by L. A. Meyer
"Thanks, Henry, I'll make it up to you," I say, and take the basket of fish from the back of the saddle and dash down toward the kitchen entrance of the school.
"It's about time, you!" says Peg. She takes the fish and smells them and then spills them out on a cutting board and picks up a cleaver and begins chopping off the heads and tails and such, all of which go into a pot for the making of stock. "Take the chimes up and call them to supper and get ready to serve it. You take the head table tonight."
I start rapping the chime thing in front of the dormitory and I turn to go back down to get ready to serve when I hear, "Wait."
I look back through the door and I see Clarissa standing straight in the center of the room. There are some of the girls around her.
"Come here, girl."
I heave a mighty sigh and go into the dormitory room. I try to never be close to that room when the ladies are around, but this time I had no choice.
"Yes, Miss," I say, and stand there and wait for it.
Clarissa tosses her net bag of soiled underwear at my feet. Some of the others do the same.
"Wash them and dry them and iron them and have them ready tomorrow."
I put the chimes aside and stoop to pick up the bags. I save Clarissa's for last and that one I pick up twixt my thumb and forefinger and with pinky extended hold it out at full arm's length and turn my face as if the bag and its contents stink. I wrinkle my nose, turn, and head for the door.
I hear the patter of her feet behind me as she charges, and I feel her hands hit my back as she stiff-arms me to the floor.
"You insolent piece of baggage, you! How dare you!"
I roll over and get to my knees and look up into Clarissa's furious face and I say, "Miss Howe, do whatever you're going to do and get it over with, please."
There, on my knees in front of Clarissa, I decide that I will join with Gully MacFarland and I will make enough money to buy passage for England and I will go see Jaimy.
Clarissa raises her hand and I get ready for it when I hear, "No. You shall not hit her. She is not one of your slaves."
I look up and Amy is standing between Clarissa and me, and Clarissa's face is a porcelain mask of absolute fury, but she does not challenge Amy. She turns and stalks off.
I wonder why.
Amy comes to me and lifts me to my feet.
"Come," she says, gathering up the scattered net bags, "I will help you carry them down."
***
In serving the supper this evening I study the Reverend more closely. He gives no sign of his plans for me except to glance up as I hold the platter next to him. He smiles and it is a ghastly sight to see, a smile on the face of what I am almost sure is a murderer. My stomach churns and threatens to come up on me, and it is with relief that I turn to Mistress and Dolley, the chosen one this evening. Dolley gives me a wink as she takes her portion. She is a good one and I like her.
There are two windows in my attic, one at either end. The one on the eastern end faces toward the church and is therefore no good. The window on the other end looks out to the west over mostly open field and marsh and is on a side of the building where almost no one ever goes, and tonight, I try this window again. I had tried it before but it wouldn't open, having been sealed shut by many coats of paint carelessly applied. Some of that vile Dobbs's work, no doubt. I take out my shiv and get to work.
It takes me about an hour to free it up. I slide it open and lean out and look down. It's about three stories down to some bushes and there's a fairly large tree a ways out that will give some cover to my actions. Tomorrow I shall get some rope.
Chapter 17
"Peg?" says I, turning the ball of bread dough over and adding flour to keep it from sticking to my fingers. I resumes kneading the spongy white lump. "Did you know the girl from the church? The one what died over there? Last year?"
Peg don't say nothin' for a long time. "A sad thing, that," she finally says, screwing her face up into a grimace and shaking her head. "We don't talk much about Janey Porter. It's all so sad ... what she did to herself. Not right, it wasn't."
I don't say anything to that.
"Here, girl," says Peg. "You've got to get your shoulders into it. Make your knuckles into half fists and push 'em in hard. Arms straight. Like this."
I does as she says. The dough puts up a fight but finally gives it up and becomes a smooth white ball. I put it on the rising board and I asks, "What did she look like? That girl Janey."
