‘Hardly.’ I gestured to my attire with paint-splattered hands.
Frank laughed. ‘I didn’t mean that. I meant that you seem back to the old you: you’ve found a place for yourself, a job that you like, made friends even.’
I rubbed my nose. ‘I suppose I have. Sorry.’
‘Why sorry?’ Frank leant forward to wipe away the smear of paint I’d just left on my face.
‘Well, I shouldn’t be really. We’re in a bit of a fix, aren’t we?’
‘You could say that. But my tutor told me that happiness in the face of adversity is the mark of a true philosopher.’
‘Well, it’s either that or I’m mad.’
‘That’s another possibility we have to consider.’
Frank took a spare paintbrush and began to dab at the figurehead. I bit my tongue: he was doing it all wrong. He would have to wait for his painting lesson for I had something I had been saving up to say to him. Now seemed the perfect opportunity.
‘I’ve been thinking, Frank. As I said to Pedro when we were still at sea, the only way out for everyone is for me to . . . well, to jump ship, I think the phrase is.’
Frank nearly dropped the brush. ‘You can’t, Cat! What will happen to you on your own?’
I shrugged. ‘I don’t know, but I expect I’ll manage until you’ve unravelled this mess for me.’
A determined expression appeared in Frank’s eyes. I could see he was preparing his arguments against; I had to move fast to convince him.
‘You must realize that I’m the only one who can go as I can change back into a girl and disappear. Maclean can hardly set up a hue and cry for a female as that would reveal he knew about me all along and he’d be in serious trouble with Barton. But if you try and run with me, Maclean would make sure you were hunted down and punished for desertion.’
Frank said nothing for some time. I thought it safe to continue.
‘I’ve been watching the boats here. I don’t think it’d be safe for me to try and join another Royal Naval vessel. It’ll have to be a merchant ship or one from another country. Then the best plan would be to get to Lizzie and Johnny in Philadelphia.’
Frank nodded. ‘Yes, if you could get to them, they’d protect you until I’ve cleared your name and convinced everyone I’m still alive.’
So he was coming round to my plan then.
‘Have you given any more thought to who might be behind this?’ I asked, giving my lady’s eyes a delicate curl of lash.
‘I really can’t say. Pedro told me you were asking who stands to benefit from getting me out of the way. If Will is . . . is gone, then the next in line is some second cousin, but he’s as rich as Croesus and has his own title. He’s never shown the least interest in me.’
‘Hmm. I don’t like the idea of you going back without first finding out who wants you out of the way so badly. They might try again and make sure next time.’
I could see that Frank was having a hard time imagining that anyone in his family wished him ill. Possessed of an incurably sunny disposition, he failed to see the shadows in others.
‘But what if it’s not about money but about revenge or jealousy?’ he asked. ‘That puts our friend Billy Shepherd well and truly in the running.’
‘I know. But it’s almost too easy to believe it’s him. Have you some other enemies?’
‘I don’t think so. But, Cat –’ Frank held my eye sternly ‘– forget this notion of jumping ship. It’s dangerous to stay but it’d surely be lethal to go off on your own.’ He waved his brush, splattering me with drops of paint. ‘We all prefer to know where you are and what you’re doing.’
‘Idiot!’ I flicked him back. A blob of black hit him square on the chin like a goatee beard. I burst into giggles. In retaliation, Frank gave me a beauty spot on my cheek. We were away. When we emerged for the noon meal, we both looked like Red Indians in their warpaint.
Afterwards, I strolled on the deck. There was a brisk breeze, the sun had come out and the sea sparkled an inviting blue as it lapped the pinkish sand of the bay. On the jetty some little children were fishing side by side, white, black and brown-skinned: they must’ve had parents from all nations as I guess is common in a transit port like this. It seemed a very peaceful scene; for a moment, I almost forgot that we were in danger.
Further towards the bow, someone else was gazing at the same view.
Syd.
He hadn’t spotted me. I could see that he looked thoroughly miserable. It was high time that he forgave himself.
Sidling up to him, I caught his arm before he could escape again.
‘Hello, shipmate,’ I said casually.
He flinched and turned away.
‘Syd, please!’ I whispered, glancing over my shoulder. ‘I can’t bear this. I need you to talk to me.’
