Free Girl on the Orlop Deck by Beryl Kingston Page B

ship’s boys all over the ship scrubbing the decks and climbing the rigging in their shoes and breeches, their bare backs turning brown before her eyes. In fact, as the hot days passed, there were only two others, as far as she could see, who kept their jackets on. And just as well, for she wouldn’t have liked to be the only one.
    She took to working as close to the other two as she could, feeling she wouldn’t be quite so noticeable if they were near and, after a week of it, she began to notice things about them, which set her to wondering. The way they walked for a start, and the way they laughed, which was almost a giggle sometimes, and the way they talked to one another, heads close and confidential. And now she came to look at them, the shorter of the two with his blue eyes and his soft fair hair was too pretty to be a boy. What if they was women too? Wouldn’t that be a thing. Not that she could ask them, in case they wasn’t. But she wondered more every time she saw them.
    And then one morning, the shorter of the two suddenly spoke to her. ‘Aincher warm?’ he said.
    ‘Boiled alive.’
    The boy gave her a knowing look. ‘Why don’tcher strip off that jacket?’
    The question embarrassed her. It was altogether too direct. If they were women it would be all right, but if they weren’t she could be open to teasing or even worse. ‘’Cause I don’t want to,’ she said.
    ‘On account of you got somethin’ to hide,’ the boy said. ‘That the size of it? Like us maybe. We got things to hide, aint we – Jack?’
    The odd emphasis he’d given the name made Marianne sit back on her heels and look at them, the holystone idle on her hands. Now she was almost sure she’d been right.
    ‘You got somethin’ to hide an’ all ’ave yer – Matt?’ the boy said. ‘Somethin’ under yer jacket maybe. Or a pair a’ somethin’s.’
    ‘I might have,’ she said. ‘An’ then again I might not.’
    The boy called Jack gave her such a wide grin there was no doubt what they were talking about. ‘We knew you was a woman,’ he said. ‘We been watchin’ you fer days. What’s yer real name?’
    Now it was possible to confess because she knew it was safe and that they wouldn’t tell. ‘Marianne,’ she said.
    ‘I’m Peg,’ the boy told her. ‘An’ this here’s Moll. This your first ship?Use yer stone, the lieutenant’s looking.’
    They scrubbed assiduously, their jackets damp with sweat.
    ‘I thought I was the only one,’ Marianne admitted.
    ‘No fear a’ that,’ Moll said. ‘There’s lots a’ women in the navy. You’ll see. Only we has ter keep it dark, on account a’ Nelson don’t like women aboard ship except for that Lady Hamilton, what’s a right bad lot if you ask me, great fat lump.’
    ‘Hush up!’ Peg warned. ‘He’s a-comin’ our way.’
    In the next two days they spoke to one another whenever they could. They were all on the same watch so it was easily done and, as the heat increased and tarpaulins were put up to give the livestock some shade, there were corners to hide in. They shared tips on all sorts of things – how to wash themselves without making their shipmates suspicious, how to use the heads without being noticed, the best way to get their clothes clean in sea water.
    ‘It’s a lark bein’ ship’s boy,’ Moll said, ‘but you has to look slippy with every mortal thing. We’ll show ’ee come next wash day.’
    As the breeze inched their ship nearer to Malta, their confidences grew. After a week Marianne confessed that she’d joined the navy to find her husband and told the story of their wedding – leaving out the more intimate details for modesty’s sake – and the peculiar way he’d disappeared . Like her, they had no doubt he’d been pressed.
    ‘Stands ter reason,’ Moll said. ‘He’d never up an’ leave you, not on your weddin’ day. That aint nat’ral. You ask me, they got him so drunk he didn’t know what he was doin’. That’s the sort