The Frangipani Tree Mystery

Book 1: Su Lin Series

by Ovidia Yu

Genres: Mystery

Synopsis

First in a delightfully charming crime series set in 1930s Singapore, introducing amateur sleuth Su Lin, a local girl stepping in as governess for the Acting Governor of Singapore.

1936 in the Crown Colony of Singapore, and the British abdication crisis and rising Japanese threat seem very far away. When the Irish nanny looking after Acting Governor Palin's daughter dies suddenly – and in mysterious circumstances – mission school-educated local girl Su Lin – an aspiring journalist trying to escape an arranged marriage – is invited to take her place.

But then another murder at the residence occurs and it seems very likely that a killer is stalking the corridors of Government House. It now takes all Su Lin's traditional skills and intelligence to help British-born Chief Inspector Thomas LeFroy solve the murders – and escape with her own life.

Release date: June 1, 2017

Publisher: Little, Brown Book Group

Print pages: 320

Sample

‘No! No! No! No! No! You ignorant, backward man, you can’t just marry off Su Lin! Don’t you see what an utter waste that would be? Your niece has her School Certificate! This is 1936! Women have rights! Women have responsibilities!’

Miss Vanessa Palin might not be shouting (‘A lady can always make herself heard without shouting’) at the large, bald Chinese man (my uncle Chen) facing her, but she was certainly declaiming at the full volume of a voice she was always reminding us should be ‘soft, gentle and low, an excellent thing in woman’. It was not surprising that Uncle Chen looked uncomfortable, but he was standing his ground. Although she was not a teacher, Miss Nessa lectured regularly at the Mission School on ‘The Proper Pronunciation and Enunciation of the King’s English’ as well as ‘Table Etiquette and Hygiene for Young Ladies’. This indefatigable woman was tall, clever, and resembled Mrs Virginia Woolf, the writer. She was the unmarried sister of Sir Henry Palin, acting governor of Singapore, and some believed he owed his position and much of his success to her. I know I was not the only student at the school who took her as my role model.

I was Miss Nessa’s star pupil because I could mimic her accent perfectly. I was one of the girls most often invited to ‘tea and conversation’ with visitors she brought to view the Ladies’ Mission. Miss Nessa and her visitors didn’t know my fluency in English came from my grandmother’s shortwave radio. Since Ah Ma had sent me to study English at the Mission, it had been my nightly duty to translate into Hokkien and Malay for her the BBC Empire Service programmes ‘for men and women so cut off by the snow, the desert, or the sea, that only voices out of the air can reach them’. Chen Tai (as everyone outside the family knew Ah Ma) had no great love for the British but, like Sun Tzu, she believed in knowing her enemies.

Knowing Miss Nessa had a soft spot for me, I had asked her to help me find a job. I could not tell her that I longed to be independent like her, and see the world beyond Singapore, so I might have exaggerated my fear of being married off now my schooldays were over. In truth, Ah Ma might have kept me at home with her to recoup the investment she had made in sending me to learn English reading and writing at the Mission School. I had been considered ‘bad luck’ since my parents had died from typhoid, and childhood polio had left me with a limp. It had seemed unlikely my family would ever be able to marry me off, but since I was the only child of Ah Ma’s favourite son, she had decided to educate rather than sell me. My grandmother’s moneylending and black-market businesses had made her rich in the continuing Depression, and she could afford to keep me at home to translate for her, run errands and monitor the household accounts. But, grateful though I was to her, the school run by the Mission Centre had opened my eyes to a whole world of possibilities. I wanted more than a lifetime of toil under my grandmother or a mother-in-law. If I was to escape domestic captivity, I would need my own money, which was why I had to find a paying job. (It would also have been easier if I had been an English woman rather than a Chinese girl, but I didn’t worry about what I couldn’t change.)

Unfortunately, Uncle Chen heard that the Mission Centre was getting me a job and decided that he, my dead father’s eldest surviving brother, should rescue me from the shame of employment. Last night he and his wife Shen-Shen had presented Ah Ma with the names of three men willing to marry me on the condition she released them from their loan obligations to her and provided them with equipment and supplies to set up a laundry or food business in a shop-house, rent-free, for five years as dowry. Two were already married, but they were all family employees and their wives would accept Uncle Chen’s crippled niece as a second wife. Uncle Chen and Shen-Shen told Ah Ma that unless she had me married off at once, my Mission School friends would match me up with some relative of Parshanti (bad because Indian) or Grace (worse because Christian). The whole family, ancestors and descendants included, would be disgraced for ever.

