A Ship's Tale (20 page)

“Right,” Bowman said, “I think we can accommodate this cook of yers. Bring him down to the ship later tonight and we'll have a look at him. I'll be happy to take on anyone who can make such food as this.”

I thought it prudent for now not to correct his assumption that the cook was a man. Boris, Edward, and Robert must become converts by taste alone. Then I'd have their support in the debate that would surely ensue about having females on the ship. Having made a satisfactory end to this subject for the time being, we now proceeded to go over our speculations and plans for the coming days.

Harris grumbled over Edward monopolising the charts. “We'll want a look at those, you know. Unless our Ned stops being such a damned stickler over protocol with those charts, I'm going to roll them up and feed them to him, and I don't care which end I go at.”

“Now, steady on, Harris, he knows exactly what he's about,” Bowman said evenly.

“Oh, aye? Then why are you two always fighting over details?” cried Harris.

Bowman fell back on his favourite maxim. “All things in good time.”

“Bloody hell!” Harris laughed. “You've said that once too often, Uncle Billy.” He rose and strode off, waving goodbye over his shoulder. Going out the door, he slammed it so vigorously that I thought it would come off its hinges.

Almost immediately we could hear the voice of Mrs. Beastly. “Will you please not slam that door! You'll pay if it's got to be mended again. I'll have the police on you!”

Harris gave forth a lion-like roar. “Bring on your Bobbies, I'll have 'em for supper! I'm a slammer, I am, as my dad was before me!” and he laughed fiendishly. Not quite the approach I would have taken. I heard the landlady's own door slam as she retreated inside, probably worried that there was a lunatic at large.

Bowman got to his feet, chuckling. There were eight pies remaining. I parcelled up seven of them in newspaper. I couldn't let them
all
go! I added the packet to the other bundle as samples for the others.

“Please make sure that the others get these, and mind that Harris doesn't get his great paws on them,” I cautioned Bowman.

“No fear o' that,” Bowman said stolidly, and set out with his precious burden.

I sat looking wistfully at the last pie. I was well in the toils of serious temptation, when I glanced up to see Katherine approaching. She sat down across from me and looked at the pie, all alone on that big platter.

She smiled. “I understand my pies have made quite a hit.”

“Haven't they just?” I laughed. “The general opinion seems to be that they're the best thing on the planet. Can you really make them again? And what was in them? Some kind of poultry, wasn't it? Or maybe rabbit?”

She turned her head and twinkled at me. Then I knew. I gasped. “The duck!” I cried in horror.

Now, I've always liked duck. The only thing that put me off about this particular duck was the fact that Purdy had a romp with it and mauled it to death before it was cooked and served up. I found the idea distasteful, shall we say?

“A duck's a duck,” said Katherine. “Forgive me?”

I had to grin. “All right, a duck's a duck…and I'm a goose for ever making a fuss over it.” It wasn't like conditions during the War, when some soldiers had eaten a dog or worse because there was no meat or rations. All supply lines had been cut off, while they tried to hold a beachhead until support could reach them. And here I was squeamish about a duck caught by a cat. They would have eaten the cat too and been glad of it.

I looked at Katherine. “I love your duck pies. I'd eat them every day, even if they were all brought in by the cat.”

The smile she gave me was worth eating
worm
pies. My heart did a two-step. “I'm off at ten,” she said.

“That's perfect. We'll go down to the ship and make your appointment official. Bowman has already sworn to take on the cook who baked those pies. Harris agrees, and everyone else is being
pied
into submission. I suppose we really owe Purdy a vote of thanks.”

She looked at me askance and rose from the table. “Well, I'll leave
you
to deliver it to him, then. I've work to do.”

I stared at the last pie. Perhaps I should get the thing bronzed.

Taking the pie into the kitchen, I tucked it into the larder. I went and busied myself cleaning the mud from my wellies. I pottered about in my room, tucking various items into my duffel. It occurred to me that I might need to retrieve my soiled clothes from the laundry basket if I wanted them along on short notice. At last the longed-for hour struck, and I came downstairs, full of anticipation.

