The Jezebel's Daughter

by Juliet MacLeod

  I moved past him, picking up my skirts to swish them out of the way, as if he were unclean. A pariah. Like I would be if I returned to London. My knees went weak and I reached out to grab onto a fence to keep from stumbling. He was right. There was very little he'd been wrong about in the brief time I'd known him. But that didn't mean I had to accept it.

  We arrived at my Inn and I thanked him formally and then stomped up the stairs and went inside without a backward look. The slave girl followed me to my room to help me undress and I instructed her to take the gown and petticoats and everything else back to the dressmaker in the morning before I dismissed her. I found the cleaned pile of my pirate clothing and I slept that night in my shirt, tossing and turning as Sebastian's words haunted me. Damn him, he was right.

  XIX

  Spanish Town, Jamaica

  July, 1716

  It was difficult to avoid someone while you were both trapped on board a ship. I saw Sebastian everywhere I turned and it always seemed as though he was watching me. I ignored him as much as I could and only answered his direct questions in monosyllables. I focused on my job, on correcting maps, taking headings and depth soundings, and staying sharp during watch. I knew Ben understood something had happened between Sebastian and I, but he was too polite—or perhaps too afraid—to ask what had come between us.

  Free time was a luxury and what little of it I enjoyed was spent sitting astride the bowsprit, hanging onto the stays and thinking about my situation. I could not go back to London. I had eventually come to accept that. I would have exactly the sort of life Sebastian had predicted, and I couldn't live like that. Therefore, my only alternative was to stay here, in the Caribbean. I would obviously need income, a place to live, clothing, food, books—the necessities. As I saw it there were three options: to go back to Nassau and Madame Dupris, find a husband as quickly as possible, or stay aboard the Jezebel.

  There were, of course, inherent risks in all three options. Finding a husband held the least amount of dangers, though it would probably prove to be the most boring, and after six months aboard a pirate ship, I couldn't stand boring. Working for Madame was the most distasteful and would only provide for the most basic human needs for a short time, until I got old and wrinkled and men were no long interested in me. Staying aboard the Jezebel was at once the most exciting and the most dangerous. And it was the most appealing because it meant I would be with Sebastian.

  He'd asked me to stay. He wanted me to stay and I wanted the same thing, but it meant that my secret would constantly be in danger of being exposed. How would the crew react if they discovered me? Would Sebastian, Ben, and I be marooned? Would we be hung for lying to them? Or might they accept me, because they'd served alongside me for six months, because I'd formed the plan that guaranteed them easy money?

  When we anchored in Spanish Town, I was one of the first off the ship, occupying the bow of a jolly-boat as it was rowed to shore. I leapt out and helped drag it up the sand before turning and diving into the crowds around the beach. It was market day and I could smell fresh bread and roasting meat. The scent of flowers, of jasmine and tuberoses, overhung it all, and I was happy. Suddenly I was lighter than air. The sun was shining, flowers were blooming, and the air was warm. I smiled at everyone I encountered and was surprised and delighted when most of them smiled back. The rest of my life might be a complete shambles, but right now, in this moment, I was surrounded by beauty and I was happy.

  I went to the market and was momentarily disappointed by the lack of pineapples. The man at the fruit stall recommended something called a jackfruit—a strange-looking oblong thing covered in a bright green, prickly skin—and I decided to try it. It was subtly sweet and tasted like a cross between an apple and a pineapple. When the man saw that I enjoyed it, he gave me a handful of the roasted nuts as well. They brought to my mind the taste of roasted chestnuts and I immediately bought another fruit and another handful of the roasted nuts to take with me.

  I meandered through the marketplace, eating my fruit and nuts while stopping at the book stalls, still on the lookout for more volumes of the Arabian tales. I didn't find those, but I did find a book on Scottish history and bought it immediately for Sebastian. It seemed only fair to return the favor, since he'd given me so many books. I flipped through the pages and was delighted to find intricately drawn maps, with towns and villages marked, along with hills and streams and moorland. I left the book seller, nose in the book, not paying attention to where I was going, and collided violently with someone.

