by Alaric Bond
The man looked at her blankly.
"Well, I shall not be held responsible for Mr Soames and his lax practices. As far as I am concerned I take over from this day, and we will need to know exactly what the ship holds. Later we can go back and see how much was paid, and some sort of valuation can be achieved."
"I can call the stewards, an’ the holders, if you wish ma’am; ‘though some might be at rest. We work a three watch system."
"Do you?" She eyed him carefully. "When all the ship runs to only two watches? I find that strange."
"Mr Soames preferred it."
"I dare say he did, but I do not." She sighed and rested her hands upon her hips. "Perhaps you had better assemble everyone, and I will address them together; that might be easier."
"Very good, ma’am." Jack Dusty bustled out, leaving the woman to look about her. The room was kept well enough, although it could use a decent clean, but first she had to get the accounts straight. A half open sack of flour was next to Jack Dusty’s stool. She peered inside, and then closed it properly. There were plenty of things that needed tightening up, and doubtless she would have to introduce a few new practices, but she was very used to that; in fact she relished the challenge. And it was good to be back in a ship again. A sound came from the entrance, and she looked up expecting to see the stewards, but was only mildly surprised when Manning entered.
He stood in the half-light, a cautious smile upon his face. "Hello, Kate," he said.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
"I just didn’t expect to see you back on board Pandora."
"No," she smiled at him. "Well why would you? I was out of your life, or so you thought."
"It wasn’t what I wanted."
Her finger tapped playfully at his nose. "Nor I."
He found his face had set into a permanent smile as his eyes followed her about the small room.
"So, how did you get to be our new pusser?"
"Well I’m not, not officially, that is. My father has taken a turn for the worst, I’m afraid. The injury healed well enough; when they examined him at St Bartholomew’s they felt there was little to add. The fracture was curing and you had relieved him of the pressure. However it seems that harm had been done and he was continuing to deteriorate: deteriorate in other ways..."
Manning’s smile faded. "His mind?"
"Yes, I’m afraid he has been admitted to the Bethlem." She hurried on quickly not looking at him, "It is a very good hospital in the City of London and it specialises in those suffering from lunacy."
"I know," he said. "I am sorry."
"No, don’t be, you did what you could and, to put it bluntly, he isn’t dead. And it would do little good for me to sit a-watching him, and so I am here."
He looked at her quizzically: it seemed a poor explanation.
"While trying to settle my father’s business affairs, I met with one of his former partners; he represents a major victualler. It seems your Mr Soames has been rather amiss with his returns, and they were starting to have doubts about him. Johnson, my father’s associate and I, have worked together in the past. He introduced me to a member of the Victualling Board and said I was the very person to untangle a mess. They spoke to the Admiralty, who dithered about a bit as those in authority are inclined to, but I usually get what I want and before I knew I was being sent off on the next available ship."
"But we are at war: you are a woman…" his voice trailed away as the familiar foolishness that Kate seemed to evoke took him over.
"Yes, Mr Manning, I am aware of both those facts, but find them of little relevance." She began to flurry about the room, rearranging lines of bottles and generally putting all she could into a different order. "There are hundreds - thousands of women at sea, and not just officer’s wives and passengers; quite a few are serving now before the mast, ‘though the Navy would rather it were not known. And as for being at war, if I am acting as a purser I feel I am perfectly safe, lest I consume too much of what Mr Soames acquired, that is. Should we see action I am sure a place could be found for me in the cockpit." Her eyes suddenly found his. "We go well together, Robert; and this is where I belong."
"I’m glad," he said.
"Well let’s see how things turn out, shall we? Who knows, if I take to it, I might even apply for the bond, and you will have me for permanent."
"And do you think you will?"
"Take to the work? Really Mr Manning, you hardly give a girl a chance. I have met but Jack Dusty to date, and he has failed to impress. I requested that he bring the stewards and holders back here for me to address, and where is he?"
"Explaining why they will be answering to a woman, I would chance."
"Well they will be, and tardiness will not help their position any; that is certain."
There was a pause as both eyed each other.
"I thought you had gone with the captain," he said, feeling instantly foolish once more, but she was gentle with him.
"I know you did, and I know why, but it was not the case, nor never would it be."
"It is good to see you again."
"Likewise you," she smiled at him again and a strange hunger grew in his chest as she continued. "As I said, I usually get what I want."
* * * * *
King had dined several more times at the van Leiden household; on each occasion he had become more comfortable and at ease amongst the family. It was a feeling he had not known for many years. The child, Joseph, soon passed through his initial shyness to view this strange and exotic officer as something between an object of wonder and a punching bag. The food was good, a different meal on every occasion, although they had the same basic ingredients of fish, lamb, smoked or otherwise, and cheese. And on most nights there had been a strange porridge for dessert; oats boiled in milk, probably goat’s, and served with what had tasted like preserved cranberries. It was all miles away from lobscouse, sauerkraut and the duff and suet puddings he was used to, but none the worst for that. King’s young appetite soon adjusted; so much so that, when walking back with Wilhelm on the last night before his return, he felt positively sleek. The food, the warmth and comfort of a family, and the strange detachment from war, even though he was still a prisoner—it had all had been quite overwhelming. He felt as if he had been sucked up into a different world; one where items that were previously considered important suddenly ceased to matter. It was a world where people led ordinary lives, and lived in rooms that were larger than cupboards, and did extraordinary things like bringing up children, and sleeping in warm, dry beds, and for more than a few hours at a time. It was a world he could become accustomed to if he allowed himself.
