26

Charlotte would later recall the month of December 1843 as the strangest month of her life. Perhaps it was the rains of the monsoon, which thundered down for hours every afternoon, blotting all other sight and sound, muting reality. She felt as if she was moving under the water, dreamlike, amongst the swirling violence of the swollen river, the lashing boom of the sea and the boggy mud of the roads. Torrents gushed and growled off the roof tiles, closing the eyes of the windows in a stream, darkening the house like night.

She longed for the real night when she could meet Zhen under cover of darkness. It was always the same. They fell into each other’s arms, impatient to touch. Then they would argue about where their actions were leading. Then one or other would be sorry, abject, fearful, and it would begin again—making love, kissing and kissing, dreading the separation that must take place. It was wonderful and a kind of hell, but above all, it was imperious.

George and Takouhi, too, had simply fallen under a spell. Unable to stay away, George came every afternoon to her at Tir Uaidhne, and they locked themselves away. Often, in the evening, when the rain had stopped and the stars shone with dewy brilliance, they went to the cupolas on the hill. What he said to his wife, Charlotte could not imagine. But she did not want to think about that, about anything, except making love to Zhen. This passion for him drove her, defined her day. When she left him, she fretted, watching the rain, until they were together again. When she found herself together with Takouhi, neither woman hardly spoke, so wrapped up in worlds of their own were they.

Christmas came and went. Charlotte and Takouhi went to lunch with the da Souza family at their mansion along the road at River Valley. Robert and Teresa seemed to have come to some arrangement, though Charlotte could not make it out. She had not spoken to Robert of Shilah since the day Tigran had left, but there was suddenly talk of an engagement. Charlotte looked at Robert and could simply not take it in. She was meeting Zhen the next day, and this interminable wait occupied her mind.

That morning, as Charlotte lay in her room, she heard a violent commotion downstairs. She went to the door, glancing along the landing to Takouhi’s room. The door was shut, and Charlotte knew George was inside.

She looked over the banister and saw Billy Napier standing in the hallway, agitated, bouncing from foot to foot. He was red-faced and furious.

“By all that’s holy, George Drumgold Coleman, you should be ashamed of yourself.” He hurled the words ferociously up the stairs.

The door on the landing opened, and George emerged, half-dressed, throwing on a shirt. “What’s all the commotion, Billy?” he said, looking down.

“Shame on you, mon, lying here with your—” Billy stopped, flustered. “Your sweet wee wife’s in labour, for heaven’s sake, George. Get yerself home.”

George continued to look down at his friend’s angry face as if he hardly recognised him. Then Takouhi came to his side, clad in a loose gown and whispered to him. As if brought to consciousness, he called down to Billy.

“Very well, Billy. I’m coming. Call Dr Oxley or Dr Little.”

“All done, no thanks to you.” Billy practically spat the words out, then turned on his heel and strutted from the house.

George looked along the landing at Charlotte.

“It seems I have offended Royal Billy.” He put his hand to Takouhi’s waist and pulled her tight against his chest. She melted into him, winding her arm round his neck, and he kissed her as if they were lovers of twenty, unashamed. Charlotte looked away, sure she too would want Zhen this way still when she was their age. Then George went down the stairs. His son was born the next day, December 27th. And everything began to change.

A week later, Charlotte and Robert went to see the little boy, George’s little boy. The birth had been difficult, and Maria had taken some time to recover. George greeted them downstairs, diffident. Billy was seated in one of the armchairs, and it was clear that there had been a row. George accompanied them upstairs and opened the door to his wife’s room. He went to her, telling her of her visitors, kissed her hand and left. Charlotte saw that he seemed utterly uninterested in this little baby, in his wife. She felt a pang of guilt, feeling somehow complicit in this indifference.

Maria lay, thin and pale, in the bed, the infant in her arms. This young girl had arrived young and very pregnant in this strange place and she, Charlotte, had left her utterly alone, though Maria was married to a man she loved dearly, though she had sought Charlotte’s friendship. Charlotte realised she had no idea how this girl had coped for the last month and felt a flush of shame. She went up to Maria, kissed her cheek and looked at the tiny creature. He was still a little wrinkled and red, but she could see immediately that he looked like George.

She smiled at Maria. “Oh Maria, he is the very likeness of George.”

Robert came forward to look too. He had seen more of Maria, for Teresa Crane had formed a friendship with her. Robert had tried to speak to Charlotte, but it was as if she was made of air; his words passed through her. He was concerned at her self-absorption, knew it was connected to Zhen, but his life involved a constant battle against the marauding gangs of Chinese which attacked the Kling moneylenders almost nightly or burgled the houses in Kampong Glam.

To the consternation of both brother and sister, a tear slipped down Maria’s cheek, and she began to cry very softly.

“George does not come to see the baby, will not hold him,” she said, so plaintively that Charlotte felt a lump in her throat. “What is wrong? Charlotte, you know him better than me. What is wrong?”

