Nell Fuller and the London Waterman

[This story contains mild references to sexual assault]

She chooses the boat because the waterman has the most honest-looking face, not that she can see it clearly through her tears. She has determined to leave Maidstone for good, because there is nothing left for her here, what with her just having buried both her Ma and Pa. Is she having second thoughts? Of course she is, she is barely eighteen although she can easily pass for older, and does right now, wearing her Ma’s clothes, because she knows the trouble a pretty girl with a full figure can get into. Her neighbour, Henry Fiddler, as thin and scrapey as a badly tuned fiddle, is proof of that. Better to leave and find her fortune in London than put up with his ceaseless pestering. Her skin crawls at the mere thought of him. And if it isn’t him, then some other old fart will consider her fair game to be his ‘wife’, Slave more like. No, better for her to leave all she knows and take her chances in the big city.

So here she is, standing on the dock with all her parents’ meagre savings sewn into the hem of her petticoat. Ten pounds, in shillings and florins, the pennies in her purse, ready to her hand, as she waves to the most honest-looking waterman, her heart pounding and her eyes leaking tears. The waterman waves acknowledgement and steers his boat in towards the jetty, and with a deft flick of his oar, brings it neatly alongside with a bump.

‘Where to mistress?’ he says. His voice has, she fancies, that London smokiness that Maidstone lads don’t have and his face is friendly enough. She likes his use of “mistress”, a proper form of address for a woman of independent means, so her efforts to disguise her youth have worked after all. Mainly her poor mother’s best skirts and bodice, her Sunday shoes and neat white bonnet into which she had crammed most of her abundant curls.

‘London sir. I presume that is not too far for you?’ She shut her eyes for a moment at the sassiness she had not intended to inject into her reply, and hopes he has not heard it.

He favours her with a smile, and a stroke of his stubbly chin with his thick, strong fingers, She can see the callouses on them from here. ‘Well, let me see, since I’ve sailed most of the way with the tide, getting back may take me a bit longer’n it took to get ‘ere. But if you’re in no hurry, mistress, I can easily get you back before…’ He looks up at the sun, riding high this lovely June day, with fluffy clouds chasing themselves leisurely across the sky, ‘…let’s see, its just afore noon, so I reckon we could make London Bridge by four of the clock, given the tide’s about to turn.’ He cocks his head and gives her a hard stare. ‘That be good enough for you mistress?’ She catches a gleam of mischievousness in his eyes. Not lechery like that bony-fingered letch Fiddler. No, this is a playful look, knocking back her sass with an assured and considered answer. He knows his business, of that she has no doubt. And she likes the way he’s not given in to anger or sarcasm, as many of the local men do when she oversteps the mark. He will do.

‘Why sir, that would be most acceptable.’ She gives him a small smile. Friendly. Not inviting. Just a way of opening the negotiation for the fare. She knows how a smile can be taken for more by some men.

‘Well, that sounds like I have myself a passenger.’ He doffs his grey woollen cap, one that had shaped itself to his head and was in need of a thorough wash, then held his hand out to help her into the boat. His grip is strong, but he ventures nothing improper as he guides her towards the acrossways bench at the front of the boat, well away from the mast and single yard for the tall three-sided sail, and the oars, stacked neatly lengthways inside the boat.

‘My usual fare’s two shillings and sixpence. But I’m prepared to dicker for it.’

He is direct, she thinks. She likes that. ‘And what is it you will dicker for, sir? I simply want passage to London.’

‘Have you ever been before mistress?’ His face is open. This is an honest question, no malice behind it. He is simply curious. ‘Because, y’see, its still a long old journey and a bit o’ conversation to while it away…well, this can be a lonely job.’ He sounds sad, not like he is trying anything on. She purses her lips and thinks. Ten pounds won’t go far, and if she can cut this expense a little for the price of some chatter, well, that’s not a bad bargain.

‘If I agree, and what we talk about is my choice, sir, one shilling.’ She raised an eyebrow that invites him to reply. He laughs, a deep full laugh born in his stomach and allowed full reign to break free into the air.

‘Mu word, mistress, you seek a hard bargain. It may be just me and my old mother I’ve got to look after, but that won’t even put dinner on the table tonight! Two and thrupence!’

‘One and six!’

‘Two bob and that’s my final word.’

‘That is fair sir. You have yourself an agreement.’ She reaches her hand out. He looks at it for a moment then up at her for a longer moment before stretching and seizing her hand.

