Ronnie had sent Sarah a note inviting her to join him in a morning ride out by Bukit Selegie, and she had agreed to meet him at eight o’clock on Monday morning. She had also persuaded Reverend Moore that a chaperone was quite unnecessary, which was not difficult since the reverend hated horses. Ronnie arrived at the appointed time with two horses that he had hired from the Indian stable behind the sepoy cantonment.
Sarah was dressed in a pair of men’s britches and a white cotton shirt, with her hair tied up beneath a straw hat. He thought she looked more beautiful in these clothes than she had in her formal dinner wear, and managed to tell her so. She said she liked to dress appropriate to the occasion. She mounted the horse with ease and without assistance, and they rode off up High Street and turned east on Hill Street. They rode by the Bras Basah stream as it skirted Bukit Larangan, and then rode east past the sepoy cantonment and out toward Bukit Selegie and the open country––there was an ancient path that had been cut between the bamboo groves and towering Seraya and Merawan trees. The sun was rising against a dusky blue sky, with a few cotton wool clouds scattered here and there.
‘I brought the pistols,’ he said, pointing to a dark wooden box strapped to his saddle. ‘A pair of dueling pistols I relieved from a French lieutenant at the Battle of Lissa.’[1]
‘My God, I hope you’re not going to challenge me to a duel! I’d hate to have to dispatch you to your Maker on our first meeting!’ she laughed. Ronnie laughed too, and the jest seemed to break the ice between them.
When they reached the foot of Bukit Selegie, Ronnie asked if she wanted to stop there, or ride on further.
‘The road leads on to the plantations. Could be a bit risky, since there are supposed to be gangs of Chinese robbers in the jungle.’ Then, not wishing to offend again, ‘But I’m sure that’s not going to bother you.’
‘Why should it?’ she responded with grin. ‘We’re armed, are we not? I’m sure we crack shots can hold off a bunch of robbers.’ She turned her horse down the path leading into the jungle. The canopy of trees provided shade from the sun, but not much relief from the heat and humidity, which seemed to rise up from the ground beneath them. He could see the beads of sweat that had formed at the base of her lovely neck, and he was embarrassed to notice his own arousal was showing beneath his britches. He tried to concentrate his mind on not making a fool of himself again.
They rode on at an easy pace for half an hour. Eventually the path opened up into a wide clearing. They dismounted and tethered their horses to a fallen tree. Ronnie produced a canteen of water and two cups, and they drank each other’s health in mock ceremony.
‘I’ve brought some bread and cheese, and some mangosteens,’ he said. ‘I thought we could have a picnic later.’
‘Sounds a good idea,’ Sarah replied, ‘once I’ve shown you how to shoot!’
As she returned her cup of water, her hand brushed his, and her eyes met his for an instant, before she turned away. He felt as if some powerful force had passed from her body to his. He suddenly recalled a pamphlet he had read about some French doctor who claimed that our minds and bodies are governed by magnetic forces, which could attract or repel the forces of others like physical magnets. He hoped that their forces would attract if this were true.
He took out some targets that he had drawn the day before using his ship’s compasses, and nailed one to a tree about twenty feet away. He took out the pistols, then primed and loaded them.
‘Choose your pistol,’ he said, and she did.
‘Before you say anything, you go first,’ she said, nodding towards the target. Ronnie stood by the line he had marked in the earth and took careful aim. He still felt a little nervous in her company––although whether it was really nervousness or arousal he could not tell––but he felt confident of his own eye and steady hand. The pistol cracked, and the smoke from the discharge floated upwards in the windless air. Birds and animals crashed upwards and outwards in the trees and thick brush and ferns. He hit the target without difficulty, just within the second ring.
It was Sarah’s turn. She stood her position, her right sleeve rolled up to the elbow, her arm steady as a steel rail. Her face bore a look of extreme concentration and determination––the pink tip of her tongue stuck out from between her white teeth. Then she fired, and he saw the ball slap into the target. They walked forward to take a look, but his seaman’s eye had already seen that she had pierced the first ring!
