Girl on the Orlop Deck (8 page)

Marianne took it all philosophically. She was never seasick, she didn’t mind hard work and the visits ashore gave her the chance to start searching again. Not that it did her any good for the sailors she met on
the quaysides told her to a man that they’d never heard of a carpenter called Jem and that their carpenter had quite a different name, although one old feller did venture that the sea was full of fleets and full of ships ‘being as the Admiral’s keeping us all on the look-out’ and asked what port he’d sailed from.

He was the first man to show any interest so Marianne told him.

‘Ah,’ he said. ‘Portsmouth. Then if he ain’t with Admiral Lord Nelson, he’ll be with Admiral Collingwood like as not, what’s a fine admiral to serve, or with Admiral Cornwallis a-guardin’ the Channel, what they been doin’ these many years now. Could be anywhere from Land’s End to Alexandria an’ that’s the truth of it. Why do ’ee want to find him? Owe you money does he?’

‘He’s a relation.’

‘Well if that’s the case of it, my sonny, I’d give up looking for him if I was you,’ the old man advised, ‘on account of you’ll never find him in a month a’ Sundays. ’Tis like looking for a needle in a haystack, searching these waters. I knows. I done it many’s the time. An’ we knew who we was lookin’ for, what you don’t seemingly.’

Stupid old fool, Marianne thought angrily, and she gave him a brief nod for politeness’ sake and left him. What does he know of it? And she stalked back to the bum boat, feeling cross. If I means for to find him I shall find him an’ he can say what he likes.

But by the time she was back aboard the
Amphion
again, she was beginning to feel downhearted. She’d asked so many people at so many harbours and she hadn’t found one who’d even heard of him. An’ I
must
find him, she thought. I can’t stay aboard much longer. Not with Johnny Galley knowing and paying court the way he is. All those extra portions were very welcome, especially when she’d been working hard, and so was being taken off to the galley to work in the warm, but they were love tokens for all that and she knew it and was worried by it. If he followed them by making advances and talking about that cabin again, she didn’t know what she was going to do about it. If only life wasn’t so complicated.

Then three things happened in quick succession that changed her feelings and her opinions. First of all the wind dropped and then it disappeared altogether leaving the ship becalmed, her sails hanging slack and idle in the empty air, the sea flat-calm and with a dull metallic sheen like the surface of a mirror.

‘Now what do we do?’ she asked her two shipmates as they stood by
the rail, gazing out at the motionless sea and the rest of their fleet lying becalmed to port and starboard.

‘We sits tight, my lubber,’ Moll said, ‘an’ we takes our ease an’ we waits for it to blow again.’

‘And when will that be, think ’ee?’

‘Who can tell?’ Moll said. ‘There’s no way a’ knowin’ with that ol’ wind. Could be tomorrow. Could be a week. We has to wait an’ see. One good thing though, ‘twill give us a bit a’ peace and quiet. We shan’t be for ever up an’ down the rigging settin them ol’ sails.’

Them old sails hung empty-bellied well into the forenoon watch under a sky as white and ominous as death. Marianne found the stillness eerie and she was chilled to the bones without her usual work to keep her warm. She wished someone would strike up a tune to cheer them but old Robbie Norris, who had an accordion and usually provided them with jigs and hornpipes in the afternoon watch when they were at rest, was perched on the capstan playing a doleful shanty which, in her opinion, wasn’t doing any of them any good at all. She glowered at him, sitting there so mournful-like with a mist gathering round his woolly cap. A rare thick mist it was too, twirling and wreathing about him some giant white snake, more like a.…

‘My dear heart alive,’ she said to Moll, ‘there’s a fog a-comin’ on.’

‘’Tain’t a-comin’, my lubber,’ Moll told her. ‘’Tis come.’

Within seconds the ship was swathed and dank with it, decks and gunwhales oozing moisture as if they were sweating, sails and sailors insubstantial as ghosts in the sudden gloom and no sign or sound of the sea at all.

‘I can’t be doin’ with this,’ Marianne complained, shivering and hugging her jacket to her chest in a vain attempt to keep warm. ‘I hopes that ol’ cook’s got some good hot grub for us come noontime.’

