And so the afternoon goes.
Later, when I am relieved of my duties in the lab, I take my painting tools with me and go down to the Gun Deck and seat myself at the long table since no officers are there yet. Private Kent takes up station behind me at the door to my room. I could go out on deck to take some air and maybe see Davy again, but I want to finish this ... and I want Jared to cool his heels a bit, too.
All right, wet brush, dip in color, and get to work.
I am bent over my task as Joseph Jared comes into the room. I see him out of the corner of my eye, but I say nothing as I continue to work on the miniature. I had painted in the Doctor's basic features before, so now I'm finishing the rest from memory—his high white collar, short-cropped dark hair, pince-nez hanging from a cord pinned to his lapel, and resting on his upraised hand, his precious Lepidoptera Danaeus plexippus.
Jared sits down at the table across from me. He, too, says nothing. A steward comes in the room and Jared gestures to him, and soon a glass of wine is placed before him, and then another in front of me.
"If this is an apology, Mr. Jared," I say, lifting the glass, "then I accept it." But I don't yet take a sip.
He still says nothing, but just looks at me intently.
"When first I met you on the Wolverine, Joseph, you were standing a watch for one of your common seamen while he was ill. Do you remember that? You were Captain of the Top and I remarked on the fact that you did not have to assume the man's duty and you replied that you have to stand up for your men and for your mates. Do you expect any less from me?"
The corners of his eyes crinkle up as he smiles and taps my glass with his, our eyes still locked. "Well said, Puss." He takes a drink and so do I. "So I may consider myself forgiven?"
"Yes, you may," I say and put my eyes back on my work. I am almost done ... some highlights in the hair, there ... his jacket a little blacker. Now to fix that hand.
"It seems that the good Doctor is to be immortalized in paint," says Joseph, craning his neck to see. "It's very good, Jacky, I must say."
"Thank you, Joseph, but pray do not tell him of it, as I mean for it to be a surprise, to thank him for his kindness to me."
Stewards come in bearing the tablecloth and dishes so I rise to go to my room, gathering up my materials, knowing that the men must set up for the officers' dinner. Lamps are being lit and I notice that Private Kent has seen to it that my lamp is also lit.
"Till later, Mr. Jared. Thank you for your company."
He nods and stands as I turn to go into my room. On my way I pat the Marine on his red sleeve and say softly, "Thank you, Billy."
Once in there, noting once again the oh-so-dim light, I decide that I cannot spend another whole evening in this gloom—no books, not enough light to work on paintings, no company. Well, I may not be able to do anything about those first two things, but I can do something about the third.
I poke my face out the door. Joseph is still there, not having moved since I left. "Mr. Jared," I ask, "does each officer have his own place at that table?"
"No," he says, wondering at the question. "The First Mate, Mr. Bennett, sits at the head and Mr. Curtis, the Second, is at the foot. The rest of us take our seats as we find them."
"Good. Could you please see that this one is kept open?" I ask, pointing at the chair directly in front of my door.
"Sure, Puss," agrees Jared, grinning full on. "Consider that seat saved. I assume a certain bottom will rest upon it at dinner?"
I don't answer outright, but I do give him a wink and a hint of a smile as I duck back into my room. I must dress now for dinner.
I strip off my serving-girl gear and pull out my old blue dress from my seabag. Ah, the old standby dress that I had made for myself back on the dear old Dolphin. I had patterned it on the one worn by Mrs. Roundtree, a practitioner of the so-called world's oldest profession, whom I had met in a brothel on Palma de Majorca when I was thirteen. It was she who had clued me in on the Facts of Life, for which instruction I was, at the time, most grateful. I haven't grown much since then, but I have grown some, primarily in my upper region and a bit in the tail so the thing has gone through many alterations, and it has served me in good stead over the years since I was finally tossed off the Dolphin for being a girl. I wear it whenever I want to catch the attention of men.
I pull it over my head, smooth it down, and adjust the bodice—no undershirt under this dress, that's for sure. Hmmm, this dress buttons up the back, so I stick my head back out the door.
