Under the Jolly Roger: Being an Account of the Further Nautical Adventures of Jacky Faber (2 page)

There's a rap on the door and once again I sink beneath the waves, but it is only the girl, this time lugging a large steaming pitcher. "More hot water, Miss?" she pipes. She must be all of ten, the daughter of the house, dressed plain but clean.

"Bless you, child, yes," I sigh, relaxing back into the water. She pours it in over the edge. The new hot water swirls about me, making what I thought was hot before seem now to be merely warm. "And there'll be an extra penny in it for you if you bring me another in a little while."

The girl leaves and it's time for me to stop daydreaming about ships and shores and start getting down to the business of washing the stink of the whaler off me.

I'm soaping my armpits and wondering—I had heard that fine French ladies had the hair under their arms shaved and the hair on their legs, too, but I never got a chance to ask Amy whether that was true or not. She, being very proper, wouldn't have thought it a decent question, is why I never asked. Amy Trevelyne was my best friend back at the school, but she sure ain't now, that's for sure—not after I shamed myself at the big party at her house last spring by getting stupid drunk and bringing disgrace to her family. Besides making a complete fool of myself, I got Randall hurt and almost killed and it's no wonder she betrayed me to the Preacher's men and I don't blame her a bit for doing that ...
Stop thinkin' about that now. What's done is done and thinkin' about it ain't gonna do you any good at all...

Looking at my toes sticking up at the other end, I reflect that my toenails could use a bit of a trim so I haul the right foot up and start gnawing 'em off all neat and trim with my teeth. It's easy to do since they've got all soft with the hot water. Thinkin' back on Amy and hairy armpits puts me back to thinking about Mistress Pimm. She was the headmistress and tried her best to make a lady out of me. Well, some things stuck, Mistress, and some things didn't. I pull up my other foot and fix up its toenails in the same way. I know I learned enough to
act
like a lady, if I'm dressed for the part, but I know, too, that I'll never actually
be
one. Not down to the bone.

I've found that boys seem to like me, though, and that has been a constant surprise to me, since I consider myself quite plain and even a little bit worked over—I've got a scar under my left eyebrow, which makes the hair of it come in white, and I've got sort of a welt on my neck from when the pirate LeFievre strung me up that time—usually you can't see it, but if I get excited, it flares up red. There are other scars, too, but mostly in places what can't be seen. No, I am not beautiful—that Clarissa Worthington Howe back at the school sure showed me what was a beautiful and cultured lady, that being her, and what was not, that being me. So, I don't know. ... Maybe Jaimy's found someone more pretty than me and that's why. ...
just stop thinking that way. You just go round and round and that's not going to help...

I spit out the last toenail clipping and turn to my hair. I dunk down face-first in the water to get it good and wet, then come up like a dolphin and start in to soaping it up. After it's good and soaped and rubbed all in with my fingers, it's back down under to rinse. My hair has gotten really long, in spite of the singeing it took on that last day when the Lawson Peabody burned to the ground along with the church that was next to it and the stables, and maybe other stuff, too. ... I don't know. I didn't stick around long enough to find out.
Poor Mistress. I hope they build you another school, this time one of brick that I can't burn down. You were fierce, but you tried to do your best for me, in your way.

I bring my face back out of the water and let my hair come down in streaming rivulets over my face and shoulders and back. It's probably not gonna dry in time for tonight's show, but I'll just put it up in a braid and it'll be fine.

That Ishmael was a fine lad, though,
think I, musing back on the voyage again. He certainly made the trip a pleasant one, to have one such as him as your mate. I toss a thought out to Jaimy, somewhere out there in the world, but, at least, a lot nearer now.
Don't worry, Jaimy, I was a good girl, mostly...
I mean, what's a little kiss here and there. Here. And there. Between friends.

The girl comes back in with another pitcher and pours it in and I groan and writhe in absolute sinful pleasure and think about nothing except how good it feels. Then I start to think on the songs I'll do in tonight's show. This being England I'd probably better stay away from the Irish and Scottish stuff and stick to the British. Hmmm. Just coming off a whaler as I am, maybe I'll start with "The Bonny Ship the
Diamond.
" It's got that good, rousing chorus. That'll get 'em started.

