Marbeck and the Privateers by John Pilkington Page A

he’d no love for the new monarch either, and had even lost money because of his actions. But Sarah Buck had merely changed the subject.
    Turning matters over, he thought about how to spend the time while he awaited the arrival of the Amity . He’d been relieved to learn that the vessel was indeed expected, having been on a coastal voyage to London. She was one of a score of ships based in Weymouth; apart from that, he learned little. And though he was keen to know of her crew, and of her master Reuben Beck, he held his tongue. Tomorrow, he decided, he would cross the bridge to Melcombe and make enquiries on the other side of the river. That settled, he was drifting off to sleep – but in an instant, he was fully alert.
    There was a soft click from the latch, and the door opened, wide enough to admit a slim shape. It closed swiftly, and the figure was beside his bed … by which time Marbeck had sat up and whipped his tailor’s bodkin from under the pillow. But when the person spoke, he froze.
    â€˜Master Blunt – I mean no ill. It’s Mary Kellett.’
    He let out a breath. ‘What do you want?’
    â€˜Please hear me. Or whether you will or not, promise you’ll not speak of this, or else I will be beaten.’
    He put away the weapon, threw the coverlet aside and stood up in his night-shirt. In the near-darkness he couldn’t see her face, but felt her eyes upon him. Finding his tinderbox he struck a flame and lit a stub of candle. But when he straightened up he received a shock: there was an ugly bruise on the girl’s cheek. She shivered, drawing the edges of her shift together.
    â€˜Get into the bed and warm yourself,’ Marbeck said, more sharply than he intended. ‘I’ll stay here.’
    After a moment she complied, sitting hunched against the wall with the coverlet pulled to her neck. It may have been the light, but when he glimpsed another mark on her wrist he frowned. ‘It looks to me as if you’ve been beaten already.’
    But she dismissed the matter quickly. ‘Hear me now, for I dare not stay long. This may be the only chance I have, before the master returns tomorrow. He’s only at Abbotsbury.’
    â€˜Where?’
    â€˜A village above Chesil Beach … eight miles to the west.’
    Having got over his surprise, Marbeck was uneasy. When the girl paused as if gathering her words, he said: ‘I see you’re troubled, but I ask again: what do you want of me?’
    â€˜First, promise me something,’ she said.
    He hesitated. ‘If I can …’
    â€˜Say that when John Buck invites you to take me to bed, you’ll not refuse him. Then we may speak again, in private.’
    â€˜What?’ Marbeck gazed at her in the flickering candlelight. ‘You mean he panders you – offers you to guests?’
    Her silence was answer enough. Whereupon several thoughts sprang up, among them a memory of Sarah Buck telling him her husband was a soft-hearted man. Suddenly his anger rose: he had a feeling he had been assessed, and grossly misjudged.
    â€˜Does she know you’re here?’ he asked. ‘Mistress Buck, I mean—’
    â€˜No.’ Mary shook her head quickly. ‘She’s asleep … She’s little to do with it, save for keeping me indoors. John Buck’s the one …’ She shivered again. ‘I’ve borne it as long as I can, and now I must get free of them. I thought you might help me.’
    All at once Marbeck felt a weight settle on his heart. The girl was frightened and desperate; she knew nothing of him, but was trusting him on a whim. ‘Have you tried to run away before now?’ he asked.
    â€˜Once,’ Mary replied. She lowered her gaze, hugging her knees, then looked up again. ‘He caught me with ease. And what happened after was my worst time. Ever since then, they’ve watched me closely.’ Then almost to herself she whispered: