SQ 04 - The English Concubine (7 page)

Charlotte felt it might be time to speak to Amber of her future. She was sixteen and in a short time her days at school would be over. Robert had no time or inclination to concern himself with Amber, though he loved her dearly. Shilah was somewhat out of her depth with her educated daughter and now was entirely involved with her doting love of Robert and the birth, in her late thirties, of a new child. Charlotte and Amber had always been close but Charlotte recognised that, over the last three years, she too, had been taken up with her own life, with her oblivious passion for Zhen and the delight of their love for their daughter.

She patted Amber’s hand. She would invite her to luncheon and they would speak of this. Before she could utter a word however, Amber spoke rather breathlessly.

‘Aunty Kitt, what news of Alex?’

Charlotte turned and looked Amber in the eye. She had known for some time that Amber had feelings for Alex but, in that instant, it came to her that, actually, Amber might be the kind of young woman that could settle Alexander’s wild ways. If they could care for each other and marry quickly, Charlotte would send Alex to Batavia to pick up the reins of the affairs at Brieswijk and discover what was happening in the company. The money which she should have received for the quarter had not arrived. It was a great sum and she had become intensely worried.

‘He comes home under a cloud. I have not the faintest idea what to expect.’

Amber looked down and twisted her lace handkerchief. Robert came up, his face set, and took Amber by the arm. ‘ Sarah’s asking for you.’

Amber made to open her mouth but Robert looked severe.

‘Off you go. You girls should find plenty to gossip about.’

Amber threw a long glance at Charlotte who nodded to her. As she departed Robert turned to Charlotte.

‘Teresa is …’

‘No, Robbie.’ Charlotte put up her hand. ‘Not this evening. I don’t care. You must sort this matter out between you. I have my own concerns.’

She turned away abruptly meaning to look for Zhen and found herself gazing again into the eyes of Edmund Mallory.

He glanced over her head at Robert. ‘May I take Charlotte away for a few moments?’

Robert stared at Edmund.

‘It’s all right, Robbie. Edmund and I are old friends.’

Robert threw a look of total incomprehension at his sister and before he could agree or disagree, was joined by his sister’s Chinese companion. He was rather relieved. He had no idea who this other fellow was.

‘Ah, Zhen, so good to see you.’

Zhen bowed to Robert and turned his gaze to Edmund.

‘Charlotte,’ he said and Charlotte, who knew him so well, felt the control he was exerting on a situation he did not fully understand. ‘Will you introduce us?’

Robert, too, stared at his sister. ‘Yes, Kitt, do introduce us.’

‘Allow me,’ Edmund said, looking at the two men. ‘Edmund Mallory. Naval commander in Her Majesty’s service.’

He put out his hand to Robert and the men shook. Edmund turned to Zhen.

‘Your servant, sir,’ he said and once again put out his hand.

Zhen stared at it for a moment. The tension between the two men was palpable. Then Zhen bowed and Edmund dropped his hand.

‘Yes, of course. Forgive me. The customs of your country are somewhat new to me.’

‘That is surprising since you naval officers spend your time battering China to bits.’

Edmund, if surprised by this riposte, did not show it and looked coolly at Zhen. ‘It is regrettable that the Chinese government cannot abide by the treaties it signs.’

‘It is regrettable that the Chinese government is forced at the point of a gun to sign such treaties.’

That Edmund was not in the least used to arguments of this kind from stray Chinese merchants who spoke excellent English was blatantly obvious. His eyes narrowed but before he could speak Zhen transferred his gaze to Charlotte.

‘Mrs. Manouk. I see you are enjoying yourself. Goodbye.’

He bowed, turned on his heel and left her.

Charlotte felt a blush spread from her neck to her cheeks. She gazed at his back and felt close to tears.

She put her handkerchief to her mouth and moved away from the men towards the terrace.

Edmund looked to Robert. ‘What an odd fellow. Is your sister all right?’

Robert frowned.

‘I have no idea. I shall go to her,’ he said and Edmund bowed slightly. He saw something was amiss and, with a sensitivity not often found among sailoring men, realised his presence, just then, would not help her.

‘Yes, please go to her,’ he said and Robert departed.

7

‘Who is this upstart sultan, cheeky blighter?’

