Cut and Run: The Fourth Book in the Fighting Sail Series (2 page)

      
“That's as maybe, though the Navy would still not consider appointing a woman as a purser.” There was a harshness in her voice that was not lost on the officers.

      
“But John Company had other ideas?” Doust asked hopefully.

      
“Not exactly,” Kate replied. “Even in that quarter I met with opposition. A woman might be capable of the work, it seems, but it would be totally wrong to recognise the fact.”

      
“So officially you will be merely accompanying Mr Manning?” Fraiser asked.

      
“Yes, whilst in truth acting as an aid to the purser. A sort of Jack Dusty, I suppose, 'though it be a different position in a trader.”

      
“Aye, and you will have the Company's accounts to keep,” Caulfield spoke again. “That will be no easy task, I'll be bound.”

      
“Easy or not, I look forward to the prospect.”

      
“Indeed.” Caulfield switched his attention to Manning. “And what of you, Robert? Still the sawbones?”

      
“I will be assisting the surgeon, as before,” Manning replied. “There should be plenty of time for study. When I return, I hope to stand for my own ticket.”

      
“And no finer man can I think of for the position.” Doust drained his glass and accepted more from Caulfield.

      
“What ship?”

      
“
Pevensey Castle
,” Manning told Fraiser. “An eight hundred tonner. She has completed one India trip already. Just come down from Blackwall and is lading at Gravesend. Captain's a first timer, though.”

      
“Ah, a Guinea Pig!” Caulfield laughed.

      
Manning looked at him quizzically.
 

      
“They calls those who have yet to make the run to India, Guinea Pigs,” the lieutenant explained. “But I am glad to know the ship is a professional, even if you cannot say the same for her captain.”

      
“Oh, I gather him to be reasonably experienced; he certainly behaves that way. A former Navy man, or so I am told.”

      
“As often is the case,” Caulfield shook his head sadly. “An' more's the pity. Country's in the worst plight I can remember, and there are so many of us on half pay.” He caught Fraiser's eye and felt a little guilty. As a senior warrant officer the Scotsman would receive nothing at all until he secured a position in another ship.

      
Again there was a brief silence while the party took this in, before Manning continued, “Well, there are places in
Pevensey Castle
, of that I am certain.” Fraiser and Caulfield looked up quickly. “I've tried to interest Tom here, but he seems set for a life in white britches.”

      
“And I cannot blame him for that,” Caulfield said a little sadly. “The East India Company has many merits, but try as it might, it can never match the Navy.”

      
King was about to speak, but Manning was already asking of Fraiser.

      
“What of you, Adam?” The surgeons' mate asked. “Surely a trading vessel would fit with your thoughts?”

      
“Aye, it is something to be considered, but I have to agree, and would prefer to stay with the Navy. Your average merchant officer is of a separate mould, though not inferior in any way,” Fraiser added quickly. “Still, the two contrast more than most allow. On the whole, they have different temperaments, and values: maybe you will see what I mean when you have served awhile.”
 

      
“But Kate says you are against fighting,” Clara struck up again. She had already drunk two glasses of wine and was finding the taste very much to her liking. “Surely you would be happier on a merchant boat?”

      
Fraiser smiled. “Sadly lassie there is no guarantee of the peaceful life in a trading ship,” he said, emphasising the last word only slightly. “And as for my Christian faith, well, let us just say that there is more good to be done amongst the sinners than the saints.”

      
A wave of gentle laughter passed about the table.

      
“So that is the way of things,” Kate said suddenly. “We are off to see a new world, and this must be the last time we will all meet for two years or more. It is a sad thought.”

      
King wriggled in his seat. “Well, actually, there is one you might be seeing rather more of.” He had the attention of the whole table while he reached into his waistcoat and pulled out a letter. “Word came today, but I thought it better to save it until now.” Slowly, and in silence, the paper was unfolded. “I shall not bore you with the details, but I have notice from a certain captain accepting my application to be appointed as an officer under his command.”

      
“Employment!” Caulfield and Fraiser spoke almost as one, while they gazed at the note with a mixture of pleasure and envy.

      
“Why that is excellent news, Tom,” Kate beamed. “What ship is she?”

      
“Aye,” Manning was grinning as well. “And where bound?”

      
“She is the
Pevensey Castle
,” King told them. “And bound for India.”

* * *

      
Pevensey Castle
was a queer-looking craft to anyone more used to looking at His Majesty's ships. Similar in size to a frigate, her hull appeared unnecessarily long, with a bluff bow and lines that would give far too much leeway when sailing close to the wind. They'd be lucky to see five knots from her, even in the hardiest of breezes. Moreover, she would be cranky, rolling like a drunkard and turning all the fat passengers green. She was low in the water, presumably well laden, although there was plenty amiss with her rig that required attending to before she sailed. A shout from one of the lightermen brought Johnston back to the real world.

      
“Won't take us more'n an hour to load this lot,” the man told him. “Then, you can be up and on your ways.”

      
It was the arrangement they had agreed upon—Johnston would help with the small cargo in return for a free passage to his new ship. He nodded, stuffed his ditty bag next to his sea chest, and moved towards the pile of barrels, crates, and sacks that lay waiting to be loaded. Some were tagged, presumably ordered by individual officers or passengers, but the majority were shipboard stores.
 