Syd stopped, his back still turned, shoulders hunched.
‘You’re my oldest friend; I can’t cope with . . . with all this if you give up on me.’
Syd swung round, his face aghast. ‘I’m not givin’ up on you, Cat! I’d never do that! It’s me: I’m the problem.’
‘No, you’re not. You are the kindest, bravest, most loyal friend a . . . person could want.’
He shook his head. ‘No, I’m an idiot, not fit for . . . for any of you.’ Suddenly, he thumped the rail with his fist. ‘Cat, you warned me about my manager and did I listen? Nah, I thought I knew it all. If I’d ’ad more brains, if I’d been as clever as you, I wouldn’t be ’ere; you wouldn’t be in this fix. It’s all my fault.’
‘No, Syd, if anyone’s to blame for what happened to you it’s Mick Bailey. Your only mistake was to think the best of people.’
He gave a derisive laugh. ‘Yeah, as I said, I was a fool. I dunno, Cat, I’ve always thought my first duty was to look after you, and what did I go and do? I punched you. I really ’urt you, not in play but in anger. I can’t trust myself; you should keep away from me.’
‘Listen, Syd: I made you hit me. You know that I can make you angry; in fact, I’m surprised you’ve not clouted me before now. You’ve been a saint to put up with me for all these years.’
Syd leant his elbows on the rail, staring out at the children on the shore. We’d fished like that once upon a time on the Thames, me trailing after Syd with my line and bent pin, trying to keep up with him and the boys. We’d mudlarked together on the smelly margins of the great river of London, hoping for gold but finding only shiny pebbles and the odd copper. Here in the Bermudan sunshine, I stood as close to him as I could, our arms touching. No one saw him take my hand in his big fist.
‘I’m sorry, Cat. There’s no excuse for me. I’m not worthy of you.’
‘You are worth a hundred of me, Syd Fletcher, so never let me hear you say that again!’ I felt like crying because I’d made him feel so bad, but I refused to give way to tears: that would not help either of us. ‘I didn’t mean any of what I said.’
‘And did you . . . I mean . . . ’ave you and Shepherd . . .?’
I sighed. ‘Yes. He kissed me once at a ball in Bath. I suppose I should’ve seen it coming, but I didn’t.’
‘Does ’e . . . ’as ’e asked you to marry ’im?’ Syd asked delicately.
‘Are you mad?’ I felt a tear escape as I gave a hollow laugh. I rubbed it away. ‘He’s marrying a beer princess. I’m just an amusement for him.’
Syd seemed confused by the contradictory signals of a tear and laughter. ‘But you’re upset. Does that mean you’d like ’im to ask you?’ I could see that Syd was exerting great self-control. All he really wanted to do to Billy Shepherd was thump him, not enquire into his marital prospects.
‘Syd!’ I protested. ‘Billy and I would be as well matched as a fish with a pair of boots.’
‘But ’e’s rich, powerful now too. ’E’s always liked you, you know, even when we were all runnin’ around Covent Garden together as nippers.’
‘Oh yes, I remember how he liked me. He used to pull my hair, steal my toys and trip me over. I imagine being
married to him would be very much like that.’
Syd exhaled slowly and allowed himself a relieved smile. ‘Good. I just had to check that . . .’ He faltered.
‘Check what?’
‘That I still stood a chance. If I waited, that is. Look, Cat, I know you’re too young and now I’ve got to earn back the right to even think it. And I know you don’t know your own ’eart yet, and all, but I know mine. I’ll wait until you’re ready. Five years. Ten years if that’s what it takes.’
Dear Syd. Here we were all at sea, me with a death sentence hanging over my head and him trapped in the navy and he was still planning our future together.
I didn’t know quite how to respond. ‘Thank you, Syd,’ I murmured. ‘You’re right: I don’t know my own heart yet.’ I gave him a half-smile. ‘But I do know that I wouldn’t make anyone a very good wife right now.’
Syd shook his head, ignoring my ridiculous appearance and gazing only at my face. ‘No, Cat, you’d be the best.’
3 Though if you are less squeamish than me and are interested to find out what became of one very sick ballerina, I refer you to Den of Thieves.