"
Cheer up me lads,
Let your hearts never fail,
For the Bonny Ship the
Diamond
Goes fishing for the whale!
"

I sing a bit more of it:

"
Well, it'll be light both day and night
When the whaler lads come home,
With a ship that's full of oil, me boys,
And money to their names.

"
They'll make the beds all for to rock,
And the blankets for to tear,
And every lass in Peter's Head
Will sing hush-a-by my dear.
"

Boys and men, I swear, they always get back to that. Having their pleasures and then going off having adventures and stuff and leaving the girls behind to rock the cradle. Not this girl, though, by God.

After I had hauled myself out of the bath and dried and dressed, I went out of the inn and found the town crier, who for a few pence would go about the neighboring streets ringing a bell and crying out, "Hear ye! Hear ye! Hear ye! Tonight for one night only the re-nowned Miss Jacky Faber will be in per-for-mance at the Rose and Crown Pub-lic House! New-ly re-turned from a tri-um-phant tour of the Am-er-i-cas, Miss Faber will en-ter-tain with songs and bal-lads both joy-ful and sad, se-ri-ous and com-ic, and will ac-com-pany herself with the fid-dle, con-cer-tina, and flage-o-lay! All are wel-come and are sure to be pleased! Eight o'clock at the Rose and Crown! Hear ye! Hear ye..."

I was glad I had hired the crier, for the tavern was full to overflowing come night with a jolly, good-natured crowd. The show went over right well with the cheering audience demanding three encores before they finally let me bow off for good. I left flushed with pleasure, for I so very much love both the joy of the performance that I give, and the applause that I receive in return.

So now, having gotten some more coin for my money belt, I'm lying in bed thinking of tomorrow and what it might bring.
Not one letter, Jaimy, not one, except for the one you pressed into my hand on the day you left me in Boston.

I take a deep breath and let it out slowly. Ah, well, tomorrow I will know. Even if he is out at sea, which he very probably is, then I will find out from his family and friends just how he feels about me. I just hope he's all right. A lot could have happened since. ... No, don't think about that.

I turn on my side and pull my knees to my chin.

Yes, my girl, tomorrow you will know, but right now you will go to sleep.

I take the coachman's offered hand and step down from the carriage. Again my new friends and I had sat on top of the coach and laughed and sang our way into London on this glorious, sparkling day. It is late morning as I bid farewell to my companions, pick up my seabag, and enter the coach house. Five minutes later I have hired a one-horse carriage.

On this day, this special day, I have put on my glorious riding habit, the one Amy gave me for Christmas last year, the coat all maroon and the skirt all dark, dark green and the trim all gray and beautiful—with a gathering of white lace at my throat and the stiff lapels turned back just so. I put some powder in my hair and comb it so that it sweeps up under my jaunty Scot's bonnet. My hat's got a gold pin on one side and feathers hangin' down all elegant. Why us young women put white powder in our hair to make it look gray, I don't know, but it's the
ton,
the style, so I do it. And I must admit it looks grand.

I really like the way the jacket clutches my chest and makes me feel all trim and taut. Also, I can tuck my shiv in its usual spot next to my ribs and I can't do that in a dress. Plus, I think I look smashing in it. I really think I could charm my way into Buckingham Palace in this rig. I know I could. Yes, Little Mary Faber, late of the Rooster Charlie Gang, formerly residing under Blackfriars Bridge, Cheap-side, returns to London in fine style.

"Nine Brattle Lane, Driver," I say grandly, and climb aboard. "If you please."

As we clatter through London, I get more and more nervous about what's going to happen today. Jaimy and I
had
exchanged promises to marry, promises that I
know
were heartfelt and true, and we had even exchanged rings, sort of rings, anyway—they were the rings of the Dread Brotherhood of Ship's Boys of HMS
Dolphin
that we had put through our ears and welded shut that wonderful day in Kingston on the island of Jamaica. I have mine on a chain about my neck so that it hangs close to my heart, since Mistress Pimm had it snipped out of my ear the first day I was at her school. Sometimes I put it back in my ear to remind me of the old days, but today I had thought I'd better look as ladylike as possible, so I didn't. I take a deep breath and try to calm the butterflies kicking up a fuss in my belly.

