Girl on the Orlop Deck (23 page)

That was Jem’s opinion too when they found one another in the inn at the end of the day. ‘I’ll make a frame for it,’ he said, when they’d had their supper and retired to their room, ‘an’ we’ll hang it over the
mantelpiece
for all the world to see.’

‘Home tomorrow,’ she said, happily. ‘Back to our own room an’ our own comfy bed an’ all our nice things. I tell ’ee Jem, these inns are all very well but their beds are as lumpy as skillygalee an’ that there chamber pot smells like a privy. I shall be glad to be home. Only thing is, I hopes we don’t have to sit alongside a’ that Mr Trotter, for I can’t abide the man. If I’d has to hear him talk about
our
Lord Nelson just one more time, I shall show him my flag and give him what-for.’

‘Than perhaps ’tis as well I’ve bought us inside tickets,’ Jem said. And was kissed as a reward.

‘You en’t feelin’ so sick today,’ he said hopefully. And it was true, she wasn’t. So he was kissed again. And again.

They had a much better night, now that the funeral was over, and it was an easier journey home and didn’t take them anywhere near as long as the journey out had done, which pleased them both. Their inside tickets meant that they were out of the wind, even if the coach was damp, and they had clean straw under their feet, even if it soon got smeared with mud. As Marianne was dressed in her nice warm petticoats again and wrapped in her new mantle, she didn’t feel anywhere near so
sick as she had on the first journey, and Jem was happy because they had meat pies to eat and plenty of grog to keep them warm and their
memories
of the procession to entertain them.

‘What a tale we shall have to tell when we gets home,’ Marianne said, passing the grog bottle back to her husband, after she’d taken a cautious sip. ‘I tell ’ee what, Jem, we must invite ’em all to supper. We could borrow some chairs, couldn’t we, and buy some pies? An’ then we can all sit round the table, what’ll be a bit of a squash but not to worry, an’ we can tell ’em every last thing about it.’

‘Well now,’ Jem said, looking mischievous, ‘as to that, I got a surprise for ’ee.’

She was intrigued. ‘What sort a’ surprise?’

‘You’ll see.’

‘What sort of answer’s that?’ she teased. ‘What will I see? You can’t tell me half a thing an’ not finish it. That en’t fair.’

But he put his finger to his lips and just repeated that she’d see. ‘Once we’m home, which should be in an hour or two, the way we’m a-goin’. I can see the Downs already.’

‘Husbands an’ wives en’t supposed to have secrets,’ she said, but then she had to stop because the words were reminding her of that poor baby again and making her feel ashamed. She was surprised by how much she’d been thinking of the baby while she’d been in London, but a’ course that was on account of there’d been a lot of time for standing about thinking and on account of she’d been feeling sick and the last time she’d felt sick was when she’d been carrying. She was feeling slightly sick at that moment and it couldn’t be because she’d been drinking too much grog because she’d taken care to drink as little as she could. Thoughts and questions were crowding into her head. What if she was carrying again? She tried to remember the last time she’d seen her courses. Back on the
Victory
afore she came home an’ that was a fair ol’ time ago. What if…?

Jem was drinking his grog and didn’t notice how quiet she was. ‘’Twill only be secret for an hour or two, that’s all,’ he said wiping his lips on the back of his hand, ‘an’ then I’ll tell ’ee. Patience is a virtue at sea.’

It was growing dark when they reached the Sally Port and by then Marianne was feeling very sick and only had one thought in her head which was to go home as quickly as she could and light a fire. She strode
off along the High Street like a boy, kicking her petticoats out of the way. But when she went to turn in at Farthing Lane, Jem put out a hand and pulled her to a halt. ‘You’m a-goin’ the wrong way,’ he said.

‘No, I en’t,’ she said. ‘You’ve drunk too much grog, my lover. This is the way to Farthing Lane.’

He was wearing his devilish expression. ‘Except we en’t a-goin’ to Farthing Lane,’ he said, ‘on account of I got somethin’ to show ’ee.’

‘What sort a’ somethin’?’

‘Come with me an’ you’ll see.’

It was a neat house in a terrace of neat houses, two storeys high and with a fine new door painted black. ‘My dear heart alive,’ she said. ‘You never means for to say we got a room here.’

‘Come an’ see,’ he said, opening the door.

It was a beautiful, clean, empty house. The hall was painted duck-egg blue and there were two doors leading out of it, both painted white. ‘Which one is it?’ she said, looking at them.