Katherine was waiting. She'd discarded her apron and was putting on her cape. She waved happily when she saw me. I ran to the kitchen, retrieving the lone pie which I carefully slid into the pocket of my mac. We set off into the night, which wore an inky darkness under its blanket of water-heavy clouds. I'd brought my torch so we'd not be tumbling into any ditches or puddles along the way. A chill wind was blowing up, and Katherine shivered and drew on her hood. I put my arm around her as we walked along the lane, picking our way amongst the puddles and streams. As we walked, we talked of different things, mostly of the past and our dreams for the future.

As we passed the churchyard, its old gravestones looked like ghostly aberrations in the darkness.

Katherine told me of her marriage, which had lasted one short month. Her husband had been a casualty early in the War. Looking back now, she thought they'd married too young.

“He was a nice boy,” she sighed, “but being a nice boy doesn't mean that life will be kind. I hardly even knew him. It seems a hundred years ago, another lifetime. Since then, I've met so many men who were anything but nice boys, the kind who don't care a bit for what's inside a girl's head, only what's inside her knickers.” She squeezed my hand. “But don't think for a minute that I ever classed you with that lot. You're not just a nice boy, you're a good man, and something more beside. You're just different from anyone else I've ever met.”

I'm sure I was blushing by now, but the dark mercifully hid it from her. I didn't quite know what to say, so I stopped and gave her as eloquent a kiss as I could muster. It must have spoken volumes, for the conversation went on for some time, and Katherine met me word for word! We were oblivious to all else for some time. At last we parted lips, aware that we couldn't simply stand kissing all night on a muddy road with the rain threatening, though it seemed a splendid idea. We had the future to think of, and we had to get to the ship if we
were
to have a future together. We continued on at a brisker pace.

When we reached the
Bonnie Clyde
, I helped her up the awkward gangway. Although Katherine said she'd never been on a full-sized sailing ship before, she seemed quite at home on the uneven boards of the ramp and didn't need help at all. I was glad to find her so agile, for I'd only thought of her as graceful and feminine. No hothouse rose, she! Well, she'd be using that agility soon enough.

As we came on board, the hatchway was immediately thrown open, and there came a murmur of voices from below. I could see Harris's looming silhouette against the lights below. “Who's there?” said a great booming voice. I trained my torch's beam on his face.

“Flynn here,” I responded crisply, “bringing our cook aboard for inspection, sir. Are all hands present?”

“All of us, and we've eaten all the pies. Did you bring more?”

“Just the baker,” I laughed, pulling Katherine forward.

Harris craned his neck, squinting at the muffled figure curiously. Seeing this, Katherine threw back her hood exposing her long hair and smiling face. Harris gasped in astonishment, and then grimaced, shaking his head.

“Well, I'll be damned,” he said.

“Perhaps,” I taunted. “But not if you behave yourself. Anyway, we're not here to discuss the state of your wicked soul. Now be a good fellow and stand aside so we can come below and get down to business.”

Harris looked uneasy and a bit worried. He took a couple of steps farther up the ladderway and slid the hatch shut behind him. “I should warn you, there's a bit of a dust-up, or rather a full-scale war going on down there. Uncle Billy, Boris, Edward, your friend Robert…they're all daft and talking complete bollocks.”

“Oh? The continuing debate over who does what?” I asked.

Harris nodded, “They'd had their sausage rolls, and then Uncle Billy brought out the pies. We were doing well till the pies ran out,” he said. “They seemed to drift into the same old arguments. More pies would be a great help just now.” He fixed a soulful gaze on Katherine, who giggled.

I took her hand. “Here, let's go below.” I laughed, “If there's an all-out war, we certainly wouldn't want to miss any of the action.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Oh yes, you would. It's no place for a lady.”

“Nonsense,” I cried, “lead on, MacDuff!” We descended the ladderway into the cabin, and there sat the combatants at the chart table, conducting their own on-board storm. Bowman and Edward were wrangling over the course, Boris was holding forth about the rigging but had lapsed into Russian, and Robert directed advice at all three and was ignored by all.

