Convictions (8 page)

“Each table will choose a captain of the mess. That person will be responsible for the good order and cleanliness of their mess and for distributing the rations to their tables. They will see that the women at their assigned messes wash themselves every morning and sit together as you are now. The mess captain will also make sure each of their members takes turns cleaning the utensils, which will now be doled out to you.” The crisp voice ordered the utensils brought forward from the galley.

A young boy lugged out a pail of spoons, counted them out and clanged them down on each table of twelve for the women to distribute. The clattering of passing them around almost drowned out the whispering and loud grumbling around Jennie, as each table debated who would be the captain of each mess. No one seemed to want to be responsible for imposing the strict warders’ rules on the others.

“Enough!” yelled Meadows. “Each of you at the aft end of the table will be the mess captain.” At the bewildered expression on most women’s faces as they looked from one to the other, he pointed in the direction he meant.

“No bloody way I want to be responsible for the lot of you,” Flo complained, realizing she was designated.

Still grumbling, Flo went with the other mess captains to serve breakfast from more buckets handed to them by the cook’s crew. She slopped thin gruel into the wooden bowls. Jennie rose to help distribute them.

“I don’t need no help,” Flo grumbled.

“Let her,” said Hildy. “We’re hungry, and you’re too slow.”

When she sat down to eat, Jennie dipped her spoon into the pale slime. It was no better or worse than what they’d had in prison, though Jennie thought it might be slightly more watery, and, after tasting it, not salted enough. Yet, she ate ravenously, her stomach clamouring for more, but it was not forthcoming. In fact, the last ones served got even smaller rations than those at the start.

“Bloody pigs,” said Dottie, one of the ones shorted at another table. “Serve me first next time, you dolt," she said, waving a menacing finger at Hildy.

“I’ll wash the utensils,” Alice offered, carefully gathering the spoons and bowls from those seated at their table.

“Good girl,” said Jennie.

Alice flashed her a grateful smile. Although several spoons clattered to the deck floor as she headed for the ladder, Hildy helped Alice retrieve them.

“She’s smart too,” said Sarah, nodding approval. “Be first and get it over with.”

Jennie wondered where the utensils were being cleaned. She hoped it wasn’t in the same swill pails where all the women had washed.

“Inspection time. Everyone on deck, except those assigned to stay below,” Meadows ordered.

“Reverend Ernest Brantford will lead you in prayers.” The reverend had combed a few strands of his grey hair over his balding head. Clasping a Bible with his long bony fingers, he began his ascent.

Jennie trundled up top again with the others. A handful of women, including Kate, were told to stay put.

“What’s happening below?” Jennie asked.

Hildy answered. “Probably inspecting our quarters for contraband. You know, in case we’ve smuggled spirits or knives or something on board since we left the docks.”

“As if we had a chance!” Flo rolled her eyes.

Fanny guffawed. “Maybe they are looking for the lice and bedbugs.” She scratched at her neck.

“No,” Sarah chided. “I hear they are to clean the hold, and the surgeon is inspecting to make sure they do it the way he wants.”

“He’d do better to get rid of the bloody bugs,” said Fanny.

“Quiet, please,” Reverend Brantford’s firm, low voice commanded. He led them in a prayer filled with the fear of damnation for all their sinful ways.

Jennie winced with each scolding. Alice clutched her hand in fear.

“Kneel, you sinners,” he said, “and repent!”

As Jennie and the others fell to their knees, she noticed Fanny and Mary Roberts only partially crouching with smirks on their faces. Most of the women looked bored, though a few had bowed heads. Behind Jennie, Iris sobbed and prayed aloud.

At last, the reverend reached the end, and a loud chorus of “Amen” echoed around Jennie.

“Half of you will exercise now, and the rest will go down to do scripture readings and learn your letters and sums,” Reverend Brantford said. “Those on starboard, follow me below.”

Jennie started forward, but many women had no idea which side they were on and collided. Jennie still remembered the parts of a ship her father had taught her on the ferry ride.

