Girl on the Orlop Deck (3 page)

‘I’d like it very well,’ Jem said. ‘Onny it don’t exist. Like I told ’ee, I’ve made my bed an’ now—’

‘An’ now, my lubber, you must join the navy an’ be a ship’s carpenter, what is an honourable post for any man, an’ well paid, an’ leave your troubles behind you. Tha’s what you must do. Stands to reason.’

Jem’s reason was now so fogged with rum he could barely think. ‘Must I?’ he asked.

‘My stars yes,’ Peggy said, supping his own rum. ‘See the world. Good shipmates. Women a-plenty an’ no questions asked. Good grub. Good pay. Good prize money, when the time comes. Grog a-plenty. Tha’s the life for ’ee. Take my word for it, you’ll never find a better.’

‘Well … I don’ know about that,’ Jem said, his voice slurred. ‘Tha’s a bit of a compli … condi … compli-nation … cation, I means.’

‘Simplest thing in the world,’ Tom Kettle said. ‘There’s my warrant, d’you see?’ And he waved a piece of parchment in front of Jem’s
unfocused
eyes. ‘All you got to do is say the word, sign your name on this ’ere paper which we got all ready an’ waiting for ’ee, an’ you’re a free man. What could be simpler?’

Put like that, what indeed? ‘A paper you say?’

‘Just sign your name, my lubber,’ Peggy said, leaning towards him. ‘Or make your cross. An’ you’re a free man. Show that harridan a’ yourn who’s boss.’

There was something cream-coloured lying on the table, with a pen and an ink-horn beside it. Now where had
they
come from?

‘Sign it,’ Peggy urged, ‘an’ you’re a free man.’

‘Now, d’you mean?’

‘Now, my lubber. What could be simpler?’

To Jem’s addled brain it looked prodigiously difficult. But he made a
supreme effort and, after three false starts, signed his name at the foot of the page.

He was startled when both men gave a bellow of delight and slapped him on the back.

‘Welcome aboard, shipmate,’ Tom Kettle said and stood up.

‘Are you goin’?’ Jem asked.

‘We’re all goin’, my lubber,’ Tom said, and hauled his new recruit to his feet.

Jem found it surprisingly hard to stand and for a few seconds he swayed and tottered, trying to control a sudden dizziness, knowing he was very drunk, while his two companions supported him on either side and waited until he was fit to move.

‘Come on then,’ Tom Kettle said, steering him towards the door.

‘Where to?’ Jem asked.

‘Why to sea, my lubber. I got a tender all ready an’ waitin’ for ’ee. You’re in the navy now.

M
RS
M
ARIANNE
T
EMPLEMAN
was still waiting in the mariners’ hall. The dancing was over and done, the piper had been paid and gone away and most of the guests had gradually drifted off too. Now, sitting alone at the long table, she was beginning to worry. What if he’d drunk himself silly and was lying in the gutter somewhere? It would be her job to get him home, being his wife, she knew that, but how would she go about it? She felt cross with him for treating her so. It wasn’t kindly. Not on their wedding day.

‘Shall you come home with us?’ her mother asked, joining her at the table. ‘We got to be out the hall in a minute or so, Mr Jones says. He’ll tell your Jem where you are.’

‘Thank ’ee kindly, Ma, but no,’ Marianne said. ‘I think I’ll go back to Mother Catty’s an’ see if he’s there.’

‘An’ if he en’t?’

‘Then I shall go an’ find him. He can’t have got far.’

‘Try the inns,’ her mother advised. ‘If he went for ale he’s like to have stayed. You know what men are when they’re in drink. Daft as ha’pence, the lot of ’em.’

It was sound advice, but which inns? There were so many and none of them particularly welcoming to women on their own, unless they were whores. They let
them
in soon enough on account of they brought trade. Ah well, she thought, I shall just have to try them all until I find him.

