Ramage & the Renegades by Dudley Pope Page B

quite right, of course. The whole thing was a cold-blooded business because it meant a captain had to allow whores on board, but like most other Navy captains Ramage insisted only that a man had to vouch for each woman and be responsible for her behaviour (obeying the Admiralty instruction which said only that a man “claimed” the woman as his “wife,” with no limit on the number of ports in which the man could have a “wife”). If she misbehaved (quarrelling with others of the sisterhood or smuggling her man liquor were the most usual offences) she was turned off the ship and the man could not replace her.
    The Admiralty were, he admitted, very sensible in their attitude. Their Lordships knew that in wartime few seamen could be given shore leave without “running,” but fear of the men deserting did not stop their Lordships understanding that men at sea for months (sometimes a year or more) without seeing women, let alone sharing a hammock with one, had to be given some freedom in port. If they could not be trusted to leave their ships to find the women on shore, the women had to be allowed on board. The price everyone had to pay was to accept the man’s declaration that the woman was his wife, and that he took responsibility for her while she was on board. A ship coming from abroad and staying a week or so at Plymouth before going to Chatham meant that a man could claim two wives, the only proviso being that he could afford them. The price tended to drop the further east the port. The highest price was at Plymouth with the Channel Fleet in: a large number of ships meant plenty of demand.
    Curious how these women would quarrel with each other: frantic screeching from below was the signal for the master-at-arms and the ship’s corporals to hurry down to stop a hairpulling, nail-clawing fight. Indeed, the reason why the cockpit was originally given that name was that the raucous noise of quarrelling women was reminiscent of fighting cocks in a cockpit.
    Aitken said, with elaborate casualness: “Orsini still seems very unhappy after returning from leave, sir.” The Scotsman thought the lad might have fallen in love or received some news of his family in Italy. But whatever it was, his sadness was affecting the men. Orsini was their favourite; he had a way of getting twice as much work out of them just because of his cheerful manner. At least, that had been the case until he came back from leave. Now he was as dour as John Knox on a rainy Sabbath in December.
    Ramage thought for a minute or two. The Marchesa was very well known to a few of the ship’s company—men like Jackson, Rossi and Stafford, who had helped rescue her—and known to most of the others. All were interested in any news of her, and undoubtedly Paolo as her nephew benefited from the relationship. Seeing the lad so downhearted must have led to a good deal of speculation. Perhaps now was the time to pass the word that Gianna was already travelling to Paris with the Herveys, on her way home to Tuscany.
    â€œHis aunt, the Marchesa, is on her way back to Italy.” Ramage had kept his voice neutral, but Aitken stared at him, obviously shocked by the news.
    â€œBut Bonaparte … He still occupies Volterra, which isn’t included in the Treaty … He’ll seize her, sir!”
    â€œShe insisted on going, to be with her people. She would not be persuaded—by anyone.”
    At once Aitken saw the reason for the gloom that hung like a thunderstorm over the Captain, and for Orsini’s dour bad temper. They both loved her in their different ways but they shared the same fear and the same distrust of Bonaparte. If he seized her—when he seized her, rather—there would be nothing they could do. The British government would be powerless. Today Bonaparte did what he wanted, unchallenged; the Treaty was proof of that.
    â€œShall I tell? …”
    â€œYes. And have a quiet word