2 Children of the Plantation

by Faith Mortimer

  "And come out onto the west veranda as soon as you look presentable," she called after me her voice going up an octave.

  "Honestly Hermione, that child bringing a gun into the house indeed! It's all Winston's fault; he has a whole new caseload in his study. What if the servants took it into their heads to steal them? We could all be murdered in our beds." I heard her voice complaining before I skidded rounded the corner.

  I really didn't need this lunch party. I was upset over my altercation with Paul and I had to see Father and tell him what I knew, but for Mother's sake I tore off my sweaty riding clothes and dragged on a clean shirt and shorts. I knew I was taking a chance with the latter, but I was so hot and decided to risk it. Anyway, I was sure to be the hero in a minute or two, so wearing shorts to a posh luncheon was sure to be overlooked once I had told them what I knew.

  The party was in full flow when I walked outside. My sisters were busy, Felicity was standing in a corner with her back to the wall talking to one of the twins; I never knew who was who and privately thought them both a couple of hooray Henrys despite all their schooling and money. Emma was helping out by handing round a tray of canapés that looked like caviar on mini toasts. I felt ravenous. A lot had happened that morning, starting with my early morning shooting lesson and then discovering Paul with his native girl and my subsequent sharing of secrets with him. Normally, we would have had lunch a good two hours ago, and I felt dizzy through lack of food.

  "Over here, Em," I said, grabbing a handful as she passed by.

  "Pig!" she mouthed out of the corner of her mouth and gave me a withering look, “you silly greedy child.”

  Well, I knew all about her and her silliness! Once Father got to hear what I had to say, Paul was sure to be fired, and life could go on as before. I would have my sister back safe and sound, and I would never trust a grown man again. Which I suppose was more or less what Mother and Hermione had been telling me all these years. They were right; you really had to know someone before you let your guard down.

  Father was holding court with a small circle of friends. I could smell their cigars from where I stood off to one side and debated whether to tell him now or after the lunch. Thinking it through, I decided later would be best. Father was sure to go over the top and if that happened, we may never get our food.

  "Alex! There you are. Come and meet Mr and Mrs Phillips, they have just arrived out here and have two children about your age."

  Mother descended on me, and I was immediately drawn into their conversation. Father would have to wait. I felt sure Paul would never have the nerve to tell him what we had been up to.

  Chapter 17

  I have to say our cooks were marvellous, providing us with a lavish feast. Although Mother could hardly even brew a decent cup of tea, when it came to organising the staff and deciding on menus, she excelled. The buffet table almost groaned under the weight of the food. Apart from a few of the usual 'Western' favourite dishes for those who distrusted foreign fare, the cuisine was mainly locally inspired.

  I was actually surprised to find I was hungry. One might have supposed what with all the excitement that day - the build-up, the let down and my feeling of betrayal - I would have wanted to crawl away and sulk by myself. For some reason, I was in a strange mood, bordering on hysteria, one might say. Whatever the reason, Emma was quite right, I did make a pig of myself.

  After starting with some of my favourite sate daging (beef on skewers), otak (roasted fish parcels), and popiah (filled egg wrappers), we went on to the more serious dishes. I adored asam ayam (tamarind chicken), kari devil (devil's curry) and opor sotong (spicy squid), all garnished with delicious coconut rice and many sambals and sauces. I finished with a typical 'English' pudding, my all-time favourite, lemon meringue pie.

  I sat beside the two new Phillips children and found them to be friendly enough but a little dull. The girl was more intent in listening to Emma, while the boy, William, talked a great deal about his stamp collection. When I told him I had never collected a stamp in my life and couldn't see I was ever going to start, he lost interest and wandered off. That suited me fine, as I was dying to go and visit the bathroom and took the opportunity to dodge upstairs.

  After drying my hands and wondering if Father had finished his own meal, I decided to return downstairs. I was carrying the rifle as I considered it was much safer with Father under lock and key than in my wardrobe. Passing Mother's room, I overheard her voice, joined by Hermione's. As Hermione had looked particularly miserable early that morning, I wondered what the calamity was. It must have been serious as Mother wouldn't normally leave her guests during a party.

