Summers, True

by Poppy

  "We wouldn't have lasted three months. We don't speak the language, and we couldn't have earned our livings. At best, we'd have been picked up by the police and dumped on the first ship back to France. Speaking of languages, The Prof stayed."

  "Then he'll get sent back to France? Maybe to prison?"

  "Not The Prof. The beggars and pickpockets and petty thieves, yes. The police will clean them out fast, and it doesn't make much difference whether they're in jail in Rio or in Paris. The Prof's different."

  "Oh, I'll miss him," Poppy cried.

  "He may be better off there than he ever was at home," Jack said, hovering over the basket, trying to make another selection, and finally taking a sticky roll. "As the Captain knew with his little private venture, Rio is a wealthy city, and price doesn't matter on luxuries. The Prof is a very fancy luxury for people who dote on their children. He'll probably end up as somebody's pet tutor in the lap of luxury."

  ''They'll love him," Poppy said dolefully.

  "He was fond of you, too. He ran into my Yankee friend Bill on shore and sent a note back to you. Bill says he seemed terribly worried. Maybe you can understand it. I can't."

  The stained and greasy paper looked as if it had wrapped food The Prof had bought from a street vendor. The penciled scrawl was agitated, not his usual scholarly hand, and the large grease splotches made parts of it illegible.

  She read, "'My dear and valued friend Poppy, I left you in sorry and-' no, in something-something 'distress because'-oh, that's a big grease spot, but I think one word is 'passenger,' and 'street of the gold-sellers' is quite clear."

  "That's where they sell jewelry."

  Poppy started and looked at the roped trunks. "And buy it?"

  "That's one of the luxury streets. Strictly selling, not buying."

  "Who on this ship has the money to buy luxuries?"

  ''Women do enjoy shopping," Jack grinned. "From what I've observed, shopping doesn't necessarily mean buying."

  "All right, a woman passenger shopping for jewelry," Poppy agreed and puzzled over the stained paper again. "I think one word is 'exemplary' and 'life' and something about 'paying for the past.' "

  "If it were not exemplary, it would seem more suitable to our ladies."

  ''Here at the end the part about his 'esteem and undying gratitude and prayers is quite clear," Poppy said, annoyed enough to cry. "He only wrote the important part so I can't read it."

  ''The Prof is a scholar," Jack said with resignation. He wiped his hands, took the paper, and held it up against the light from the hanging lamp. He muttered, "I think I can make out a few words. Necklace? Yes. The lady could have been shopping for necklaces. Maybe a shoplifter? Now what's this? Hmm. Looks like 'Pearls of the Guillotine.' Is that possible?"

  "That could be the name of a famous necklace," Poppy cried. "Part of a crime celebre. A necklace somebody was guillotined for stealing."

  ''The Prof recognized the necklace in a shop? That's hard to believe."

  ''Unless the stones are especially famous. Big pear-shaped ones. Or a certain color. Like some of the crown jewels. You know?"

  "I do not know," Jack said, handing her back the paper. "Don't get yourself into a taking, but The Prof did think this was important."

  "I will not get into a taking," Poppy assured him with hauteur. "I will notice what necklaces the ladies are wearing."

  As each day passed, she realized even more how much they did miss The Prof. Madame did not share her interest in the birds that followed the ship or the strange fish they saw. Poppy admired the carving Andy was doing with Chips but sensed his disappointment that she did not understand, as The Prof had, the importance of Chips's scrimshaw. She finished one sock, so lumpy she was sure it would leave Andy a cripple, and had no study as an excuse not to start another.

  In desperation, the next day she took one of her pretty new decks of cards to her seat beside Madame and tried to practice a double shuffle. She was sadly out of practice, and the cards fell and scattered on her lap. Poppy snatched at them before they could blow away.

  "You have not the hands for that, Miss Poppy," Maurice said.

  Poppy glanced up with surprise. He always avoided Madame, but now he was looking at the cards.

  "That is a handsome deck."

  "A bon voyage gift."

  "Then you enjoy cards?"

  "Very much."

  "Perhaps you would give us the pleasure of your company then, in our quiet comer," Maurice said with a small bow. "Not for stakes, merely for our amusement?"

  Madame looked shocked, but Poppy did not care. She jumped to her feet. If Jack was shocked, too, she would tell him that endless knitting was driving her into the low dismals.

  Maurice found two other players. The large man, with an Italian look about his outdoor-red face, was a winegrower going to California for reasons he did not disclose. The dried-out, withered man was a journalist and told everybody why he was fleeing France. His bitterness against Louis Napoleon exuded from every crusty pore.

  "Have you found many people with interesting stories on board?" Poppy asked courteously.

  ''None with stories they wish to carry with them where they are going," he said pointedly.

  He was a nasty little man. She fluttered her long lashes to hide the angry sparkle in her eyes. "Or perhaps there is no story," she shrugged, "My brother has the gold fever, and we are a family. You will also write for a paper in San Francisco?"

  "I start again," he said sourly. "In Paris, I hear a name, an event is mentioned, and I remember this or that, and then I am informed, and I can write my story. Now it is to begin over again."