Colonel Cavenagh whacked his artificial leg with a crack against the floorboards. Robert realised that when the new governor was displeased, this was his mode of expression, much the way a judge might use a gavel to get attention.

‘Young fool, sir,’ said Randolph Blackwood, the Resident Counsellor. ‘Needs putting back in line.’

‘Flying the British flag on his boats, attacking states in our name. Good God! What’s that place again?’

Blackwood put on his pince-nez and consulted his paper. ‘Pahang. Large state in central Malaya, timber, possibly tin. Succession dispute between two brothers.’

‘These damn princes. Just like India, always fighting some petty wars.’

‘If I may, sir,’ Robert said and Cavenagh looked over at him.

‘Yes, Commissioner, what is it?’

‘A little more complicated than that.’

‘What, what,’ Cavenagh said gruffly. ‘Well?’

‘Sir, Temenggong Abu Bakar’s late father signed an agreement with Tengku Ali, son of the late Sultan of Singapore, in which Ali agreed to give up Johor in exchange for a pension and his recognition as Sultan here, which had been in abeyance for many years. This agreement was put in place by Governor Butterworth. But other Malay sultans were not in agreement and Abu Bakar is facing a threat from Sultan Mahmud Shah, who was deposed at Riau by the Dutch, and now claims suzerainty over both Pahang and Johor through blood lines and marriage. In this pursuit he aims to overthrow the Sultan Umar of Terengganu, his neighbour, with the backing of the Siamese and take both states by force. We have already warned Sultan Umar to resist any such efforts. Now Mahmud Shah has an alliance with Pahang’s Prince Wan Ahmad against the interests of his own brother Tun Mahatir. Abu Bakar feels that the fall of Pahang would bring his own position in Johor under threat. Consequently he backs Tun Mahatir and has sent weapons and gunboats.’

Cavenagh stared at Robert as if he were confronted with Isaac Newton asking him to solve the riddle of the spheres. His mouth opened but nothing emerged and he closed it again.

‘The Temenggong’s wife,’ Robert went on, ‘is the sister of Tun Mahatir.’

A silence fell on the room and Robert and McNair exchanged a glance. Blackwood, too, had fallen, as if stunned, into a stupor.

Finally the governor, as if released from some hypnotic spell, roused himself.

‘Good God, man. Who can make sense of all these sultans? Well, well, what to do,’ said Cavenagh and thumped his leg against the floor. ‘We don’t want Siamese influence down here. What do you say, McNair?’

The governor’s ADC stood up and threw a glance at Robert.

‘No, sir. We support Abu Bakar. His acquisition of Johor was quite legal. I have looked into the paperwork. He is wealthy through a monopoly on the gutta percha trade and has licensed the Chinese to set up gambier and pepper plantations on the southern rivers of Johor. In addition, since the establishment of New Harbour, his land at Telok Blangah has become very valuable. But he does need pulling into line, sir. I have it on good authority he has been going around saying that the British governor is his personal tax collector.’

‘What!’ Cavenagh threw his leg this time against the leg of the table, shaking the pens and inkpots into a minor convulsion.

‘What do you mean?’ Blackwood said, his pince-nez dropping from his nose.

‘The excise farms, sir,’ McNair ventured. ‘The Johor and Singapore opium farm leases are offered as one and Abu Bakar is boasting that, since his share of the revenue is paid from our Treasury we are, in effect, his tax collectors.’

Robert thought Cavenagh might have a stroke.

‘Youthful nonsense,’ said McNair in an effort to defuse the situation, ‘of course. He aims to impress the other Malay princes with the extent of our Imperial backing.’

‘Not entirely,’ Blackwood said,
‘The Straits Times
claims that the Temenggong receives from our Treasury upwards of $5,000 per month more than the gross sale of excisable articles in Johor amounts to. They claim he is overpaid and is using this surplus to finance his war in Pahang.’

Cavenagh seemed to consider this a moment, then rose in his peculiar way. Having an amputated left lower leg and a corresponding useless left arm, the governor was forced to resort to a series of strange flexions and movements merely to rise with some dignity. Having done so, his wooden foot made a thump as he paced. Robert could not prevent his eyes dropping to this appendage. Cavenagh noticed.

‘Pott’s leg,’ he said. ‘Works marvellously well.’

He hitched up his trouser leg.

