Into the World Read online

  Félix led her to the great cabin and closed the door firmly behind them. She leaned back against the reassuring wood. When her eyes had adjusted to the gloom she saw that the great cabin had been transformed. The windows had been blocked and the room was lit by a single lantern. Every surface was covered in books or loose leaves of paper. Plant presses were piled on the floor. Books splayed open at her feet.

  ‘They are even smaller than I predicted,’ Labillardière said excitedly, catching the water from the dripping cheesecloth net into a glass dish. He and Ventenat were gathered around a brass instrument at the end of the table.

  Félix smiled at her, beckoning her forwards. ‘Would you like to look in the microscope?’ he asked.

  What were they looking at? The water in the dish looked clear, there was nothing in it. She took a step towards it, then faltered. Could they sense the sex of her if she stood among them? Félix nudged Ventenat out of the way and made room for her. The brass instrument waited, its eyepiece thrusting upwards, inviting curiosity.

  Hesitantly, she approached the strange instrument. At first the view was blurred and she closed one eye and then the other. Félix turned a brass dial and suddenly her vision filled with rounded blobs, like fish eggs.

  She drew back. The dish beneath the microscope held clear water. How could she possibly see those things? ‘Are they alive?’ she whispered.

  ‘Minute animalcula, just as I hypothesised!’ Labillardière swirled the small glass container. ‘Look again.’

  Félix blew out the lantern and the room went dark. A chill leaped down her nape. In the eyepiece, tiny sparks of greenish light twinkled all over the round, jellylike bodies. Girardin jumped back. The dish glowed green.

  ‘It is the creatures themselves that release the light!’ Labillardière bounced on his toes. ‘When I pass this water through blotting paper they are captured, and the water no longer glows!’

  Félix struck his flint to light a reed and the lantern flared to life again.

  ‘And do you know what this discovery means, gentlemen?’ Labillardière clapped his hands together. ‘We are the first men in the world to have found the creatures that emit this ghostly phosphorence! Hundreds of sailors have seen the phenomena, but we have seen its genesis!’

  ‘You mean these things are in the water all the time? In the sea water that we wash in?’ Girardin looked to the pail Félix had set down, repulsed by the thought.

  ‘Good question,’ he said, enthused. ‘Are they spread across the water’s surface and only luminesce in the right conditions? Or do they float in big schools and we encounter them sporadically? That is what we must test. Citizen Lahaie, we will need your services again this evening to take more samples of the waters.’

  ‘Surely, Citizen Labillardière,’ Félix replied quickly, ‘in the spirit of your egalitarian ideals, you might like the honour of taking the samples yourself?’

  ‘My dear gardener, this is why you will never make a true savant. How many times have I told you that our sampling regime must be kept standard?’

  The cabin door swung open behind her. Captain d’Auribeau in his tricorn hat was silhouetted against the daylight. ‘What in the name of the King have you done to this room?’ he roared.

  ‘For a small man he has a very loud voice,’ Félix whispered to Girardin.

  ‘You have found us in the middle of a momentous discovery!’ Labillardière announced.

  ‘How are my officers supposed to eat and take their rest in here when you have filled every surface with your paraphernalia?’ the captain demanded, unmoved.

  The naturalists looked around them as though noticing for the first time the paper and drawings strewn across the dining table, the hand lenses and mineralogist’s hammer carelessly placed among the china plates. At d’Auribeau’s feet a large tome lay open displaying the reproductive system of a goat.

  Girardin began to edge away from the dining table.

  D’Auribeau stalked towards Labillardière, clutching his arm behind his back. ‘You will clean this room now.’

  ‘I’m afraid that’s impossible. My colleagues and I are about to make our drawings of these amazing specimens. It is not convenient.’

  ‘I will tell you when it is convenient!’ d’Auribeau snapped. ‘I am your commanding officer.’

  ‘The pursuit of knowledge is a higher power than your own.’

  The top of d’Auribeau’s hat just reached the naturalist’s chin, and he was forced to tilt his head back to fix Labillardière with his stare.

