conversation – which naturally revolved around the weather while they were within earshot of their guards.

  ‘You shouldn’t complain – there’ll be nothing but grey skies waiting for you in Hamburg. Make the most of your last few days in this wonderful country,’ he had said, speaking in clear and deliberate English for the benefit of Compton’s thugs. Once he was sure they were out of hearing range, he changed the subject. From the corner of her eye, Ella could see that nobody was following them.

  ‘Henry Jones implied that Mary Bridgewater is also one of his clients.’ Ella decided to broach the subject with Otto, for he knew both Mary and Henry Jones. She hoped he would be able to make sense of the lawyer’s mysterious behaviour.

  ‘I don’t think there’s anybody here in the south who isn’t represented by his firm,’ answered Otto.

  ‘He asked me for my date of birth,’ Ella told him.

  ‘For his records?’ asked Otto in surprise.

  ‘No. It must have something to do with Mary Bridgewater. She seems to be gathering information about me, or possibly about the Fosters. At least, that’s what Jones implied.’

  Otto furrowed his brow and walked on beside her in silence for a few steps.

  ‘Mary knows your true identity. She’s a very inquisitive lady. You could even call it an ingrained sense of curiosity. That’s probably how she gains so much influence in the world – by unearthing information about one thing or another,’ he said, lost in thought.

  ‘When I spoke to her at the Hamiltons’ party, I didn’t tell her the real reason I came to Malacca. But we did talk about the Fosters. She told me that Marjory only rejoined society many years after Richard’s death, and that Richard was known to be something of a libertine. But now that I think of it . . . Mary also mentioned that she had noticed the resemblance between me and Heather. She admitted it was far-fetched, but she thought that might be why I visited the Fosters,’ Ella recalled.

  ‘I suppose she wants to establish whether you are Richard’s illegitimate child,’ Otto conjectured.

  ‘But what does she hope to get out of that?’

  ‘To be quite honest, in this case I see no reason other than that she wants to help you.’

  Ella had no choice but to be contented with that. If Otto couldn’t explain it, then there was no point in racking her own brains over it any further.

  ‘Let’s go for dinner. I can’t bring myself to so much as look at another curry, but I know I’ll miss it again once I’m home,’ said Otto.

  ‘You leave tomorrow, don’t you?’

  ‘Unfortunately, I can’t put off my trip to Siam any longer. Business is business. I only wish I could stay here to help you, one way or another,’ he sighed.

  ‘Do you like Chinese food? I think Lee’s brother has earned himself a handsome tip,’ said Ella.

  ‘A splendid idea,’ Otto declared, and gallantly gave her his arm to escort her across the road.

  Dinner with Otto proved an excellent choice, and not just in terms of the food. His countless stories about his adventures on his recent travels reminded Ella of the anecdotes he had told her on the long voyage from Germany. He always found ways to distract her with his agreeable manner.

  ‘You wouldn’t believe how many businesspeople manage to fall foul of the local customs. There are a handful of basic rules that help make a good impression as a foreigner. For example, you should never stand with your feet directly on the threshold – always take care to step over it instead.’ Otto was in his element once more.

  ‘Never point the soles of your feet at other people, and only ever use your right hand for greetings or to touch anything,’ Ella continued.

  ‘I see, I see. You’ve already learned a few things during your time here,’ he laughed – but then his face grew serious. ‘You must write to let me know how you get on,’ he urged her.

  ‘You can depend upon it,’ Ella assured him, before gesturing for the bill. As she did so, Otto took out a business card and handed it to her.

  She tucked the card away for safe keeping and realised how fond of him she had grown – just as she had when they had bid each other farewell after the crossing.

  Their walk back to the boarding house was all too brief. Otto’s presence not only gave Ella strength, but distracted her from the many challenges she faced too.

