"Did Miss Burke say farewell?"
Some of the light went out of Mathilde's small face.
"Yes, sir. I will miss her very much."
They headed out to the road, the ladies calling farewells that Robert returned with a wave. It was a pleasant day and Mathilde's mood lightened as she skipped alongside him, chatting as they walked down to the Marigot harbor. Her voice was a charming blend of island lilt and French accented English.
Her dress was neat, but simple in its design. The flowered pink muslin was appropriate for a young girl, but he could see a good two inches of wrist showing at the ends of the sleeves. It appeared his daughter would inherit his height as well as his looks.
For some odd reason he thought of the governess. She was only of average height and when he'd stood close to her she'd had to tilt her head back, which made her resemblance to an annoyed hedgehog even more pronounced, looking up at him from close to the ground.
"'Walk the plank'? Wherever did you get that idea, child?"
"Maman told me stories of the buccaneers and the pirates who live in the islands. She said my papa was the fiercest pirate of all!"
He wasn't about to deny such a sterling character reference.
"Fiercest of all, am I? Hmmm...it occurs to me that if you are going to join the crew of my ship we need to give you a pirate name."
She stopped skipping and looked up at him, and one would think he'd just handed her the moon on a platter.
"A pirate name! Oh yes, please!"
They resumed walking and he thought about it, swinging her valise as he walked. She began skipping again.
"Not that there is anything wrong with Mathilde," he assured her. "It is a perfectly lovely name for a young lady. It strikes me though as not being piratical. Women who are pirates have names that are simple, but do not detract from their fierceness. Girls like Anne Bonny and Mary Read."
"There are girl pirates?" If she looked happy before, he feared now she would explode with excitement.
"Yes, indeed there are. I will show you Captain Johnson's book of pirates when we're aboard the Prodigal Son. So. What shall your name be?"
"What is your pirate name, Papa?"
"I find being Captain St. Armand is sufficient in the course of a day's work," he said dryly. "For you...what about Tilly?"
She thought about this, her steps slowing as she tried the name out.
"No, Papa, not Tilly. If you give me that name, people might call me 'Silly Tilly' and that would not be a good pirate name."
"An excellent point," he said. They were now in town and people called out greetings to them, some even fit for the ears of an impressionable child. He ignored most of it and concentrated on the task at hand.
"I have it!" he snapped his fingers and looked at her. "Mattie! You will be Mattie! How does sound? Marauding Mattie, scourge of the West Indies!"
She stopped again to try out the name, then grinned up at him. "I like that name! Marauding Mattie! It is fierce!"
"Indeed. It suits you."
She muttered the name to herself as they walked along, clearly pleased with her new nom de guerre.
"If I am going to be Marauding Mattie I will need a sword, Papa. And pistols too!"
"What? Was swordplay included in your lessons with Miss Burke?"
Mattie giggled at this question.
"No, Miss Burke with a sword would be silly. She would say it is not ladylike behavior."
"No doubt she would. Hmmm...aboard my ship the crew has to earn the right to use the weapons, Mattie. And remember, a weapon is a tool and we always take care of our tools and stow and use them properly. Perhaps we can start with a clasp knife and I will see how you care for it and use it before I issue you a brace of pistols."
"A clasp knife? Of my own?" She threw her arms around his legs and hugged him, nearly causing him to stumble and fall in the street. He held his hand over her head and then rested it on her curls. So soft, like thistledown. Usually glib, he found he could say nothing as she looked at him with shining eyes.
"You are the best pirate in the entire world!"
He did not disagree, but took her hand in his as they walked along. There was a tooth missing in her smile. Was he supposed to do something about that? As best he could recall, his own teeth at that age loosened and fell out without any assistance, followed by new teeth. He felt that chill again, the one he'd felt when he was first told he had an unknown child. He knew nothing about caring for a little girl and needed help, desperately.
"Papa, there is the boarding house where I stayed with Miss Burke." The child pointed to a modest dwelling where an older woman dressed in black and wearing a black bonnet sat on the veranda sewing. She waved back at the pair as Mattie called out a cheerful, "Bonjour, Madame Dupre!"