  “Watch where you're going, you...” I glanced up into the wrinkled, age-worn face of one of the Jezebel's hands, a very disagreeable man named Pooley. “Oh, young Master Jones. What's that you got there?” He sneered and snatched the book out of my hands and looked through it.

  “Pooley,” I said, drawing on my youth and my height, and hoping my station aboard the ship would sufficiently cow him into behaving. “I wasn't aware you could read,” I said nastily.

  His eyes went flat and he shoved the book into my chest, forcing me to either step back or fall over. I took a single step back, tucked the book under my arm, and laid my hand on the butt of my pistol. His gaze took in my stance, the hand resting on my weapon, and he sneered again, his lip curling like a mad dog's. “Like that, is it?” he said, his voice dripping with venom. “You think 'cos you're bosom friends with MacIsaac nothing bad can happen to you, eh?” He took a step towards me, thinking to use his weight and musculature—such as it was—to intimidate me. “I know your secret,” he said in a low, menacing voice.

  I blinked and jerked my head back as if he'd slapped me. I tried to school my features but I could see it in his eyes that he knew he'd rattled me. The sneer grew more malicious and he nodded slowly. “Oh, yes,” he said. “I know what you and MacIsaac get up to at night, when you're alone.” A vicious smile settled on his face and he leaned closer, lowering his voice to a whisper. “Sodomites. Vile, filthy indorsers.”

  Laughter bubbled up out of me, the sound equal parts hysteria and relief. “You think... Oh, Christ's blood!” I stumbled backward into a stall, and gripped the edge of it so that I wouldn't collapse from the force of my laughter. Pooley's face fell and he looked less cocksure and confident as I tried in vain to contain myself and stop laughing. Finally I was able to draw a breath. “I can assure you, Mr. Pooley,” I said loftily, “that no such thing is happening, nor will it ever happen.” I chuckled more as I watched the man try to recover. His pout reminded me of a toddler I'd seen once, whose toy had just been taken away. I fully expect the man to break out into tears.

  He straightened and squared his shoulders, sweeping together the remains of whatever dignity he might have had prior to his accusations. “I'm watching you, shit-sack,” he hissed at me before turning on his heel and melting into the crowd.

  I stood in place, watching him go for a moment and then drew a ragged breath. Straightening, I pushed off the stall and ran a sweaty palm down my face. My heart was pounding now, the tips of my fingers tingling. Pooley's warning reminded me of the danger I was constantly in. One moment of lax vigilance and my life would almost certainly come to a crashing end.

  I had to warn Sebastian. I had to tell him that we were being closely observed by at least one member of the crew, who was determined to uncover our secret. I turned and headed towards the tavern where Hamilton and Sebastian had installed their spies. I stepped inside and was instantly transported to the tavern in the Earthly Delights. There were no differences between the two places. They were both crowded, dimly lit even at mid-day, filthy, loud, and filled with a most disagreeable stench.

  Standing just inside the door, I scanned the crowd and found Hamilton, Sebastian, and two whores sitting at a table in the far back of the room. The whore in Sebastian's lap was naked from the waist up, her arms curled around his shoulders as she played with his hair. His hand was on her breast, squeezing and stroking, while his mouth was pressed tightly against hers. Hamilton looked up and spotted m
e. He motioned me over to their table. I shook my head rapidly and stumbled out of the tavern, not paying attention to where I was going, just running to put distance between myself and the awful scene.

  I stopped running when I heard church bells. I looked up at a bell tower a few blocks away. Catholic? No, not in a British-controlled territory. Anglican. Church of England. Something familiar and quite welcome, then. I walked to the church, an imposing brick building that sat at the top of a small rise, surrounded by a tall brick fence. People dressed in good clothing moved through a wrought-iron gate and I fell in behind them. Suddenly I wanted nothing as badly as to sit in a hard-wooden pew and listen to a boring sermon about loving one's neighbor or not spreading false gossip. I slipped into one of the back pews and wished I had saved my Bible from the Resolution; I felt naked without it here.