  Making sure no one was around, I crouched down on the tiled floor as if I was fastening my sandal and leaned nearer the door. A murmur of voices greeted me. I couldn't hear everything they said, but I got the gist of it.

  "Hermione, there is just no way I can let you leave. He was surely just retracing old ground; you know what a confounded tyrant he is."

  "No Eleanor. There is more to it than that. You weren't there. I tell you he knows, or if he doesn't know, then he suspects. Thinking about it, I'm amazed we've got away with it for so long. We have to come up with a plan, something that will stop him. Other than that, I go back to England and you come too."

  "But what about Alex? Emma and Felicity will be all right. Felicity will announce her engagement next month, and Emma will no doubt marry soon."

  There was a pause, and I strained to hear more, but all I heard was my mother weeping and Aunt Hermione consoling her. What on earth was going to happen? Like Mother, I couldn't face Hermione leaving us to the tender mercies of my bullying father. I knew Mother wouldn't be able to stand up to him for long. Hermione was right; it was amazing he hadn't found out sooner. Something had to be done.

  I was not going to hear anything else of value, so I stood up. I was going to see Father now before I changed my mind. I had gone no more than a few steps, when the door to Mother's bedroom opened, and Hermione peered around the crack.

  "Where are you going with that gun?" she asked. "Shouldn't it be put somewhere safe?"

  "I'm taking it back to Father. He has a whole case of them in his study. He'll put it with them under lock and key."

  "So long as you do return it. I believe he's out on the terrace, you should look there first."

  ~~~~~

  I found Father finishing a brandy and cigar outside on the west terrace with two old friends. I smiled tentatively and asked Father if I might have a word. At first I thought he was going to refuse because of the company, but when Mr Browning, one of the local police inspectors, waved him away good-naturedly, he changed his mind, and I trailed behind him towards his lair. He looked quite grumpy, so I decided to get straight in with my story before I lost my nerve.

  "I've found out something so horrible about Paul. You're going to be amazed. Once you've heard what I have to tell you, you'll have him arrested. It's a good thing Inspector Browning is here today. That'll make it easier."

  He turned to stare at me for a moment as he considered my words, then he gestured towards his study with a hand. "Wait there a minute," he said and left me standing on the rug in the middle of the room. I noticed the same case of rifles standing against the wall. The box lid was closed but I did wonder why Father hadn't already put them somewhere safer. The French windows leading to the outside balcony was open, the curtains billowing in the faint breeze. What I would have given to jump down from the balcony and run off towards the stables. I knew I could have done it easily, as I had already done so from the adjoining room. I felt strangely all alone in that austere male room and fingered the catch on my rifle, clicking it off and on with nervous energy.

  Ten minutes later, I had told him all. He sat back in his large chair behind his desk and glowered at me, and I wondered if he had believed a word I had said. Finally, he asked me a question. "And just why do you think Paul is a gun runner working for the insurgents?"

  "Because of Scar
face."

  "Scarface?"

  "The man he gave the cases to in KL. He looked a right dodgy cove," I said, using a word I had just discovered in one of my forbidden adventure comics hidden under my bed upstairs.

  "Cove?" he repeated, shaking his head. "Is this what an expensive education has taught you? Sorry Alex, I think you've got it all wrong."

  I couldn't believe my ears and opened my mouth to protest when there was a loud knock on the door.

  "Come." And in walked Paul, as brazen as could be.

  "I believe you want to see me," he said, without missing a beat.

  "Yes, young Alex here has quite a story to tell."

  "Really, I have one of my own too." Paul turned towards me with a self-satisfied smirk, and I knew I was doomed. I was in for a whole lot of trouble.

  For once in my life, I knew I had to fight to make Father believe me. I opened my mouth and the words erupted. I went on and on, screaming my accusations at him, and suddenly, somehow, my hands had found my rifle, and I had turned it towards Paul. This time however, Father joined in the shouting making it a noisy threesome, Paul didn't stand still but made a lunge for the gun. We struggled and danced around the room both clinging to the weapon. There was a bang, closely followed by another. In my nervousness, I had failed to replace the safety catch and too late, I realised the gun was still loaded.

  There was a strong smell of gunpowder, scorched cloth and something like rust lingering in the air within the room. I looked at the carnage and stared. Then all hell let loose and the screaming started.