The governess was not about, but Robert noted the location in case he needed to speak with her again.
By the time they were at the docks Mattie's steps were lagging but she did not complain, and perked up when he said, "There's our vessel, Mattie, the Prodigal Son."
The schooner gleamed, its brightwork shining in the tropical sunlight. The crew was at their tasks, which was only as he expected. He ran a tight ship, a well disciplined and prepared crew making for more effective forays. Too many people who styled themselves pirates had slack standards and sloppy habits, making them the dregs of the sea lanes. Robert St. Armand had a reputation to maintain.
They came aboard and were met by the mate.
"Welcome back, Cap'n," the older man said. He looked down at Mattie holding Robert's hand and craning her neck to try and take in all of the busy activity aboard the vessel. When Mattie looked at Horace Fuller, his eyebrows went up.
"Looks like you have a memento of your time in the islands, Captain."
"Mattie, make your curtsey to Mr. Fuller."
She looked up at her father, puzzled.
"Do pirates curtsey, Papa?"
Fuller coughed into his fist and looked at Mattie.
"Perhaps a handshake will do, miss."
"I am Mathilde St. Armand," she said, dropping the expected curtsey from habit if not circumstances. "But my pirate name is Marauding Mattie, Mr. Fuller."
She glanced up at her papa.
"Can I be Mathilde St. Armand instead of Mathilde Lestrange? I want everyone to know I have a papa."
The mate looked at his captain.
"Nanette Lestrange?"
Robert just shook his head slightly, not wanting to ruin Mattie's good mood.
"Mattie St. Armand here will be joining the crew, Mr. Fuller. She will sleep in my cabin tonight but be thinking about where she can have her own quarters with room for a governess as well."
"Papa, pirates do not have governesses. I will not have one!" She stuck out her lower lip and crossed her arms over her chest, causing the mate to murmur, "The resemblance is uncanny, Captain."
"Mr. Fuller," Robert said sternly. "Instruct the newest crewmember of the punishment for disobeying the captain's orders!"
Fuller looked at him, and Robert shrugged his shoulders slightly.
"Oh. Well, Mattie, we save the floggings and keelhaulings for the most serious offenses, but you must do as instructed aboard ship or--or you might not get your ration of grog--I mean pudding," he amended at his captain's scowl. "After all, we can't have the crew questioning orders during battle, can we?"
Her forehead scrunched up as she thought on this.
"I understand, Mr. Fuller. And I was rude. I am sorry, Captain Papa."
Mr. Fuller looked out to sea, scratching his nose until he had control of himself.
"Norton!"
A cheerful young sailor with freckles scattered across his face came at the call.
"Mattie here is the newest member of the crew. Take her below to the captain's cabin and see her settled."
"Aye, Mr. Fuller. Come, Mattie."
The child went docilely enough. She'd tried to hide a yawn behind her hand, but Robert suspected she would be napp
ing in his bunk shortly.
"Well now," Fuller said, watching as they went below. "There's a complication we weren't expecting. And where the hell are you going to find a governess?"
"I have a plan, Mr. Fuller."
"A plan, eh? I'm not going to like it, am I?" the mate asked rhetorically, but he followed his captain to the stern to hear his latest scheme.
Chapter 3
Lydia looked down at the shoe in her hand and realized she'd been scowling at it for a good ten minutes. She sighed and tossed the inoffensive footwear onto the narrow boarding house bed. The room had been cramped with Mathilde's trundle bed. Now it was more spacious, but empty of life.
