Proudly Marlowe pointed and explained over the roar and she answered with a nod and a smile from time to time, holding his arm lightly to steady herself, not hearing a thing or caring to listen, possessed by the engine room that seemed to her a masculine Valhalla where machines were married to men, now part of them, primitive yet futuristic, slaves tending their masters and not the other way around.
Unnoticed the signalman came up behind them and saluted. Not being heard he came forward, saluted again and broke her spell. He handed Marlowe the written message. Marlowe read it quickly, then nodded and shouted at the man, "Acknowledge!" He leaned over to Angelique, "Sorry we have to go now."
At that moment signal bells from the bridge sounded below. The engineer officer acknowledged the order. Men rushed to close cocks and open others, leaning on levers and checking dials. As steam power came off the huge driving shaft and the engine began to slow, the noise lessened and the stokers leaned gratefully on their shovels, their chests gulping air heavy with coal dust and wrung out the towels they wore about their necks. One man turned on the bunker and cursed it, still drowned by the roar, and opened his trousers and pissed on the coals in a jet that ended in steam to the laughter of other men. Marlowe hastily took her arm and guided her away, up the gangway. One stoker noticed her, then another and before she had gone, they were all staring at her departing figure, silently. When she had gone out of sight, one of them made obscene movements to more laughter mixed with a sudden, sad silence.
On deck the instant lack of noise and breathing in the sea air, made her feel quite giddy for a moment and she held on to Marlowe. "Are you all right?"
"Oh yes," she said. "Thank you, John, that was, well, extraordinary."
"Oh?" Marlowe said, absently, his attention on sailors in the rigging and on deck hoisting and adjusting sails. "I suppose it is, the first time. At sea, in a storm it gets rough down there. Stokers and engineers are a race apart."
He took her over to Malcolm. "Sorry, have to leave you a moment."
He went below to his cabin that was aft. The Marine sentry saluted as he passed. The ship's safe was under his bunk. He unlocked it nervously. The message from the Admiral had read, "Activate sealed orders, 1/A16/12." In the safe were the ship's log, codes, money for pay, pay book, punishment book, manuals, manifests, receipts, Naval Regs and several sealed envelopes given him by Flag this morning.
His hand shook slightly, finding the correct one. Is it the Return to the fleet, prepare for War, he expected? He sat at the table that was surrounded by seats, screwed to the deck, and broke the seal.
"It was extraordinary, down there, Malcolm.
Ghastly in a way, all those men down there, astonishing--and if it's like that in a small ship like this, what would it be like on a big steamer--say like on the Great Eastern?"
"It's astonishing, Angel. I saw her launched on the Thames the last time I was in London, four years ago, when I finished school--my, was I glad to have done with schooling. She's completely of iron, four thousand tons burthen, the biggest in the world by far and built to carry emigrants, thousands at a time, to Australia. It took weeks to launch her-- they did it sideways, a complete cock-up and she almost sank. Poor Brunel who designed and built her went broke many times, the companies he floated did. She was ill-fated, caught fire on her maiden voyage and almost gutted--and that killed him. Damned if I'd sail on her --ill-fated she is, and was, from the first plate laid..." He saw Marlowe come on deck and frowned. Now there was no humor on the man's face.
The Bosun rang eight bells. Noon.
"I have the conn, Number One," Marlowe said.
"Yes sir."
"Why don't you take Miss Angelique for'rard, she might like to see some of our deck cannon close up."
"Gladly. Miss?"
Obediently she followed him down the gangway and along the deck. He was short, freckled and her height. "You're Welsh, Mr. Lloyd?" she asked.
He laughed, his voice singsong. "Welsh as the hills of Llandrindod Wells that is my home, look you."
She laughed with him and, leaning against the tilting deck whispered, "Why am I being sent off like a schoolgirl?"
"I wouldn't know about that, Missy." She saw his deep-set brown eyes look back and then they were turned on her. "The Captain's wants to talk about lunch, no doubt, or asking him, your man, if he wants to use the head, the toilet.
Man talk," he said and the eyes smiled.
"You like him, don't you?"
"The Captain is the Captain. Now, cannon, Ma'am!"
Her laugh trilled, the sailors nearby were warmed and Marlowe and Malcolm on the bridge heard her too and turned to look. "She makes a pretty picture, Malcolm."
"Yes she does. You were saying. Tiffin?"
"Does that sound all right? The cook's first class on his apple turnovers." The menu was to be fish stew, chicken and salt-pork pie and dumplings, cold roast chicken, cheddar cheese and apple turnovers. "I've a couple of bottles of Montrachet, '55, chilled, that I've been saving against a special occasion, and a Chambertin '52."
"You live rather well," Malcolm said, very impressed.
Marlowe smiled. "Not really but this is a special day and, to tell the truth, I scrounged the Chambertin--it was my Old Man's favorite. The Montrachet, he gave me a couple of cases when I came out."
"He's Navy?"
"Oh yes." The way Marlowe said it expressed surprise that the question needed to be asked. "He's Commander in Chief, Plymouth."
He hesitated, began to talk and stopped.
"What's the problem? We're ordered back?"
"No." Marlowe looked at him. "I was given several sealed orders this morning, along with written permission to bring you aboard and to be back by sundown, without fail. A few minutes ago Flag ordered me to open one of them. I wasn't told to tell you about it but I wasn't told not to. Perhaps you'd explain. The message said, "Should Mr. Struan ask a peculiar favor, you may, if you wish, grant it."
The world stood still for Malcolm Struan. He did not know if he was alive or dead and his head reeled and if he had not been sitting he would certainly have fallen over.
"Christ Almighty!" Marlowe gasped.
"Bosun fetch a tot of rum right smartly!"
The Bosun took to his heels and Malcolm managed to choke out, "No, no I'm, all right ... actually a rum would be, would be grand." He saw Marlowe's lips moving and knew he was being shaken but his ears were not hearing anything above the pounding of his heart and then he felt the wind on his cheeks and the sound of the sea returned.
"Here, sorr," the Bosun was saying, holding the glass to his lips. The rum slid down his throat. In seconds Struan felt better.
He began to grope to his feet. "Better take it easy, sorr," the Bosun said uneasily, "looks like you seed a ghost."
"No ghost, Bosun, but I did see an angel, your Captain!" Marlowe stared back blankly. "I'm not mad," Malcolm said stumbling over his words, "John, sorry, Captain Marlowe, is there somewhere we can talk privately?"
"Of course. Here." Uncomfortably Marlowe motioned to the Bosun who left the bridge.
Only the helmsman and signalman remained.
"Signalman, go for'rard. Helmsman, close your ears."
Struan said, "My peculiar request is: I want you to sail out of sight of land for a moment, and marry Angelique and me."
"You what?" It was Marlowe's turn to be disoriented. He heard Malcolm repeat what he had said. "You're insane," he stuttered.
"No, not really." Malcolm was in control now, his future in the balance, with the Admiral's words, if you wish you may grant it, carved on his brain. "Let me explain."
He began. A few minutes later the steward came up and went away and a little later came again with "Cook's compliments, sir, lunch is ready in your cabin," but again Marlowe waved him away, concentrating and not interrupting.
"... that's the reason," Malcolm finished, "the why of the Admiral, me, you, my mother. Now, please, will you grant my peculiar favor?"