‘I must think about it,’ my grandmother told them. ‘Five years’ rent is a lot of money.’ My grandmother disliked giving away money almost as much as she disliked being told what to do.

I wasn’t against marriage. I just didn’t want to marry a man as a business deal. I asked Uncle Chen for a job instead of a husband, but Uncle Chen was one of those old-fashioned men who saw all working women as servants or prostitutes, even though he deferred to Ah Ma in important business decisions.

I had taught myself shorthand and typing, and thought I could earn a salary as a secretary. My dream was to train for a profession. Thanks to Miss Nessa, I knew that women in England and America trained to be teachers, nurses and even doctors, and I was sure that, given time, I could talk Ah Ma round to accepting that. First, though, I had to earn my training fees. That was why I had slipped away from home that morning to meet Miss Nessa and my potential employer.

One of the servants must have told tales, which had resulted in Uncle Chen charging into the Mission Centre to save me from myself and Western influences.

‘You ignorant fool! You should be proud of Su Lin! She is very intelligent! She came top of the class!’ Miss Nessa raised her voice over Uncle Chen’s Hokkien tirade, which concerned the unclean state of Nessa Palin’s genitals and how he would never allow a skinny sterile white woman to rob the Chen family of a precious granddaughter (he meant me). He jabbed me in the back to translate while glaring at Miss Nessa.

I had stopped translating when they started talking at the same time, but that had not stopped them. Very likely they hadn’t even noticed. After all, they understood themselves and neither was listening to the other. Now Miss Nessa was watching and waiting for me to translate her words. The large black handbag she was swinging vigorously looked dangerous.

‘My uncle says my grandmother wants only what’s best for me,’ I told Miss Nessa, then to Uncle Chen, ‘My teacher respectfully says she wants to help me not be a burden to my family.’

They both snorted. A noise at the open doorway sounded like a laugh. I turned and saw a tall, dark Englishman hesitating just outside. He had clearly come to keep an appointment – and it was even clearer that he was thinking of leaving without fulfilling it. Even from the street outside, the row going on inside must have been entertaining.

‘I think Chief Inspector Le Froy is here,’ I said warningly. I recognized him from the newspapers. Once my friend Parshanti and I had been studying at the back of her parents’ shop when he had come in to ask Mrs Shankar to help identify a button found at a crime scene. We had watched through the curtains. Unfortunately, she had not been able to help him and he had not stayed long. This was the first time I was seeing him at such close quarters and I couldn’t help staring. Thomas Le Froy was the closest thing Singapore Island had to a Rudolph Valentino, a Douglas Fairbanks or a John Barrymore, all combined in the person of one genuine hero . . .

I must digress. Unless you are aware of the awe with which Chief Inspector Le Froy was regarded, you will find it impossible to understand how great a favour Miss Nessa was doing me. Thomas Francis Le Froy, of the Criminal Intelligence Department, was a legend in the Crown Colonies. He spoke fluent Hokkien and Malay; he had pulled rickshaws and infiltrated gambling dens disguised as a Chinese drains inspector. Most of the single ladies in town (and a good number of the married ones) were in love with him, but even top investigative gossips, like my grandmother and Shen-Shen, had no stories of female companions. In fact, I suspected Miss Nessa hoped to use me to insinuate herself into his life, much in the way that a young man gives a puppy or kitten to the object of his affections. ‘Give me all the details of his household and I will tell you how to go about your duties,’ she had told me. Despite the height, large feet and sharp features that protected her from the sin of vanity, Miss Nessa was not immune to Le Froy.

Years of balancing home and Mission School life had taught me to seize all opportunities as soon as they arose, before they could be snatched away. Thomas Le Froy was the work opportunity Miss Nessa had engineered for me, promising, ‘You will be safer with him than with any old woman. He’s too engrossed in his work to have time for women, and where can you be safer than working for a policeman? Even your family won’t dare to touch you there. And I hear that he is in desperate need of a housekeeper.’

