The Hills of Singapore (27 page)

He rose and began to walk along the bank, pacing. She could detect, even now, after so long, the agitation of that time.

“I fell into ways of which I am now not proud. I neglected my studies, barely dragged myself to my degree. I could meet her only rarely, she was so protected. Then, it seemed, this terrible waiting time would be over.

“Her birthday was only a month or so away. We began to make plans for the wedding. I was offered a position teaching at the university in London. Not a choice I would ordinarily have even considered. Then I received a letter. She was to be married to another, a baronet. All the cruelty, this forced waiting, had been for nothing. I was not permitted to see her, speak to her.”

He sat down on the bench again. Charlotte's thoughts in a tiny flash went, for the first time in a very long time, to Lieutenant Mallory and the
Madras
. Had he felt like this, shattered, destroyed, unable to love again for years? She hoped not, but she had not thought men could be so struck. Now the evidence that it could be so was before her eyes.

“Well, it was a terrible time. I kept on hoping, of course, like a lovesick fool, writing letters, each more desperate, each more pointless. When I read of her marriage I immediately joined the East India Company, enlisted in the Madras Engineers and, fortunately, was asked to join the Magnetic Survey. It was the saving of my life.”

He turned and took her hand. “So you see, Kitt, I have rather a hard time allowing myself to …” He stopped.

“Yes, Charles, I see.” She gripped his hand. “But do you love her still? After so long? Nine years.”

“No, no, doubtless not. But it froze my heart. Can you understand?”

Charlotte nodded and put her hand on his chest. “And can no one thaw it, this frozen heart?”

He smiled and covered her hand with his. “I think you know the answer to that. You see, I felt so quickly for you what I had felt for her, and it was heady, unbelievable, but terrifying.”

“Fortunately, however, I am not seventeen or promised to a baronet.”

“No,” Charles smiled. “But I cannot rush headlong like I did before, even after nine years.”

Charlotte pulled her hand from his and wrapped her shawl around her shoulders. She was beginning to feel rather annoyed. “Very well, Charles.” She rose, and he stood too. She turned.

“No, no, Kitt, please don't be angry. By my calculations we have known each other truly only three months.”

Calculations, she thought, degrees of magnetic attraction, mathematical equations. He was infuriating. She made to move off.

He darted around her, stopping her, and put his hands on her shoulders, then took her chin in one hand very gently.

“While we are here, I would like to court you. Would that be so terrible?”

Charlotte looked at him. “Oh, Charles, I am not a girl. I am a woman. I have been a widow for many years.” She hesitated, realising the blatant meaning of her words.

Charles dropped his hand.

“Do you love me, Charlotte?” The question was sudden and unexpected. She could not immediately find an answer. Her body responded to him in a way that spoke of passion, but did she love him? She tried not to let the image of Zhen enter her mind, but there he was.

She shook her head. “I don't know, Charles. Yes, you're right. My feelings for you are, well, shall I say it? Not honourable.”

Charles laughed, and she laughed too.

“I have quite dishonourable feelings for you, too, make no mistake. So perhaps we could find out if there is something more profound? Something on which we could build a life together? And make these feelings honourable?”

Charlotte put her arm through his. “Yes, that would be nice. But occasionally, since we are no longer foolish young things, may we, from time to time, kiss?”

Charles stopped and faced her. He put her arms around his neck and took her waist in his hands. “Do you imagine that I do not want to kiss you every moment I am awake? Do you imagine I do not have the strongest desire for you?”

Before she could answer, he pulled her against him and put his lips to hers, enclosing her in his arms, kissing her. His lips were rather tight against hers. She sensed that Charles had not kissed very many women, that he was somewhat inexperienced, even nervous.

It was not an arousing kiss. She felt her own lips trying to open, to welcome his to hers in a soft way, but he did not respond. But she did feel his latent power, felt the strength of his arms around her. The wondrous power of a man's arms, at once arousing, consoling and protective, the feel of her slender body tight against his chest overwhelming. Submission. She knew then she wanted to submit to him, not in everything, but in this intimate way she wanted to be ruled by him, tenderly, passionately. She sighed as he released her finally. She knew that she was vastly more experienced than him. It was a strange and tender realisation.