‘First win to me,’ she exclaimed with obvious pleasure. ‘Did you doubt me?’
‘Not I,’ Ronnie replied, ‘but the game is just begun.’
They each fired three more times, but each time Sarah was closer to the bullseye.
He was surprised to be losing, but although he was competitive by nature, he found that he did not really care. He just enjoyed being in her company, and she was being very gracious about her obvious superiority with a pistol.
‘One last shot,’ Ronnie said, ‘Winner takes all!’
‘Done,’ she replied, ‘but we have not yet agreed on the terms of our wager.’
‘A kiss,’ he blurted out, and then apologized. ‘I’m sorry––I just got carried away.’
‘Don’t be sorry,’ she said, ‘nothing ventured, nothing gained.’
‘So it’s agreed,’ she continued, reaching out her hand so they could shake on it. ‘But what can you do for me if I win? I know––you can take me up Bukit Larangan. The Reverend told me about it last night; it’s supposed to be haunted by ghosts.’
‘I don’t know if you’d see many during the day, but I’d be happy to take you, win or lose. I’ve a fancy to see it myself, if only for the view, which the colonel says is quite spectacular.’
‘Oh, but the Malays say that there are day as well as night ghosts,’ she said in a soft whisper, ‘spirits of the dead that can swallow your soul.’
You’ve already swallowed my soul, he thought to himself as he prepared to fire one last time. Now she had offered him a prize he just had to win; it is what he had dreamt of since they had first met. He took his position and willed himself to win, and prayed to the Lord to grant him this one selfish favour. He wiped the sweat from his eye, and lined up his pistol carefully towards the target. His arm was steady, and he felt suddenly sure of himself. Go true, he whispered as he squeezed the trigger. The pistol cracked, and he walked calmly toward the target, knowing he had shot well.
‘A bullseye!’ he cried, ‘Damn near dead centre! Let’s see you beat that, Miss Hemmings!’
‘If you insist,’ she responded with an easy smile, and took up her own position. She aimed her pistol slowly and carefully, and once again the pink tip of her tongue appeared through her white teeth. It drove him crazy with desire! He closed his eyes and waited for the shot, which came quickly. As he followed her toward the target his heart rose. He could see no other mark on the target. Had she missed intentionally? Would she have done that? Why would she have done that? But as he approached she turned with a look of triumph, and handed him the target. It took a sharp eye, but he saw that her ball had struck at the edge of his own––dead centre in the target!
‘Don’t look so dejected,’ she laughed at him. Then she stepped forward and kissed him hard. ‘My pleasure,’ she whispered, ‘but now it’s your turn to take me up Bukit Larangan.’
‘Come on,’ she said, as he stood dumbstruck with the target in his hand. ‘Let’s pack up your pistols and go. The ghosts are calling.’
* * *
They rode back though the bamboo and high trees, this time together and at a slower pace, not wishing to make the horses suffer too much in the rising heat of the day. Ronnie was surprised to find that he was becoming more and more relaxed in her company, despite the shock––albeit the pleasant shock––that her kiss had wrought to his system. Sarah sneaked a look at him out of the corner of her eye.
He was not much of a charmer or talker, she thought, but he had a presence, a kind of animal magnetism that made him so fascinating. She suspected it might have something to do with his rugged looks, his muscular body and hawk-like face, with the jagged scar that spoke of danger and adventure. She certainly felt safe in his company, although she was not looking to be safe. Yet she found herself attracted to what it was that made her feel safe in his company–– his quiet strength and power that so enticed her, and so aroused her.
When they reached the foot of Bukit Larangan, they returned their horses to the Indian stable. Ronnie unloaded the saddlebags containing the pistols and their lunch, before they walked up through the clove and nutmeg plantation at the foot of the hill, a bright sunlit profusion of white and yellow blossoms. They breathed the smell of the East, so different from that of the forests and cities back home.
