always one or another snoring in his bunk.’
‘You’ve done a bit of snoring in a bunk yourself,’ said Gilling, ever laughing.
‘When this white lamb popped her innocent head in—and removed it as quickly when she knew herself—oh, dear!—in the presence of men a-bed!’
‘Men and women,’ said Volk. He put back his head and roared with laughter. ‘Ve two making some fine music, Mary, vasn’t it?—for frighten her away.’
‘Be quiet, you affront her,’ said Richardson. To me he said: ‘Mrs Briggs, Ma’am—I’m sorry about all this.’
‘Here’s one that really didn’t know,’ said Mary, to me, putting a hand on his wrist. ‘When you reveal all to Captain Briggs, that at least will be true.’
‘Get below,’ he said, sharply. ‘And you two men, to work!’ But he looked into my face. ‘You’re not well. Volkert, send the boy up with a mug of hot cocoa for Mrs Briggs, with two spoons of sugar in it.’ He put his hand to my elbow and steered me towards the deck rail and stood there with me, quietly. ‘When you feel ready,’ he said, ‘tell me what you know.’
I don’t know how long I stood there with him, staring down at the white frill of the water lapping at the curve of the hull below me; half fainting, I think, now that the immediate terror and strain had been lifted. The steward came up with a tin mug of steaming hot chocolate. I recoiled from it and yet when I had drunk a little, it revived me. I lifted my eyes to Richardson’s face. I said: ‘What am I to do?’
‘I don’t know myself what to do,’ he said. ‘I didn’t find her till yesterday. To tell the Captain or not to tell him? But…’ He looked away, he flushed as I had seen him flush that day when he stood with my husband on the waterfront and Honey Mary came up to them there. ‘It’s difficult for me. If Cap’n Briggs knew…’
If you knew, I thought. Was it possible that he had seen that name written up on the ship and had no inkling of the truth? But I remembered how she had glanced at me as though to warn me to make no reference to my husband’s weaknesses; I could know nothing then, of course, of her bet with Captain Morehouse or of any arrangements planned between them. I said, ‘Of course he must be told.’
‘I suppose so. And yet… If it need never be known? They could get her ashore in Portugal, we first dock there, and she could find another ship back to New York, or go what way she would.’
I grasped at some word, any word, of positive direction. ‘I could find money for her.’
‘Never fear, she’ll find money enough for herself,’ he said grimly. ‘With such a head of hair, she’ll never go short of gold.’
And yet I felt troubled for her, little idiot that I was. It was inconceivable to me that any woman should be all on her own. ‘But in a strange land—’
He gave me a look of a sort of indulgent compassion, lifted up my hand from the rail and for a moment I thought he would have kissed it; but he only held it warmly for a moment in his own. Rough and crude he might be, but he was a kindly man. ‘You have too vulnerable a heart,’ he said, ‘if it’s to be at the mercy of such as Mary Sellers.’
I knew that she was bad, wicked, revelling in her wickedness, was all that my father, no less than my husband, would condemn to perdition. Her way of life was beyond my comprehension, her way with men was in my eyes detestable. And yet… Living in my tense inner world of insecurity and fear, her freedom, unconvention, all her carefree courage—were somehow irresistible. Besides, there was that sweetness in her; she could be pitying and kind. I think perhaps, even now, that Honey Mary with a single careless glance saw deeper into my quivering heart, than any who knew me much better than she could. I might have said something of this—though nothing about myself—had not there come a sound and my husband stepped out of the afterdeck companion-way and came towards us. He
‘You’ve done a bit of snoring in a bunk yourself,’ said Gilling, ever laughing.
‘When this white lamb popped her innocent head in—and removed it as quickly when she knew herself—oh, dear!—in the presence of men a-bed!’
‘Men and women,’ said Volk. He put back his head and roared with laughter. ‘Ve two making some fine music, Mary, vasn’t it?—for frighten her away.’
‘Be quiet, you affront her,’ said Richardson. To me he said: ‘Mrs Briggs, Ma’am—I’m sorry about all this.’
‘Here’s one that really didn’t know,’ said Mary, to me, putting a hand on his wrist. ‘When you reveal all to Captain Briggs, that at least will be true.’
‘Get below,’ he said, sharply. ‘And you two men, to work!’ But he looked into my face. ‘You’re not well. Volkert, send the boy up with a mug of hot cocoa for Mrs Briggs, with two spoons of sugar in it.’ He put his hand to my elbow and steered me towards the deck rail and stood there with me, quietly. ‘When you feel ready,’ he said, ‘tell me what you know.’
I don’t know how long I stood there with him, staring down at the white frill of the water lapping at the curve of the hull below me; half fainting, I think, now that the immediate terror and strain had been lifted. The steward came up with a tin mug of steaming hot chocolate. I recoiled from it and yet when I had drunk a little, it revived me. I lifted my eyes to Richardson’s face. I said: ‘What am I to do?’
‘I don’t know myself what to do,’ he said. ‘I didn’t find her till yesterday. To tell the Captain or not to tell him? But…’ He looked away, he flushed as I had seen him flush that day when he stood with my husband on the waterfront and Honey Mary came up to them there. ‘It’s difficult for me. If Cap’n Briggs knew…’
If you knew, I thought. Was it possible that he had seen that name written up on the ship and had no inkling of the truth? But I remembered how she had glanced at me as though to warn me to make no reference to my husband’s weaknesses; I could know nothing then, of course, of her bet with Captain Morehouse or of any arrangements planned between them. I said, ‘Of course he must be told.’
‘I suppose so. And yet… If it need never be known? They could get her ashore in Portugal, we first dock there, and she could find another ship back to New York, or go what way she would.’
I grasped at some word, any word, of positive direction. ‘I could find money for her.’
‘Never fear, she’ll find money enough for herself,’ he said grimly. ‘With such a head of hair, she’ll never go short of gold.’
And yet I felt troubled for her, little idiot that I was. It was inconceivable to me that any woman should be all on her own. ‘But in a strange land—’
He gave me a look of a sort of indulgent compassion, lifted up my hand from the rail and for a moment I thought he would have kissed it; but he only held it warmly for a moment in his own. Rough and crude he might be, but he was a kindly man. ‘You have too vulnerable a heart,’ he said, ‘if it’s to be at the mercy of such as Mary Sellers.’
I knew that she was bad, wicked, revelling in her wickedness, was all that my father, no less than my husband, would condemn to perdition. Her way of life was beyond my comprehension, her way with men was in my eyes detestable. And yet… Living in my tense inner world of insecurity and fear, her freedom, unconvention, all her carefree courage—were somehow irresistible. Besides, there was that sweetness in her; she could be pitying and kind. I think perhaps, even now, that Honey Mary with a single careless glance saw deeper into my quivering heart, than any who knew me much better than she could. I might have said something of this—though nothing about myself—had not there come a sound and my husband stepped out of the afterdeck companion-way and came towards us. He
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