The Red Thread (31 page)

Shilah, it transpired, helped teach letters to the children at Mrs Whittle's school, an employment which George had arranged, for Coleman was not sure of Robert's commitment and wanted her to try to make her way in life. Actually, Charlotte was struck with Shilah's lack of shyness and this ability to read and write. Certainly the girl had not looked forward to this meeting, but she was clearly not daunted by it, and Charlotte felt that Robert had perhaps beware. As she grew older, this young woman might develop into a formidable personality who might well view dimly the prospect of Robert's marriage to a Miss Crane or someone similar, especially if and when children came along. Later, when she had talked of this visit to Robert and aired her misgivings, he had simply waved his hand and told her that it was all straight with Shilah: she knew very well that native girls did not marry white men, and that was that. Charlotte could have reminded him of their mother, but she did not.

Charlotte thought the church looked magnificent. The shutters were open on every side, admitting a refreshing breeze over the plain from the sea. Despite this,
the punkahs
were in full flow, and the vault of the roof seemed inhabited by the flapping wings of flying creatures. The din of conversation in twenty languages surrounded her. Charlotte and Takouhi were seated in the third row.

Tigran Manouk was by her side. Charlotte had been surprised at his changed appearance. He had lost weight and grown his hair even longer. He looked a picture of elegance in his black frock coat, tight trousers and snow-white shirt, but there was now something piratical about him in the way he had braided his hair. His eyes looked deeper and darker. She thought he might be wearing
kohl
, as his sister often did, and this thought was provoking and exciting. When she had seen Charlotte on his arm, Lilian Aratoun had practically fainted with barely contained jealousy.

His personal ship had arrived two days before. Charlotte had watched from the verandah as it sailed elegantly into the harbour. It was a beautiful black brig,
Queen of the South
, full sailed, each white sail edged with black, bearing in its centre the emblem of his merchant house, a black Javanese leopard rampant, the emblem repeated in the flags which floated from the top gallants.

Tigran had brought gifts for everyone. She was now wearing on her bodice the beautiful blue diamond-and silver brooch he had given her, and which had made her gasp. It was a spray of sparkling flowers, the colour so nearly that of her eyes that she had looked at him in amazement. The box in which it had been presented was embossed silver, bearing in jet her monogrammed initials C. M. intertwined, the brooch resting on black velvet. It was magnificent and unexpected. Tigran merely smiled when she protested. Takouhi waved a lazy hand at her friend.

‘
Alamah
, goo'ness gracious. Don' be silly-billy. Tigran love to give gift to pretty ladies.'

Takouhi had smiled indulgently at her brother. She would have liked to see him married, knew from his letters of his interest in Charlotte, detected in his changed appearance and the magnificence of his gift a desire for her friend that she had every intention of promoting. He had given his personal jeweller a great deal of trouble finding these stones, of that she had no doubt.

Meda had been invited to be a flower girl today, and over the previous weeks had talked of nothing else. This morning she had woken her mother and father well before the gun, jumping on George and rousing him in a way she did not dare with her mother.

On this morning, George had greeted his daughter by pulling her into bed, kissing and tickling her until, laughing, she squirmed and ran away.

George had turned to Takouhi, kissed her and pulled back the sheet to reveal the black henna tattoo curling sensuously from the triangle of her hair to her breasts, the sight of which always bewitched and aroused him. As she felt George's mood, Takouhi had risen, naked, calling to one of her Javanese maids to get breakfast for Meda. She locked the door and came back to him very slowly, unbraiding her long black hair.

Now she was dressed in dark blue velvet
à la française
, smelling faintly of jasmine and looking happily at Meda Elizabeth, who was standing in a group of little girls by the altar all arrayed in pale blue holding little beribboned baskets full of small silk flowers under Mrs White's watchful eye. They had rehearsed until they knew every move and, at Mrs White's command, they would all move towards the portico and wait for the organ to signal the arrival of the bride. Then they would move down the aisle strewing the flowers before the bride as she progressed towards the altar. They were jiggling with excitement, and it was all Mrs White could do to keep them calm.

