by L. A. Meyer
Apparently, Ian took his meaning and debarked on the Lee with his wife, bound for America ... or Amer-i-kay, as the Irish would have it.
"Do not worry about her, Father, as she and I have many friends there and she will be well cared for," I reassure him, my hand on his arm. "And Ian is a very good man."
Liam Delaney responds with a grunt. "Good man? Right. I have to chase halfway around the world, through heathen seas, to get her back ... You, too."
We turn, finally, onto Blackheath Road, and the landscape changes. We are definitely in the moors. The earth itself is black, and the few and solitary trees are stark against the gray sky.
"It was my fault, Father," I say, snuggling into his side, looking out into the bleak surroundings and taking comfort from his solid presence. "Not Ian's."
"Aye," he responds with a short laugh. "But we forgive the lasses, don't we? But not the lads who should know better and take better care of their girls ... and in this case, my girls."
"Ah, Liam, there's more o' it than that ... and, oh! There's an inn up ahead! Let us stop and see what we can learn."
"Driver! Stop!"
We do, indeed, pull to a stop and get out. We go in, take welcome refreshment, and learn nothing. We press on.
The landscape grows darker and ever more gloomy. It starts to rain, a dismal, relentless downpour. We pass a pair of gateposts whereon is inscribed the name "Bask ... Basker ... ville..." or something. Whether it is a town name or the title of an estate, I do not know, but it is all very much lacking in cheer. From far off across the moor, a hound howls, low and mournful. Ahooooooo ... Ahoooooo... I give a shiver and snug down even further twixt my friends. The road is now a glistening ribbon of highway in the gloom.
"There! There's another one!" I say, leaning out and pointing at the inn's sign swaying in the wind. "And it is the Blackthorne! The one we heard about!" The old inn looms out of the mist, its timbers black against the white of the upper structure. In the past, Higgins has informed me that this style is called Tudor, after old King Henry and his bunch. This particular structure looks like it might just have been built back in Henry the Eighth's time. It certainly seems intent on settling back into the black earth.
We pull up and the coachman sees to the panting horses as we enter the place. Through the smoke that hangs heavy in the air of the main room, we see that there are many low types seated about long tables, and me and my lads head for an empty one and plunk ourselves down to wait for service. While we wait, I burrow into Tink's side, giggling as if I'm a common tart with a good mark in my sights.
Tink plays along, while Liam pounds the table and roars out, "Bring us strong ale and be quick about it! And something to eat, too, by gawd!"
A girl appears. She is quite beautiful, as I was certain she would be. Dark ringlets frame the flawless skin of her face. She is dressed in serving gear with a loose linen white top, brown vest gathered about her lower ribs, and a full black skirt flowing from her trim waist to the tops of her tiny feet. She bears three tankards of foaming ale along with a basket of bread and cheese.
"Good afternoon, gentlemen ... and lady," she says, cocking a knowing eye at me. "Welcome to the Blackthorne."
"Thankee, Miss," I say, picking up one of the mugs and throwing back a healthy slug. "And what might your name be then, dearie?"
"Then and now, it's just Bess," she says saucily, then turns away.
Ha! The landlord's daughter!
We fall to the ale and food, and when the lads have downed their glasses, I pop into Tink's lap and wriggle around a little bit and begin giggling and nuzzling his neck with my nose.
"I know you're just play-actin', Jacky," says Tink, reddening and beginning to breathe a bit hard. "But you're still a girl, and—"
I laugh and give him a peck on the cheek. "Hey, any old port in a storm, John Tinker. Ain't that what all you randy sailors say?"
"Ummm..."
I catch the eye of the observant Bess, who is missing none of this.
"'Ere, Miss, let's 'ave us another round of pints." In a moment she is over with a pitcher of ale and I toss a purse on the table, letting a good quantity of coins spill out. The girl takes thruppence for the fare so far. "Ah, that's good of ye, it 'tis ... and 'ere's a shiny copper fer you," I say, pushing the coin toward her. "Now, you be tellin' us what ye know about this 'ere 'ighwayman. We hears yer right tight wi' 'im. Coo, right romantic and all, 'im being so dashin' and brave and all. I'm so bloody envious, I can't tell ye."
