‘Cut it,’ she said. ‘It’s too long.’ All she could think was that the captain had said they were finishing this year and then, surely, they would sail north. Bevan stumbled. He had had one rum too many to be clipping hair. As the strands fell at her feet she had a sudden vision of herself in a dress of Marijke’s making – a silk concoction that swung as she made her way down a European street, the scent of baking bread on the summer air. A secret star stitched into the bodice and a velvet purse on her wrist.
‘Are you all right, Karl?’ Bevan squinted at his handiwork.
‘I want to go home,’ she said.
The next night, Hepworth was reinstated to good health. Karina felt a flood of relief when he appeared as usual at the galley door in time to serve dinner.
‘I don’t know. It was an honour to be asked. It was a promotion,’ Bevan muttered, as he spooned fish onto a pewter achette. ‘You should try to continue, Karl. Maybe they’d have the two of you at the table.’
‘I don’t like serving the officers,’ she insisted.
Hepworth looked gratified. Silently, Karina had spent the afternoon making an ice with sweet ginger for the table. Bevan was dubious about the wisdom of it. ‘What fool wants cold food?’ the old cook declared, rolling his eyes as if it were his own fault for giving her the freedom of the stores. It was too late now to make something else, and wasteful besides. So, along with the rest of the meal, Hepworth set off with the ice in a wooden bowl.
‘Here,’ Bevan passed Karina the doctor’s tray. ‘You’d best take it to him.’ But the captain’s comment the night before had shaken her and she felt fretful going down the corridor. The secret weighed heavily. At Hooker’s door she ran a palm over her hair. Bevan had done a good job of cutting it in the end. More by accident than design. They are all too busy to mind me. Nobody knows, she told herself and knocked smartly.
As she entered the cabin Hooker was carefully cataloguing penguin bones so that a skeleton could be reconstructed. Already in a state of nerves, Karina took fright at the little white figure he had laid out. She almost dropped the plate onto the wooden boards. As it was, a thick splash of stew slopped over the edge.
‘I’m sorry, sir,’ she said, straightening the dish at the same time as she bent to clean the floorboard. She chided herself that she should be calmer. That was no measure in fear. If anything, this was the time to hold her ground.
And then it happened. As Hooker got to his knees to lend a hand, he touched her fingers, and just that moment it felt as if the whole world had stopped. Karina pulled back as he looked up. She had never felt anything like the doctor’s touch. There was a connection. To the bone. She felt her heart race as the air in the cabin became somehow vivid. Then she caught a particular look in his green eyes, only just realizing that he did not understand his arousal was natural for she was a cabin boy. A sixteen-year-old scrap of nothing. The doctor flushed and pulled away.
‘Get out! Get out!’ His tone was harsh.
She burst out of the cabin and ran. It felt as if she tumbled into the galley.
‘You’re quick tonight,’ Bevan commented, smoking his pipe by the stove.
Karina shrugged. Her hand found her stomach, as if somehow that would ground her. What had happened was dangerous. Forbidden. Silently and sadly, she vowed she’d never visit Hooker again. She would cook his food but have Hepworth deliver it. The black man could be bought for the payment of a slim slice of the officer’s tart or a peeling of cheese. Her cooking had some currency at least. She was not a woman who delighted in playing with fire. The cold summer stretched ahead and the galley suddenly felt like a coffin. But she’d rise again. She’d get to Amsterdam. She swore it.
‘I wonder what they made of your ice, lad?’ Bevan took a deep draw of shag as he considered this.
Karina set to cleaning the pots in a bucket of seawater that had been left on the floor.
‘Maybe it’ll ginger them up,’ the cook chortled. ‘Ginger them up, eh?’
SIX
The further south they went the worse the weather. The storm (as with all weather in the Antarctic it seemed) blew up out of nowhere. The wind was like the heavens shouting. The temperature plummeted. Freezing air crept along the ship’s passageways in an icy wave, cold on cold. Inside the captain’s cabin. three dishes slid off the sideboard. Hepworth went to tidy them.
‘Go!’ the captain urged one of the lieutenants. ‘Take a look and report back.’
