We reach the door to the Captain's cabin and Sergeant Gibbs knocks lightly upon it. The door is opened by a white-jacketed steward and we are ushered in.
I see that there are a number of men standing in the room—Captain Hudson, a red-coated Marine officer who I suspect is Major Stebbins, the vile Bliffil, Dr. Sebastian, and another man whose face I cannot see for he stands with his back to me, gazing out one of the windows.
It is plain that the Doctor has been speaking. "...And it is my considered medical opinion, Captain," he intones, "that if you keep the female down in that hellhole, what you will be delivering to the Admiralty will not be the desired captive but rather a corpse."
"And it is my considered opinion, Sir," says Bliffil, "that it would be foolish to grant this girl any degree of freedom, for she has shown herself very adept at the art of escape. She is a very dangerous criminal."
The Captain looks over at me—I soften the Look by opening my eyes wider and lightly rattle the chain that hangs from my wrists—"She doesn't look dangerous to me."
"Do not let her looks deceive you," retorts my once and present enemy. "By her own hand and through her cunning, she has caused the deaths of many men."
The Captain says nothing to this but only stands regarding me for a while, his hands behind his back. Finally he addresses me. "I have been informed by my Sailing Master, Mr. Jared—"
Jared? Joseph Jared? Could it be?
The man at the window turns, and my heart leaps to see that it is indeed he!
"Oh, Joseph," I cry, tears of happiness springing from my eyes. "Well met! Oh, so very well met!" I want to rush to him, to embrace him, but, alas, I am restrained.
He smiles that familiar and fondly remembered cocky grin at me, bows, and says, "It is good to see you, too, Jacky, but best not to interrupt the Captain."
So I really did hear that last night!
"Ahem," says the Captain. "If I may continue: Mr. Jared, one of my more valuable and trusted officers, informs me that in spite of the charges against your name and the wild stories about your supposed adventures that circulate throughout the fleet, you are a person of honor."
I tear my eyes off Joseph and turn to the Captain and try to restore some semblance of the Look, but not the total highborn arrogant lady Look, no, more the Joan-of-Arc-Bound-Up-in-Chains-by-Her-Cruel-Tormentors-but-Still-Holding-Up-Her-Head Look.
"I try to be good, Sir," I say.
"Oh, spare me," Bliffil mutters.
"And Dr. Sebastian tells me you might be useful to him in cataloging and rendering drawings of the specimens that he has gathered during this voyage. What do you think of that?"
"I would very much like to lend what poor skills I might have to aid the good Doctor in his scientific studies," murmur I, glancing at the Doctor and further altering the Look to that of adoring student.
"See, she's doing it again," Bliffil hisses. "Soon she'll have every stupid man on board this ship totally in love with her! That's how she works! Oh, don't you see? Can't you see?" He is wringing his hands, imploring the Captain to see the error of his ways.
The Captain ignores him.
"Do you swear, girl," says Captain Hudson, looking me square in the eye, "that if you are released from the brig and given other quarters and some light duties with Dr. Sebastian that you will not try to escape?"
I think about this for a moment—take it! Take it, girl, and get out of that hole!—but I do not take the offer.
"I'm sorry, Sir, but I cannot promise that," I answer, as I raise my manacled hands to my face to wipe away yet another tear.
"Oh?" asks the Captain, surprised. "But why not?"
"Because, Sir, if I were to do that, I would be sealing my own death warrant." I look down at my bound hands. "For if I fall into the clutches of the Intelligence Branch upon our return to London, they will torture me to find out what I know about a certain spy ring, and I have already told them everything I can about that and cannot tell them any more, but they will not believe me so they will hurt me more and more"—I start gasping for air—"and more, and when they are convinced that I can give them no additional information, they will kill me—either privately with a knife to the throat, or publicly with a hanging at Newgate prison. That is why not."
There are stricken looks all around the room.
"Torture?" asks the Captain, incredulous. "Surely not."
"Dr. Sebastian," I say, "in your examination of my person, did you not find several marks on my left thigh?"
The Doctor coughs and says, "Yes, there were two round wounds there, healing nicely. I assumed they were gotten from sparks from a fireplace."
"They were not, Sir," I retort. "They were put there last month on the Mississippi River by a Lieutenant Flashby, Special Agent of the Intelligence Branch. He applied the tip of his hot cigar to my bare leg while I was tied to a chair, and he was going to hurt me more when he was thwarted in that by a gallant regular officer, Lord Richard Allen, Captain of Cavalry. I have no reason to expect any kinder treatment when I get to the Admiralty."
"Hmm," says the Captain, "that is hard to believe, but I will take you at your word. What is to be done then? Must we put you back in the brig?"
"Yes," says Bliffil, "that is what is to be done. And I must insist that I be given a key to the cell."
I notice that Joseph Jared is no longer smiling but, rather, is glaring intently at Lieutenant Bliffil.
I lift my head and say to the Captain, "We can do this: I will give my word, my parole, as it were, that I will not try to escape until that moment when we sight land. After that, my parole will be over, and you may clap me back in chains and deliver me to Mr. Bliffil here and to whatever fate awaits me at the Admiralty." When I finish, I say, "Only if it suits you, Sir."
"Well, it doesn't suit me," says Bliffil. "This female must be put in my protective custody right now."
This is too much for me. "Protective custody? Captain, this man Bliffil is the one who put this mark upon my brow when I was but a little girl on the Dolphin. He's the bully who, as Senior Midshipman, pounded my face and bloodied my mouth and kicked in two of my ribs! All for sport! Protective custody? I'd sooner consign myself to the sharks that roll by our side than be put in his so-called protective custody!"
"She is twisting things again!" cries Bliffil. "When that happened, she was disguised as a ship's boy, a very insolent ship's boy who was very much in need of correction, I—"
"You will be quiet, Mr. Bliffil," orders the Captain. To me he says, "Very well, I accept those terms, if you will also promise not to harm yourself in any way during this voyage, to avoid what you think is going to happen to you."
"Sir, I love life too much to ever consider that."
"Good. Then it is done," says the Captain, briskly taking care of the details. "Mr. Jared has given up his cabin for you so you will be quartered there. You will take your meals there. You will assist the Doctor in all his endeavors, and you may take the air above decks several times a day for the sake of your health. Major Stebbins, you will provide a Marine outside her door, who will accompany her wherever she goes upon this ship."
The Marine officer bows his acknowledgment of this order and the Captain continues. "And you will, Miss Faber, above all things, behave yourself, else you shall be returned to the brig for the duration of the voyage."
"Sir, I must most vigorously protest!" sputters Bliffil. "She is a convicted criminal! You cannot grant her the freedom of this ship."
"She has not been convicted of anything yet, Mr. Bliffil, as far as I can tell, and I can do anything I damn well please on my ship, including having you thrown over the side," says the Captain, fixing Bliffil with a baleful look. Bliffil turns red and tightens his lips. "And again I caution you not to raise your voice to me, Mr. Bliffil. British Intelligence does not hold much sway here, I can tell you that. I have always felt that gentlemen, be they English or be they French, should not read each other's mail."
"But, Sir..."
"You are excused, Mr. Bliffil," says Captain Hudson, turning his back on him. "Your presence here is no longer required."
"As you wish, Sir," mutters Bliffil, bowing at the Captain's back. "Good day to you then."
Bliffil fixes a glare of the purest hatred on me, and though I have the urge to smile and give him a knowing wink, I restrain myself and merely put the full-scale Look back on and regard him as if he were a toad. From his furious expression, I gather that he got the message.
When the cabin door closes behind him, I say to Joseph, "Mr. Jared, it is most kind of you to give up your quarters, but you do not have to. I have slept on many a floor, as you well know." I recall the time I spent sleeping on the floor of Captain Scroggs's cabin while his dead body lay steadily rotting in his bed.
"Oh, I can sling my hammock anywhere. And besides, the thought of you curled up in my bed will bring me joy—or at least some very interesting thoughts."
