"But the ship is his," said William, with a certain ambiguity. "He likes to make that clear, I think."
Holt ignored it as a comment, and merely grinned. "The strange thing is," he said, 'that he's a quiet dog when he's not in drink, lives sweet and frugal in his little hutch and lets friend Kaye get on with it. He is a hard man, do not mistake me, he takes the contumely of his chosen trade quite easy, despite men hate him with a bitter hatred, aye, and women too when lovers, husbands, sons are pressed. He's not above vindictiveness when times demand or chance arises, either, so they say. Running a tender does allow a man to settle scores. Some of his own crew on here have found themselves sold to His Majesty, at unexpected moments!"
"It is not safe to cross him then?"
From the far shore, borne on a breeze, they heard dogs barking, perhaps a half a dozen. Then it faded. Silence but for creaks of rope and timber, gently flowing tide. There was a mud bank smell emerging. William loved the smell of harbour mud.
"Not safe, not unsafe," said Sam. "He is naught to do with us at all. Let Kaye fall out with him if he will, but I will not." He studied William closely, in the dark. "She is not a tight ship, is that what you mean? She is not the normal run of Navy ship, not one that your famous Uncle Swift would recognise as such."
"Good God," said Will. "Uncle Daniel! Well, good God, I can't imagine what he would have made of that bazaar in there! The cabin alone, and that enormous bed! Those painted doxies!"
"But you're a peach!" Sam crowed. "A peach dunked in red wine. No, from what I've heard of Uncle Dan, he would not have smiled like you did. It is the style see, Will, the style of vessel and the way she is commanded. Where you have been, men probably showed respect, and fear, and deference: here they don't. You expected Gunning, I suppose, to call us sir, and scrape, and so on, but we ain't that sort of vessel, friend, the Biter is a very different ship. Even the Navy men are ... well, you shall see. I tell you though, if we are free tomorrow night thanks to the Deptford yard I'll show you dames will make Sal Marlor look as pale and drab as whey. What say you?"
"Bed," said Will. His mind and heart and body all said bed. Sam took him by the arm and guided him across the cluttered deck towards a scuttle. Will could hardly lift his bag from the filthy planks.
"We'll need a glim," said Holt. "I'll go before and make one. Just stand there."
Five minutes more and Will was hard asleep, in a cot behind a screen, with Samuel on the deck, ever the gentleman. Tomorrow they would fair it up, he'd said. Tomorrow, had thought William, as he'd dropped down the sheer wall to infinity. God, tomorrow I will see this awful ship in daylight; no, today. His last thought was of Deb, but she meant nothing any more. A memory.
Comfort was a memory to Deb. Comfort and ease and her old belief in a bright and lively future. She stood with Cecily, up to her knees in water underneath a bridge, straining to hear something above the gurgling of the water, wondering if the ass would be found, wishing she had set it free, not tethered it. Beside her Cecily was trembling, with cold and fear and tiredness and pain, almost at the end of everything. They had been in the water, Deb estimated, for one half of an hour, maybe more. Beyond the stream bed, still, might be the men.
They were not the gang roused out by Dennett, of that she was fairly certain. In the first two hours after their escape they had made good progress on the way to London, unpursued. Every now and then, Deb had led into a covert and sat Cec down on a log or stone, and pushed herself through the thickest to observe the road and listen. Her ears were good, conditions excellent, still hardly any wind. After quite a short time she was sure Dennett, for whatever reason, was not in pursuit, which satisfied her mightily. After all, why should he be? More likely he'd have gone to Sir Arthur's house if he was serious, and tried his luck with Tony and his boys and hounds.
Escape. That was a strange word, she thought, as the water-chill numbed her slowly higher and higher up her legs. Their outer clothes had still been sopping when they'd recovered them at the house, but the warm night had eased their situation. Not now, though. Now she was like ice, and miserable. Only her determination kept her from despair, her adamantine stubbornness. She was determined for herself, determined for her violated friend. One man had cost Cecily her teeth, her beauty, possibly her future. She would die before these other men made free with them, whatever was their sport.
This lot had found them when Deb had been returning from her lookout the last time. As she had approached from one direction she had heard the ass bray, which had startled her but been no cause for much concern. Till when it stopped she had heard men's voices, and a note of curiosity. She could not hear the words, but the intent was clear as crystaclass="underline" there is an ass in this covert. Why? Let's go and find things out. Deborah had run pell-mell to gasp her news, and seized the ass's rope, and Cecily, and made them both scoot, as quietly as was possible. The men had heard, but the wood was thick, and luck for once was with them, so it seemed. They had spotted no one, nor been spotted, but had found the river and the bridge, all overgrown. They would stay here, where they were, a good while yet, she thought.
That was not to be. Cecily, without a sigh, dropped into the water, first to her knees, then pitching on her face, full-length. Almost at the same moment the ass snickered, then began to bray, harsh, jerkily, perhaps startled by the splash and Deb's muffled cry. She heard voices on the instant, a view halloo, but had time for nothing but to try and rescue Cecily, to drag her face clear of the water, her body upwards on the bank. At first she could not even make her room enough to breathe plain air, she dragged her hair and collar in a frantic effort to make her safe. Then boots appeared before her, and strong hands and arms lifted Cec clear into the air, water cascading from her dress and legs.
They were villainous, there was no question of it. Bluff men, in dark, loose clothes, with neck cloths and hair in pigtails. Not like her two young lovely gentlemen of the day before, but sailors for a certainty, rough, sea-going men. They carried clubs or cudgels, and curved, heavy swords. Pirates, she thought, although she did not know seamen. She heard one gasp, as he upturned Cecily's poor face.
Deborah was shivering. Unlike Cecily, who had none, she had teeth to chatter, and they did. She was grey with fear and cold, she was shivering with terror. These men would use them, they would kill them. Oh Christ, what hopes they'd had, what hopes!
"God's mercy on us," said one of the men. His voice was thickened by emotion, but Deb did not hear that. "See what they've done here. Jim, give me your cloak. I've got a blanket at my saddle. Where are the beasts? God's bones, her face is quite destroyed."
"Do not hurt us, sir," said Deb. "Please do not hurt her more."
In tears and soaked and freezing, she was not beautiful at all, just a sobbing little girl. The smuggler, big and strong, put an arm about her shoulder.
"Do not fear, maid, do not fear. But tell me, child. Her teeth. What happened to her teeth?"
But Deb could only sob.
Seven
In the morning there were sailors, when William rolled out, and they fitted Sam Holt's strictures on their condition and their type quite horribly. In the scuppers there were four, one smeared in blood and one in vomit, all as near death as he ever hoped to see live men. At the boom was moored a six-oar gig, that they'd 'come home' in. He wondered how far they'd rowed, and who had done it.
It was a lovely morning, a crisp, clear late summer morning, and the view across the fields and river enchanted him. From clumps of white mist sheep and cows appeared, at the bank side opposite he could make out domestic girls at washing, and from scattered houses streams of smoke rose vertical from chimneys another windless day in store, this time without a cloud in view. It was quite late gone eight o'clock and the surface of the river was a mass of vessels, from rowing boats and barges going down, to sea-going ships drifting or using sweeps to get advantage of the tail-end of the flood.