Taking Liberties. Diana Norman

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СКАЧАТЬ opened her mouth, then shut it again. ‘Go on.’

      ‘And Josh was on board Pilgrim.’ Philippa took in her mother’s reaction. ‘Didn’t you know?’

      ‘Josh? In the American navy?’

      ‘Didn’t you know?’

      ‘No,’ Makepeace said clearly, ‘I didn’t. How could I? I didn’t even know you and Susan had set out for England ’til two weeks ago. The mail’s interrupted. Small matter of a war, I guess.’

      ‘Is that why you didn’t come for me sooner?’

      ‘Of course it was. Did you think I …’ Makepeace bit her lip, this was no way to resume their relationship. ‘So Josh was a sailor on the Pilgrim.’

      ‘Able seaman, bless him. He joined to fight England’s tyranny.’

      ‘Go on.’

      And then, Philippa said – she was trembling – a British ship of the line, the massive Riposte, caught up with Pilgrim and opened fire with broadsides of fifty-one guns.

      Makepeace held the child’s hands tight while she relived it, saw the mouth twist to try and find words to express the inexpressible – ‘noise’, ‘explosions’ – and find them inadequate for the horror of being bombarded, of panic’s indignity.

      ‘You can’t get away, Mama. We’d been put below deck but … we stuffed our cloaks in our ears … I was scuttling. Like a rat.’ She looked at her mother with her teeth bared. ‘Like a rat. Screaming and piddling …’

      Thank God she’s telling me, Makepeace thought, and said: ‘Anybody would.’

      Philippa shook her head. Anybody hadn’t – she had. ‘And then, things were breaking. Aunt Susan flung herself on top of me. Everything went dark. Then there were flames and I saw Aunt Susan …’

      The broken sentences flickered like gunfire on a broken ship, a broken body. Susan staked, like a witch at a crossroads, by a giant splinter through her spine. Susan of the pretty fingernails, Susan … ‘Green curdles my complexion and I shun it like the plague.’

      Makepeace let go of her daughter’s hands and covered her face with her own. What had Susan to do with their filthy war? How could men look at her body, at the child beside it, and not see the obscenity of what they did?

      Her voice going high as she tried to control it, Philippa went on. ‘Josh found me and got me into a boat. He swam beside it until a crew from the Riposte picked us up. They took Josh away then and locked him up with the rest of Pilgrim’s survivors. They put me in the care of the ship’s doctor.’

      Makepeace dried her eyes. ‘Were they kind to you?’

      ‘I suppose so. I hated them. They lined the ship’s rail and cheered as Pilgrim went down and Aunt Susan with her.’

      Makepeace said: ‘I never had a friend of my own age. When I met her coming over, she was … well bred, not well off but well bred. I was a tavern-keeper, I’d lost everything, or thought I had. Susan dressed me in her own clothes, taught me to walk so your father would notice me. God rest her soul, she was the most generous person I ever knew.’

      ‘She was.’

      The noise from the taproom came up through the floorboards into the quiet of the room in waves of increasingly enjoyed hospitality and Makepeace realized that, though she and Philippa had been eating breakfast, it was approaching evening.

      She tensed herself for the next round. ‘What happened when you landed?’

      Philippa, too, gritted her teeth. ‘They lined Josh and the other men up on the quay. There was me and a little boy from the Riposte, a ship’s boy. He didn’t like it in the navy. Mr Varney, he was one of Riposte’s lieutenants, he told us to stay where we were, somebody would come to dispose of us. I was afraid they’d put me in an orphanage or some terrible place. Jimmy, that’s the boy, he didn’t like it either. As soon as Mr Varney’s back was turned, he ran away, I don’t know where.’

      For the first time, Philippa started to cry. ‘Then … then they put Josh and the others in a boat to take them to prison. He’d been shouting, telling me to go to a church and tell them who I was so they’d send for you. He was frightened for me. And I was so frightened for him. The British treat prisoners of war like vermin. They shut them up in prison ships so they die of hunger and smallpox. Everybody in New York knows about the prison ships. I tried to follow him but I didn’t have any money and it was … horrible. I didn’t know what to do, Ma. I just stood and cried.’

      Makepeace kissed her. ‘I wouldn’t have known what to do either.’

      ‘Wouldn’t you?’ Philippa dried her eyes. ‘And then Dell came up and said that once upon a time she’d stood on a quay and cried and nobody had helped her but she wanted to help me. She took me home.’

      ‘What sort of home?’ Makepeace asked sharply.

      ‘It’s a room above a pawn shop in Splice Alley. She doesn’t keep it very clean …’ Philippa’s voice became prim. ‘I had to clean it.’ She became aware of her mother’s tension. ‘You needn’t look like that, Mama. I know what she does.’

      ‘What?’

      ‘She sells her body to men. She says when you’ve got nothing else to sell, that’s what you have to do.’

      ‘Does she.’

      ‘She didn’t bring any men to the room, if that’s what you’re worrying about. She works the ships.’

      Makepeace looked around the inn’s bedroom with its lumpy walls and furniture. I am hearing these things from my daughter’s lips, she thought. We are having this conversation.

      Yet, at least, her diagnosis was being confirmed; her daughter had been kept at one remove from the wretched woman’s occupation or she wouldn’t be talking about it with this judicial remoteness.

      ‘She’s a kind person,’ Philippa said, wagging her head at her mother’s expression. ‘She protected me. She wanted to because I was in danger. I was her good deed. She said I was the brand she plucked from the burning. “Sure, I’ll be brandishing you to St Peter at the Gates, and maybe he’ll unlock them and let me into Heaven, after all.”’

      The imitation was startling not just for its exact Irishness nor the affection with which it was done but because gaiety was inherent in the mimicker as well as in the mimicry. Makepeace hadn’t, she realized, heard such lightheartedness from her daughter since a brief period at Raby when she and Andra, still only business partners, had been getting ready to dig for coal and Philippa had played with the miners’ children.

      She was happy then, before I took her away. I thought she deserved better as Sir Philip’s daughter. Better…Dear God, look what better brought her.

      ‘Dell’s a child, really,’ eleven-year-old Philippa said.

      Makepeace couldn’t resist saying: ‘She’s a child who left you waiting all night in a boat while she cavorted with sailors.’

      ‘That СКАЧАТЬ