"I don't know what you mean, Miss." The girl sniffs, refilling our tankards from her pitcher. I note the red ribbon twined in her hair. It is a love knot, and I've got a feeling I know who it's for. He may be a lunatic, but he sure didn't waste any time. "Will that be all? Good." She turns and walks away, her hips swaying.
Nay, that won't be all, bitch, you will tell me...
Liam sees me redden, about to pounce on the girl, and presses his hand on my arm, holding me down.
"Easy, Jacky," he says. "You will gain nothing by threatening the girl."
"But she's seen Jaimy, I just know it!" I hiss, steaming. I note that the girl has gone through a door, probably back to the kitchen. I rise and follow.
The girl stands in a hallway, surprised to see me there.
"Sorry, Miss, but the privy's out back, around—"
"Here," I say, going up to her and pushing two guineas into her palm. "This is for you. I don't expect you to tell me where he is, but just do this for me, will you? Tell him you have seen Jacky Faber, and that this Jacky is not dead. Will you do that?"
A knowing look comes over her face and she gazes at me with those black eyes and says, "Seems you've lost your cute little accent, haven't you, dearie?" She reaches over and pulls out the top of my bodice and drops the coins in. "Here. Save your money 'cause I got nothin' to tell you."
Defeated, I slump back against the wall. This girl ain't gonna tell him anything. I know that now. But I also know for sure that she has seen him. Otherwise she would have taken the money and laughed at my foolishness.
"Will you answer me this, then?" I ask, dropping all pretense. "He was wounded. Is he all right? Please tell me." My eyes mist up, and my lower lip trembles.
I believe she sees the genuine concern on my face, and hers softens and she answers, "It is said hereabouts that the Black Highwayman will soon be back on the heath."
I let out a heartfelt sigh. At least that is good news. I decide to press my luck:
"Could ... could you at least say the name Jacky Faber to him? He ... Jacky ... is a mutual friend ... It could do no harm."
The girl gives me a deep look, then shrugs and turns to wait on customers.
I know she won't ... But I'm sure that she has heard the name Jacky recently ... perhaps muttered in someone's sleep. I don't like to think it, but I believe it is true.
"Shall we push on further, Miss?" asks Liam when I return to the table.
"Nay, we shall go back to the ship. We have met the one we came to see, and further exploration will avail us nothing. She will not tell us anything, nor will she tell Jaimy, but we must not spook her. We must pursue this in other ways."
We settle up and head out, me giving the girl Bess one last look. As I climb back into the coach and we start off, I think I hear a rattle of hooves at the back of the inn.
Could it be that Bess, the landlord's daughter, is back warmly receiving whoever has just arrived at the old inn door?
Damn...
Chapter 34
It is the next day and we are gathered back on the Nancy B. to discuss our plans.
"'Tis plain the girl will tell us nothing, nor will she convey any message from me to him. In his current state of mind, he probably wouldn't believe it, anyway," I announce, having just told all gathered about of our visit to the Blackthorne Inn. It is breakfast, and Ravi is pouring coffee all around. Let us get on with it.
Late last night Joannie had come in while I was still up finishing a letter to Ezra Pickeri
ng concerning matters of international shipping. I had also acquainted him with the Jaimy Fletcher situation and my guess as to the current state of Jaimy's mind and the causes thereof. I asked Ezra if he would make discreet inquiries into finding a suitable home for Jaimy to begin recuperation should we succeed in getting him shipped safely back to the States. I was in my nightshirt and sealing the letter when she came in, chock-full of herself and bursting with news.
I listened with great interest to her report as she changed into her own nightshirt, washed up, and crawled into bed, heaving great dramatic sighs. I smiled in recognition of a fellow theatrical type, then blew out the lamp and climb in beside her.
Yes, as the only two females aboard, and both unattached to any male at the moment, we have been sharing my bed at night. Anyone who knows me at all recalls that I don't like sleeping alone. It's because of the screaming nightmares I am liable to have when curled up in the dark. The presence of another warm and breathing body beside me always seems to soothe those fears.
Plus, I do have to keep an eye on her...
"That was very good work, Joannie, and I am proud of you," I murmur. "Now, get over here and keep my back from the cold." It is, after all, still early spring and it gets damp and chilly out here on the Thames. I know the lads have the potbellied stove lit down in the galley, and they hang their hammocks about it for warmth. If it gets much colder in here, we'll be joining them down there. But for now, this is fine.
She flips over and I feel her small form hugged against me. Yes, this is just fine ... but I need to say some things...
"Joannie," I say. "You know that you are now old enough to get in trouble of a different sort, if you catch my meaning...?"
"Aye." She snorts. "And don't worry, Jacky, I've got me head on me shoulders and ain't likely to fall into any of that, not 'ere anyway, and 'specially not wi' any of them Shankies—'cept maybe Toby, but he's already got a girl, and, of course, I got me a boy back in Boston, named Daniel."
"Well, that's good, Sister," I answer, noting that she, too, falls into the old way of speakin' when she's once again back on her home turf.
She stifles giggles, then says, "You do know, Jacky, don't you, that my good pal Rebecca Adams takes great delight in retelling the speech you gave to the Lawson Peabody girls back on the Bloodhound, 'The Nature of Things Twixt a Man With a Maid or ... Things Your Own Mothers Should Have Told You But Plainly Did Not'?"
More giggles, then she says, "It is a very popular performance and she is very good at it with dramatic gestures and all."
I can just imagine, Rebecca, you little ham.
"And it is attended not only by the youngers, but also some of the older girls, them that wasn't on the Bloodhound cruise."
Hmmm...
"Well, I'm glad I was a source of amusement," I say, not very glad at all.
"Oh, Jacky." She chuckles, giving me a poke. "You cannot possibly know what a badge of honor it is at the school to have been one of the Original Bloodhound Thirty! And, oh, how I wish I could have been along on that journey!"
"No, you don't, you little fool. It only seems glorious and romantic 'cause everything worked out all right and we all got back safe. If things had gone differently, I'd be in some awful sultan's harem right now and you'd still be in the streets, bound for a life of shame and degradation."
"Don't be so sure of that, Jacky. You don't know me all that well," she says, her breath warm on the back of my neck. "Besides, bein' in a sultan's harem don't sound so bad, eatin' grapes and them pomy-gran-ates."
"It's what else you've got to do in return for those grapes and pomegranates that's the problem, Miss," I reply. "Being a slave in any of its forms ain't no fun, believe me, girl, no matter how pleasant it might seem, 'cause I know."
"Aye. I've been pumpin' Ravi about you and that Cheng Shih, I have, but he won't say much. He only gives out with winks and giggles about his 'wicked, wicked Missy Memsahib.'"
Joannie gives me another poke in the ribs. "One of these days you'll tell me what went on between you and her, you bad thing, you."
"One of these days, young one, you shall hear of it, although you should not concern yourself with the actions of your betters. Right now, though, let us go to sleep."
That was last night. This is today. Joannie, dressed again in her sailor gear, sits anxiously at my side, her belly full of Mr. Lee Chi's fine breakfast, ready to tell her tale.
Let her fidget, I'm thinking. Let's hear from Higgins first.
"Mr. Higgins," I say, tossing in yet another bit of buttered toast. "I trust you had an interesting day?"
"Indeed, Miss, the good Dr. Sebastian was able to set up a clandestine meeting with the Doctor, Mr. Peel, former head of Naval Intelligence, and myself, of course, at his club. It was a most agreeable place, well appointed and exquisitely furnished. The service was impeccable, I might add..."
Get to it, Higgins.
"...and another meeting has been set up for tomorrow morning at the same place, to discuss the possible donation of great treasure to the British Museum ... that and the subsequent advancement of Mr. Peel's rather stalled career. He is most interested, I might add."
"As well he should be," I retort. "Does he know I am involved?"
"Not yet, but as I've said, he might have his suspicions. He is a very intelligent man, and seeing both Dr. Sebastian and myself together, he might well draw his conclusions."