“That is how I feel about you. I would like to be sure you and I want this for a very long time. Can we do that?”

Charlotte smiled. She would teach him, slowly, the ways of love, as Zhen had taught her. She chased that image quickly from her mind, for another displaced it: that of a wedding, she in a wedding dress with him at her side. She looked at him. He was a man she would like to be married to, support in his work, even perhaps give children to, share a life with. He was a man of substance, an English man with whom she had so much in common. These other, more intimate, pleasures would surely come.

She slipped her arm through his. “Yes, Charles,” she said, and he looked down at her with a smile.

30

Charlotte and Isabel took their places in the canoe to cross the river. Two Dyak men, part of the Rajah's Rangers, were to row them to the other side and accompany them to the house of Frank and Harriette McDougall. Isabel, fresh faced and refreshed, chattered gaily. The proximity of two young, copper-skinned, muscled and half-clad men seemed not, now, to have any effect on her. She had confided to Charlotte at breakfast that she had never enjoyed anything so much as the previous evening. Being the centre of attention in a place starved of white female companionship clearly suited her, and Charlotte understood. Here, away from her extensive family and the pressures of her mother, Isabel shone. Her natural, kindly and exuberant nature had free rein.

The river was filled with activity of all kinds. Fishermen were casting nets on the shores of the stilt villages. Canoes were constantly passing across the river carrying passengers, for this was the sole means of transport from one side to the other. The
Rajah
was anchored further upriver, near
Julia
, one of Rajah Brooke's gunboats. A constant debris of logs and leaves floated by, carried by the rains down to the sea, and the ferrymen dodged them with consummate ease.

They set foot ashore near the Chinese market and spent a few minutes examining the wares, under the stares of the inhabitants. Then, accompanied on either side by their Dyak warriors, they made their way up the slope. It was a moment Charlotte hoped she might be able to describe to Robert and Aunt Jeanne.

Charlotte liked Harriette McDougall immediately. She was a slight woman, perhaps thirty years of age, with narrow lips and a slightly sallow complexion. She was pregnant, but that did not seem to stop her exhibiting the most lively energy, and she welcomed her guests with open arms, kissing Charlotte on her cheek and enfolding Isabel into her arms.

“Wonderful, wonderful, to have some English visitors, and not men. Men are all very well, but I tire of them sometimes. Do come and sit in the verandah.”

Tea was poured. Harriette told Charlotte of the Rajah's great library at the Lodge. He was a great reader. They discussed the latest books and found a common affection for
Wuthering Heights
and
The Count of Monte Cristo
. She invited Charlotte and Isabel to visit the grounds of the church, which was still only half built. The children were at school in a hut next door, little abandoned half-caste children gathered in to the church, and they sang a hymn, somewhat out of tune and lyrically uncertain but with all the charm of the young. A long hut which served as a hospital ran along the wall on the river side.

Charlotte learned that Harriette's husband, the Reverend, was somewhere she did not catch, ministering to the natives, for he was a preacher but also a doctor. Really, Charlotte thought, what a marvel they all are. What is this faith that drives them to these extraordinary and dangerous exertions?

As they left the school, Harriette called to a man in the act of sawing large planks of wood. “Tomas Stahl,” Harriette said, “our indispensable carpenter. He built our house, you know, and now builds the church. Bless him.”

Tomas stopped working and came forward. He was a great bear of a man, some thirty years old, powerfully built, his tanned, muscular arms bare, the golden hairs of his chest bursting from his shirt. His head was a shock of red-gold. He was striking in every way and must have struck a kind of awe, Charlotte imagined, in the imagination of the tiny, wiry Dyak men.

He stood shyly and silently as introductions were made, then with a nod, departed back to his work.

“Tomas is German. He was a ship's carpenter, but after the ship foundered, fortunately with all aboard safe, he landed up here. He is rather godless, but we should not know what to do without him.”

Charlotte could not help but notice that Isabel's gaze lingered on him long after Harriette had turned back to her house.