The wind had dropped a little since the afternoon and the sun was warm on her shoulders. She wrapped her shawl around her nevertheless. It wouldn’t do to look too grand. Not when she was walking through the streets on her own and certainly not if she had to go trawling the hostelries.

The room was exactly as she’d left it, the bed tousled, the dirty water pink with blood and gathering scum in the pail, what was left of her chemise lying on a chair. As there was no urgency if he was just out drinking, she changed into her work-a-day clothes, tidied the place up and carried the pail downstairs to empty it in the privy. Then, feeling virtuous, she set off on her search. There were drinking houses a-plenty down at the Point, but they were rowdy places, so she decided to give them a miss for the moment and try the inns in the High Street, which served a better sort of customer and was nearer to hand.

It was also impossibly crowded – with carriages and post chaises blocking the road, porters trying to trundle their carts between them and a motley collection of mongrel dogs jumping and barking at everything that moved. Not the easiest place to go searching, she thought, as she dodged through the mêlée and over the cobbles, but she pushed her way through with her usual determination, avoiding the dirt as well as she could. She did so hate to get manure on the hem of her skirts.

The first place she came to was a coaching inn and it was noisily busy because the last coach of the day had just arrived, the horses were being uncoupled and led away and the yard was full of travellers and their luggage. It took her a very long time before she could catch the eye of a potboy and then the idiot didn’t know who’d come in that afternoon.

‘We’ve had all sorts,’ he said wiping his forehead with his cap. ‘’Tis all Oi can do to serve ’em, never moind remember their names. What do ’e look loike this feller a’ yourn?’

But although he recalled plenty of men with curly hair, they being ‘two a penny hereabouts’, none was wearing a red shirt. ‘That I would ha’ remembered, bein’ broight loike.’

The next inn along the road was The Duke of Buckingham and nobody had any recollection of a man in a red shirt and told her to be off out of it when she persisted. It was the closest inn to their room in Highbury Street and she’d had hopes of it. But now she came to look at it, it was a deal too grand for her Jem, all those great ships’ timbers and all. Nothing daunted, she crossed the road to Peacock Lane and tried the modest inn on the corner. No luck, although at least they were civil. ‘Try The Dolphin,’ the pot boy suggested. ‘They been busy today.’ So she tried The Dolphin.

‘Jem Templeman,’ the barman said. ‘He’s one a’ my reg’lars.’

‘Has he been in?’

‘In an’ out. You won’t see him again in a long time.’

She thought he was joking. Men had such odd ideas about what was funny. ‘I’d better,’ she said, ‘seein’ we was married not three hours since.’

‘You never was!’ he said, plainly surprised. ‘I means for to say. Three hours since. Well I never.’

‘So where’s he gone?’

‘He’s been pressed, gel. Gone to sea. Ol’ Peg-Leg an’ Tom Kettle took him. You could ask ’em if they was here. They’d tell ’ee. Half seas over he was. They was darn near carryin’ the feller. Like I said, you won’t see him again in a long time.’

She felt as if he’d hit her in the stomach. He couldn’t have gone to sea. Why would he do such a thing? He had a good job, a good wife, he was settled. It was his wedding day. Seaman went to sea, or men who needed work. Not Jem. ‘You’re pullin’ my leg,’ she said.

‘No, my lover. ’Tis true as I stand here. I seen it with my own eyes. He’s gone to sea. Him an’ half the world. They’re all off to sea today on account a’ we’re at war with France again, d’ye see? Admiral Lord Nelson come down at one o’clock, all in a great rush. He was aboard the
Victory
by ha’ past three. Thirteen-gun salute there was. I wonder you didden hear it. Made enough noise. There’s been midshipmen roundin’ up their crews all day, an’ luggage comin’ an’ goin’, provisions bein’ took aboard, an’ I don’t know what-all. Given a fair wind, they reckon to set sail tomorrow so I’m told.’

