‘I am very sorry, sir.’
I turn away. He has never spoken to me thus.
‘No, dear, I am sorry. It is not your doing. Please forgive me. I have grave news. I received a letter some days ago that my son has been injured and returns home soon, an invalid. My wife and I must care for him. He has lost a leg.’
The house is quieter and the cooking indifferent, as Susan and her husband are away at home for several days, attending to their son. Mr Applebee asks if I will visit Owen there and I gladly oblige. On the walk through St Giles, we pass by the Roundhouse and see the hands of hungry prisoners thrust through the bars, hear their thin voices begging passers-by for food; and I shudder.
At the Applebee residence, Owen is stretched out in bed in the front room. One side of the mattress is raised by his hulking right leg, long and muscular as ever, the sheet clinging to it. The other side is flat below the knee, horribly flat, a wide expanse of grey sheet, where a man’s lower leg should be. I cannot help but think of my legless shrews – and at this moment acquire a retrospective horror of what I did to them, the poor creatures. Owen’s face is as grey as the sheet, thin and drawn; the life has gone from those big brown eyes and he appears trapped, hemmed in by his messy hair and his long dark eyelashes and the heavy curtains hanging behind him. A light has gone out from him and I fear it will never return. He does not wish to speak with me very much. He thanks me for my visit, says it is kind. But he will not look at me and closes his eyes to sleep. Susan’s eyes are red and exhausted. My tutor is uncharacteristically quiet.
On our walk home, Mr Applebee says, ‘I had hoped your visit might perk him up somewhat. I am afraid I was wrong. Perhaps I should not have brought you here, Dawnay.’
‘I am glad you did. I have been a fool about army life. I thought it all fun and your concerns were nonsense. I have seen the cost of it now. The life it takes away.’
‘He is alive, that is what Mrs Applebee says to me each night. He is alive, and that is our gift. They took his leg and now we have to persuade him that he still has his life. But he weeps in the night and says he wishes he were dead. We have to teach him that his life will be worthy, as it is to us. It will take us a long time, I fear, and we may never achieve it. But that is our role presently.’
I see my tutor has no place with me now, that his life will be at home. I ask my benefactor if he is providing for them, perhaps a stipend to help them manage Owen’s recovery and physical needs. He assures me they are well taken care of and need for nothing. Once I know the Applebees will be well, I resolve on the course I must take.
9
I use my allowance to buy a compass and a map of the Iberian Peninsula. I study the problems of latitude and longitude. I scribble and sketch and plan. I discover that there is an archipelago of islands off Portugal known locally as the Berlengas. They are mainly uninhabited and replete with unusual flora and fauna. I have found my object of study.
I go to see my benefactor in the withdrawing room one Sunday morning, steeling myself for, at best, a lively discussion and, at worst, a bitter argument. I am so very fond of Mr Woods and hate to invite discord between us, yet I know I will battle against his refusal if it comes.
‘I wish to travel to Portugal and study some of the islands near to it. I wish to go alone. I can stay with some of your contacts in Lisbon, but I do not require nor wish for a chaperone. It is the only course my life can take now, the only way I can develop my theories. I wish you to see the logic of it and help me achieve this aim. For if I stay cooped up in London, in this house – as dear to me as it has always been – I will lose my mind. I will not prosper. I hate to disappoint you, but you know by now I will never marry, never have a child. I will live single and devote my life to science but I cannot achieve my aims here. I need your help, as you have always helped me, to go out into the world and study it. Will you help me?’
‘As you know, Stephen has already spoken to me of this plan. I considered it with him as your chaperone. But now that he is not available to go with you, Dawnay, I cannot see a way to do it. Decently, I mean. To do it decently, so that you are protected and seemly.’
