Within twelve feet of the deck, her foot slipped and she clung screaming with numbed hands to the mast, her feet waving in empty air. The agony was too great, weakness flooded her limbs. She felt her fingers slipping and with a shriek of terror she began to fall—
And fall—Expecting the agony of smashed bones, Beth discovered that she was on deck and had landed with a severe jolt, but softly. Her fall had been broken by the Captain, who happened to be passing underneath at that moment.
Winded, the Captain had collapsed on the deck under her weight. Slight as she was, she had come at him with the force of a projected missile.
Beth took in the situation at one startled glance and closed her eyes, willing herself to faint rather than face the next few moments.
She was not allowed such happy oblivion. Rough hands gripped her shoulders.
"Wake up, lad. Wake up!"
A hand struck her cheek—hard. It hurt. Her eyes flew open angrily.
"That's better," said the Captain. His head, lose to hers, revealed a gold dusting of freckles, boyish still across the high-bridged nose and broad cheekbones. To her surprise she found herself noticing that his mouth was well-shaped and not lacking in humour either, she imagined, though at that moment it was set in a straight purposeful line.
Her fingers were growing warm again, tingling. She discovered that life was being chafed into them between the Captain's warm hands.
"Half-frozen, were you? Is that why you fell?" The voice was not unsympathetic and Beth began to cry.
"Now stop your snivelling, lad. Everybody falls from the mast at some time or another. If they're lucky, they break a leg—if not—their neck, and then their troubles are all over. You were exceeding fortunate that I broke your fall and not your neck—which I begin to feel you richly deserved. Stop snivelling, I say! Do as I tell you. Here, drink this, it will make you feel better, put some warmth into your bones again."
Beth did as she was bid, took a sip and was rewarded by a mouth and throat on fire. Her breath was taken completely by the fire-strength of the liquid the Captain was pouring into her mouth. Gasping, choking, her eyes streaming, she was aware of the mirth her predicament caused among the seamen who had gathered anxiously around the Captain to see if he were hurt.
"Water—water," she croaked.
"Here, lad, here's water for you." The Captain had been handed a jug and proceeded to pour the contents over her head.
Roars of merriment from the sailors proved how greatly they appreciated such an unexpected entertainment. It was too much for Beth. Furiously she sprang to her feet and would have fallen down again but for the Captain's supporting arm. He held her firmly, laughing at her.
"Shall we give him a ducking in the sea, Cap'n? Just to cool him down a bit more?"
"No." The Captain's voice was stern. "That's enough, men. Back to your posts." As they walked away, the Captain regarded Beth thoughtfully, rubbing his chin in a gesture she was beginning to recognise. "Master Perkins, what's to be done with you?"
"Nothing, Captain—sir. I did my best. I mean, I am sorry to have fallen on top of you. I trust I did you no injury."
"You did me no injury at all—except to my spirits."
"I don't understand, Captain."
He shook his head. "You have done nothing right since you boarded this ship—"
"I would point out, Captain, that it was not my wish to come aboard your ship. I don't recall ever being consulted in the matter."
The Captain scowled, wagging an admonishing finger at her. "Don't you give me any of your impertinence. And don't interrupt your Captain when he's talking to you. The score is heavy against you, Master Perkins, and growing hourly in favour of a whipping. First, you fail to scrub the decks clean as ordered. Second, I discover you signalling—" The Captain stopped suddenly, as if his words gave him sudden cause for reflection. He stared at Beth. "Where did you say you were from?" he demanded suspiciously.
"You didn't ask me, Captain, but I am from Hythe."
"Hythe," said the Captain absently. "Are you a spy by any chance?"
"Do I look like a spy?"
The Captain shrugged. "You look exactly like the dog's breakfast at this moment, Master Perkins." He sighed. "No one, not even the Spaniards, I am certain, would employ such a bungling incompetent child as a spy. I take your word for it that you are not a spy. What were you doing in Folkestone?"
