The Monsoon (13 page)

Then he issued cutlasses from the arms locker and had Aboli and Daniel lead the company through the manual of arms. Tom took his place with the rest of his watch when they worked with the cutlass, and more than once Big Daniel made him stand out in front to demonstrate a finer point of style to the others.

Hal had started with handpicked men: almost all had fought before and were old hands with pistol and cutlass, boarding pikes and axes, and at serving the cannon. After two or three weeks, he knew that this was the finest crew of fighting men he had ever commanded. One quality set them apart, which Hal found hard to define: he could think of it only as eagerness. They were hunting dogs questing for the scent of the quarry and he would be happy to lead them into any fight.

They had left the islands of Madeira and the Canaries far below the horizon to the east, but their progress slowed as they ran further and deeper into the doldrums. They lay for days at a time, sails hanging lifelessly, the surface of the ocean around them glassy smooth, as though oil had been spilled upon it, the burnished waters marred only by clumps of Sargasso weed and the dappling of flying fish as they skimmed over it. The sun was malicious and relentless.

Hal knew of the malaise that could overtake a crew in these enervating latitudes, how it could sap their vitality and resolve. He went to great lengths to keep his men from falling into this quagmire of boredom and despondency. When the battle drills were done each day, he organized relay races from the deck to the main top, and down again, setting one watch against the other. Even Tom and Dorian took part in these, to the squealing delight of the Beatty Brats, as Tom had christened Agnes and Sarah.

Then Hal ordered the carpenters and their mates on both ships to insert the thwarts into the pirmaces. They launched them, and a crew of oarsmen from the Seraph raced a crew from the Yeoman on a course set twice around the drifting ships, with a prize of a red ribbon and an extra ration of rum to the winning pinnace. The ribbon was tied to the Seraph’s bowsprit after the first race, and thereafter became an emblem of honour as it changed hands back and forth between the two ships.

To celebrate the winning of the red ribbon, Hal invited Edward Anderson to row across from the Yeoman to join him and his passengers for dinner in the stern cabin. As an afterthought he included his own sons in the invitation to help provide entertainment, for Master Walsh had suggested a musical recital after dinner. Walsh would play the flute and Guy the cittern, while Dorian, who had an extraordinary voice, would sing.

Hal served his best claret, and the dinner was noisy and convivial. With this number of guests there was barely space for all to sit, let alone move around, and when Hal called at last for silence and asked Master Walsh to play, the unmusical Tom found himself pushed into a corner, on a stool, and hidden from general view behind the carved screen that divided the day cabin from his father’s sleeping quarters.

Walsh and Guy began with a rendition of several old tunes including “Greensleeves” and “Spanish Ladies’, which delighted all except Tom, who was so thoroughly bored that, with his dirk, he was carving his initials into the wooden frame of the screen behind which he was sitting.

“And now we will have a song from Mistress Caroline Beatty and Master Dorian Courtney,” Walsh announced.

Caroline stood up and, with difficulty, eased her way through the closely packed audience until she reached the end of the cabin where Tom sat. She gave him one of her cold looks, then turned half away from him and placed her hip against the carved screen to face Dorian, who stood against the opposite bulkhead.

They began with an aria by Purcell. Caroline’s voice was clear and sweet, if a little stilted, while Dorian sang with a natural exuberance. The divine sounds that burst out of the angelic little boy brought tears to the eyes of those who listened.

By this time Tom was squirming with the need to escape the hot, claustrophobic cabin. He wanted to be up on deck, under the stars, hidden away behind one of the gun carriages with-either Daniel or Aboh or both Of them, listening to stories of the wild lands and mysterious oceans that lay ahead. But he was trapped.

Then he noticed that when Caroline reached for a high note she rose up on tiptoe: her skirt rode high enough to expose her ankles and the back of her calves. Tom’s boredom evaporated. The girl’s slippered feet were finely shaped. She wore dark blue stockings and her ankles blended in a lovely line into the swell of her calves above.

Almost of its own volition, his hand came out of his pocket and reached towards a sculpted ankle.

“Are you mad?” he asked himself. With an effort he stopped himself touching her.

“She will make no end of a fuss, if I lay a finger on her.” He looked around guiltily.