He opened the rear door and led her into a kitchen. It was such an amazing room and so full of good things it dried up her sickness in an instant. There was a deal table in the middle of the room with two stools beside it and the biggest dresser she’d ever seen along one wall with enough room on its shelves to store every single pot and pan and all the dishes she could possibly want. And that wasn’t all. There was a huge stove for cooking with a trivet for kettles and irons, and a sink with a bucket underneath it standing ready for use and, wonder of wonders, a copper set in the corner where she could wash her clothes. When she lifted the lid there was even a scrubbing board inside. ‘My dear heart alive,’ she said. ‘We only needs our bed in the corner an’ we could move straight in.’

‘Ah, but that’s not all,’ he told her. ‘Come on.’ And led her to the front room, which was wide and empty with a window that gave out to the street. ‘What do ’ee think to this?’

‘Two rooms,’ she said. ‘We shall live like lords.’

Now he was laughing because this triumph he’d planned was such a joy. ‘Now come upstairs,’ he said. ‘’Tis even better upstairs.’

Which it was, for there were two more doors on the landing and the first led to a room that spread across the width of the house and had a fine fireplace and two windows, no less. ‘If we’re thinkin of a party,’ he said, ‘this here is the room for it.’

‘You’ve never took the whole house, have ’ee?’ she asked.

‘The whole house,’ he told her happily. ‘I’ve took it for a year. Spent my bounty on it. There’s a coal cellar in the basement and a yard at the back. I’ll show ’ee presently. The back room up here can be our bedroom, what’s a good room, as you’ll see, and the front room
downstairs
can be a workroom for my furniture where people can come an’ see it in the warm, what’ll help ’em make their minds to buy it. Now what do ’ee think?’

She thought it was perfect.

‘A fine ol’ secret don’ ’ee think?’

‘Aye, so ’tis,’ she said, beaming at him. ‘I got a secret for you an all.’

That surprised him. ‘Have ’ee?’

‘What would ’ee say if I was to tell ’ee I’m carryin’?’

He gave a crow of delight. First a wife an’ then a job an’ a house an’ now a child! ‘I should make ’ee a cradle,’ he said.  

I
T WAS SUCH
a lark to set up home. Marianne had never had so much fun. To stroll through the streets on a bright afternoon, in her fine new mantle, with her fine new bonnet on her head and her pretty new boots on her feet, with money in her pocket and Jem by her side was an absolute pleasure, but to walk into all those fine shops, where she’d watched the gentry making their purchases when she was an envious child, and actually buy things for herself was nothing short of a wonder. There were so many lovely things to choose from too because the town was full of sailors returned from the war with money burning holes in their pockets so the shopkeepers had made sure their shelves were full of temptation – blue and white china fit for an emperor, brass kettles and brass pots and warming pans – ‘imagine one a’ them in the bed at night!’ – canteens of knives and forks and spoons all with the prettiest china handles, cushions and painted chamber pots and printed fire-screens – even turkey carpets, although Marianne felt she ought to draw the line at them.

‘That’ud cost the earth Jem,’ she said, fingering the pile longingly.

‘Have one if that’s what ’ee wants,’ he told her happily. ‘We got the money.’

‘We shan’t have it long if we goes on spending at this rate,’ she said trying to be serious. It wasn’t easy because she was bubbling with
happiness
and she really liked the carpet, but
one
of them had to be sensible. China and chamber pots and knives and forks were necessities but a carpet was quite another matter.

‘I’m earning, don’ forget,’ he pointed out. ‘’Ten’t just the bounty.’

It was true. He opened his ‘show room’ for trade every afternoon and it was always full of customers, some of them come to pass the time of day, but most of them sailors’ wives come to buy new furniture with
their Trafalgar windfalls. He had so many orders he was considering taking on an apprentice. ‘And,’ as he said to Marianne, ‘who’d ha’ thought
that
when we was afloat.’

But Marianne decided against the carpet, despite being tempted most strongly. It was too luxurious for the likes of her and Jem and, besides, it would look out of place under their new chairs, fine though they were going to be.

They spent the first four weeks in their new home happily filling their empty rooms with treasures, sleeping in a warm bed every night, loving whenever they felt like it and eating so well that Marianne said they’d end up as fat as pigs if they didn’t watch out.

‘Never mind pigs,’ Jem told her. ‘We’m livin’ like lords, that’s the way of it, an’ I’m blamed if I can see a thing wrong wi’ that. We’ve earned our money hard, bein’ at Trafalgar, an’ I work all the hours God sends, don’ forget, an’ so do you. We needs our grub.’

There was only one problem in this new life of theirs and that was the cooking. Before they’d moved into the house, the most Marianne had ever done in the way of cooking was to bake bread and fry chops or bacon or a bit of liver in a frying pan over the fire. Now she had to learn how to roast meat on a spit and cook pies and pastries in an oven and that took patience and a lot of mistakes, even though she had a hearty appetite to drive her on now that the sickness had passed. There was no doubt about the baby now. As February gave way to March, she was swelling visibly and her love for this little unborn vulnerable creature grew as her belly did. ‘You shan’t die, my little darling,’ she told it, stroking her belly. ‘I won’t let ’ee. You’ll be born safe and sound, I promise ’ee. You’ll be a good, strong, healthy baby and have a ma and pa what’ll love ’ee and good food to eat and fine clothes to wear. My own little darling.’

