‘No, I don’t think that’s a good idea,’ he said with a smile. ‘Look, maybe Frank will get his chance to talk to Lieutenant Belsize. Maybe this’ll all be over sooner than we think.’
‘Hmm, maybe.’ Pedro wasn’t often guilty of wishful thinking but we both knew this was a long shot.
We fell silent. I stared out across the ink-black ocean, awed by the vastness of the world. The moon ducked in and out of clouds as if playing hide-and-seek. The gentle rise and fall of the waves felt like a mother rocking the ship to sleep. Letting the mood creep into my soul, my problems diminished, seeming small matters compared to the beauty of the starlight sea. The peacefulness made me feel more hopeful than I had for some days.
‘Maybe we should wait till we make port,’ I suggested. ‘Harkness said we’re not far from Bermuda. I think we stand a much better chance on land as long as it’s got a decent sized port and other ships calling in.’
‘How will that help?’
‘It’ll give me the chance to get away and then Frank will be free to tell everyone the truth.’ The plan seemed to take shape as I spoke. ‘I could try to slip off, change back into a girl and catch a ship home from there.’
Pedro did not look convinced.
I ploughed on regardless. ‘No, no, it’s a good idea really. They can’t recapture and punish a girl for the desertion of Jimmy Brown, can they? If Frank writes a letter, I could take it to the duke and let him know what’s happened.’
Pedro shook his head sceptically. ‘And how do you plan to pay for this? I don’t fancy your chances adrift in a seaport on your own with no money. That’s if someone doesn’t recognize you and arrest you first. And you can’t think we’d let you go alone. If one of us comes with you, likely as not we’d be caught and flogged for trying to jump ship.’
He was right: I was fooling myself; it was a reckless scheme. At least on the Courageous I had the protection of my friends and I would not want them to follow me and end up in worse trouble.
‘Frank’s going to send a letter home in any case, if he can smuggle it away without Maclean noticing,’ Pedro added. ‘Once that’s gone, he’s going to have a word with Lieutenant Belsize.’
‘Hasn’t it occurred to you that Belsize might be in on this?’ I’d had plenty of time to think such gloomy thoughts down in the hold.
‘What? Why?’
‘Well, all I knew about him before coming aboard was that he was talking to Billy Shepherd at the ball. That’s not good. If they know each other, he could be part of the conspiracy. He might even be one of the disappointed suitors wanting to get the catch of the season out of the way. Billy mentioned that most of the young men in Bath hated Frank. Maybe they schemed together to do this to us? And to get us all on board must’ve involved more than Maclean, surely?’
‘I don’t know; in the dark with some hired thugs, Maclean might’ve been able to pull it off. And are you so sure that Shepherd is behind it? What does he stand to gain?’
Pedro was voicing my own doubts. I tried to put the case I had made to accuse Billy. ‘Revenge, for one thing.’
‘But I thought that you and he were . . . well, you know . . . on better terms these days? I would’ve thought he’d be waiting to see how that all works out before taking the drastic step of banishing you to sea.’
Pedro’s words recalled that kiss and the promise that there was more to follow. It did not seem likely that Billy was this angry with me. But I had a second point to offer in my case.
‘Maybe, but this isn’t about me, is it? Frank’s the target. And Billy would know that concern for me would keep Frank in check. He’d be more interested in getting Avon money from Dixon than flirting with me.’
‘But Maclean said his employer didn’t want a knife in the ribs for Frank; wouldn’t that have been more in Billy’s style if he wanted Dixon to come into his inheritance?’
‘I don’t know. I don’t think I know Billy as well as I once did.’ I blew on my fingers. The night was cool even though we were travelling south. ‘And if not him, then who?’
‘Well, who else stands to gain from all this?’
‘Mr Dixon, of course, but he might be dead – not very clever if he’s behind it.’
‘Who’s next in line then?’
‘No idea; you’ll have to ask Frank. But I suppose it would make sense for that lucky man to wipe out the two people standing between him and a dukedom.’