  I watched people enter and find seats, some giving me curious side-long glances, some smiling tentatively, but none of them spoke to me, for which I was thankful. I had no idea how I would answer the questions I knew would inevitably come—where I was from, what I was doing in Spanish Town, who my family was. I couldn't very well tell them that I was the master's mate on board the Jezebel.

  I tuned out most of the service, rising and kneeling when appropriate, guided by something that approached muscle memory. I could almost feel my family on either side of me, could almost smell my father's wig powder and my mother's perfume, could almost see Gunnar fidgeting and Mattie flirting across the aisle with the youngest daughter of the Ingram family.

  Finally, the priest stood in front of us and the crowd around me fell silent. “The reading today is taken from Romans, chapter thirteen, verses one through four.” My brows rose in surprise and I leaned forward, my attention now wholly focused on the priest as he read the verses. “'Let every soul be subject unto the higher powers. For there is no power but of God: the powers that be are ordained of God. Whosoever therefore resisteth the power, resisteth the ordinance of God: and they that resist shall receive to themselves damnation. For rulers are not a terror to good works, but to the evil. Wilt thou then not be afraid of the power? Do that which is good, and thou shalt have praise of the same: For he is the minister of God to thee for good. But if thou do that which is evil, be afraid; for he beareth not the sword in vain: for he is the minister of God, a revenger to execute wrath upon him that doeth evil.'”

  I sat back, a worried frown on my face. Did he somehow know I was in the congregation? What was a pirate but someone who resists governmental powers, and does evil while at it? I scrubbed a hand down my face and listened intently as the priest began his sermon.

  “To the north of this fair island lies a modern-day Sodom and Gomorrah, a haven for cut-throats, thieves, and murderers. A place where evil-doers thrive and live without the fear of God. A town where wicked women seduce young men into sin. A city of Satan!” There was a smattering of gasps from some of the more delicate women in the congregation at that pronouncement. “That place is New Providence Island.” I tried to shrink down in my seat, to hide from the people around me. I was transfixed, however, by the priest's words, unable to leave the church, unable to even look away.

  “Twenty-four years ago, the Lord God saw fit to destroy the den of wickedness in Port Royal. He caused the earth to shake and the seas to swallow up the town, killing most of the evil-doers who called that place home and sending them unto eternal damnation in the fiery pits!

  “But like a garden weed whose roots are still anchored in the dirt, the sinners have risen again to pursue their wicked lives on different shores. Fear not, children of the Lord! For I have had word that Our Father will be smiting down the men and women who call that den of Satan home. Our true and mighty sovereign, King George, is sending his royal navy and a new governor to New Providence Island.”

  My blood ran cold and I suddenly couldn't breathe. The Royal Navy was coming to Nassau? And a new governor, too? Dear God... I slipped out of the pew and went quietly back to the streets. I had to warn Sebastian. Nassau had not had a governor in over ten years. That was why it flourished as a pirate republic. But if a new Royal governor arrived with man-of-wars and guns and soldiers, the pirates would be rounded up and executed. I would be rounded up and executed.

  I ran as fast as I could back to the tavern where I'd last seen Sebastian and Hamilton. Heedless of the situation I might find them in, I rushed inside and found them at the same table they'd been at before. Thankfully, the whores were gone, and Ben and Duquesne, the boatswain, had joined the captain and quartermaster. I arrived at the table, sweaty and starved of air. The men all looked at me, perplexed though humorous expressions on their faces.

  After a few moments of gasping as I tried to catch my breath, Ben handed me his flagon of ale. I drained it and nodded my thanks as I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand. “Captain MacIsaac, sir,” I said, staring fixedly at a point just over his right ear. “I've news from Nassau.”

  They waited a beat but I was still struggling for breath. Sebastian chuckled and drew another chair up to the table and pushed me into it. “In your own time, Mr. Jones,” he said. “We'll wait.”

  “I've just come from church,” I explained when my lungs were no longer heaving like a bellows. “The priest was reading from Romans, chapter thirteen, verse one—”

  “Get on with it, Jones,” said Duquesne. “No one gives a toss about chapter and verse. News from Nassau, you say?”