‘When we goin’ to give that ol’ party then?’ Jem asked one evening, when they were sitting in their new chairs in the kitchen, one on each side of the stove, digesting their supper. ‘Now you got the hang a’ the stove, I means for to say, we ought to be sendin’ invitations, wouldn’t ’ee say.’

In the joy of furnishing her house and carrying her child, Marianne had forgotten all about the party. She didn’t tell him of course, for that would never do. ‘End a’ the month,’ she said. ‘How would that be?’

‘After church of a Sunday?’

‘’Course.’

‘An’ we can tell ’em about the baby?’

‘’Course.’

‘What’ll please ’em no end.’

So the families were invited and on the last Sunday of the month they walked back to the house as soon as church was finished and when they’d admired the new furniture in the ‘show room’ were escorted upstairs into the best room for the feast. Marianne had built up a good fire in the hearth and set the table with all her fine new ware, china plates, knives and forks, pewter tankards and all, and very good it looked. She’d been cooking all morning, while they’d been in church praying for their souls, roasting a joint of beef, no less, and baking a selection of pies and pastries, concentrating hard in order to do the very best she could, so as to impress Jem’s ma and pa. The kitchen smelt like a pastry cook’s and most of the dishes had come out well – or well enough. Now the proof would be in the eating.

They were a happy company gathered around the table that
afternoon
. Mary and Jack were so proud of their daughter’s cooking they praised every mouthful and Lizzie said she’d never ate a pie what tasted so good, not even one she’d made herself and that was saying something, and all four men clamoured for second helpings and drank so much ale to wash the meal down that Jem had to go out and buy some more.

‘An’ don’ ’ee go joinin’ the navy this time,’ his father teased. Which provoked a roar of laughter.

‘He’s got more reason to stay this time,’ Jack Morris said, ‘what with the house an’ his work an’ all. I never see a room so full of furniture as that one downstairs. There’s different things in it every time I comes round. He’s turned out quite a cabinet maker.’

The skill of his carpentry was praised at some length, while Marianne cleared the dirty dishes and took them down to the kitchen. They were still talking about it when she came back upstairs.

‘I seen a cradle in the corner last time I was here,’ her father said slyly, when she rejoined them. ‘Very pretty thing, all carved an’ all. Very pretty.’

Marianne was busy moving the fruit pies from the dresser to the table, but she was aware that they were all looking at her, smiling and nodding and hopeful, and she realized that their expressions were far too pointed to be ignored.

‘Well now, as to that,’ she said, setting the last pie in the middle of the table. ‘I’ll tell ’ee when Jem gets back. On account of ’tis as much his news as mine.’

‘I knew you was carryin’,’ Mary said, triumphantly. ‘Didn’t I tell ’ee, Lizzie?’

‘You did, my lover,’ Lizzie agreed. ‘An’ I said what a fine thing ’twould be.’

‘You did. An’ so it is.’

Marianne was put out for she’d been looking forward to telling them her news. ‘Then there’s nothin’ for to tell ’ee,’ she said. ‘Not if ’ee’d know’d all along, what you could ha’ told me.’

‘Come here an’ let me kiss ’ee, child,’ her mother said, ‘for ’tis the best news in the world.’

‘What is?’ Jem asked, striding in with the ale.

‘Our baby,’ Marianne told him scowling from within the circle of her mother’s arms, ‘what they knows about seemingly.’

‘Then that saves us tellin’ ’em,’ he said easily, putting the ale on the table. But then he saw the scowl and realized how hurt she was for he’d grown skilled in reading her expressions over the last few months, so he added, ‘We’ve plenty of other tales for to tell ’em, my lover, given where we’ve been and what we’ve seen.’

‘What you
can
tell us,’ his father said, ‘is how you two came to meet up when you was at sea, for you promised us the tellin’ a’ that months an’ months ago, an’ we’ve heard nary a word of it.’

The thought of telling them that particular tale cheered Marianne up at once. ‘I’ll tell ’ee when I’ve served the pies,’ she said, smiling at Jem, ‘an’ when you’ve all got more ale an’ are settled comfortable.’

‘’Tis a long story then,’ her brother said, as she served them.

‘Aye,’ Marianne told him, settling into her chair. ‘Two years long. An’ Pa will need the salt cellar for he won’t believe a word of it, will ’ee, Pa? But ’tis as true as I sits here. I tell ’ee no word of a lie. It came about like this.…’