‘Sir, you come from very different origins to the place in society in which you now find yourself. You followed the call to adventure when it came, and now you have achieved your aims, indeed, you have surpassed them. Will you not afford me, your charge, your legacy, the same rights of accomplishment, to allow me to discover my own destiny? All my studies these years have led to this point. There is no alternative. I am a sensible and strong-willed person. I will require only that I am placed on the right ship, that I am shown the way to my lodging in Lisbon, and that a local guide can take me to the boat that sails for the island. If you can arrange those things for me, I will require nothing or no one further. I assure you, sir, I know precisely what I am about and no harm will come to me or to your reputation.’
‘Ah, the optimism of youth. The arrogance of it!’
‘Surely a virtue, sir. Better that than pessimism and drudgery.’
‘But this plan of yours, to travel alone. It is most unheard of.’
‘Not for a man of my age, sir. Only for a woman.’
‘Precisely. For a woman, most uncommon.’
‘And when do you recall me ever doing the common thing, sir? And you yourself have told me many a time that you have travelled widely enough to know that there are uncommon and strange things in this world unheard of in England. But that does not make them wrong, merely out of our experience.’
‘You recall every word I speak – many of which I have forgotten long since – and use them against me!’
‘Not against you, sir, but for my argument. A worthy argument, a righteous one.’
He shuffles in his seat and frowns, puts two fingers to his lips and stares at the floor, his eyes glazed. Now is the time I must keep quiet and let him think.
He begins. ‘If we were to do it …’
‘Oh, sir!’ I cry in delight.
‘Hush! I am merely presenting my thoughts aloud. Do not interrupt. As I was saying, if it were to be done, we would need a reliable ship with a captain we can trust to see to your welfare. A navy man ideally, though such a man might turn his nose up at providing passage for a young woman. And on arrival, I have several old friends in Lisbon who could assist you and make arrangements for you, and see that you are safe. For it is most important to me, Dawnay, that as well as satisfying your mind, I do my duty as your benefactor: to protect you, my dear. It is this that worries me most regarding this plan of yours.’
‘Of course, sir – and you have my grateful thanks for that – but I assure you that I can look after myself quite adequately and …’
‘All right, all right. I will make enquiries and I will look into it, Dawnay – ah, ah, now, now. That is enough. No But sir, no and furthermore. I will make my own mind up, young lady, as I always have. I will think on it. Run along and leave me in peace. You must exhibit patience now.’
But I have never been patient; it has no place in my list of virtues. That very night, I stay up late in the curiosities room, planning my route and studies from my maps of the islands. I am late to bed and rise late too, after a dream of a peculiar instrument I had devised which allowed me to observe sea life in the warm waters of the island. As I lie abed and design the instrument in my head, I hear Mr Woods go out early and say he will not return till this afternoon. I do not wait for Jane to appear with her pins and her finishes, instead throwing on over my shift only my jumps and a plain linen dress and leaving my hair to hang long about my shoulders. I do not even wash my face, yet I have no fear of being seen. I will assemble myself before Mr Woods returns. I go downstairs to my desk where lie my plans from the night before, surrounded by the chaos of my papers, quills, ink spills, experimental apparatus, pot plants and my benefactor’s jumble of curiosities. As I am sketching my design for the new apparatus, there is a knock at the door, which startles me. Nobody ever knocks at this door.
Mr Woods appears, sees my dishevelment and is taken aback.
‘I did not expect to see you this morning, sir,’ I say and both hands go to my hair, which I train over one shoulder like a thick rope. I shrug. It really is of no consequence to me, but I see it has unnerved him.
Mr Woods looks peculiar. As he stutters to speak and begins to turn, a figure steps boldly into the room behind him and stares at me. It is a young man, a few years older than myself, dressed with the smartness of a land-bound officer of the Royal Navy. He wears a blue frock-coat with waistcoat, breeches and stockings of pure white and sports a neat wig. A sword hangs from his left hip and he holds a gold-tipped cane in his right hand and a broad blue captain’s hat under his left arm. He seems rather over-furnished for such a busy room as this. And I can see in his eyes that he is quite shocked at my slovenly appearance and the general chaos of the room in which he has unfortunately found himself.