  Poppy caught her breath as she remembered The Prof's letter. "Have you ever heard of the Pearls of the Guillotine?"

  He folded his cards and stared at her. ''That is' an old story. I would not have thought even your mother would remember it."

  "I only heard an argument," Poppy hazarded. "About the size."

  "Size? Small, quite small."

  Maurice folded his hand. "I refuse to both talk and play cards. Since we are talking, let's hear the story."

  "A sordid story, ugly."

  "I am not a missy person," Poppy said, raising her chin. "Ten it."

  ''The only unusual thing about it was the phrase you remember," the man said with a grimace. "A sordid story, as I said, but common. A young girl, seduced, was brought to Paris, and the man attempted to turn her on the streets to earn for him. She rebelled. She had spirit, that one. He beat her, brutally, for refusing to work, and she killed him. It was a crime of passion, so she escaped the guillotine. That was all, Miss Poppy."

  "Had he given her the pearls?"

  "He gave her only a ruined life. Dishonor. Notoriety so she was forever marked."

  ''But she could disappear, change her name, start over."

  "But she was marked by the Pearls of the Guillotine. People made much of the mark, in talk, in the papers. You see, she 'had a row of moles around her neck, like a necklace of black pearls, high, tight, like a line for the guillotine to cut, not unpleasant on a pretty young skin but, under the circumstances, unfortunate. Because it was always with her and unusual enough that anyone who saw it would remember."

  "How horrible," Poppy said faintly.

  The Prof had not seen a real necklace in a jewelry shop then. He had seen a woman with that unusual mark in a jewelry shop and most probably, for him to remark it, she had been trying on necklaces. And surely he would not have written in such distress unless he had recognized the woman as one of the passengers and most likely, a cabin passenger.

  Still, a woman who killed in a passion to protect herself seldom killed again. The Prof would not understand that. He was a man of books. To him, any killer was a wild animal and mortally dangerous. If the woman with the necklace of moles was a cabin passenger, she might well be one of the matrons capable now of nothing more reckless than drifting from one man's cabin to another until she reached San Francisco and settled once more into her
proper staidness.

  Poppy told herself she would remember and watch but she need not walk in fear. Then she reached for her cards. She might as well enjoy this game. She would not make ship's talk of herself by sitting too often with the gambling men.

  As they sailed down toward the Horn, brief squalls with rain, lightning, and sudden winds hit almost every day. On a bright morning, Poppy went up to sit with Madame in the sun while the ship sailed briskly before a strong westerly wind. She meekly took her knitting, and Madame cast on another sock, but then they sat, enjoying the spell of fine weather, and watched people stroll up and down the deck.

  Andy, the long leather bola he had bought in Rio in his hand, came to lean against Poppy's .knee. He was as tired of carving as she was of knitting. He held one of the balls in his hand and whipped the other out across the deck with a snakelike lash and hiss.

  "What is that horrid object?" Madame demanded.

  "A bola," Andy said. "Like the South American cow-boys use. Instead of lariats. I've been practicing. See?" He lashed it out again, and the ball at the far end whipped back to form a loop. Andy exulted, "Right around his leg. Caught. Pull it in and down he goes. Bring on the branding irons."

  "Just a child, playing games," Madame sniffed.

  "Pull it in, Andy," Poppy said. "Somebody might trip over it."

  Beside her, Madame stiffened. "I thought so. I thought so." She nudged Poppy's ribs with her elbow. "The necklace Josie is wearing. When I saw her come back with it in Rio, I knew he'd never bought it for her on the goldsellers' street. Though I did see her peering in the window when I was in a shop there."

  Josie was promenading up and down the deck on the First Mate's arm. She had the stole looped back across her elbows, fringes dangling from her hands, to show the heavy gold chain set with blue stones around her neck.

  "See the tarnish on her neck?" Madame cackled gleefully. "If she must wear cheap trash, she should at least wash thoroughly."

  "It's a pretty thing and matches the stripes in her dress," Poppy made herself murmur indifferently.

  Madame preened in her high lace collar with the heavy trim of white around the edge. "Some girls, they will not learn. Now, me, this lace, it must come off and be washed every second day. But clean." She pulled it out to display the immaculate inner side. "A little trouble, a little ripping and stitching, but clean. The gentlemen notice and pay for such things. Still, some will not learn. The jabot, also." She lifted and held out the ruffle that fanned from the top of her collar down the front of her black dress, then leaned back complacently. "Immaculate, immaculate."

  Poppy blinked her eyes. She could not believe what she had seen.

  "Yes, today everybody promenades in their best," Madame observed, nodding. "Amalie looks well. A sweet girl. Not always practical, but modest, sweetly modest. Not like that Josie. Look at her now. The way she flips the fringe on that stole is as dangerous as our young man here with his bola. It is a handsome thing, too handsome for a ship like this."

  Josie had stopped directly opposite them and was making a great play with the stole, moving her arms so the magnificent material rippled and shone, twirling the fringe under the noses of other passengers. She tilted her mocking face and slanted her eyes toward Poppy, preening and challenging.

