Gav shook his head and Regina smiled grimly.
‘He staggered and fell down the stairs. There was such a thump I thought he’d gone through the quarter deck. I was the only one who dared laugh. Serves you right, I said, for bullying Gav Chisholm.’
Gav didn’t look at all happy. He was thinking that the incident and Regina’s behaviour would do nothing to help his position. If anything, the mate would hate him and try to bully him all the more.
He gazed anxiously around.
‘Maybe I’d better get back to the foc’stle now.’
‘Being afraid of him won’t help you.’
‘It’s all very well for you to talk.’ Anger reddened Gav’s cheeks. ‘You’re all right. You’re safe enough. And you’re older and bigger than me,’ he flung at her before stamping away.
He hadn’t gone very far when he stopped in surprise. The captain was shuffling along the deck towards him. He was wearing soft floppy shoes and no coat and he had a woolly stocking hat pulled over his tangled hair.
‘Aye, and who might you be?’ he asked Gav.
‘Gav Chisholm, sir.’
‘Are you any relation to the red-headed family that has the next farm to us?’
‘I … I don’t think so.’
‘Where’s my wee sister?’
‘Your sister, sir?’
‘My Minnie said I was to keep an eye on her. An awful wee lassie she is. She’ll be in the daisy field again.’
The hair crept up the back of Gav’s neck. The old man was obviously mad. Yet at the same time, he couldn’t help feeling sorry for him. He looked so pathetic with his shirt hanging over his breeches and his long tangled hair and woolly hat.
‘Don’t worry, she’s all right,’ he said kindly. ‘Your mammy’s found her.’
The wrinkled, weather-beaten face brightened.
‘I’m obliged to you, Gav Chisholm. I was verra worried aboot oor Hester.’
Just then Mr Jubb approached and, ignoring Gav, murmured something to the captain and led him away towards his cabin in the stern.
Jemmy came limping over shaking his head.
‘They’re greasing the board.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Chips and his mate. They’re getting ready for a burial. Somebody in steerage has died. Captain’ll have to say a few words before he sends her down to Davy Jones’ locker.’
‘He’s gone mad.’
‘No, no, Gav. He’s just not himself at times. He’ll come all right again, you’ll see. Mr Jubb helps him. Mr Jubb’s good with the captain when he’s not himself.’
Gav felt upset.
‘I wonder if it’s the Skye woman who’s dead. My mammy came from the Highlands. She spoke just like the Skye woman.’
‘Happens all the time, Gav. Folks dies all the time on ships. Last voyage we had five folk died. Time afore that we had seven. As often as not, we has shipmates dies as well.’
‘With seasickness?’
‘No, no. It’s not the seasickness that shatters your hull and rigging, Gav. It’s the scurvy or the ship-fever or the flux. Them’s the terrible things.’
A little knot of women were huddling on deck with plaids draped over bent heads and children clutching at them. Seamen too were gathering and standing quietly around. The board was set up and Chips brought the body sewed in sailcloth and weighted to make sure it went to the bottom.
Eventually Mr Jubb came back with a happily smiling Captain Kilfuddy, cocked hat slightly askew, black stock muffling too high up over his chin, coat and skirt flapping loose in the breeze. They stopped beside the board which was balanced ready on top of the bulwarks.
‘Aye,’ said Captain Kilfuddy patting one of the children on the head, a pale-faced little boy of about three. ‘And what game do you like best, eh? Crinky? Or cross tig? My wee sister’s aye at the peevers but it’s bools and peeries and fleein’ dragons for me.’
Mr Jubb put a hand on his arm and bent closer to murmur in his ear. The captain turned on him in surprise.
‘Say a few words? I’ve just said a few words. Who are you?’
Mr Jubb had a vague, hunted look as if he was trying to shrink into himself and disappear. Yet he always managed to retain a certain air of dignity. He murmured again.
The captain said:
‘Prayers? No, I canny mind any prayers. But there’s a verse my Minnie says.’ He beamed around the silent crowd, then cleared his throat.
