by L. A. Meyer
We then go up and watch the doings in the great hall—men stringing banners and a chamber orchestra setting up their music stands, and that's sure to be a treat, dancing to music provided by someone other than myself. The men have also set up a long table with crystal goblets set out on it and another man brings in a huge punch bowl in the center. The great chandeliers are being lit and the place just glitters with light ... and promise.
Entering the dining room we find the table set, with the silver polished and the gold-rimmed plates placed just so, and the wineglasses winking in the light so cheerily. I walk around the table, peering at the name cards.
"Hmmm..." I muses. "I think there's been some mistake. You and I are all the way down at the end. Surely whoever did this didn't know I must sit next to the Royal Navy officers to get the news. So we'll just put this Mrs. Cabot in my place at the end. Who is she, anyway?"
"An old lady, but—"
"Good. She won't notice. And we'll put me next to this Captain Humphries and we'll take this Mr. Adams and put him here..."
"Jacky, you can't put an Adams down at—"
"I just did. And I'll put you in his place next to that Lieutenant—what's his name ... oh, Flashby, the one with the mustachios. And Clarissa is there and Randall there, and I believe we've got it right now.
"Our work here is done," I say, all grand. "Let us go dress for the ball, dear Sister."
We are dressed and ready to go. I have on the blue dress that I made myself and I know that Amy does not quite approve of it, being as low cut as it is, but it is all I have. My hair is up and my dress is on. I am powdered, pampered, and perfumed.
There is a tinkling of a bell in the hall. It is time.
"Are you ready, Miss Faber?"
"I am, Miss Trevelyne."
We put on the Look and glide down to the dining room.
We enter the room and introductions are made, bows and curtsies all around, and then we go to our places. The place is a blaze of color, what with the ladies in their finest and the gentlemen in their jackets that go through all the colors from bright blue to deep purple, light mauve to kelly green, but never, oh never, red. None of these Yankees want to risk being taken for a redcoat. I mean, the war is over long since, but some things linger on. The naval officers are, of course, in blue with much gold.
I am handed to my place by Captain Humphries, who's beaming and twinkling away at me, having already consumed a good deal of wine, I'll wager. He pulls out my chair and I sit. Would it pain him to know that he had just performed a courtesy for a ship's boy, I wonder?
I settle in and grin at Amy across the way. She looks absolutely wonderful in her rig, a black silk thing with red ribbon worked into the bodice and puffed sleeves, and I think she knows it. She has the Lieutenant on her right and Randall on her left and Clarissa next to him. Clarissa, of course, looks gorgeous and is laying the charm on all about her. She even smiles upon me, which makes me wonder what she's up to.
The grace is said, the wine is poured, toasts are drunk to the host and to several of the guests, and the soup is served and the conversation begins.
"Isn't it wonderful that Amy could have two of her dear classmates from Mistress Pimm's here?" warbles Mrs. Treve-lyne from the head of the table. The three of us allow that it is indeed wonderful.
"How is the old witch?" says a woman with hooded eyes and parted lips a few chairs down.
Ah.
"Mistress is well, Madame," says I, taking a chance. "You would find her skill with the cane is quite undiminished." Laughter all around. Whew, I'm glad that went over well.
I take some soup and look across to see that Lieutenant Flashby has taken an avid interest in me ... or at least in the rise and fall of my chest. I sneak a quick look down to make sure I ain't dribbled something down there, but no, it looks all right.
Each of the officers has a midshipman standing ramrod straight behind their chairs, to get them anything they might need, but it's mainly for show: This is what Royal Navy discipline looks like, Yankee rabble.
"Expecting weevils?" says the Captain, his eyebrow raised in question.
"Excuse me, Sir?" I say, confused. "I don't underst—" Then I realize I've been tappin' my biscuit on the tabletop without thinkin'. Damn! "I'm sorry, Sir, it's an old habit."
"That's all right, Missy. Here, a little more wine with you." He gestures and the tall midshipman goes to the sideboard and takes a bottle and fills my glass. Too bad. I had meant to fill my glass with water to dilute the wine, but I didn't get to it in time. Ah, well. Next time. I take a sip.