Not only did I get no letters from Jaimy when I was back in the States, there's a good chance he didn't get any of mine, either. I saw our old mate Davy last fall when his ship came into Boston, and he told me Jaimy hadn't got any letters from me and I had sent a whole bunch of them. I figured out that someone in Jaimy's household must have been intercepting the letters and I have a good idea who. I hated the idea that Jaimy might think I was faithless because of this, so before Davy left, I dashed off a letter and made Davy swear on his Brotherhood tattoo to put the letter in Jaimy's hand and his hand only if they should meet. I do hope their paths did cross, I do hope. ... Ah, we're here.

It is a nice-looking brick house with stone steps and curtained windows and it has two stories with a chimney at each end and appears to have a yard in back. There are some small boys playing with a hoop in the street and it gives me pleasure to think of Jaimy as a boy playing in this same street and in that yard.

I ask the driver to wait a moment, as I do not know what will happen inside. I walk up the stairs, brush my hands over my skirt, adjust my gay bonnet, take a deep breath, and lift the knocker and rap three times. The old Brotherhood secret number.

You calm down now, you. Jaimy's probably not even here, he's surely at sea, he's...

The door opens and a young woman in serving gear peeks out.

"Yes, Miss?" she says. She is ginger haired, round faced, and appears cheerful and good-natured.

"Good day, Miss. My name is Jacky Faber and..."

Her smile broadens and she says, "Oh, yes, Miss! Please come in."

Well, that's a good sign,
I'm thinking, as I step into the foyer and look about.

"I'll go get me mistress," says the girl as she spins and leaves the room.

I look about at the pictures on the wall, thinking that Jaimy must have known this room very well.
Is that a portrait of him and his brother? I think the one on the left is...

I hear a rustle behind me and I spin around to find a woman of medium height with dark hair going gray. She is well dressed in what I know to be the latest fashion and in what appears to be the finest of fabrics. She holds herself rigidly upright, and she is glaring at me most severely.

Uh, oh...

I gulp and drop down in my best curtsy. "Good day, Missus," I quavers, coming up from the curtsy and meeting her eyes, eyes that look to have very little love for me in them. "If it please you, my name is Jacky Faber and I'm a friend of..."

"It does
not
please me in the slightest. I know
who
you are and I know
what
you are," she says, coldly, indignation plain upon her face. "You will not step any further into this house."

What?

"I cannot believe you would be so brazen as to come here," she continues, biting off every word. "Even one such as you."

"I ... I don't understand, Missus," says I, stunned. "I was only..."

"You have come here only to bring more disgrace upon my family. I know your history, and I must say I find it appalling. And now, with this latest outrage, the whole world knows of your illicit liaison with my son."

This latest outrage? What is she talking about? What latest outrage? What...
I ain't believin' this, but she ain't done yet, oh no, she ain't.

"You are obviously a cunning and opportunistic adventuress. As such, you forced your attentions on a young and impressionable boy under very questionable circumstances, and now you come here to seek to better yourself by marrying into my family." She takes a deep breath, looking down her long nose at me. "I can assure you that will not happen, not as long as I live. He is not a match for you and you are
certainly
not a match for him."

She has worked herself up into a fine lather of hatred for my poor self, me standin' there shakin' in front of her, my belly churnin' in dismay. I am unable to speak.

"I am gratified to inform you that James has, at last, seen the folly of his ways and wishes no more to see you nor to have any sort of communication with you."

Oh, Jaimy, please, no, it can't be, it can't...

"Be gone, girl, and do not come back. You will receive no welcome from anyone in this house, as we do not welcome tramps!"

Tramp? She called me a tramp?
That's enough to shake me out of my confusion, and I throw my chin in the air and put on the Look and rear back and say, "What you say may be true, Mrs. Fletcher, but I'll believe it when I hear it from Jaimy's own dear lips! Lips with which, I might add, I am
very
familiar!"