Was the child missing her as much as she missed Mathilde? Lydia hoped not. Mathilde needed to get on with her life and Lydia needed to get on with hers. She could not take care of the child, not while she was employed to care for other peoples' children. She'd considered asking Captain St. Armand for his direction in England so she could write to Mathilde, but refrained. In England Mathilde would have a different life, and reminders she'd been raised by a former whore turned modiste, and a governess who--
She quashed that dangerous thought. No good would come from dwelling on the past. It was enough that nightmares disturbed her sleep. Time now to focus on Mrs. Milton and the young charges awaiting her in St. Thomas, the Milton daughters. Lydia's references passed scrutiny and she was optimistic it would be a good position, perhaps one she could enjoy for ten years or more since the younger daughter was only seven years old. If she was careful with her money she might even be able to set aside enough to buy herself a tiny cottage when she was too old to work.
The captain's offer jumped into her mind again but she brushed it away. She'd be lying to say she wasn't tempted by the generous offer, but there was too much risk involved. Risks of all sorts. She blushed anew as she recalled his naked form when she first glimpsed him. She'd never considered whether a man's backside was exceptionally attractive or not, but the view of Captain St. Armand from behind shifted her brain's functions into dangerous areas, areas where she had no business spending time.
Especially not when there was packing to finish so she could board the Clementine, a New Brunswick brig traveling to St. Thomas. Captain Macdavid instructed her to be ready at dawn and said he'd send a man to escort her and get her gear. His vessel was small and cramped and smelled of salt-fish, but she could not be choosy about her passage. Ships sailed at the whims of the wind and the tide, and she couldn't wait for a better, and more expensive, mode of transport.
Lydia ate a solitary supper off of a tray and washed herself thoroughly before putting on her night rail, knowing from experience fresh water would be a luxury, even on short hops among the islands. Captains filled their holds with goods to be sold, not comforts for passengers and crew, and it was important to arrive in St. Thomas at her best. She sighed, looking at the gray dress hanging for her to wear in the morning. She had two colors in her everyday wardrobe--dark blue and gray. Her one good dress was a faded beige silk, years out of fashion. No wonder St. Armand looked at her with disdain.
There had been a time when, if their paths crossed, he might have looked at her differently. Now they were just two more of England's children in the islands where the cast-offs of many nations washed ashore like so much flotsam and jetsam. It was the appropriate milieu for him, and for her as well.
She had done what she could for Mathilde in bringing her to her father. Would he be good to her? Would he listen to her prayers at night and find someone to care for her with affection, if not love?
While it was now out of her hands Lydia could not help feel she was abandoning the child to a horrible fate.
Chapter 4
"Again, Papa, throw the knife again! Hit him in the eye this time!"
Robert paused, the knife held lightly with his thumb resting on the flat of the blade."As entertaining as it is to stab someone from a distance, always remember, Mattie... If you throw your knife you no longer have a knife you can use, and it could even be used against you. You must have a backup weapon. What did I tell you is the first rule of knife fights?"
"Kill your enemy from a distance and avoid knife fights."
"Second rule?"
"Bring a pistol."
"That's correct. If your opponent brings a knife, you bring pistols, with your own knife as backup."
"Aye, sir."
"Also," he added in a pedantic fashion, "my victim is painted on wood. A real person would be moving, or yelling, or trying to harm you. If he's just standing there one could simply cosh him over the head with a belaying pin. Of course, you would have to stand on a chair to do that."
Mattie put her hand up over her mouth and giggled at the image. She'd adjusted to life aboard ship in a fashion that made him proud and more convinced than ever she was his child. Maxwell the boatswain, known to all as Sails, cut down clothing to fit her, trousers and a shirt, and she looked right at home as she scampered barefoot across deck. Mr. Fuller gave her chores to do and while she grumbled about scrubbing the decks, she only did so because all the pirates grumbled about it and she wanted to fit in with the crew.
For their part the crew made efforts to keep their more salacious shanties to themselves and sing work-songs suitable for the ears of an eight-year-old, but Robert could tell Mattie's vocabulary was undergoing a sea change as she learned the ways of the Prodigal Son. At some point he would have to inform her that "By King Neptune's Damp Balls!" was not a suitable oath for a young lady, no matter how often she heard Conroy say it.
"A sail, Captain!" Conroy yelled now from aloft.
Robert easily threw the knife, hitting the wooden form square in his eye patch. He pulled his knife out and tucked it back in his boot.
