Free The Nine Lives of Charlotte Taylor by Sally Armstrong Page A

mention of the Carolinas with a dismissive sneer. On first impression, Charlotte wonders to what extent the man’s name had shaped his character. He seems prim indeed for a senior sailor, his long face pale, his lips most often pursed.
    “What is the importance of these Carolinas?” Charlotte asks.
    Primm sniffs.
    “We pay the price, madam, for our slackness there. How many jackanapes did we permit to raise their voices against His Majesty while we whistled our way along? Now we shall pay.”
    “Och, Jack.” Commodore Walker shakes his head gently. “We should have had to pay sooner or later, no matter.”
    “The Tea Tax was your great mistake, gentlemen,” says Sullivan, the second mate. He is a burly, snub-nosed man with an unruly mop of red hair much the colour of Charlotte’s own. “You must mind your manners when you rule.”
    “Indeed,” says Primm. “An Irishman would tell us so.”
    Rockwell, who is third mate and youngest of the officers, is not to be left out.
    “The Tea Tax was very much to the colonists’ advantage,” he says, looking about the table for support. “It would put the smugglers of tea out of business and the tea itself would be less dear.”
    “Of course you’re right, Mr. Rockwell,” says Walker. “But consider, sir, that more was at play than cheap tea. The Tea Act, alas, was another signal of British control. That is how some colonists regarded it at least.
And
they saw it to favour the East India Tea Company.”
    “Which it most certainly did,” says Sullivan. “Capital soup, by the by.”
    “It is, yes,” Charlotte adds.
    “You must hear enough about all this in England, Mrs. Willisams,” proposes Sullivan. “Surely it’s the constant talk.”
    “I think it is,” Charlotte admits. “But I’m ashamed to say we young women are seldom party to such talk.”
    “And so it should be, my dear,” says Commodore Walker. “You have enough to do, learning how to manage our homes and children, without listening to such rubbish.”
    “You
must
know of the Tea Party,” says Primm, “whatever else you may not hear about.”
    “I think I have.”
    “Oh, it was plenty exciting,” Rockwell bursts in. “The damned colonists started to send back the tea and then in Boston they stopped the unloading and then at night a crowd of them dressed up as Mohawk Indians and threw the lot in the harbour!”
    “It was actually a great crime,” Walker avers. “Three hundred and forty-two chests of tea—almost ten thousand pounds of profit and taxes.”
    “Yes,” Sullivan chuckles. “And by God the English government is vexed that their mismanagement should cost so much. But it will cost much more.”
    “I fear you’re right in that regard,” Walker says and for just that single sentence his normally light voice darkens in a manner Charlotte has not seen before.
    The door bangs wide and young Harding carries in a steaming tureen. When opened by the commodore it displays a thick mutton stew supporting a half-dozen massive dumplings.
    The others draw long, appreciative breaths. Apart from her first meal with Walker, she had only dreamed of such food in many weeks at sea and in Jamaica.
    “You will find, madam, that a sailor’s victuals are always ample at the start of any sea journey,” Primm instructs her. “Later you may find them somewhat otherwise.”
    “In the past, we would have taken on new supplies in Carolina.” Walker speaks as he ladles the stew. “It’s a fine stretch, the Carolina coast. You have the protection of miles of seaward islands, with plenty of harbours inside for great vessels
and
for the like of the
Achilles.”
    “The weather’s awfully favourable,” Rockwell adds. “A great deal better than Nova Scotia. They have little in the way of winter, yet are far enough north to escape the oppressive heat of the West Indies.”
    “Oh thanks to ye, Rockwell,” says Primm. “Your erudition is always of the greatest assistance.”
    Rockwell turns