If the storm seemed set, the ships would make for the coast and weigh anchor. There was no point in risking being driven onto the ice. With the table unsettled the remaining officers poured more drink, but they gave up eating. It was difficult to stomach food with the room lurching. Hepworth scooped a platter of ships’ biscuits back into place while the officers argued about a mathematical equation that might effect their calculations.
‘Nigger,’ Ross periodically forgot Hepworth’s name. ‘Send the kitchen boy to get Hooker from his cabin, would you? He’s the man to settle this.’
Hepworth laid down a pewter jug and stumbled out of the cabin.
At the door of the kitchen he gestured the captain’s order, pointing in the direction of the doctor’s cabin, mimicking the doctor’s spectacles and sideburns.
‘No,’ Karina said immediately. The galley had to be cleared. With the jerking of the ship, a measure of flour had tumbled already and Bevan had ordered her to scoop it back into the sack. ‘I’ll make you a rhubarb tart,’ she promised. ‘You go for me.’
Hepworth looked as if he was considering this, but then one of the lieutenants appeared behind him. ‘More brandy,’ he ordered. ‘Well, hurry up, man.’ And Hepworth disappeared, the brass buttons on his jacket jangling as he stumbled from side to side along the corridor like a drunkard in the swell.
‘You better fetch the doctor,’ Bevan said over his shoulder. ‘I can manage.’
Karina hauled the jute sack against the wall and secured it with rope. She had not been alone with Hooker since their hands had touched. This, however, was a direct order from the captain and from Bevan too. With the ship caught in the vice of the weather, she knew she’d find it difficult to find someone else to do the task. The storm was rising.
‘All right,’ she said.
Along the dim corridor a man was vomiting into a bucket. As she made her way she was flung twice hard against the wall. Three deck hands headed for their stations at the double, arrayed in regulation oilskin. They pushed past and hammered upwards, as she continued below. The men banged the hatch open and an icy slash of water sailed through the air and caught her unawares soaking her, shoulder to knee. The sheer cold took her breath away and she paused before she could move on. At the doctor’s door, she steadied herself, already shuddering. Then she knocked.
‘Come!’
She did not cross the threshold. ‘The captain requests you, sir.’
Hooker nodded curtly and Karina left. He had no more desire to see her than she had to see him, clearly.
Her teeth already chattering as her wet clothes chafed her skin, she made for the galley to dry out. Behind, Hooker followed her up the corridor at a distance. It would seem they had a tacit agreement and he mentioned nothing of her sodden state, though she knew the cold water would be deadly if she did not get dry. She must be quick. Then suddenly:
‘Karl!’ he shouted. ‘Watch out!’
She didn’t have time to look up before it hit her. A piece of jagged wood shattered by the vicious swell flew down the corridor and caught her squarely in the legs. She tasted a tang of blood as she keeled over. It happened so quickly that it felt like flying. There was no pain even when she heard the bones crack. The last thing she saw was Joseph Hooker’s anxious face over her and then everything went black.
When Karina awoke it was to a piercing, sickening pain in her side. It felt as if she had been knifed. She tried to swallow but that only made it worse. The best thing, she understood quickly, was to stay still. Moving only her eyes, she could te
ll she was below, in Hooker’s sick bay, on a makeshift bed. The doctor’s other work had been packed away and instead the leather bag with surgical tools was open to one side. She had seen him remove a man’s toe here once. Silently, she checked that she could still feel her limbs.
‘You awake?’
The unknown voice came from her right. She steeled herself not to look, for she knew if she did so the pain would stab her.
‘Mmm,’ she tried.
‘You caused a right rumpus, milady!’
The thick voice cackled. Then the sailor limped into her line of sight. It was Michael Farmer, an able seaman. He helped Si slaughter the animals. Now his shoulder was bandaged. She had never heard him speak before.
‘They told me to keep an eye on you, as I’m no use for anything else.’
‘I’m not going anywhere,’ she managed.
He cackled again. ‘I’d say that’s right. You got broken ribs and that pretty face of yours had a beating. You fell flat on it. Poor girl, the doctor called you.’