After what seemed an eternity at sea, the New Year saw us approaching the port of Hamilton on Bermuda Island. I wondered what it would be like, my first view of a world beyond Europe. At Drury Lane, backdrops depicting exotic islands had always been painted with fanciful palaces festooned with lush fruits and flowers. Remembering these images, I passed the time on duty imagining myself lying in a hammock on a white sand beach eating peaches and grapes. The truth, of course, turned out to be somewhat different.
Having caught a glimpse of a chart with the islands tiny specks in the expanse of ocean, I had to take my cap off to the navigators: they had managed to get us here with nothing more than sextant, clock, sun and stars to help them. Hamilton hardly looked worth their efforts – not a good place to launch an escape attempt, being only a collection of makeshift houses around a harbour. Palm trees fringed the surf like up-ended ragged broomsticks. All in all, I had been hoping for something more inspiring for my first experience of distant lands.
A pilot came on board to see us through the reefs. A holiday mood stole over the crew as everyone anticipated shore leave after weeks of being cooped up with each other. Even sour Maclean brightened up considerably, donning a fresh shirt and trousers as Hamilton came into view. This caused Mrs Foster some merriment.
‘He has a special friend,’ she whispered to me, ‘a lady met on his last stopover. I think he expects her to be waiting for him. I am afraid your master is a romantic at heart, Jimmy.’
I found it hard to imagine anyone wishing Maclean to call; I’d run in the opposite direction. But I kept this observation to myself.
‘Yes, a romantic. You’d never know it now but he was once in training to be a priest.’
‘What!’ I couldn’t imagine anyone less godly.
‘Ah, it rankles still with him; he rarely speaks of it.’ Mrs Foster looked almost sad for him. ‘Forced from that path by poverty, he said. Took to the bottle and cards like so many do.’
‘He would never have made a priest,’ I said bitterly.
She patted my face tenderly. ‘You are too young to understand, Jimmy, but many of us have to live on when our dreams are crushed. It can spoil the best of us.’
Lieutenant Lely signalled for the shore party to prepare to disembark.
‘Are you going ashore, Jimmy?’ she asked as the boats were lowered. Maclean had appeared to have momentarily forgotten me, such was his eagerness to see his girlfriend, but he now overheard Mrs Foster’s comment and that brought him back to himself. He realized that he couldn’t leave me alone in port.
‘Can’t trust him, Mrs Foster,’ he said, cuffing me around the head to punish me for his forgetfulness. ‘He’ll drink himself stupid like he did in Bristol.’
‘Then leave him here with me,’ said Mrs Foster. ‘I’m not going ashore today.’
That wouldn’t do either. Maclean rounded on two sailors standing in line for the boat.
‘Here, Harkness, Nightingale, will you take my boy with you? Keep a close eye on him for me and bring him back in one piece?’
Harkness, my friend from the cross-trees, and Nightingale, the burly bosun’s mate, seemed surprised by this sudden outburst of fatherly concern, but they agreed readily enough when some coins appeared in their palms. Mrs Foster nodded in approval, muttering something about it being about time too.
‘You’re not to let him out of your sight, understand?’ stressed Maclean. ‘And I’ll give you double that if he comes back safe and sound.’
Having despatched me into the care of my two guards, Maclean went in search of Pedro
and Frank. A short conversation with the bosun resulted in my two friends being held over until the second shore leave. As ill luck would have it, Syd was already destined for tomorrow’s party. That left me with no allies, just as Maclean intended.
As a final thought, Maclean took me aside.
‘Listen, you little minx, don’t try anything. I expect your friends’ll think they can get word back to England, but it won’t work. If they try to send a message, I’ll get to hear of it and you’ll be very, very sorry. Got that?’
Maclean looked me over, roughly buttoning my jacket to the neck. ‘Go to the inn with those men, act your part and come back on time. Do nothing to draw attention to yourself.’
With that parting endearment, he handed me back to Harkness.
The sky was an unpromising iron-grey as we landed in the boat at the harbour. Where were the sunny tropical skies I’d always imagined? It appeared that January in Bermuda was not a good time to visit. Harkness and Nightingale, however, were not disappointed: they planned to go straight to the nearest inn and leave tourism to others. My pleas to be allowed to wander fell on deaf ears.
