ocean voyage,’ she said, airily, ‘and to see foreign places.’
‘You can’t hope to remain until we touch land, and he not know of it? And he shall know of it this day; and when he knows of it—’
‘Well, and what when he knows of it?’ she said, raising a wicked eyebrow, teasing me. ‘What will he do?’
‘He’ll put about and take you back to New York, that’s what he’ll do.’
‘My poor little Sarah,’ she said, ‘I fear, you know, that he’ll not be able to do that. For what a tale would be told—and who would tell it!—of how the high and mighty, the God-fearing, tub-thumping, righteous Captain Briggs had kept a waterfront harlot all this time aboard his ship, pretending never to be aware of it—he who knows every nook and cranny of any vessel he sails in, and watches every move of his men
‘None will ever suppose for one moment that he brought you aboard.’
‘They’ll suppose it all right,’ she said, ‘for I’ll tell them that he did.’
I was confounded, my mind was a misted maze of twistings and turnings, I hardly knew what I said or did. I burst out at last: ‘But why should you do this to him, why should you try to harm him?’
‘With his preachings and moralisings,’ she said, ‘has he not tried to harm me? With his warnings of hell fire to poor sinners wanting only to hold a woman in their arms after the long journey or at the start of a new one. Coming to me, trying to frighten me by threats of hell and damnation from my only way of earning a crust of bread
My eyes filled with tears. ‘You said you repented. You asked him to help you.’
‘Poor little Sarah,’ she said again. And her eyes lost their laughter, she turned to the two men. ‘My heart misgives me,’ she said. ‘I’d forgotten her, this poor, bewildered girl. I don’t want to injure her. ’
Gilling shrugged it off roughly. ‘Let her hold her tongue and he need never know that you’re here.’
‘He soon finds her, Andy,’ said Lorenzen. ‘He is putting in everyvere this sharp nose of his.’
‘He’ll not put it into a curtained-off bunk where a man lies snoring.’
They exchanged glances and all three went off into laughter; and I saw it all, or in part at least, I saw it. I said: ‘She’s no stowaway. You smuggled her aboard, you’ve all known of it all along.’
‘Well, no matter,’ said Gilling, ‘as long as you don’t tell him. It’s him you want to protect, so keep quiet, let us enjoy our pleasures and he’ll be none the worse off and none the wiser.’
‘But I wish him to be the wiser,’ said Mary. ‘Do you think it was for you that I cajoled the crew to bring me aboard? You flatter yourselves—what I’ve done since has been simply to pay you off—and handsomely enough I suppose you’ll agree?—you and brother Bob; and Marten’s turn will come and Good’s, who already grows crazy with hunger. I may even have to fob off the hobbledehoy, I daresay, with some feeble pretences.’ She made a little grimace, shrugging. I said: ‘You’re vile. You’re disgusting.’
She looked me over with a sort of compassion. ‘Poor Sarah,’ she said for the third time. ‘Have you already learned something of the vile and disgusting? It wouldn’t surprise me.’
I felt the hot flush rise to my face, too well aware of a common knowledge which she referred to. It had never been spoken of between my husband and me—God forbid!—but I knew what had happened that day that he went to her; I knew. Sick with shameful memories, I was too overt in my reply. I said stiffly: ‘I am a married woman.’
So much sweetness there was in her: I will say it always, despite all that happened—so much of sweetness! She looked at me almost with tenderness. ‘Poor little married woman,’ she said. ‘You are too good for all of us.’
The sun shone down, the cold, clear winter sun, and scattered the sea with brilliants. There was a following wind, we were under full sail, the whole ship
‘You can’t hope to remain until we touch land, and he not know of it? And he shall know of it this day; and when he knows of it—’
‘Well, and what when he knows of it?’ she said, raising a wicked eyebrow, teasing me. ‘What will he do?’
‘He’ll put about and take you back to New York, that’s what he’ll do.’
‘My poor little Sarah,’ she said, ‘I fear, you know, that he’ll not be able to do that. For what a tale would be told—and who would tell it!—of how the high and mighty, the God-fearing, tub-thumping, righteous Captain Briggs had kept a waterfront harlot all this time aboard his ship, pretending never to be aware of it—he who knows every nook and cranny of any vessel he sails in, and watches every move of his men
‘None will ever suppose for one moment that he brought you aboard.’
‘They’ll suppose it all right,’ she said, ‘for I’ll tell them that he did.’
I was confounded, my mind was a misted maze of twistings and turnings, I hardly knew what I said or did. I burst out at last: ‘But why should you do this to him, why should you try to harm him?’
‘With his preachings and moralisings,’ she said, ‘has he not tried to harm me? With his warnings of hell fire to poor sinners wanting only to hold a woman in their arms after the long journey or at the start of a new one. Coming to me, trying to frighten me by threats of hell and damnation from my only way of earning a crust of bread
My eyes filled with tears. ‘You said you repented. You asked him to help you.’
‘Poor little Sarah,’ she said again. And her eyes lost their laughter, she turned to the two men. ‘My heart misgives me,’ she said. ‘I’d forgotten her, this poor, bewildered girl. I don’t want to injure her. ’
Gilling shrugged it off roughly. ‘Let her hold her tongue and he need never know that you’re here.’
‘He soon finds her, Andy,’ said Lorenzen. ‘He is putting in everyvere this sharp nose of his.’
‘He’ll not put it into a curtained-off bunk where a man lies snoring.’
They exchanged glances and all three went off into laughter; and I saw it all, or in part at least, I saw it. I said: ‘She’s no stowaway. You smuggled her aboard, you’ve all known of it all along.’
‘Well, no matter,’ said Gilling, ‘as long as you don’t tell him. It’s him you want to protect, so keep quiet, let us enjoy our pleasures and he’ll be none the worse off and none the wiser.’
‘But I wish him to be the wiser,’ said Mary. ‘Do you think it was for you that I cajoled the crew to bring me aboard? You flatter yourselves—what I’ve done since has been simply to pay you off—and handsomely enough I suppose you’ll agree?—you and brother Bob; and Marten’s turn will come and Good’s, who already grows crazy with hunger. I may even have to fob off the hobbledehoy, I daresay, with some feeble pretences.’ She made a little grimace, shrugging. I said: ‘You’re vile. You’re disgusting.’
She looked me over with a sort of compassion. ‘Poor Sarah,’ she said for the third time. ‘Have you already learned something of the vile and disgusting? It wouldn’t surprise me.’
I felt the hot flush rise to my face, too well aware of a common knowledge which she referred to. It had never been spoken of between my husband and me—God forbid!—but I knew what had happened that day that he went to her; I knew. Sick with shameful memories, I was too overt in my reply. I said stiffly: ‘I am a married woman.’
So much sweetness there was in her: I will say it always, despite all that happened—so much of sweetness! She looked at me almost with tenderness. ‘Poor little married woman,’ she said. ‘You are too good for all of us.’
The sun shone down, the cold, clear winter sun, and scattered the sea with brilliants. There was a following wind, we were under full sail, the whole ship
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