The advocates devil, p.9
The Advocate's Devil, page 9
He had me there. From what little I remembered of the law, he seemed to be right. I was saved from the embarrassment of having to answer by the arrival of a cohort of minions in response to some unheard signal.
“For the last time, put the child down,” said Abraham menacingly.
The minions advanced; Kate and I retreated towards the window. I decided that a tactical withdrawal was in order.
“I think you’d better let them have Lucy back, Kate,” I whispered.
The minions advanced another step. Lucy started to cry.
“Look,” I pleaded, “if you don’t give Lucy back, they’ll take her from you by force. They’ll say that you trespassed and took the child without consent. You might never see your daughter again.”
This dire threat seemed to sink in. Kate wavered, though she could not bring herself to surrender the child. Ibrahim barked an order. The amah, perspiration beading her forehead, waddled over and took Lucy from Kate’s unresisting grasp. Lucy was still wailing. Kate had an agonised look on her face.
“I’ll have the law on you, I will!” she threatened.
“The law!” Abraham laughed unpleasantly. “Ask your lawyer friend what sovereign immunity means.” The minions took us by the arms and marched us to the door. “Now get out!” commanded Ibrahim.
The last thing I heard were Lucy’s pathetic cries mingled with the wails of the amah and the slap of leather on flesh.
THE DRIVE back to town was even more uncomfortable than the drive out. Kate was wrapped in a cloud of black rage. I was uncomfortably aware of not having exactly covered myself in glory. We pulled up at the YWCA and Kate started to get out.
“Miss Earnshaw... Kate, I’m sorry about what happened, but we’ll soon put it right.”
“Not your fault,” she replied curtly.
“Will you be all right?” I asked.
She glared directly at me. There was fire in her eyes. “I can take care of meself,” she answered. She turned to go.
“Kate, wait.” She stopped and turned round. “Look, I feel absolutely rotten about the whole business. I don’t think it’s right that you should have to stay by yourself here. My mother’s got a big house with loads of room. Would you like to stay there?”
She hesitated. I pressed on. “It’s not charity. I know what it’s like to be a stranger in a big town. Mother would be ever so glad for the company. It’d be a treat for her to have a guest, and you’d be safe.”
I blurted out the last without meaning to. At the back of my mind had been the haunting thought that Abraham might not be above some rough play. A young girl alone in a port town. Any number of things might happen.
Kate reflected for a while, and then smiled at me. It was the first smile that I’d had from her. She was quite attractive really.
“Thank you,” she said. “Are you sure it’ll be all right with your mother?”
“Absolutely no trouble. I’ll help you with your things.”
It took only a little while to sort out her things. For a lady who had come half a world away from home she had very little, only a trunk and a couple of boxes. I loaded them into my jalopy and we drove off with a rattle and wheeze.
At that time of the day only Mak was home. The younger girls were in school and the older ones at work. If she was surprised to see me escort a young Englishwoman up the stairs, she didn’t show it. Actually, I think she might have harboured some hopes that Kate had a relationship with me. Since my return from England Mak had been working overtime to get me hitched. She would of course have preferred some nice Nonya girl from an old family, but a white woman would do at a pinch. Anyway, I disillusioned her quickly when I introduced Kate. After explaining the situation, Mak was completely sympathetic. She took over Kate and bustled off. Knowing that Kate was in good hands, I drove straight back to the office.
D’Almeida was at his desk when I returned. He peered at me over the rim of his spectacles. “I take it that the interview was not satisfactory?”
“No, not very.” I felt completely drained and flung myself down on the sofa. D’Almeida got up and came over.
“Did you find out if he’s divorced her?”
I nodded. “He didn’t say anything about a divorce. In fact he claims that they were never married properly. Something to do with the law of his country. He can’t get married without his father’s consent.”
Briefly, I narrated the morning’s events to d’Almeida. He took off his spectacles and started polishing them absently as he paced the floor.
“Is he right about this sovereign immunity business?” I asked at length.
