SQ 04 - The English Concubine (25 page)

Cheng waited. He knew all about the business with the concubine. What he saw in this white woman, Cheng had no idea. She was old and, though still lovely, he supposed, she was surely no match for his daughter. Still he was wise enough to know the affairs of the heart were mysterious. This long silence meant he was reflecting on such a possibility. He had not refused and this was enough for the moment.

‘Do not answer me now,’ he said. ‘There is no rush.’

Zhen was immensely grateful. He bowed to Cheng. ‘Thank you.’

Zhen walked home slowly through the quiet streets of Chinatown. He knew Wang or one of his men was in the shadows. Thunder rolled far away and the wind suddenly freshened.

One month had passed since he had seen her beside the beach at Katong. He remembered another time, when they had met in secret there and made Lily together. He looked up at the stars. She had sent Alex and Adam to Scotland and returned to Batavia to have his child. And she had been brave. She had come back to Singapore and been with him, acknowledged Lily as his child. He loved her for all that.

Three years, not all easy, but they hadn’t cared. He shook his head, regret washing over him. How had it all become so bad, so fast? He walked to Boat Quay and stared over the water. Some ball was taking place in the Court House; the English music wafted over to him. He remembered the English Commander. Was she going to him? It made his head burst.

If he remarried he would never see her again. Her ship would be here in a few weeks. He felt a wave of frustration wash over him and wanted to roar and roar until he was exhausted. Instead he turned and went back to Market Street.

32

Lian turned in Alex’s arms, resting her lips on his chest. It was midnight. Alex had waited patiently for two hours hidden in the stifling closet, dozing. Ah Soon and Lian had gone to visit her grandmother at River Valley Road for a family occasion and all the eyes that followed them had gone too. She had returned and Ah Soon had gone to the opium den.

He ran his fingers down her back, through the silky tangle of her hair and over the soft skin of her buttocks. There was no limit to what he wanted to do with Lian, time and again. She snuggled against him. They were a perfect fit.

‘Alex, I have something to say.’

‘Mmm,’ he kissed her forehead sleepily. When they had rested a while they would start again.

‘I have missed my period. I think I’m pregnant.’ She looked up at him. Sleepiness vanished and he took her face in his hands, then put his palm to her belly.

‘Oh Lian, I love you.’ He enclosed her gently into his arms.

‘I’m scared.’

‘No, no. It is natural. You should be pregnant. Your family will be thrilled and treat you like gold and by the time the baby is born you will be with me.’

‘You will be married to Amber. In all this we have forgotten that one fact.’ She sat up. Her skin lay white against the red embroidered pillows. He touched her belly again and placed his lips there, where his child lay, this piece of himself growing inside the woman he loved with all of his heart.

‘I care nothing for Amber.’

‘Yet you must make love to her.’

He looked up and smiled. ‘Is that what you are worried about? Jealousy.’

‘Of course I’m jealous, you fool. I have no wish to think of you making love to Amber for heaven’s sake.’ She got up and put on her gown, poured a glass of water from the table and drank it down, thirsty. He watched her from the bed.

‘There is no other way. You know it. But so what? I don’t care about her.’

‘Can men just do it? No need for any affection? Just a lovely body and away you go?’

‘Doesn’t even have to be lovely,’ Alex said and she laughed despite herself, then frowned.

In all these last heady weeks she had not once really thought about Amber. ‘How is she?’

He rose, surprised, and drank too. He pulled the pisspot from under the bed and let slip a stream.

‘How is she? I don’t know. She had a little turn and I sorted it out. We’re engaged. I hardly see her except for family occasions. She behaves herself.’

‘She loves you. She has loved you since I’ve known her.’

Alex shrugged and went back to the bed. He lay gazing at the ornate wooden carvings, frowning at the upside-down bats, the fruit and the writhing dragons. ‘That’s not my fault. We can’t help who we love.’

Lian looked over at him, handsome and perfectly formed, bathed in the low glow of the lamp. They were beautiful together. He felt like a part of her. She knew suddenly that this was a moment stolen from life. It was contained and held separate from reality. It was pure love and it was golden. No matter what came to them, he would never love anyone else this way. And neither would she.

