The Hills of Singapore (31 page)

She put a cloth under Charles's head and gave him some water. He had stopped bleeding but lapsed into unconsciousness. His breathing seemed easy, though. She could not get him out of here tonight. The men would come tomorrow at dawn and take them down the river.

She would tell them of an attack. A man had attacked them all in the darkness. She had resisted and taken a blow, but she had struck him with her knife. He had fled and fallen from the verandah down the hill. She had barred the broken door and he had not returned. She had no desire for a doctor to look at the wounds on Palmer's body which spoke of her frenzy. How could they know what had transpired here tonight?

She looked at Palmer. He was not breathing, but still she had a horrible feeling that suddenly he would open his eyes and grab her hands; she stood away from him, watching his chest. After five minutes she knew he was dead. Reason entered her mind, her emotions subsided, yet she did not wish to go near him.

She took a digging stick which Inchi used and poked Palmer, first on the arm, then on the chest and head. He did not move. She found the courage to do what had to be done. With the digging stick she levered him towards the door. There, she had no choice but to take his legs and pull him through the door onto the verandah. She pulled him to the edge, shaking and panting with the effort, and pushed him off the verandah. His body crashed down the steps, rolling down the hill on the dry ground, and she heard a splash. She caught her breath and followed.

At the water's edge she pushed him into the river and watched as his body floated away on the swift current. On the voyage from Kuching, their constant and silent companions had been crocodiles. Charlotte was certain Palmer's body would never be found.

She went back into the house to await the morning. As she latched the door, a peal of thunder cracked over the bungalow, and a driving rain began.

36

On the return to Kuching Charlotte said not one word. She sat with Charles's head on her lap and Inchi's young body at her feet.

The Dyak boatmen and Kassim had arrived as dawn broke, and she had burst out of the bungalow and fallen onto the verandah with relief. Palmer had gotten into the bungalow by the simple expedient of inserting his knife between the shutters and flicking up the bar. Charles had not locked it down.

Kassim let out a great howl when he saw her and when he saw the blood-filled room. He and Inchi had been friends, and he flew to the side of the dead man and began to cry. The Dyak men, used to blood, had talked quickly amongst themselves and taken charge of the situation.

Within half an hour they were all in the boat.

Charlotte's eyes never stopped searching the water for signs of Palmer's body, but the river was swollen and churning from the night's rains, muddy and filled with branches and debris. The boatmen were incredibly skilled, riding the rapid currents and avoiding the dangers on its surface with consummate ease and courage.

The current carried them swiftly down river, and as they entered Kuching, she breathed a sigh of relief. One of the boatmen called to a Ranger at the landing place, and he set off, running fast up the slope to the Lodge.

Within minutes James Brooke, Mr Crookshank and the other men had arrived and carried Charles to the house. Dr Treacher came, and Charlotte left Charles in his care. The Rajah led her to the sitting room, and suddenly tea arrived and everything returned to normal.

Only then could she allow the tension to drain from her body.

She burst into tears.

Harriette and Isabel were sent for, and she had never been happier to see two women more in her life. Her face was swollen and bruised from Palmer's blow, and Harriette sent for a paste made from the leaves of the hibiscus plant to salve it.

Thereafter began a great telling of the story. Mr Crookshank made notes but said nothing. They had all been sleeping, she said, she in one room, Charles and Inchi in the other. She woke to a noise, and the attack was underway. She had taken her dagger and opened the door. There was a low candle burning. The man had his back to her and was about to kill Charles. She had stabbed the man with her kris in the neck and back. He had flung a blow which caught her face, then had fled. She could not say who it was, but it was a white man.

Crookshank began to press her for more details. Did she know Captain Palmer was missing? Could it have been him? If so, what possible reason could he have?

Charlotte began to weep again. Palmer had visited them briefly and gone away, she said. She did not know why Palmer should do such a thing or even if it was him. She'd had not one moment of sleep since the attack. Her distress was obvious to all, and in the face of it, Harriette and Isabel both rose in unison and frowned at Crookshank. She had been incredibly brave, they told him warningly. Now it was time to let her rest.