  Backing towards the door, Girardin stumbled against a chair. A stack of books on the seat wobbled and she caught the journal perched on top. None of the men seemed to have noticed. She opened it. Would they miss an empty book? she wondered. Her thumb rubbed the deckled edges of the paper.

  ‘Soon we will cross the equator,’ d’Auribeau said. ‘The navy has a special ceremony for men who have never crossed the line before.’

  Girardin froze. Cross the line. Was this what Raoul had meant?

  ‘We’ll have you stripped naked, tarred and smeared with the scrapings from the pigsties and hens’ coops, and then tossed into the ocean! I do love a good ritual, don’t you?’

  Her breath was trapped in her chest. Félix looked up and their eyes met. He stared, puzzled, as though he saw the naked fear in her.

  She fled. Behind her, she could hear smashing glass and d’Auribeau’s voice pierce like a splinter.

  ‘Was that your momentous scientific discovery? How clumsy of me.’

  Chapter 15

  Latitude 1°30′ N, longitude 25°30′ W, 27 November 1791

  GIRARDIN SLEPT LITTLE. HER THOUGHTS WHIRLED AROUND THE questions that frightened her most. Would she ever know a moment’s safety again? She feared her deception would give even decent men an excuse for cruelty. Had she consigned herself to years of torture and rape? She listened to the rumble of snoring from the crew and the freshening wind that nudged the ship towards the equator. Her father was right; she was a foolish child, not capable of making her own decisions. What stupidity could outweigh this?

  Abandoning her hammock, Girardin reached for the stolen journal. She smoothed her fingers along the crease in the centre of the page. The paper sighed beneath her stroke. She allowed her quill to hover above the page, afraid to make a mark on the unblemished skin. She formed the letters in large, careful strokes.

  My darling son,

  The words, were stark black on the creamy paper, judging her. What sort of mother abandons her child?

  I have failed you.

  The act of writing was becoming easier. She concentrated on the lines flowing from one letter to the next as she drew the ink across the paper. It was easier to make marks than to think about the meaning of her words.

  I have nothing to leave you, except my story.

  But what could she tell him?

  The first time she’d formed a word out of letters had been with a stick in the gravel. A boy had showed her. She had caught him drawing in the path that her father had raked that morning. They were in the labyrinth, her favourite part of the gardens; the trellis walls with their overgrown creepers gave her plenty of places to hide. It was clear he was not one of the gardeners’ children as his clothes marked him out as someone from the palace.

  ‘You can’t do that!’ she whispered, looking over her shoulder to see if her father had seen the boy. The boy merely laughed, fearless, a high, ticklish sound. He scratched more figures in the path. She was both scared and thrilled at his daring. ‘Can you teach me?’ she asked with sudden boldness.

  ‘Give me your name,’ he said. With great care the boy traced symbols into the dusty gravel. ‘Here you are.’ He held out the stick. ‘Copy what I have written.’

  She felt the spark of illicit thrill when she clasped the stem. She began to trace the letters he had drawn, careful with each mysterious shape. When she was finished she stood back to admire the whole.

  ‘My father says lessons would be wasted
on me.’

  ‘Well you can go to mine instead of me!’ he offered cheerfully.

  ‘I think they would notice the difference,’ she scoffed.

  ‘Not really, no one pays any attention to me—it’s my brother that matters. How old are you?’

  ‘Seven.’

  ‘Exactly the same age as me. I will bring you some of my clothes! You can go to reading, writing and mathematics, and I will go to geography. That is the only subject I like. One day I will sail around the world. I am going to be an explorer!’ He charged off around the circular base of a fountain, his arms spread wide.

  Marie-Louise cringed, afraid the gardeners would hear them. Children were not supposed to play in the gardens, they all knew that. The gardens of Versailles were a mystery to families of the gardeners. The wall of the garden towered above the gardeners’ shacks and none of the children were allowed through the gates. On summer nights, they watched fireworks fly above the wall and ran like rats around the base, looking for a way in.

