"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."