ACT III
SCENE 1 – NIGHTMARE
We put to sea again the following day. After the holiday of Hamilton and its onshore attractions, I wasn’t looking forward to being forced back into closer contact with Maclean. And I was right to be concerned. I’d only put a foot inside the cabin after the first watch when the purser swooped upon me.
‘I warned you!’ he whispered hoarsely, knocking me back against the gun carriage. Maclean stood over me, a letter in hand. Slowly, he began to rip it into pieces. ‘You thought you could trick me, did you? Then think again.’ A little bit of Frank’s handwriting fluttered down into my lap. ‘As if I wouldn’t ask the innkeepers to be on the watch for this foolishness! Paid twice he was: once for taking the letter, once for giving it to me. His lucky day, he said.’
I swallowed a cry, watching our best hope being trodden underfoot.
‘Do you remember what I told you?’ he asked, hauling me up by my shirt front.
‘Aye, sir.’ I tried to keep my voice steady, but I was shaking.
‘I said you’d be very, very sorry. And do you know what that means?’
I shook my head.
‘Well, you’re about to find out the hard way, you little witch.’
Pushing me in front of him, he hustled me down to the hold. We passed Harkness just turning into his hammock.
‘Anything the matter, Mr Maclean?’ he asked, sensing that I was in trouble.
‘No, Harkness. I’m just teaching my boy a lesson. I’d appreciate it if you didn’t interfere.’
Harkness gave me a pitying look. ‘Aye, sir.’
Maclean shoved me down the stairs and opened the locked storeroom where I had spent my first few hours aboard the Courageous. He slammed the door behind us. He looked beside himself with rage.
‘You think you’re so clever, don’t you, making yourself popular with the crew, getting your friends to write home for you? I think you’ve forgotten that I told you to do nothing to draw attention to yourself.’ Maclean backed me into a corner, his breath heavy with the scent of drink. ‘You can stay here until everyone forgets you exist. No shouting, no hammering on the door. If you behave, I’ll bring you some victuals; if you don’t, then perhaps you’ll grow thin enough to slip out under the door. But before that happens, you’ll be very good friends with this.’ He took a bag from under his jacket and pulled out a leather strap with nine thongs. ‘Do you know what this is?’
I shook my head mutely.
‘It’s a cat-o’nine-tails – a cruel thing. Stings like the fires of hell when it hits you.’ He swung it in the air and flicked it against my legs. Pain sang out in nine sharp notes but I refused to make a sound. ‘Like to feel that in earnest, eh?’
I shook my head.
‘I thought not. Well, you stay here nice and quiet and pray that I don’t have cause to let the cat out of the bag again.’
With a parting cuff, he quit the room, taking the light with him. I curled up in a corner, wondering bitterly what I had done to deserve this. Whoever the enemy was who had unleashed Maclean on me, he was without a shred of mercy.
Time plays strange tricks when you are locked up in the dark on your own. It’s very hard to guess how long you’ve been there. The only signs are your own hunger and the sounds of other people going about their business on the deck above. I knew from my inventory that my prison housed nothing more interesting than the cash boxes used for paying for supplies. They say that money opens doors, but not in my case.
My chief lifeline was Maclean’s infrequent visits. He seemed to delight in tormenting me with news from above.
‘I told the captain you were pilfering from the stores. He wanted to flog you but I persuaded him that this was a better punishment,’ he said cheerfully on his first visit. ‘Besides, he has some others to flog now.’
I said nothing.
‘Don’t you want to know who?’
I shrugged, trying to pretend I was indifferent.
‘Those friends of yours, that lord and the giant you fought.’ Maclean began to laugh wheezily, wiping his eyes on his cuff. ‘Can’t wait to see that rich boy’s lily-white back taste the cat.’
I dug my nails into my palm. I wasn’t going to say anything. I wasn’t. My silence was the only power left to me.