‘When Faither Time goes hirplin’ doon life’s hillside,
And locks once raven, noo as white as snaw,
We’ll keep oor hearts from grow’n sad and weary,
With thinkin’ o’ the days so long awa’,
The bairnies with their laughin’ and their daffin’,
Will help us to forget lang days o’ pain;
The songs they sing when softly falls the gloamin’,
Will make us live oor youthful days again.’
A woman began sobbing and Chips who was holding the board shook his head at Mr Jubb. ‘It’s no use, sir.’
‘Here’s another one my Minnie likes.’
Captain Kilfuddy held up a hand.
‘They’re slowly slippin’ from our ken
The freends we loved so weel,
As mists in autumn gloamin’s fa’,
Along the valleys steal;
And though the day’s last rosy beam,
May light some lofty Ben,
The shadows seem to deeper grow
Within the wooded glen.’
Mr Jubb made one last attempt and the old man repeated his words in surprise.
‘Commit this body to the deep?’ Before he could say any more, Chips and his mate tipped up the board and the body disappeared with barely a splash. Gav turned away from the scene and without a word walked towards the foc’stle. Then, once alone in that dark cave, he wept.
6
ANNABELLA had not liked the look of the man. There did not seem much refinement about him and when, after the race, she had rejoined Nancy and Blackadder, she was irritated to find him close by and staring at her again. In fact, everywhere they went—crushing through the crowded streets, admiring the shows down by the river or strolling on the Green—he was to be seen towering behind them, his hefty thighs gripping his horse’s flanks. Eventually even Blackadder noticed.
‘Jist a minute, Annabella. I must have a wee word with this gentleman.’
Annabella raised a sarcastic eyebrow.
‘Gentleman, sir? He looks more like a monstrous pugilist dressed in gentleman’s clothes.’
‘Aye, weel, be that as it may. What I’d like to know is, why he keeps traipsing after us. He’s been somewhere about us the whole day.’
Annabella couldn’t help admiring Mr Blackadder’s unexpected show of courage.
‘Careful, minister,’ she warned as he marched across and peered up at the stranger.
‘Huh-huh, and who might I ask are you, sir?’
‘Harding.’
‘I dinna ken the name.’
Harding glanced in Annabella’s direction.
‘Is she Merchant Ramsay’s daughter?’
Annabella bristled.
‘If you must refer to me, sir, pray have the courtesy to dismount and speak directly to me.’
He did not dismount but stared with eyes shadowed beneath heavy brows.
‘I do business with your father.’
Then he reined his horse to one side and cantered coolly away.
‘Well!’ Annabella said. ‘What a monstrous ill-mannered oaf. What’s it to me even if he is doing business with Papa?’
She dismissed the stranger from her mind. It was time to return home. She was beginning to feel hungry and there was the Assembly to prepare for in the evening.
The Assembly was being held in Merchants’ House, or Briggait Hall as it was sometimes called, because it was situated in the Briggait.
It meant ‘high dress’ of course and she bid Nancy smooth and pin her hair
over a front pad and then arrange it in ringlet curls at the back. Then they went into the closet and the maid gave it a good powdering. Out of the closet again, Nancy fastened on the corset which made Annabella’s tiny waist look even tinier. Then on went her panniers and her low-cut silver petticoat, decorated from bosom to hem with row after row of satin bows. Annabella loved the slippery feel of the satin and the sound of it rustling and swishing about her. A ribbon with matching bow was fastened round her neck. Next came the open gown of the same sparkling blue as her eyes, white silk stockings and high-heeled blue satin slippers. She stuck a couple of patches on her face and selected a fan on which were painted cherubs gracefully entangled with coloured ribbons and posies of flowers. Then she viewed herself with satisfaction in the pier glass over by the window. She swooshed round and round and held her arms stretched out and provocatively raised and wiggled her shoulders making her bosom nearly spring right out of her corset. As it was, everything but the nipples was showing.
