Into the World Read online

  She stepped closer, smelling the stale sweat in his tunic.

  ‘Give me your key,’ she said again.

  ‘Don’t be stupid. How am I supposed to cook without ingredients?’

  ‘You will make a request to me and I will issue you the stores.’

  ‘This is fucking outrageous!’

  She raised her voice back. ‘Fuck you! I can have you thrown off this ship and left behind in this syphilis-infested Spanish port. Do you understand me? Fuck it!’

  They locked eyes for the first time. His were bloodshot.

  ‘You cannot,’ he spat.

  ‘I am your superior, do not forget that!’

  He swore. ‘Wait till I tell Captain d’Auribeau you’ve been cooking delicacies for those republicans! Salt beef and biscuit, that’s all he allows them.’

  ‘Perhaps you can explain to him where the six barrels of Tenerife wine have gone!’ She thrust out her hand again.

  Besnard threw his keys at her. She caught them in her fingers.

  Chapter 13

  ON THE DAY THEY WERE TO SAIL FROM TENERIFE, GIRARDIN inspected her storerooms for the last time. She had requested two crewmen to reorganise the hold and sort the rice and grain from the musket shot. All the crates and boxes of foodstuff were now labelled. She was pleased with their work. The fresh vegetables and fruit had been stowed. The belly of the ship was full to bursting.

  From Besnard, she now had disgruntled obedience. She had overheard him speaking to Luc: ‘There is a rumour that the steward is a relative of Fleurieu, the Minister of Marine. Best to let him think he is in charge.’ She had allowed herself a satisfied smile.

  Above her head a jar of juniper berries crashed to the floor. She leaped aside, cursing the plague of rats that swarmed through the ship, gnawing through her sacks and eating all the raisins. Climbing onto a tea chest, she thumped the shelves to chase the rats out of the store. A grumpy face popped out, and she jerked back in surprise. A pale-faced monkey with a cap of black hair pulled back its lips and bared its teeth.

  ‘You rascal!’

  The monkey launched across to the salted pork legs with a scream, and swung there waving an orange in its hand in triumph.

  ‘Thief!’

  The monkey peeled back its lips again, laughing at her.

  She lunged and the monkey hurled itself to the floor, still clutching its prize. She threw herself into a tackle, sliding along the floor, catching hold of its tail. It squealed, turned, and pitched the orange at her head. She ducked, letting go of the monkey’s tail and saw him sprint out between the legs of an officer standing in the doorway.

  ‘Oh!’ she cried, looking up from where she lay facing a pair of polished boots.

  Captain Huon de Kermadec laughed with genuine delight. ‘You bested Armand’s capuchin. I am impressed. He is a notorious sneak.’

  She scrambled to her feet, wiping her hands on her tunic, embarrassed to be found looking so foolish.

  ‘The old sailor with the monkey,’ she said, to cover her humiliation. ‘I recognised him. Did you have him follow me onto the Deux Frères?’

  Kermadec ducked his eyes and she noticed a spot of pink blooming on each cheek. ‘Armand is a good man,’ he said, avoiding her question. ‘Sailed with him on the Resolution.’

  ‘Does he know who I am?’ she asked boldly. She set her jaw, aware that her breathing was too rapid, her voice harsher than intended. This man was a captain, her superior—she should not speak to him this way. But she was afraid that Armand might have loose lips, that he might have mentioned something to the pilot Raoul that made him suspicious of her sex and tempted him to follow her through the streets of this town.

  Kermacec shook his head. ‘He thinks you are my nephew. My sister’s son.’

  ‘Is he still watching me? Does he suspect?’ She thought of the men playing cards, laying bets, losing their wages. What price would such information be worth? she wondered. Would her secret be sold to settle a gambler’s debt?

  ‘His eyesight is not so good.’

  She thought of the hundred men working, eating and sleeping on the decks above. ‘They must never know,’ she said in a strained voice.

  ‘You have nothing to fear from Armand. I swear to you.’ Kermadec took her inquisition with good grace, but his eyebrows pulled into a confused frown. ‘Has something happened? Do you fear for your safety?’ He stepped towards her in the narrow space.