‘What you’ll see, my lubber, when you gets to the galley,’ Johnny Galley said, materializing out of the fog, first his chest bulging towards them, then a fog-dewed beard and the dark folds of his breeches, and finally his head, shoulders and boots. ‘Look lively. I en’t got all day.’

Marianne was glad to go with him because at least the galley would be warm and she followed him cheerfully. It wasn’t until they’d edged down the companionway and were sidling through the gun deck
carefully
avoiding the sleeping bulk of the cannons, that she realized they were heading in the wrong direction.

‘Where are we goin’, Johnny?’ she asked. ‘This en’t the way to the galley.’

‘Ask no questions, be told no lies,’ he said.

‘That’s all very well,’ she said. ‘I needs for to know.’

‘Well then, you knows now,’ he said. ‘We’re here.’

They’d reached the door of a cabin, he was opening it, sneaking inside, catching her hand and pulling her after him. No, no, she thought. This can’t be happening. But it was. He was kissing her neck and pushing up her jacket to fondle her breasts.

‘No, Johnny,’ she said, trying to struggle away from him. ‘I can’t.’

He took her face between his hands and held her still, grinning at her. ‘Why not, my lubber? Tell me that. An’ don’t say on account of ’ee don’t like it ’cause I knows better. ’Tis writ all over ’ee, so ’tis.’

And it was true. She did like it. She could enjoy it if … ‘I’m married,’ she said. ‘I’m a married woman. It en’t right.’

He dropped his hands, threw back his head and gave a great roar of laughter, showing those uneven teeth. ‘All the better,’ he said. ‘Wives is the best. They know what’s what. An’ who’s to miss a slice from a cut cake, as they say?’

‘I got a husband, Johnny.’

He pretended to look round the cabin. ‘I don’t see him.’

‘He was pressed,’ she explained. ‘I come into the navy for to find him.’

‘What you en’t done.’

She defended herself stoutly. ‘Not for want a’ trying. I been ashore every port we come to, askin’ an’ askin’.’

‘We got an hour,’ he said, pulling her towards him. ‘Come six bells Mr Ferguson’ll be back with the rest of the mess. There en’t a soul to see us – not that they could with this fog to hide us – there’s no one to stop us. No one’ll know, an’ I never see a gal so ripe for lovin’ as you.’ And before she could open her mouth to protest again he kissed her long and languorously.

Her mind was still thinking ‘No. Don’t. I mustn’t …’ but her senses were stirred and singing. To be kissed so and held so was a pleasure beyond anything she could remember. It was so warm and enfolding and loving. And it felt so right.

He was kissing her neck and stroking her titties with his thumbs and murmuring, ‘You’m the prettiest gal I ever seen.’

‘I en’t pretty,’ she said. ‘I never been pr—’

But her protest was kiss-smothered. ‘Prettiest,’ he said, when he raised his head, ‘an’ softest an’ as ripe for love as a peach a-waitin’ to fall.’ What she would do soon, surely to goodness, when he’d been so sweet with her.

‘Well …’ she said, still dubious. ‘I shouldn’t really, Johnny.’ But he was right. Nobody would know, specially in all this fog. Jem was far away and he’d probably forgotten all about her by now and she
had
tried to find him, what no one could gainsay; she’d gone out of her way, trying and trying, and anyway he’d run away from her on her wedding day, which was cruel and that was the truth of it. And he’d hurt her, which was cruel too. And anyway there wouldn’t be any harm in it. Just this once. It would have to be just the once, that was all. ‘You wouldn’t hurt me, would you, Johnny?’

‘Hurt ’ee!’ he said, black eyebrows raised in surprise at the very idea. ‘Lord love your pretty eyes! I shall pleasure ’ee.’

‘Well,’ she said. ‘I shouldn’t really, I knows that, but maybe …’

He unbuttoned his trousers.

