'Stow that racket! And hands off! Leave the girl alone. It's me she's come to see.'
An enormous man had risen from his seat by the bar at the far end of the room. From the colour of his hair and the thick growth of beard that sprouted from his chin, Marianne guessed that this was Black Fish and forced back a gasp. Old Nat was right, never had she seen anyone so ugly. He was a giant of a man, black haired and swarthy skinned. His broad face, with its shapeless features and wide, fleshy nose, might almost have been flattened by a blow from some gigantic fist. The eyes, so bloodshot as to obscure whatever colour they might have had, spoke of long familiarity with the bottle. His bear-like form was clad in a striped jersey with, over it, a faded red coat which still retained some remnants of gold braid. An ancient cocked hat adorned with an enormous green cockade sat jauntily sideways on his pigtailed head. Loud-voiced and powerful, brandishing the inevitable pipe, Black Fish loomed up through the thick fug that filled the room like some weird and menacing Father Neptune. It was all Marianne could do to keep from crossing herself. But already a vast hairy hand had grasped her arm and was drawing her irresistibly forward. She found herself seated on the form facing old Nat who was chuckling and rubbing his hands.
'Its just as I told ye, lass! He's a right one is Black Fish—'
More frightened than she was prepared to show, Marianne privately considered that this Black Fish bore a striking resemblance to the pirates whose exploits she had devoured with such relish when safely between the covers of a book. The reality was quite a different matter. The man before her had no black patch over one eye or wooden leg but, these details apart, he seemed the living image of a gentleman of fortune. And so ugly! The prospect of finding herself alone at sea with this dreadful man made her shudder. But for the alarming words she had overheard pass between Jason Beaufort and the short stranger, she would probably have abandoned all thought of any closer acquaintance with this terrifying individual. But the American's presence in the city brought the shadow of the scaffold more menacingly close and she had no choice but to escape by any means and in whatever company, even that of the devil himself if need be.
Black Fish was watching her knowingly from beneath his bushy black brow. He leaned heavily across the table and thrust his face into hers.
'Not so keen now to sail the seas with old Black Fish, eh lass?'
Marianne gritted her teeth and forced herself to look her fearful acquaintance in the face.
'I am obliged to go to France. It is a matter of – of life and death!'
The mariner opened his mouth in a roar of laughter, letting out a gust of pungent, rum-laden breath.
'You love your young coxcomb as much as that do you? You can't be afraid if you mean to cross the Channel at the end of November!'
'I am not afraid of the sea and I wish to go to France. Will you take me?'
'That depends. What'll you pay?'
'A guinea.'
'Not much for the risk of a brave man's life. Well, let's see your guinea then at least we'll know you speak the truth.'
For answer, she opened her hand. The lamplight gleamed for an instant on the heavy gold coin with the plump profile of King George III as it lay in her palm. Black Fish reached across and took it. He bit it and gave her a wink.
'Good enough. It's a bargain, my girl. I'll take you. You're lucky, I've business of my own with the French dogs. Your guinea will serve.'
At once, Marianne felt her spirits revive. Now that he had agreed to take her, hope and courage returned and she was able to fight with all her strength against the insidious counsels of despair. She refused to think that this man might betray her or, having taken her money, that he might leave without her. In any case, she was determined not to let him out of her sight.
'Thank you,' was all she said. 'When do we sail?'
'You seem in a mighty hurry – where do you lodge?'
'Nowhere. If we leave tonight, I have no need of a lodging.'
'Very well, we stay here until ten and then go aboard.'
'The tide is not full until midnight—'
'Bright as a button, ain't we! But over inquisitive. I've things to do before we put to sea, my pretty! Here, drink some of this! Proper turnip head you've got on you.'
This proved to be a glass of steaming grog which Black Fish shoved towards his passenger. Marianne eyed the pungent beverage suspiciously. She had never tasted spirits and was on the point of saying so.
