Mistress and Commander Ch. 04

Mistress and Commander - Ch 4

Hard Her Service, Poor Her Payment

Again, the voyage of Dread Sovereign, with love and heartbreak. No sex here, so strokers tune out.

Sunday was Church day. As they stood no anchor watch the Saturday night (trusting that the law-abiding element controlled Stanley and its harbor), Margarethe and her crew exhibited little bleariness as they belted out the hymns and walked to the altar rail at the 8 a.m. Communion service.

Finding an open restaurant, they had breakfast ashore. As they walked back toward the Jetty, they saw a liberty boat coming from HMS York. "Hope the town is ready for them," said Margarethe. Having nothing else to do, they watched the boat approach the jetty and round-to smartly. Their boat secure, the liberty party disembarked.

"A fine body of men," Margarethe remarked ironically, to no one in particular. "But soft you now, if it isn't the fair Ophelia and her girlfriends." Several young women emerged, their neat caps and pinned-up hair contrasting with the close-cropped hair of the men. One of the women, a sturdy looking blonde with a round, happy face, was looking about her with what could only be described as smiling Irish eyes.

"Nice," said Margarethe, "what do you think, Jenny Wren?"

"Beautiful, Mistress--but not as beautiful as you."

"Flattery will get you everywhere, child."

Turning away as the shore leave party's momentary diversion ended, Margarethe stopped, her heart contracting in her chest and her breath deserting her. "Oh, God, no! No! Not her, not here, not now!" Margarethe was unaware she had spoke aloud.

The woman, clearly an officer, walked toward her. Her face was grim, her pace as measured as if on parade. Her clean-featured face was set, thin lips pursed, eyes clear as if scanning a far horizon. Her English-schoolgirl skin showed wrinkles only at the eyes, from long concentration on screens and dials and read-outs. As tall as Mistress, but slender, agile, high-breasted. Their recognition was mutual, as if a single spark arced between them in a glance.

They stood a foot apart. "Sharyn." "Greta."

"We shouldn't shake hands."

"No, I can't touch you."

"Nor I you. How are you?"

"Well as can be. And you?"

"The same."

"We can't talk here."

"Should we even be talking at all?"

"I'd sooner not but I can't walk off saying nothing."

"No more can I."

"Of all the gin joints in all the world she had to pick mine."

"You always liked Bogart."

"He liked the sea. You love the sea."

"As do you."

"This is my crew, Jenny Renfro dit Jenny Wren, and Robin Cockbourn dit Cock Robin."

"Cock?"

"His thing, not mine."

"I didn't think so. What are you doing here?"

"Cruising to the end of the world, as Mistress and Commander of Dread Sovereign over there." She gestured. "And you?"

"Spending your hard-earned tax quids on Yorkie over there."

"Still an IT type?"

"Yes, it's my department."

"You got your step! Congratulations, Lieutenant-Commander Arkroyd!" Margarethe saluted crisply. She was good at that.

"You've got a very trim ship, Commander von Schuldig."

"Come on board and have a drink, if you can."

"So you can take advantage of me?" Her taut, serious face showed the merest hint of a smile.

"Please don't. You'll make me cry if you smile."

Jenny felt her heart break, the pain in her chest welling up through her throat to her eyes, driving out the tears in a silent stream. Don't sob or whimper, she thought. But this is the one, the woman Mistress calls to in her sleep, the one she loves, that one, not me. Her mouth on me, her tongue, fingers, her strapping on Schwarz Max and fucking me, it's all a substitute, and I'm just a bucket, a thing. It's a lie, and I wish I could die right now.

Robin was beside her, holding her hand, pressing so hard against her side, trying to draw her pain into his own body.

Mistress ignored them, her attention welded to the other.

Arkroyd spoke. "Then I won't smile. I thought I would never smile again after that Sunday, whenever it was, nor cry either. I was cried out. I lost track of years after that, but it doesn't matter any more. Now I've plenty to smile about, and I hope and pray you do too, you deserve it, but I won't smile if you don't wish me to."

OK, Margarethe thought, Sharyn found someone else; why was that a shock? What have I been doing, fucking with Jenny and Robin and the others? But it wasn't the same, and she knew it. Stop fucking lying, she thought, you still love her. And if she has someone else, you can be jealous and hurt and angry and sorrowful, and take it out on Jenny and Robin--my sweet Christ, Jenny is right here and I've treated her like she wasn't here, or hearing, or--

She hugged Jenny to her. "Oh baby, I'm sorry, I'm so so sorry, this wasn't for your ears...."

"Nor apparently for mine," said Arkroyd.