F
OG OBSCURED THE
ship for the next four days to Johnny Galley’s immense satisfaction. Now that he’d caught his little light a’ love he had no intention of letting her go and fog gave him the perfect excuse to tease her into the cabin again. Next morning he togged himself up in his best waistcoat, tied a clean kerchief round his neck and gave his beard a trim and a good brushing. Then, choosing his moment, when he knew she would be at leisure, he prowled the quarter-deck until he found her with those two stupid mates of hers, gave her a conspiratorial grin and told her she was needed in the galley, ‘What’s the best place for ’ee in this weather, if you ask my opinion on’t.’

The grin and the opinion were both wasted, for Marianne had been awake most of the night regretting what she’d done and worrying about it until she felt quite sick. Now she was feeling very unsure of herself, ashamed that she’d given in to him so easily, ashamed that she’d been unfaithful to poor Jem, even ashamed that she’d enjoyed it. And she
had
enjoyed it, rather to her surprise. She’d enjoyed it very much. ‘What if I was to say no?’ she said.

‘Orders is orders,’ he told her.

That’s true enough, she thought. So she had to get up and follow him down the companionway. And, of course, they weren’t going to the galley, as she knew perfectly well. She would have to tell him this couldn’t go on, she really would. But she couldn’t argue with him out on the open deck where anyone could hear. It would have to wait until they were on their own. So she followed him into the cabin.

It was dank with fog, even in that little enclosed space and she was horribly aware of him, standing there so close to her with his beard
bristling
. She sat on the bunk and took a deep breath to sustain her. ‘We can’t do this, Johnny,’ she said.

He sat down beside her, being very calm and perfectly reasonable. ‘You don’t have to do nothing unless ’ee wants to,’ he told her. If this bird was to be well and truly limed he’d have to catch her softly. ‘All you got to do is tell me what ’ee wants. ’Tis all in your own hands.’

‘I’m married,’ she said.

‘Aye, so you are.’

‘T’ent the right thing to do.’

‘Well now,’ he said, smiling at her, ‘as to the rights an’ wrongs of it, there’s a deal to be said on either side. ’Tis my opinion of it, we’ve earned a bit a’ pleasure in our lives, what with bein’ at sea all this time, an’ workin’ all hours, an’ the fog an’ all. Don’ ’ee think so?’

She didn’t know what to say, for their talk seemed to have tilted into an odd direction. But as he seemed to be waiting for an answer she supposed she had to give one. ‘Well,’ she said, ‘we does work hard, there’s no denyin’.’

‘Only got to look at your hands to see that,’ he said, and he took one of them and stroked it gently with his thumb.

She didn’t pull away because he was being so tender, but she didn’t speak either, partly because she didn’t know what to say and partly because even this little touch was so pleasurable.

‘My dear heart alive!’ he said as if he’d just thought of something. ‘Was ’ee afeared a’ bein’ found out?’

‘No,’ she said. ‘You wouldn’t tell no one, would you?’

He pretended to be upset at the very idea. ‘As if I would. You can’t think as bad a’ me as that.’

‘No,’ she said, feeling sorry to have upset him. ‘I don’t. I know you won’t tell.’

‘No one needs for to know,’ he said, putting his arm round her
shoulders
in a comforting way. ‘I means for to say, we got this place to ourselves, all hid away an’ snug an’ warm an’ a-waitin’ for us when we needs it. Private like. What could be better? Asides which ’ten’t no-one’s affair but our own. We en’t upsettin’ no one. ’Tis a secret atween us. Private like.’ Now if he were to turn her a little – gently does it – he could kiss her cheek. ‘Our little pleasure what we’ve earned and what don’t do no harm to a living soul. What could be wrong wi’ that?’

She tried to turn her head away from him, struggling to think of all the arguments she’d been rehearsing during the night, but he was moving too and before she could think he’d caught her and was kissing her with a sudden passion that took her breath away.

‘You’m the prettiest thing I ever did see,’ he said. ‘’Twould be a wicked waste not to love ’ee.’

‘I’m married,’ she tried.

‘All the more reason,’ he said, sliding his hands under her jacket.

‘I wouldn’t want to do nothing what’ud …’ she began. And was kissed silent, this time at such length that she began to kiss him back. She simply couldn’t help it.