"I had been visiting my cousin in Sand Bay. My horse went lame on the road. I thought to find a blacksmith—"
"And instead my men found you," groaned the Captain. "I see by your livery that you are an apprentice. Were you running away?" he demanded sharply.
"Yes, Captain."
"What made you do that? Were you stealing from your master?"
"Nay, Captain," said Beth indignantly. "I was brought up to be honest—and God-fearing," she added for good measure.
"What was it then? A cruel master?"
"Ay, Captain, He ill-used me."
"You cannot expect much better treatment from me, either. And I expect you deserved his bad treatment," the Captain added sternly. "Laziness, cowardice, and insubordination. Did he beat you?"
"Ay, sir."
"And so will I. You realise that you are in imminent danger of a whipping?"
Tears welled in Beth's eyes. She was tired, frightened, cold—and her head ached.
Tears obviously put the Captain at a disadvantage, for he said uncomfortably: "Before God, you are but a babe."
"I am not."
"I say you are." He thumped his fists together. "Would I had the man responsible for espying you in the square at Folkestone. It is hard enough fighting Spaniards, without being hampered in our efforts by snivelling weepy boys. I asked for men, fighting men -and they bring me children. Children!" He raised her chin and studied her face so intently that she feared his frown denounced her lies.
"I would swear," he said softly, "that you were not base-born." When she did not answer he smiled. "You have an air of breeding, a gentle voice."
Beth could think of no denial. She was trapped.
"Do I speak truth, lad?"
"Ay—sir," she stammered.
He considered her reflectively. "A rich orphan?" His voice was kind.
Mutely, she nodded.
"I presume your master was kin to you." Again she nodded, and noticed a change in the Captain's regard. He knew all about rich orphans, eagerly claimed by poorer greedy relatives, anxious to get hands on their fortunes. Some were treated with kindness and compassion, the lot of others was wretched indeed. Boys were treated as unpaid servants, abused and starved. Girls with looks enough to be marriageable prospects were used as rich lures to be sold to the highest bidder. Fleetingly, he remembered the bride awaiting him in Hythe. He had not thus far received any indication that she would be a willing wife—
"Can you read?"
"Ay, sir. And write."
"A good hand?"
"Ay, sir."
The Captain rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Fourteen, you said you were?"
"Ay, Captain."
"And as puny a specimen as ever I have seen for your age. Did this cruel master also forget to feed you?"
Beth murmured assent, avoiding his eyes.
"I might beat you as he did, but I will also guarantee to feed you. A seaman's rations every day aboard my ship -and you will learn to take your ale like a grown man."
Beth nodded miserably.
"In a week or two, there will be no more splutterings and gaspings, and you will be demanding your ale like any other upstanding English sailor—that is, if God wills that we beat the Spaniards."
His brow darkened and she fancied that he was remembering those earlier battles when some of his crew had been killed in action. Whatever his thoughts, she realised they were far from pleasant or hopeful.
"See here, lad, I have an idea. Considering that I have not the time nor the men to spare to train you to the high standard required by the Queen's ships, as a co
mpetent fighting man, nor can I spare a nursemaid to see that you don't fall off the mast and grievously wound any sailor who happens to be passing by—I will give you another chance to show your mettle."
Beth groaned, wondering what new miseries lay in store for her.
"You are too soft by far for the fighting line, too frail for deck work when the ship is in action. However, my cabin boy was killed at Portland Bill. As I cannot spare any of my sailors from their duties, you can take his place. You can look after me."
To his surprise, tears welled afresh into the great violet eyes before him and were hastily dashed away by a shirtsleeve. Before God, he had never encountered such a milksop in his life. Was this what the youth of England, the flower of British might, had in store for their future?
"Well, what ails you now?"
"Please, Captain—I want to go home."