"Look, let's have a drink, all of us. This is a Hell of a situation, but pretending nothing happened and being civilized and talking like motherfucking characters in a cheap play is bullshit and we all know it. Let's go away, our Whaler is there." And she gestured toward it.

"I can't just now," said Arkroyd. "I promised someone I'd meet them, but not here, not in public."

"Then we'll wait here. Go find your someone, clue them in and walk separately to the jetty. We'll wander to the Whaler when we see you."

Arkroyd walked briskly away. Jenny said, "It's the girl with the Irish eyes. I know it's the girl with the smiling Irish eyes. That's who. Oh, Mistress," and she fell sobbing against Margarethe.

Margarethe looked down. She folded her arms around Jenny. "My poor little Jenny Wren, I can't control my feelings. But I can control my actions. I never cheated on you and I never will. You are my girl forever, if you want, and I will cherish you, and care for you--"

"But you'll never ever love me like you love her!"

"Don't say that, Jenny, don't lash what we have to the deadweight of 'never'! Trust me Jenny, I love you now and will love you more. I never wanted to hurt you and I curse myself and curse this day that ever I came to Stanley! If Dread Sovereign were ready for sea, we'd go right now and never look back. Damn me, I'd go this minute in the fuckin' Whaler."

Robin turned from Jenny's side and said to Margarethe, "Here's someone, Mistress."

Jenny was right; the blonde girl with the smiling eyes and the neat rating's dress uniform was walking toward the Whaler. She acknowledged the three of them with a nod of her head, graceful and cheerful, then carried on as naturally as if walking to a strange boat was an everyday matter.

Margarethe said dismissively, "We might as well get there ourselves, before she steals my damn boat." She stole my love, the fucking bitch, she thought, who the fuck knows what else she might steal?

As they climbed into the Whaler, Arkroyd strode up to the gunwale and asked "Permission to come aboard?" "Granted," said Margarethe, "welcome aboard, Commander."

The run out to Dread Sovereign was short and the occupants of the Whaler silent.

Securing alongside Dread Sovereign, Robin and Jenny made fast the Whaler, glad to have the mechanical tasks to divert them, as Margarethe had been glad of the distraction of conning the Whaler from the jetty to her ship.

They filed into the Great Cabin. They stood awkwardly, none willing to move, much less talk.

Robin broke the silence. "Doesn't anyone need a drink, or need to use the head, or anything?"

If Margarethe could loosen her jaw, that she clamped shut with all her strength, if it could have dropped, it would have done. The fury in her face guaranteed Robin punishments incomprehensible; if she had not needed another watchkeeper, however inept, Robin would have been dismissed the ship on the spot, with fifty lashes to his backside and a tourist class ticket home; the last would be his only because English law required it.

"I do," said the smiling Irishwoman, but her accent was Northern, hard.

Margarethe pointed toward the crews' head, forward.

The Irishwoman turned and walked to the head, ignoring Margarethe's rudeness. Sharyn Arkroyd said, "Might I impose? I had to abandon the pint I wanted when I met you. Can you fetch me one?"

Margarethe snapped at Robin, "You started this, so get the Lieutenant Commander a pint. She can have the Boddington's I'd been saving, I know she likes it."

"Yes, Mistress," and he scurried off to the galley, returning to the silent Great Cabin with Mistress' sacred stein filled with Mistress' untouchable beer. "Lieutenant Commander?" he said humbly.

Arkroyd took the stein, said, "Thank you. And thank you, Greta. Here's kindness," and she drank. Margarethe could not control the tears. I dreamt of her, she thought, I saw her alive in my dreams, drinking the beer, saying that silly toast, and I woke up praying God to let me die because I couldn't bear it....

"I'm sorry, Greta," said Arkroyd, seeing her pain, "I didn't think it would still hurt so much...."

Margarethe's face grew cold, hard, denying her feelings, telling another lie, but her heart and mouth couldn't lie. Talking through her tears, "It will hurt so much until they dump my carcass in the sea. I loved you--no that's another lie, I love you and I always will. Please let's not go on. Just drink your beer and leave, please, I beg you, Sharyn."

"Greta, you know I didn't want to. You know I loved you. I would have given you anything, but I couldn't give myself. If I loved you your way there wouldn't be me, there would be Greta's doll, Greta's toy, Greta's trophy. You swallow the ones you love. You strangle them. I can't live that way."

"You didn't. You left. You took your precious self off for whatever. So do it again. Go. And take the Belfast beauty rose in there with you."

"That was the worst thing I ever heard from you," said Robin. "Dismiss me, throw me out, but I won't have that. You're hurt, the great Mistress and Commander was disobeyed, you're not the goddam sovereign of the seas. You hurt Jenny, you hurt Sharyn, you're hitting like a drunk in a bar fight, and damn it, you're better than that, so fucking stop it! Now!"