‘Dawnay, this is Lieutenant Commander Robin Alexander. Sir, this is Miss Dawnay Price, my ward.’
I think of providing the customary curtsey, but something about that officer’s disapproving eyebrows decides me and I step towards him and hold out my hand. He stares at it, as if it were an old shoe served to him on a dinner plate. He takes it gingerly and I shake his hand in a manly fashion and feel his grip tightening, his skin cool and dry.
‘Do you wish to put down your hat and your cane, sir, on my table here? I can move some of my things.’
Yet he is not able to reply. It is as if I have no voice, as if my appearance is so distasteful to him that I do not exist. He looks to his companion for some sign that he has not been hit on the head and is not now dreaming unsettling visions.
‘Sir, should we return on another occasion, when circumstances are …’ He runs out of words.
‘No, no, young man. We are here to meet my ward and here she certainly is, surrounded by the very work of which I have spoken to you at length. Impressive, is it not? Look at the extent of her industry. Many a man of science has not achieved half as much by her age.’
I follow the lieutenant commander’s eyes about the room and note that his grip on his cane slackens somewhat. He clears his throat.
‘There certainly is a great deal of it,’ he offers.
‘Yes, well.’ My benefactor wavers, looks to me, his eyebrows raised in some exasperation. He tries a new tack: ‘My dear, I met Lieutenant Commander Alexander last evening at an entertainment and we spoke for some time about his next mission. He is to captain a small research vessel to Africa to produce naval charts of the north-west coast for reasons of trade or war. The ship will also take a variety of men of science to engage in their own studies, to return to England in six months’ time. Yet on the way to Africa and on its return journey, his ship is to dock in Portugal, namely at Lisbon.’
I should have guessed sooner, yet until this moment I have no idea why this stiff young man has materialised in my work room. For a moment, I even entertained the unlikely idea that my benefactor thought he had found me a husband, to present before me the symbol of my resistance in order to win me round. I thank heavens it is not so and chide myself for doubting my benefactor; here he presents me with my chance for escape and I face it sleep-eyed and half-dressed. Mr Woods looks at me pointedly, a distinct air of disapproval about the eyes.
‘When do you sail to Lisbon, sir?’ I ask.
‘Why,’ says he, turning to Mr Woods as if he had asked the question, ‘within three months at the outside.’
My heart quickens in my breast. I glance at my benefactor for guidance. He steps forward and invites Alexander to look at my studies spread out on the table.
I explain: ‘Here are my maps for the Berlengas Islands.’
‘We call them the Burlings,’ he corrects me. ‘They are most useful as landmarks yet can be treacherous when the fog is down.’
‘Ah yes, thank you, the Burlings. They are ideal for my purposes. You see, I have been working on a theory of isolation. I intend to study the flora and fauna of these islands and test out my theories regarding the development of life in isolated situations.’
Lieutenant Commander Alexander looks and nods politely as I show my work. I cannot fathom the response of that organised naval mind to the sight of my scraps of paper piled in chaotic tumbling towers. I hope he can surmise that an untidy desk does not necessarily mirror an untidy mind, yet I shuffle the odd pile into a semblance of order as we speak.
‘All I need to test my theory is to get there. I need passage … to Lisbon.’
He looks up at me, then at Mr Woods.
‘I did not know you planned to travel, sir,’ he says.
‘I do not. But I have a proposition for you. My ward here intends to travel, whether I like it or not. And I would have her do it as safely as God allows.’
Alexander looked shocked enough at my appearance, let alone the idea of me on his very ship.
‘In my experience, sir,’ says he, in a subdued tone – as if by speaking a modicum more softly he might spare my tender ears the pronouncement he is about to relay – ‘the people of Portugal are uncultured and uncouth, and it is not at all the sort of place for a young woman to be gallivanting about on her own. I would strongly dissuade you from this course of action, for the good of the young lady, at the very least.’