The Captain, accurately perceiving the newly rekindled heat that exists between Joseph and me, warns, "As for behaving oneself, that goes for you, too, Mr. Jared. If you think you are going to experience joyful romps with the prisoner for the remainder of this voyage while the rest of us suffer the celibate state of hair-shirted monks, you are quite mistaken. I think it best for both the morale of this ship and this girl's own future if she arrives in London for whatever trial might await her in the same state of ... er ... maidenhood ... that she is in now. Do you understand me, Sir?"
Jared nods. "Yes, Sir, I do." But his cocky grin is firmly in place and his eyes do not leave mine.
There is a knock at the door, and a steward comes in, bearing a tray.
"Ah!" says the Captain. "It is my lunch. Doctor, Major Stebbins, would you be so good as to share some food and a glass of wine with me? Good. Sergeant, you will take the shackles off Miss Faber's hands and see her installed in her new berth. Remember, round-the-clock watch on her anytime she leaves that space. Mr. Jared, I believe you have duties to attend to? All right, then. I believe we are finished here."
Sergeant Gibbs inserts the key to snap open the manacles, then leads me to the door. "Thank you, Captain Hudson, for your kindness," I say, able to effect a decent curtsy, now that my hands are free.
"No thanks are necessary, Miss. Just behave yourself," says the Captain, returning my gesture with a slight bow. "Good day to you."
Oh, I will behave myself, Captain, I think as I leave the cabin, with a slight smile curling my lips. I will behave myself very well ... and in my usual fashion.
I am taken one level down into the Gun Room where lie the officers' cabins. Sergeant Gibbs sends Private Kent down to the brig to fetch my seabag, while Joseph Jared, who seems to think that the duty the Captain referred to was to tend to me, opens the door to his cabin and bows low.
"Your bower, Miss. I hope you'll find it comfortable."
I enter the tiny room and look about. Yes, it is like every other one I have seen on warships—a narrow bed, a washstand with mirror above and drawers below, a small nightstand, and just enough room to stand up and dress oneself ... or undress oneself, as the case may be.
"To me it looks like a perfect palace after spending last night in that awful brig, Joseph, and I thank you for it, and for speaking up to the Captain on my behalf." Sergeant Gibbs has taken his station outside the door, facing away.
Joseph nudges the door quietly shut with his toe and says, "You are welcome, my dear. Am I to receive any reward?"
"Still the rogue, eh, Joseph?" says I, standing on tiptoes to plant a light kiss on his cheek. "There. That's all you'll get. You heard the Captain's orders—if I don't behave myself, it's back in the foul brig for me, and I don't want that." If anything, Jared has grown more handsome in the year since we parted on the deck of the sinking Wolverine in the aftermath of the Battle of Trafalgar. He looks splendid in his Master's uniform, all black with gold trim and buttons. "Besides, I am promised in marriage to a certain Lieutenant James Emerson Fletcher, should I ever be allowed to see him again," I say, trying to sound properly prim.
"I am sorry to hear that. And just where is Mr. Fletcher?"
"When last I saw him he was on HMS Mercury, headed for China and Japan, on convoy duty."
"Good. That is a very excellent place for him to be, playing nursemaid to fat merchant ships on the other side of the world, while you and I are right here, right now."
He puts his hands around my waist. "The Doctor was right—you are very narrow there," he says, pulling me closer to him. "And what did that Latin the Doctor spoke about you mean? When he was talkin' about your condition ... the scars and all..."
I work up a blush and lower my eyes. "It means I am yet a maiden."
He chuckles. "Well, you certainly do get around for a maiden. That complicates things a bit, but we'll see..."
"And how did you know about that?" ask I, puffing up a bit. "You weren't in the Captain's cabin yesterday when I was brought in."
Again the cocky grin. "I was up on the quarterdeck with my ear to the speaking tube. I, of course, recognized you right off when you were captured and felt it best to stay out of your sight till I could figure out how I could do you some good."
"Ah. And that is why I had a good breakfast this morning instead of the slops a prisoner usually gets." I put my hands on his forearms—they are still as rock hard as I remember.
He just nods his head to that.
"But we must not forget that I am a prisoner, to be delivered in chains to the Admiralty when we land in England. Probably to be killed."
"You will not be handed off to that Bliffil when this voyage ends, you may count on that." He does not smile when he says this.
"But Joseph, I can't allow you to—"
"We will see what you will allow, Jacky, we will see."
We hear the sound of six bells.
"Ah, yes, but it's good to see you again, Puss! Now give us a kiss, a real kiss, to last a man through his four-hour watch that he must now go stand, and to hell with everything else!"
I lift my face and I do it. After all, even if I am promised to another, there is no reason that Jared and I cannot continue to be good friends. Very good friends.
After Joseph leaves and Private Kent has brought up my seabag, I spend some time putting my linen in the drawers and then there is a knock and a new Private, one named Marsten, informs me that I am expected in the Doctor's laboratory. I get out my brushes, colors, and paper and follow the Marine out and up, across the deck and down into the fo'c'sle and into the surgery where waits Dr. Sebastian, once again clad in his stained lab coat.
"Ah. Here you are, then," he says. "You may set up over there."
There is a hatch overhead and it is open to let in some welcome light. I go over to the table that is under it and place myself on the stool provided there. "Thank you, Doctor, for letting me assist you."
"Ahem. Well, yes, there is a lot for you to do," he says and picks up a small box and puts it in front of me. "Here is your first assignment."
I open the box and look in. There is a bug, a rather large bug, that is rolling around a brown ball of what my nose informs me had somewhat recently been inside a horse or cow or other large animal. I look up at the Doctor with a questioning look.
"It is a Mexican dung beetle, Phanaeus amithaon. I collected it when we stopped at the Yucatán Peninsula and I was permitted to go ashore to gather specimens. Is it not a marvelous thing?" asks the Doctor, something like enthusiasm coming into his voice. "It is closely related to the sacred scarab of the ancient Egyptians. Can you draw it?"
"Yes, Sir," I say. I take out a sheet of my precious paper and place it before me on the table. "I'll need a cup of water, a clean rag, and some blotting paper, if you have any."
The Doctor goes to the door. "Stritch! Come here!"
A small, rather fearful little man comes in. It is plain from his dress that he is the Doctor's assistant surgeon, the loblolly boy he is called regardless of age. "Sir?" he asks.
"Get her what she needs, and be quick about it. Water, rags, and blotting paper."
Stritch scurries away.
"Does it bite, Sir?" I ask, putting a bit of female tremble in my voice.
"No. It is quite harmless."
All right, you. No time to be squeamish.
I reach in and put my forefinger in front of the beetle, making it leave its dung ball and crawl up on my hand. I hold it up before my eyes and take a hard look at the creature. This shouldn't be too hard, I'm thinking. At least I don't have to get an exact facial resemblance. I reach for my pencil and begin sketching the insect's outline.
"I believe, Doctor," I say, as I peer at the bug's face, "that it would be best for me to confine my illustrations to the top half of the pages so that I can later pen in your scientific observations below."
"That would be good, Miss."
My supplies are brought and I get to work in earnest.
***
I toil on through the afternoon, drawing, inking, applying paint washes, blotting, adjusting color till my eyes cross with the effort. The Doctor is a taciturn sort and not a lot of conversation passes between us and I don't want to push it, for I must make my moves toward freedom very carefully on this ship. At least he does not hang over my shoulder as I am working.
At length I am done with this first effort. I blow on it to dry it and hand it to him.
"Excellent," he gasps. "Astounding."
I did try to get the iridescence of the beetle's carapace to really glow.
"Thank you, Sir," I simper. "Now, if you will dictate the words that are to go under, I will pen them in."
The afternoon quickly turns into evening, and our light dims so we must stop work. I am taken back down to my cabin, and I must say I am not sorry, for my eyes are beginning to cross from the effort of concentration on ovipositor, carapace, thorax, and the rest of the beetle's parts.