'But – I do not know—'
'You don't know but what it mightn't make you ill, eh? Never tried it before?' Bending forward suddenly so that his beard almost touched Marianne's ear, he muttered rapidly: 'Try and drop the flash talk if y' can. Ye'll get yourself noticed—'
Taken by surprise, she gave him a startled glance then seized the glass and bravely swallowed down a draught of the burning liquid. She gasped, choked and began to cough wildly while Black Fish thumped her mightily between the shoulder blades and roared with laughter.
'Takes you back a bit, at first,' he agreed encouragingly. 'But you'll get used to it—'
The worst of it was that this curious assertion proved correct. Once she had got her breath back, Marianne discovered that the grog had power to spread an agreeable warmth through her exhausted body. It flowed down like a fragrant, fiery river. All in all, she found it very good. She took another sip, rather more cautiously this time, to Black Fish's huge delight.
'We'll make a sailor of her yet!' he boomed, smashing his fist down on the table with such force that old Nat, who for some moments past, had been fast asleep and snoring with his head on his arms, sat up with a start. He sat there, blinking helplessly, still half asleep.
'Go home to bed, Nat,' Black Fish told him. 'Time old grandads were asleep. We'll have another jar, me and the lass, then we'll be off.'
Hiking Nat unceremoniously to his feet, he picked up the red hat which had fallen off the old man's head and stuck it on again at random. Then he gave him a push towards the door.
'G'bye, little lass,' old Nat mumbled. 'God speed—'
'That's enough! Off with you, now!' Black Fish cut him abruptly short.
Marianne, too, felt very much inclined for sleep. She was warm now and the rum, as well as filling her with a comfortable sense of well being, was making her very sleepy. Viewed through the soothing veil of alcohol, her terrors faded, leaving only an insuperable weariness. However, she was obliged to sit a whole hour more with drooping eyelids, watching Black Fish consume quantities of rum and smoke pipe after pipe. In all this time, he paid her no attention at all. He sat with his eyes fixed vacantly on some point in the smoke-filled room and seemed to have forgotten his companion altogether. She sat bravely on, waiting patiently for him to give the signal to leave. The crowd about them had thinned. Two or three men were throwing dice while others were gathered round a table listening to the battle yarns of a quartermaster of marines. A drunken sailor in a corner was singing a tuneless refrain and periodically thrusting away a girl who was trying to take him home. Black Fish and Marianne sat on unnoticed. She was beginning to wonder for how much longer this would go on when the black wooden clock struck ten.
On the last stroke, Black Fish hoisted himself to his feet and, still without looking at her, laid hold of his companion's hand.
'Come, it is time,' was all he said.
Their departure occasioned no remark. Once outside the low doorway with its leaded panes, they were caught up in a fierce gust of wind bringing with it a strong smell of the sea. Marianne breathed in deeply with a sudden exhilaration. The wind smacked of freedom. And suddenly, standing there in the inn doorway, she discovered a new meaning to her flight. Her first thought had been undoubtedly to save her life but as she smelt the sea breeze it came to her suddenly that there was a fierce joy in severing the last ties that bound her, leaving her moorings behind, tearing up the old roots and drifting off into the unknown guided only by her own will. Impulsively, she held out the folds of her cloak, letting the wind swell them, as though she would offer herself to be picked up and carried away by it.
Black Fish had been watching curiously. 'Sure you're not frightened?' he asked suddenly. 'It'll be a hard night!'
'I don't care! It's good, this wind! And besides,' she suddenly remembered her role, 'I am happy, I am going to meet—'
'No!' he interrupted her roughly. 'Don't talk to me about your lover! I don't know why you want to go to France, but it is not for a man.'
'How did you know?' she asked him, making no further attempt at denial.
'One's only to look at your eyes, my beauty! Not a spark of love in them! When I looked at them just now, when old Nat brought you to me, I saw just one thing. Fear! That's why I'm taking you, because you are afraid. I've no truck with love. It's a waste of time! But fear now, there's some sense in that. Now come, its time we were off! There's things to do before we put to sea.'
Black Fish spat magnificently, stuffed his pipe in his pocket and ramming his improbable hat down on his head against the wind, set off with great strides along the quay. Marianne followed him, still wondering why this hideous pirate should fill her with such instinctive trust.
CHAPTER FOUR
The Stormy Seas
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