Caroline was standing directly in front of him, so close to him that she screened him from the sight of the rest of the company. He knew that every eye in the cabin was turned on Dorian. Still Tom hesitated. He started to withdraw his hand, to thrust it back safely into the depths of his pocket.

Then he smelt her.

Over the other powerful odours in the cabin, of pork crackling and cabbage, of wine fumes and the smoke of his father’s cigarro, he caught the arm girl smell of her body.

His heart clenched like a fist and there was a pain of wanting in the pit of his stomach. He had to stifle the groan that rose to his lips.

He leaned forward on the stool and touched her ankle.

It was the lightest brush of his fingertips against the sheer blue stuff of her stockings. Then he jerked away, and sat back on the stool ready to feign innocence when she rounded on him.

Caroline picked up the chorus from Dorian, without missing a beat, and Tom was perplexed at the lack of reaction from her. Again he reached out and this time laid two fingers gently on her ankle.

Caroline did not move her foot and her voice continued clear and sweet.

Tom stroked her foot, then slowly encircled her ankle with his fingers.

It was so small, so feminine, that he felt the pressure swell in his chest. The blue stocking was glossy and silky to his touch. Very slowly, lingeringly, he ran his fingers up over the swell of her calf, savouring the warm curve, until he reached the top of her stocking and the bow of ribbon that secured it below her knee. There he hesitated and at that moment the song came to an end, in a glorious ringing together of the two young voices.

There was a moment’s silence, then a burst of clapping and shouts of “Bravo!” and “Encore! Sing us another.” His father’s voice: “We must not impose on Mistress Caroline. She has been too kind to us already.” Caroline’s dark curls danced on her shoulders.

“It is no imposition, Sir Henry, I assure you. We are only pleased that you enjoy it. We will sing again with the greatest of pleasure. Shall we give them “My Love She Lives In Durham Town”, Dorian?”

“I suppose so,” Dorian agreed, with little enthusiasm, and Caroline opened her pretty mouth and let the song pour out. Tom had not moved his hand, and now his fingers stole over the top of her stocking to caress the soft skin at the back of her knee. She sang on, and it seemed that her voice had gained in force and feeling. Master Walsh wagged his head in delighted approbation as he blew on his flute.

Tom fondled first one knee then the other. He had lifted the hem of her skirt and he stared at the glossy skin, so soft and warm beneath his fingertips. Now that it was clear she would not scream or denounce him to the company, he was growing bolder.

He ran his fingers higher, moving up over the back of her thigh, and he felt her tremble, but her voice was still steady and she missed not a word of the song. From this angle Tom could just see his father’s foot beneath the table, tapping out the rhythm with his toe.

The knowledge that Hal was so close, the dangerous nature of his behaviour, enhanced Tom’s excitement. His fingers were trembling as they reached the crease above which swelled Caroline’s tight round buttock. She wore nothing under her petticoats and he followed the curve of her bottom until he reached the deep vertical cleft that separated one hemisphere of warm flesh from the other. He tried to slip one of his fingers high between her thighs but they were pressed tightly together, every muscle in both her legs was clenched as hard as stone. The divide was impassable and he abandoned the attempt.

Instead he cupped one of her small firm buttocks in his hand and squeezed it gently.

Caroline hit a high ringing note at the end of the verse, and changed her position slightly, moving her tiny slippered feet apart and pushing out her bottom towards him. Her thighs parted, and when Tom tried again he felt the silken nest of fur between them. She made another small movement, as though to make it easier for him, then moved again, directing his touch. Mary the scullery maid had shown Tom where to find that magical nub of hard flesh, and deftly he sought it out.

Now Caroline was gently moving her whole body to the beat of the music, swaying her hips. Her eyes sparkled and her colour was high.

Mrs. Beatty thought that her daughter had never looked so enchantingly lovely, and she glanced around the circle of men’s faces and was proud when she saw the admiration in their eyes.

The song reached its climax, and even Dorian had to extend himself to match the beauty of that last, high, ringing note, that seemed to fill the whole cabin then hang there, shimmering in the air, even after the song had ended. Caroline spread out her skirts and petticoats, like the petals of a glorious tropical orchid, and sank down in such a deep curtsy that her forehead almost touched the deck.