  Should she tell him of her suspicions about Raoul? It concerned her that he had become friendly with Besnard, and the two of them had formed a gang of sorts with the butcher. The three men lounged together on the deck, smoking, playing cards and teasing the ship’s boys. When Raoul’s eyes fell on her, it made her feel like the smallest hen in the coop, the one that would be hounded and harried until pecked bare. She could not afford to show any weakness.

  But what could Kermadec do? His attention would only put her at risk. Raoul had not laid a hand on her. How could she explain she was afraid of his snide swagger, his taunting sexuality, and a sense that he somehow knew exactly who she was?

  She was being foolish, she scolded herself. Raoul was a bully testing a weaker man, that was all; she had let her imagination run away with her good sense.

  Kermadec’s gaze lingered on her face, as if searching for the truth. His concern touched something frozen inside her and she slid her eyes away.

  ‘Soon we will sail for the Cape,’ he said. ‘A long sea journey of many weeks.’

  Kermadec was still watching her. She saw the worry in his furrowed brow.

  ‘If something has happened, something to make you doubt your safety, it is not too late to turn back, perhaps find a placement on a ship heading back to France. We could find another in this port to replace you.’ He lowered his voice. ‘I would not willingly put you in danger.’

  This was her moment to withdraw. He was giving her the chance to return home. But it was too soon. She had nothing to offer her son, no way to raise him. She lifted her chin. ‘I will be fine. No one suspects.’

  His face relaxed into a smile. He looked relieved and it surprised her. The adventurous, boyish gleam returned to his eye. ‘There is so much of this world I would love to show you.’ He grinned. ‘You will not regret it.’

  She forced a smile to braven her spirit.

  But when he stepped closer to her, she fell back. She felt the size of him looming over her, aware of the strength of his arms beneath his buttoned blue coat. He raised his hands, careful like a stablehand with a skittish mare, and bent to pick up the orange that had rolled between her feet. ‘For you.’

  She had made a fool of herself again. Kermadec did not mean to harm her. She took the orange and inhaled the tart freshness of the zest. Did he know that oranges were her favourite fruit? Idiot! How could he know? What made her think of that? She was aware of the closeness of his body, the broadness of his stance. He had not stepped away. This giddiness was unsettling. Beautiful men always made her anxious, that was all.

  ‘Then I will see you in Cape Town,’ he said softly.

  She nodded, voiceless, afraid of the way her heart had come to life in her chest.

  Chapter 14

  Latitude 5°30′ N, longitude 18°30′ W, Atlantic Ocean, 14 November 1791

  FOR THREE SLOW WEEKS, THE EXPEDITION SUFFERED THROUGH bouts of calm and squalls of rain that soaked them to the skin. In the unrelenting wet heat, Girardin felt the constant itch and sting of sweat as the whalebone corset chafed against her skin. She had tightened it day by day until her chest was flat. The longing to remove the corset was countered by her fear of seeing what remained of her breasts.

  Finally, she could bear it no longer and late one night, locked in her cabin, Girardin dared to pull at the laces of the corset. She felt the pressure ease and moaned with relief before scratching and wriggling to be free. The boned corset fell to the floor. Grey, sodden bandages covered her breasts and she winced as she peeled the final layers. The sudden stench forced her to cove
r her nose and mouth. She looked down. Her breasts were flat, nipples pressed inwards, and her skin was pale and soggy except where the corset had rubbed it red and left it dotted with pustules. She sucked breath between her teeth as she soaked a rag in vinegar and dabbed at the boils. Her milk had long dried up.

  ‘Steward!’

  A fist knocked violently on Girardin’s cabin door. She scrabbled for her tunic.

  ‘Citizen Girardin!’ the voice called.

  ‘Just one moment!’ she snapped, throwing a blanket over the corset and bandages. Reluctantly, she unlocked her door.

  ‘Help me find some cheesecloth from our stores,’ Labillardière demanded.

  Girardin stood still, blinking against the candlelight he held in front of his face.

  ‘Be quick about it, or we will miss our chance!’

  Grabbing her set of keys, Girardin led the naturalist down the stairs toward the storerooms. Beneath her armpits, she felt the pustules sting.

  ‘How much do you need?’ she asked, pulling out a length of the fabric. When she touched the muslin it felt creamy and soft against her skin, like a soothing caress. Labillardière spread his hands apart and she cut a length to match. He vanished without thanks. Finding herself alone, she quickly sliced off more muslin and tied it around her waist to hide beneath her shirt.

  Overhead, she heard feet running along the deck. Light flashed down the hatch. Intrigued, she climbed up after Labillardière and found him at the rail with two men. The General was dressed as usual in his formal uniform, but beside him the rotund Lieutenant Rossel wore a hastily buttoned coat over his nightshirt. Without his wig, the lieutenant’s dark hair was mussed by the rising wind.

  Across the sea, black clouds bloomed along the horizon, smothering the stars. The freshening wind roughened the surface of the water.

  Girardin shivered. Lightning cracked and she gasped as the whole expanse of the sea was lit by a sheet of green fire that swept towards their ship. All about them the sea sparked with a ghoulish light. Girardin crossed herself. Holy hell. Was this God or Satan coming for them?

  ‘It’s the electric fluid!’ Lieutenant Rossel shouted over a clap of thunder.

  The General agreed. ‘It is always on the stormiest nights, when the atmosphere is charged with electric fluid, that the sea shines with this brightness.’ He seemed calm, untroubled by the ghostly green light.

  She saw Labillardière sneer. ‘It is not the electric fluid that causes this luminosity. It is from animals.’

  Rossel snorted. ‘How could animals do that?’

  Girardin edged closer to the men just as a pod of dolphins leapt through the waves and swirled the bright green lights into fantastic patterns. What was this supernatural substance? Was its beauty meant to lure men into the depths?

  ‘Tursiops truncatus,’ Labillardière said, unable to resist pointing and naming the dolphins as he passed behind her. ‘I need to make a net.’ He made for the stern of the ship with his field axe in hand.

  ‘What on earth are you doing?’ an outraged voice demanded. Captain d’Auribeau charged down the gangway towards her, chasing Labillardière.

  ‘Proving a scientific theory,’ Labillardière called over his shoulder. He had raised his field axe and was aiming it at the flagpole.

  ‘This is insupportable!’ d’Auribeau shrieked. ‘You cannot take such liberties with my ship!’

  The captain shoved Girardin aside. She fell against the rail as the ship rolled sideways, sliding head first over the luminous cauldron of the sea. She opened her mouth in terror, a strangled squeal slipping out, before she caught the rail in her hands. The glowing water surged beneath her. She pushed herself back into the ship, scrambling away from the edge, imagining herself flailing in the frothing green wake as the ship sailed away.

  ‘I need a long thin pole,’ said the naturalist, ‘and this is perfect.’

  ‘You will not touch His Majesty’s flag-bearer!’

  ‘Surely you have a replacement.’

  ‘That is beside the point!’ D’Auribeau grasped Labillardière’s arm.

  ‘Here! Will this suit?’ said a voice behind them.

  Girardin turned to see that Félix Lahaie had appeared on deck. He offered Labillardière a fishing rod that had been fashioned out of a broken broom.

  Labillardière shrugged off d’Auribeau and replaced his axe in the belt on his hip. Adjusting his coat, he nodded his thanks to the gardener.

  Captain d’Auribeau clasped his right arm behind his back as though to control its violent actions. The whole left side of his face was caught in a sudden palsy. Only Girardin saw his twisted face as he strode back past her.

  Labillardière strapped a makeshift cheesecloth net to one end of the pole. ‘Félix, take this and lean out the side. I’ll hold your legs.’

  She gasped, almost stopping them. She imagined green sea serpents waiting to rear up and snatch Félix as he dangled off the ship. She imagined him lost to the ghoulish water as she herself had almost been.

  Félix took a step back, his fear plain on his face. ‘Monsieur Labillardière, surely your greater height would be more advantageous to the task?’ he countered.

  ‘I’m surprised at you, Citizen Lahaie. I thought you were keen to show us your aptitude as a student of the natural sciences. There is nothing to be afraid of.’

  Félix glanced at the General then back to Labillardière with eyes narrowed. Unwilling to appear lacking in sufficient zeal, he snatched the pole from Labillardière and submitted to being hoisted up and over the rail.

