A Ship's Tale (13 page)

“I
should
dismiss you here and now,” she continued, “but I've been quite satisfied with you until all this. It would be very inconvenient to replace you at this time. So if you can promise to be prompt and industrious tomorrow, I shall let it pass this once.”

“Yes, Mrs. Beasley,” said Katherine tonelessly.

Footsteps approached my hiding place. I was unnerved at hearing the landlady's voice scant inches from my ear. “Don't keep her up too late young man,” she said. Of course she was only guessing, but I was relieved to hear the door shutting after her.

After a moment the wardrobe door was opened. Katherine wore a blank look, but her cheeks were wet. “Well, she's gone.”

“That foul-mouthed old witch! If she speaks to you that way again—”

“Oh, never mind. Just look at me, smuggling a man in, and trying to cover up with feeble lies. So much for not caring what Mrs. Beasley thinks! What a miserable hypocrite I can be. I didn't want to risk getting you sacked as well.”

“Don't be hard on yourself.” I sat down. “You can get out of this, you know.”

She gave a short laugh, “Oh right, go sail off on one of those old wrecks. I don't know how they even stay afloat.” She took up her glass and sat on the edge of the bed. “Are you really suggesting I do that?”

“Yes, I am,” I replied seriously.

She stared. “You must be mad!”

“Katherine, look, I'm not mad. Just let me explain something. One of those ships is quite sound and seaworthy, but she's been made to
look
like a decaying wreck.” Here it went; she'd not come without knowing the whole scheme. “We're taking her up to Dumbarton, Scotland, where she was built. What I'm offering you is passage on that voyage. It won't cost you a farthing. You can do what you like once we dock.”

“You are serious,” she said, deep in thought.

“But there's a catch to it, I'm afraid.”

“Ah?” Her eyes were wide and enquiring, with a curious perilous glint.

“You'd be working your passage as ship's cook.” I hastened to explain, “Some of our men imagine they can attend to it themselves, but I'm afraid their ambitions far exceed their ability.” I put on a mournful expression. “Oh please, we'll be living on salt pork and ship's biscuits if you won't take the position, Miss Katherine.”

She laughed. “I suppose these are the men you've been huddling with in the pub. Exactly how many mouths are we speaking of?”

“Well, there's me, Harris, Bowman, Boris, Edward, and Robert. That's six.”

“That's not so many,” she said.

I held up a hand. “That's not quite all. You've been to the orphanage?”

“Oh yes, a few times,” she said. “Mrs. Beasley sent me up with odds and ends for the boys. She seems to think the place is full of dear little toddlers and sends them baby clothes. Most of the boys are too big to be in an orphanage. That nasty O'Connell thinks he's fascinating to women, and anything in skirts is fair game. I suspect that Beasley must be the only woman he's ever got, and she's welcome to him!”

“What?” I exclaimed, incensed. “Did he try something with you?”

She waved a hand dismissively. “It was nothing. You don't want to know.”

“Oh yes, I do!” I cried, leaping up and nearly knocking over the chair in my haste. Appalled at having been so loud in our delicate situation, I righted the chair and sat again. “Well, I do.”

“The first time I went up there, he offered to give me a ride back in his big shiny car, with
extras
. He promised me dinner, the horrid old troll! Now what were you going to say about the orphanage? Are you taking along some of the boys?”

“Yes, was it that obvious?” I said.

She smiled, “Flynn, you're the most obvious men I've ever met. I need some time to think it through. It's moving rather quickly, you know.”

“Not as quickly as O'Connell,” I growled. “He needs to be taken down a peg or two! What an absolute bounder. He's no more than a dirty old man and a sneak into the bargain. I've swept more appealing things off my boots.”

She laughed, “That's a common sentiment around here, and I've heard worse from some of your sailor friends. That old charmer seems to bring out the beast in all of us.”

I hadn't shared the rake incident with her yet, so I told her, and we both roared. She had some wonderful tales of her customers to relate, and for a time merriment reigned and the whisky flowed while the little stove put out a cheerful heat. We even managed to laugh about me in the wardrobe. I wished the night would go on forever, but at last she rose and stretched her arms.

“I do think we both need
some
sleep,” she yawned.

She walked me to the door. “Now then, I'll be thinking over your interesting offer. You want me to dash off to Scotland with a man I scarcely know, toil as the ship's cook on a condemned vessel, with no idea of what's to happen when we arrive? Isn't that about the gist of it?”

“Well, yes.” It didn't sound terribly sensible, put that way. “Oh, and about the orphanage, there'll be twenty boys coming.”

“Twenty?” she asked in astonishment.

“Yes, they'll be our crew for the ship. They've been training for quite some time. I can tell you more another time, but that's the way it stands at this point. Do give it some thought, but keep it to yourself.”

She gave me an inscrutable look.