"So, schoolgirls, eh?" says the Captain, and then he leans in close and whispers, "Thanks for being here. I thought for sure I'd get stuck next to some old biddy and I sure didn't come all this way to talk to ancient dames! Har, har!" He laughs out loud at his wit and I gulp and nod. Under the table he places his hand on my leg and gives it a squeeze. I gulp again. I don't know what to do about it.
The soup bowls are taken away and the main courses brought. The Captain, needing both his hands to dig in to his dinner, frees my leg and I squirm and move a little out of his range. I know the serving girls a little bit now and I wink at them in thanks as I am served. They know me for one of them, and I think they delight in my being here.
Clarissa speaks up. "Perhaps, Classmate, you'll tell us something of your family." She smiles sweetly and brings her glass to her lips.
Uh-oh... I look at Amy but she shakes her head and mouths Not me, and then I look at Randall and he just looks back at me as if he's mildly interested in my answer. Clarissa, however, looks me right in the eye, and there is a wicked merriment in her gaze. She knows, and how she knows, I don't know—prolly looking through Amy's scrib-blings when she wasn't around.
I lift my chin and say, "I have no family. I was orphaned as a young child."
"Oh, what a pity!" says dear Mrs. Trevelyne. "Who took you in?"
"No one took me in," I say. I put my hands in my lap and look down at them. "I was left on my own." I know what's comin'. A pity. This would have been such fun. Oh, well.
Amy tries to change the subject. "Captain, could you tell us of the exotic ports you have—" but Clarissa rides right over her.
"But what did you do, you poor thing?" she purrs. "Left on your own as you were?"
I stick out my lower lip and say quietly, "My parents died when I was a little girl and I was put out on the curb to live or to die. I fell in with a gang of street children and I ran the slum streets of London with them for several years." I put my napkin on the table and look Clarissa in the eye. "You ask me what I did, Clarissa? I was a beggar and a thief. What kind of beggar was I? I was a naked beggar and a filthy beggar. Any kind of beggar you can imagine and I was it. I begged pennies and I stole bread. I lived under a bridge, but I had good mates in Rooster Charlie's gang, I did, a lot better mates than some I have now."
I take a sip of wine and I will my hand not to shake in rage as I continue. "Actually, if you must know, I was a better thief than a beggar. I stole bread and I pickpocketed fancy handkerchiefs and I stole clothing off of clotheslines and I stole anything that would keep me and my friends alive. In fact, I picked pockets at the very foot of the gallows, the gallows that were sure to be my fate someday."
The whole table is lookin' at me with open mouths, their knives and forks and glasses held motionless in midair. It would be comical if this were a play, which it ain't.
"Then I find it a shame, dear Jacky, that you did not remain in your chosen profession," purrs Clarissa.
I look at her without expression. "It is true, Miss Howe, that my estate was very low. So low, indeed, that it was very like that of the slaves you hold in bondage. Except that I was free."
There are rumblings around the table as some of the guests realize that Clarissa and I could actually go at each other, right here and right now, and they try to soothe ruffled feathers with there, there, and all right, now, and suchlike.
But Clarissa is not to be s
oothed.
"Free? Ah, yes. Free," says Clarissa, tilting her head as if what I had said amused her. "Free to beg. Free to steal from honest folk. And free..." Here she pauses and her tongue flicks over her upper lip as if she is about to taste something delicious. "Free to have yourself tattooed."
There is a common gasp from the guests at the table.
"Why don't you tell us about your cunning little tattoo, Jacky?" says Clarissa, relentlessly plowing on. "What is it? An anchor? How daring of you, Jacky. I do declare you leave all the rest of us poor girls far behind in the pursuit of new fashion."
The game is up now, for sure, for there are no tattooed ladies in this world, not outside of freak shows. I get to my feet and I turn to my hostess. "Mrs. Trevelyne, you have been nothing but kind to me here at Dovecote and I thank you for it and I beg forgiveness if I have brought dishonor to your table. I am sorry. Sometimes I get above myself. I'll be excused now." She sits there stunned.