“But there are the currents and winds to consider, man,” Bowman shouted. Edward was opening his mouth to respond when he spied Katherine. His mouth remained open. Bowman, Boris, and Robert looked up. A hush fell over the cabin.

I put on a bold face. “Good evening, me hearties,” I said in my best hail-fellow-well-met manner, “I would like to introduce our cook.”

A stunned silence prevailed. I cleared my throat. “She baked the pies,” I added.

Robert was the first to break the shocked hush. He came forward with a delighted smile, holding out his hand. “Welcome aboard, Madam Cook. You're a brave creature.” And he shook her hand warmly. Not to be outdone in courtesy, Boris made a deep bow and delivered a flowery speech in English and Russian. Katherine nodded and curtseyed, with a mischievous sidelong glance to me.

Bowman and Edward wore identical glowers. They were seamen of the old school and plainly rejected outright the idea of having a woman on board. “That's no ship's cook,” growled Bowman.

Now Katherine showed what she was made of. She drew herself up, and planted her hands on her hips. “Is that so? I can serve up a banquet out of a
real
kitchen ashore, but when it comes to your nasty little galley, you'd rather live on tinned beans than let a woman taint the premises, coming on board to bring bad luck with whatever else she's supposed to bring! Ha! Of course, you have no objection to us working in factories and turning out the guns you lot have used to blow each other up. You're more than glad to have us nursing your wounded, but when it comes to some simple cooking for a crew of orphans and raggedy old codgers, oh no, a woman
couldn't
do that!”

“And just who d'ye think ye're calling
old codgers
?” Bowman cried. “I have legitimate and
serious
objections to having any woman on board this ship wi' me,” he declared, his face flushing a deeper crimson by the moment.

Katherine faced him squarely. “That's easily settled,” she said reasonably. “We could go up on deck and I could push you over the side. Then we
wouldn't
be on the same ship together.”

That set us all to laughing, and Bowman gave a glare all round. “Just what I need, another quarrelsome mick like Ned,” he ranted. I couldn't tell by Edward's expression what he was thinking, but his lips were getting ready to form some words.

I hastened to speak up. “Now see here, everyone, let's be practical about this. Of course it flies in the face of old-fashion tradition to have a female on board. Neither is it customary to have sails sewn from circus tents in a tailor's shop or to make up a crew with green boys who've never been to sea before. We must make do if we're to do well, isn't that what this is all about? Katherine's a great cook and tough as nails into the bargain, as you can well see. She wants passage to Dumbarton. Don't you think we're all best served by having her along?” I was looking at Bowman as I said this, and I could see his common sense wrestling with his stubborn nature. Edward looked thoughtful.

I had a thought, and quietly retrieved the last pie from my pocket, passing it to Katherine. She drew over near Bowman, and placed it before him with a dazzling smile, folding back the paper to expose it in all its nicely browned glory.

“I hope you'll forgive me for being sharp,” she said gently. “It's me Irish blood.”

He stared at her, then a smile stirred in his whiskers, and he laughed heartily. Thank goodness! The day was won. To show his good will, he held up the pie as if toasting her and took a bite of it, an action witnessed with naked envy on the part of us less fortunate.

He swallowed, then took a sip from a bottle of stout and wiped his mouth with his pocket-handkerchief. “Young lady, if everything ye cook is as good as this, ye're sent from heaven. I did say I'd take on the cook who'd baked these pies. Well, ye've made me eat my words and like it too.” He had another bite. “I can't quite place the meat in it—it's not rabbit, I think.” He took a further mouthful and chewed thoughtfully.

I had a sudden premonition of doom, though I couldn't think why. Duck is a great delicacy, and no one but Katherine and I knew how that duck died. I tried to signal Katherine, but it was too late.

“Why, it's no mystery Captain Bowman,” she piped up blithely. “It's duck.”

I thought for a moment that Bowman was going to choke. He gagged and sputtered as if poisoned.

Harris turned to me in horror. “Of course you didn't know. He hates duck, always has.” Bowman seemed ready to spit the now-loathsome bite of duck out across the table, but he managed to swallow it down, followed by a long draught of stout. He sat gasping for some time, glaring at Katherine, who returned his gaze with honest concern.