‘No,’ she said. ‘For good or evil. We can’t help who we love.’

He smiled and extended his hand to her and she went to him.

* * *

‘Well, well, daughter. You are with child.’

Zhen smiled at Lian. She bowed to him.

‘Yes, Father,’ she said. ‘I am with child.’

He frowned. Something in the way she said it was chilling. He dismissed it. She did not love Ah Soon so perhaps she did not love this child now. But she would, surely. Ah Soon had gone back to the opium dens. Perhaps that was it. Again, he felt a silent regret for his daughter. The bed she shared with Ah Soon would be cold, for opium robbed a man of his manhood.

‘Miss Charlotte departs today, Father.’

He looked up at her and she held his gaze. He had written to her, two letters. He had tried to explain, without actually explaining, what he could not explain. She had not replied. He had accepted her departure because he didn’t know how to prevent it. Over here, on this side of the river, he was all-powerful. But over there in the European town, with her, he had no power at all.

Lian watched him. He seemed not to care a thing about the leaving of the woman he had so faithfully loved for three years. Can people change so thoroughly? Can love just fade? She felt a tremor of fear and put her hand to her belly. Would Alex’s love just fade? He sailed on the tide with Amber by his side and she must bear the unbearable until she saw him again.

He remained silent and she knew he would make no answer. Something in his demeanour gave her pause and she, too, said nothing more.

This was one of his pleasures, the preparation of tea, and she enjoyed watching him. Today he had taken out the brown pottery teapot with the monkey lid, which he never used. Since she had become a woman, she had looked more carefully at her father. He was a man of immense good looks, taller than any other Chinese man in the town, stronger, more powerful. But more than his physical appearance, which was considerable, he had a stature which she had not seen before. He commanded respect. And he had, she now recognised, a largesse of mind. It allowed him to encompass the possibility of her own schooling, of loving a foreign woman, of loving a half-blood child.

It was a ritual, the tea, and he carefully poured the boiling water on the leaves, wafting the aroma over them. He was present here, in this kitchen, but his mind was away, in a time long ago with this same teapot and she was sitting near him, pregnant with her second child, swollen and tired. He had made her this tea with this teapot.

He stared at it and put a finger to the lid. Then they had climbed the stairs and made love, careful of the child which lay inside her. It had been a moment of grace. To give her pleasure in such a circumstance, knowing she would leave on the next tide and they might never see each other again. He felt the intensity of this memory and sat down.

Lian sipped the tea. The atmosphere in the kitchen had thickened as if the air had absorbed some matter she could not understand.

33

It was a brutal sight. The room was splashed red and the body continued to ooze blood into the pool which lay around it. The knife which had been plunged into the man at least a dozen times was still in his chest. The body was covered in nicks and cuts too, especially around the upper thighs. Every cupboard and drawer stood open, clothes strewn everywhere.

Inspector Graves stood in the midst of the chaos. The man on the floor was stark naked and bound by his hands to the leg of the upturned chair. Graves blinked and went down on one knee. The man appeared to have a string attached to his scrotum. He got up and threw a look of disgust at the corpse.

The peon at the door was the one who had summoned him from Telok Ayer Station to the house on Hong Kong Street. He was still unfamiliar with this part of the Chinese town. Graves’s Malay was poor despite being in Penang for a year.

‘Who is this?’ he said.

‘House of Sang Qian.’

‘What do you know of him?’

The peon said something he did not catch. He was on such shaky ground, linguistically speaking, and this was such a brutal crime that he ushered the peon out of the room and shut the door. ‘Stay and guard this door. No-one goes in.’

The peon stared at him. Graves positioned the man in front of the door and put out his hand. ‘Stay.’

He went down the stairs. All the servants in the house had gathered in the hall, gazing upwards. He pushed through and went out into the street. The peon had told him that screams had been heard from this house, a servant had rushed out and told him someone was being murdered. The peon did not tell his superior that he had been rudely interrupted in the middle of a lucrative negotiation with the gambling house which would ensure his cooperation and silence.