I get up to leave the room but a rough hand comes down on my bare shoulder and shoves me back down in my chair.
"Oh, nonsense!" says Captain Humphries. "Sit down! That's the best story I've heard all day!"
I take up my napkin again and look over at Mrs. Treve-lyne, but she's just all a-goggle with the turn of things and simply takes another dainty sip of her wine.
"So how did you get from there to here? From the rags to the riches? From an urchin in the streets to a neatly turned out young lady in the very bosom of New England society?" the Captain booms out. "We must hear! Leave nothing out!"
Before I say anything I turn to my hostess again, "Please, Mrs. Trevelyne, if anything said here causes you pain, just tap your knife on your glass and I will be out of here in an instant. All right?" She manages to nod. I look at Amy and she is stunned. I look at Randall and he is astounded. I look at Clarissa and she is smirking. I look at Lieutenant Flashby and he has left off looking at my chest and is instead peering at my face, as if trying to figure something out.
"Actually, Captain Humphries, I had a bit of very good luck," I say. "I had the great good fortune to be taken into your own service."
"The Royal Navy?" he says, perplexed. "How? In what capacity?"
"First as ship's boy, then as midshipman, on board the..."
"It's Bloody Jacky Faber, by God!" shouts Lieutenant Flashby, bringing the flat of his hand down hard on the table. He points his finger at my nose. "It's the Jackaroe!"
"Wot! Can it be? The girl from the Dolphin?" says the Captain, all incredulous. "Are you sure?"
"Yes, yes!" says the Lieutenant. "Look! She's still got the mark on her neck where they tried to hang her." That scar has mostly gone away, 'cept when I get excited, like now, and then it flares up all red. I pull my hair around to cover it.
"Is it you?" asks the Captain.
"I don't know ... yes, I was on the Dolphin, but I had no idea my poor adventures had—"
"Oh, Trevelyne, you dog!" says the Captain to the Colonel, who's sitting there like he's been hit with a bludgeon. "You set this up for us, didn't you! Oh, what a fine thing! It's too perfect!" The Captain's hand has found my leg again, higher up this time, but I am too amazed to move.
"But this can't be..." I stammer.
"Oh yes!" says the Captain, giving my thigh an affectionate squeeze. "It is the talk of London, it is all around the fleet! On all the broadsides! You there, Padget! Sing a few verses of the song! 'Jackaroe'!"
Midshipman Padget, the pretty one, flushes in mortification. He will, of course, obey, as he would obey if his Captain told him to drop his breeches and waddle around the table clucking like a chicken, but he does not have to like it. He fixes his eye on a wall lamp, and dying a thousand deaths, he opens his mouth and gives forth:
"She brought herself unto the dock
All dressed in men's array,
And stepped on board a man-of-war
To convey herself away,
Oh, to convey herself away."
I am completely astounded. The melody sounds like a faster version of my "Ship's Boy's Lament," done in a major key instead of the minor. I think I hear Liam Delaney's hand in this.
"'Before you come on board, Sir,
Your name Yd like to know.'
She smiled all in her countenance,
'They call me Jack-a-roe.'"
It warn't like that at all, I'm thinkin'. I have recovered my senses enough to reach down and lift the Captain's hand off my leg. He does not seem to mind. He merely uses the hand to refill my glass. Sailors, I swear, be they Captain or be they seaman, it's all one and the same. Midshipman Padget launches into what proves to be the last verses.
"'Your waist is light and slender,
Your fingers are neat and small,
Your cheeks too red and rosy,
To face the cannonball'
Oh, to face the cannonball.
T know my waist is slender,
My fingers neat and small,
But it would not make me tremble
To see ten thousand fall.'
Oh, to see ten thousand fall!"
"Poor Captain Locke," I say, after the applause for the mortified midshipman stops. Poor Jaimy, too, what he must think, he being so upright and all. And I can well guess what his mother must think. I take another deep swallow of the wine to calm myself. Next time I must water it.