‘’Course not,’ he said, unbuttoning her breeches and gentling her down onto the mattress. ‘Prettiest thing I ever did see.’

He was careful to keep his expression gentle and his hands slow but inside his head his thoughts were roaring. You’m limed my lover, you’m limed.

Marianne slept well that night, eased and tired by so much pleasure and very nearly convinced that Johnny was right. The chaplain would have had a very different view of it, she knew that, and so would Father Peter what had married her back in Portsmouth. ’Twould be all adultery and the ten commandments if they was to hear of it. But they never would hear of it. She’d make sure of that. And besides they hadn’t been doing any harm, ’twas all private and atween theirselves, the way Johnny said, a private pleasure, that’s all it was. Just a private pleasure.

After that there wasn’t any point in worrying or in arguing about it either. She’d given in twice, so why not a third and fourth time? Or a fifth? Soon she couldn’t remember why she’d worried at all. It still made her feel guilty and even a bit ashamed when she was alone and had time to think about it, but that wasn’t very often and it
was
a pleasure and, what’s more, it got better every time.

There was only one trouble and that was that the weather got worse and worse. The fog was blown away by a strong north-wester which rapidly became a severe storm, which meant they had hardly any time together at all. And the first storm was followed by a second that was even worse. It grew progressively colder and more impossible to make any headway. After four weeks of it, the old hands began to grumble.

‘High time we was took into port,’ they said. ‘Ol’ Lord Nelson don’t never mean for us to stay at sea all winter. ’T’ent nat’ral. He won’t have a ship what en’t plumb crazy come the springtime if that’s how he means for to go on.’

‘Quite right,’ Marianne said. ‘We done enough for one season, surely
to goodness.’ If they were in port they wouldn’t have to work anywhere near so hard and there’d be more time for pleasure. ‘He can’t mean for us to sail all winter.’

But that was exactly what he did mean, as he told his dinner guests some days later.

The latest storm had finally subsided and he’d invited his captains to dine with him so that he could praise them for all the efforts they’d been making. After the meal, he was sitting at ease, twirling the stem of his wineglass between his finger and thumb and watching them with his one clear eye, when Captain Keats ventured the question that all of them wanted to ask.

‘Are we to winter at Malta, my lord?’ he said. And when Nelson regarded him steadily he added, ‘Should we not endeavour to save the ships from this inclement weather?’

‘Were I to winter in Malta I would undoubtedly save the ships,’ Nelson admitted, ‘but if I am to watch the French, which I am
determined
to do, I must be at sea, difficult though that might be. At present the French fleet is still in Toulon, as you know, and shows no signs of coming out, but I tell you, gentlemen, were we to head for Malta, as I know you would prefer, you may depend upon it they would come out at once thinking the coast clear and we would lose them.’

His captains were disappointed but they didn’t say so. They knew they couldn’t argue against his determination. But it would be a hard winter if they were to be at sea all the time.

‘We are parlously short of water,’ Captain Keats said, offering the one practical reason for getting ashore even for an hour or two.

‘As I am aware,’ his Admiral said. ‘I’ve a mind to try the Maddelena Islands since they are the nearest to us at this moment. Captain Ryves visited them in the
Agincourt
last year and speaks highly of them. We will leave two frigates to watch Toulon and pray for a fair wind.’

What they got, despite fervent prayers, was a wind so foul that although they struggled against it for four days, working their ships hard with their topsails double reefed, they only made seven leagues progress and sustained so many split sails that they were quite beleaguered. Nevertheless, because their need for water was now extreme, Nelson decided to press on even in the teeth of the gale and they struggled to make what headway they could for another four hard days, finally limping towards Maddelena on the eighth day, totally exhausted and
thoroughly dispirited. But what they found there almost made up for their struggles for it was an almost perfect harbour, set in a small bay, secluded and beautiful and, best of all, with the decisive advantage of two entrances.

The next morning, while the bum boats were heading off to fill the leaguers with fresh water, the Governor of Maddelena came aboard the
Victory
to welcome them to his islands. He was given a nine-gun salute and was immensely pleased to be so honoured and, after he had
breakfasted
with the Admiral, he declared himself delighted to accept an official name for the harbour.