"Billy. Put your musket down for a second and come button me up." As I say this, I glance out and see that the room is beginning to fill with the ship's officers.
"Belay that, Private," says Jared, who obviously has been standing by to see what's going to happen here. "I'll tend to that." A plainly disappointed William Kent stands aside as Joseph enters my cabin.
I turn my back to him, awaiting the touch of his fingers along my backbone, but I don't feel that. Not yet, anyway. I do hear his foot lightly kicking the door shut and then feel his hands reach in the open back of the dress and come around to rest on my bare belly. I have to keep my hands clasped to my chest to hold the front of the dress in place or it would fall down to my waist and we can't have that, no, we can't, but what am I to do?
His hands move up over my ribs, seeking, I know, to slide under mine. Then I feel his breath on my neck and then his lips and tongue on my shoulder and I catch my breath and let out a sigh and relax my hands and then...
...then I open my eyes, which had closed, and those eyes fall on the portrait of Jaimy hung over my bed, and I force myself back to my senses.
"Belay that, Mr. Jared," I say, my breath still short. I force his hands back down by pressing his forearms down with my elbows. "Just button me, please, or else I shall raise a fuss."
He slowly draws his hands back out and begins to button up the back. "Such a waste," he murmurs. When he is done, I turn to face him. I had taken off my hairpiece to put on the dress and he reaches up to ruffle my hair. I've noticed that since my locks have been shorn, men like to do that. Maybe it reminds them of puppies they have petted. "Someday soon you will have to tell me how this happened."
"Someday I shall, Joseph," I say, "but as for now, I must finish dressing."
"All right, Puss," he says. "Till later, then." He goes to leave, then notices the portrait hung over my, formerly his, bed. "Aha. So that is our Mr. Fletcher. Well, next time we'll have to turn that to the wall, won't we?"
He leaves, passing a very flustered Private Kent, who I'm sure was conflicted in what his duties should have been in the last few minutes of his guardianship of me. Don't worry about me as regards Mr. Jared, Billy, as I can take care of myself in that regard ... I think I can, anyway.
Back into the bag to pull out my cosmetics kit—I left many things back at Dovecote, but not that. Now for a little color to the lips, a spot of rouge to the cheeks—not too much, the image is to be a lady, after all, not a tramp—some powder all around the face and chest and shoulders ... There, all done.
Another of my hairpieces is a powdered white one with a blue ribbon at the back that matches the dress. I pull it on and regard myself in the mirror. Just right, I'm thinking—very French, very Marie Antoinette, and very much just the thing for this evening. Stand by, boys.
I sit on my bed and wait, but I do not have to wait long. Soon there is a rap on the door and I hear, "Dinner, Miss."
I go to the door and open it to see a steward standing there holding out my dinner tray and I say, "Thank you, Simmons," and take it from him. I look past him to see that the officers have gathered at their table and food is being served. Several of them regard me curiously, and I see that the place I had asked for, three seats down from the head, is open.
Putting on the Look, I stride from my room in all my blue and white powdered splendor, advance to the open chair, and place my tray down on the table in front of it. Jared, of course, is right there and he pulls out my chair
and I am seated.
"May I please join you, gentlemen?" I ask, directing my gaze at First Officer Lieutenant Bennett. "It is awfully stuffy in my room, and I am in sore need of some pleasant company." I soften the Look and gaze up at Mr. Bennett through lowered eyelashes.
"Well, I say...," he sputters, taken aback, as it were, by my sudden appearance. "But what of the conditions of your confinement? The Captain said—"
"The good Captain Hudson said, Sir," simpers I, "that I was to take my meals in my room. Very well, I have taken my dinner tray in my room just now, and then I have brought it out here. He also said that I was to have the freedom of the ship, in order to take in the fresh air so necessary to my health, always, of course, under the watchful eyes of my Marine guard. You see there, standing guard over me, Private William Kent, do you not? So all is proper, you must agree, Sir?"