Graves looked up at the building. Quite a mean little place, squashed between two taller shophouses which he knew were brothels. Actually the whole street was brothels, taverns and illegal gambling houses. Ragged coolies begged, others slumped in the verandahs half dead. A dog gave a yelp as it was kicked. The place was a sinkhole. All the dregs of Asia poured in here. Added to the thousands of sailors that it burst with when ships came in, it was, in his opinion, unpoliceable and he wished fervently that he was back in Penang.

The language barrier was just insuperable. Until they had Chinese policemen there was nothing to be done and the Commissioner would not have Chinese policemen because they were all the foot soldiers of the triads. He needed the Chinese interpreter from the main police house over the river.

‘Mr. Graves,’ a cultured voice said behind him, and he turned.

It was that towkay, the one who spoke good English. He breathed a sigh of relief.

‘Mr. Zhen, it is good to see you.’

Zhen bowed then looked up at the house of his friend. He knew something had happened here. As the peon took off for the police station, the samsengs had rushed to him.

‘This is the house of my friend, Sang Qian.’

Graves adopted a serious demeanour but he was surprised. This man was friends with a fellow who had a string round his scrotum. Really the place and all the people were unredeemable. And he had heard that this fellow had an English woman as his mistress. Filthy. He allowed none of these thoughts to enter his voice.

‘I am very sorry. Your friend is dead.’

Zhen went forward and into the hall. He raced to the first floor and was met by the terrified face of the Malay peon. He pushed him aside. Behind him he could hear Graves rushing up.

He opened the door and drew a great breath. Tears sprang to his eyes as he looked down on the poor, terrible sight of Qian, his life-long friend, lying in his blood. He went forward and snatched the knife out of his chest and threw it aside. He sank to the floor, pulled Qian to him, cradling him in his arms, his chest heaving and let out a groan of anguish.

Graves arrived at the door. ‘You can’t do that.’

Zhen ignored him. Graves, despite his disgust, made the quick realisation that this man was an important merchant and needed careful handling. The commissioner had made it clear that the officers were to understand very clearly who the elite natives of the colony were and treat them accordingly.

‘Sir,’ he said more gently. ‘This is a crime scene.’

Zhen pulled a sheet from the bed and covered Qian’s nakedness. He lay his friend’s head gently on the floor and rose, his tunic covered in blood. He brought his emotions under control.

‘Mr. Graves, I know who has done this and I will bring this man to justice.’

‘Who is it?’

‘I will make a statement to Mr. Macleod. The Chinese interpreter can interview the servants and the street. There will be no doubt.’

Zhen went out and addressed the servants. ‘Cooperate with the policeman who will come. Was this Hafiz?’

They all nodded. Yes, they shouted. He ran away with a sack of belongings. He went towards the seafront.

Zhen turned to Graves. ‘It is Hafiz, Qian’s friend.’

Graves raised an eyebrow. Friend indeed.

‘He has gone to the seafront at Telok Ayer.’

Graves shut the door of the room. ‘Guard,’ he said to the peon.

‘The body,’ Zhen said.

‘Must stay here for the moment. You have destroyed the veracity of the crime scene but I will endeavour to describe it as I saw it.’

‘Look,’ Zhen said. ‘You stay here. I will send my men to get Hafiz.’

Graves frowned. Locals were not supposed to … He gave up on that thought. Here such thinking was quite impossible. This man had his own security force. All the Chinese did and he might as well use it.

‘Very well. Thank you.’

Zhen bowed and went out onto the street. A samseng had sought Wang and he ran forward, seeing the blood. His face expressed his horror and Zhen sighed. ‘No. Not me. Go at once and get that Hafiz, the peacock has killed Qian. Telok Ayer. Probably a boat.’

Wang bowed.

‘Don’t fail and don’t kill him. I want him hanged by the British.’

Wang saluted, his heart filled with the joy of this task for his Lord. Zhen watched him go. The grief for Qian began to overwhelm him he and felt his face would crumple and his strength fail. He stood, unmoving, head bowed, waiting for this moment to pass.

He went into the Heaven’s Gate brothel, up the stairs to Min’s room. He shut himself inside and lay on her bed and gave vent to his grief. Was there nothing but pain? The deaths of Lily and Qian, the loss of Xia Lou. He had not allowed himself to mourn her parting and now he could no longer hold this inside himself. He sobbed quietly.