‘Everything even smells different here,’ she said to him, ‘it’s like a different world.’
‘That’s true, but there are some universal verities of the senses,’ he said, impressing himself with his unusually eloquent turn of phrase, despite its disparaging conclusion. ‘Just try taking a walk one night by the river when they’re emptying the night soil buckets––same the world over, I’d say.’
‘Are you inviting me out again?’ she replied with a wicked smile, ‘because I’d be inclined to give that invitation a miss.’
‘I’d love to,’ he said, ‘and I can think of much better places. St. John’s Island, which the natives call Pulau Sakijang Bendera––where Mr Bernard found all the human skulls––or Pulau Belakang Mati, which means the Back and Beyond of Death. Must be a good story there.’
‘Yes, that sounds much more fun,’ she said, as she strode up the footpath that had been cut by the Malacca Malays and laid out by Lieutenant Ralfe.
About halfway up the hill they came across the keramat, the royal tomb. It was made of black marble, and decked out with yellow flowers and ribbons and flags. A Malay woman, her face shadowed by her tudung,[2] was arranging some flowers at the grave.
‘They say this is where the last rajah of Singapore is buried,’ she said, slipping her arm into his. ‘But Reverend Moore says it’s probably the grave of one of the earlier rajahs. Iskander Shah, the last rajah, is supposed to have escaped the sack of the city by the Javanese and gone on to found Malacca.’
‘I heard that story too,’ he said, ‘from the Malay fisherman who used to live with the Chinese woman on the beach. But he also said it might be Iskander Shah.’
‘Was the kingdom Mohammedan then?’ he asked, assuming that was why the rajah was honoured by a keramat.
‘I don’t think so,’ she replied, ‘Reverend Moore says it was probably Hindu or Buddhist. Iskander Shah is supposed to have converted when he founded Malacca. We’d better not get too close, though, since we’re infidels.’ She tried not to giggle but could not stop herself, although she managed to keep it between them. Ronnie pulled her away with a look of mock severity, and they continued climbing until they reached the top of the hill.
Major Farquhar had been right. The view was spectacular. They looked out over the harbour and the roads beyond, dotted with European square-riggers and Chinese and Cochin-Chinese junks, Malay prahus, Bugis padewakangs and Arab dhows, the water turning from lime green to aquamarine to deep blue as they looked out over the scattered islands toward the distant horizon, while the sand of the east beach shimmered in the sunlight like a length of pure white silk. They could see the godowns and houses of the merchants lined along the east bank of the river, which was crammed with lighters loading and unloading their cargoes, with Captain Methven’s old house and Captain Flint’s new two-storey dwelling vying for prominence at the mouth of the river.
They made a picnic of the bread and cheese and mangosteens he had brought, as they sat upon a sandstone block, and wondered if it might have been part of the ancient city. Ronnie produced two bottles of pale ale, which he had procured from Mr Johnston, and two fine Bengal cigars.
‘I brought two just in case,’ he said, ‘for you never know with Miss Hemmings.’ He smiled at her. She smiled back and took the cigar and the light he offered. She crossed her legs and stretched out her arms. Then she yawned in contentment, like a cat that had just devoured a bowl of milk.
‘I think I’d like to stay here,’ she mused. ‘It’s such a beautiful and fascinating place, and the people are so interesting. They come from all around and have their different customs and languages, but they are all seeking the same thing. And it’s not just money, but a new way of life…even if they don’t all know it themselves.’
‘That sounds very profound,’ he said. ‘But do you really want to stay, Sarah?’ It was the first time he had called her by her Christian name. ‘Don’t you want to go back to your sister in Penang, or return to England and get married?’
