I do not see Captain Nelson again until the servant is laying the table for his breakfast. It appears that he doesn’t intend to have any guests at his table this morning.
The captain is accompanied by George-Augustus Josephs, who has my pack and blanket.
Joe hands me my possessions and mutters, ‘We don’t believe it none, Ned,’ before he leaves the cabin. It’s only one sentence, but it encourages me a little.
Captain Nelson has considerately included me in his morning meal. It is austere compared to the first breakfast I ate at his table. Still, there is cold beef, an egg for each of us, bread and butter, a Spanish orange, and coffee. Against the food that ratings get, these are delicacies. But they may as well be made of chalk. I cannot eat them.
Nelson does not eat much, either. He drinks his coffee and has a bit of egg with a piece of bread, but much of the food goes untouched. He peels the orange and offers half to me.
‘No; thank you kindly, Captain.’
He continues to hold out the orange as he looks at the food on the table. ‘Seems a shame to waste it, Mr Buckley.’
‘Ordinarily I would not, sir. ’Tis more than a shame; my father would have said it was a sin.’
‘Mine would too. Unfortunately, I cannot taste it today.’
‘You cannot taste it, and I cannot swallow it,’ I observe quietly. ‘Will no one eat it, sir? Have the orange, at least. It is said to be helpful for easing a cold.’
‘It will be eaten, Mr Buckley; I don’t care to see it wasted.’
It seems we have nothing to talk about, apart from the incident that got me here; and neither one of us wants to speak of that, so the meal proceeds largely in silence. I am glad to see Captain Nelson finish the orange, then wonder with some surprise why I cared at all.
The same servant has removed the remainder of the meal before the captain speaks again.
‘My officers and I have decided to confine you here in my cabin until we reach port and there is a suitable place ashore for you. I have requested that the carpenter make a screen to partition a corner of the cabin, and you will have a palliasse that you may unroll at night and roll up in the morning.’
I am momentarily stunned by this generosity. Ordinarily a man would be chained to a knee in the forward part of the upper gun deck, guarded around the clock, and allowed to move only to use the heads. ‘I am deeply obliged to you, Captain; I do not think I am likely ever to be able to repay this debt. I am mindful of your privacy, sir. Will it not inconvenience you greatly…?’
‘Have you ever known me to be inconvenienced, Mr Buckley?’
‘You have never said so, sir.’
‘Well, if I am, I shall be sure to tell you so.’ He sneezes twice. ‘Later today, I intend to speak to the people who were present on the quarterdeck last night. But first, I am going back to bed for an hour. I have a thumping headache.’ He rises and shrugs off his coat. ‘I apologise that you have no space of your own, but that will be remedied by this afternoon.’
I turn away as he unbuttons his waistcoat. When we were first married, Richard used to undress down to his shirt before he bedded me, but after a while he often did not bother to do anything more than open his breeches. Still, the intimacy of a man removing his clothing, alone in my presence, makes me tense involuntarily. ‘That’s very generous, sir, considering that I don’t normally have a space of my own,’ I say to the quarter-gallery wall.
I don’t think he notices. ‘I sometimes forget that you are not accustomed to such things. You have the manners of a gentleman. I tend to think of you the way I think of my midshipmen.’
‘Had I been a gentleman, sir, I would not be in this position,’ I observe sadly.
He sits on the edge of his berth and removes his shoes. ‘It is a distasteful business, Mr Buckley.’ He sneezes again and groans softly. ‘Oh, how wretched I feel today. Do not despair,’ he orders, as he reclines on his pillow, a hand over his eyes. ‘I have limited interest, but I shall not hesitate to use it on your behalf.’
Do not. Do not throw it away and jeopardise your career for me. You would be insane to oppose the First Lord of the Admiralty if Captain Spencer appeals to him. As desperately as I want to find a way out of this, I don’t want this kind and generous man to suffer because of it. I have known too few kind men, of late.
My father was a kind man, with an easy laugh and a humorous glint in his eye. He had liberal ideas and educated me alongside my brother until Arthur was old enough to go away to school. He taught us both to ride and shoot, and he delighted in the fact that I could shoot as well as Arthur. When he died, he bequeathed me his old fowling piece and his pocket watch.
I open my pack and take the watch out of the soft cloth bag that I stitched to protect it after I left my (my husband’s) home. I cradle the watch in my palm and feel tears slip from underneath my closed eyelids.