‘Chief Inspector Le Froy?’ I stepped forward as he turned to me, looking surprised. ‘I am Chen Su Lin. I believe Miss Nessa spoke to you about me?’

I had not planned to work as a cleaner or housekeeper but anything that took me away from Uncle Chen’s suitors was a step in the right direction. And, if I made myself useful, who could say how swiftly I might move up from housekeeper to assistant and even secretary?

‘You’re late, Chief Inspector!’ Miss Nessa snapped. Then, collecting herself, ‘Good morning.’

‘It is not yet eleven, Miss Palin. What is the mysterious affair you wish to discuss?’ Le Froy’s eyes returned to me. I thought I saw discomfort in them, even a touch of distaste.

‘No reason to rush. Some tea, I think – Su Lin, if you would—’ Miss Nessa tried to return to her carefully planned introduction, but was interrupted again when Uncle Chen grabbed my arm and walked me towards the door. Miss Nessa seized my other arm. Like the baby in the Bible story, I was being pulled apart, but without a true mother in the picture.

‘Chief Inspector! You must make this man leave at once!’

‘It is best not to interfere in domestic situations.’ Le Froy turned to the door, hoping for an excuse to escape. He looked exactly like the Mission kindergarten children trying to avoid questions when they hadn’t prepared an answer. The thought made me grin just as he glanced at me. Did that trigger a curiosity that made him stay?

‘Perhaps you would permit me to close the front door, Miss Palin.’ A small crowd of hawkers, coolies and rickshaw-pullers had clustered outside to watch what was going on within. Among them I recognized a couple of men who worked for Uncle Chen. If Le Froy knew these people as well as I did, he would be aware that they were already placing bets on which of us the chief inspector was going to arrest and take away. A Singaporean never missed the chance to gamble.

‘May I?’

‘That’s a good idea. You are a practical man, Chief Inspector.’ Rather than accept his offer, Miss Nessa swung the doors shut and tugged at the flat bolt, which was meant to lock them. Like so many things at the Mission Centre for which volunteers had been responsible, it didn’t quite fit and stuck, but the doors stayed closed.

‘Please take a seat, Chief Inspector,’ Miss Nessa said, with abrupt dignity. ‘I must apologize for the circus here this morning. This man . . .’ She looked severely at Uncle Chen, but he was suddenly fussing over me, straightening my shirt over my shoulders and patting down my hair. In other words, establishing family authority in the way that a farmer claims ownership of a pig at the market. I respected my uncle, who indulged his mother’s fondness for me, had never stinted on my food or clothes after my father’s death had left him head of the Chen family, and had not thrown me out when fortune-tellers told him his own childless marriage was due to my bad-luck presence. Uncle Chen had taken only one wife so far and, though married for more than ten years, Shen-Shen was barely in her thirties. And although Uncle Chen was trying to strong-arm me into marriage, he had tried to reassure me: ‘Don’t be scared. If your husband beats you or doesn’t give you children, you tell me and I’ll make sure he dies without children!’

‘Good morning, Miss Palin,’ Le Froy said. ‘You did say eleven o’clock? I can return at some other time if this is not convenient.’ He glanced at my uncle again. His eyes darted constantly around the room as though he were taking stock and assessing everything in it.

It was said that Le Froy was a fair man, known for his willingness to work with – and against – men of any race, language or religion. Since his arrival on the island, he had promoted good local people based on the standard of their work and pursued Europeans who had broken the law. He was at the Mission Centre that morning thanks to Miss Nessa. After all Miss Vanessa Palin was the sister of Singapore’s acting governor, Sir Henry Palin, currently based in Government House on Frangipani Hill. Sir Henry represented British colonial authority in Singapore, and Nessa Palin represented Sir Henry. Chief Inspector Le Froy might be head of the Singapore Police but, like everyone else on the island, he was subject to the Crown and colonial authority.

‘Oh, no, Chief Inspector. Of course this is convenient. You have an appointment, after all. Some local people do not understand how to make and keep appointments.’ Miss Nessa threw a triumphant glance at my uncle. She had never doubted her victory but it was still nice to see rivals crumble as reinforcements arrived.