‘He knows, then?’
Farmer looked as if he might explode with delight. If they’d reached the pole itself, he could not have been more excited. There had been no news on board for months – nothing like this. Gossip beyond imagining. Riches.
‘We all know, my pretty. Doctor had to bandage you, see? No wonder you cook like a right madam! You is one! Not right, though, is it? It’s unlucky to have a woman on board.’
She had not the energy to reply and defend herself. There was no point, besides. Sailors were on perpetual lookout for things to brand unlucky. She took a painful breath that at least cut into the shame turning in her belly. Then she heard the door click open and the doctor entered the cabin in conversation with the captain. As he came into view, Hooker did not meet her eyes. The captain, on the other hand, glared at her, sheepish and angry at once that the stowaway boy he’d sheltered was in fact, a woman. Ross was a gentleman in the English sense of the word. In this state and given her sex, he could not have her beaten. He berated her however, whipping her soundly with the birch of his words.
‘Madam,’ he started, ‘you have been playing some game. Dr Hooker discovered you in the most horrifying fashion.’
Karina glanced at the doctor. Tears pricked her eyes. She had thought if she was to be uncovered it would be by instinct – that someone would simply see her for what she was. Not that she would be injured and stripped bare while she was unconscious.
‘I am sorry, sir,’ she said, fighting the impulse to cry.
‘We will face a mockery. De Bougainville is considered a fool.’
‘De Bougainville, sir?’
‘His cabin boy. Turns out she was a bally woman too.’
‘I’m sorry, sir.’
‘Well, I cannot see what we can do about it, boy.’
The captain checked himself. Able Seaman Farmer took a deep breath as he tried not to laugh. Karina drew herself up in the bed, though it stung.
‘My name is Karina Lande. And I am very sorry for the trouble, sir.’ That surely is some kind of start, she thought. What else could she do but introduce herself and apologize? Ross was not to be appeased.
‘Madam,’ he burst out, ‘it is an abomination to have you on board but a worse one for you to be dressed in breeches. We shall array you appropriately for your sex, Mistress Karina.’ The captain pronounced her name carefully, almost spitting the word. ‘I understand that somewhere there is a dress of some description.’ His hands flapped as if to illustrate ribbons or lace around the neckline. ‘Unless you have something suitable in your possession?’
‘No, sir. I left it behind. I feared it might uncover me.’
Ross bit his lip. ‘Deception,’ he muttered and she couldn’t tell if he meant the island or the leaving behind of her gown.
‘And shall I remain?’
The doctor stepped forward. ‘You should not move for some time,’ he cut in.
‘But,’ the captain was eager to make matters clear, ‘when you are well, you shall work for your keep, madam. No one aboard either the Erebus or the Terror enjoys a pleasure cruise. It is entirely appropriate for you to continue to work under Mr Bevan in the galley.’
‘Thank you, sir.’
‘You can thank me when we deposit you elsewhere. Which I intend to do at the earliest opportunity.’
Hooker interjected. ‘James, what might become of her? The girl is, I imagine, trying to get home. She must have been in straitened conditions to—’
Ross spluttered. ‘My ship,’ was all he managed but it silenced the doctor admirably. Then he stalked away.
Hooker sat by the bed on a low stool. ‘Well,’ he said, ‘you’re a turn up for the books.’
Karina turned painfully towards him.
‘Do you think he’ll really put me ashore? I have to get to Amsterdam. I am returning to my sister.’
‘So that is true?’
‘I’m not a liar, Doctor Hooker.’
‘Except. Karl, was it?’
‘It was my cousin’s name. I had to get back and I had no money. I was widowed.’ A tear leaked out. She cursed herself – he’d think she was crying over Thebo or that she was making a tawdry attempt to milk his emotions. But she couldn’t help the tears. ‘I had nothing,’ she burbled. ‘Perhaps a gentleman cannot understand, but I was left with nothing. Less than that. And this. This is a humiliation.’
Hooker handed her his handkerchief. It was crumpled but clean.
