Barb Zaneson's Miscellany

Round 2 - Singapore Catfish

Mrs. Chesterby, who employed me as her housekeeper, wasn't entirely sane. We sailed to join her husband in Singapore, a land of opium smokers and oddly-dressed foreigners, and I had hoped her unsound mind would be less noticeable there. But once the monsoon season started, with drenching rains and howling winds, she grew even less stable.

One afternoon I carried a tea tray into Mr. Chesterby's downstairs study, determined to speak to him. He was a large man, who was leaning over his desk, peering at an open ledger covered with columns of black and red numbers.

His young business partner, Mr. Berenson, stood by a window, watching the rain. He turned with his most charming smile, but then saw me. “Where's the new local girl? Doesn't she bring the tea?"

I set my tray on a small table, and filled two cups from a porcelain teapot. ”May is with Mrs. Chesterby, who is worse today.“

Mr. Berenson crossed the room and took a teacup. ”Is she still sitting unmoving, with that horrible pug on her lap, snoring like a locomotive?"

“Ahem,” said Mr. Chesterby.

“The dog, I meant, snoring. Not the missus.”  Mr. Berenson winked at me.

I frowned. “No, sir. She's agitated, and seeing things. She threw her hand mirror into a corner this morning, and broke it, because she imagined a tiger there. She also hears crocodiles inside the walls, and she's deathly afraid of crocodiles.”

Mr. Chesterby turned a page in his ledger. “Tell her she hears the rain. We all hear the rain. Use some empathy.”

“I do, sir.” I set a teacup on Mr. Chesterby's desk.

Mr. Berenson walked back to the window. “Really, Chesterby, I don't understand why you don't just send her home."

”There's no use. They would lock her in a lunatic asylum, which would be expensive and useless. She'd be miserable.“ He turned another page.

I picked up the tea tray, considered not speaking, and spoke anyhow from the doorway. ”Begging your pardon, sir, but she's already miserable. She hates the tropics. She would love to go visit her sister's family in London, and see her baby nephew.“

He turned a page without looking at me. ”Mind your place.“

Mr. Berenson smirked. ”I agree with Mrs. Fionne. Anyhow, your wife scares the plantation workers. They think she's possessed by a demon.“

Mr. Chesterby straightened up and glared at Mr. Berenson. ”Are you certain they all think that, or is it just that superstitious fool interpreter you hired?“

”Oh, does it matter? It would be simplest just to send her home. My cousin is sailing the day after tomorrow. He could escort her back to London.“

”No. Enough.“ Mr. Chesterby slammed the ledger shut. ”I can't afford any more expenses. We've barely recovered from the nutmeg blight, and the cholera outbreak, and the man-eating tiger last year, not to mention my loan to you to cover your gambling debts. My wife is not traveling anywhere.“

From upstairs, May's voice called, ”Madam?"

I left the men to their discussion, and hurried to the front stairs. I met May hurrying down.