Song of the Sea Maid (11 page)

‘Ah yes, thank you, the Burlings. They are ideal for my purposes. You see, I have been working on a theory of isolation. I intend to study the flora and fauna of these islands and test out my theories regarding the development of life in isolated situations.’

Lieutenant Commander Alexander looks and nods politely as I show my work. I cannot fathom the response of that organised naval mind to the sight of my scraps of paper piled in chaotic tumbling towers. I hope he can surmise that an untidy desk does not necessarily mirror an untidy mind, yet I shuffle the odd pile into a semblance of order as we speak.

‘All I need to test my theory is to get there. I need passage … to Lisbon.’

He looks up at me, then at Mr Woods.

‘I did not know you planned to travel, sir,’ he says.

‘I do not. But I have a proposition for you. My ward here intends to travel, whether I like it or not. And I would have her do it as safely as God allows.’

Alexander looked shocked enough at my appearance, let alone the idea of me on his very ship.

‘In my experience, sir,’ says he, in a subdued tone – as if by speaking a modicum more softly he might spare my tender ears the pronouncement he is about to relay – ‘the people of Portugal are uncultured and uncouth, and it is not at all the sort of place for a young woman to be gallivanting about on her own. I would strongly dissuade you from this course of action, for the good of the young lady, at the very least.’

‘Come now, man!’ Mr Woods laughs. ‘I have spent many years with the Portuguese and I recognise no likeness in your description. It is perhaps your experience that has been jaundiced by never having left your ship and walked among the people of that beautiful land. Is it not the case truly, sir, that you have never actually spent your days on Portuguese soil?’

‘Yes, that is true. But I have heard—’

‘Well then, Dawnay will tell you – as will any natural philosopher – that direct experience is all. One can make assumptions in a laboratory, but the only proofs are to be found in the real world. I have faith in all men and faith in none in equal measure. I believe Miss Price to be more at risk of abduction on the streets of London than she would be on Portugal’s picturesque islands or indeed in the better areas of Lisbon. When it comes to corruption, Lisbon is certainly no worse than London in this regard.’

Alexander nods and replies, ‘I bow to your greater experience in these matters. But I must protest strongly on another account. This plan is most unheard of. The proposal that an unmarried young woman might travel alone to foreign climes? We have no facilities for ladies aboard our ship, or any ship for that matter.’

‘Sir,’ I interject. ‘Forgive me, yet I must also protest. Let us all be honest. Your having visited here unannounced this morning and found me in a state of dishevelment may seem at first a disastrous occurrence for all involved. However, it has perhaps served us well. It should be apparent to you that if there is such a thing as a woman of science, then the evidence stands before you. I care no more for the traditional trappings of femininity than I do for a fig. My work is my life; it is that master I choose to serve in Portugal, and I need your kind assistance to relay me there. I will ask for no special consideration, no favours, no balderdash. I only require a bunk to sleep in, a place to store my equipment and papers, and some sustenance while on board. Once I am in Lisbon, my benefactor has many associates who can see to my welfare on arrival. All we ask of you is that you honour my ambition to work and to travel not only to further my own studies, but also to expand the reservoir of human knowledge. What say you, sir?’

During my speech, the lieutenant commander met my eye for the first time since his arrival. He listened intently.

‘What a speaker, eh, Alexander?’ says Mr Woods. ‘Can you
fault
her? She should be in the House of Commons, what! Can you think of one good point against her? I never could. She is a force of nature! What do you say, man? Are we agreed?’

Alexander glances at my tables, my equipment and papers, at my benefactor, for a fleeting moment at me, before turning to Mr Woods. And then a remarkable thing happens. He actually smiles.

‘Sir, Miss Price: I must admit you have won me over.’

‘Huzzah!’ cries my benefactor.

‘You will not regret this decision, sir,’ I insist, grinning broadly and hugging myself, in the absence of Susan or Jane to throw my arms about in joy, as I wish to do at this very moment.

Alexander even allows himself a shrug of the shoulders and a moment of laughter.

‘I am a logical man, and the logic of your arguments won the day. I hope no one could call me an enemy of women, as I believe I have their best interests at heart. My desire to protect them from the harsh world is part of this earnest wish. Yet if any female can achieve a plan such as yours, then it must be you, Miss Price. I have never met a woman anything like you. I mean this as a commendation, of course.’