Uncle Chen did not crumble. He locked strong plump fingers around my arm and started to pull me towards the exit again, muttering rude things under his breath. I didn’t know whether he had recognized the policeman but Le Froy was an ang moh – a white man – and Uncle Chen did not trust ang mohs. Again, Miss Nessa seized my other arm, effectively halting progress.

‘I don’t know what the man is talking about.’ Miss Nessa’s voice rose to drown Uncle Chen’s rant. ‘Can’t you get one of your men to put him out? You’re supposed to be keeping order here. Please make sure we’re not bothered by gaga natives.’

‘He’s threatening to come back and burn down the Mission building if you try to keep his dead brother’s orphan daughter prisoner here,’ Le Froy translated calmly.

I noticed he had kept the more colourful parts of my uncle’s tirade to himself: he had not told Miss Nessa she had been called an immoral white ghost, a tigress, and less useful than what comes out of the hind end of a barren chicken. Nevertheless I was impressed by his fluency. I was even more impressed when he turned to my uncle and said, in flawless Hokkien, ‘It’s against the law to burn down buildings, sir.’

Uncle Chen paused to assess him, still suspicious but somewhat mollified by his respectful use of ‘sir’. Most ang mohs demanded respect without giving it. Uncle Chen focused his attention on Le Froy, sniffing like a suspicious guard dog trying to decide whether to bite. Many Chinese people said ang mohs smelt of dead cow because of all the beef they ate. Perhaps he’d caught a whiff of it.

‘Who are you?’

‘My name is Thomas Le Froy. I am a police officer. I am here to keep the peace and protect your rights. What may I call you?’

‘Chen. If you are a police officer, you’d better tell this unmarried white she-devil to give me back my dead brother’s daughter.’

Le Froy returned to Nessa and the English language: ‘Miss Palin, have you taken Mr Chen’s niece away from her family?’

‘Don’t be absurd, Chief Inspector. Why would I want to do that? I am only trying to help her! Su Lin, tell the inspector what your family is trying to do to you!’

They all turned to stare at me. I could easily act the part each expected of me, but I had shown these people such very different sides of myself that I couldn’t think what to say to them together. I froze.

‘She’s shy,’ Miss Nessa said confidently. ‘And she’s scared of her uncle. He wants to marry her off to some old man.’

‘Miss Chen Su Lin? This man is your uncle?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘You can speak English. I assume you were translating for them?’

‘I was, sir, but I couldn’t keep up.’ Since he had heard them shouting there was no need to continue.

‘Perhaps you could explain to me how things stand.’

‘Su Lin has been a model student at the Mission School for years.’ Nessa Palin was not used to hearing anyone else explain anything when she was around to do it better. ‘Last year she was one of the first girls in Malaya to sit for the Cambridge School Leaving Certificate Examination and pass. It would be criminal and irresponsible to marry her into virtual slavery!’

Le Froy hushed her with a small hand gesture. ‘I want to hear from Su Lin. Start at the beginning.’

I was wearing a plain Western-style cotton frock and spectacles (which I didn’t really need, except for reading), but my long hair was plaited and wound around my head in traditional style. I was sure there was nothing to make me stand out in a crowd, yet Le Froy seemed to be studying me with attention.

I was sixteen but most people thought I was younger. Despite the limp, I was sure I looked too clean and well fed to be a runaway mui tsai or indentured (slave) girl. The way in which he was inspecting me would have been rude – though routine for an ang moh in authority – if he had not given me a small, polite nod of acknowledgement when our eyes met. Now that was unexpected. I was so taken aback I nodded back automatically. He smiled.

Perhaps he was not only interested in my appearance. Most Chinese girls encountered in town would either smile flirtatiously or stare, speechless, at their feet. I should have decided in advance which of these examples to follow. Instead, betrayed by my own curiosity, I had been staring hard at him.

‘Why did your parents send you to the English school? Why don’t you want to marry the man they have chosen for you?’

‘My parents are dead. My grandmother sent me to the English school so that I can earn my own living because I would bring bad luck to the family I marry into. That is why Miss Nessa is helping me to find work. My uncle wants me to marry a man without family so that I will have a husband to look after me, but . . .’

But a man without family would hardly be an honourable match for me.