All the men came to their feet to applaud her, even though they had to stoop beneath the heavy overhead beams. When Caroline lifted her head her lips were trembling and her cheeks were wet with tears of deep emotion.

Her mother jumped up and hugged her impulsively.

“Oh, my darling, that was surpassing beautiful. You sang like an angel. But you have exhausted yourself. You may take a half-glass of wine to refresh yourself.” To expressions of congratulations and delight Caroline made her way back to her seat. The girl seemed transformed from her usual quiet, withdrawn self, and joined the conversation around her almost gaily. When Mrs. Beatty deemed it time to retire and leave the men to their pipes, cigarros; and port, Caroline went with her demurely. When she said goodnight and left the cabin she never so much as glanced in Tom’s direction.

Tom sat back on his stool in the corner, staring at the deck above his head, trying to appear aloof and unconcerned, but both hands were thrust deeply into his pockets and he held himself hard so that no one would notice what he had grown in his breeches.

hat night Tom slept hardly at all. He lay on his pallet with Dorian on one side of him, Guy on the other, and listened to the snores, the groans muttering of the sleeping crew along the gundeck.

Allnde relived in his -imagination every detail of the episode in the stern cabin, every touch and movement, the smell of her and the sound of her voice singing as he fondled her, the slippery softness of her most secret parts and the heat of them. He could barely contain himself until the following day when he would be with Caroline in Master Walsh’s cabin. Even though they would all be poring over their slates and listening to Master Walsh’s excruciatingly dull monologues, he longed for a glance or a touch that would confirm for him the monumental significance of what had taken place between them.

When at last she entered Master Walshs cabin, preceded by her squealing sisters, she ignored Tom and went directly to Master Walsh.

“I find the light at my seat is too dull. It tires my eyes. May I change my place and sit beside Guy?”

“Yes, of course you may, young mistress,” Walsh acceded instantly, not at all immune to Caroline’s charms.

“You should have told me earlier that you were uncomfortable beside Tom.” Guy moved up the bench with alacrity to make a place for her, but Tom felt himself snubbed and tried to catch her attention by gazing at her fixedly across the narrow cabin. However, Caroline fastened her full attention on her slate and did not look up.

At last even Master Walsh became aware of Tom’s strange behaviour.

“Are you seasick?” Tom was appalled by and all-ranted at such an accusation.

“I am perfectly well, sir.”

“Then tell me what I was saying?” Walsh suggested.

Tom looked thoughtful and stroked his chin. At the same time he kicked Dorian’s ankle beneath the tabletop.

Dorian came loyally to the rescue.

“You were saying that tautology is-”

“Thank you, Dorian,” Walsh stopped him.

“I was speaking to your brother, not to you.” He regarded Tom disapprovingly. It always irked him when a boy with a good brain refused to make use of its full potential.

“Now that you have been reprieved, Thomas, perhaps you will enlighten us all on the meaning of the word.”

“Tautology is the unnecessary, repetition of meaning that has already been conveyed earlier in a phrase or sentence,” Tom told him.

Walsh looked disappointed. He had hoped to make him display his ignorance and suffer humiliation before his peers.

“You amaze me with your erudition,” he said stiffly.

“Will you display it further by giving us an example of tautology?” Tom thought.

“A pedantic pedagogue?” he suggested.

“A tedious teacher?” Dorian let out a snort of laughter, and even Guy looked up and smiled. The Beatty Brats understood not a word of it but when they saw Walsh flush scarlet and Tom fold his arms over his chest and grin triumphantly, they realized that their idol had come out on top again and tittered delightedly. Only Caroline went on writing on her slate without so much as raising her head.

Tom was baffled and hurt. It was as though nothing at all had happened between them. When his perennial fencing with Master Walsh left her unmoved, he tried in other ways to attract her attention.

When Caroline was on deck, he pushed himself to the limits of his strength and experience to impress her with his new-found prowess as a topmast man. He copied the feats of h” is seniors, running out along the high yard, hands above his head, to his place on the rat-lines, or sliding down the mizzen stay without pause so that the rough hemp rope scorched his palms before he landed on bare feet with a thump close to where she stood. She turned away without even a second glance.