‘It is of no consequence, sir. I only thank you for agreeing to my plan. That is all I am concerned with and is everything to me. Thank you, sir. I will be no trouble to you, I assure you.’

After a few more civilities, my benefactor shows out our new associate, with a quick nod to me and a gratified wink.

After he has gone, we laugh uproariously at our victory. And Mr Woods toasts our success with a substantial glass of port, in honour of my destination.

‘To Portugal!’ he cries, taking a gulp. ‘And to Lieutenant Commander Robin Alexander, that whippersnapper of a junior sea captain, only recently breeched and already putting on the airs of a seasoned admiral. He is a good man though, reliable and sound by all accounts and I am certain he will ensure safe passage for you and I trust him in that. But I doubt you two will be friends before the voyage is out, or ever! I wish you good luck with him, Dawnay, the conceited skipjack.’

But I brush aside his insults. Robin Alexander will prove my fortune, as he is to provide passage for me to my greatest desire. I raise my glass of water and clink it against my guzzling benefactor’s and say, ‘To adventure!’

I am to sail on His Majesty’s Ship
Prospect
. She was once a collier, built in Hull, and was purchased by the Royal Navy and refitted as a research vessel. She has three masts, is full rigged and equipped with four cannons and ten swivel guns. She is constructed from white oak, elm, pine and fir. She is currently at Deptford, where she has been refitted for a scientific voyage, given extra cabins encircling the officers’ mess to accommodate the men of science on board (and one woman of science). There is extra space too for use as workrooms and equipment storage. I will join the ship at Deptford, whence she will go to Falmouth for provisioning and to board the last remainder of the crew. We shall then set sail from Falmouth to Lisbon.

I have packed my clothes – simple, plain, functional – as well as my papers, key texts and instruments, all in one trunk. I have included some light walking shoes; a self-made list of Spanish and Portuguese phrases for unusual occurrences – my command of both languages is adequate for general purposes – and my compass; a book on marine life, namely the third volume of Albertus Seba’s
Thesaurus
– a parting gift from Mr Applebee – and the instrument of my design I viewed in a dream, that a carpenter has since constructed for me: a magnified glass pane housed in a framed box, which I will use as a viewer for observing the shallow sea floor without having to place my head under the water. I have omitted from my case anything superfluous or overtly feminine. I am determined to travel as weightlessly as possible, just like those swift porpoises down the Thames.

It is time to say farewell to Mr Woods, Mr Applebee and Susan. We stand in the kitchen after a dawn breakfast of bacon and bread, as my ship is to leave early in the day to reach Falmouth in good time. My benefactor comes yawning down to the kitchen to find me.

‘I hope I have been a good sponsor to you, my dear. I know there are days and certainly nights where I have behaved more like an ass than any man, where my consumption of spirituous liquors is concerned. But I hope you have felt some small admiration for me – now then, do not interrupt me, Dawnay, for you know you will go on and on and I will never finish my point. I knew from our first meeting that you were an extraordinary person. I know you will make your way in the world. But I feel I am losing a child. And though you are a young woman, I do still see that scrappy little wretch who turned up hungry each week and brightened my fireside with her stories of learning.’

‘Thank you, sir,’ say I and for the first time we embrace, as father and daughter might, as patron and ward, as friends.

I turn to my tutor and, despite the countless hours we have spent side by side, we are awkward and cannot find it within ourselves to smooth this parting. Instead, we shake hands in a rather solemn way, though we smile and my tutor nods; his large brown eyes shine with feeling, I think. Susan grows impatient and puts her arms around me and kisses my cheeks, saying, ‘Take care, you mad girl. Don’t dismay that young sea captain too much.’

I am conveyed to Deptford by my benefactor’s coach and deposited with my luggage at the Royal Dockyard, before the Master Shipwright’s house, fronted by plane trees, where a maidservant in her apron stands in the door shaking out the breakfast tablecloth in my direction. I turn away from flying crumbs and see opposite, across the wharf, a lofty pink-stoned building topped with a clock tower and fronted with the royal coat of arms on its façade. I remember my tutor told me this is the Great Storehouse. What a splendid site is Deptford Docks, with its pleasant architecture, small river craft and barges passing by, and, further on, the sight of the ribs of partial ships being constructed in their own personal docks. This area has a tangible history of seafaring, with the knighting of Drake by Queen Elizabeth aboard the
Golden Hind
. I understand here too Raleigh laid down his cape for her.