Finally Charlotte went to her room and lay down. Though she had thought the haunting spectre of the violence might prevent her from rest, within a moment the deepest exhaustion filled her, and she slept.

She woke hours later as the sun was setting. Isabel was sitting by her bedside.

“Oh, Kitt. Are you all right?” she said. She rose and kissed Charlotte's hand.

Charlotte nodded. “Could I have some tea, Isabel, do you think?”

Isabel called the maid and ordered some tea and some fresh water.

“Charles?” Charlotte asked.

“Well enough, well enough. Don't worry. His wounds were not fatal. A wound to the shoulder and the chest, but Dr Treacher says he should recover.”

Charlotte rested her head back on the pillow. Thank heaven, Charles was all right.

“You saved his life, Kitt. Everyone is talking about how brave you were. It must have been terrifying.”

Charlotte put her hand on Isabel's. “I shall tell you all, but not now, dear Isabel. What of Palmer?”

“No one knows. It must have been him, but he has disappeared. Mr Crookshank has made enquiries of his ship, but he is not there, nor anywhere as we can see. It is most queer, for no one can understand why he should attack Charles and you.”

The tea came, and Charlotte drank cup after cup. Her thirst seemed unquenchable. Finally she let her head drop back on the pillow and went to sleep again.

In short order the bungalow was examined, the natives questioned, an inquiry held. Charles confirmed the attacker was Palmer. But for Charlotte, he attested, he should certainly be dead. Her courage was beyond all belief. Palmer had disappeared. From his ship, witnesses attested to his vicious and violent nature. He could be volatile and unpredictable. Certainly he was capable of such an attack.

Thus, the matter was concluded judicially, but gossip and talk went on for weeks. It was the most thrilling and exciting thing to have happened in Kuching, and the small English and Malay communities relinquished the subject with reluctance. Charlotte was obliged to repeat the events so often that they had ceased to be horrific and began to feel merely like a
conte de fée
. From time to time, native sightings of Palmer were reported. He had assumed the life of a dreaded ghost. Gradually the town settled down.

Charles recovered enough to walk in the grounds of the Lodge. He and Charlotte spent hours talking about the attack. He was filled with remorse at not believing her. His dismay and her own lingering concern for him caused her to reveal more than she might have otherwise, and Charlotte told him of the assault in Java. How sorry she was not to have trusted him with this information, for it might have saved his injuries. That Palmer had returned to harm her, Charles no longer doubted. Charlotte had no remorse at killing him. She was glad his dead body had been consumed by crocodiles and glad Charles did not know.

One evening as they sat in the semi-darkness of the garden, he turned to her. “Kitt, we have survived something terrible. To do so changes a man. I think I have been annoyingly timid.” He took her hand.

“Marry me, my darling Charlotte. I love you most deeply and tenderly. I cannot imagine life without you.”

Charlotte took Charles's hand and put it to her lips. “Finally, Charles Maitland. I thought you would never ask.”

Charles smiled, his joy glowing in his eyes. “I shall write to my brother tonight. It is a mere formality, but I must announce our prospective marriage to him and, indeed, to the Company.”

“Oh, Charles, it'll take months!” Charlotte dropped his hand.

Charles took her waist in his good arm and pulled her tightly against him. “It will take three months, the time for letters to come and go. We shall be married in four. I shall have a ring made here, with Sarawak diamonds, by the clever Chinese jeweller in the bazaar, and we shall announce our engagement in one week. I shall be much recovered, and the Rajah will give a dinner. I shall see to it.”

“Kiss me,” he said, and she smiled and put her lips against his. He made them soft, and she put her arms around his neck and fell into the kiss. He was a changed man, the restraint and reserve gone, as if this almost deathly experience had fundamentally altered him.

“Nothing will stop this marriage, Charlotte, nothing,” he said, when they had kissed. “I've never wanted anything more in my life. I know that now.”

“In Batavia, then, Charles. We shall be married at Brieswijk by the English bishop. You're right. Three months will be nothing. And you will see the estate. I will make the arrangements.”

