second-in-command. Above all, Morgan saw, he did not
want to seem surprised.
I suppose I should shake your hand, Myer said. But he did not stand up, or turn around
properly, or reach out his arm.
There were two empty places waiting, fully set. One on each side of the table, at
opposite ends. Morgan sat with his back to the door, so that he would not be obliged
to look up or ignore her if she came in. Cabot set a bowl of soup before him, almost
as soon as he sat down. Apart from Myer, the others were all still eating when she
arrived.
You’ll remember all my colleagues, Myer said. He named them all, one by one. And
of course Mr Morgan, he said. Gentlemen, you all remember Miss Rink.
She looked around. Very nice, she said. Very cosy.
Everything a man could possibly want within easy reach, DeHaven said.
And how many of you in here?
For the moment, four, DeHaven said. He glanced at MacDonald. It was hard to see how
they might fit another one. The cabin was not much bigger than a penitentiary cell.
Two berths on each side, each two and a half feet wide. The six feet in-between –
‘the country’ – was completely occupied by the hinged table and benches.
You’ll have to excuse the cook, DeHaven said. He didn’t know we’d be having company.
What is good enough for you all, she said. The thing felt like wet flour in the mouth.
She ate quietly, like a woman eating alone. There was the occasional polite inquiry
from Myer. Was it warm enough? Not too warm? Had she had enough? She nodded obediently.
A bit rich tonight, Cabot, the sauce, MacDonald said.
The other men did their best to answer him, to chat. It was like the first effort
at conversation between strangers. Only Morgan said nothing at all. They would have
plenty of time in each other’s company, he knew, to say what they wanted to say.
So far into The Pack, so late in the season, there was no question of another about
turn. Saving another accident, Beechey would be their next port of call.
You’d think the mushrooms would have come out stronger, wouldn’t you? MacDonald said.
He sounded puzzled. He was prodding the mess suspiciously, as though searching for
something important, that he was determined to find.
She rose to go to bed early, said it had been a tiring day. No one offered to accompany
her to her cabin. Goodnight, MacDonald said, that was all.
As soon as she was gone, Myer downed his cutlery and pushed his plate away. Cabot,
he said, lifting a phantom glass to his lips. His forefinger turned a neat little
circle. For everyone, he said, even as MacDonald made to stand.
The measures were poured. With great formality, Myer lifted the little glass. The
other men did the same. Some of the hands were trembling. Only Morgan had not touched
his.
To Miss Rink and to her child, Myer said. Good health and a long life.
Several voices echoed him. Except Morgan, they all drank.
You’re not drinking? Myer said.
I’m not thirsty, Morgan said.
I don’t think he should feel obliged, DeHaven said. I think that’s quite contrary
to the spirit of the thing.
I will drink if you order me to drink, Morgan said.
The other men sat in silence, feeling it go down. Afterwards Cabot began to ferry
the dirty dishes away, everything but Morgan’s glass. Myer got to his feet and wished
them goodnight. They watched him go. For the first time ever, MacDonald did not follow.
He had been asked to move in with the other officers, and Hepburn to move down to
berth with the men.
Morgan sat awhile in silence, studying the full glass before him, as though suspicious
of the workmanship. In the end he handed it to Cabot, who threw it back in a go.
You know I said my wife was expecting another one? Brooks said.
Morgan nodded.
Well, there was a letter from her in Parker’s bag.
False alarm? Morgan said.
False alarm or false start, I don’t know what exactly women call these things.
I suppose she was upset, Morgan said.
I suppose, Brooks said. Still, it wasn’t
want to seem surprised.
I suppose I should shake your hand, Myer said. But he did not stand up, or turn around
properly, or reach out his arm.
There were two empty places waiting, fully set. One on each side of the table, at
opposite ends. Morgan sat with his back to the door, so that he would not be obliged
to look up or ignore her if she came in. Cabot set a bowl of soup before him, almost
as soon as he sat down. Apart from Myer, the others were all still eating when she
arrived.
You’ll remember all my colleagues, Myer said. He named them all, one by one. And
of course Mr Morgan, he said. Gentlemen, you all remember Miss Rink.
She looked around. Very nice, she said. Very cosy.
Everything a man could possibly want within easy reach, DeHaven said.
And how many of you in here?
For the moment, four, DeHaven said. He glanced at MacDonald. It was hard to see how
they might fit another one. The cabin was not much bigger than a penitentiary cell.
Two berths on each side, each two and a half feet wide. The six feet in-between –
‘the country’ – was completely occupied by the hinged table and benches.
You’ll have to excuse the cook, DeHaven said. He didn’t know we’d be having company.
What is good enough for you all, she said. The thing felt like wet flour in the mouth.
She ate quietly, like a woman eating alone. There was the occasional polite inquiry
from Myer. Was it warm enough? Not too warm? Had she had enough? She nodded obediently.
A bit rich tonight, Cabot, the sauce, MacDonald said.
The other men did their best to answer him, to chat. It was like the first effort
at conversation between strangers. Only Morgan said nothing at all. They would have
plenty of time in each other’s company, he knew, to say what they wanted to say.
So far into The Pack, so late in the season, there was no question of another about
turn. Saving another accident, Beechey would be their next port of call.
You’d think the mushrooms would have come out stronger, wouldn’t you? MacDonald said.
He sounded puzzled. He was prodding the mess suspiciously, as though searching for
something important, that he was determined to find.
She rose to go to bed early, said it had been a tiring day. No one offered to accompany
her to her cabin. Goodnight, MacDonald said, that was all.
As soon as she was gone, Myer downed his cutlery and pushed his plate away. Cabot,
he said, lifting a phantom glass to his lips. His forefinger turned a neat little
circle. For everyone, he said, even as MacDonald made to stand.
The measures were poured. With great formality, Myer lifted the little glass. The
other men did the same. Some of the hands were trembling. Only Morgan had not touched
his.
To Miss Rink and to her child, Myer said. Good health and a long life.
Several voices echoed him. Except Morgan, they all drank.
You’re not drinking? Myer said.
I’m not thirsty, Morgan said.
I don’t think he should feel obliged, DeHaven said. I think that’s quite contrary
to the spirit of the thing.
I will drink if you order me to drink, Morgan said.
The other men sat in silence, feeling it go down. Afterwards Cabot began to ferry
the dirty dishes away, everything but Morgan’s glass. Myer got to his feet and wished
them goodnight. They watched him go. For the first time ever, MacDonald did not follow.
He had been asked to move in with the other officers, and Hepburn to move down to
berth with the men.
Morgan sat awhile in silence, studying the full glass before him, as though suspicious
of the workmanship. In the end he handed it to Cabot, who threw it back in a go.
You know I said my wife was expecting another one? Brooks said.
Morgan nodded.
Well, there was a letter from her in Parker’s bag.
False alarm? Morgan said.
False alarm or false start, I don’t know what exactly women call these things.
I suppose she was upset, Morgan said.
I suppose, Brooks said. Still, it wasn’t
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