  When she found the hole in the garden wall, she told no one. Not one of her brothers or sisters and none of the other gardeners’ children. She removed the blocks from the crumbling mortar and squeezed through, carefully rebuilding the hole behind her. The garden was not like anything she had imagined. It had no dirt. She had slipped through a portal from a world of muck and grime, of brown wood and grey stone, to this ordered fantasy, this crisp, green parkland. The statues had been scrubbed so that they shone white in the sunlight. The water of the fountains sparkled. The grass, flush with spring growth and neatly clipped, was luminous. The world as she understood it would never be the same again. This wall was so thin, she had touched the blocks with her fingertips to remind herself that it was real, but the difference from one side to the other had been staggering.

  Girardin slammed the journal shut. The candle stuttered with the sudden draft of air. There was no point in reliving old memories. She didn’t want to think of Versailles and all that she had done there, especially now. Tomorrow she would be exposed, stripped naked with all the others who had not crossed the equator before. Tomorrow, she would have to fight.

  Chapter 16

  The equator, latitude 0°, 28 November 1791

  IT WAS STILL DARK WHEN SHE MADE HER WAY TO THE GALLEY. She took a knife from the block and cinched the drawstring of her trousers tight, trapping the handle against her hip. But with her first step, the knife slipped and pierced the leather of her shoe. Breathing deeply to calm herself, she took the knife and slid it into her trouser pocket, slicing along the seam. Then she strapped the knife blade against her thigh with a bandage of cheesecloth. She practised slipping her hand into her pocket and grasping the handle. For now it would have to do. She thought of the naturalists carrying their instruments in purpose-built pockets. If she survived the day she would sew a leather pouch on the inside of her trousers. If she survived the day.

  Girardin prepared the General’s breakfast as usual and listened to the ship begin to stir. The sailors rose early, singing with gusto, the air charged with anticipation. She walked solemnly past the animal pens, ignoring the jaunty whistle of the sailor shovelling manure into buckets. The chickens squawked and flapped as they were grasped by the feet and swung upside down, their feathers swept out beneath them. She didn’t notice Besnard until he pushed his face into hers. He wore a wig made from an old mop and had coconut halves strapped to his chest. He arched his back and wiggled.

  ‘Not crossed the line before, eh?’

  Girardin gripped her tray. What would a man like Besnard do if he knew the truth: that a woman dared to act as one of them? Worse still, that she dared to be his master?

  A young midshipman rushed up from below, catching her elbow by mistake and spinning her around, setting the plates rattling on her tray. She caught the apologetic grin of a clear-faced boy, Mérite de Saint-Méry, not yet twenty years. He cried out his apologies as he reeled away, scampering up the ratlines as though the rope net was a ladder. He laughed as he climbed into the tops. ‘You’ll have to catch me first, Raoul, if you want to tar and feather me!’

  She whirled about to see Raoul standing behind her holding a sharpened trident.

  ‘You’ll be next.’ He smirked. ‘And don’t think you can hide in the General’s bed.’

  Girardin ducked her burning face and hurried away. None of the naturalists had yet left their cabins and their doors were firmly closed. As she climbed the stairs to the quarterdeck, a roar erupted behind her. She saw a barrel thrown into a net, dunked into the ocean and hauled back out, dripping. She felt the shape of the knife pressing against her thigh.

  D’Auribeau was with the General when she entered his cabin. Silently, she placed the coffee pot on the dining table and arranged the breakfast dishes. Neither man paid her any attention.

  ‘Captain d’Auribeau, you forget we have civilians on board.’

  ‘But, sir, the crew are expecting naval traditions to be observed. We have a duty to fulfil.’ D’Auribeau tilted his head back, his jaw jutting forwards.

  The General sighed. ‘You know as well as I the difficulties we face in maintaining cordial relations between the officers and the savants. I fear our naval rituals will be misunderstood.’

  ‘But those naturalists are insupportable! They treat you with the utmost disrespect.’ His hands were crossed behind his back and Girardin watched as his fingers repeatedly stretched wide and then clenched into fists.

