My Bonny Light Horseman (7 page)

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.

My dinner is brought to me on a tray and I take it and eat it and it is good. Then I slide the tray back out and undress and slide into Joseph Jared's bed as I am totally and completely exhausted.

Dearest Jaimy, it is almost certain that I will not be there to meet you when your ship returns from the Orient, as yesterday I was well and truly caught once again, and this time it is very possible that I will not be able to wriggle my way out of it. However, on the brighter side, this day has proved much more favorable than the last, which I spent in the deepest despair. I
had given up all hope, but today I have found that I have some friends aboard this ship. As I lie here, I can hear the officers out at their table having dinner and discussing the events of the day, one of which is, of course, me, and I hear some expressions of sympathy for my plight. The low murmur of their voices is lulling me to sleep, even as I think these thoughts of you.

I hope you are well and I pray daily for your safety. Good night, Jaimy. God be with you.

Chapter 4

I crack open an eyelid when I hear the hatch over the Gun Deck being lifted to let in the fresh air and light. I rub my face to wake myself up and reflect,
Oh this is so much better than that soggy brig!
Then I push my face back in the pillow for a few more minutes of blissful ease.

There is a knock on my door and a voice calls out, "Breakfast, Miss."

I hop out of bed and throw back the latch on the door to swing it open and there stands Private Morris, bearing a steaming tray.

"Thank you, Jonathan."

"And, Miss, the Doctor sent word that he would like to get to work right after you've had breakfast and are ... dressed," says the young Marine, blushing nearly as red as his coat.

I am completely covered in my nightdress and mobcap. Is it the sight of my ankles and bare feet on the floor that makes him blush and stammer so?
Men, I swear.

"Thank you, Jonathan," I say, stepping aside. "Please put it on the nightstand there."

He does it, and I make sure he has to brush up against me on his way out.

"And if you could have the steward bring me up a pitcher of water so I could wash?" I say with a flutter of eyelashes.
Hey, I've got to make as many friends as I can. And fast, too. Every passing minute brings this ship closer to England.

When the water is brought and the door closed, I whip off my nightclothes to do the necessaries and then wash hands, face, and parts, and dry off with the towel that hangs by the washstand. Then I sit down on the bed to eat my breakfast.

It is good—oatmeal with berries and sugar, hot tea, and a nice piece of johnnycake. As I munch away, I think about my plan. Well, it's only the start of a plan, but it's starting to come together. As usual, it involves me getting in good with the crew and then jumping overboard at the right time and swimming for it. I remember the Captain saying, "Christ, at this rate we'll never round Margate!" when I was taken.
Margate
—that means we're definitely going to London, because Margate is at the mouth of the Thames and that means, if I remember my charts and I believe I do, we shall first spot land off the Isle of Dogs, about fourteen miles away. Not an easy swim, and things are starting to get a mite chilly. Well, I'll work out that part of it as we plow along. It is not a finished plan, but it is a start and it makes me feel better. The rest will come to me later.
I hope.

After I have eaten my breakfast, I rummage through my seabag and pull out my old Lawson Peabody serving-girl outfit to wear today—black skirt, loose shirt, and low leather weskit laced up tight under my chest, letting whatever there is of me up top swing free under the thin white cloth of the shirt. I will be in close quarters with the Doctor, as well as maybe some others, and I figure my dress exhibits a bit of poor-little-girl humility befitting my lowly stature as a captive, and yet, with its low bodice and snug waist, shows off whatever I might have in the way of female charms.

Thus attired, I throw the latch to open the door. "Take me away, Private Morris, for I am yours to command," I say grandly, as I place my arm on his and we go to the hatchway, then out and onto the deck.

Once there, I blink in the bright light and see Joseph Jared on watch up on the quarterdeck, looking down on me when he should be tending to his sails. I put my nose in the air and stride past in the safe custody of my Marine. But I turn my head just before going down into the fo'c'sle to the orlop and glance his way. Of course, his grin is in place. I pretend not to notice and toss my head higher and go down.