Death on the Ice (30 page)

‘Don’t move.’ Kathleen ran her hand across his forehead. The blond hair was beginning to thin, but matched with the startling eyes, one moment blue, the next steely grey, he was a fine Nordic specimen, powerful and manly.

‘I know you have influence—’

‘Ssshh.’

She let her fingertips glide over his cheekbones, across to his ears, and followed the line of his jaw. It was electrifying. Nansen shifted uncomfortably.

‘Keep still. So, about the boy?’

‘I know that the Captain had trouble with the skis before. But he had no skins, no waxes. Gran knows all about this. Did you see how quickly he skied to the village yesterday to fetch the new stub axle?’

‘Con did comment on it. My goodness, what neck muscles. Like iron hawsers.’

‘Mrs Scott—’

‘Kathleen.’

‘It should be Lady Scott, I think.’

Kathleen laughed. ‘My husband would agree with you. But it will have to be Mrs for now. Or Kathleen.’ The warmth of Shackleton’s welcome, and the honours he received, compared to those afforded Scott after the return of the
Discovery
sometimes rankled. She could see it in his eyes.
He turned back
, they said,
yet his reward was a knighthood.

‘Very well, Kathleen, I know you have influence, perhaps you could have a word.’

She let go and stood back. ‘About?’

‘About Gran.’

She looked impatient. ‘You want Con to take him? Yes, yes, that can be arranged. Will he provide his own equipment?’

‘Yes.’

‘And money?’

‘He will not have to draw any wages, if that is what you mean.’

‘Well, consider it done. I shall have a word with Con. But there is a price.’

‘Name it.’

Kathleen Scott walked back and forth in a semicircle, admiring the visage from various angles, pondering which was his best side. She bent over, till she was level with his ear and whispered: ‘You are a magnificent specimen.’

The door opened before Nansen could reply. It was Scott, stripped of his outer layers.

‘Darling,’ she exclaimed. ‘I was just saying I would like Mr Nansen to sit for me. A head. Would you mind terribly?’

‘What?’ Scott asked distractedly, pulling off his braces. ‘No, fine, whatever. Bloody cams have gone again. They run wonderfully for half a mile then, putt, something else goes. Most frustrating.’

Nansen got to his feet. ‘It’s a shame. But I am beginning to think you might be right. When they are reliable, sledges will have their place on the ice. But I wouldn’t like to try and get one up a glacier. You’ll still need dogs.’

Scott was tired of hearing the same argument. ‘Was there something?’ he asked the Norwegian.

‘Nothing urgent.’

‘Kathleen, you should put something on,’ Scott said, noticing her lack of clothing for the first time. She reached for a shawl.

‘Forgive me,’ Nansen said, ‘I barged in, thinking you were here.’

‘So there was something?’

‘There was, but Kathleen, Mrs Scott, answered it for me.’

‘Oh?’

‘You’ll join me for dinner tonight?’

Scott sighed. ‘Very well.’

‘Thank you. Eight o’clock. Till then.’

After he had gone, Scott said: ‘What was all that about?’

Kathleen had moved back to the cot and was staring admiringly at her snoozing baby. ‘Just an old man who can’t bear to see someone else living the life he once had, Con. Nansen was once the great ice explorer. Now he wishes he were you.’

Scott nodded. ‘Yes. I suppose he does.’

Kathleen turned and smiled at Scott, knowing it could drive all other considerations from his head. ‘What do you make of that lad Tryggve Gran?’

C
APTAIN LAWRENCE OATES STOOD
at the bottom of the gangplank to the
Terra Nova
, reporting as instructed. The little ship seemed tiny next to the grand ocean liners that shared the berth. She was filthy, too, a dirt-streaked little urchin in need of a bath. Even from the bottom of the gangplank he could smell the stench of ancient seal oil and blubber. She was riding low in the water, yet judging from the provisions still on the dock, they hadn’t completed loading yet. Given the crates and boxes lashed on the decks, it was hard to see where anything else would fit.

He walked up the plank and felt curious eyes on him. He had on a bowler hat and an Aquascutum gabardine, neither of them of the first rank. Several of the sailors on the deck stopped and stared at him.

‘Official tours begin tomorrow,’ said Charles Williams, the nearest AB. ‘You can buy a ticket at the harbour master’s office.’

‘I’m Oates,’ he said.

‘The soldier?’

‘Aye.’

‘We were expecting the Charge of the bleedin’ Light Brigade,’ laughed Williams. ‘Where’re your spurs? And boots?’