The Captain froze. So that was all the response his generous action brought and memory painted a swift picture of that other boy, not much older than this one, brave-hearted, cheerful. Dear God, he thought, why take him? He thought of Madeleine too—
"This is no way for a sailor to talk," he said sternly. "My cabin boy, whose shoes, I regret you are not fit to fill—God rest his soul," he felt the catch in his voice, his throat thicken with emotion, "I buried him in Folkestone with five brave men. He was but a lad, a little older than you. He was injured when the mast fell on him. Terribly injured, Master Perkins. But even with his arm severed, both legs broken, he never cried out once. We didn't know he was dead, for he insisted that he would be all right once they lifted the mast. He told the men to attend to those who were worse wounded and leave him for a while. We didn't know he had gone until we returned later, for he had never once murmured in pain, or protest—"
"Signals from flagship, Cap'n."
"Very well, Master Pilot." The Captain seemed relieved at the interruption. "Go you to my cabin, Master Perkins, await me there. And try not to land in any mischief until I return."
He pointed in the direction Beth should go and she found the cabin without difficulty, since it was on the deck where she had tried to signal to Will Robb and where the boarding-party from the Ark Royal had been so amused by her actions.
She had never been aboard a ship and expected to find the Captain's quarters would be a primitive, ill-furnished dark cabin. It was not so and to her surprise she found a large and comfortable room, elegantly furnished. There was even a handsome canopied bed with damask curtains which would have done justice to any of the bedrooms in Craighall. A fine window faced into the bows of the ship, each pane decorated with a stained glass picture, and as the ship sailed into the afternoon sun, the bright colours from the glass were reflected in pretty array on to the polished floor boards.
The centre of the floor was held by a heavy oak table and padded armchairs which were little different from those in any noble house up and down the land, except that they were firmly bolted to the floor and the table boasted a brass rail on its edge and a felt cloth across its surface, to keep the contents from sliding into the diners' laps during stormy weather. A glass-fronted case, similarly equipped against heavy weather, held pewter pots and plates. There were two handsome carved oak chests, while the walls and doors were of pine. Had it not been for the creaking timber, the swaying movements and the voices of the men, the sound of their echoing footsteps, Beth could have persuaded herself that she was visitor in some fine house in Hythe.
She discovered an added luxury which even the finest houses on shore still lacked. A door opened into a house of easement, a tiny closet also containing a ewer for washing and, the height of luxury, a mirror.
The Captain's cabin had a desk too, and a huge comfortable chair. The desk was heaped with charts, with quills and volumes relating to sailing. There was also a sextant by which he could take the ship's position by the stars. And, as Beth had expected, the jewelled miniature which lay alongside was of a beautiful girl, whose heart-shaped face and black hair she recalled in perfect detail as the Captain's companion at the graveside in Folkestone.
She replaced it hastily as the door opened and the Captain appeared. He pointed to the two chests. "It will be your duty to take care of my comforts. A clean shirt and linen each day, and you will find irons for pressing in the galley. The cook will show you how to handle these irons and you may also do my laundering. I take a hot posset at the end of each watch and before retiring. When my officers dine at the table, you will also be responsible for their comfort, serving us at meals with food and ale—"
At the end of a bewildering list of duties, he smiled at Beth. "You will sleep at the foot of my bed each night, so that if I require any service during the night you will promptly set about it."
Beth gulped in horror. She had not thought that she would have to share the Captain's cabin, but had some hazy notion that she would be given a room of her own nearby. It had not occurred to her that like any servant on land, she would be expected to sleep in the same room. Now she watched him draw out from under the canopied bed the familiar servant's trestle bed.
The Captain was obviously surprised by the new cabin boy's lack of enthusiasm, for what he was being offered was a life of luxury compared to the sailors' lot. "Take heart, Master Perkins, you will get good food and you may help yourself freely to any food and wine left after my officers and myself have dined, before it is returned to the galley. You will get first choice and that should put a little flesh on those frail bones of yours."
The Captain was clearly awaiting a reply and Beth said: "Ay, Captain," in a somewhat subdued voice.