  Poppy set her lips. She could do nothing but endure the taunting.

  Close at her elbow, Andy drew in a gulping breath. "That stole, I saw stuff like that in your trunk. Is that why Jack netted them shut? Because somebody's been in them? Is that why she's prancing in front of you like that? Because she thinks you won't try to tear it off her thieving back?"

  "Andy, shut up," Poppy hissed.

  "Of course a lady can't mix with one like that," Andy said grandly. "But I can. I'll get it back for you. I'll lift it right off her arms."

  Andy lifted his hand, one ball swinging, raised his arm, and whirled. Poppy jumped to her feet, reaching, but it was too late. He had let the leather fly. The ball flew through the air and thudded against Josie's shoulder, tangling in the heavy material, and knocked her staggering. With a whoop, Andy pulled in the leather, dragging the stole with it. As it ripped from her arms and snapped through the air, it hit a protruding hatch-way and caught on the brass latch. Josie shrieked and dived for it.

  Andy jerked, and Josie snatched at the fringe. Both tugged furiously. The satin ripped, and a heap of gold poured out on the deck. Josie's hands clamped down instantly, and she crouched, covering it.

  Poppy turned pale and swayed. Madame's. strong hand caught and whirled her around. With her other hand, Madame was grappling with Andy, swinging him behind her, holding him back as he fought to pull free. Neither of them had seen the gold. Neither had the First Mate, striding toward them, eyes blazing and fists clenched.

  He caught Andy by the collar, tore him from Madame, and shook him until his head snapped back and forth helplessly. Then he lifted the boy with both hands and dashed him to the deck. Andy lay stunned as Poppy jumped between them.

  "Shame on you. Shame. He's only a boy."

  "He's big enough that if that thing had hit Josie higher or harder, he'd have brained her or swept her overboard." The pitted, heavy-jawed face was purple with congestion. "If he was a man, I'd call it attempted murder."

  Poppy swallowed sickness. "He's a child. He was only playing, and he's sorry."

  "He's as old as our apprentices, and they obey the book. We'll call it assault on a passenger."

  "But he's not an apprentice, he's a passenger," Poppy said shrilly. "A child."

  "Just a child," the man said in a viciously mincing voice. "Just a sweet dainty child who likes to carve pretty things with Chips and help Cook pass the nice little cakes. I think the child needs a lesson."

  "I'll see he's punished."

  ''This is ship's business. He could have killed Josie. I think he'd better learn what killing means. They're slaughtering a beef for dinner tonight. He can go aft and clean up after the men."

  Andy shrank back against Poppy, and she could feel the shudders shaking him. She opened her mouth to scream a refusal. Then she saw that the First Mate's cold, pebble-hard eyes held a glint of light, a glint of anticipation, and his tongue snaked out and touched his lips. He wanted her to refuse. He was holding back something horrible, some worse punishment to inflict.

  Then she saw Madame was flicking her fingers in a small gesture, prodding Andy aft. If anybody understood what this man was capable of, it was Madame.

  "If you think that's a proper lesson," Poppy forced herself to say through stiff lips.

  Disappointment flickered in the pebble eyes. "It'll do for a starter."

  That was too much. "It will do for the punishment," Poppy said definitely. "Andy, go and apologize to Josie. Do it, I say. Then you go aft immediately and tell the men you're to help with the cleaning up."

  Andy gave Poppy one shocked, disbelieving look. She looked back, stony faced. Shoulders sagging as he read her expression, Andy went slowly over to Josie, muttered something, and went dragging back along the deck.

  Poppy faced the First Mate. "That will be the whole punishment."

  "Until I catch the imp at something next time."

  "There'll be no next time."

  Poppy stood rigid as the First Mate stopped to speak to Josie. She had thrown the stole around her shoulders again, her hands clenched around the bunched, torn material. She only nodded sullenly when he spoke and turned away to leave the deck.

  Poppy crumpled weakly on her box. Josie was not going to share her secret or the gold with the First Mate. That was one small good in this disaster.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  POPPY leaned on the rail, watching the first streaks if of sunset. The days and nights were long, and she was lonely.

  An arm went around her shoulders. "You have not been back to play cards with us."

  "No."

  Maurice did not attempt to hold her. He put his elbows on the rail and leaned beside her. "We would enjoy having you.
"

  "I enjoyed playing." Poppy hesitated. After his punishment, Andy had staggered back to the cabin, white faced, gagging and glassy eyed, and lain prostrate on his bunk, hating her with his eyes. He would not believe she could not have saved him. Jack explained that the First Mate could have had him confined to his cabin for the duration of the voyage or even put him in irons for a second offense, but Andy turned his back on them both and refused to talk. When Chips and then Cook had told him they had orders he was not to mix with the crew, he had burrowed into a lonely spot under a lifeboat. He came out only to eat and sleep. She said awkwardly, "There's Andy."

  "I myself would have given him this." Maurice slapped her sharply on the bottom and said instantly, eyes twinkling, "Not you. I'd never lay a finger on you."