He died too young, our father. It was an influenza, the doctor told us. Papa was strong and only forty-eight; he wasn’t supposed to die. But he did die. He went to sleep after breakfast one morning and never woke again.
Our mother had been gone for ten years by then, along with the brother who had lived for only a few days, and suddenly we were orphans. Arthur was twenty-five and I was twenty-two. He was engaged to marry a good young woman, but I had no suitors. Under the terms of our father’s will, Arthur became the administrator of my inheritance until I turned twenty-five or married, whichever occurred first.
It was a generous inheritance. Father was a successful silk merchant, and Mother had been a prestigious mantua-maker before their marriage. He always told people that there had been a lot of unhappy gentlewomen in London when Mama agreed to marry him.
He left the house in Surrey to me, and the house in Marylebone to Arthur. Arthur inherited Papa’s business, and he divided his other assets between the two of us. Had I remained a spinster all my life, I would still have been well-provided for. But then came Richard.
Richard was the son of one of my father’s business associates. He was Arthur’s age, and had been to good schools, although not the same ones my brother had attended. He was pleasant looking, well-spoken, had gentle manners, and dressed well. He told us he was a junior barrister, although that wasn’t completely true. He was a barrister’s clerk, but he intended to be a barrister, so if he was putting the cart before the horse a little, where was the harm in that?
He also had depraved appetites, but how could we have known?
Captain Nelson stirs and coughs. I hastily wipe the tears off my face with my sleeve, but he only turns on his side with a sigh.
I return the watch to its pouch and slip it back into my pack. I feel fortunate that I still have it. Theft is punishable by flogging, but that doesn’t mean that some people don’t still feel compelled to do it.
My fingers encounter Jack Mackay’s carved lion, folded in a handkerchief. I don’t take it out of the pack because I’m afraid that the sight of it would make the tears flow again. Instead, I take Henry V from the bottom of my pack.
When we were young and our father was teaching Arthur and me, he and Mother, Arthur, and I, used to read Shakespeare aloud together, and Papa would explain it to us. As we got older, he would make us explain it to him.
I open the book. Instead of feeling sorry for myself, I should read it. Before today I seldom had enough time, or enough light, or enough quiet. Suddenly I have these things in abundance.
The first verses bring back to me the sound of my father’s voice as he read them aloud. For a minute or two I think the misery of it will defeat me, but I fight back the despair and begin again. As I read and hear my father’s voice in my memory, it is as if he is standing behind me; strong and handsome, the way I remember him when I was six or seven, encouraging me with his hand on my shoulder.
‘That’s right, Nell; my brave, lovely girl. Daughter, you make me proud of you. What wonderful things you are going to do someday!’
I hope you are still proud of me, Papa. You told me to make my life my own. I had to take it back from Richard, and I must defend it now. I know this is not what you dreamed for me, but don’t be dismayed. I have survived this far, and I have at least one friend who will help me.
I am halfway through Act I when Captain Nelson gets up. He comes to the table, rubbing his eyes. ‘Is that the book I gave you?’
‘It is. It’s hard to feel defeated when reading Henry V.’
‘Exactly.’ He coughs and clears his throat.
‘Do you feel any better, sir?’
‘A little, I think. It will have to suffice. There is work to do.’
‘Do you want my assistance?’ I ask, setting the book aside.
‘I wish I could employ you in it. No, Mr Buckley; I must conduct an inquiry. As I anticipated, Captain Spencer has demanded a court-martial; I must conclude whether the incident merits one.’ He rises from his chair and slips on his waistcoat. ‘It is the way the thing is done,’ he says, his long fingers deftly working the buttons. ‘I must conduct the inquiry before a court-martial can be called. If I was to find that the accusation is baseless, I could decline to refer it on to the commander-in-chief. That isn’t going to happen in this instance, I am sorry to say. I may, however, find evidence that you were not the instigator of the incident, and that will help your defence.’
Some of my newly recovered confidence falters. ‘He approached me on the upper gun deck, sir. It was deserted, else I would have shouted,’ I say, very softly.
He is preparing to put on his coat, but he stops and lays it down again. ‘I think I shall change my plan a little. My throat is rather irritated; I shall call for some tea. Then I want you to tell me exactly what happened last night.’