Peg sighs and says, "She was pretty. Bright. Always with a laugh and a joke. Like you." Peg smiles sadly at the remembering. "She was over here a lot, not that you could blame her. Who'd want to spend all their time over there? With him and all his gloom and doom."
"Don't like him much, do you, Peg?"
"All I'll say on that is that it was a sad day around here when Reverend Miller died and he took over the pulpit." Peg puts her dough on" the board next to mine and sifts more flour into the mixing bowl. "Now, old Miller could damn us all to hellfire and brimstone for our sins with the best of 'em, but somehow it was different. Under it all you got the feeling he loved his flock and was takin' care of 'em best he could. Don't get that feelin' with this Mather."
"Amen," says I, taking the sifter and putting in it three cups of flour. Ain't seen a weevil yet, not like on the ship. The flour falls down into the bowl in dusty waves. Like white curtains blowing in a breeze.
"You said Janey Porter was cheerful..." I trail off to see if Peg will pick it up or just tell me to be quiet and get off this sad subject.
"She was, till a while before ... it happened. Then she started gettin' more quiet. Like she was worried about something. No more laughin' and jokin'. I tried to get her to talk about it, but she wouldn't." Peg starts in to kneading her next loaf, and I add water and yeast starter to mine and begin mixing it with a wooden spoon. "Still, everyone was shocked when it happened. Poor thing, to die like that and be put in the ground without even a headstone to mark her time on this earth."
"Warn't nothing wrong with Janey till he done her dirty," says a voice behind me.
"Hush, Betsey. You don't know and 'cause you don't know, you should keep your mouth shut," warns Peg.
I look back and see the usually quiet Betsey sitting at the long table, shelling peas into a big wooden bowl on the floor between her feet. I finish off my last dough ball and dust my hands and go help Betsey with the peas.
I let her be silent for a while and then I pop a few raw peas into my mouth and savor their earthy flavor and say, "So?"
She looks up and I see that her eyes are full of tears. "She was a special friend of mine, Janey was, and she was good and never hurt no one in this world."
"I know she was a good girl, Betsey," I say as gentle as I can. "Can you tell me more? I'm not just being curious. It's important."
She looks up at me sharply and I think she can tell I ain't lying.
"How came she here?" I ask.
"From a farm to the west. She was so happy and excited to be here when first she came to the city. We had such a fine time. Then ... well, you heard." She snuffles back tears and savages a few helpless pea pods.
"I heard about a young man who was accused—"
"Ephraim had nothing to do with it! He's a good man, the best man I know!" she says.
Ah. So that's the way of it.
"And Ephraim is...," I probes, I hope kindly.
"Ephraim Fyffe is apprenticed to a furniture maker. On Milk Street," she says, her voice all chokey. "And they didn't even..." She chokes all the way up.
"And?"
"And her parents didn't even come up to get her, after all that was done to her. She was put in the ground without friends about her, without words, without a stone. And they didn't even ring the death knell for her."
I resolve to see this Mr. Fyffe at first opportunity.
***
During a break in the afternoon's work, I take a look at the west wall of the school from the outside and I se
e right off that I don't need the rope at all 'cause there's small rungs set into the masonry of the chimney wall and they go all the way to the roof. Of course. They are there so's the chimney sweep can get to the roof and do his work without having to carry all his black and sooty brushes through the main house to the widow's walk. The rungs start about twelve feet from the bottom. To discourage burglars, I'm thinkin', but it ain't gonna discourage me.
The vile Dobbs's toolshed is not fifty feet away and I discover there are several ladders alongside it that would serve. I could go out my window, climb down the rungs, and then drop the last twelve feet. To get back in I could use one of the ladders to get to the rungs. But then I'd have to leave the ladder in place and somebody might spot it in the morning before I had a chance to go out and stash it. No, it'll have to be done with some rope, after all. I'll get about a fifteen-foot length and when I climb down I'll tie it to the third rung from the bottom, drop down to the ground, and leave it hanging there till I get back later. The bushes will hide most of it. When I come back, I'll climb up the rope, untie it when I'm still on the bottom rung, and take it inside with me and no one will be the wiser.