‘A deal mistress, although I reckon you’ve done this before,’ he says, grinning. ‘Let’s get ‘er underway then we can see what you’re willing to talk about.’ He settles himself to the business of boats and sails and keeps silent while he rows out through the medley of boats that swarm Maidstone’s dock like seagulls after as fishing boat.

***

He pulls out into the tideway and rows hard because the wind is against them. She watches him from the corner of her eye. No much to speak about. A broad open face, wind-and-sun-burned, hair unkempt and long, but not outlandishly so, just in need of some attention. Much like his clothes, hard used but serviceable, with patches and repairs that spoke of thrift or hardship or both. She had been right about his skill. What can she talk about? What does she know? Nothing beyond life in her Ma and Pa’s bakery. The early starts, up before the sun most days, the heat of the oven like an anvil, the hawking of the fresh bread around the town, slithering through unwelcome advances, flirting just enough to make a customer a regular, although there had been some she liked and many more she didn’t, but now Ma and Pa are gone…

She swallowed the lump that comes to her throat and looks away so he does not see the tears that threaten to spill. No. There is nothing for her in Maidstone now. There will be more chances in London.

The breeze freshens. ‘We can raise the sail now,’ he says and begins to pull on ropes, watches the tall sail rise up the mast and fill out as the breeze catches and smooths the wrinkles in the canvas. ‘This’ll take us most of the way I reckon,’ he says as he settles himself at the end of the boat, ships the rudder and adjust their direction a little. ‘Here, you can sit there.’ He points to the bench he has just left. ‘I’m Bill. Bill Hardwick.’ He stares at her a little harder. ‘You know, I’m sure I’ve seen you before…you remind me of someone…’

She has heard this one a thousand times, but this time she has no way to escape. ‘Oh no sir, I don’t think so. I’ve never been to London before.’ She folds her arms and gives him one of her stern looks. ‘You must be mistaken.’

He shrugs. ‘No matter. I sees a lot of folks. My mistake.’ She hears no lie in his voice, sees only honesty, but she does not let her guard drop, out of long habit, although she is not to know that, so ingrained has it become. ‘So, mistress. I’ll start. As I said, I’m Bill Hardwick, waterman of Southwark. And you?’

She sees curiosity. Hears…what? An openness that matches his face. She’d rather stay silent but she knows she’s made a bargain, and a deal is a deal. But she’ll watch him like a hawk for any funny business. ‘Nell Fuller, late of Maidstone.’ Now what? If she’s not careful she’ll spill her whole life’s story before the sun reaches noon. Better be vague, let him do the talking, as it sounds like he needs to talk. ‘I’ve got some business in London.’

He nods. ‘Thought as much. By the way you dickered over the fare. You’re good at that y’know?’

She laughs. She cannot help herself. No-one has ever complimented her on that before. Her auburn curls; plenty. Her bosom; even more. But her ability to extract every last farthing from a customer? No. Never.

‘What’s so funny?’ He gives her a sharp look. It’s the truth, mistress.’ He seems a bit put out, and she has never had that reaction before either. He is proving to be quite different from the men she has grown up around.

‘No, no, don’t take offence sir! It’s just that no-one has ever complimented me for that before!’ She laughs again and startles a gull that is keeping pace with the boat, and it wheels away with a plaintive skreek! skreek! skreek! ‘Lots of other compliments, but never that.’ He replies with a series of nods and screws his eyes against the sunlight as he gauges the wind and the sail and adjusts their direction by some tiny and unfathomable amount. She has a strong feeling that he is avoiding looking at her, and she laughs again. ‘Truth be told sir, I’ve never left Maidstone before. This is my first time…’ She has already said too much. Bloody fool Nell Fuller, keep your wits about you and don’t go blabbing your business just because he doesn’t take the chance to grab your paps. Damn fool!

He glances down from the sail and takes a deep breath, nodding as he does. ‘Thought as much.’ He says nothing for a while as the water bubbles and gurgles along the side of the boat. ‘Them’s yer Mam’s best Sunday gear eh? You stole yer Pa’s savings and got it stashed in the hem I’ll bet.’

She says nothing, her mind reeling at his accusation. Why the sheer cheek of the man, he deserves the sharp side of her tongue…But then she remembers that he has put his finger on the facts, just come to the wrong conclusion. She looks down into the boat and watches the thin trickle of scummy water that washes around its bottom. Her secret is out and here she is with this man, only his dubious character between her and an unmarked watery grave. She’ll end up one of them fish-chewed corpses that washed up from time to time.