D’Almeida started. “What? Oh, yes, to a degree. The Native States are technically foreign territory, though we in the Colony often forget that. His father the Maharajah can’t be sued in our courts, that’s certain. Whether he’s covered by the same immunity is a point that hasn’t yet been decided. He thinks he is; I think not. But the point is that there is an even chance that he has immunity.”
D’Almeida was pacing again. He continued talking, more to himself than to me. “If we bring an action for custody of the child, he will almost certainly take the point on immunity. If we lose the point, that will be that. If we win the point, he might spirit the child back to his country. Once she’s there, we won’t be able to touch her.” He stopped, put on his spectacles and rounded on me. “So what’s the answer?”
I had been with d’Almeida long enough to know that he had the answer. “We go to court and sue him?” I ventured.
“No, no, of course not! We can’t go to court. He must go to court and sue us. The moment he sues, he forfeits whatever immunity he has. We must force him into court.”
“And how are we going to do that?”
“Simple,” said d’Almeida, his eyes twinkling, “we must kidnap the child.”
I HAD in my youth always dreamed of tooling around town one day in a chauffeured Rolls. Somehow, though, I never thought it would be this way. We were heading back towards the Istana in d’Almeida’s antique Rolls. It was two days since my unfortunate interview with the Tengku Mahkota. D’Almeida had news that the fellow would be attending a garden party at Government House. He immediately contacted Kate and got together a party of his own.
I was in the back of the car, looking smart in a dark suit and clutching an impressive leather briefcase. I had a fake moustache under my nose and plain-glass spectacles perched on top of it. When I spoke, it felt like two amorous caterpillars doing a mating dance in my nostrils. My fellow pupil Ralph Smallwood sat next to me, resplendent in white tutup jacket, trousers, shoes, gloves and solar topi. He had a monocle scrunched up in his right eye and a walrus moustache, the very caricature of an Imperial official. Kate was in the front passengers seat, dressed in a nurse’s uniform that she had scrounged off one of the inmates of the YWCA. D’Almeida himself was driving. He was a real sight. He had obtained in some way a court attendant’s uniform. Decked out in this and in a red silk cummerbund and velvet songkok, he looked most magnificent as a driver. From the bonnet, a heraldic pennant fluttered. It was actually an old college pennant of mine. As it was liberally spangled with lions passant and fleurs de lys, it looked most impressive when pressed into service as a flag.
It was all d’Almeida’s idea as usual. Since my first adventure with him, I had come to realise that he enjoyed these little charades. They evidently lent a little excitement to his life.
Ralph was with us to ensure an entree into the Istana. In the Colony, white was right and two Wongs most certainly did not make a white. Ralph’s grandmother was Chinese, though this wasn’t noticeable at a casual glance. Of course, he could never get into the Singapore Club or the Tanglin Club because of this, the nigger in the woodpile as they so eloquently put it. But looking White certainly had its advantages. For one thing, salesgirls were so much more attentive. D’Almeida, on the other hand, was quite clearly coloured; a sort of warm cocoa colour. In fact, in chambers we had the whole spectrum, from Ralph who could pass off quite easily as a tuan, all the way to George Singham, who when he grinned on a dark night disappeared completely, leaving his smile hanging like the Cheshire Cat’s.
We pulled up in front of the Istana. “Are you sure this’ll work?” I asked sotto voce. “What if they recognise us?”
“All Chinamen and orang puteh look alike. They won’t recognise you,” d’Almeida replied evenly as he held the door open for Ralph.
We dismounted regally and swept into the reception hall. We were met by the major-domo, who had evidently been summoned by the doorkeeper.
“We have come for the child,” Ralph announced in his most pompous tones. Evidently, the sight of him in full regalia had quite taken away the major-domo’s precarious command of the language, for he only stared blankly. D’Almeida intervened, explaining the situation in faultless Malay.
The major-domo shook his head vigorously.
“Is there some problem?” Ralph demanded testily, in his best tuan besar manner.