  ‘There is a civilian chaplain on board! Captain d’Auribeau, think of what you say. These petty rituals can get out of hand when men find themselves unleashed. As much as we’d enjoy tumbling them from their pedestals, it is not worth risking eternal damnation!’

  ‘We should never have let republicans on board this ship. They have no respect for authority, no respect for the King.’

  The General held up a placating hand.

  ‘They are revolutionaries!’ d’Auribeau spat. ‘We do not know what they might have done.’

  Girardin dared not move, dared not breathe.

  The General shook his head. ‘These men are obsessed with plants, not politics.’

  ‘Politics? You call the imprisonment of our King politics? It is treason!’

  ‘Nevertheless, our King has tasked us with scientific investigation. We must suffer these savants. We must show them respect.’

  D’Auribeau paced across the room, unable to hold himself still. Girardin shrank away as he swung about. ‘The crew have spent time preparing for the ceremony. They will not like this.’

  Girardin poured the General’s coffee with a shaking hand.

  ‘Double their rations and give them bonus pay to spend in Cape Town.’

  ‘I fear they may act rashly.’ D’Auribeau lowered his voice. ‘Perhaps mutinously.’

  Girardin dropped the coffee cup into its saucer with a rolling clatter. A black tide sloshed over the sides of the white porcelain. She murmured apologies for the interruption. D’Auribeau kept his gaze fixed on the General but flicked an eyebrow in annoyance. Girardin steadied her hands on the tabletop. Would the captain’s tactic work?

  ‘Mutiny?’ The General shook his head. ‘I have more faith in my men.’ His eyes drifted towards Girardin. She caught his gaze, hoping he could read her gratitude.

  ‘General, you have given me captaincy of this ship and as such I must declare most forcibly that military rule should be upheld! We cannot allow these savants to run our expedition!’

  ‘Captain,’ the General snapped, ‘you forget yourself. I am the leader of this expedition and it is for me to say how it should be run!’

  The silence was complete. Girardin held her breath.

  ‘Make the announcements,’ the General said curtly.

  D’Auribeau marched out through the cabin door and slammed it behind him. Girardin let her breath slowly seep out of her. Leaning against the wall, she closed her eyes.

  ‘A brilliant navigator, that man,’ the General said with a sigh. ‘The best in
all the French navy I would say. He has a rare talent for mathematics and astronomy. Diplomacy, however, is not his forte. He does not yet realise that humiliation is a bitter pill which may be swallowed but never dissolved.’

  Girardin heard the roar of disappointment from the deck and felt the smallness of the paring knife against her right thigh. How foolish her plan now looked. The ship had a crew of almost a hundred men; she never could have fought them off.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said shakily, ‘you have saved me.’

  The General gestured towards a chair. ‘Sit.’

  She wiped her hands down the front of her trousers and sat slowly, careful of the knife nestled against her thigh. Together they listened to the scuffles breaking out on deck. The booming voice of Lieutenant Rossel commanded order. Quickly the men were set to work.

  ‘Best you stay in here awhile.’

  Those kind eyes. That sad smile. The wrinkles in the soft skin beneath his eyelids seemed more pronounced today. Up close she saw beads of sweat streaked through the white powder he dabbed on his face to conceal the spots of age. His distinguished grey wig sat awkwardly upon his brow and she had an urge to reach up and push it into place. He looked like a man who should be in a country house bouncing grandchildren on his knee, somewhere far away from the tempestuous souls aboard this ship.

  ‘I was brought up in a château,’ he said unexpectedly. ‘Massive place, built right on the edge of a river valley and so many rooms you could get lost in it for days. Problem was it had tiny windows, you could never get a decent view of anything. And it was miles from the sea. Try as I might, I could not get the stubborn monolith to move any closer.’ His eyes twinkled. ‘Come.’ He stood up and opened the door to his private chamber.

  Girardin’s eyes widened. Was this the price of her safe passage?

  ‘I want to show you why I have chosen this life.’