‘Shhh.’ He tried to soothe her. ‘I’m sure it was terrible. I mean, no lady would stowaway in this old tub if she didn’t have to. Look, first, we must get you well, Karina Lande. We are already missing your cooking. Ross will come round. And if the captain puts you ashore, I shall see to it myself that you have money enough for a passage home. Please do not concern yourself.’
Karina smiled. She sniffed. ‘Etter regnet kommer solen, my mother used to say. After the rain there comes sunshine.’
‘Yes. Why not? Farmer,’ the doctor called the seaman. ‘Fetch a sheet. We must screen Mrs Lande’s bed.’ The man jumped to. ‘There is a requirement for modesty,’ the doctor said, as if it had only occurred to him.
Day by day, the pain subsided and Hooker let her read from his library of books, which they discussed, one by one. Carefully, she made a list of words she couldn’t understand and just as carefully Hooker explained them. Pall Mall and balloon and classification. Through the porthole she caught sight of a shard of ice now and then and the flash of clear blue sky. Twice a day, Si Bevan delivered food from the galley and hovered uncomfortably watching Karina eat, as if she was a wonder.
‘I wasn’t sure if I should have added more seasoning,’ he said.
The fare was not bad, but not good either and his cornbread was heavy as if it was made of rubber. Still she ate as much as she could. Si loitered over the empty plates, his pink face perplexed.
‘If you have a question …’ Karina offered. ‘The captain says we are to work together again once I am well.’
‘But you are a woman.’
‘There is no denying it.’
‘Don’t you get smart with me.’
Karina sighed. ‘I had to come aboard. It was my only way home.’
‘Plenty woman find themselves in difficulty and don’t dress up as a man, I’m sure.’
‘There is nothing I can do about it now, Si,’ she said.
‘It’s not natural,’ he pronounced as he swept away.
At his leisure, the doctor quizzed her more gently. He shared his views on Lord Byron’s poetry, some chatter about his family – a niece newly born before he left. He asked her how she had managed when she assisted his operations. ‘And you did not mind the blood?’ he checked, and looked contented when she declared that she had not. Then he broached the subject about which he was really curious.
‘Your husband?’ he asked. ‘You were widowed, you said?’
Karina regarded the bedclothes lying over her legs. She took a bre
ath and then told him about Thebo’s death, or as much as she knew. Van Kleek hadn’t divulged a great deal.
‘It must have been difficult news to bring,’ she started, remembering that morning. The bang on the door. Asking him in. Van Kleek had glanced towards the window of the dark cabin as he said the words and handed over the little purse. What had happened wasn’t his concern and it was clear he wanted to get out of there, back down the muddy street and out to the cabin he kept on a trawler moored in the bay. A solitary type, he always seemed a man of extraordinarily little appetite. Perhaps that was how he had lasted so long at the whaling station – neither women nor food nor drink meant anything to him. Nor company either. He was a rock of a person. A craggy island outpost. ‘The company representative just said it was an accident,’ she said slowly. ‘He told me that Thebo had fallen into the sea and drowned. They were after a whale, you see.’
‘They must have tried to rescue him. Was there a storm?’
Karina shrugged. ‘I think he went too far when he was harpooning. I think he slipped.’ She knew it could have been anything. Going to sea was a dangerous occupation. Men simply fell out of the rigging and plummeted to the deck, dead immediately on account of a misjudgement or misstep. At least for Thebo it had been quick. An injury might fester – a bad scrape with a hook or perhaps not even that – a small abrasion could prove mortal, let alone a broken bone that pierced the skin. Seafarers died. Officers and men alike. That was the way of it. She knew she had been lucky.
‘But few drown so quickly that there is no attempt at rescue,’ Hooker objected.
‘I expect they tried. Thebo was the captain. All I was told was that there was a whale. He had been harpooning. His second-in-command wrote me a letter later, but it did not say any more than that, only that he admired Thebo, what little he knew of him.’
‘Did he not visit you?’
‘No. He was promoted. He went to Brazil, I think. Or maybe to Argentina. Afterwards.’
‘And your husband was a captain?’
‘Yes.’
The Ice Maiden Page 6
