Cut and Run: The Fourth Book in the Fighting Sail Series (8 page)

      
King was still looking at the seaman intently. He had known Critchley,
Vigilant's
master at arms, to be a bit of a bully, and wondered whether he would have reacted in a similar way in Simpson's position. He thought not. King was no coward, but Critchley had been a big man and a born fighter. Simpson was considerably smaller and had shown a fair amount of pluck in standing up to him. And in addition he was a good seaman. Despite the recent intake,
Pevensey Castle
was still desperately undermanned. Of course, Critchley was killed in action a short while later, and when it came to it, King was no longer acting as a commissioned officer. A shout from Nichols at the main hatch brought him back to the present—clearly his attendance was required elsewhere.

      
“So, remind me what are you called now, Simpson?” he asked, rather artlessly.

      
“Johnston, sir.”

      
“Johnston.” King nodded, as if trying the name out for size. “Well, carry on then,” he said, nodded briefly, then hurried on to see to the last of the water casks.

* * *

      
“Lawks, it' ain't got no lights, nor no windas!” Kate looked up from her seat as the two girls entered the little cabin. They were wrong. A tallow candle burned grubbily in a shielded sconce on the table where she rested her ledger, but the impression was quite understandable. The girls, noticing her for the first time, jumped in unison. Kate looked up and smiled.

      
“I'm sorry, did I startle you?”

      
“Startle? I'd say!” The voice was loud, with an edge that made it almost painful to hear. “Fair set me loose below. What you doin' 'ere, anyways?”

      
Kate stood up and offered her hand. “I'm Katharine Manning, assistant to the purser.”

      
The first girl, whose light blonde hair looked almost green in the poor light, regarded Kate's hand with caution. “Are you indeed? Still don't answer my question.”

      
“No, it don't answer her question,” echoed the other girl who was darker, shorter, and running slightly to fat.

      
“Well, if you are Mrs Drayton's ladies, I'd say we will all be berthing here together.”

      
“Berfin'?” The taller one screeched. “It don't sound decent!”

      
“It don't,” her friend agreed. “Not decent at all.”

      
“That is how they tend to speak aboard a ship,” Kate said quietly. “We have to share this space, along with another who is due aboard later.”

      
“I'm not sure that I like the sound of that!” Somehow, Kate was not surprised. “Tain't enough room for more'n two, I'd chance. There's three of us, an' another coming, you says?”

      
“I believe so.”

      
The girl pouted. “Na, that can't be right; I'll have to take it up with Mrs Drayton.”

      
“Mrs Drayton will sort it out,” the shorter girl assured her.

      
“I'm sure she will,” Kate said. “When does Mrs Drayton embark?” The first girl looked at her strangely, and Kate corrected herself. “When do you expect her to join the ship?”

      
“She's going to Portsmouth, but 'er husband's comin' later today. That's Mr Drayton,” she added, with special emphasis on the title.

      
Kate nodded seriously. “I see, well what say we make the best of things until Mr or Mrs Drayton arrive? Now, I've told you my name; and you are?”

      
“This is Susan an' I'm Emily,” the dark girl informed her. “Only I'm usually known as Emma.”
 

      
“Stubble it, girl!” Susan glared at her friend. “You don't want to get too familiar with the 'elp.” She looked back at Kate. “Maybe we should make it Miss Woodhouse and Miss Chapstick? I think that would be fitting.”

      
“As you wish.” Kate's expression became neutral as the girls inspected the room. It clearly came nowhere near their expectations, and she could do little but sympathise. The place was even darker, and certainly much smaller, than the steerage mess, from which it was separated by several other similarly tiny compartments. Being nearer the stern, the smell of the bilges was also far more noticeable, and almost overpowered that from the animals further forward. How it might be after a few weeks on the ocean she didn't like to predict. And yes, it certainly would be cramped; four shortened cots lay folded against the stretched painted canvas that constituted a bulkhead. She supposed it might be possible to hang them all at the same time, but it would take every inch of available space.

      
“Well, I'd say it were a pretty queer deal,” Susan finally said to Emma. Kate was not included. “We got a mass of stuff to store; there won't be room for the half of it.”

      
“There's personal hold space for every passenger. Anything you do not require whilst on board can be stowed there,” Kate informed them. “For that which you do, a space next to the bosun's stores has been set aside.”

      
Susan looked at her doubtfully. “They got to unload it first,” she said.

      
“Then tell the mate in charge.”

      
“Mate?” the girls exclaimed in together, both raising their hand to their mouths and pretending to stifle a giggle.

      
“A mate is a senior officer,” Kate said a little coldly. “One or more will be looking after the party unloading your stores. Speak to them and they will arrange to send what you wish to the appropriate place. The same for your mistress’s belongings; you'll find them very obliging.”

      
“Obliging? I'll wager.” Emma gave a crude snort, but Susan raised herself above the remark to address Kate.

      
“What did you say your job was?”

      
“I am assistant to the purser; he is the officer who allocates provisions and supplies.”

      
“I see, well we are ladies' maids, and don't deal with heavy luggage and the like.” Her eyes narrowed slightly. “Besides, we are also paying passengers. It would seem to be a task more suitable for someone such as yourself—a Company servant.” She took one more disparaging look about the small cabin before heading for the door with a slight flounce. “Attend to it, will you, Katharine?”