‘Never you mind mistress. I’m not about to steal yer money. Nor to stick my nose into business that’s none o’ mine to stick my beak into.’ He looks at her directly, into her face. Looking at her, not her tits or her hair. At her. ‘I got eyes and can see. And if I can see, other folk will as well.’

This time she cannot keep the tears in. They trickle down her cheeks and drip off her chin to sink into her bodice, darkening the deep red wool.

He says nothing. She blubs on for a while, the only sound the water creaming under the boat’s nose as the breeze pushes her towards her fate, now uncertain, most likely short, leading to a nasty end,

This won’t do girl, she says to herself. She sniffs and uses her sleeve to dry her cheeks. ‘I am sorry sir, that was unbecoming of me.’ She blinks hard and looks at him again. He has not moved from his spot, hand on the tiller, the boat has not veered from its course. She has to trust him she has no choice. But can she? Only one way to find out. Sassiness has its uses. ‘Am I so obvious sir?’

‘Call me Bill. Ev’ryone else does.’

She nods.’ Sir…Bill. What gave me away?’

This time it is his turn to laugh, another full deep-rooted roar of a laugh that lights his face and smooths its lines away. ‘Nothin’ much. I’ve been ferryin’ people these fifteen years since I was a nipper. You got a purse, but its light. If you were goin’ to London on business you’d have coin. Serious coin, not ha’pennies and farthings. No, the swing of your skirt gave it away. You’ve got your half-crowns and florins sewed in the hem. So it makes sense that you thieved ‘em. Them old-fashioned duds, well, simplest story is usually the right one.’ He shrugs. ‘Taint none o’ my business, Nell Fuller. I wanted to pass the time wi’ some chat, and looks like I got it!’ This time his laugh is a short bark.

‘Well…Bill Hardwick…looks like I got more than I bargained for with when I picked you to take me to London.’ She weighs up her choices; not many. She chooses the one her Ma and Pa’d approve of. ‘You’re right. Up to a point. Only wrong thing is my folks. I never stole from them.’ She gulps. ‘They died. Pa got a fever, Ma nursed him and got it too. Nothin’ I could do. Doctor got paid but it was money wasted cos they died anyways. Then the landlord kicked me out.’ She balls her hands into fists. ‘Couldn’t run the bakery alone and he’d got some ninnyhammer who’d pay the slink more rent.’

‘Ah…I see, ‘ says Bill. ‘That’s hard. Very hard.’

The water bubbles and gurgles, the breeze blows and propels them onward.

‘Well, Nell Fuller. Since you been straight wi’ me, I’ll be straight wi’ you. See, me old Ma used to help me run the boat. We had a good business, runnin’ folk back and forth across The River. She’d hustle fares, I’d fetch ‘em across. It was good. A steady living.’ He fell silent. Nell feels that it’s best if she stays quiet. He’s building up to something. ‘But she’s goin’ blind. Her right eye’s gone cloudy. She can’t see nothin’ out of it. Now her left is goin’ the same way.’

Nell nods. ‘I’m sorry,’ she says, and means it.

He shrugs. ‘Can’t do nothin’ about it. So’s I’m tryin’ this lark. Long distance/ It pays more, but chances of getting’ a fare, well, not so good.’ He looks at her and shakes his head. ‘You’re the first fare I’ve had in a week.’

There is a long silence this time. She watches the water flowing past. He watches the sail and their course. The sun slips past its zenith and begins its inexorable journey towards the horizon.

‘I’ve got an idea.’ They both speak. Same time. Same words.

‘You first mistress Nell.’

The idea has come to her all of a sudden. She can hawk bread. Did it well. Why not hawk fares? She lays out her idea to him. ‘Well, Bill Hardwick. What were you goin’ to say?’

He grins. ‘Looks like you an’ me think alike…You hawk for me. I’ll give you board and lodging. We’ll take care of Ma.’

She purses her lips and thinks. ‘Not quite, Bill Hardwick. Strikes me that you need me a bit mor’n I need you. I’ll agree to your offer,’ she holds up a finger, ‘but on one condition.’

He raises his eyebrows but says nothing.

‘We’re partners in this business. I am good. You’ll see…what d’you say sir?’

He replies with a small snort, then a wry smile. ‘You sure you ain’t done this before?’

She replies with her most innocent smile.

He spits into his hand and reaches it out to her.

‘Deal?’

She spits and grasps in return. ‘Deal.’