“No, no. Not you, and not you. Yes, you,” said Reverend Brantford impatiently, as the guards helped him organize the women and line up those staying on deck behind Jennie.

As she waited for the women to get sorted, Jennie noticed Fanny saunter with hips swaying behind the wheelhouse. Almost immediately, Red Bull disappeared after her.

“Now march, you lot,” the reverend ordered Jennie’s group. “The rest of you follow me.”

As they filed past the wheelhouse, Jennie craned her neck, searching for Fanny. Her eyes almost popped out of their sockets at the sight of Fanny with the front of her dress up around her waist and Red Bull’s lower body pressed tight against her, his breeches hanging loose partway down his backside.

Jennie gasped.

“Look away,” hissed Sarah from behind her.

Jennie shielded Alice’s eyes, hoping the girl, who was ahead of her, had not seen anything.

“Are we playing a game?” asked Alice.

Jennie let out a breath of relief, dropping her hands as they passed beyond view.

“Yes, you have to guess who’s behind you,” Jennie said wildly.

“But that’s silly,” said Alice. “I already know you’re behind me.”

“You’re right, pet,” said Sarah. “Jennie is just larking about.”

“I expect you wanted to take my mind off things,” said Alice, flashing a grateful look back at Jennie. “But I’m fine now. Really.”

Her eyes were so serious and sad, Jennie wanted to hug the girl and whisk her away to somewhere safe. “I’m glad to hear it,” she said.

Sarah patted Jennie’s shoulder and whispered, “Well done.”

Jennie felt shaken. Now she thought she understood what they were talking about, what a doxy was. A horrible flush of mortification rushed through her body. Was this what she would be forced to do for the rest of her life?

“Agh,” she yelped, as the young warder poked his club into her side.

“Move along, you,” Nate ordered.

“The name’s not
you
. It’s Jennie Lawrence,” she said, in a sudden flash of anger.

His eyebrows lifted in surprise. “Uh, Nate Pickering. Now, move along, uh miss…Jennie.” He indicated that she needed to catch up with the others.

Jennie joined the line of women, wondering where Nate was from. At least he could be somewhat polite. She suspected he might even be a pleasant sort to chat with, if they weren’t in these circumstances. But they were, and he was her guard, and he irritated her. She concentrated on walking mindless circles to the monotonous drumbeat. How far was it around the deck? How many miles would they walk before the ship arrived at their destination? How many drumbeats would they have to hear?

As she circled the deck, Jennie was vaguely aware of the sailors darting to and fro, working with the sails. Meadows directed them with sharp commands from the bridge. When the ship’s bell rang, he shouted, “Coombs, your turn for dog watch.”

“Aye, aye, sir.” A fair-haired man sprinted to the mainmast.

Jennie watched one agile sailor scramble down from the crow’s nest. “All calm ahead,” he reported as he passed Coombs.

“Thanks, Edwards,” Coombs replied. He clambered up the rigging like a spider on a web racing toward freshly caught prey.

Jennie shook her head. She and the other women were all prey on the ship with no way to escape their cruel predators and the endless monotony of their ordeal. All she could do was plod on and pray she’d escape from the worst of their circumstances. Other than working in the surgery, she needed to keep a low profile.

There were no guards at the base of the ladder on the return trip down to the ship’s bowels, and Jennie managed to slip into the surgery. The only light came from an open porthole. It was enough to see that Lizzie was sleeping, though fitfully. Gently, Jennie examined the red-stained bandages. They needed changing, she was sure, but how long would it be before she was missed, if she stayed to do it?

Jennie lit a small candle lamp and hung it on the hook above the table where Lizzie lay. She gently removed the soiled bandages, one by one. Mopping at the wounds, she cleaned them as best she could, and then smeared on more lard, before placing clean strips of cloth over them.

She was surveying her handiwork when suddenly, the door opened. Jennie jumped.
Dr. Weymss!

He gave her a stern look and inspected her work without a word.