I did not really expect an ang moh to understand. Although Ah Ma ruled the family and the family businesses in everything but name, girls were worth little. Locals worried that the ‘Mission Girls’, as we were dubbed, would learn Western ways and be difficult to marry off. However, most of the other Mission Girls had been snapped up as soon as they showed their noses outside the schoolroom and, so far, our years of study had not produced the cross-eyed babies predicted by superstitious traditionalists. Only a few of us remained on the shelf: my friend Parshanti, because of her mixed Anglo-Indian origins, and myself, because of my limp and my reputation as bringer of bad luck, or so I liked to think.

‘Who do you want her to marry, sir?’ Le Froy asked Uncle Chen, in Hokkien.

To my surprise, Uncle Chen answered him: ‘Chang is one of my associates. He comes from the north, Negri Sembilan. He is a younger son with many brothers so he can’t expect much from his family.’ That was probably why he was willing to marry a polio victim. Uncle Chen turned to me. ‘Chang is a good man. He has no debts, and if he marries you, I will give him one of the Tiong Bahru supply shops to run. Tiong Bahru is a good location. You can help him and you will live well.’

‘Have you discussed this with Su Lin?’

Uncle Chen seemed to think there was no need for discussion. ‘The man was married before but his wife died. He already has three children. It is about time she learned to look after children.’

‘So, as we agreed, you will take Su Lin as your assistant and housekeeper?’ Miss Nessa interrupted. She did not understand Hokkien but I suspect Le Froy’s lack of aggression towards Uncle Chen worried her. ‘No man will dare interfere with Su Lin if she is under your protection.’ She looked meaningfully at Uncle Chen, then turned back to Le Froy, ‘And it would be very good for you to have someone looking after you and managing your servants.’

Le Froy gazed at my uncle, clearly expecting more protests. But Uncle Chen was watching him with a guarded, calculating expression. The chief inspector glanced at me, and as our eyes met, I saw his apprehension. Chief Inspector Thomas Le Froy, whose name struck terror into the hearts of all the toughest gangsters and gamblers in Singapore, was frightened of the teenage housekeeper a woman was trying to manipulate him into hiring! I couldn’t help it – I laughed. Le Froy looked startled, but then he shook his head with a wry grin.

Le Froy might have been a hero but that morning he was clearly a weary one. His square shoulders slumped and his eyes avoided Miss Nessa’s. I had heard rumours that, although the chief inspector would take on any man in a fair fight, he preferred not to deal with women. In the newspapers he had been quoted as saying that the police force would never employ female officers because it was impossible to work with irrational persons. Miss Nessa was rational as long as she had her own way, but at that moment I felt sorry for Le Froy.

‘Well?’ Miss Nessa might have been prodding a terrified student for an answer.

Before he could respond, there was a series of quick knocks and the unbolted door was pushed open. ‘Chief Inspector Le Froy?’ The newcomer’s khaki shirt and shorts marked him as a junior police constable. ‘I was told you were here. I have a message for you.’

‘What is it?’

‘News of a death on Frangipani Hill.’

‘What?’ Miss Nessa’s normally strong voice faltered. ‘Don’t be ridiculous!’

Frangipani Hill was where Government House stood. The governor’s Residence, where Miss Nessa lived with her brother’s family, stood just behind it. ‘What’s happened? Is it Sir Henry? Was it an accident? A shooting? Who is dead, man? Tell me!’

The officer ignored her, looking to Le Froy for directions.

‘Who is dead?’ Le Froy switched into professional mode, somehow looking taller and more authoritative. I doubted he would have been notified if one of the servants or local administrators had died. It must be someone more important, one of the white officials at least. Uncle Chen was silent. I could see he was trying to take in all he could without calling attention to himself.

‘It’s the girl who was helping to look after the tan bai kia.’

Tan bai kia is a local phrase, often used as an insult. Translated literally from the Chinese Teochew dialect, it means ‘retarded child’ – in other words, the Palin girl.

‘The tan bai kia is dead?’

I had always suspected my uncle understood a great deal more English than he let on. Now he was even trying to speak it. I whispered back to him, ‘No, Uncle. The white girl looking after her is dead.’

‘Charity,’ Nessa Palin said. She was clearly relieved that her brother was alive but she seemed shocked and, for a moment, swayed on her feet. I moved a chair behind her and took her arm to guide her onto it. She sat with. . .