“Not a word to anyone. If Harris or Bowman knew I was discussing this with an outsider, I might suffer a worse fate than the bloke who went overboard the other day.” I then told her about Thursday's thrilling “Thames Invasion of the Government Officials,” with a high diving demonstration and umbrella duel. We roared with laughter.

“You know, I think I've met those two. Came in for a pint, didn't tip, and pulled my apron strings as I walked off. Lovely fellows.” she said.

I growled, “Just let me catch them at it!” Then I said wistfully, “This could be a right cosy place if only it weren't in Beasleyland.”

“Yes,” she sighed, “It's a shame I can't just pack it up and take it all with me.”

“At least it's better than living upstairs over the Inn. What heat I get comes from downstairs and it doesn't always seem to have the strength to climb all that way. Unlike the noise from the pub!”

“Oh, but you're lucky, you're under the same roof as the loo. A bit of modern plumbing never hurts, now does it?”

I laughed. I hadn't thought of that.

She nodded, gave me a soft kiss on the cheek, and pushed me closer to the door. “I'm leaving! Really, I'm leaving!” I said as I put on my cap. I opened the door and said good night.

“Good night,” she whispered.

Drifting off into the night, I was buoyed by the hope that Katherine was coming with us! She hadn't said as much, but she was thinking it over. Up the stairs and ladder I floated. After kicking off my boots, I fell exhausted onto the bed. What a day! I kept turning these thoughts over in my mind. I drew aside the curtain, and peered out into the darkness towards Katherine's cottage, where a light still glowed. A few moments later the light was extinguished. I trusted that my ship's cook was on her way to dreamland, where I dared to hope there might be room for me.

Chapter 9

ANOTHER DAY, ANOTHER GOOSE CHASE

My head had scarcely touched the pillow when I was jarred into consciousness by the screams of Mrs. Beasley, punctuated by the honking of a goose.

“Mr. Flynn! Mr. Flynn! Do come quickly!” sounded in urgent tones beneath my window.

With a sense of dread, I arose half-conscious and hastened into my clothes. Next, I launched into my daily round of hunting for my boots. By sheer chance, last night's kick had landed them neatly together on the other side of the room. Mastering the sudden urge to open the window and hurl them at her, I pulled them on. Being at the beck and call of that woman had become more galling than ever. I descended the stairs to the kitchen where I found Martin finishing his breakfast.

As his eye lit upon me, he clasped his hands together in tremulous supplication. “Oh Mr. Flynn, you big strong man,” he cooed, “Mrs. Beasley needs you. You must render aid and succour to the frail and fair!”

“Leave off,” I snarled groggily, “or I'll give you frail and fair.” He laughed as I crossed to the door and stood blinking out the window. I couldn't believe it! There was Purdy back up in the same tree with the same goose rampaging below. And once again there was Mrs. Beasley frantically hovering, beside herself with distress. Nursing another bitter thought, I opened the door and prepared to play the hero of the hour once more. Before going, I turned and fixed a narrowed glance on Martin, raising a warning finger. “You're not out of this yet, mate,” I said ominously, and went out.

“Oh, there you are, Mr. Flynn,” exclaimed the landlady as she hurried over to me. Her dressing gown of bright magenta mercifully concealed whatever lacy night-time confection presently adorned her form. “That dreadful goose waits for poor little Purdy when he goes near the pond!”

I held up a weary hand. “Purdy should have the sense to stay away from the pond, don't you think?”

“See here, young man,” she snapped, wagging a finger under my nose, “don't you
dare
speak about my Purdy in that fashion. He's a wonderful sweet-natured cat, and very, very clever. And what a wonder he is with the mice!”

“He seems to like his mice with feathers,” I muttered, trying to conceal my mounting resentment, which was especially sharp after remembering the way she'd spoken to Katherine last night.

“None of your cheek now,” she scowled. “Can't you see we've an emergency here? Purdy is up the tree again. I want you and Martin to get him down straightaway, by whatever method you used before.

The great bird was now proceeding back towards the pond at a stately waddle, but Mrs. Beasley remained. I had the distinct impression she intended to watch the proceedings, and that would never do. “I'll fetch Martin,” I said. I turned to find him descending the kitchen steps.

“Ready for my expert assistance?” he asked cheerfully.

“Yes,” I said, rubbing my eyes. “But I think she means to watch us.”

Martin grimaced, “That complicates matters.”

The outlook did seem questionable, so it was plain that a diversion would be needed. My mind ran over desperate and impracticable schemes, but just then came the welcome sound of the telephone ringing within.

Mrs. Beasley glanced impatiently in the direction of the Inn as the ringing continued. “Why doesn't Katherine answer that? Where
is
the girl?” she grumbled. “After all I've done for her, and this is how she repays me! Oh, I'm coming, I'm coming…” and she scurried back inside. She really was a beastly old slave driver! “Beastly” seemed just the right word for her, so I made up my mind that henceforth she'd always be Mrs.
Beastly
to me.