‘They may go when they please,’ she said fiercely, ‘but he’d better come back home sharpish. Tha’s all I got to say on the subject.’ And she left the inn in a furious temper. It blazed her to the quayside, which was as busy as she’d ever seen it and so full of carts and carriages it was all she could do to squeeze between them to get to the water’s edge. Livestock of all kinds was being taken aboard, pigs by the dozen, driven and squealing, goats bleating, chickens squawking in crates or being carried two by two and upside down with their heads puzzled and swinging. Everywhere she looked people were carrying provisions or manhandling furniture, sides of salt beef, sacks of flour, hogsheads of beer and crates of wine, sea chests and great chairs, bureaux and tallboys, and pushing among them, a variety of tradesmen were shouting their wares and swearing at the competition. Two hired coaches packed with sailors had collided in the middle of the road, and were now firmly locked together, to the delight of the seamen who were travelling on top and had a
ringside
seat. The noise and stink of it all were overpowering. How am I s’posed to find him in all this? Marianne thought. T’would take a month a’ Sundays so it would. But he had to be there somewhere. They couldn’t have took him aboard ship already, surely to goodness.

There was an officer sitting on the nearest bollard smoking his pipe and obviously waiting for someone or something, so she decided to ask him.

‘If you please, sir,’ she said, ‘could you be so kind as to tell me where they put the new recruits? Ones what’ve just joined, I mean.’

‘Aboard ship I daresay,’ the officer told her, adding rather brusquely, ‘What’s it to you?’

She bristled against the rebuke in his tone. That would have to be corrected and double quick. ‘If you please, sir,’ she said, maintaining her politeness, ‘he’s my husband, sir, an’ he’s left his tools behind what he’ll need on the voyage.’

His tone softened. ‘Don’t you fret your little head about tools, my dear,’ he advised. ‘We’ve tools of every description in the navy. The Admiralty sees us well provided. He’ll find all he needs when he’s aboard.’

So that was a wasted effort. She thanked him and pushed on through the crowd. Who would know? There must be someone. What was it the barman had said? He’d been took by a man called Tom Kettle – she remembered that – and a man with a wooden leg. Very well then, she’d look for a man with a wooden leg. But even as she made her decision, she saw three men with wooden legs directly in her line of vision, all busy carrying things and none of them looking the least bit welcoming. Nevertheless she tried them all. ‘If you please, sir, could you tell me if you’ve met up with a man called Jem Templeman today?’

The first man grunted and looked cross, the second told her to be off out of it, the third turned his head towards her so abruptly that the sack he was carrying caught her on the shoulder and nearly knocked her off her feet. She recovered her balance quickly, but not quickly enough to scold him for his carelessness. He was already deep into the crowd and wouldn’t have heard her even if she’d yelled at him. It made her feel disheartened to be so roughly treated but she went on searching. What else could she do?

An hour went by and then another, tolled implacably by the church clock, and she still hadn’t found him. Bum boats arrived at the quayside,
were loaded to the gunnels and set off again, oars creaking; a longboat eased alongside to collect the lounging officer; another squawking
cartload
of chickens was trundled across the cobbles; there were one-legged men wherever she looked. And it was growing dark and cold.

She felt miserably weary to have searched for so long and with such a will and found no trace of him. She walked across to the bollard the officer had been using as a seat and sat on it herself, heavily. I won’t go home till I’ve found him, she thought. If it takes all night, I’ll find him come the finish.

‘Ain’t you found that feller a’ your’n then?’ a voice said above her.

She glanced up into the speaker’s face and found she was looking at one of the local whores. She was an amazing sight, seen close to like that, her cheeks rouged red, her curled hair dyed the colour of straw, her teeth much browned and decayed, her titties pushed up so high by her stays that they tumbled out of her bodice as she leant forward. My stars, Marianne thought, what would Ma say if she knew I was talking to one of these? But the woman’s face was kindly and she looked concerned.

‘No,’ Marianne said. ‘I ent an’ that’s the truth of it.’

‘I been a-watchin’ you,’ the woman said, ‘between times like. I knew you was looking for someone, the way you been askin’.’