‘Shall I tell you how they earned the lash? The young lad tried to tell Lieutenant Belsize who he was, standing in his stinking rags claiming to be a peer of the realm. It was priceless. There he was, protesting about my treatment of you. But Belsize gave him short shrift, accusing him of a sick joke seeing as how the Earl of Arden had been done in on the eve of our departure. The lieutenant then grew suspicious and suggested your friend had been involved in the crime. Imagine it: accused of murdering yourself.’ Maclean chuckled. ‘Then the big man weighed in and Belsize had to call the bosun’s mates to restrain the pair of them. Lucky for them it was Belsize they shouted at; he only ordered six lashes and half rations. If it’d been the captain it would’ve been six times that number and no rations at all.’
Maclean was annoyed that I kept quiet. I could see he was trying to think up how to scare me further. Well, if he wanted a whimper or a sob, he could fling his hat after me.
‘Anyway, you’ll find out how kind the captain can be yourself when I take you to see him. “Bring the boy low, Maclean,” he says to me, “then bring him to me.” Good man, our captain, a good man.’
I stared at Maclean’s horrible face, concentrating my hatred on every inch of his flushed nose, purple scar and pimpled skin. He must have found something objectionable in my gaze.
‘Keep those witch eyes to yourself,’ he hissed, picking up the bowl of food he had brought with him. ‘On second thoughts, you won’t be needing this.’ He tapped the weevils out and took a bite of the biscuit. ‘And when you hear the drum, you’ll know that your defenders are enjoying the kiss of my friend here.’ He jiggled the bag hanging at his waist.
That numbered among the more pleasant of his prison visits. On his next he reported that Frank and Syd had taken their punishment like men, making not a sound. He complained, as he chewed more biscuit before me, that Nightingale, who had dealt out the flogging, had not been vigorous enough.
‘Mrs Foster’s been asking after you,’ he continued. ‘Said she couldn’t believe that you’d stoop to thieving, but I told her she’d be surprised what vicious little boys can do. She asked me to tell you to pray to God that he changes your hard heart.’
‘Oh, it’s going to get a bit noisy down here,’ he said on his departure, this time leaving me half a biscuit and a mug of watered-down grog. ‘Gun practice.’
I fell on the plate as soon as he closed the door. Having eaten nothing for more than a day, even the dry biscuit looked appetizing. And he was right about the noise. First came the rumpus of the decks above being cleared for action. Parti
tions were struck down, possessions stowed, guns moved into position. The next few hours passed with the rumble of gun carriages, the thud of feet and the deafening percussive boom of shots being fired. My head rang long after the firing had stopped.
After more days of this, I began to look forward to the gun practice. It staved off the terrible feeling of unreality that took hold of me when left in silence. The darkness seemed to invade my mind, blurring the boundaries between me and it. I had the weird sensation that I was dissolving, like a sugar lump in tea. I feared I was going mad.
My dreams were insane enough, full of remembered horror. Scenes from the stage flashed before my eyes at breakneck speed: Caesar with the knife in his back, Macbeth’s sword dripping blood, Hamlet pierced by a rapier, Mr Dixon holding up red hands . . . It was at this point I usually woke in a cold sweat, wanting to scream but being too afraid to open my mouth in case the darkness choked me.
‘It’s just a dream,’ I chanted, hugging my arms to my sides. I was shivering, hot and cold by turns. ‘A nightmare.’
I was kept in the hold a week in my feverish state, long after I’d convinced myself that I’d never see the light of day again. Finally, half-starved and as weak as a newborn lamb, I was dragged up on deck and dumped at the captain’s feet. Someone threw a bucket of seawater over me. Barton prodded me with his foot as I lay on the deck, dazzled by the light and half-drowned.
‘This, men,’ he called out, ‘is what we do to boys who steal. Lucky for him he’s not a man yet, or he would’ve swung from the yardarm. Our stores are our lifeline. To pilfer from them is to take from your crewmates and put us all at risk.’ He turned back to me. ‘Have you learnt your lesson, boy?’
I dragged myself on to my knees, seeing nothing but his shiny toecaps. I wanted to deny the charge, but what could I do? It was my word against Maclean’s and besides, there were all those made-up figures on the inventory – some of them were bound to be wrong. He’d catch me out one way or another. I nodded.
‘Then you’ll be on half rations and double duties for the rest of the voyage as a reminder. Now, return to your work. Take first watch on the cross-trees or it’ll be back to the hold for you.’
Cat O'Nine Tales Page 10