‘Nay, lad, you’re coming with us,’ Harkness said. ‘We’ll teach you to drink like a real sailor.’
This was one skill I had no intention of mastering but my protests only encouraged them. They practically dragged me into a tavern, thumping a mug down on the table in front of me.
Now, Reader, I have always been of the opinion that strong drink makes men fools, rotting their gut and dulling their wits. To be honest, I would’ve preferred a cup of tea but could hardly request such luxuries here. I sipped the brew slowly, trying to consume as little as possible. Harkness fell into conversation with the comely barmaid, her skin as dark as the beer she served; Nightingale wandered over to a table in the corner where a crowd of men were gathered. Something seemed to be happening but from the occasional cries of pain and jeers I wasn’t sure I wanted to see.
‘Who’s the boy?’ the maid asked after a while, peering past Harkness to look at me more closely. When I turned away she interpreted it as shyness. ‘Aw, Honey, no need to be ’fraid of Mary Belle: you be too young for mah taste. Come back in a few years and maybe then we see!’ She gave a throaty laugh and blew me a kiss.
Harkness pretended to snatch the kiss from the air and clapped it on his lips. ‘Now, now, Mary Belle, I don’t want you corrupting my little friend here with your boldness. If you’re giving away favours, here’s a mouth that needs them.’ He gave her a hearty kiss, inducing much more laughter and wriggles from the maid. I turned my eyes away in embarrassment, gulping my drink in order to avoid looking at them.
Five minutes later, Nightingale was back. He dug Harkness in the ribs, distracting him from his tête-à-tête with the maid.
‘I think I’ll spend Mean Maclean’s money on one of those.’ He nodded to the corner.
Mary Belle rose from Harkness’s knee, stroked my face in passing and returned to her bar duties.
‘What’s that?’ queried Harkness, eyes still on the friendly maid. Nightingale grabbed his shoulder and turned him to face the other way.
‘Over there, mate.’
In the corner sat a foreign-looking man, Oriental I guessed, with a tray of equipment in front of him like a barber.
‘He’s doing tattoos. He’ll give you anything you want.’
I burst out laughing. There had been a fashion for tattoos started by Captain Cook when he brought back stories of the wild men of the South Pacific. All the rich men had had one – even royalty, they said. It seemed the practice was now spreading to us lower orders.
‘What’s so funny, Jimmy?’ Nightingale growled.
‘Nothing.’ I drowned my laugh quickly in a mouthful of ale. ‘What are you going to ask for?’
He scratched his head for a moment. ‘Well, I want something to impress the ladies. A bear, perhaps?’
I shook my head. ‘Too clumsy.’
‘A tiger?’
‘Maybe. A bit too fierce perhaps?’
He heard the doubt in my voice.
‘How about a wild boar?’ suggested Harkness.
‘Oh yeah,’ I snorted. ‘A pig, very appropriate. That’ll really impress them.’
Nightingale clipped me playfully around the ear. ‘Less of that cheek.’ He turned back to Harkness. ‘But he’s right. I know – a stallion!’
Pleased with his choice, he was soon huddled in the corner with the artist, his forearm outstretched.
I yawned and drank a little more. It must be strong stuff: my head felt as if it were muffled in hot towels. Harkness refilled my mug.
‘What are you going to go for?’ I asked sleepily.
‘I don’t know, son. Maybe I’ll have a heart with my wife’s name: Jennie. Yeah, I think that’d be good.’
‘You’d better make sure he spells it right.’ I drew the name in the dirt on the tabletop for him. ‘Your wife won’t be impressed if you come back with some other girl’s name on your arm.’
He squinted at the letters, memorizing them slowly. ‘Thanks, lad. What about you?’
‘Oh, I don’t want one.’ I now rested my head on my arms. Though if I had really been a boy, I thought blearily, it would have been amusing to have a tattoo. My friends in Covent Garden would be green with envy.
‘What about a squirrel? You go up and down the rigging like one sure enough.’
‘No, no.’ Harkness seemed strangely blurred. I closed my eyes. ‘If anything, I suppose I’d have a cat. But really, I don’t want one.’
‘What about your sweetheart’s name? I bet you left a girl pining for you in London, eh? What’s her name?’