He motioned imperiously to me, and I withdrew a massive manila envelope from the briefcase that I carried and presented it to the major-domo. He took it gingerly, as if he were afraid that it would bite. He opened it and unfolded the letter within. It was written on the Tengku Mahkota’s notepaper, with his seal unmistakably at the bottom. At the sight of this missive, the major-domo’s reluctance evaporated and he summoned a guard with a hand clap. He invited us into one of the adjoining reception rooms, but I thought that the white man’s dignity would be better upheld if we stood around haughtily in the reception hall. I whispered hurriedly to Ralph, who nodded slightly and stayed put.
A minute later the amah appeared at the top of the stairs, palpitating visibly as she hurried down. Lucy was in her arms. I looked out of the corner of my eye at Kate, but she remained impassive. The amah approached us with downcast eyes. There were red welts on her arms. Ralph motioned regally towards Kate. D’Almeida interpreted into Malay. The amah handed Lucy over to Kate.
As she did so she looked up. For one brief moment she hesitated. Sweat began to form on my forehead. The guards each carried a ceremonial kris. Personally, I thought the wavy blades looked uncomfortably sharp.
The seconds stretched out eternally as Kate and the amah looked straight into one another’s eyes. Then, abruptly, the amah let go of Lucy and retreated hurriedly back up the stairs. I let out my breath, which I had been unconsciously holding. We withdrew amid many bowings and scrapings, which Ralph returned with a condescending nod of the head.
SPEEDING BACK to the city, mother and child were the picture of perfect bliss. Ralph had sunk back in the seat, his monocle dangling from its string. His topi was askew and his moustache hung limply. He was completely stupefied. I divested myself of my moustache and undid my tie.
“Never again,” I swore. “I’m sure the amah recognised Kate. Heaven only knows why she let Lucy go. Anyway, where did you get that letter? Did you forge it?”
D’Almeida allowed himself a ghost of a smile. “No, it’s genuine. It’s from Abraham himself. The letter he sent to Miss Earnshaw.”
I sank back into the seat. “God, what a risk. We could have been skewered.”
“No, the risk was minimal. You must have faith in a trained servant’s instinct to obey. I was counting on the fact that none of the staff could read English. I was right. But they could recognise the Tengku Mahkota’s seal and signature. I merely suggested that it was a royal command. The man’s training did the rest. That and his natural awe of the orang puteh. You both did well. The very spitting image of a tuan besar and his faithful minion.”
We basked in the unexpected compliment. It wasn’t often that d’Almeida praised us.
Then an uncomfortable thought struck me. “He’ll know it was us.”
D’Almeida nodded. “Indubitably. And unless I miss my guess, we shall soon have the pleasure of His Royal Highness’ company. I think that you had better leave the YWCA, Miss Earnshaw. Would you care to spend the next few nights at my place?”
“Thank you, Mr d’Almeida, but Dennis has been kind enough to let me stay with his family. We’ll be quite fine.”
D’Almeida nodded. “Excellent. I know you are in good hands.”
I was still uncomfortable. “What will the Bar Committee say if they find out?”
“The Bar Committee is the least of our worries,” replied d’Almeida soberly.
THAT EVENING after dinner I drove over to return Kate’s nurse’s outfit to the YWCA. The place was abuzz with activity when I got there, like an ant’s nest disturbed by a careless foot. Apparently, hooligans had broken in during the day when everyone was out. They had tied up the porter and terrorised the staff. They ransacked several of the rooms. No one knew exactly what they were after, for they had left without taking anything. The police were scouring the grounds for clues. I didn’t wait to hear more. I pushed my old banger to its limits speeding back home.
I screeched to a halt in front of the door with a shower of gravel. Two heads popped out of the upstairs veranda windows to see what all the commotion was about.
“Where’s Kate?” I yelled to Julie and Augusta.
“Behind the house,” replied Julie. “What’s the matter?”
Without answering, I dashed into the house and out onto the back veranda.