‘Up your arse, if you don’t mind your manners,’ replied Oates with a wink.

The crew sniggered at this. ‘I’m assuming you need a hand with getting some of the gear,’ Oates pointed to the stacks of crates on the quayside and then to the
Terra Nova
, ‘on there.’

‘We do, we do.’

Oates heaved his kit on to the ship and rolled up his sleeves, ready to start toting.

‘Not so much haste. We allow our people to settle in first, Captain Oates,’ said the man coming down to meet him. ‘I’m Bill Wilson.’

Oates held out his hand and they shook.

Tom Crean scooped up Oates’s bag. ‘Welcome to
Terra Nova
, soldier,’ he said. ‘Tom Crean, sir.’

As they stepped on board there was a flurry of introductions from Wilson. ‘That there is Petty Officer Edgar Evans. We call him Taff because there is one too many Evanses on the ship.’

Evans gave a mock salute. ‘I’m the best of them, though.’

‘That’s mutiny,’ said Wilson. He pointed to a short-legged, stocky man with flaming red hair and a vast nose, not unlike a beak. He was heaving a case around as though it was empty but stamped on the side was the legend
Wolseley Motor Co: Wheels and Bearings.
‘That’s Lieutenant Birdie Bowers, late of the Indian Marines, direct from Bombay, strongest man on the ship. If he annoys you, just show him a spider. Turns to jelly.’

Next Wilson indicated a young man with a bobble hat and a white, cable-knit sweater stained from his attempts to scrub the deck. Despite his grimy appearance, he exuded the healthy glow of the well fed and privileged. ‘This is Tryggve Gran, our skiing instructor, all the way from Norway’

Gran wiped a grubby hand on his sweater and held it out, but Oates ignored him. Wilson frowned but moved on.

‘Up on the bridge is Mr Campbell, our First Mate. This way, Mr Oates. Or is it Captain? We’ve never had an army chap on board before.’

‘Titus,’ he replied. ‘They call me Titus.’

‘They call me Uncle Bill, but I don’t like it,’ Wilson said as they descended the gangway to the ship’s interior. The smell of rancid seal guts and blubber grew overwhelming. ‘Makes me feel about a hundred and ten. Titus? You sure?’

‘It’ll do till they think of something worse.’

‘Oh, I’m sure they’ll do that.’

Below decks he met the scientists and Teddy Evans, Scott’s number one, who took him to his berth.

‘Glad to see you are travelling light,’ said Evans.

Oates looked around the cramped quarters. It was even smaller than he had expected. Room to lie down and take two paces in any direction. He opened his kitbag and extracted his bust of Napoleon, and placed it on the single shelf. ‘Just as long as there is room for Boney. You’ll be wanting a hand with loading the stores.’

‘Yes. Get some cocoa first.’

Oates dropped his voice. ‘I might be a soldier, but I know something about boats. She’s pretty much up to the gunwhales, isn’t she?’

Evans nodded and gave a conspiratorial wink. ‘Don’t worry. We’ve painted out the Plimsoll Line so nobody will know. I’ll see you up top.’

Oates laughed to himself. As if painting out the line that warned of overloading was any kind of solution. ‘Madness,’ he muttered.

‘There’s worse,’ said a calm voice from the doorway. ‘We are sailing as a yacht rather than a merchant vessel. That way we avoid maritime regulations. I’m Apsley Cherry-Garrard. Cherry.’

This one was even younger than the skier, a lad barely old enough to shave, with glasses that gave him an owlish cast.

‘Oates.’

‘I know. I’m in the Nursery next door. It’s what we call it. I thought I’d come and apologise in advance. Four of us in there. Gets a little boisterous.’

Oates shrugged. Nearly ten years in the army would make anyone immune to boisterousness. ‘And what do you do?’

‘Oh, this and that. Assistant Zoologist to Dr Wilson, for the most part. I’m like you.’

‘How’s that?’ asked Oates, as he took out his biography of Bonaparte and put it next to the bust.

‘Another paying guest. Bed and board at a thousand pounds. But, without us, there would be no expedition, I fear.’

Oates rolled his eyes to the heavens, indicating the deck above his head. ‘Why do we have a Norwegian? Did he pay?’

‘No. Apparently impressed the britches off the Owner with his skiing. Brought him along to teach us all.’

‘To ski?’

‘I believe so.’

‘Well, he can stay away from me. I have no desire to move around on planks of wood and even less to speak to Norwegians.’