At last, he grunted, “You may go.”

Jennie made for the door.

“You will be one of my assistants for the rest of the journey,” he added. “You and Kate and one of the Marys.”

Jennie looked back at him, but he had busied himself at another table. She thought about Kate being one of the surgeon’s helpers. If the doctor asked her to work with him, maybe she wasn’t so bad after all. Jennie slid out the door, closing it gent- ly behind her, and joined the others
who were studying their letters at the mess table.

Within moments Jennie was pressing hard with her chalk, trying to copy what Reverend Brantford had given them to practise.

“You seem to be getting the hang of these squiggles,” said Sarah, obviously perplexed. “These mawleys of mine are too stiff now.” She wiggled her stubby fingers in the air. “I doubt I’ll ever be able to do it as fine as you.”

Jennie looked up at her friend across the table. “I want to write a letter home and send it as soon as we land. I want my family to know where I am.”

“And just how will you pay for the paper and Penny Black postage, Miss Prim?” asked Fanny, leaning over her left arm to inspect Jennie’s work.

“I’ll worry about that later,” Jennie answered. She’d forgotten about the new postage system that had been put in place a couple of years earlier. She had no idea where she’d earn a penny to afford the stamp.

“Perhaps you’d like to do favours for the sailors?” Fanny taunted.

“What kind of…?” Jennie broke off, suddenly recalling Fanny locked with Red Bull on deck.

Fanny gave her a sly wink. “Not the kind you’d be wanting to do, I’d bet.”

Jennie was sure even the roots of her hair had turned red with embarrassment. Somehow, she’d find a way to post the letter, or else find someone who would take it for her. What she didn’t know was if, or when, the letter might reach her family. Jennie bent back over her work.

She wanted to finish copying the alphabet again before they had to go for another trot around deck or stop for their pitiful dinner. She could tell by the smell wafting toward them that they were having pea soup – probably watery. She’d heard that occasionally, if they were lucky, lumpy plum pudding or maybe some sort of unidentifiable gristly meat might appear, though the rations would never be enough to stave off hunger.

Beside her, Alice did her best to follow the marks the reverend had assigned them. She did quite well, though slowly, her one elbow on the table, or resting her head in her hand. She looked so sad. Jennie glanced around. Reverend Brantford loomed over a table on the other side of the area.

“Alice, are you ailing?” Jennie whispered, wondering what she could to do lift Alice’s spirits.

“Missing my mum.” Alice’s voice was so soft Jennie almost didn’t hear her.

“I miss mine too,” said Jennie. Her mind flashed to what they must be doing without her.

“I didn’t do anything wrong, and I didn’t even get to tell her,” said Alice.

“Would it help if you talked about it?” asked Sarah kindly.

Alice nodded and leaned closer to Jennie.

“For stealing, Jennie, but I never. Truly I didn’t,” whispered Alice. “They just thought I did.”

Slowly Alice revealed how her mother, who was an undercook in an aristocratic home, brought her in as a kitchen helper after her father and brothers had been killed in a collapsed mine.

“It was ever so much hard work, scrubbing those big pots and hauling out the slops. That’s when it happened like, when I hauled slops. I found the mistress’s hair comb in the yard. I put it in my pocket to return it to her. Only I forgot right away like, as Cook had me hauling cauldrons about all day.”

“And you’re such a wee thing too, to be doing such heavy work,” said Kate.

“Well, and…well,” Alice continued, “Cook wanted to get rid of me so her sister could work in the big house.”

“What happened then, pet?” asked Sarah gently.

“It was only at night I remembered. I took it out of my pocket and laid it on the floor by my bed pallet. I was going to return it in the morning. Only Cook saw it when she came in to scold me for missing a pot. She called me a thieving brat and hauled me before the housekeeper. Cook made sure the housekeeper and the mistress of the house didn’t believe me. They let me mum go too; they said ’cause she hadn’t raised me proper like. I don’t know where she is now.” Alice began sobbing softly.