Big John had already summoned a sedan chair but it took some time to squeeze herself into it and arrange her voluminous skirts before the chair men could set off at their usual round plunging trot. The carrying shafts were quite flexible and pliant and the chair men in their haste to fit in several engagements caused the chair to bounce up and down and swing to and fro at an alarming rate. In retaliation for this extreme discomfort, Annabella gave the men a piece of her tongue before flouncing away through the pillared entrance of Briggait Hall.
Annabella swept along the lobby, ascended the staircase and entered the hall with fan fluttering. It was one of the largest halls in the town, being about eighty feet long and thirty feet wide. Round the walls hung portraits of Benefactors to the Poor of the Merchants’ House and from the centre of the roof dangled a large and beautiful model of a fully rigged ship. It was well-lit with many candles and there was a fireplace at each end.
A fiddler was merrily scraping and beside him, anxiously surveying the dancing throng and as stringy as a fiddle bow, stood the dancing master, Dougie Clegg. Many’s the time at his weekly dancing lessons he had put Annabella and the rest through their paces. At the lessons there was no fiddler and Dougie hummed the tune, kept the time and gave instruction in deft and rapid rotation.
‘Up lads, noo!
Ta teedleum ta toodleum.
Up lassies too!
Ta teedleum ta toodleum.
Toes in a line noo!
Ta teedleum ta toodleum.
Let everyone boo!
Ta teedleum ta toodleum.
Toots, Jean Gibb, ye’re a’ wrong, you!
Ta teedleum ta toodleum.
Turn round about noo!
Ta teedleum ta toodleum.
Doon the middle noo!
Ta teedleum ta toodleum.
Stand back Jock Tamson, you!
Ta teedleum ta toodleum.
Join hands noo!
Ta teedleum ta toodleum.
Toots, ye’re a’ wrong thegether!
Ta teedleum ta toodleum.
Tam Wilkie, ye’re a gowk!
Ta teedleum ta toodleum.’
But now he just stood tapping his cane to the fiddler’s tune and peering at the feet of the dancers.
The Widow Aberdour came sailing towards Annabella, more billowing and resplendent than the ship that hung from the ceiling. She was the one who was in charge of the proceedings and who arranged the partners. Her hair glistened with diamond and ruby brooches, and a ruby necklace on a heavy gold chain sparkled round her neck. Her purple gown was generously fringed with black lace at bosom and elbow and she brandished a jewelled snuffbox and a purple fan with a gold tassel.
‘Ah, Mistress Ramsay!’
‘Mistress Aberdour.’ Annabella sank into a graceful curtsy. ‘You are well, I trust?’
‘Indeed. Indeed. I shall dance a merry tune until I am a hundred.’
The widow carolled with laughter. Then she made high beckoning motions with her fan and trilled, ‘Mr Harding, sir. Mr Harding!’
Annabella flushed when she saw the big man pushing towards them. He was not wearing elegant flowered or patterned silk or satin like the other gentlemen but a black coat, buff coloured waistcoat, breeches and black boots.
‘Mistress Aberdour,’ Annabella protested indignantly and in the man’s hearing. ‘This … this person is wearing boots and a sword!’ Then turning to Harding she said, ‘It is not fitting, sir.’
He shrugged.
‘I can’t do anything about the boots. I did not bring any shoes with me. But I’ll remove the sword if it eases you.’
Unsheathing the weapon, he tossed it onto a nearby chair. Widow Aberdour raised her fan high.
‘Splendid! Splendid! Mr Harding! Mistress Ramsay!’ And with hands heavenwards, she swooped triumphantly away.
Annabella fanned herself as if about to faint. She was too furious for words. She had been looking forward so much to the ball, knowing that the Rev. Blackadder would not be there, frowning as he did on such ‘wicked frivolities’ as he called them.
‘I am from Virginia,’ Harding said.
Annabella paid him not the slightest attention.
‘I have a plantation inland from the James River. I deal with your father’s stores.’
Annabella allowed her gaze to stray among the dancers. Many of the men were prodigiously handsome and belonged to local aristocratic families. It was really too cruel of the Widow Aberdour to partner her with this ugly brutish creature. But no doubt he had influenced her in his favour with money, if not with flattery. Mistress Aberdour was very prone to both.