My disguise required some proof of my masculinity it seemed. ‘My girl? Her name’s . . . her name’s Pansy, but I don’t want that either.’
With these last fatal words, I fell asleep.
I woke suddenly some time later to find someone gripping my shirt collar, pressing my head down on my arms. I struggled, thinking Maclean had got hold of me again, but then heard Nightingale laughing.
‘Keep him down, boys. We’re giving Tom Thumb a treat! We’re going to let his Pansy know what a little pussycat he is.’
‘Get off me!’ I squealed. My collar was wrenched back, exposing my neck, and then a sharp pricking pain pierced my shoulderblade.
‘Now, now, Jimmy, you mustn’t squeak like a girl. Take it like a man,’ said Harkness, roaring with laughter. ‘We’re giving you one on the house!’
My resistance was futile, only serving to attract the rest of the inn’s customers to enjoy the show. Finally, I was allowed up. I quickly buttoned my shirt up to the neck.
‘Don’t you want to see what we’ve done?’ asked Nightingale, handing the smiling tattooist a handsome tip. He then showed off his rearing stallion to me. Its hooves seemed to paw the air as he flexed his muscles. The artist had been good.
‘No I don’t, you . . .’ (I’m afraid the rest of the sentence has to be censored). My shoulder ached furiously and I was filled with dread that I now had something unspeakable that I’d have to carry with me for the rest of my days. Of course I wanted to see, just not here in front of all these strangers.
But Harkness and Nightingale thought it all a splendid joke. They slung their arms around my neck and swayed down the street with me between them, singing and shouting. They considered that they’d done me a favour and we’d all had a roaring good time of it.
Well, at least I was now well and truly one of the lads.
SCENE 3 – FIGHT
We arrived back on board in the early hours of the morning, just managing to catch the last boat before it departed for the ship. Pedro, Syd and Frank were waiting anxiously for me, wasting time they should’ve spent in their hammocks. Assuring them that I was fine, I ducked below to the privacy of my cabin.
Maclean was also on the watch for my return. Seeing me back safe and sound, he grunted with satisfaction and turned in. Once he was snoring, I cautiously lit a lantern
and tried to twist to see what was causing the fiery pain on my shoulder. It was impossible. Without a mirror, I’d need the neck of an owl to look behind me. I’d have to find someone I could trust to tell me the worst. My prayer as I readied for bed was that I wasn’t branded with the name of a flower for the rest of my days. I would die of embarrassment.
I sought Pedro out after breakfast.
‘Can you spare a moment?’ I whispered.
He was preparing for his shore leave, planning to earn some coins by playing in the taverns. We could all badly do with some money.
‘Of course, Cat. What is it?’
‘Come over here.’ I dragged him to a quiet spot on the forecastle.
‘This is all very mysterious. What’s wrong?’
‘Something happened last night . . .’ I could feel my cheeks blushing furiously but I had to know.
‘Not something bad, I hope?’ he asked, leaning in a little closer.
I groaned. ‘Pedro, I’ve been a first-rate idiot.’ I swallowed my pride as I confessed. ‘I . . . er . . . got a little worse for wear last night and my shipmates decided to initiate me in their boys’ club. They did this.’ I tugged at the neck of my shirt, wriggling my shoulder free. ‘What is it?’
Pedro moved the cloth out of the way, then roared with laughter.
‘Pedro!’ I was frantic. ‘It’s not . . . not “Pansy”, is it?’
‘No. It’s a kitten – a beautiful black kitten with green eyes.’
I put my head in my hands. ‘How am I going to explain this? I can’t imagine tattoos ever becoming fashionable for girls of my sort. I’m marked for life!’
‘Nonsense!’ said Pedro briskly. ‘My sisters had lots of them; they were considered very becoming.’
‘But your sisters lived in West Africa; I live in the west end of London!’
Pedro ran his finger over my new adornment. ‘Really, Cat, it’s very pretty.’
‘Pedro, what are you doin’?’ I heard heavy footsteps and Syd appeared beside us.
‘Ssh!’ we both hissed. Did he want everyone to hear?
Cat O'Nine Tales Page 8