Marbeck and the Privateers (10 page)

The place was busy enough: sailors and harbour folk mingled, their heavy Dorset accents strange to Marbeck's ears. A black-bearded drawer worked the barrels by the far wall. Since there weren't enough benches men stood about, some in rough fishermen's garb. After attracting a few glances, he made his way to the drawer and asked about a chamber for hire; but the man's reply was disappointing.

‘There's naught here, master. We live above, and have no spare room.' Then having taken Marbeck's measure swiftly, he added: ‘Yet there are folk who might have. Walk along to Hope Cove, ask for Mistress Buck.'

Marbeck thanked him and was about to leave, when an odd sight caught his eye. Dangling from a beam, along with other curios brought back by sailors, was what looked like a human finger, black and shrivelled with age. He gazed at it, then turned as the drawer said: ‘'Twas took off a corsair by Sallee, sir. One of the captains who used to come here, he wore it round his neck for a while … We keep it for luck.'

‘And has it proved lucky?'

‘Well now, that's hard to tell.' The man finished filling a mug, turned off the tap and eyed him. ‘Some say luck departed last year, when the reprisal booty stopped coming in. While others say it's but moved further away … I for one have no complaint. Now, will you drink before you go?'

‘Later, perhaps.' With a nod Marbeck left him and went out, occasioning more curious glances. He walked along the quayside shiny with fish scales, the air laden with the smell of tar and hempen rope. Unwittingly he found himself slowing down, taking a closer look. He'd seen hard-faced men in the King's Arms, not unlike some of those in the Grapes in Limehouse: men with few scruples. He stopped, gazing across the estuary to the lights of Melcombe Regis. There, he decided, was the respectable town, with its royal name and its church spires. Here was its rougher underbelly, which had thrived on sea-plunder. He could almost smell the whiff of riches looted from ships off the coasts of France and the Azores, even from the Spanish Main … The words of the inn-keeper struck him again. Luck had flown when the King outlawed corsair practices, and thereby ruined a lot of people; but it was more than likely they continued, out of sight. Weymouth, he mused, was as likely a place to find them as any in England.

He picked up his pace again, until quite suddenly an inlet opened to his right, lined with tiny houses; the homes of sailors and their families. Baskets and nets lay about, boats were moored to rings set in the worn stones. Marbeck asked for the house of Mistress Buck and was directed to the last one, set against the steep hillside. On arriving he found the door open, and stepped inside to the aroma of smoked mackerel. He called out, and a middle-aged woman in a workaday gown appeared.

‘Mistress Buck?'

‘John's not here,' the woman said at once. ‘Likely he'll return tomorrow.' She surveyed him swiftly, with an air of wariness. When Marbeck explained his needs however, her expression changed.

‘Lodging? Oh indeed, I can aid you there … Mary!' In a voice that would have stopped a horse and dray, Mistress Buck shouted over her shoulder. Soon a spindle-thin girl appeared. At sight of Marbeck she stopped dead, and a look appeared that he could not mistake: one of fear, almost of dread.

‘This gentleman will take the front chamber. See it's aired, take fresh linen up and strew some rushes.'

The girl vanished, and clearly making an effort, the woman of the house smiled at Marbeck. ‘It's the best we have, sir. Will you take supper? There's a fish pie, and cider …' She began to speak quickly. ‘I'm Sarah, wife to John Buck. My husband and I sleep at the back, you wouldn't be disturbed. I've hired out rooms for many years – there's been no complaint. Were you intending to stay long? I'll ask for a shilling a day – that's with your meals and cider or ale. Or wine if you prefer, I can get it easily …'

She trailed off as Marbeck managed a smile. ‘It will serve well,' he said. And since he hadn't thought of a new one, he gave his name as Giles Blunt.

‘You're welcome, Master Blunt.' His hostess beamed, but it was false. She was a nervous woman, he saw; perhaps one who was used to keeping secrets. The terrified look on the face of the servant-girl had stuck with him …

‘Don't you mind Mary Kellett,' Mistress Buck said, as if divining his thoughts. ‘She's simple-minded but willing. She'll fetch and carry for you … Be firm with her, that's the only way. Has been ever since she came to us.'

‘She's not your daughter, then?' Marbeck said, whereupon the woman shook her head quickly.