* * *

      
News of the final passenger scheduled to board at Gravesend came as the afternoon was ending, and it was clear that Rogers would make the effort to greet him. In fact, he came on deck a good half an hour before the man was due. The loading had only just been completed, and the main gratings were still to be secured when the captain appeared, followed at a respectful distance by Willis and Seagrove.

      
“Hold up, we have company,” Paterson spoke, although his lips barely moved when the trio made their appearance on the quarterdeck.

      
“Mr Paterson, Mr Nichols, your attention please.”

      
King drew back while the two mates approached the captain and saluted.

      
“The ship is dirty, gentlemen,” Rogers informed them. “Extremely dirty; I would have her shining like a new pin. Mr Drayton is an honoured guest, and expected within the hour. He is not to be disappointed and neither am I.”

      
“Very good, sir.” Paterson touched his hat respectfully. The hands were tired after the day's activities. Only a scratch dinner had been taken and, as little had been seen or heard from any of the senior officers, it was in his mind to send them to an early supper. For a moment, he even considered asking if they could eat first, but instantly rejected the idea. Rogers wore a relaxed, mildly stupid look on his face, an expression that was shared with the other two officers. Clearly they had been drinking, and Paterson already knew enough about his captain to kerb his inclination to presume or question.

      
King turned to Ward who summoned a group of afterguard. “Brooms and buckets,” he said, catching the man's eyes. “Let's get her put to rights, then we can all eat.”

      
The men responded readily enough, instinctively respecting officers who were every bit as tired as they were and just as hungry. Soon, all was being washed clean of grime, and holystones, the large tablets of granite used to burnish the decks, began to scrape the strakes a shade or two lighter. Throughout the process Rogers, Willis, and Seagrove stood waiting, only deigning to move when their particular area of deck needed attention. By the time evening was descending upon them, the ship lay wet but clean, and a wherry could finally be seen heading in their direction,
 

      
“Boat ahoy!” The call rang out just as the last of the water was hurriedly flogged and swabbed away. Rogers stepped towards the entry port, preening himself slightly. His two followers kept close by, although Seagrove stumbled slightly as he moved from the quarterdeck to the gangboard. Willis caught him, and they both staggered, giggling like schoolchildren while they struggled to remain upright. King glanced at Paterson, and received a stone-cold, dispassionate stare in return. Then, the boat hooked on.

      
Mr Drayton was a man of middle years, greying hair and a strong Roman nose, he was well built, although the immaculate cut of his coat disguised what might have been a slight pot belly. He wore a pleasant, but reserved expression as he walked on to
Pevensey Castle
's deck and raised his hat in formal salute to the quarterdeck. Rogers stepped forward.

      
“A pleasure to meet you again, Mr Drayton.” The two shook hands. “I hope your trip will be a pleasant one.”

      
“I have been dining ashore,” Drayton told him. “And watching your ship while she loaded. A very efficient business, Captain Rogers; very efficient indeed. She appeared to take twice as much as
Admiral Hayes
and
Coventry
, yet I note that all is stowed away, and you are in fine fettle; most impressive. Perhaps you might care to introduce me to your officers?”

      
Rogers nodded obsequiously, “A pleasure, sir. Mr David Willis, my premier, and Christopher Seagrove, second mate.”

      
The pair stepped forward, immaculate in full dress uniforms, although their grins still owed much to the afternoon brandy. Drayton shook hands with due solemnity.

      
“And this is Mr Paterson and Mr Nichols, third and fourth mates, and Mr Midshipman King who is acting sixth.”

      
Drayton acknowledged the three, appearing to take no notice of their dress, which was far less formal than the senior officers.

      
“You do not have a fifth?” he asked, turning back to Rogers.

      
“He will be joining us at Deal,” the captain assured him. “And Mr Midshipman King is relatively experienced, sir. For a Guinea Pig, that is.” He beamed ingratiatingly at the newcomer, giving him the full benefit of his yellowing teeth.

      
“I see.” Drayton considered King once more. “So you have yet to see the East, young man?”

      
“Yes, sir,” King answered.

      
“I assume you are from the Navy, Mr, er…”

      
“King, sir. Yes, sir.”

      
Drayton nodded. “Then Mr King, you have much in common with our captain.” he switched his attention back to Rogers, whose expression was a little more uncertain now. “That must make for a close bond, eh, Mr Rogers?”

      
The captain began to mumble something incoherent, but Drayton rode over him in a way that delighted the junior officers when they recalled it later.

      
“You appear to have a very efficient ship, gentlemen. I congratulate you, and look forward to my time aboard.” He smiled again, although his manner remained brisk and efficient. “Now, if you will excuse me? We are to sail tomorrow, is that not right, captain?”

      
“Yes, sir.” Rogers bobbed slightly as he turned to follow Drayton who was moving towards the quarterdeck. “Just to the Downs and in convoy with a Navy frigate. We hope to leave on the morning tide.”

      
“Then I am sure you all have many preparations to make,” he said, striding for the stern accommodation as if he already knew every inch of
Pevensey Castle
. “And I, for one, wish to see my quarters.”

* * *

      
“Coo lummy!” Susan exclaimed as she went to enter her berth. “Where's all this stuff come from?”

      
She remained blocking the doorway, while Emma strained to see past her. The room, which was little more than five feet by seven, was almost entirely filled with luggage. Everything from hatboxes, valises, and trunks to an ornate, but empty birdcage and what looked like a small guitar in a case. All were stacked, neatly but purposely, over the entire floor space. The room could certainly not be entered, and it would be difficult to remove any individual item without cluttering up the passageway outside. Susan looked back to her friend in horror.