  Lightning struck the ocean and the waves pulsed with green light. The wind rocked the ship and rattled the sheets against the mast. The first splatters of rain reached her face. Girardin couldn’t bear to watch a moment longer.

  She hurried back to her cabin and locked the door behind her. Stripping off her tunic, she took the fresh white muslin and began to wind it tight around her breasts. The cloth felt cool against the raw wounds. As the ship rolled in the storm and the winds began to howl, she took a knife and sliced along the ribs of the corset, dismantling it, leaving no trace of its former purpose. In the morning she would throw the whale bones back to the sea, like an offering.

  The fresh squall that had brought the rain and the ghostly phosphorescence did not last, and by noon the following day the muggy heat had returned. The ship sagged in a breathless hollow and she found the crew lounging sluggish and dispirited on the deck. Girardin looked for the naturalists, uncertain if they had survived the ordeal of the previous night. She had expected to see them with the fishermen, but today the artist, Piron, was alone as he sketched the foreign fish.

  The crew had strung washing lines across the deck, hoping for a drying breeze. She pushed through the sodden clothes, hanging limp like flensed skins, their cold arms draping around her neck as she made her way to the stern. They screened her from view as she pulled out the small bag of whale bones at her hip. Weighted with lead shot, the bones sank quickly, swallowed by the blue. She whispered her thanks to Madame d’Yauville for her gift.

  A splash behind her made her turn. Two men were hitching an old sail over the side of the boat. Too late she realised what it was for. The men stripped naked.

  ‘Better watch yourself or you’ll be next.’

  Girardin jumped at the voice at her shoulder. She turned to see Armand with his monkey sitting proudly on his shoulder.

  She narrowed her eyes at the monkey, acknowledging the thief from her stores. It pulled back its lips at her.

  ‘General makes us take more baths out to sea than I’ve ever had on land. It ain’t natural, all this washing,’ Armand grumbled, while his monkey picked through his greasy hair.

  ‘Look who’s come to join us, lads!’ Raoul slid down the rigging, dangling his legs above her head. Her heart hammered, realising her danger. She had been so careful these past weeks. How could she have let herself be caught like this?

  Girardin backed away, but found herself circled by the men.
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  ‘He doesn’t shit with us, he doesn’t shave with us,’ Raoul called out. ‘He doesn’t even bathe with us.’

  The men laughed.

  ‘Afraid to show his nice white arse, perhaps?’ the butcher suggested as he soaked a rag in vinegar and rubbed it under his armpits.

  ‘Round you, he should be!’ quipped a skinny boy with front teeth like tombstones. He snaked sideways to avoid the sting of the snapped rag.

  ‘Jealous, are ya?’ The butcher then tipped more vinegar onto the rag and began to rub his teeth.

  Over the side of the ship, Girardin could hear the men singing as they soaped and splashed. She scanned the group around her, desperate to run but certain that such cowardice would be her undoing. She crossed her arms in front of her.

  Raoul leaped to the deck. He stripped off his shirt and loosened his trousers. She ducked her eyes away as he swept a vinegar rag around his groin.

  ‘The General likes to have us spick and span.’ He tossed the rag at Girardin. It bounced off her chest.

  ‘Leave the boy alone,’ said Armand. ‘All this washing doesn’t do anyone any good.’

  ‘But the General’s favourite, surely he wants to see your flesh all pink and shiny.’

  Girardin watched the men heave on the ropes and lift the sail from the water. Around her more men began to strip off. She took a step backwards, but the noose of men closed tighter.

  ‘Louis Girardin!’ a voice called from behind. Félix pushed through the sailors carrying a pail of sea water. ‘You must see this.’ He tugged her arm. She caught his eye and something passed between them, an acknowledgement. He was urging her to trust him. The gardener felt no kinship with these bullying men, she realised. She let him pull her from the ring of men.

  ‘We’ll soon see what you keep beneath those filthy rags, Louis Girardin,’ Raoul jeered. ‘Wait till we cross the line!’

  She followed Félix below deck, her heart pounding, skin flushed. Raoul’s final words bewildered her. Cross which line? The mousey smell of the sailors lingered with her. She had nearly lost everything. If they had exposed her, there would be no place of safety for her on this ship. Louis Girardin was her protection, worn like a greatcoat against foul weather. She could not survive this journey without him.