  As they walked the last few yards, they passed another officer, who must have relieved his colleague from earlier, and they slipped into small talk once more – this time discussing not the local climate, but the delicious food, which Otto lavished with effusive praise. Although it was still early, Ella understood when Otto announced his intention to go back to his room.

  ‘I haven’t packed yet, and the ship leaves at six tomorrow morning,’ he told her when they reached the courtyard of the boarding house.

  ‘I expect we’ll only see each other again when we’re back on home ground,’ he added.

  ‘God willing. I truly hope so,’ Ella replied.

  ‘I wish you all the luck in the world.’ He spoke with great sincerity, and Ella couldn’t resist giving him a final warm hug. Then he went inside.

  She briefly considered going to bed too, but there was little chance that she would get any sleep. Instead, she sat down on the edge of the fountain in the courtyard and listened to the soothing plash of the water for a while. She could see onto the street from here, and the officer was still pacing back and forth. Compton was keeping watch over her as if she was a dangerous criminal. Just two more nights, and then this nerve-jangling situation would hopefully be over.

  ‘Ella,’ came a sudden voice from inside. Lee was calling to her. Otto must have let her know they had returned.

  She stood up and walked inside.

  Lee had an envelope in her hand, which she gave to Ella. It could only be a message from Henry Jones. Who else would write to her?

  ‘It was handed in about an hour ago.’

  Ella examined the handwriting. It couldn’t be a piece of official correspondence, for only her first name was written on the envelope. The lettering was fluid, as if drawn by a female hand.

  ‘Who gave it to you?’ she asked.

  ‘A very tall man – I think he was Indian. He didn’t introduce himself, and when I asked for his name, he told me you would know who he was. There was
something else he wanted me to tell you too: if you feel you need to meet him once you’ve read the letter then he’ll be waiting for you at midday tomorrow in the big Indian temple.’

  Ella knew only one tall Indian. The message must have come from Raj. She stared at the envelope. It seemed to give off a threatening aura and her hands began to tremble in agitation.

  Lee noticed her reaction and looked at her with concern.

  ‘I’ll open it in my room,’ said Ella.

  Lee gave her the key.

  ‘If you need anything . . .’ Lee volunteered.

  She nodded gratefully and hurried up the stairs. Had Marjory written to her? It must be from either Marjory or Heather.

  By now, Ella’s hand was shaking so violently she could hardly get the key into the lock. When the door finally swung open, she flew over to her dressing table and grabbed a hair pin, which she used to open the envelope. Inside it were two or three sheets of folded paper covered in German writing. The pages were rough and coarse, and felt old. The edges were frayed too – almost as if somebody had ripped them out of a book. There was also a text in English enclosed, which had been written on a typewriter – it looked like a translation of the German manuscript. Ella hurried over to the window and unfurled the handwritten pages first. What she saw left her paralysed with shock. She knew that handwriting. There could be no doubt that she was holding entries from her father’s diary in her hands.

  CHAPTER 19

  Singapore, 21 May 1877

  My hands are still shaking. Even so, I will try to set down the key details. Although there are far more urgent matters to attend to, it is important to record how it all happened. Force of habit guides my pen. Who knows how long the child will sleep for? I must hurry.

  Captain von Stetten upheld the good old tradition: shore leave for the whole crew the day before an ocean voyage. Most of the men ended up in the brothel. Chinese women are pliable and buyable – Johansson cracked jokes about that idiotic rhyme all morning. Decided to go for a haircut. The Indian barbers are skilful and know how to give a close shave too. The others started teasing me – said I was only smartening myself up for the whorehouse. I left the mob to it and went for a stroll through the market. Bought a present for Rosa. Indian silk. She loves red. Took a turn along the waterfront, as usual. I see a new building going up every time I visit. I’ll never understand why so many people want to live here. The humidity is oppressive, and even during the day there’s no getting away from the mosquitoes. The Chinese manage to avoid them, though. They burn incense. Smoke everything out. Gets rid of the pests. The Chinese will be running the place before long.