‘By heavens, no. She's but a waif we took in. John's a soft hearted-man, whatever folk say …' A suspicious look appeared. ‘See now, might I ask what business you have in Weymouth, sir? You must forgive my nosy ways, but we get few men of your station stopping by now.'

She waited, so Marbeck summoned a few answers and picked one at random. ‘I'm a trader, mistress,' he answered. ‘I thought to hire a vessel – only for coastal work, you understand. I've heard rates are cheaper hereabouts than in Portsmouth. That's where I was last …' but he too broke off as realization struck him: Sarah Buck did not believe a word of it. Brazenly she returned his gaze – whereupon he decided to gamble.

‘Or at least, that's what I tell folk,' he said, and raised an eyebrow. But there was no inkling of understanding.

‘Then that's what I shall tell folk, too,' the mistress of the house said coolly. ‘Will you come up and see the room?'

T
hat night Marbeck lay awake in his chamber, while a sea breeze rattled the casement. The noise of the port had died away, and the only sounds were those of night birds from the hill behind the house. He'd learned that there was a pathway over the hill leading to Newton's Cove, which looked to the open sea and out to the Isle of Portland. And he had learned something else: there were indeed two castles, device forts built long ago by Henry the Eighth as part of the South Coast defences. Portland Castle was well maintained, but the other one, known as Sandsfoot, was in a poor state of repair. It seemed frost had made cracks in the walls, which were no longer safe; in short, they had begun to slide into the sea.

He had garnered these scraps at supper, which he took in the small parlour with Sarah Buck. Apart from her absent husband there were no others in the household. The only servant was Mary Kellett, who went about her duties without a word. Having observed the girl discreetly, Marbeck found his curiosity aroused: despite what her mistress had said, he didn't believe Mary was simple-minded at all. Instead he saw a fearful girl, constantly on watch. More than once he found her eyeing him when she thought he wasn't looking, and formed the opinion that her initial fear of him had dissipated. What she now thought, however, was impossible to know.

Over a middling supper – Mistress Buck, it seemed, was an indifferent hostess – he strove to put the woman at her ease. She asked nothing further about him, and answered his own questions in perfunctory fashion. Things had changed a good deal here over the past year, she admitted, and from her tone he gathered that the King's new laws, and the impending peace with the Spanish, were unpopular with some. At this point Marbeck hinted that he'd no love for the new monarch either, and had even lost money because of his actions. But Sarah Buck had merely changed the subject.

Turning matters over, he thought about how to spend the time while he awaited the arrival of the
Amity
. He'd been relieved to learn that the vessel was indeed expected, having been on a coastal voyage to London. She was one of a score of ships based in Weymouth; apart from that, he learned little. And though he was keen to know of her crew, and of her master Reuben Beck, he held his tongue. Tomorrow, he decided, he would cross the bridge to Melcombe and make enquiries on the other side of the river. That settled, he was drifting off to sleep – but in an instant, he was fully alert.

There was a soft click from the latch, and the door opened, wide enough to admit a slim shape. It closed swiftly, and the figure was beside his bed … by which time Marbeck had sat up and whipped his tailor's bodkin from under the pillow. But when the person spoke, he froze.

‘Master Blunt – I mean no ill. It's Mary Kellett.'

He let out a breath. ‘What do you want?'

‘Please hear me. Or whether you will or not, promise you'll not speak of this, or else I will be beaten.'

He put away the weapon, threw the coverlet aside and stood up in his night-shirt. In the near-darkness he couldn't see her face, but felt her eyes upon him. Finding his tinderbox he struck a flame and lit a stub of candle. But when he straightened up he received a shock: there was an ugly bruise on the girl's cheek. She shivered, drawing the edges of her shift together.

‘Get into the bed and warm yourself,' Marbeck said, more sharply than he intended. ‘I'll stay here.'

After a moment she complied, sitting hunched against the wall with the coverlet pulled to her neck. It may have been the light, but when he glimpsed another mark on her wrist he frowned. ‘It looks to me as if you've been beaten already.'

But she dismissed the matter quickly. ‘Hear me now, for I dare not stay long. This may be the only chance I have, before the master returns tomorrow. He's only at Abbotsbury.'

‘Where?'

‘A village above Chesil Beach … eight miles to the west.'

Having got over his surprise, Marbeck was uneasy. When the girl paused as if gathering her words, he said: ‘I see you're troubled, but I ask again: what do you want of me?'

‘First, promise me something,' she said.