I found Kate there, together with all the rest of my cousins. Baby Lucy was holding court, sitting in the centre like a little teddy bear with her chubby legs outstretched, playing with some shiny glass marbles. There is something about babies that renders the average female absolutely dotty. The girls were standing around in a simpering mess, cooing and making other incomprehensible gurgly noises.
I cut in abruptly. “Kate, did you leave a forwarding address at the YWCA?”
“What?” she asked, looking up from Lucy, who was monopolising her attention.
“A forwarding address. Did you tell anyone in the YWCA where you were going?”
“Yes,” she replied, with a puzzled tone. “I gave them your firm’s address. They’ll send anything that comes for me on to the firm. Is anything the matter?”
I heaved a sigh of relief. “Thank God for that.”
By now the girls had gone quiet, looking at me with a mixture of irritation and apprehension. I sat down in an unoccupied chair and started to explain gravely.
“I don’t want to alarm anyone, but the YWCA was broken into this afternoon. Some thugs went through the place.” There was a collective gasp of consternation. “The police don’t know who did it or why, but I’m pretty sure it was Abraham’s people.”
“That’ll be just like him,” Kate said, “He thinks that the rules don’t apply to him.”
“Anyway, just as a precaution, I’d like everyone to get indoors. Shut the windows and bolt the doors. I don’t think he knows where Lucy and Kate are, but we’d better take no chances. We might have visitors in the night.”
The group broke up in a flurry. I went down to the bottom of the garden to fetch old Dollah the gardener. When I got back to the main house, I found preparations for the siege well in hand. Mak had taken the news calmly when the girls broke it to her. She had told Ah Sum to sleep in the living room that night rather than out back in the servants’ quarters. Dollah would spend the night in the kitchen. He had brought along his trusty parang. The house was a fairly large rectangular structure, with verandas all around. The doors were bolted and the dozen french windows leading out onto the verandas were locked. Only the upstairs windows remained open to let in some air, otherwise we would all have been cooked by the heat.
I surveyed the house with some apprehension. It wasn’t built to resist an assault of any sort. Architects in the tropics designed houses to let air in, not keep intruders out. A determined monkey with a screwdriver could have forced his way in. I had a nasty feeling that we were dealing with more than just monkeys. A quick rummage through the attic produced only a few rusty knives. Tying one onto a stake, I fashioned a makeshift lance. Mak had hustled the girls off to bed. She had taken over Lucy, with Gek Neo’s help (this was a golden opportunity to train Gek Neo in the art of baby-minding, and Mak wasn’t about to let it slip).
After a quick patrol around the grounds with Dollah, I retired to the upstairs veranda. This protruded out from the front of the house, creating a porch over the entrance. It was glassed in with windows to form a small room. Seating myself in an easy-chair, I settled down to wait. The twittering from the girls’ rooms gradually ceased. The moon came up after a while, bathing the garden in a blue-white glow. Only the crickets disturbed the silence with their soothing song. Occasionally, I heard the metallic “toc-toc” of the nightjars as they flitted through the dark. Sometime, unnoticed and without volition, I drifted from consciousness to sleep.
I awoke with a start, my consciousness jolted by the realisation that I wasn’t alone. A white figure stood close by. I fumbled frantically for my lance.
“Shh, it’s only me,” whispered a voice. I subsided with relief. “Are you all right? I couldn’t sleep,” said Kate.
“What time is it?” I mumbled, struggling to wake myself.
“2:30. Sorry I woke you.”
Kate was there, barefoot and in her nightdress. She slid silently into a chair.
She had thawed out somewhat in the last couple of days. After the arrival of Lucy she was positively animated. The girls were about her age, and they hit it off well. She hadn’t been in the Colony long enough to become a memsahib. Out here, even a flower girl put on the airs of a duchess when dealing with the natives. Polite society would have been shocked by the thought of a single white woman consorting with the locals in such a way. But in Kate’s case, she had well and truly crossed the colour bar. She had put herself beyond the pale and there was no turning back.
“How’s Lucy?” I asked, making polite conversation.
“Sleeping like a baby. Your mother’s wonderful. I have so much to thank you all for.”