"Poor Captain Locke, nothing! He has drunk for free on that story for months!" chortles the Captain. "He has a grand speech on the matter—I myself heard him deliver it at our club." Captain Humphries puffs up and puts his hand to his chest like a grand orator. '"I will bear the ridicule of any man who has stood on a ship's burning deck with the masts coming down and the air thick with hot can-nonballs, a man who has smelled the foul breath of the cannon and seen the scuppers run red with the blood of his friends, yea, a man who has seen all that and yet did not run and hide to save his own life. I will suffer that man's insults and call him brother. But should any man who has not seen those things, one who has sat comfortable at his table with his pipe and his dinner while we were on the cruel sea, should such a man dare make sport of me or the Dolphin or any who were on her, then I will gladly meet with him in the morning and cheerfully put a hole in his unworthy chest! I put it to you like this: The girl stood by my side in the heat of battle and she did not run!'" The Captain finishes and lurches to his feet. "A toast! A toast to Bloody Jacky Faber!"
All cheer and rise and I try to sink into my chair. Amy beams at me over her glass. I look over at Randall and see that he is stricken to the core. Uh-oh. I see that male pride has been wounded and is in need of repair. I know he is thinking that for all his arrogance and posturing, it is I who have faced combat and come out of it with some honor and he has not yet been tried, and he wonders, in his heart of hearts, just how well he will perform. After the toast Randall sits down heavily and seems to sink within himself. At his side, the good ship Clarissa is in flames, her plan for the sinking of the good ship Jacky having gone awry. She crosses her arms and looks straight forward in a storm of anger.
More wine is poured, the dessert brought, the Captain's hand is back, and the Lieutenant has resumed his leering, but I am soon saved by the announcement that the dance is about to begin and all are invited to the main ballroom. I toss off the rest of the wine and rise up on the Captain's arm and am escorted in to the dance, my head up, eyes hooded, lips together, teeth apart, the finest of the ladies.
Many more people pour in the door to the ballroom and are announced as the band strikes up the first tune. There are people, both young and old, from all over the county, as this is the ball of the year by all accounts. The place fairly glitters with light and color and wild excitement.
First we have a Virginia reel, which is good 'cause it frees me up from the clutches of Captain Humphries, who's a good sort in his way, but I really want to get close to that pretty Midshipman Padget—to ask him if he's heard of Jaimy, of course—so during the reel when there's two rows of dancers and
everybody sort of gets to touch hands with everyone else for a moment, I give his hand a squeeze.
On the next dance, a minuet, he comes up to me and, blushing, asks me to dance and I bat my eyelashes and say yes, and then we go to the floor with the other couples and we dance and it is lovely and he is so pretty and nice, but I wish so much that Jaimy was here with me to see all this. He would look so dashing and I would be so proud. After the dance I ask Mr. Padget if he knows of Jaimy, but, alas, he reports that he does not.
My gallant escort takes me to the punch bowl, which has a big chunk of ice floating in it, and he gets me a cup of punch and it's good and I wonder what's in it, but I don't wonder long because I am stolen from the midshipman by Lieutenant Flashby for the next dance, and he is a very good dancer and is very charming and smells of cologne water, but somehow I don't quite trust him. Then there's another dance, a quadrille, and another partner and my head is spinning and I have some more punch and I have a vague notion of Amy coming up to me and warning me about something but I can't remember what it is...
And then there's another dance, and then, wonder of wonders, Clarissa comes to me and says, "Oh, don't mess with that silly punch, dear Jacky. Here, have some of this. We call it a julep, yes, we do. A mint julep, as a matter of actual fact. Oh yes, Jacky, it is just the very best thing. No, no, there's no rum or whiskey in it, just a little of our own fine bourbon ... Here, refresh yourself, you must be exhausted, poor thing. You dance so well, I declare you put the rest of us to shame, you really do ... you really are the belle of the ball, Jacky ... Let me get you another, why, it's no trouble at all, dear Jacky..."