He hesitated. ‘If I can …'

‘Say that when John Buck invites you to take me to bed, you'll not refuse him. Then we may speak again, in private.'

‘What?' Marbeck gazed at her in the flickering candlelight. ‘You mean he panders you – offers you to guests?'

Her silence was answer enough. Whereupon several thoughts sprang up, among them a memory of Sarah Buck telling him her husband was a soft-hearted man. Suddenly his anger rose: he had a feeling he had been assessed, and grossly misjudged.

‘Does she know you're here?' he asked. ‘Mistress Buck, I mean—'

‘No.' Mary shook her head quickly. ‘She's asleep … She's little to do with it, save for keeping me indoors. John Buck's the one …' She shivered again. ‘I've borne it as long as I can, and now I must get free of them. I thought you might help me.'

All at once Marbeck felt a weight settle on his heart. The girl was frightened and desperate; she knew nothing of him, but was trusting him on a whim. ‘Have you tried to run away before now?' he asked.

‘Once,' Mary replied. She lowered her gaze, hugging her knees, then looked up again. ‘He caught me with ease. And what happened after was my worst time. Ever since then, they've watched me closely.' Then almost to herself she whispered: ‘Keep her well fucked and poorly shod. Those were his orders.'

Marbeck drew a long breath. ‘Did you not come here of your own will?' He asked, after a moment. ‘Your mistress said you were a stray.'

‘That's a lie, but leave it aside. I came to ask you to aid me. To get me away as far as you can, or soon it may be too late. Once on the roads, I can beg for myself …'

‘Wait … please wait.' Marbeck took a step back, and sat heavily on the end of the bed. Just now, this was the last thing he needed. He looked at the floor, fresh strewn with rushes by Mary herself, then raised his eyes again and saw her gazing at him.

‘I ask too much,' she said, with sudden disappointment. ‘Mayhap my heart overruled me … I've known many men here: sea traders, ships' masters, even gentlemen. But you seemed different.' Then in a harsher tone, she added: ‘I'll pay if you wish it, in the only way I can …'

‘No!'

At once he was on his feet: she had lowered the sheet, and was reaching down to raise her shift. ‘Cover yourself,' he hissed, lowering his voice. ‘Yes – I'm different, if you like. Not that I'm a saint, but using someone like you in that manner is not one of my vices.'

A pause followed, until in relief the girl let out a sigh. ‘Then you will help me?'

‘I'll try,' Marbeck answered. ‘But has no one offered to help you before? To pay off the Bucks, for instance, and set you free?'

Mary shook her head. ‘If they have, I know nothing of it. In any case, many are afraid.'

‘Of John Buck?'

‘Not him, in the final turn. He's but a servant.' She hesitated, then: ‘As for offering to buy me, they would be too late. Such a bargain was struck even before I came here … last year, when I was ten.'

He blinked. ‘You're eleven years old?'

She nodded, and as the import of her words sank in, added: ‘I can tell you things, Master Blunt. Testimony that you may use to your advantage, even to getting a reward. Wickedness abounds here. Can you not sense it?'

‘Perhaps.' In sympathy, and with a deep anger at her plight, Marbeck met her gaze. He saw her pinched face and slatternly appearance, but there was no deceit in the girl's eyes. And though he wanted to know more, his questions must wait. On impulse he reached out to take her hand, then thought better of it. ‘Can you sit a horse?' he said finally. ‘And can you be ready to fly from here at a moment's notice, with only the clothes you wear?'

‘Gladly,' she replied, and a wan smile appeared. ‘I weigh little … your horse wouldn't even notice me.'

He looked away and listened: the house was quiet. ‘Go to your bed now,' he said. ‘Leave me to think. I can't say how soon it will be. I have some business here.'

She got up, padded to the door and lifted the latch. ‘I'll wait for a sign,' she said, and was gone.

 

The next day was the Sabbath. Weymouth people, Marbeck discovered, climbed the hill above the harbour to a little chapel of ease, or went further off to the village of Wyke. Others crossed the bridge into Melcombe, however; so letting Mistress Buck think he had gone to find a church, he left her house as soon as he could. A breakfast had been set for him, but to his relief his hostess did not share the table. Just now, he thought, he would have found it difficult to maintain his calm. Instead the woman hovered about with one eye on Mary Kellett, who served Marbeck in her usual downcast manner. None would have suspected that anything had passed between them, let alone revelations that had set Marbeck's teeth on edge.