The Captain rubbed his hands together. "That is settled then, Master Perkins. You be a good servant and you will find me a good master. But be lazy or steal, or be disobedient, and you will find the weight of that whip over there across your back." He paused and pointed to a cat o' nine tails hanging on the wall beside a small armoury of swords, daggers and muskets. "Ay, and you will feel the strength of my hand behind it."
Beth shuddered as the Captain continued cheerfully: "Say your prayers each night and if God is good and the Sea Queen outwits the Spaniards, we will all live to fight another day. And we will take glory back to our good Queen Bess, God bless her. So be of good heart, lad, remember that boys soon turn into men on my ship. We will make a man of you yet."
Beth hid a smile, doubting that.
He regarded her, hands on hips. "You know the rules, then?"
"Ay, Captain."
"Be diligent, loyal, hard-working and trustworthy—"
"Ay, Captain."
"Become a good sailor and you may yet earn ten shillings a month. Be a good servant and you will find Captain James Danyell a kind master—"
"Captain James Danyell," said Beth faintly. "Are you the same who is cousin to Sir Francis Drake?"
The Captain bowed. "The same," he said with a proud smile, and leaving the cabin, he missed the sight of his new cabin boy falling weakly into the nearest chair.
James Danyell—Master of the Sea Queen!
Beth groaned, clutching her aching head. Of all the appalling ill-luck that ever stalked mortal woman! Not only had she been idiot enough to let herself walk straight into the arms of the pressers at Folkestone, and now in the guise of Master Ben Perkins, was all set to go into battle against the Spanish Armada—that was nightmare enough. But by some hideous mischance of fate, she had been taken by the very ship of the one man in the world she most wanted to escape.
Captain James Danyell—her bridegroom.
CHAPTER FIVE
When Captain James Danyell returned to his cabin, Beth eyed him sourly. Had he become a monster sprouting horns and a tail since the revelation of his identity as the man she least wished to encounter in the whole world, she would not have been in the least surprised.
His appearance was not improved at that moment by every indication that something—or more likely someone—had put him into a towering rage. A rage which gave rise to a certain amount of pacing the flo
or and banging his hands angrily upon the table.
Beth watched this performance with mute contempt, happy to know that her vile opinion of this boorish man was completely justified. How typical that he should take out his anger upon some defenceless person or object, she thought, regarding the table top with compassion.
At last he slumped down in his chair, scowling. "Master Perkins, do you not observe that it grows dark outside? Light the lantern, if you please."
"Ay, Captain."
It was a matter easier in the telling than the performing. Although Beth's life as a servant in her uncle's house had perfected her in most menial kitchen tasks, the lighting of a lantern in a swaying ship's cabin, under the critical gaze of Captain James Danyell, was fumbling and unsuccessful. Eventually he snatched the tinder box from her hands.
"Before God, Master Perkins, can you do nothing in orderly manner?" As the frail light grew in the lantern, he shook his head: "You are without exception the most useless creature it has ever been my misfortune to have upon this ship." Then with a sigh perhaps of desperation, or of a man seeking to calm his emotions, he sat back in his chair and said not unkindly:
"I would take wine. You will find a barrel in the press yonder."
Beth's attempts to fill the goblet as the ship lurched heavily once again, were as inexpert has her failure to light the lantern, which the Captain had hung upon the hook in the ceiling. She looked at him anxiously and again he shook his head and sighed wearily in the troubled manner of one who has graver matters upon his mind.
"Wipe it up, then. Wipe it clean."
As she placed the goblet before him, he indicated a leather satchel by the cabin window. "You will find fresh bread and cheese—and butter too—in there. Take the knife and serve it to me."
Beth's attempts to present him with buttered bread and cheese showed more skill than her previous efforts. She stood by watching him eat, trying to keep the hunger from her eyes. Suddenly he looked up, laid down the knife and said:
"Have you eaten, lad?"
The Queen's Captain Page 5