The Shallow Seas (28 page)

Roberts frowned. Palmer, blowing smoke rings, looked as if he could not care less.

Mr Rauschenberger, who had until then remained discreetly silent, annoyed by Palmer's extraordinary and ungentlemanly behaviour and apparent ignorance, now spoke up.

“It appears that Great Britain made a great mistake in the Treaty of 1824 by ceding all these islands to the Dutch in return for obtaining Malacca, which had become useless to them in any case. Raffles did his best, but he was ignored. One can only wonder at the great lack of knowledge respecting the resources and geography of these islands. Not only was it prejudicial to the interests of Great Britain but entailed upon Borneo, Celebes, Banka and all the other islands, the extreme and benighted policy of Holland. Why, Banka is supposed to contain the richest tin mines in the world! The Dutch policy, as most men who have travelled here must agree, has had no beneficial effect. They have been in possession of these islands for nearly two hundred years, yet the natives are not to be found advanced in education, arts or sciences, nor are their comforts and conveniences of life in any degree improved by Dutch influence, though thousands of Europeans have grown rich upon their labours.

“Yes, sir, thank you,” Nathanial said, grateful for a man of sense and experience. “Before the Dutch, the people of Java had for a millennium carried on a vast and lucrative commerce trading in the rich produce of these islands. Java was the natural emporium of insular Asia. Vessels from the Red Sea to Japan visited its ports. It is humiliating to the civilisation of Europe to see how completely the establishment of its influence in Java broke up this free and thriving commerce. The restrictions of the Dutch destroyed the native trade, turning former traders into pirates, to add to the vast number already marauding the seas. Having destroyed the sailors, they are now well on the way to destroying the peasant as well.”

Roberts said nothing. Palmer thought Nathanial an ass and smirked and cast a glance in Charlotte's direction. Nathanial saw it and rose. He had had more than enough of Palmer's attitude and could feel his anger rising. He saluted Roberts cordially and bowed to Rauschenberger; then he joined Charlotte and Takouhi. In his pocket was a letter he had been handed for her, which Charlotte opened quickly.

“News”, she said. “Tigran has heard from Billy Napier that George is returning. The house is awaiting him; it is definite. He is expected in November. Oh, Takouhi, what good news!”

Takouhi smiled, and Charlotte could tell she was pleased. This visit seemed to have been good for her, helped her in some small way to find peace of mind about her mother.

“Tigran has written to Billy not to renew the lease on Tir Uaidhne and given the tenant notice to quit.”

Tigran's letter contained, as well, his passionate expressions of love, missing her, wanting her to come home. She, too, had had enough. Palmer had soured everything. She wanted to return to the safety and love of Tigran's care. It was time to go back to Batavia and plan the voyage to Singapore.

21

Charlotte and Takouhi were filled with happiness as the brig set its course.

Charlotte sensed a reticence in Tigran, but he was gracious, for news of the baby had filled him with joy, and he was glad for his sister in particular, hoping she could find contentment with George again. The weather held fine, the wind filled the sails and they skimmed over the shallow turquoise waters, the sleek
Queen of the South
pushing the sea aside, rolling on the waves as if she, too, was filled with the joys of the ocean.

The call of “Land ho!” brought them all to the rail, straining for the first glimpse, while gulls swooped and squawked overhead. As she caught sight of the distinctive red cliffs, Charlotte let out a whoop of pleasure. When they landed, finally, to be met by Robert and Billy Napier, Charlotte embraced this man she hardly knew as strongly as she had her brother. She looked over the Plain. Little had changed, other than an ugly steeple which had been added to St. Andrew's church. Her first thought was that George would be annoyed at such a hideous desecration. Tir Uaidhne welcomed them into its gracious charms and Charlotte left Takouhi and Tigran together to quietly rediscover Meda's home.

Meanwhile, Charlotte and Robert walked to the river, down High Street, slowly savouring the sounds and smells of the town, enjoying each other's company after so long, chatting, talking of past pleasures and future hopes. Charlotte leaned on her brother's arm, suffused with happiness at being with Robert. They passed the Court House, and Robert showed her the new police house next to the post office and the old fives court, a building of no distinction. Their home on the beachside was to be demolished to widen the rivermouth. Robert had moved to an old house on the corner of Beach Road and Middle Road. Their talk turned to Shilah, Robert's
nyai
of more than four years.