And there had been Juliana.
It was a subject King had felt unable to bring up until that last moment; after, in fact, he had said goodbye to her for what he was sure would be the last time.
"What of her husband?" he asked.
"He died about two years ago," van Leiden replied, as they walked slowly through the empty nighttime streets. "It was the war, you know."
King said nothing; there was little that could be added to such a blunt statement. From the first evening Juliana had taken control of the kitchen, and it was soon established that they would both wash up the dishes at the end of the meal. It had been an important time for King and, he suspected, for Juliana. They had talked as friends and, as friends, come to know each other well, although he had always been careful to steer their conversations away from her late husband. The joke had been that clearing up in the van Leiden household took longer than cooking, but no one seemed acutely bothered, and King had always returned to the late night coffee and Wilhelm and Anna with a mixture of regret and fulfilment. These were certainly novel surroundings; as a prisoner in a foreign land there could be fewer more so. He told himself that, after some time at sea, any available woman would be bound to take his fancy, and the only one doubly so. And he supposed now that there was irony in the reason she was available, which would also seem to rule out any possibility
of their friendship developing further.
"I have spoken with my commander," van Leiden continued, seemingly unaware that King’s carefully hoarded question had been more than casual interest. "He is happy for me to return with you."
"Excellent, you will take me out to sea?"
"Indeed, it is the first time I was on the water, since my release; maybe I have forgotten how to sail?"
"Maybe you have; you should ensure there are a number of other officers in the boat with you to be certain."
"With the sharp eyes do you mean?" he gave a wicked smile. "Yes that is a very good idea; one that I must adopt."
They were nearing the fort now, and a uniformed guard emerged from his post ready to challenge them.
"So, when I call for you on the morrow; you will be ready, no?"
King nodded. "I will be ready."
"You have my address if you should wish to write to me, and I will contact you also."
"That would be good, Will; I’d like that."
"Maybe you should write to Juliana as well." Even in the darkness he could detect a faint look of amusement on the Dutchman’s face. "She is happy in our house, I think, though it must become boring looking after another family when you have had thoughts for your own."
"I would like to write," he paused, uncertain in the warm summer night. "But her husband, I thought, as I am an English officer…"
"Oh, she thinks the same of the English as we all do: you are nice enough people in your way, just misguided, both in your politics and your food. There is nothing she would like more than a letter from you once in a while. It will make her feel superior, and I am sure she will write back, and teach you the error of your ways."
"But her husband?"
"You need not write to him: he will not reply."
"I know that, you imbecile!" The sentry, who had been lounging by the gate, suddenly became alert and considered them both suspiciously. King lowered his voice and whispered urgently at his grinning friend.
"She’s hardly likely to want letters from me, I am from the same country that killed him!"
"But it was the French," his smiled had faded now. "When our home was overrun there were many, such as him, who did not want the rule from another land. Several small battles were fought, and Dirk was killed. It was unfortunate: he and I did not agree on many matters, but I know he would not have enjoyed living under another government. Some say that to die for an ideal is a good thing; I am not so sure, but in his case it was right. For Juliana it is sad of course, but they had not been together long, and I am certain she would appreciate your friendship."
King nodded silently in the darkness. "And I her’s."
"But now we must sleep, and I call for you at middag."
"Thanks, Will; for all you have done."
"Oh I have liked getting to know you better; maybe I have a different idea of the English now."
"And I the Dutch."
"It has been excellent for us both, but you must remember that not everyone in my country is as good as I am."
* * * * *
"I say, the mutiny’s over." Newman was staring at the newspaper, and looked up at Fraiser as he entered the gunroom.
"Over, do you say?"
"Collapsed some while ago; complete stand down; mind it’s The Times, so there is bound to be bias."
"Last I hears the delegates were all for blockading London."
"Belike they did. It says that sea trade to the capital city is now able to continue," Newman shook his head. "Blockading London, what mischief!"
"Och, that might have been their undoing; with the country at war any who take such a step in favour of their selves wouldna retain the public’s heart."
"Aye, the mob is fickle, sure enough."
"With bairns to be fed they maybe have the right. But good news, none the less; good news for all."
"Not for those who took part."
"The ringleaders, d’you mean?" Fraiser handed his jacket to Crowley and seated himself at the table.
"I think they called themselves delegates, but no, I wasn’t just thinking of them."
"Ah, the men in the ships?"
Newman nodded. "Aye, anyone serving in a vessel that flew the red flag is liable to a charge."
"But they canna hang all the seamen, it would be worse than the mutiny itself, an’ no purpose would be served."