Hear, hear! is heard from some of the younger officers, but Mr. Bennett still looks doubtful.
"After we dine, Sir, I think I might be able to bring some cheer to your gathering through the singing of songs, the recitation of poems, and the telling of stories—and believe me, Sir, I do have a lot of good stories."
Mr. Bennett considers, and then agrees, "Very well. Welcome to our table." He rises when he says this, and so does everybody else at the table, except for one...
"Mr. Bennett, I must protest most vigorously!" shouts Bliffil from the other end of the table. "This is a wanted criminal! She must be kept under constant guard!"
"Mr. Bliffil," says Mr. Bennett, wearily. It's obvious that he, too, has very little use for the Intelligence Officer, and I sense that feeling is shared by most of the men assembled here, they being regular, proven sailors, those who have gained their rank through rough experience and thorough testing by the Navy Board. "This is my table, and if you wish to sit at it, you will be civil to all who are here." It's equally plain that everyone has heard of my charges against the character of this Bliffil.
Bliffil sits down, visibly fuming. He fixes his glare upon me, but I pretend not to notice.
"Thank you, Mr. Bennett, for accepting one such as I into your fellowship," I say, lifting the glass that is set before me. "May I propose a toast?"
He nods.
"To the waves, to the foam, and to the Dauntless, and to all who guide her upon her watery way!"
Hear, hear!
I am introduced to the other officers—there are six of them and two Midshipmen, young squeakers really, who have been invited this evening. The dinner is excellent. We are not so far out from the last port that the meat is not still fresh and the vegetables have not yet turned brown. Much good wine is served and high hilarity rules.
After I pat my lips with my napkin, I rise and start reciting "When in disgrace with Fortune and men's eyes, I all alone beweep my outcast state..." the old Bard's "Sonnet Twenty-Nine," one of my standard poems, and it receives great acclaim. Then Midshipman Soule is forced to his feet to sing once again the "Jackaroe" song, which, because of the book that is about me, seems to be forever attached to my name. I pull out my pennywhistle from my sleeve to accompany the poor middie in his efforts and all turns out well. He sits down, red faced but pleased with his performance.
I hear Bliffil muttering to those near him who will listen: "There, that is how she does it, and I have it on the best authority from the Admiralty—she works her charms—and I know, I know, there is not much there, but somehow she does it. And soon every man aboard will be in love with her, or what they think her to be. But believe me, she is not that, she is instead a snake, a serpent that worms its way into the open and guileless sensibilities of simple men. Look at that so-called Marine guard—he is already a mush of unmanly emotion. Pah! Just watch and you will see! You'll see! Mark me!"
I hear it and let it go, but Joseph Jared hears it, too, and he does not let it go.
"And you mark me, Mr. Bliffil," says he, rising with a very dark look on his face. "One more word against this girl, and you shall meet me in the morning with pistols or the weapons of your choice."
"Meet you?" sneers Bliffil, leaning back in his chair. "Gentlemen do not fight those who are lowborn and have somehow come up through the ranks. Control yourself, Mr. Jared, else you might find yourself once more a common seaman."
Jared does not heed the warning. Instead he growls and goes to launch himself across the table at Bliffil and is restrained only by me wrapping my arms around his neck and by Mr. Soule, on his other side, who steps in front of him warning, "Don't do it, Joseph! He is not worth it!"
"Gentlemen, please!" orders Mr. Bennett. "You both know Captain Hudson has forbidden dueling on his ship! Save your quarrels till you step on shore. Now sit down before I call an end to this evening. An evening that, up until now, I have been enjoying very much."
Jared slowly sits back down, but everyone knows this is not over, not by a long shot.
"Ahem!" I say, to help clear the air. "If someone could put a fiddle in my hands, we might have a bit of music!"
Someone does and I do "The Bonny, Bonny Broom," and "The Quaker's Wife," then sing "Barbara Allen." Then "Ryan's Slip Jig," and that one I end by playing and dancing at the same time.