‘Wooden shaft and socket, steel knee joint, articulated with catgut tendons that connect the knee with the foot. Means that the hip has no extraordinary motions and reduces pain.’

All the men examined this marvel. McNair thought Cavenagh the bravest man he knew. He made nothing of these awful injuries and was exceedingly modest about his considerable military achievements.

Cavenagh dropped his trouser leg.

‘Actually, Dr. Cowper has suggested the use of gutta percha to ease the attachment to the leg. Splendid idea.’

Cavenagh beamed at the faces around him. ‘Now, where were we. Yes. Opium.’

The discussion of his leg seemed to have calmed him and he was in a sunny mood. He returned to his desk and sat.

‘McNair, explain the situation to me here in Malaya. I have had no dealings with such things in India.’

‘Yes, Governor.’

‘Sit, sit, gentlemen. Doubtless you have no idea either, Blackwood. Do you good to listen.’

Blackwood looked slightly miffed but did as he was told.

‘The raw opium, as you know, sir, is grown in India and sold at the factory market there, in chests or balls, to the Jewish and Armenian dealers and shipped by them to Singapore where it is purchased by the Chinese holder of the opium farm at the prevailing price. Eighty percent of the production goes to China but the rest lands in Singapore. Currently, with the crisis in India, it is somewhat high. One thousand rupees a chest. The lease on the monopoly to refine and sell the chandu is put up for the highest bidder.

McNair paused and glanced at the governor. Cavenagh sat, hands steepled.

‘Yes, yes, I see. Go on.’

‘Ideally there are several syndicates who bid against each other, increasing the revenue of the government. The opium farmer’s labourers of course boil and refine the opium into chandu and it is sold, through the farmers’ shops in town and on the plantations, to the hundred thousand coolies working in this area. It is, for the opium farmer, a lucrative business as the mark-up can be up to three hundred percent and, as the labourers are the consumers, their wages can be recaptured through opium sales. If the residue from the pipe is sold several times over, the profits are commensurately greater.’

Cavenagh nodded.

‘I see. The plantation owners are the syndicate, is that right?’

‘Yes, sir. That is almost always true. At least the main money man of the syndicate is always the biggest gambier and pepper plantation owner, always a Chinese merchant, for they understand their people and their business better than us. And it is not advisable for the government to be directly involved in this business.’

‘How much was the opium farm leased for last year?’

‘Quite low, sir.’

McNair consulted his documents.

‘The syndicate has been held these five consecutive years by Wei Sun Wei at fifteen thousand Spanish dollars per month. Of this one third goes to the Temenggong.’

‘I see. Yet this is claimed to be excessive.’

‘He has some 20,000 coolies working on the plantations in Johor. It was deemed suitable by Governor Blundell.’

‘And the farm lease has not risen over five years.’

‘No, sir.’

‘This is because there is a lack of competition, clearly,’ said Blackwood suddenly entering the conversation.

Cavenagh considered this. ‘These excise farms are the only revenue which the town may draw upon. Is that correct?’

‘Not entirely, sir,’ McNair said. ‘There are town property taxes, quit rents on country properties but these are small. Then there are judicial fines, fees on land transfers, that sort of thing, but, again, these are minor. The spirit farm excise is quite good, and we lease the sireh farm as well. But the opium farm alone is over half of the town’s revenue.’

‘And what of duties, port duties, cargo levees, that sort of thing?’

McNair threw a glance at Robert who grimaced.

‘Governor Butterworth and Governor Blundell tried to impose port duties, sir, to raise funds for the lighthouses and other port improvements, but the town will not have it. The Chinese and European merchants come together like glue in hysterical protest at any nibbling of what they conceive of as their rights, and throw Raffles and free trade at us like cannonballs. Calcutta sees only losses and refuses to raise its share on what it considers to be an intransigent and untaxed mercantile population. In effect we are dependent on the opium farm.’

‘You have had little contact with the Chinese, sir, I understand. But they are a peaceful and industrious people, Governor,’ McNair added.

Cavenagh looked at Robert.

‘Are they, Commissioner?’

‘On the whole. Their secret societies are called “hoeys” or “kongsi”. They can occasionally cause the most terrible trouble but for the last years there has been a reasonable level of peace. In the absence of a large enough police force and a proper judiciary we must adopt a laissez-faire attitude.’