Margarethe spun at him, her fists raised, and threw the punch without seeing through the red haze that covered her eyes. Jenny caught the punch, stepping in front of Robin as the blow caught her forehead and dropped her to the deck. Robin threw himself over Jenny, as Margarethe drew back her foot to kick. Robin yelled, "Are you proud? Are you happy, Mistress?" He spat the word. Disgust in his voice, "Go ahead and kick, it'll make you feel better."

"Oh my God what did I do?" Margarethe was shuddering, her body out of control. "Oh my Jenny Wren, my baby, I never meant to--I never--never-mm-m-meant-t-t-t t-to h-h-hurt-t-t m-m-my-y-y ba-a-by" and she broke, completely.

Robin stood, lifting Jenny and moved her to the settee. He took Margarethe's hand and moved her to the bench across the Great Cabin. She sat, crushed, shaking, as the tears came and the sobs rose to hysteria.

The young woman came into the Great Cabin. "I didn't want to come in," she said.

Sharyn Arkroyd said, "We've got to go, sweetness."

"No, don't," said Margarethe, trying to recover, "not like this. We broke up once with filthy words and pain. Not again."

"I hardly think we're going to kiss and make tender speeches."

"No, but we can try to do something better."

She got up and walked to Jenny. "Baby Jenny Wren, please forgive me. I was crazy, I never hurt so much. Please Jenny Wren."

Jenny struggled and stood up. She raised her arms to embrace Margarethe, wincing as she raised her head, a red bruise starting where Margarethe had struck her. They held each other.

Margarethe said, "When I was little, when they hit me, when I was sent to bed without supper or blankets, I had a little toy kitten I hid from them, and I hugged it and it took the pain away. I don't have it now, and I want to hug it to take away the pain--"

Jenny hugged her.

Arkroyd said, "We really should go."

"You haven't introduced us to your friend."

"True. This is Leading Weapons Specialist Molly Mulligan."

"How can I say hello? It sounds like a stupid movie." Margarethe walked to Molly and kissed her. "Make her happy. She is so worth it."

"I know. I will."

"You're a rating, Sharyn's an officer. It must be hard."

Sharyn said, "It's bloody impossible. Oh, the Navy is very careful not to be outraged. As between officers and gentlemen, or officers and ladies, Lord Nelson's blind eye is alive and well, thank you very much. And as long as no one pulls rank to get fucked, everyone studiously looks the other way when the lower deck gets frisky as well. There are plenty of birth control pills and patches and condoms for those so inclined. But officer and enlistee, straight or us, that's on the no-fly list. I've a sympathetic XO on Yorkie, an old shipmate, and the Skipper takes care to know only what affects the ship's efficiency. Mollie isn't in my department, I don't influence her promotion, we don't even see or talk to each other in an official way. But we have to meet as if we were criminals, we can't show what we feel, or we'll be dismissed the Service. And I gave you up, Greta, because I love the Service. And now I must give up Mollie, unless she gives up the Service. If she does, we can marry when we get back to England. And then we can walk together and be together and love together in the sunlight, not in a dark corner in a storeroom."

"So?" asked Margarethe.

"Molly, tell her."

Molly said, "The Service means to me what it means to Sharyn. There's nothing for me at home in Derry. I left my family, my religion, my so-called "country" to serve my real country, and my Queen. My family said I was dead when I joined up; but I was never more alive, I thought. I could be who I am, a subject of my Queen, a lesbian, a Royal Navy sailor serving proudly. And then I met Sharyn. Who needs Heaven, I have Sharyn and the life I love. But I can't have both."

Molly stood beside Sharyn. The spoke as if they'd rehearsed what they said. They held their hands clasped, and said together, "I cannot bear the burden of my responsibilities, and discharge my duties as I would wish to do, without the help and support of the woman I love. But I won't run away."

Margarethe said, "I suppose you haven't much time now."

"Until tomorrow, said Sharyn Arkroyd. "We have 24 hours. I thought I might find an hotel...."

"You can have my last Boddington's, Sharyn, and I promise I won't cry when you toast us. Molly can have a drink if she wants, with my blessing. Then you both have my stateroom until morning. Jenny, can you forgive me?"

"Yes, Mistress, I'm your kitten, hold me and I'll take the pain away."

"It's getting late," said Robin, "shall I cook us all some dinner?"

Margarethe looked at him with something approaching respect. "First you save my life, then you save my soul. I might just keep you after all, Cock Robin. You are now rated Able-Bodied Seaman, and you can spare us the dirty jokes. Make it so--dinner for all hands and guests."

"Aye aye--Mistress--and Commander."