Charles smiled. “Whatever you desire. You see? We need three months. I shall be fully recovered and ready for my conjugal duties to Mrs Maitland. Very ready indeed.”

She laughed, delighted, full of love for him. Three months, yes. Time for her boys to get used to this idea of a new father. She would take Alexander and Adam back to Batavia, and they would see the place they were born. The wedding would be as lavish as hers had been to Tigran. They would honeymoon in the hills, at her mountain home in Buitenzorg. She could hardly wait.

37

“Oh, Kitt, it's lovely,” Isabel squealed, holding her hand with the ring of three translucent, pale yellow diamonds.

Charlotte hugged her friend. The announcement of the engagement had galvanised the town. The community was small, and English and Malay alike had turned out to celebrate.

“I hear that you have some news yourself, Isabel,” coaxed Charlotte.

Isabel flushed and looked towards Tomas, in conversation with Dr Treacher. She looks so well, thought Charlotte. This place, away from her overbearing mother, the centre of such adoring attentions, this has been good for her. And apparently Tomas Stahl had been even better. Harriette had confided that Tomas was smitten, and Isabel was beside herself with love for him. It was a delightful match, and one of which her mother would most certainly disapprove.

“Yes,” Isabel said. “I am sorry you are leaving so soon. We plan to marry in one month, the time for my mother to get used to the idea that I am to marry a carpenter, and perhaps come here.” She looked wistful.

“I am useful here, Kitt, can you understand? I love Tomas so very much, of course, but I can also do some good.”

Charlotte nodded. Isabel would be happy here. She was carrying Isabel's letter to her mother and father back with her on the
Queen
. Captain Elliott was here at the grand dinner which the Rajah had prepared for the occasion. The
Queen
was waiting for her.

Now that their plans had been made, Charlotte longed to go home to Singapore and see Alexander and Adam. Letters had been few, for ships called rarely at Kuching. She felt this awful isolation. She would miss Charles terribly, but soon, very soon, they would be together. She had so much to prepare, so many letters to write. And Charles would come to Singapore in two months, his duties done in Kuching. After their marriage, he planned to return to London to address the Society. They and the children would stop in India to stay with his brother, then all go together and see England and tour Europe. The future lay bright before them all, and she was impatient to begin.

Harriette and Frank came up, and she embraced them warmly. What good friends, what stalwart people, stout-hearted and genuine. She loved them both very well. Frank was a doctor and had taken over the care of Charles, for Dr Treacher was always busy elsewhere. And Harriette had given Charlotte a little orphan monkey which had been brought to her, as a gift for Charlotte's boys.

She looked at them all. They were all so very good and brave here in this strange outpost. She was sorry to leave them, but not sorry to depart Sarawak. What had seemed, from the distance of Singapore, something rather inspired, brave and romantic, now seemed merely folly: the hot-headed dream of a man not quite grown up and his schoolboy companions.

As for the missionaries, though she loved them well, Charlotte could never quite grasp what drove Harriette and Frank to such extraordinary exertions and dangers and realised that perhaps she never would.

38

Charlotte watched the boys in the garden. The young monkey she had brought back was their constant companion. He was a delightful creature who cheekily roamed the house and garden at will, eating the fruit from the trees. He seemed to understand that he was safe only in the confines of this home and never strayed. The boys loved him, and called him “Rajah Brooke”.

Alexander's examinations at the Institution had gone quite well. He had excelled in Hokkien and Malay but had done less well in English, which was somewhat worrying.

Today was the day the dhobi wallah came to attend to the washing. Tarun's wife, Jun, was gathering the sheets and covers from the beds. The delicate laundry of the household she and her sister attended to, but the bed sheets and coverlets were given to the dhobi, and Charlotte insisted on boiling. This was carried out not down on the Rochor River but on her premises. This was a practice she had learned from Batavia, and it was strictly supervised. Bugs and infestations of all kinds could result from unclean bedding. Every six months all the mattresses were burned and replaced.