Charlotte had no idea how to respond. Robert was hanging back, looking uncomfortable. Before she could speak, Maria began again.

“I want to be a good wife, but since we have come to Singapore, it is as if I married a different man. I never see him. I thought, after the baby is born, it will be well, but it is worse.”

She began to sob and clutch the baby to her, and Charlotte, worried, rose and took the child, laying him in the crib at the bedside. He was fast asleep, his little lips pursing, and suddenly she remembered Alexander. She had not seen him for months, had not even thought of him. This passion for Zhen had taken over her life.

She motioned Robert to leave and, relieved, he said good-bye to Maria. Charlotte sat at Maria’s bedside.

“I am sorry, Maria, that I have been so neglectful of you. I want us to be friends. I will speak to George. Perhaps it is the strangeness, the newness, of this situation. A new wife, a new child. He is an older man; it is a big change.”

Maria was clutching her hand, but she had stopped crying and now, to Charlotte’s embarrassment, threw her arms around her and hugged her. “Oh, yes, yes, please, Charlotte. I want to be friends. I thought you did not like me. I have seen so little of George’s friends, so little of him. I have been so lonely. Please talk to him.” Having said this, Maria sat back, releasing her and took up Charlotte’s hand again.

“I love him so much, Charlotte. He is my life now. My family are dead or indifferent. I have no one else. We married quickly, I know. We hardly knew each other, but in the year after we married, he was wonderful to me, so kind.”

Charlotte patted Maria’s hand. “Take care of your baby, Maria, and yourself. I will speak to George. And I will come every day to see you.”

Maria smiled a tired smile of such gratitude that it touched Charlotte’s heart. She suddenly knew that this situation could not continue. Not for George and Takouhi, not for her and Zhen. Everything was wrong. What was right lay in the crib next to the bed. This was George’s future. What was right lay across the Java Sea.

She rose, kissing Maria, and called for her maid. Then she went downstairs. She found Billy, Robert and George in the drawing room, and she went up to George and took him by the hand, pulling him into the deep verandah.

“George, this has to stop,” she said urgently. “I have to stop, and you have to stop.”

He dropped her hand and took a cigar from his pocket, dropping into a large cane chair, stretching out his legs. He lit the cigar and looked at the smoke curling around his hand. She began to grow annoyed.

“That is your son up there, and that poor woman is miserable,” Charlotte insisted.

He took another puff and blew out some smoke. The silence lengthened. Finally he looked up.

“Sit down, Kitt, and let me explain something to you.”

Charlotte sat at his side and watched him, wary now.

“You are saying nothing to me that I have not heard from Billy Napier, John Connolly, the good Reverend White, your brother, all my faithful friends.” He smiled wryly. “You have been remarkably absent this last month and come a little late to the party. How is your love affair with the Chinese fellow progressing? Does Tigran know?”

Charlotte flushed, astounded at the coolness of his voice. He watched her, waiting.

“I …” she hesitated, then found her courage. “Yes, George, I am guilty too. It took your little son’s face to remind me of my own. I am not proud of this. I, too, have to make an end, find a way to go home.”

She turned to him. “George, that boy looks just like you. Can you not love him?”

George sat, smoking.

“Of course I can, in time. Kitt, I married Maria as a favour to her dying father, an old and esteemed friend. His estate would pass to the son, of course. The poor girl was his last daughter, his favourite, unmarried, and though she had a small bequest, he feared leaving her to the rather cold charity of her sisters. I married her because it seemed the right thing to do. It set his heart at ease. She was pretty and agreeable, and what difference did it make with Meda gone and myself full of anger at Takouhi and no hope of seeing her again. You understand.”

He crushed out the cigar.

“I know Maria thinks she loves me. She is young, and I like her. She has known no other man. If I thought at all, I suppose I thought we could have a pleasant life together. All this was very well until I saw Takouhi on the shore, the parasol, the hat with the emerald feathers. Ah, lovely girl, she’d made herself a vision for my eyes. It was like seeing her for the first time at her father’s house in Batavia. The same firebolt. Nothing had changed.”

He rose and faced her, looking down.

“We parted once, and it almost killed me. I lost my daughter; I lost Meda, and she is gone, I cannot have her back though I would give up my soul for it. But I can have Takouhi. Did you hear yourself? You said you have to find a way to go home. You know that this Chinese man is pro tempore, hard to give up, perhaps, but impermanent.”

George stopped and looked at her more intently, his green eyes sombre, his voice quiet. “But, you see, dear Kitt, I am home. There is no other for me but her. If I lose her again, I will die.”

He turned to walk away, then stopped and came back to her. “I will take care of Maria and the child. When Maria is recovered, I will tell her. If she wishes it, I will seek an annulment in the Ecclesiastical Court and petition Westminster for a parliamentary divorce. It’s long, it’s a mess, but it is not impossible.”

He smiled slightly. “I do believe Billy would like Maria for himself. What a tangle we all get into, eh?”

Then he left, and Charlotte sat, not knowing anymore what to think.