Beside me is a building dock, where I stare up at the ship that waits there. From the description my benefactor has given me, I think she must be my ship, the
Prospect
. I am told she is not an immense ship, yet she looks it to me, tall and mighty, proud and solid, a movable building afloat with windows and floors and a life on board. At the front under the bowsprit there is a figurehead of a mermaid, tastefully draped in wooden cloth to preserve her modesty, her hand raised and shielding her eyes as she looks out for ever beyond us to the horizon. I do not fancy myself important enough for it to be the case, but somehow as I gaze upon her, I have an inkling that she waits for me and me alone: nonsense, yet my true feeling. After all, we will be but the two women aboard this vessel on this journey.

As I soak in the maritime atmosphere, a boy of about ten years of age appears and asks if I am ‘Mrs Price’, and I nod. He arranges for my trunk to be brought on board, then leads me up on to the main deck and asks me to wait for him to fetch the captain. To stand on a ship’s deck! To be far above the quayside, to look down on the men loading kegs on to boats or pulling oars in sweaty effort, to see the buildings shimmering in the glassy water, to throw back my head and stare up at the three tall masts sketched with hard lines against the blue sky, to gaze across the water to our way out to sea and to the commencement of our quest. I wonder if my brother ever stopped detesting his fate enough to enjoy his time on board, if he came to love it though it were his prison and took him away from me, his only family. I wonder if he came to worship his ship and the promise of the sea, in the way I feel at this moment. I fear I am romanticising it all; I will learn if I am soon enough, when we leave the safety of Deptford Docks.

‘Miss Dawnay Price,’ says a voice, and I turn to look upon our lieutenant commander. He is again smartly kitted out in full naval uniform, his white stockings shining and golden buttons glinting in the sunlight. Beside him stands a handsome woman impeccably dressed in high fashion: a gold and crimson silk gown – with bell-shaped sleeves, and ribbons, flowers and lace sewn about the neckline – and her light brown hair piled high in braids about her head and trailing gracefully down the nape of her neck. She is turned away from me and calling, ‘Boys? Come now, boys.’

Brothers of around the same age as the cabin boy cavort behind her, pushing and shoving and snickering, yet turn and run to her on command. They are well trained and line up beside their mother with identical obedience. Though the same height and seeming age, they look quite different; in fact, one the image of the mother and the other the father, as if each face were copied by an expert portraitist. The left has the mother’s hazelnut locks, while the right has shining yellow hair – so bright he seems to have sprung from the sun – and I wonder if our captain sports the same colour beneath his wig. The contrasted effect is disturbed by their having been dressed identically, in orange coats with open-necked cream shirts.

‘Please allow me to introduce my wife, Leonora Alexander, and our twin sons Michael and Arthur.’

‘Your boys are twins?’

‘Oh yes,’ replies their mother proudly, in a mellow and becoming voice. ‘Born together. They are the best of friends and quite inseparable.’

‘I am honoured to meet you all,’ say I and sink low.

‘What an enchanting young woman,’ says the wife. ‘I had imagined a lady of science to be dressed in breeches and frightfully ugly! But you are quite comely, my dear.’

‘Many thanks.’ I curtsey again.

‘My family are on board to say their farewells,’ explains Alexander. ‘Please excuse us while they do so, thereupon I will show you to your cabin. We will be leaving shortly afterwards.’

I nod and the family turn from me. I feel myself dismissed. I go to the rail and watch the life of the dockyard go about its early morning tasks. Yet slyly I observe the lieutenant commander say goodbye to his family. I see her kiss his cheek and watch him ruffle his boys’ hair, then the trio descend the gangway to the quayside, the wife floating as calmly as a swan and the boys running ahead; twins, yet not at all alike; quite an intriguing biological phenomenon. I look back to her husband but find him gone. Then I am summoned by the same boy as earlier, who takes me down a steep staircase and announces, ‘The captain’s cabin,’ upon whose door he raps and waits, his hands clasped behind his back, feet apart, chin raised.