The view from Harriette's house, high on the hill, was splendid. It swept down over the town and along the river to the backdrop of the mountains which surrounded Kuching. Around the house was a garden of great beauty. A deep hedge of scented gardenia ran around three sides. Great bushes of the hibiscus, scarlet and buff, glowed in the sun. Charlotte relaxed as Harriette talked about her garden.

“The hibiscus are called shoe-flowers, for they are used instead of blacking to polish shoes. The pink one-hundred-leaved rose blossom all the year round. The golden allamander are a great temptation to the cows if they stray into the garden. The plumbago is one of the few pale blue flowers which like the blazing heat.”

Lunch was a surprise that only the English in the Orient could produce: shepherd's pie with curried minced pork and plantain, followed by mango custard. With promises of renewed meetings, Charlotte and Isabel returned to the Rajah's compound. They parted, as the blistering heat of the afternoon began its reign on the day, to the cool of their quarters.

At six o'clock the sun had fallen below the mountains, its rays casting a halo of orange and pink around the peaks. A sleep and a bath had restored them, and the cool of the evening made life bearable. A servant came to accompany them to dinner, and arm in arm, Isabel and Charlotte climbed up to the verandah of the Lodge.

As Charlotte entered the drawing room, her eyes were instantly drawn to two men engaged in conversation with the Rajah. To her absolute amazement she realised that one of them was a man she loathed more than any other. It was Captain Palmer, the man who had tried to violate her so long ago in Java.

She stopped so quickly and dropped her arm from Isabel's so abruptly that Isabel looked at her with alarm. Palmer turned his grey eyes onto Charlotte, and she was thrown into confusion. She sought Charles, but he was nowhere to be seen.

Before she could move, James Brooke saw her and came forward with both hands held out to her. “Charlotte, my dear. You are radiant as usual. The air of Sarawak clearly agrees with you.”

Charlotte smiled as best she could, and fortunately the Rajah's attentions immediately turned to Isabel. “Miss Isabel, will you play again for us tonight?”

Isabel laughed, delighted at these attentions and curtsied to the Rajah. Captain Palmer and his companion came towards them, and James turned.

“Ah, Helms, Palmer. Ladies, allow me to introduce Ludwig Helms, my managing agent, and Captain Joseph Palmer. Gentlemen, this is Mrs Charlotte Manouk and Miss Isabel da Silva.”

Both men bowed, and Isabel bobbed a curtsey but Charlotte did not move.

“Delighted, ladies,” Palmer said, keeping his eyes on Charlotte. “And what an unexpected pleasure to meet you again Mrs Manouk.” He smiled.

“Do you two know each other?” the Rajah said and laughed. “Capital, capital, we shall all be a merry band. Come on, Helms.”

He took up Isabel's arm and wrapped it in his own, turning with her and leading her to the piano. Helms trotted after them.

“Well, well, Charlotte Manouk. This is extraordinary. Still as beautiful as ever.” Palmer moved next to Charlotte and bent his head towards hers. She moved away and took out her fan.

“Captain Palmer, this is not a delightful meeting. Leave me alone or I shall not hesitate to tell the Rajah and all his acquaintance what a cad you are.”

Palmer smiled slightly, his arrogance and assurance undimmed.

“Do not underestimate me, sir.” Charlotte added, “I can easily have the ear of the Rajah, and he would be sorry to lose my patronage.”

Palmer's face changed. Gone was the smile, gone the pretence at charm. His eyes narrowed and he bared his teeth. Charlotte paled slightly but was determined to hold her ground. Palmer was about to speak when suddenly Charles came up and took her arm.

“Charlotte, shall we go in?” Charles moved forward, nodding at Palmer.

“What is it, Kitt? You look pale,” he remarked as they moved away.

They made their way to the chairs in a corner of the room. Isabel began to play, a folk tune of some sort, and the midshipmen began to gather around her.

Charles's attention was still on Charlotte, his eyes full of concern. Charlotte hesitated, uncertain how much to reveal. After some moments she said, “I met Captain Palmer in Batavia. He is a man who has a reputation for keeping women, slave women, you understand.”

Charles frowned. Slavery was a vicious and unacceptable practice certainly.