He speaks gently, but it is underlaid with firm authority. I will do this, or he will know why not. He has always been relaxed and almost affectionate in the manner of his instructions to me, but I would do well to remember that his authority exceeds that of everyone on this vessel.
I will have to recount it eventually anyhow.
He has not shaved this morning, and light from the gallery windows catches the faint stubble on his jaw and makes it look like fine beach sand dusting his face. He goes to the door and speaks quietly to someone in the lobby, where his daily servants wait when they are on duty.
My body has tensed like a bowstring in anticipation of this retelling. I try to will myself to relax, but it isn’t working. It is as if my muscles have stopped responding to my reason.
Captain Nelson goes into the quarter-gallery, and I have an irrational urge to bolt. There is a sentry on duty at the door, I remind myself. And it would not help my case at all if I tried to run. At any rate, there is no place to run; one can only go over the side.
Oh, Papa; help me.
I hear Captain Nelson blow his nose energetically, and somehow this homely noise calms me a little. He may represent the sword hanging over my head, but he blows his nose just like anyone else.
A servant comes in with a tray and sets it on the table. It is the boy who can’t remember how the captain takes his tea. He sets up the table and pours the tea into two cups, then exits the cabin just as Captain Nelson emerges from the quarter-gallery.
The captain retrieves a familiar bottle from a mahogany box and brings it to the table. He sits, looks at his tea, and murmurs something as he adds milk. ‘I know his father,’ he tells me. ‘He’s a good lad, but I can’t determine whether he is simply forgetful, or completely empty-headed.’ He pours a tot of brandy into each of our cups without asking me whether I want any.
I take a sip of the hot tea. It, and the mellow warmth of the added brandy, seem to melt the knot in my belly a little, although my hand still trembles and rattles the cup against the saucer.
Captain Nelson sets his teacup down. ‘There is no point in putting this off. I want you to tell me everything that happened between you and Captain Spencer, leaving nothing out, even if it appears that the revealing of it might hurt your defence.’ He goes to his locker and retrieves his portable writing desk with pen and ink and paper.
I stare at the tabletop. I have to take two deep breaths before I can manage to say anything. ‘I am not sure where to start, sir.’
‘Start at the beginning, Mr Buckley.’
‘It might take a while, sir…’
‘It will take as long as it takes. Please begin.’
So, I begin at the beginning. I tell him about the first time Captain Spencer called me aside and questioned my competency as a marine and a rifleman. I tell him about when Spencer lingered behind me at inspection, breathing in my ear, and about the incident with my coat-tail lining. All this is difficult enough, because my emotions waver between shame and anger. But when I get to the point where I have to begin talking about last night, I freeze up again. I stammer and drop my head into my hands.
Captain Nelson pours more tea into our cups and says gently, ‘Breathe, lad. Pause and drink your tea. We’ll continue in a minute.’
I do as he tells me and try to compose myself. ‘Buck up, Ned,’ I hear Jack Mackay admonish me.
Easy for you to say, I retort mentally.
I put down my teacup and begin again.
‘I was walking on the upper gun deck, sir, after putting my rifle away in its rack. My berth is below aft, but I chose that deck because there are no hammocks.’
He nods. ‘What time was this, Mr Buckley?’
‘The first watch had just ended, so it must have been a little after midnight, sir.’
He makes a note and says, ‘Continue.’
‘I was almost at the aftermost companionway when he spoke to me.’
‘Just to be clear, Mr Buckley, by “he” do you mean Captain Spencer?’
‘Yessir.’
‘What did Captain Spencer say to you?’
‘He bade me good evening.’
I stop, and Captain Nelson prompts me again. ‘What happened when he bade you good evening? Did you respond?’
‘I did, Captain. I acknowledged him; I think I just said, “Sir.”’
‘Did you wish him good evening in return?’
‘Nosir, I didn’t.’
‘What happened next?’
‘He asked me if I would come to his cabin and share a drink with him. He came up very close to me.’
‘What did he say, to the best of your recollection?’
‘Erm… he said, “Would you like to come to my cabin for a nightcap?” I thanked him very kindly but said I would not.’
‘Go on.’ Captain Nelson does not look up from his notes.
‘I suppose he had already been drinking, because I could smell the liquor on his breath. It was brandy, I think, or whisky. At any rate, it didn’t smell sour like wine, or ale. He said to me, “I insist”, and he slurred the word a bit.’