      
“We will send nets down for the bread,” a voice from above informed them while the lighter bumped gently against the hull. “Barrels can be parbuckled.” Johnston looked round. The other lighterman was standing next to the parbuckle rails on the side of the hull. Two falls came down, and they began to attend to the first cask, looping the line about so that it could be dragged up the side and into the ship. The net began to descend from the fore and main yardarms, and soon Johnston and the first lighterman began to fill it. An hour was a generous estimation. Well within that time, he had swung his own chest into the last net, bid farewell to the crew of the lighter and clambered aboard the vessel.

      
“Thought you was a touch well dressed,” the boatswain's mate told him when he announced himself. “Marked for being aboard, are you?”

      
Johnston nodded. “Signed at Leadenhall Street the day afore yesterday.” He looked at the petty officer more carefully, and it was not an impressive sight. The man was short, but well built, with a mop of unruly brown hair that fell in front of his face. His jacket was tatty and decidedly unkempt, with a slight rip to the sleeve that had been allowed to run and fray. The trousers were no better, being heavily stained at the knees, and the varnished stiff hat, usually a proud mark of rank, was dented and shabby.

      
“Well, you took yer time getting here,” the boatswain's mate snorted, wiping his nose with the back of his hand.
 

      
“Said my pay wouldn't start until I comes aboard,” Johnston said defensively.

      
“Oh yes,” the man's face softened slightly. “But there be a wealth of work on, and no one to do it, so we needs all the 'elp we can get.”

      
“Short of 'ands, are you?”

      
“Aye, loaded us up, then most buggered off. More's a commin', an' we 'ope to pick up further at the Downs an' probably the Channel. But, it ain't just the lack of Jacks that has put us out.” His voice softened, and he darted a quick look about before continuing, “We got new officers, an' they're the biggest bunch of nigits it has ever been my misfortune to sail with.”

      
Johnston pulled a face. “So we're in the suds?”

      
“Up to our necks.” The shorter man eyed Johnston knowingly. “You a King's man, are you?”

      
Johnston stiffened slightly. “I served, a while back.”

      
“Well, we'll keep you safe in the barkey,” he said, understanding much. “Can't stop 'em if the Andrew comes lookin', but no one will tattle, not while you're in the Company's service, you can be sure of that.” He held out a tar-caked hand. “Name's Ward, captain of the maintop in
Sovereign
, afore I sees the error of me ways.”

      
Johnston took the iron grip while the man continued, “An' I don't want you thinkin' I'm usually in such sad trim; like I says, plenty of hard work for us all afore we sail, and not the time for the dolly. Better go and make your mark, then I'll finds you some entertainment. An' ditch that shore goin' rig if you want to keep it tidy.”
 

* * *

      
King turned and gave his hand to Clara who stood awkwardly at the carriage doorway, her long dress all but hiding the small wooden step. The coachman tied up the reins, and reached back for the first of the luggage.

      
“So which one is it?” the girl asked, when she was safely deposited on the ground. King looked about the crowded anchorage. There was a mass of shipping in various states of readiness, some with topmasts up and clearly set for the off, while others might just as likely have been in ordinary.

      
He shook his head, “We'll know soon enough.”

      
“Ain't you just a little bit interested?” the girl asked, as Manning clambered down after them.

      
“He'd be keen enough were she a warship,” he said, giving his hand up to Kate. “But then he'd have been aboard afore now, not leaving it to the last second.”

      
“It's a means to an end,” King said simply. “Employment for a couple of years, and hopefully a decent return.”

      
“Set you up, will it?” Clara asked hopefully.

      
“Hardly that, but I have a need for funds, and this appears to be the best way of providing them.”

      
Kate was with them now, and looking about expectantly while Manning began to take the luggage down from the driver. “Better get a porter, Robert,” she said.

      
Manning shook his head. “Not for this little lot.” He turned and passed the first of King's possessions to his friend, then reached back for the single sea chest he was sharing with his wife. King walked towards the quay where a line of wherries sat waiting for trade. Clara stepped close alongside him, and awkwardly pushed her hand under his arm.

      
“You really will be gone a full two years?” she asked.

      
“Two years is probably the most,” King said, strangely eager to please her. “More'n like it'll be a year an' a half, maybe even less.”

      
Silently she took the information in.

      
“How much for four an' luggage?” he asked when they reached the nearest boat.

      
“Sixpence for the hire, penny a person, and sixpence for the dunnage,” the grizzled seaman answered. “It's the standard charge; any boat you like, to any ship in the pool.”

      
King looked about. All were manned and of roughly the same size, so he chose the one owned by the speaker. Robert arrived, and gratefully swung the chest down to the wherryman, while Clara stepped uncertainly into the small craft. In no time, they were out on the murky waters of the Thames. There was hardly a breath of wind, so it was likely to be a slow passage.

      
“What ship?” the stroke oar asked, once they were underway.

      
“
Pevensey Castle
.”

      
“I knows her; India bound, so they says.”

      
King nodded. He didn't need reminding. Feeling a faint pressure on his arm, he noticed that Clara had taken possession of him yet again. She smiled and looked up into his eyes. She had a pert nose and a pleasant face, and King supposed that she was really very pretty, although he only registered the fact as one of many that did not concern him. Kate beamed at them both from the seat opposite, while King's attention drifted to the shipping about them. They were passing a Navy frigate, a sixth rate similar to his last ship, just in the process of setting up topmasts and probably to be gone with the next tide. She was likely to spend the rest of winter scraping an enemy lee shore on some relentless blockade duty, but it might well be something better; an independent mission, possibly even a cruise. In that case, there would be prize money for all, and a lieutenant's share was not inconsiderable. The ship was sharp as a razor. Even the ironwork gleamed, and her lines promised speed and a weather helm. He sighed, turned back and caught Clara's expression as she looked intently at him.