“I care for her still of course, but I cannot leave Teresa waiting much longer. And,” he added in an afflicted tone, “Butterpot is not Bonham. It would not do to be seen to keep a mistress. He is the most appalling stickler for morals and etiquette and all that rot. Dreadful man.”

Charlotte took Robert's hand. “Do you still … visit Shilah, Robbie? You know what I mean.”

Robert nodded, embarrassed. “I still care for Shilah in the way you mean. It is difficult to give her up. I would much rather not, you know. But I think … she will not like any news of my marriage.”

Charlotte shook her head. Robert was a brave man and a good policeman, but his knowledge of women was mystifyingly poor.

“No,” she said, patting his hand. “She will not.”

“I do love Teresa, Kitt, really. But I love Shilah too. It is a horrid muddle. I'd much rather do like the Chinese and have a wife and a concubine. They have the best ideas on this sort of thing. But I am quite certain Teresa would not like it either.” He sighed. “Or Butterpot.”

Charlotte smiled. “No,” she said and for the very first time thought what life was like for Zhen's wife, what Chinese wives had to endure. Robert's words were utterly simple and true. Men, if they could, would rather have many women than one and, preferably, a system in place which kept them all quiet and obedient. Even dear, sweet Robert.

Sensing a change of mood, Robert dropped the subject. They gazed along the river. The familiar sights came flooding back: the river filled with boats, the constant industry of Boat Quay. Johnston's ancient house and godown at Tanjong Tangkap were still standing but, Robert told her, they were riddled with white ants.

Then Charlotte realised that something was missing. The river seemed bigger somehow. The bridge! Monkey Bridge, which had spanned the river linking North and South Bridge Road, was gone. She looked at Robert. “Heavens, Robbie, where is the bridge?”

“Oh, yes, I forgot to tell you. Knocked down, too dangerous. Two months ago, and the fuss over a new one is still going on. Butterpot, in his usual high style, says there will be no bridge; Coleman's will do very well. He has land to shift down there, we all know. One bridge is enough, and we might as well accept it. Pompous ass. Everyone's in high dudgeon, including all the Chinese, for the market gardens are this side and the market over there. They must take the long way round or pay the sampan.”

Charlotte gazed at the Chinese town. Somewhere in there was Zhen.

Within a few days, they were invited to a reception given by Colonel Butterworth and his wife on Government Hill. Charlotte loved the ride, for gradually the view opened out and displayed the entire town below. From the verandah of Government House the eye was naturally led up the river, along the rows of houses and out into the harbour, with its tall-masted toy ships and junks and further, over the sea, now shot with the fiery sunset turning the water to gold.

The reception was in honour of Captain Keppel and James Brooke, whose ships were then berthed at Singapore, resting from pirate hunting in the waters of Borneo. Keppel was a small, stout man, prematurely balding, with a thick orange moustache. Colonel Butterworth introduced him as the son of the 4th Earl of Albermarle through marriage to the daughter of Lord de Clifford. A man who looked less like a romantic and dashing hunter of pirates it was hard to imagine.

James Brooke, however, was entirely different. He looked the very part: curly brown hair, tall and slim, dressed informally with a white shirt, short black naval jacket and a soft, loose cravat. He was around Tigran's age with tanned skin and brown eyes. It was impossible not to like him for he was easy of manner. Colonel Butterworth introduced him grandly as the Rajah of Sarawak and was clearly as much in awe of him as the rest of the room. Titles, she surmised, were rather a hobby of the Governor's.

In conversation with the Rajah later, she discovered, to her pleasure, that he adored Miss Jane Austen's novels and nurtured an ambition to meet Miss Austen's brother Charles, a naval officer. He was so unexpected that she found herself charmed. Nathanial's assessment of him she now dismissed as jealousy, for she could see how such an adventurer, a
successful
adventurer, could arouse strong feelings of envy in men. When Robert told her that it was Brooke who had dubbed the Governor
Butterpot the Great
, his place in her esteem was fixed.