Benjamin Sharpe stood amongst a small group of his comrades in regimental red with gold braid. The colonel and other officers occupied several rows, and many of his comrades were at the back of the church waiting to form an honour guard with their swords as the newlyweds emerged. The governor and his men occupied the front seats. George Coleman sat at Takouhi's side, dressed in a grey suit and cravat. Now and again he would lock eyes with Takouhi. Charlotte felt quite warm by the look that passed between them, instantaneously remembering the kiss in the orchard.

Then suddenly Mrs White gave the signal and the children walked quickly down the aisle and waited obediently by the door. The grinder began to bring the barrel organ into life, and the voices of the institution boys rose in song.

‘Blessed be the tie that binds

Our hearts in Christian love

The fellowship of kindred minds

Is like to that above.'

The flower girls began a slow progression down the aisle, followed by Jose da Silva and, on his arm, his daughter, Julia, dressed in white muslin, a lacy veil falling from a garland of twisted silken cords covering her chestnut hair. In her hands she carried a bouquet of myrtle with white silken ribbons.

‘Before our Father's throne

We pour our ardent prayers

Our fears, our hopes, our aims are one

Our comforts and our cares.'

Charlotte craned to see her and was astounded by her beauty and her obvious joy at this moment. She felt a keen envy. If she wished it, she knew that this wonderful ceremony could be in her future. She had merely to accept the hand of John Connolly, and everything she could want would fall into her arms. Husband, home, children.

She felt Tigran's eyes on her face and turned to him, smiling. Perhaps, she thought playfully, I should marry the richest man in the South Seas and drive Lilian Aratoun mad. He has certainly become extremely attractive.

Tigran took her hand and put it to his lips with a look so shyly smouldering that Charlotte was again taken aback. This idea was clearly not as far from his mind as she had imagined. Then thoughts of Zhen filled her head, and she withdrew her hand from his with a small smile.

‘We share our mutual woes

Our mutual burdens bear

And often for each other flows

The sympathising tear.'

Meda Elizabeth passed, her face set, carrying out her duties with great seriousness. Charlotte could not resist a smile and touched Takouhi's left hand. George had taken her right hand in his.

‘When for a while we part

This thought will soothe our pain

That we shall still be joined in heart

And hope to meet again.'

The girls took their places as the bride arrived at the altar, followed by two of her married sisters as matrons of honour.

‘From sorrow, toil and pain

And sin we shall be free

In perfect love and friendship reign

Through all eternity.

Amen.'

Despite the cloying sentiments of this hymn, Charlotte was moved listening to the familiar words of the marriage service. When Julia and Benjamin finalised their vows and turned to face the assembled guests, beaming with joy, she felt a small tear come to her eye.

Then the organ began again, and the newlyweds made their way slowly down the aisle to the door to the booming sounds of ‘Rock of Ages', sung by all the Europeans in the church. The foreign contingent clapped, pleased with this quaint ceremony of the white people, the prettiness of the couple affirming their own belief in the bonds of marriage and family.

The wedding reception was a lavish affair, held at the da Silva mansion on Beach Road. As the party wound down, the bride changed her dress and prepared to leave for three days to Robert's house at the beach at Katong. Renting this house for parties and honeymoons had turned into a lucrative prospect for Robert, and he had bought an American four-poster bed from Mr Balestier, and other items of furniture.

The couple left in a craft bedecked with ferns and garlands as the sun set and the band played the regimental song.

Tigran had accompanied Takouhi and Meda home long ago, but Coleman, Charlotte and Robert stayed to watch the boat depart and only turned for home when the sky had darkened and the firebrands were lit. Preceded by a running Indian servant holding aloft a flaming brand, they made their way back in Coleman's carriage along Beach Road to the bungalow. Finally, after a whisky with his friends, Coleman too departed for home, admiring, with a final wink, the lovely jewels on Charlotte's dress.

Robert and Charlotte had retired to bed not more than an hour when they were awakened by a banging at the door. The peon on duty admitted Coleman in a state of unusual agitation.

‘Come quickly, Kitt. Takouhi needs you. Meda's taken with fever. At first we thought it was the excitement of the wedding, but she has worsened. Dr Montgomerie is there, but I beg you to come and give comfort to Takouhi.'