‘Your father’s a robber.’
She switched her full attention to him.
‘What did you say, sir?’
He bared his teeth in a humourless grin.
‘I thought that would waken you up.’
‘How dare you insult my Papa. How dare you, sir!’
‘I can dare very easily for it is the truth.’
‘Papa ships goods to Virginia and sells them in his stores. He is perfectly entitled to profit by his endeavours.’
‘Granted. What he’s not entitled to do is charge outrageous prices to people who, because of their isolated position, have no choice but to buy from him. Nor ought he to enmesh us in such debt that our tobacco crop is pledged to him sometimes for years ahead.’
‘Huh!’ Annabella gave a trill of sarcastic laughter. ‘I see now what your position is. You are monstrously inefficient and mightily in debt, sir. You envy my Papa who is plagued by neither of these things.’
‘You do not know what you are talking about, mistress. It is I and men like me who pay for the fine clothes on your back and the good food in your belly.’
‘ ’Tis monstrous and damnable that you should speak to me like this.’
‘Anger suits you,’ he remarked without smiling. ‘You’re a damnably beautiful woman.’
‘I do not care for compliments from you, sir.’
‘It was not intended as a compliment. I stated a fact, that was all. Now let us dance. That was what you came for, was it not?’
‘I certainly did not come to the Assembly with either the desire or the intention of dancing with you. That is a fact!’
He cupped a hand over her elbow.
‘Well, you are going to dance with me.’
‘Remove your hand, sir. I do what I like. You have been a prodigious irritation to me the whole day long. I refuse to countenance any more of it. I demand an explanation of your behaviour.’
‘I had heard much talk of you. I was curious to see what kind of woman it is who not only followed the rebel army and braved its battles, but survived the rigours of the long journey back alone and unaided.’
‘Well, now you have had a good look.’
‘Yes.’
An irrepressible surge of mischief mingled with her anger. Her eyes sparkled with both.
‘And what, pray, are your conclusions?’
‘I believe you would be admirably
suited for life in Virginia,’ he replied with a grimness that she could not fathom.
‘Virginia?’ She gasped incredulously. ‘Are you actually imagining me working on a Virginia plantation?’
‘I am imagining you as my wife.’
‘Losh and lovenendie!’ She couldn’t help laughing. ‘So you came to the market for a wife as well as a horse, did you? Well, as far as I’m concerned, sir, I’m not one of those females who are herded up like cattle and shipped across to Virginia because planters need wives. Your imagination is inflamed. Here is another fact for you. I am promised to the minister. The Reverend Mr Blackadder and I are to be married in less than two weeks’ time.’
A look of disgust contorted his face.
‘What a bloody waste!’
‘Guard your tongue,’ she said, trying to be serious. ‘Now let us dance.’
He moved clumsily and every time she pirouetted round his ugliness caught her by surprise. He had a big-boned face. His brows reminded her of an overhanging cliff. His eyes were caves of darkness. His nose had a broken bridge and was twisted to one side. His mouth was wide but with an upper lip that could tighten back like a snarling animal.
She resigned herself to spending the evening with him and making the best she could of it. Eventually, laughing and breathless, she told him:
‘Dancing with you, sir, is like dancing with a bear. I am prodigiously exhausted.’
‘I shall take you home.’
‘Indeed you shall not. You may call a caddy to summon a sedan chair and that will do very well.’
She swished past him towards the door, rapidly flicking her fan in an effort to cool herself. He strode after her down the stairs and out into the summer’s night. Clouds were scudding across the moon, blackening the town then suddenly lightening it again.
She turned on Harding impatiently.
‘Well, sir? I am waiting for a sedan chair.’
‘First let us stroll on the Green and enjoy the evening air. It is too fine a night to waste.’
She laughed in astonishment.
‘You are mad! It is late. We have no lanterns and I am not wearing pattens. My slippers would be ruined.’
‘We have the moon for a lantern. As for your slippers—the earth is dry now but if it will make you happy, I will carry you.’
The Tobacco Lords Trilogy Page 36