"Ummm. All right. That is all to the good," I say, putting napkin to lips. "Now, you have already heard of our visit to the Blackthorne Inn yesterday. So let us now hear from our street representative, Miss Nichols."
Joannie pops up straight in her chair and begins.
"Me and the Shankies have found that this 'ere bloke 'Arry Flashby—"
"Speak correctly, dear," I say, hearing the rush of her words. "There's plenty of time."
"This man, Harry Flashby, has taken rooms somewhere north of Cheapside. We do not know just where—right now, anyway—but we do have scouts out searchin'," she says, looking sly. "And we are certain of one thing. Flashby is afraid to come out of his rooms till the Black Highwayman is taken. Until then, he contents himself with fine feasts and ... with carefully chosen ... er, um ... female company."
Ah ... ever the lusty one, eh, Flashby? We'll see about that.
"We also know who gets these girls for him," she continues. "He's a pimp named Benjamin Crespo, otherwise known as Benny the Creepo. He goes through the whorehouses and chooses those girls he thinks Flashby would like. It's said that he selects the more exotic types: Negroes, mulattos, Creole, French, Spanish, and the like. And it's all done very secretly, too. The girls are taken by coach in dark of night and are blindfolded on the way there and back so they won't be able to tell where his hidey-hole is."
"Where can this Benny the Creepo be found?"
"Usually at a brothel called Mrs. Featherstone's. It's on Ludgate."
"Well, then, we'll have to pay that fine establishment a visit then, shan't we?" I say, rising. "Ravi, go get Mr. Lee and have him bring his razor. My head needs a bit of a touchup. Oh, and get your turban ... and your curly-toed slippers, too, as you will be going with me. Joannie, into your sailor-boy gear..."
"Aye, aye, Sir!" she chirps, diving for her seabag.
"...and Higgins, if you would be so kind as to continue your inquiries? Good. Davy and Tink, to the taverns to pick up what you can. We must know when the Highwayman resumes operations. All set? Then, let's do it."
The coach pulls up in front of Mrs. Featherstone's Fine Emporium and I wait for the coachman to open my door to hand me out.
"Joannie, you stay here, out of sight. Ravi, you will pick up the back hem of my garment and follow me in. Got it? Good."
The door opens and we get out in all our splendor.
Ravi has on his white turban with the ruby in the center of it, and loose white trousers gathered at the waist and ankles. His brown chest is bare and his feet are encased in golden silk shoes with upturned to
es.
I have my green and gold sarong wrapped about my hips and chest, leaving my midriff naked except for the emerald that sits in my bellybutton. Silk slippers are on my feet, as well, with my light silk cloak wrapped around all.
The well-tipped and eager-to-please coachman bounds up the steps and opens the door for me, and we enter, me first, with Ravi behind, holding up my silken train.
Surprised female eyes look up at us as we sweep into the foyer. The ladies are in various stages of undress, with much black lace and brightly feathered boas in evidence.
"I am the Lotus Blossom and I am here to see a Meester Creespo. You are to go geet heem, pleez."
One of the girls gets up and darts out of the room. Presently Benny the Creepo enters the room, an inquiring look on his face.
He is small, round of belly, and bald of head. On me, baldness looks good, but on him it does not. He affects a greasy mustache and beard, and he is dressed in a garish, foppish fashion. A smirk creeps over Crespo's full, purplish lips.
"What have we here?" he asks.
"I am called Lotus Blossom," I purr, letting the cloak slip from my head and shoulders to stand before him in all my Eastern finery. If this ain't exotic, I don't know what is. His eyebrows go up in appreciation.
"And I hear that you make assignations of a certain sort for gentlemen of very refined tastes," I continue, turning myself about slowly so that he might appreciate all my charms. I make sure that my braid is brushed to the side so that he might view my Golden Dragon tattoo. "Ess thees true?"
"Might be," he says. "What have you got to offer?"
"What I have to offer is a youth spent in the Willow World of the East studying the sensual arts," I softly say, looking up through my kohl-rimmed eyes."I know ... theengs ... techniques ... your gentlemen have never heard of. I know they will be delighted and will reward you handsomely for bringing me to them."