And that is how the job will be done.
The prayers are said, the lamps are out. All is quiet and I'm puttin' my leg out the window with me shiv and me penny-whistle in my vest and my concertina looped 'round me neck in one of the net bags we use for laundry. In there, too, is my white sailor top from back on the ship, with its navy blue flap with white piping and my HMS Dolphin cap. I figure I can put those on with my black skirt and stockings showing down below, and, well, I'll look right nautical and it'll make a jolly stage costume.
Down I go. In a moment, I'm off on the town.
I pick my way through the streets this time, as the usually lovely Common looks right scary in the dark. After Common Street I cuts down School Street 'cause I don't want to get close to the jail again and then down Cornhull, sticking close to the wall, just an innocent serving-girl headin' dutifully home to her lovin' parents, that's all, then on to State Street and there's the Pig and Whistle, its doorway glowin' in the growin' dark. Down the street I can see that the other taverns, the ones closest to the docks, have got big, boisterous crowds. The fleet must be in.
I peek in the Pig, all timid now that I'm actually here, and I see that there's maybe ten men sitting at tables. It don't look like they're up for much of a party, I'm thinkin'. Gulliver MacFarland is just goin' up on the little stage in back and takin' his fiddle from the case. He don't look drunk, but then he don't look cold sober, either, so I 'spect he's only had enough coin to buy some ale. I guess he's abiding by Maudie's rule, whether he likes it or not. He looks a little bit cleaner, like maybe he cleaned up his clothes some.
I open my bag and pull out my sailor top and slip it on, then put my cap on at a rakish angle, and head for the stage. Gully looks up in mild surprise as I step up and turn around to face the crowd.
"Good evening, Gentlemen! God rest ye merry and welcome to the Pig and Whistle, the finest of the public houses in dear old Boston! We are the musical team of Faber and Mac-Farland, and we will be singing and playing for you tunes that are sure to bring joy to your heart, a spring to your step, and a tear to your eye! And we will start with 'Drowsy Maggie'!"
And I rips into it with feet and whistle and Gully comes right in with the fiddle, just like we practiced it, and soon the place is rockin' with cheers and shouts and the stamping of feet. And then we heads into the jocular "Bungo Rye," which I do with my concertina and Gully sings the part of Jack the Sailor and I sing the part of the Damsel. Gully sings:
"Well, Jack was a sailor, and he walked up to town
And she was a damsel, who skipped up and down"
Then I pipes up with:
"Says the damsel to Jack as she passed him by,
Would you care for to purchase some old bungo rye,"
And then we both come in for the chorus:
"Ruddy rye, ruddy rye, fall the diddle die,
Ruddy rye, ruddy rye."
Then Gully again with:
"Says Jack to himself, 'What can this be?'
But the finest of whisky from far Ger-man-ie?
Snuggled up in a basket and sold on the sly,
And the name that it goes by is old bungo rye!"
And then both of us on the chorus, and then I come in with:
"Jack gave her a pound, 'cause he thought nothing strange.
Hold the basket, young man, while I run for your change.
Jack peeked in the basket and a child he did spy,
I'll be damned and he cried, 'This is queer bungo rye!'"
And in the middle of that verse, I hand Gully a bundle in which is a baby doll that Gully had got somewheres and he opens it up and looks properly shocked at its contents and he holds it up to the audience and they roar out with laughter. There's more verses where poor Jack goes to get the child christened and when the preacher asks what the name of the boy will be he says, "Queer Bungo Rye," and the Preacher says that's a mighty queer name and Jack says it's a queer way he came and that'll be his name, by God.
There's hoots and hollers at the end of it and my blood is up for sure and Gully whispers, "'The Liverpool Hornpipe,'" and we swing into that and I notice some coves darting out and coming back in with more coves and pointing at us and so the place is filling up.