‘’Tis my husband,’ Marianne confessed.

‘Ah!’

‘We was married this afternoon an’ now he’s gone to sea an’ I don’t know where he is.’

‘He’s a hard-hearted wretch wherever he is,’ the whore said,
trenchantly
, ‘to leave his wife on their weddin’ day. I never heard the like. You’re well rid of him, you ask me. Find yourself another what’ll treat you better.’

Marianne was annoyed to hear him blamed so roundly, particularly as it was exactly what she’d been thinking herself. ‘I didn’t ask you,’ she said hotly. ‘You en’t to speak of him so. You don’t know the ins and outs of it.’

‘Easy on, my lubber,’ the whore said, amicably. ‘Keep yer wool on. I meant no harm.’

‘I reckon he’s been press-ganged, poor man,’ Marianne said, speaking her thoughts. ‘It don’t make no sense for him to up sticks an’ go, not like that, an’ not on his weddin’ day.’

‘’Tain’t legal to press ’em, not no more,’ the whore told her, sitting down companionably beside her. ‘’Tain’t allowed.’

‘Allowed or not, I reckon they done it,’ Marianne said. ‘He wouldn’t go without tellin’ me goodbye for a start. He’d ha’ come home an’ said goodbye, at the very least. No. He been press-ganged, you see if I en’t right.’

‘No way a’ knowing though, is there, my lubber?’ the whore said, and she stole an orange from a street trader’s passing tray and hid it in her skirt, so neat and quick he didn’t see the going of it. ‘’Course they got ways an’ means without pressin’ ’em. They gets ’em tipsy fer a start an’ then they signs up without seein’ the meanin’ of it. They could ha’ done that. Tom Kettle’s a dab hand at that sort a’ trick.’

The name blazed light into Marianne’s memory. ‘Tom Kettle?’ she said. ‘Do you know him?’

‘Not professional as you might say,’ the whore told her. ‘We works the same inns d’yer see, so I sees him around. He’s been mighty busy today, I can tell ’ee that though. He ain’t been out the Dolphin all day to my certain knowledge, an’ that wooden-legged feller’s been up an’ down to the quayside all afternoon, sendin’ ’em off.’

‘An’ one of ’em my Jem,’ Marianne said. ‘Do you know where he was sendin’ ’em?’ Oh please say you know.

‘Well as to that, my lubber,’ the whore said, ‘I got no idea. There’s twenty ships an’ more in the roads. Could ha’ been any one of ’em. He works for several captains, that I do know. I just seen ’em go.’ She pulled the orange from under her skirt and began to peel it. ‘Have half?’ she offered.

They sat in the declining light and ate the orange between them, two young women in a world of men, while candles were lit in the drinking houses behind them, the last of the bum boats was loaded and went creaking off into the channel, and the great distant ships grew ghostly in the half light.

‘All those ships,’ Marianne said miserably, ‘an’ he could be on any one a’ them. How would I know?’

‘Beats me, my lubber,’ the whore said. ‘I reckon you’d have to join the navy to find out for certain.’

But of course, Marianne thought. It was the obvious answer. She was never going to find him on the quay because he wasn’t there. And she was never going to find anyone who knew where he was. They were all too busy with their own affairs. She would have to join the navy and go after him. It was the only thing to do. I’ll borrow Johnny’s breeches and his old shirt, she
planned, an’ I’ll put my hair in a plait the way the sailors do, an’ then I’ll go back to the Dolphin an’ find that rotten old Tom Kettle an’ join the navy myself. So help me if I don’t. I en’t a-goin’ to be no deserted wife, with everyone laughing and pointing and mocking, not if I can help it.

‘Thank ’ee kindly fer the orange,’ she said to her new friend and stood up, shaking her skirts to rights.

‘You off then?’ the whore said, sucking the last segment. The juice ran down her chin, glistening in the fading light.

‘Yes,’ Marianne said, ‘I do believe I am.’