‘I rather like him.’ He was too embarrassed to tell Oates that Gran had saved him from sleepwalking over the side of the ship. His nocturnal ramblings—both verbal and perambulatory—had already earned him plenty of teasing, not least from Teddy Evans. ‘For a foreigner.’

‘Is the Owner here?’

‘Not yet. Singing for our suppers somewhere. Hope he gets some cash out of the buggers. He’s in a frightful mood if he comes back with only fifty or a hundred pounds. So we all pray for a generous patron. Still, he’s not a bad stick apart from that. You’ll meet him soon enough.’

‘Someone mentioned cocoa.’

‘Follow me.’

‘Then I suppose we’ll see just how much we can fit on this ship of ours.’

‘Don’t worry, she’s been down before.’

‘Down where?’ he asked in alarm.

‘South. She was one of the two ships that relieved
Discovery
after its second winter trapped by the ice. His old ship.’ Cherry pointed forward. ‘Oddly enough, she’s berthed just along the dock. Just to show us how much better they had it then. Bill Wilson says it’s a palace compared to this.’

‘
Discovery
’s here? Then why aren’t we on that?’

‘Hudson Bay own it. Wouldn’t lease it back. So little
Terra Nova
it is. Let’s get that drink.’

Teddy Evans blocked the doorway, a lopsided grin on his face. ‘Come along, you two. We’ve found a spider the size of a small chicken, we’re going to set it on Birdie and watch the feathers fly!’

Cherry was out the door as if the cabin was aflame and Oates heard the thump of excited feet as the men pushed up top. Clearly this wasn’t going to be any ordinary ship. There might even be fun on her. If she didn’t sink with all hands.

‘The complaint about Petty Officer Edgar Evans and his drinking duly noted,’ said Scott. ‘I’ll reduce him to half-pay. That will save us some cash into the bargain. If we can get the rest of the crew blind drunk and do the same, it’ll help the purse to no end.’

The others in the room laughed, with the exception of a stern-faced Teddy Evans. They were assessing each
Terra Nova
crew member in turn. There were sixty-four men on the ship. Of those, thirty-one officers, scientists and crew were to overwinter as the shore party while
Terra Nova
sailed back to Lyttleton. Scott had instituted the review because he did not want to repeat the mistake he had made with Brett, the foul cook on
Discovery
, or the scheming and indolent Buckridge.

Assembled in the Victoria Street offices of the British Antarctic Expedition 1910 were Teddy Evans, his First Mate Victor Campbell, navigator Harry Pennell and Bill Wilson. In the corner, bouncing a bonny boy on her knee, was a beaming Kathleen Scott.

As with the
Discovery
office on Savile Row, the place was crammed with supplies and samples, many of which still had to be found a place on the ship. Mr Heinz wanted his beans photographed on the ice, so a corner would have to be found for them, along with Mr Fry’s chocolate, Huntley & Palmer’s excellent biscuits and Alfred Bird’s various custards.

‘So, that’s Taff Evans. Who’s next?’

The Owner took the complaint against Taff with a pinch of salt. He liked and trusted the Welshman, despite his weakness for what he called a ‘bevvy’. That didn’t matter out on the ice. And Teddy Evans had already lost him Reg Skelton by refusing to serve as captain with a man who technically ranked higher than him. Scott had reluctantly conceded because he needed the monies Evans had raised for his own embryonic expedition to Antarctica. He was pleased that Skelton understood, even though he had made every effort to convince Evans that Reg would be a willing subordinate. Evans had stood firm.

‘The Norwegian,’ said Teddy Evans.

‘I’ll vouch for Gran,’ Scott said, looking down the list. ‘Because we won’t see his full use till later. He’s pulling his weight?’ There were murmurs of assent. ‘Now what do we make of our Soldier?’

‘Titus? I’d say a good fella,’ said Campbell. ‘As far as I can tell.’

Teddy Evans nodded his agreement. ‘You know, Birdie said he thought he was a farmer up from the country when he first saw him. Still calls him Farmer now and then. Lashly refuses to believe he is to the manor born. Says he must be an impostor. I think it was a shrewd move on Oates’s part not to come on with his airs and graces.’

Scott laced his fingers together. ‘Bill?’

Wilson thought for a moment. It was interrupted by a solid belch from young Peter Scott. ‘Oates seems very sound.’

‘The men like him,’ added Harry Pennell. ‘Does his work without complaint. Mucks in with the ratings. And he’s up the rigging like billy-o. You wouldn’t know he knew more about four legs than square sails.’

Scott noted the comments in his log. ‘I was going to send him out with Meares to choose the horses. He can join us in New Zealand.’