"Go below, Mattie, and fetch my spyglass."
"Aye, Captain," the littlest crew member said, running off to do his bidding.
Robert went to the rail and looked out over the turquoise seas. His gut told him the prey he sought was out there wallowing across the water, just waiting for him to swoop down and pluck it like a Christmas goose.
Spyglass in hand, he focused on the ship, then smiled to himself. Fuller took the glass from him and gave a grunt of confirmation when he saw it more closely.
"Mr. Fuller, clear the decks for action."
"Against that?"
"Just do it."
"Papa, are you going to blow them out of the water? Will you put burning fuses in your hair like Blackbeard to scare them?"
Fuller looked down at the tyke, then back at his captain.
"I told you reading Captain Johnson to her was a bad idea."
Robert rested his hand atop his daughter's curls. "If all goes as planned my being a bad influence on the child will be less of an issue. Run up the colors, Norton!"
The banner of Mexico flapped easily in the wind and Mattie looked up at it and frowned.
"That is not a skull-and-crossbones."
"It keeps the lawyers happy, Mattie. We have a letter of marque from the rebels in Mexico that makes us respectable."
"If Britain gets word you're attacking their merchantmen that piece of parchment won't be good for anything but wiping your arse, Captain."
"Language, Mr. Fuller. Don't you have weapons to distribute?"
The crew of the Prodigal Son enthusiastically prepared for action, as Robert St. Armand had a deserved reputation for sniffing out good hauls. The men were cheered by the thought of returning to England with more booty, although one or two did remark, out of Mr. Fuller's hearing, that the brig they were bearing down on did not look exactly like a Spanish treasure ship, now did it? In fact, it looked more likely to be carrying salt cod than silver.
When they were within hailing distance Robert took the speaking trumpet from the mate.
"Ahoy, Clementine! Heave to and prepare to be boarded!"
Robert watched the frantic activity aboard the Clementine with satisfaction. Captain Macdavid was no fool, and the small arms
he carried to fend off brigands in port were no match for the Prodigal's guns. Like most captains in the Caribbean, he'd do the prudent thing and not try to outrun the schooner.
"Put out fenders and make fast to that vessel, Mr. Fuller. I'm going aboard. Send Paget aloft with a rifle to cover the deck." He patted Mattie on the head. She was clinging to the gunwale, watching everything with wide eyes.
"I will be back soon, Mattie. Mind Mr. Fuller while I'm gone."
"Do not worry, Papa! I have my knife and if any of them try to come aboard, I'll gut them!"
"Charming."
Robert and his men boarded the vessel with the ease of experienced banditti and soon had the crew up on deck under the watchful eyes and well-armed men of the Prodigal. Captain Macdavid offered no resistance, though if he were any angrier steam would be coming from his ears. The Canadian captain knew Robert by reputation if not personal acquaintance.
"I heard you were shipping out for England, Captain St. Armand," Macdavid growled.
"I am enroute, but you have something I need. If I get it, we should be able to part company without bloodshed or difficulty," Robert said cheerfully.
"What is it you want?" Macdavid said, looking about the deck at his shabby little vessel, which looked like a flounder alongside the sleek, sharklike Prodigal.
Robert gestured at the trio coming abovedecks.
"Her."
"You! Reprobate! Wastrel! Knave! Scoundrel! Libertine! Villain!" Miss Burke sputtered to a finish having run out of epithets for the moment. The two crewmen escorting her looked at her with new respect, but she needed a few weeks aboard a pirate vessel. That would add salt to her vocabulary.
A slow smile curled his lips. The governess's ugly linen cap was absent. While her hair was pinned tightly against her head, it shone in the sun, a glorious shade of chestnut with highlights of russet and gold. A few wisps escaped to curl across her forehead, with enough amber depths that it made one itch to unpin the mass and see all the colors gathered there. No wonder the little hedgehog kept it covered! Hair like that would inspire naughty thoughts in her employers and jealousy in their wives.
The Pirate's Secret Baby Page 3