‘We will call it Agincourt Sound,’ Nelson said, ‘after the ship of the line that discovered it. And we will stay here until the storm has blown itself out.’

Marianne didn’t care what it was called as long as they could stay there out of the weather and preferably for a good long time. Her arms were still aching after the struggle of the last eight days. I’ll ask Johnny, she thought. He’m bound to know.

‘We’m to stay here a day or two, seemingly,’ Johnny said. ‘An’ not afore time.’

‘Only a day or two,’ she said. ‘’Ten’t much Johnny.’

‘A day or two all nice and snug and cosy-like,’ he said, ‘and Mr Ferguson with plenty to keep him occupied and no storm to toss us from pillar to post, like it’s been doin’ this last eight days. I means for to make the most of it.’

‘I shall have to go ashore from time to time like,’ Marianne warned him.

‘Just so long as it en’t our time like,’ he said, and grinned at her.

She went ashore that first morning and on every single occasion the bum boats set out. Her shipmates were most impressed. ‘He might be a strip of a lad,’ they said. ‘but he takes his turn handsome.’ But, in fact, she was driven by a guilty conscience and a need to find her Jem that was greater than ever, even though there was nothing much she could do if she
did
find him because they could hardly jump ship on a little island. This time she tried to be more methodical and not only asked if anyone knew of him but made sure she’d found out what ship they were sailing on so that when she got back on board she could write the names down on a sheet of her notepaper and put a tick beside them. By the afternoon of their third day, when she’d asked the water gatherers from sixteen
different ships, she was beginning to have second thoughts about the old man in Rosia Bay. He could have been right. She could be looking for a needle in a haystack. It certainly felt like it. Or he might be in a different fleet altogether and God knows where that might be. And yet she
had
to find him. She couldn’t just sail about enjoying her new pleasures and forgetting him. That wouldn’t do at all.

The
Sirius
was in Valetta along with the rest of Admiral Collingwood’s fleet, sheltering from the storms while they took in supplies and Jem and his shipmates were sprucing up for a night on the town. They had pay in their purses and clean clothes on their backs and, despite the chill of the weather, they were hot for liquor and women.

‘This is the life, my lubbers,’ Jem said, as they swaggered towards Strada Stretta, cockily square-shouldered, secretly moist-handed and with the rolling gait of seamen newly arrived ashore. ‘My stars! Look at those titties over there!’

The whores were out in force, strolling their temptations before the newest arrivals, the British fleet being a good source of trade, and the one that had caught his eye was plumply luscious and well displayed.

‘Drink first,’ Tom said. ‘Women’ll wait. I got a thirst on me like one a’ them there camels in the desert an’ I knows just the place for to quench it. Step lively, my hearties!’

It was a small, dark bar half way down Strada Stretta, rush-lit and floored with sawdust ready for spillage, and it was crowded with whores and sailors, who greeted the new arrivals with a cheerful roar and made room for them on the benches. The wine was cheap and plentiful, there was an accordion playing and there were women on offer wherever they looked.

‘This is the life!’ Jem said.

He was still saying it two hours later, although not quite so clearly, for by then his words were sloshing about in his mouth like sea in the
scuppers
and he wasn’t entirely steady on his feet. But he’d had a first-rate evening, drunk more wine than his belly could withstand and staggered out into the street to spew most of it up again, found two
accommodating
women to satisfy the itch, danced the hornpipe on the table to roars of approval from his messmates and generally made a happy fool of himself.

It wasn’t until he was roused at six bells the next morning that he
realized
that the evening hadn’t been quite the success he’d imagined. He had a roaring headache, it was bitterly cold and, worse, as he discovered when he’d struggled out of his bunk, his purse-strings had been cut and his purse was missing.

‘The lousy, rotten, thievin’ whore!’ he said. ‘She’s nicked my money. Every last farthing.’

Tom was scratching his head and yawning. ‘There’s more where that come from,’ he said easily.

‘No, there en’t,’ Jem wailed. ‘She’s took it all. Every last farthing.’