Mistress Wimbarton had memories of the operation which were as vivid as his were, but different. She remembered great agony, the girl's hysteria, the other maiden's cries and vomiting and running clean away when put outside the door (which she was told about afterwards, and which miffed her dreadfully; today's girls were so dishonest and untrustworthy). Most of all she recalled the aftermath, when Mr. Surgeon, without a by-your-leave, had bound her jaw up so that the teeth were clenched one atop the other, leaving her to swallow what blood could not be eased out through her lips, and told her women as if she herself could not be trusted, or could no longer hear that she was to remain bound up for one whole day, however great the pain, how much the oozement.
She had lain for one day like that, in a darkened room, then Dorothy and Joan and Sue had taken off the binding bandage but exhorted her, with great fear in their eyes, not to open lips 'as much as for a whistle' and keep her choppers pressed together hard. On the second night she had supped a little broth and sucked a little bread in milk, and on the third had seen her husband, Mr. Wimbarton, for whom she had drawn back her lips in semblance of a smile which he'd returned, an unfeigned show of warmth. By now she was exceeding anxious, because the teeth were wrong, all wrong, they were lumpy and felt God spare the thought like someone else's. Unlike her servants, Mistress Wimbarton was confident, as far as any woman can be, that her master loved her (else why take up with her, who had brought nothing to the house except herself?), so his smile was great balm, and she spoke some few painful words assuring him that it had been a fine success and not to mind the bruising and the slurs, for in another day or two she would be herself again; as beautiful and good-tempered and attentive as such a noble man might wish.
She lied, and knew she lied, and one day later three of them fell out, however hard she pushed them back into the screaming sockets. Three fell out, and five or six (or seven? Maybe all) began to slip and slide within the holes, some of which were hardening and healing, others of which began to fill with fluid, brown and thin, and one or two with pus. Towards the end of the week her husband came to speak to her, but the women kept him out because, although they did not say it, Milady had begun to smell. Strangely, Milady could not seem to smell herself (no one dared to mention it, or hint, or ask her) but they knew from the way her brow went furrowed, by the horror in her eyes, by the way she was caught on sudden by the bile that tasted on her lips, that Mistress Amelia Wimbarton was aware of a great sorrow and a trouble coming on her. Although they did not like her, the women, from Dorothy right to the bottom, felt pity then, as well as admiration for her courage. For she faced it squarely, and called him in, and even ended up by shouting at him, that something must be done.
The women thought the master a cruel man and a selfish rakehell, but conceded that in this they might be wrong. For although he left Milady's room pale in the jowls, and called furiously for his steward Jeremiah, it appeared the target of his wrath was the mountebank, Marcus Dennett. He offered money as an incentive, and for failure he promised blows or worse. The quack, the mountebank, the whoremonger must be found, was his decree. Found quickly, brought to the house, and a cure would be effected on the mistress. Or, by God's blood, someone would pay.
There was no drummer on the Biter, no soldiers, no one at all to beat to quarters or instil a fearful discipline in the crew, while Jem Taylor, boatswain, had an altogether lighter touch than Bentley thought was necessary in that office. At first light, when he and Sam arose, there were men abroad but only two or three, and no smoke was issuing from Geoff Raper's cook stove chimney. Will looked to Sam for a lead, but Sam only spread his hands, then stared downriver to the east, where the sun was rising in a red and livid sky streaked with thin woolly cloud. The rain was gone, but the wind was chill and gusty. As it hit the cordage it raised a throaty hum during the harder gusts; the Biter moved uneasily on her warps.
"Due west," said Sam. "High water in six hours, so we'll slip in four is my guess. In the Downs by soon enough, and meet our fate. And here on board? The snores of drunks, and 'tween decks a fug of fart-gas. Hurrah for the King's Navee!"
"Aye, but will we meet it? Is Kaye on board yet, and won't we be too late? He hinted yesterday he knew where and when we'd see some useful action. Won't that have passed us by?"
Sam did not think so. More like, he thought, Lieutenant Kaye had had more intelligence from his spies, or had merely said they'd sail at midnight to keep his people up to snuff. By this time they had reached the rail, and there was the captain's dandy skiff, bearing down on them.
"Likely he'll tell us over breakfast," Sam added, with a laugh. "Slack Dickie likes to share his information, don't he?"
They did breakfast with Kaye - a surprise for William, who had forgotten such a thing could happen on this strange and sloppy ship but he proved Sam's jest in almost every point. He made no comment on the weather, when Sam ventured it would serve their purpose well, he was non-committal when Gunning poked his head in to ask how many of the boats should come on board before they slipped, and he showed emotion only when Black Bob dropped a dish of chops, then not enough to clout him as he clearly wished to. He looked wan and tired, as if he had been drinking nights away, or whoring like a common sailor man or maybe doing both.
Gunning was not invited to the breakfast, which did seem strange, but Gunning clearly had a certain knowledge of the Biter's plan. Out on the deck they heard the constant yell and clatter as the seamen readied her, and above their heads feet stamped from time to time. The company at table the fourth man was the tortured 'spy' sat almost silent for the most of it, riven with embarrassment that passed only the captain by. Kaye ate with a dogged lack of enjoyment though, drinking from a pewter can of wine that Bob replenished frequently. The other three were offered but declined, taking their boldness from Sam Holt, who did not seem to fear to give offence. Will found himself casting back to other breakfasts, other meals, when streams of information would have been forthcoming. His Uncle Daniel would have told them the strategy in every detail, demanding comment and reaction, to be appreciated or dismissed. This man, if he had a strategy, kept it to himself as if his two executives did in no wise need to know, even in the barest outline. William found this despicable.
The 'spy', Lieutenant Kershaw (sick and hurt), did make one attempt for information. This was unexpected, but perhaps, thought Will, he had been briefed by Daniel Swift. Whatever else he was on board for, one task was to aid in pilotage and navigation if it were needed, with the proviso he should do it privily. But Kaye was having none of it at all.
Kershaw said, "Captain, if I could ... on the trip downstream ... These waters, to me, are "
Kaye, on the instant, snorted like a rutting pig, and dismissed the supernumerary with a scornful wave. His features, pasty and arrogant, turned to him then slid off, and he shouted to Black Bob to bring him bread.