‘Come now, man!’ Mr Woods laughs. ‘I have spent many years with the Portuguese and I recognise no likeness in your description. It is perhaps your experience that has been jaundiced by never having left your ship and walked among the people of that beautiful land. Is it not the case truly, sir, that you have never actually spent your days on Portuguese soil?’
‘Yes, that is true. But I have heard—’
‘Well then, Dawnay will tell you – as will any natural philosopher – that direct experience is all. One can make assumptions in a laboratory, but the only proofs are to be found in the real world. I have faith in all men and faith in none in equal measure. I believe Miss Price to be more at risk of abduction on the streets of London than she would be on Portugal’s picturesque islands or indeed in the better areas of Lisbon. When it comes to corruption, Lisbon is certainly no worse than London in this regard.’
Alexander nods and replies, ‘I bow to your greater experience in these matters. But I must protest strongly on another account. This plan is most unheard of. The proposal that an unmarried young woman might travel alone to foreign climes? We have no facilities for ladies aboard our ship, or any ship for that matter.’
‘Sir,’ I interject. ‘Forgive me, yet I must also protest. Let us all be honest. Your having visited here unannounced this morning and found me in a state of dishevelment may seem at first a disastrous occurrence for all involved. However, it has perhaps served us well. It should be apparent to you that if there is such a thing as a woman of science, then the evidence stands before you. I care no more for the traditional trappings of femininity than I do for a fig. My work is my life; it is that master I choose to serve in Portugal, and I need your kind assistance to relay me there. I will ask for no special consideration, no favours, no balderdash. I only require a bunk to sleep in, a place to store my equipment and papers, and some sustenance while on board. Once I am in Lisbon, my benefactor has many associates who can see to my welfare on arrival. All we ask of you is that you honour my ambition to work and to travel not only to further my own studies, but also to expand the reservoir of human knowledge. What say you, sir?’
During my speech, the lieutenant commander met my eye for the first time since his arrival. He listened intently.
‘What a speaker, eh, Alexander?’ says Mr Woods. ‘Can you fault her? She should be in the House of Commons, what! Can you think of one good point against her? I never could. She is a force of nature! What do you say, man? Are we agreed?’
Alexander glances at my tables, my equipment and papers, at my benefactor, for a fleeting moment at me
, before turning to Mr Woods. And then a remarkable thing happens. He actually smiles.
‘Sir, Miss Price: I must admit you have won me over.’
‘Huzzah!’ cries my benefactor.
‘You will not regret this decision, sir,’ I insist, grinning broadly and hugging myself, in the absence of Susan or Jane to throw my arms about in joy, as I wish to do at this very moment.
Alexander even allows himself a shrug of the shoulders and a moment of laughter.
‘I am a logical man, and the logic of your arguments won the day. I hope no one could call me an enemy of women, as I believe I have their best interests at heart. My desire to protect them from the harsh world is part of this earnest wish. Yet if any female can achieve a plan such as yours, then it must be you, Miss Price. I have never met a woman anything like you. I mean this as a commendation, of course.’
‘It is of no consequence, sir. I only thank you for agreeing to my plan. That is all I am concerned with and is everything to me. Thank you, sir. I will be no trouble to you, I assure you.’
After a few more civilities, my benefactor shows out our new associate, with a quick nod to me and a gratified wink.
After he has gone, we laugh uproariously at our victory. And Mr Woods toasts our success with a substantial glass of port, in honour of my destination.
‘To Portugal!’ he cries, taking a gulp. ‘And to Lieutenant Commander Robin Alexander, that whippersnapper of a junior sea captain, only recently breeched and already putting on the airs of a seasoned admiral. He is a good man though, reliable and sound by all accounts and I am certain he will ensure safe passage for you and I trust him in that. But I doubt you two will be friends before the voyage is out, or ever! I wish you good luck with him, Dawnay, the conceited skipjack.’
But I brush aside his insults. Robin Alexander will prove my fortune, as he is to provide passage for me to my greatest desire. I raise my glass of water and clink it against my guzzling benefactor’s and say, ‘To adventure!’
Song of the Sea Maid Page 8