I pause to allow Captain Nelson to finish writing. I take another swallow of tea and clatter the cup in the saucer.
He comes to the end of the sentence and waits for me to continue.
‘He, ah… he moved closer to me, and I tried to back away from him; but I couldn’t go anywhere, because the companion ladder was behind me. He put his arm on the rail of the ladder so that I could not get past him to go up.’
I can smell Captain Spencer’s breath again in my memory. It does not smell sour, as I had observed to Captain Nelson, but there is something foul underneath the smell of the brandy. My heart stutters.
‘What did you do when he put his arm on the rail of the companion ladder?’
‘I didn’t do anything, Captain. I was afraid of him.’
He puts down his pen and suppresses a sneeze. He motions to me with his hand to continue.
I have to clasp my hands together and clutch them tightly to keep them from shaking. I lower my head and close my eyes before I go on, because I can’t bear to see his face when I say this.
‘He… he said to me, “You are a cock-tease, Buckley”. He said I had the face of an angel and the body of a boy.’ I swallow. ‘Then he said he liked my… he said, “I admire your pretty, tight arse”.’
I hear Captain Nelson sigh. I risk opening my eyes and I can see that he is scrubbing his face with both hands. He leans one elbow on the table and rubs his brow with thumb and forefingers. ‘And then what happened, Mr Buckley?’ he asks softly.
I wrap my arms tightly around my middle, as if this will keep me from flying apart. ‘He grabbed my chin with the hand that was on the rail and held my head still while he kissed me, and he thrust his other hand between my legs,’ I choke.
I do not shatter into pieces like a bulwark struck by a cannonball. But I cannot keep from shivering, and Captain Nelson says gently, ‘Would you like to pause for a minute?’
‘Nosir.’ I am surprised at myself, but I want it to be over with. ‘I think I lost my head then. I kicked him in the knee and tried to get up the companionway to the quarterdeck, but he was right behind me. He caught me by my hair and pulled me down to the deck, and he sat on my hips. He told me I would pay for it; and he was trying to open his breeches with one hand, whilst he pawed at mine with the other. He tore off my left button.’
This is all coming out in a rush, like vomiting up a meal of spoilt meat. ‘I was sure he was going to rape me, sir. I could feel his erect member up against my belly when he sat on me. I fought and tried to get away, but he was stronger…’ I realise that I am twisting my fingers together in my lap like a girl, and I force myself to stop.
‘I got the knife out of my boot somehow. I didn’t think about where I was cutting him; I just slashed at him. If I had planned it, sir, I would have stuck it in his groin.’
Jack, in my arms, the blood pumping out of his body from the wound in his groin. I am shaking uncontrollably now. ‘I would have killed him, sir, if I’d remembered I was going to hang anyway.’
‘I shall not write that last statement down,’ Captain Nelson says in a low voice. ‘Oh, lad.’
He puts down the pen and stands beside my chair, then lays his hand lightly on my shoulder, where my father’s hand used to rest when he praised me. I am powerless to stop the tears that spill down my cheeks.
Captain Nelson bends and puts his arm around my shoulders then. I bury my face in my hands and sob in a way that I had never done as a child, not even when my mother died.
‘I am aware that there are men who do these things, Mr Buckley,’ he says quietly. ‘I am sorry that you had to learn of it in this way.’
‘I was not unaware of it, sir,’ I whisper roughly. ‘I am all too familiar with it. Another man did it to me once.’
I can feel him stiffen. ‘Merciful God,’ he mutters.
Richard, tucking himself back into his breeches: ‘Do not snivel. Since you cannot provide me with a child, it doesn’t matter where you receive me, Nell.’
Remembering Richard makes me clench my fists in anger. It stops my tears like a dam across a stream.
Captain Nelson produces two of the little footed glasses and pours brandy directly into them, then gives one to me. He also gives me a clean handkerchief. ‘Dry your face, and drink that down,’ he instructs me. He swallows his own brandy. There is an expression on his face that I have never seen before. I think it is revulsion.
‘Oh, please tell me that you believe me,’ I say miserably.
‘I believe you, lad,’ he says, as I drink my brandy as instructed. ‘After all, we have been alone together countless times in the past year, and you have never tried to seduce me. And I flatter myself that I am at least as attractive as Captain Spencer.’