‘Oh I can be profound at times,’ she replied, ‘when the occasion demands it. But there is something about this place that gets into your bones … into your very spirit. I don’t want to go back to boring old Penang, where my sister would probably try to marry me off to some government clerk with a “decent” position, and I want to go back to England even less. I don’t want to be dependent on any man. My father was a good man in his way, he fought for his country and died at Salamanca,[3] but he left my mother with nothing but gambling debts and two daughters, and we were out on the street within the year. Fortunately my sister Rosemarie found a good husband, and my Uncle Harry took me in. He taught me independence…and how to shoot! But mother found it too hard to bear, and she died of a broken heart; she just gave up the will to live and wasted away. I swear that will never happen to me.’
‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ he said. ‘I also lost my mother at an early age––she died of consumption. A cold and dreary place is where I came from, which is why I love this place so much.’
They both sat in silence for a moment, looking out over the sea.
Then he knew what he had to say. He did not know if it was the right thing to say, or how she would react, or whether it would ruin the day for them both. But he did not think of these things, and found that he was as sure as any man could be when he said it. He got up and stood before her, and looked into her eyes as she looked up into his.
‘Sarah, I love you,’ he said. ‘I know I will never meet anyone like you, and I want to spend the rest of my days with you, until the day I die. Sarah, will you marry me?’
Her cheeks flushed, but she said nothing in response, although she still held his eyes in hers. Then she rose suddenly and turned away, and walked past him to look out over the ocean. She stood deep in thought for a few minutes. To Ronnie it seemed like an eternity, but the thing was said and done and there was no going back. She would answer him one way or the other.
But she did not. She turned again suddenly and walked briskly back and stood before him, the pink tip of her tongue flickering over her teeth once more.
‘Well you are a man of surprises, Ronnie Simpson! What am I to say to you?’
‘Say yes, of course,’ he responded immediately, ‘Father and I have a good business, and it’s growing every day. I’d be able to look after you very well.’
‘I don’t want to be looked after,’ she said haughtily.
He did not react to her haughtiness. ‘I think I know you well enough to know that by now, Sarah,’ he said. ‘All I meant is that we won’t want for money. I love you the way you are and never want you to change.’
Then he remembered some lines from the one love song he did know:
‘As fair thou art, my bonnie lass
So deep in luve am I
And I will love thee still, my dear
Till a’ the seas gang dry.’
‘That’s beautiful’ she said. ‘Nobody has ever called me a bonnie lass before!’
But still she did not answer him. She stood with her arms folded and eyebrows crossed, as if she was about to deliver some rebuke. Ronnie thought he had lost her.
‘Well, Ronnie Simpson,’ she said at last, ‘if I ever were to consider marrying you, I would want to have lots of adventures first. I would want to see your Back and Beyond of Death for a start. I would want you to take me to all the exotic places you travel to in your ship––to Sumatra, Borneo, and Canton! And if I ever did decide to marry you, I’d want to be your partner as well as your wife. I’ve always fancied being a merchant too, and I have an excellent head for figures. My Uncle Harry taught me that as well.’
‘Does that mean yes?’ Ronnie said, his heart thumping in his chest. Surely it was close to it!
‘I said I would consider it,’ she said with a warm smile, but no more than that. Then she broke off the discussion. ‘We’d better get back. Reverend Moore will be getting anxious about us being up here alone among the ghosts. But I’ve not seen or heard any, have you?’
‘Not a spook nor specter, my bonnie lass!’
They packed up the remains of the food, and she slipped her arm back in his as they made their way back down Bukit Larangan, along pathways where the wives of the rajahs had walked four hundred years before. As they talked easily together, both thought they heard a gentle whispering around them, as if the wind was carrying their hopes and dreams––although neither mentioned this to the other until some months later. He took her hand in his and she did not draw it away, but grasped it tightly. She gave him one last hard kiss before she left him on Hill Street and made her way back to the mission house, where she and Reverend Moore were staying.
She had already decided, but she did not tell him. Ronnie did not care. He was in love wi’ a bonnie lassie, and she had not said no!