Charlotte dressed quickly, and George swung her up onto his horse. Robert would go too, but Coleman said no, not too many people, just Kitt. Gripping George's waist, Charlotte held tightly as Coleman spurred his horse home, swinging her down and jumping from his mount in one swift movement.

Takouhi was with Meda and Dr Montgomerie, who looked up gravely as Charlotte and George entered. Meda's cheeks were flushed, her eyes glitteringly bright and feverish. Charlotte could not believe the change from that afternoon and let out a small cry, rushing to Takouhi's side and wrapping her arms around her. Takouhi seemed strangely calm and put a hand over her friend's. George had dropped into an armchair and sat staring at his daughter.

Charlotte stayed through the night, helping nurse Meda, talking to Takouhi, trying to comfort George. Dr Montgomerie suspected consumption. Sometime in the early morning Meda began to cough. A servant fanned Meda continually, and Takouhi and Charlotte changed the wet towels on her head and body every few minutes, attempting to lower her fever. George sat slumped. Tigran was downstairs, unable to sleep, pacing the floor.

By morning they all looked haggard. Dr Montgomerie had to have hard words with George, for all of them getting sick would not help their daughter.

Coleman began to eat, and Charlotte and Tigran finally prevailed upon Takouhi to take some broth and rice. Meda Elizabeth seemed stable. Dr Montgomerie had given her a mild sleeping draught, and she had fallen into a deep sleep, although her face was still flushed and her breathing shallow.

Takouhi spoke to her brother. She needed him to take them home to Java, up to the plantation house in the cool air of the hills at Buitenzorg, the place ‘without a care'. This white medicine was useless; she needed to see the
dukun
, the medicine man. Now Takouhi was far from her Armenian faith, Charlotte realised. She was back in the cradle of her Javanese spirit world. Charlotte understood: in times of trouble she drew comfort from both church and these spirits, but in sickness she believed only in the
jamu
. Tigran nodded.

He was holding his white-trimmed, black tricorn hat in one hand, waiting as Charlotte came to say farewell in the hall. Bowing over her hand, he brought it to his lips, touching her skin lightly, the plaited strands of his hair and their jet beads falling around his face. Despite herself, Charlotte felt a frisson.

‘I wait to see you again,' he said quietly and looked directly into her eyes. Placing his hat on his head, he bowed once more, slightly, and dropped her hand before turning to make his ship ready.

When Takouhi told George of her decision, he wanted to forbid it but knew this would mean nothing to her.

‘Yes, go to the hills, see the
dukun
if you wish, only make me the promise to come back,' he had agreed.

Takouhi had looked him in the eyes. ‘Come back when Meda not sick.'

She said this calmly and with absolute decision, and George was overcome. He knew if Meda died, Takouhi would almost certainly never come back to him. There would be too many spirits in Java holding her there.

‘I'll come with you,' George began, but Takouhi put her fingers to his lips.

‘Cannot. Do not cry. If I can I come back to you. Not worry. Gods decide. Not you, not me.'

Charlotte was by Meda's bedside when George told her the news. ‘God save me, Charlotte, but, if this sweet lass must die, I almost wish she would die here. Then I could bury her with my hands, and Takouhi would stay.'

Charlotte felt his utter anguish. She did not know how to comfort him and stood in the darkened room until she felt Takouhi arrive at her side.

‘Go home, Charlotte, thanks to you. Nothing more to do for us. I take Meda to Jawa, make well. Before go tell you. Not worry.'

Takouhi took Charlotte's face in her hands and kissed her on the cheek. Then she stood next to George and took his head in her arms, pressing him to her heart.

Charlotte had never seen her friend so calm, as if all the distress of the last hours had departed and peace had come upon her with this final decision.

It was early morning and raining, the rain of the tropics, dropping straight from the sky like a waterfall, noisy and heavy. Takouhi's carriage arrived under the portico, and Charlotte dropped into its dark interior. She was exhausted, and the thought of this imminent departure caused tears to well. She sobbed for her friend, for Meda, for George, for all the heartache which was to befall them. She could not stop weeping, even when the carriage arrived at the bungalow. She did not wait for the driver to get down with the umbrella, and walked the short distance to the door in the pouring rain, glad of its feel on her face. She waved the driver away and went up onto the verandah of the bungalow.