  “Yes, sir. The priest, he says the Royal Navy's coming. And a new governor, too.”

  Silence reigned at the table for a moment before the men burst into laughter. I stared at them, my brow furrowed in confusion and shock. Ben saw my expression and took pity on me and explained. “They be saying that for years. Since old Trott get tossed out, they be saying the Navy's coming to clean us all out. Ain't happened yet.”

  “I see,” I said. “So none of you are concerned?”

  They all shook their heads and I felt immeasurably ridiculous for sprinting halfway across the town, bearing a message that wasn't even that important. Duquesne took pity on me and bought me a flagon of ale for my efforts and I sat quietly, sipping it and listening to the men's conversation as they made plans for the next hunt. There were a few options and Sebastian and Hamilton finally settled on a British merchant, said to be carrying tea and spirits.

  “Will we sell it all?” I wondered. It had been nearly a year since I'd had a proper cup of English tea and I missed it dearly.

  Sebastian chuckled and said, “You'll have to excuse Mr. Jones. He's been away from London for too long. Misses his tea.”

  The men joined in his laughter and soon left the tavern, intending to spend a few hours in one of the other local brothels or taverns. Sebastian stayed behind, and I sat across the table from him. Neither of us spoke, neither of us looked at the other, all of our attention trained on the table or our drinks or the room around us. The silence stretched out between us, awkward and oppressive.

  Finally, I took a deep breath and looked up at him. “Pooley attacked me in the market earlier. That's what I was coming to tell you when I... Before I went to church services.”

  Sebastian's head snapped up and his mouth was set in a thin, dangerous line. “He attacked you? What for?”

  “Well, it was more like he purposefully bumped into me and then accused you and I of being sodomites.”

  “Sodomites?” He shook his head. “Seems a case of the pot calling the kettle black.” At my confused expression, he clarified. “We don't let Pooley work with any of the crew who are younger than I am. He's got a bit of a taste for young men and I suspect he fancies you. He's probably jealous that you and I spend so much time together.”

  “We should be careful nonetheless.”

  “Does this mean you're staying with the crew?” His voice was soft and there was an urgent, pleading look in his eyes. I nodded and a slow smile dawned on his face. “Good. I'm glad. I was hoping you would.”

  “It's not because of you,” I sai
d, a little too harshly. “It's because I don't have any other options. I'm only staying long enough to save up enough money to buy property, maybe a ship or two.”

  “You want to become a merchant?” I nodded. “Bold choice for a someone without a male relative to act as a guide. No father, no brothers, no one else. You certainly don't do anything by halves, do you?”

  “I saw you earlier,” I said, ignoring his question. “Here. With the whore in your lap.”

  His brow arched and I expected him to become defensive or perhaps to apologize. He did neither. Instead he merely shrugged and asked, “Did you also see Hamilton with his hand up the other one's skirts?”

  “No. I don't care what Hamilton does. I care what...” I bit off the rest of my words. I did care what he did and with whom he did it, but I didn't want him to know that he had that much power over me.

  Sebastian waited for me to say more, to finish my thought, but when it became apparent I wasn't going to speak further, he sighed heavily and leaned forward, dropping his voice to conspiratorial tones. “It's a business arrangement with these spies that you have insisted upon. If we were to meet with them and not touch them, not take advantage of what they're selling, wouldn't it be suspicious?”

  “Do you often take advantage of what they're selling?” I couldn't keep the childish petulance out of my voice and I hated that despite my previous decision not to let him see how much power he had over me, I was showing him exactly that.

  “I fail to see how that is germane to this discussion. But to answer your question and wipe that distrustful look from your face, no. I do not. I am not a whoremonger.”

  I narrowed my eyes and studied his face. He looked honest. I'd always believed he was better than Graves, that he wasn't driven by his base desires. He was a man of learning, after all, someone who could discuss French literature and philosophy. Someone who had been carefully wooing me with books for nearly a year now. I needed to trust that impression. “Alright,” I said carefully. “I believe you.”