The Rajah seemed to work the same magic on the other ladies in the room, who engaged him in constant conversation. Most of the gentry of Singapore were present, and she was happy to renew acquaintance. They would all meet again at Whampoa's, for he, too, was holding a lavish dinner party in honour of the Rajah and Captain Keppel.

Of her former acquaintance she was delighted to see Munshi Abdullah, who was accompanying the new Temmengong, Daeng Ibrahim. Abdullah had been her Malay teacher, a man for whom she had the greatest affection.

Of those she met for the first time, she immediately liked Miss Arabella Grant, who had come as agent for the Society for Promoting Female Education in the East and was assisting Mrs Dyer of the Missionary Society in running a boarding school on North Bridge Road for Chinese girls. Charlotte had met, through Takouhi, the Society's agent in Batavia, the rather valiant Miss Thornton.

To Charlotte's surprise, Mrs Butterworth turned out to be a pleasant and unusually informal woman. Charlotte wondered how her nature agreed with that of her haughty, snobbish and somewhat ridiculous husband. Mr Thomson, Singapore's new architect and surveyor, she liked instantly. He spoke in glowing terms of George's architecture, his work in building the town and his ready wit. He was looking forward to renewing his acquaintance with Mr Coleman. Charlotte wondered aloud then why on earth he had ruined the church with such an ugly addition, for she had discovered, upon mentioning it, that he was its creator. He begged forgiveness; it had been a commission from the Bishop of Calcutta who, during a visit to Singapore, had found the design of St. Andrew's to be “civic” and, worse, “popish”, and had demanded a good English spire. Thomson shrugged, and she forgave him. No man could be blamed for the architectural vagaries of an English prelate.

She tried to remain patient, but after a few days felt she could wait no longer. Her natural curiosity and desires had begun to overwhelm her. She wanted to see Zhen. She waited until a time when Tigran was engaged in business in the town, for he was talking of taking leases on some properties. She took up her parasol and left the house, walking quickly up Coleman Street to Hill Street and turning towards the bridge. She had discovered that this bridge which he had built, formerly named New Bridge, had, on George's departure and in his honour, been renamed Coleman Bridge.

It was with pleasure then that she made her way across it to see all the new roads that had been laid out. Where before had been marshy swampland, now New Bridge Road stretched into the distance. She could have turned immediately into Upper Circular Road, but she wanted to savour this moment and continued, looking down the new streets on the left, Carpenter Street and Hong Kong Street; then she turned onto North Canal Road, one of the two roads which now framed the old creek. She thought of turning into Lorong Teluk but demurred, nervous suddenly, and walked as far as Philip Street.

She looked down Circular Road. A gentle curve in the road meant she could not see his shophouse. She gripped her parasol and began to walk. As the building came into view, she stopped and gazed. It had been improved: new tiling on the upper walls, the paint fresh on the shutters. There was now a shop on the ground floor, a medicine shop, she could see. It was painted outside in black and gold, a deep board across the door with four heavily carved gold characters. She wondered what they meant.

She just wanted to see inside this shop, she told herself. It would only take a minute. She walked to the door. The pungent and unmistakable aroma of Chinese herbs hit her as she stood looking inside.

It was sombre after the brightness of the street, and she could not make out its occupants. She lowered her parasol and went in, her heart beating wildly. As her eyes adjusted, she saw six or seven Chinese customers, who turned to stare at her. The herbalist looked up from his task. The clerk, seated at his high counter, stopped counting on his abacus and she felt utterly ill at ease.

She turned to look at the fragrant sacks of roots and herbs which stood to one side. The abacus began its clack again, to her relief, and several customers began chattering. She looked around his shop, admiring its clean and prosperous aspect. Dozens of shiny, tall glass jars of strange shaped roots, crabs, squids and what looked like preserved baby snakes and shelled sea creatures lined the walls. She wondered briefly what curative purpose the sweet little bodies of sea horses could serve. A tall, carved cabinet with a hundred drawers stood to one side of the shop, each drawer painted with gold characters. Before a shiny, black-tiled counter lay trays and sacks of black and brown fungus, seaweeds, dried fish, herbs, buds, pods, berries, preserved fruits and plants. The variety was overwhelming. The sun was slanting in through the open doorway, casting shadows on the gleaming tiled floor. She felt happy for him, for his prosperity.