There are roars of applause, which warms my heart, and more wine is poured and, to take a breath, I launch into a story...
"...and then Mike Fink, the King of the River, roared out his rant, 'I'M A RING-TAILED ROARER, BORN IN A CANEBRAKE, AND SUCKLED BY A MOUNTAIN LION! AND I WILL KILL THAT JACKY FABER, I WILL BREAK HER BONES AND SUCK OUT THE MARROW, I WILL...' "
...and so on, to the delight of all. Almost all—Bliffil excuses himself early on and is not missed. I then do "The Boatman's Dance," which I learned from Mike Fink, himself, and I finish with "The Parting Glass," which I have always ended with, since my days of playing with Gully MacFarland, the truly master fiddler.
Good night, and joy be with you all.
It was a very good day.
Chapter 5
John Higgins
On Board the Schooner Nancy B. Alsop
Somewhere in the Atlantic
September 10, 1806
Mr. Ezra Pickering, Esq.
Attorney at Law
Union Street
Boston, Massachusetts USA
My Dear Mr. Pickering,
It is with great regret that I write to inform you that our Miss Jacky Faber has been taken by the British Navy in an action on the high seas. From what I was able to discern from the exchange of accusations and threats that passed between us and HMS Dauntless, the ship that took her, she is to be taken back to England for possible trial on a charge of piracy. Although it is cold comfort, all others on the Nancy B are well.
I am forwarding this message via a whaling ship, the Hiram Anderson, which was bound fully loaded for New Bedford when we managed to flag her down last week. The captain assured me he would make certain this letter is carried to you, and I believe he will be as good as his word.
Please excuse the haste in which this message is written. We are following the Dauntless across the ocean, watching for any opportunity to effect Miss Faber's rescue or to aid her in any plans she herself might have in that regard. We all know she is very resourceful in matters of self-preservation and hope for the best.
Should they manage to convey her to London, we shall contact her friends there and see what can be done.
Wishing I had better news, I remain,
Yr Most Humble and etc.
John Higgins
Chapter 6
"If you would turn this way just a little, Sir."
Captain Hudson stands across from me, and I am sitting at his table with my colors laid out before me, painting his miniature portrait.
"That's good, Sir, right there."
I pick up the pencil and begin sketching on the ivory disk.
It has been more than a few days since I first barged into the Officers' Mess that evening, but I have so far suffered no repercussions for my cheek. I'm sure Bliffil complained, but
nothing has come of it.
I have since presented Dr. Sebastian with his portrait, and he pronounced himself both amazed and pleased.
"My dear, this is wonderful!" he said, gazing at the thing. I glow under his praise—I do like admiration, as everyone knows. I had taken Jaimy's portrait out of its frame—sorry, Jaimy, but your picture is still the last thing I see at night— and popped in the one of the Doctor. "My wife will be so pleased! And thank you for including the Lepidoptera Danaeus plexippus! It is perfect!" These were the most words I had ever heard come out of the mouth of the usually taciturn Dr. Sebastian. "When we get to London, you must come to my house to do my wife and daughters and..." He stumbled then, realizing the impossibility of what he had just said. "And ... er ... sorry ... let's get back to work."
We did work for a while, and then I decided to throw a little twist into things.
"Sir, I—I know you are a member of the Royal Society..." I knew this from Stritch, the loblolly boy, a not overly bright man from whom I pump information every time the Doctor steps out of the room. "...and ... and ... I know that the bodies of those hanged for murder are given over for dissection to the surgeons..." It is common knowledge that the bodies of those executed for other crimes are given back to their families or else thrown whole into the common lime pit if no one claims them. I work up a girlish sob and throw aside my brush and bury my face in my hands. "...and I know they shall brand me a murderer because men did die on that ship and I will surely be blamed for it!"
The Doctor, who has seen much gore and has hacked off many a battle-torn limb, seems to be quite shocked at a young girl's distress. Good. I have rehearsed this little scene over and over in my head as I lay in my bunk at night, and it is going exactly as I planned.