Then Gully steps out front and says, "Now the incomparable Miss Jacky will put aside her instruments and dance," and he hits "Smash the Windows," and I steps out and I shows 'em how it's done.
We do song after song and then we take a break and I go to Maudie and say for her to give me an apron and I help serve the crowd and I learn to back up from a tableful of men without turning around, after the first time I get my tail pinched, and then I go back on the stage and we do more songs and dances and I tell a story or two and we wind up when Maudie rings the closing bell.
There are tips thrown on the stage and left on the tables and pressed in my hand. Some try to put the tips down my front after I take off my sailor shirt, but I don't let 'em.
"Look at it all!" I exclaims, wrapping my hands greedily around the pile of coins on the table. The night is over and the patrons have left and the door is locked and Maudie is cleaning up.
"Aye," says Gully. "And now we'll split it and then we'll have a bit of a drink. The Fiddler's Dram, as it were. Seventy-five-twenty-five, right?"
"In a pig's eye," I says, all indignant. "It's fifty-fifty or I walk out of here and don't come back."
"But I'm the one with the experience and the one what protects you down here," says Gully.
"And I'm the one what packed the place," says I. "It's fifty-fifty or I walk." Don't try to scam a Cheapside scammer, Gully, I thinks.
"All right. All right," he says, and slides a dime in front of him and a nickel in front of me. "A big one for you, and a small one for me."
"I may be a serving-girl, but I ain't stupid, Gully. Here, I'll divide it." And I do it and he sighs and takes his portion and drops it in his pocket and goes to the bar and says, "Let's have a bumper, Maudie."
"Just a beer for you, Rummy, you know that," says Maudie, pouring out a drink and taking his coin. She draws me a pint of ale and slides it over to me, saying, "Here, Lass, thanks for helping me out during the rush. It's the best night I've had in a long while." I stick my nose in it and I must admit it goes down easy, my throat being dry as dust from the singing. She also slides Gully's coin over to me, but I leave it on the bar.
Gully gulps down his drink and puts the Lady Lenore under his arm and heads for the door.
"Good night, Maudie," he says, bowing low. "And good night to you, my lovely Little Miss Moneymaker. I'll see you here tomorrow night. There's more ships due in and we'll make some serious money." He starts out the door but then stops and sticks his head back in. "Oh, and work on the bridge on 'The Blackberry Blossom.' You're a bit clumsy on that."
Maudie watches him go and says, "He won't b
e standin' upright inside of an hour, and all his money will be gone," she says and shakes her head. Then she looks sharp at me. "It's a shame, it is, but it would be even more of a shame if he drags a nice girl like you down with him. Jacky, never, ever, trust a drunk."
When I get back to the school, I slide behind the bushes and find that my rope is still in place and I get up it quickly, and then, when I'm on the rungs, I untie the bowline knot and sling the rope over my shoulder and climb up to my room.
I quietly close the window and hide the rope in a corner. I put my concertina and my sailor togs back in my seabag. Back when I got busted for bringing disgrace on my school, I had put all my things that I felt were absolutely necessary for me making my way in the world into my seabag, and all my things that I could get along without into my sea chest. In case I have to bolt and run.
I spread out a handkerchief on the bed and then put my bunch of coins on it and look at it. The start of my ticket back to England and Jaimy. I tie up the four corners of the kerchief and put it in my seabag.
It was a good night and my blood still pounds in my veins. They loved us! How they clapped and hooted! I sit on my bed and I put my arms between my knees and rock back and forth in joy. They really liked me, they really did!
Chapter 18
It's Thursday and I'm on the breakfast serving crew and I slide the bowl of oatmeal in front of Amy and with it I slide a folded note. The note says:
Thanks for keeping Miss Howe from beating me. If you really want to still be my friend then you will come down to the town with me after the noon meal. Meet me at the front door.
Jacky
I've set it up with Peg to get the afternoon off 'cause I got to see Ezra again and I got some other stuff in mind. The girls will take up my slack 'cause they know I'll make it up to them, and I will.