  ~~~~~

  I awoke in bed some time later. I guessed it was late afternoon as the sun was low in the sky, but the room was still quite hot. My head felt fuzzy, and when I sat up, the room seemed to swim before my eyes. I rarely slept during the day, except when I was ill…and then I remembered.

  I remembered staring down at the blood as it flowed and blossomed from a gaping hole in Paul's right side. He was lying in front of Father's desk, not breathing and I knew instantly he was dead. I wondered about that hole and felt the blood draining from my face as I stared at the once perfect body and tore my gaze away to meet that of my father.

  He was sprawled back in his over-sized leather chair, his gaze frozen. To my horror, I realised it would never change, for where Paul's wound was an almost perfect circle, Father's chest was a bloodied mass of torn muscle and skin.

  It was awful; I had killed both Paul and my father.

  I suppose it was shock, but I found I could not move. Within seconds – it must have been – the hall outside seemed full with the sound of running feet which erupted into a mass of bodies as people stumbled into the room.

  "What in heaven? My God! What's happened? Winston and who is this?"

  Slowly, I felt my senses begin to reel in, and I wondered how so many people could be crammed in so small a space as a door frame. At first, there was a deathly silence broken by screaming, and I watched as Mother fell down in a swoon. My sisters were standing together, mouths agape in dismay, and the police inspector, Mr Browning, gently removed the rifle from my grasp.

  "You've killed them!" someone said, and I stared at a visitor pointing his finger at me in horror. There was a chorus of horrified gasps. Dimly, I watched as Mr Browning laid the gun down onto the floor under the desk. Out of harm's way, I supposed and then turned back to me. I was shaking and knew that very soon I was going to be sick. The noise reached a deafening crescendo and raising my hands to my face, I realised what I had done. During my struggle with Paul, the gun had gone off, somehow killing both of them.

  "There were two shots. I definitely heard two shots," someone else shouted, confirming my fears.

  As tears coursed down my face in dismay and panic, I felt a pair of arms slide around my shoulders. My beloved Aunt Hermione was there giving me comfort…

  Chapter 18

  …Steve laid the journal down gently on the bed. Diana was taking a shower so he had taken the opportunity to catch up on reading Miss Chalcot's diaries. He was stunned by the latest revelations. Every family had skeletons and secrets hidden away, but this was turning into something beyond belief. Diana was quite right as usual. Here was a powerful story, which written by the right author, would make an amazing novel. To his mind, Diana was the perfect person to do so.

  The bathroom door opened and Diana appeared, a white towel around her body, rubbing her hair dry with another.

  "That's better. It's funny, but there's nothing like a nice cool shower to make you feel human again. How far have you got?"

  Steve didn't need to ask her what she was referring to. When Di was working on a story, whether it was research or the actual writing, she gave it more than one hundred per cent of attention.

  "I'm up to speed. Alex has just shot Paul and his father. What an awful thing to happen to a youngster. I'm staggered."

  "I agree. It's enough to make you go loopy. I wonder what happens next. We've nearly come to the end of the diaries. I've just got the old estate papers Miss Chalcot gave me to go over. I gave them a quick glance the other day but nothing pertinent caught my attention."

  "I'll take a look if you like. A fresh pair of eyes can sometimes find things which are first missed."

  "Thanks. Now what shall I wear tonight? One of my new dresses?"

  "Why not? Give me a fashion parade, and I'll choose which I like best."

  Diana giggled. "We haven't got that long before dinner! And we're supposed to be meeting in the lounge for a pre-dinner drink with the other guests."

  "I'm sure we have. Besides, pregnant ladies are renowned in having peculiar tastes, and I'm sure we can come up with an excuse for being late."

  "You're making that up!"

  "No, I'm not, honestly."

  "I'm looking forward to going into KL tomorrow, aren't you?"