The marine set the paper down. "Well it ain’t a problem I’d like to solve. Oh and we have post, by the way. But I fear there is nothing for you."
"No matter; that would be the new arrivals, then?"
"Yes, the battleships that joined us yesterday." Newman pushed the coffee pot towards Fraiser. "They brought post, provisions and a successor to Soames."
"Ah, well he will be very welcome, I’m certain." Fraiser poured a measure of coffee into a cup. "It might be the fault of his illness, but he were slipping badly towards the end; the scran they’ve been serving of late has been less than appetising."
"Well, let’s hope things start to improve."
"Aye, I’d rather not have another like Mr Soames." Fraiser said firmly as he raised his cup.
Newman returned to his newspaper and smiled to himself. "Oh, I think you will find his replacement to be different enough," he said.
* * * * *
There was no wind, and King and van Leiden sat next to each other in the stern sheets of the cutter without speaking. The stroke oar, who was dressed as any other seaman except his hair was well cut and his face impeccably shaven, was keeping a careful eye on King as the small boat left the harbour and pulled steadily toward the three warships that stood watch in the open seas beyond.
King was staring at them, partly to avoid the eyes of the Dutch seaman, and partly because two of the ships were unfamiliar. They were both seventy-fours; apparently the North Sea Fleet had received support, and these heavy war horses had come to add force to Duncan’s blockade. The other stood out as a craft built for speed and daring; she was a light frigate, and one he knew well.
"New ships?" van Leiden asked.
"No, they are part of our fleet," he said dismissively. "A very small part – it is a very large fleet."
"So you have seen them before?"
"Oh yes," King found it surprisingly easy to lie to his friend.
"Then you must have very good eyes; five British ships arrived only yesterday, and these are two of them. I know you cannot view the sea from your quarters. Maybe you can see through stone walls?"
King nodded seriously. "The English have many talents," he said.
They were drawing nearer to Pandora now, although the two liners had also closed with them. Van Leiden muttered an order, and one of the seamen stood up in the small boat and held the large white flag out in the still afternoon sunshine. King could see Banks on the quarterdeck, and next to him Fraiser and Caulfield. And there was Dorsey as well. He felt the need to wave or cry out, but he was an officer, and could not give in to such behaviour. Cribbins, in the bows, had no such inhibitions however, and began to bellow at his shipmates as they crowded the forecastle.
"Boat ahoy!"
"Aye aye!" van Leiden shouted back, giving King a sidelong grin as he did. The boat drew nearer, until it bumped against the hull just below the starboard gangway port. There was no man rope rigged, King turned to look at his friend, who gave him an off hand salute. He smiled, nodded, then reached for the nearest ledge and pulled himself upward. Fortunately Pandora had a pronounced tumblehome, and he was soon past the slippery steps, and reaching for the side of the port. Someone grabbed his arm, and he was surprised to see Caulfield beaming down as he dragged him aboard. Then his hand was being heartily shaken; it was Fraiser, who was saying something he could hear, but not understand. Lewis slapped him on the back, and shouted in his ear, but again he missed the exact words. Cribbins had boarded after him, and was being greeted by seamen on the gangway. King looked down to the small boat that had already pulled away, and was returning to harbour. Van Le
iden was still in the stern, looking straight ahead. King’s gaze rose to the harbour and the buildings he had grown to know so well: he could see the fort and the spire from the church that was at the end of the road, the road where van Leiden lived, lived with his family, and Juliana. He tore himself away; the commotion was still carrying on about him, although now he seemed able to make out actual words, and give halting replies. His hand was still being shaken; Manning this time, and what looked like Katharine Black standing next to him, but of course that was impossible. Then he saw Banks.
Standing almost alone on the quarterdeck, the captain seemed far older, and more dignified than he remembered; or was it just the contrast between his steady reserve and these lunatics who were trying to burst his eardrums? He broke away, and began to walk towards him, as the cheering slowly died down to almost nothing. Banks smiled, and held out his hand.
"Welcome aboard, Mr King," he said softly. "It is good to have you back."
"It is good to be back, sir." he replied. "Thank you."
* * * * *
Cribbins had been lecturing long and hard and for most of the afternoon, but that evening on the berth deck he seemed more than willing to continue. Sitting on a sea chest with a blackjack in one hand he gave forth to the assembled company, taking questions whenever possible and ignoring the dry comments that were becoming more frequent as he exploited his position to the full. The trials and dangers of being a prisoner of war were combined, oddly, with the benefits; of which there seemed to be a surprising number and variety. The other men, though initially pleased to see him, soon remembered his type and though most listened with the interest of those who receive singularly little social stimulation, they became increasingly ready with a barrack, or smart rejoiner, whenever the opportunity presented.
Now, with the evening meal digested, and the four o’clock rum fully spent, the novelty of speaking with one they had believed dead was gone and they were starting to become bored by him and his stories.
"So I say, I’m sick of fish; tells them straight I did. Sick of fish and sick of the ways they cooks it; some of which weren’t natural. Give me good British beef, I said. And a fair spread of British onions to go with it."