I realised I was wasting precious seconds. The phone was in the windowless corridor connecting the kitchen to the pub, so there was no chance of her glimpsing Purdy's descent if we acted quickly. I leapt for the hose and turned on the tap. Twisting the nozzle full on, I sent a vigorous stream into the upper branches of the larch. This time Purdy didn't wait for the water to reach him, and may have carried no more than one or two stray drops with him as he streaked down and into the haven of the rose bramble.

“
Flynn
!” I jumped at the wild shriek, and turned to find Mrs. Beasley poised upon the kitchen doorstep, her fists clenched. I remembered tales of the frightful attacks suffered by people who came between wild animals and their young.

“Yes, Mrs. Beasley?” I said sheepishly.

She glared. “Did I tell you to turn a hosepipe on my cat?
Did
I?”

“Really, it seemed much safer than pulling him down by hand. The water never intended to touch him, just to frighten him into moving.” This didn't mollify her in the least. “What a horrid trick to play on an innocent creature! I suppose this is how you got him down before!”

I looked over at Martin, who was doing his best to pass for invisible.

I coiled up the hose, thinking quickly as I did so. “You see, Mrs. Beast…ah,
Beasley
, it's all a matter of the water. If Purdy were only a bit more shy of water, he wouldn't go near the pond and the goose. It was only to teach him the dangers of water that I turned on the hose. He could even fall into the pond, you know.” Pure invention of course, but it did sound quite logical.

She knitted her brow. “It was a very ill-conceived plan, Mr. Flynn,” she said at last, “and you should have consulted me before proceeding. But I suppose you meant well. However, don't you
ever
turn the water on Purdy again. Is that understood?”

“Yes, of course. I'm dreadfully sorry.” I was only sorry I didn't catch him full in the spray.

Martin and I nipped back into the kitchen. As I made for the inner door to wash my hands, Martin spoke up, “Dreadfully sorry? Well, you're dreadful, but not a bit sorry, I'll be bound.”

“Oh, shut up,” I said.

“I can't think why people take on so over cats in trees,” he went on. “How long have you been gardening?” Martin asked.

What was he on about? “I couldn't say exactly. Nearly twenty years on and off, I suppose.”

Martin stroked his chin, affecting an air of sagacity. “Tell me then, when was the last time you found a
cat
skeleton up in a tree?”

I had to chuckle. “I never looked at it that way.”

From behind the scullery door came a peal of feminine laughter, and Katherine looked out. “I was sorry I missed the first goose adventure,” she smiled, “but this one must take a near second place. I saw it all out of the window. If only I'd had a camera!” she giggled.

I was relieved to find her in such good spirits. There was nothing in her manner to suggest a person pondering a weighty question, which I took as encouraging.

“You'll be wanting your breakfast now, won't you?” she asked.

“Yes, but not unwashed and unshaven,” I replied. “I went direct from bed to back door with no stops between. I'm not fit for polite company.”

“Not to worry,” Martin laughed, “we ain't polite!”

Katherine flapped her apron at him.

As I made for the inner door, Mrs. Beastly bustled in and buttonholed me again. Katherine quietly withdrew back into the scullery. “Now then, Mr. Flynn,” she said in brisk tones, “I've a new list for you. Today I want you to start work on the rockery.”

A rockery? That was news to me. I'd just finished repairing the old cucumber frame; it was perfectly serviceable. I began to suspect that she intended keeping me on until her “young gardener” returned, which might well never come to pass. Well, she was due to be disappointed, and she'd lose her maid-of-all-work when she lost her gardener-cum-cat-retriever, if I had any say in the matter. After a few more instructions she went back out and left me to my own devices, and to her list. I hurried to wash and get myself to breakfast, for there was much to do, and most of it wasn't connected with a rockery.

Thinking of the approaching voyage brought my Uncle George to mind. He had often told me of the days when he'd lived in Scotland, not far from Dumbarton. Perhaps Uncle George had tired of New Zealand and gone back to his old haunts. What
was
the name of that town?

I sat down to breakfast with busy thoughts, while Katherine scrubbed and clattered nearby in the scullery. Once I'd finished eating, I peered into the pub where Martin was sitting with his feet up, industriously polishing glasses while he listened to the wireless. As I went back through the kitchen, I paused on the doorstep surveying the garden.

“Mrs. Beasley, about this list. Would you object to my taking some half-days? I promised to help some friends.” I followed this request with my most appealing nice-young-man look.

“Well,” she said, “As long as you finish the job by the end of the week.”

I set to work collecting stones for the rockery, which was to occupy much of the slope below the Ornamental Rock. By midday I had amassed an impressive heap, and called it my half-day. It was time I looked in on my future shipmates.