  "Yes. It'll be good to explore."

  ~~~~~

  The lounge glittered with exquisite crystal glass and sparkling chandeliers. The candles spread a warm glow over the thirty or so guests assembled in the room, spilling out onto the terrace beyond.

  Diana and Steve were on the veranda, sipping champagne and nibbling iced caviar. The evening was soft and balmy, rich with the heavenly scent of frangipani. Diana had noticed Miss Chalcot looking thin and ethereal in a burnt-orange dress of Shantung silk. Her skin was almost translucent, and she moved as if in great pain. Diana pointed her out to Steve, and they agreed she was looking very ill.

  "Poor lady," whispered Diana. "I do hope I can finish reading her diaries and papers before anything nasty happens. The last time I spoke to her, it seemed as if she was banking on me coming up with a good formula for the book. She's pinning much on what I think."

  "I still don't quite know what you're supposed to do. Write a story about the family or what?"

  "No, she's not very clear. Now she says I will find the answer, if I look hard enough. She says so far it's eluded her."

  "Do you mean what I think you mean?"

  Di gave a laugh. "And just what is that exactly? I'm not a mind reader you know!"

  This time Steve smiled. "Sorry, I haven't made myself clear have I?"

  "No, sometimes you talk in riddles, but listen to what I think. When we first met her, Miss Chalcot said she wanted to put right a wrong. Reading through the diaries, it sounds like Alex accidently killed his father and the plantation manager Paul. Miss Chalcot is making this out to be a black mystery. Perhaps she thinks Alex didn't kill them accidently. Perhaps she thinks they were murdered. I don't know how or by whom. All we have learnt so far is that Alex's rifle went off, and two men died as a result."

  "Ah! Now I see where you're heading, another Diana Rivers case. Aw, Diana, are you saying we can solve a mystery where the authorities failed?"

  Diana gave him one of her looks. "Why not? Time has passed. Over forty years. It makes a difference."

  "This is a curious idea of yours," said Steve slowly. "I suppose you mean one can see things better afterwar
ds than at the time."

  "Yes, the longer the time has elapsed, the more things fall into perspective. You see them in their true relationship to one another."

  There was a silence as both thought about what she had said.

  "Well, if you think about it, sometimes old cases can be solved by someone not directly involved. Also, as time passes, events can be seen in the wider context, you can get a whole different viewpoint on something."

  An elderly man approached their corner. He was tall and upright, sprightly-looking, with short, grey hair and keen brown eyes. As he drew close, he included them both in his smile and thrust a hand towards them.

  "Mr and Mrs Rivers I believe?"

  "Yes, how do you do?" asked Steve, taking his warm hand in his.

  "How do you do? Ah, what a beautiful evening. Allow me to introduce myself. I'm an old friend of the family, the name's Browning."

  As Diana shook hands with Mr Browning, she had a feeling she knew him. True, it was a fairly commonplace name, but even so, she had definitely come across the name recently.

  "Are you a guest here?" she asked.

  "If you mean am I staying here, then the answer is no. I live here in Malaysia."

  "Ah I see. You are lucky, it's a beautiful country."

  "It is and was even more so years ago. I'm afraid now the country has had to give in to world demand. Now, where years ago you would have seen mile after mile of virgin jungle, a huge amount has been turned over to produce palm oil. It's very sad, but that's the way it seems nowadays."

  "You've been here a while then?"

  Mr Browning gave Diana a wry smile. "Years and years, my dear. I was here before the advent of Malaysia. When Malaya was the name of the country, before the federation of the states."

  "Oh, that would have been in the early sixties."

  "It was indeed."

  Something clicked in Di's brain, and she knew immediately who Mr Browning was. She felt the familiar excitement take hold of her as she realised that here was someone who could throw some light on the past. He had been part of it. She stole a look in Steve's direction, but he seemed oblivious to her discovery. She didn't know whether to say something now or to wait for a suitable opportunity. While Diana mulled over what was best to do, Steve and Mr Browning were discussing the pros and cons of today's living. It appeared Mr Browning was at odds with the modern world and didn't mind who knew.