Other Oceans

by Andrea Jones

  At last she drew up the top sheet, then the comforter. She folded it neatly beneath the pillows. Stroking its silkiness, she arranged it over both sides of the bunk. The side in which he had lain, and the side she coveted.

  And then she balanced on the edge of the bed and looked up. She looked across the cabin. Her eyes observed the crimson curtain before the couch, open now, bunched and gathered at the end of its rail. She saw the curtain’s velvet hem brushing the expensive carpet, no gap between them. The red drape swayed with the ship’s motion, as if someone were already moving behind it.

  Her eyes fixed on the mirror in the wardrobe. She imagined a slim girl reflected in the glass, concealed within the curtain and hidden in the shadow of nighttime, watching. Her hair was tucked behind her ears so that she could listen. She wore a brown dress, so that she would blend into the darkness. She never spoke. She was quiet, unobtrusive. The kind of girl to whom no one but hungry sailors paid any attention. She was barely breathing. Only her pulse pounded in secret as she stood stock-still, in her hiding place.

  Yes, Liza saw it perfectly. That girl would never be noticed by the lovers moving together on the bed. She would see it all perfectly.

  She would see it tonight.

  § § §

  Jill stepped from her quarters and pulled the cloak tighter against the mild morning chill. A quick survey of the ship showed that the scene was set and ready to begin. Yulunga stood behind the wheel, Mason perched in the crow’s nest, and far less hands than usual manned the deck and rigging. A knot of sailors consisting of Starkey, Noodler, Cookson, Jukes, and Tom huddled by the forward capstan, while Nibs perched on top of it. All their heads turned toward Jill, watching as a distinguished gentleman in beige walked her way. The lady made her entrance, directing her steps toward the stairs.

  Doctor Hanover had tucked a walking stick under his arm, and he carried a tray containing a single cup covered by a saucer. His sandy hair was combed neatly back and his watch pocketed in his waistcoat. Above his otherwise orderly appearance, the dashing slash on his cheekbone seemed out of place, hinting of a less orderly past. At the foot of the steps he halted to look up at Jill. With a curt nod, he smiled in his stiff manner.

  “Good morning, Madam. I have brought you a cup of tea. And also, an entreaty.”

  She descended, one hand on the rail and the other on the clasp of her cloak. “If I accept one, must I accept the other?”

  “To appreciate either one, you must accept my sincerity.”

  She stopped one step above him. “Mister Hanover. I am compelled to accept your logic, if nothing else.” The morning was chill, but warming.

  “Will you take the tea, then? I have put sugar in it, supposing that you like it sweet, and strong.”

  Jill smiled, raising the temperature by several degrees. “How clever of you to guess. Thank you.” She accepted it, noting once again that his fingers didn’t touch hers, and that the surgeon averted his gaze from her red hand. The stick under his arm, she observed, was carved into a ram’s head, its ivory horns curling down like the handle of a sword. He set the saucer and tray on a stair, leaned his well-formed frame on his cane, and waited for her first sip before he spoke again.

  “As for my entreaty.…Please accept my apology for the insults with which I afflicted you last evening. I very much regret that I behaved in a manner so unbefitting a gentleman.”

  The tea was hot. Jill didn’t have to pretend to appreciate it. Cupping her hands around it, she drank. She lowered the teacup to study him over the rim. Then, glancing about, she lowered her voice and her eyes too. “You must not press me to play lady to your gentleman, Sir.”

  The surgeon also looked around. Yulunga’s gaze bore steadily ahead, the men in the rigging rode high aloft, and, toward the bow, the other sailors oiled weapons and talked among themselves, chuckling every now and then. Hanover appropriated Jill’s cup and set it on the tray. He offered his arm. “Will you walk with me?”

  “Thank you.” Skirting the cannons, the couple began a slow promenade along the starboard rail.

  Hanover said, “Please, explain what you mean.”

  “I’m not sure I can explain to your satisfaction. Doctor Hanover, due to peculiar circumstances which I admit I cannot regret, I now exist in a most unusual situation. I have had to invent new standards as to what comprises a lady, and what makes a gentleman. My own rules, if you will.”

  Hanover believed he succeeded in hiding his distaste. “I suppose that is precisely what is to be expected on such a ship, full of those who prey on decent society and disregard its laws.”

  Jill’s gaze engaged his. The tea left a sugary aftertaste at the back of her throat. “I cannot worry about what reputation society would lay on me. I am concerned only that the men aboard this ship respect me.”

  “Both your conduct after my rude behavior last night and your generous forgiveness this morning inform me that you are a lady. Why is it important to be respected by such men?”

  “Such men make up my world, Sir. The Jolly Roger is now my home. And yours.”

  “I tried to change that for you. Quite unsuccessfully, I am afraid.”

  “You mustn’t blame yourself, Doctor. Captain Hook is a powerful man, a master of manipulation. But, as strange as it seems, in time you may come, as I have done, to admire him.”

  “It is not likely. I won’t be mastered.”

  “You won’t think you are mastered. You don’t know him yet, and by the time you do, it will be too late. You will have willingly given him all your secrets.”

  “Fortunately, I have no secrets.”

  “Everyone has secrets. But now you challenge me.” Her smile was intriguing. “Now I must know what you hide.”

  Hanover laughed, a short, forced gust.

  “Ah, there is one secret revealed. You do laugh. I had begun to wonder.”

  “Madam, tell no one. I have a reputation to protect!” But his smile fell away, and he bowed his head. “I am sorry. I was insensitive to make such a remark when we have just been discussing your own reputation.”

  “No, Doctor Hanover. I think you quite remarkable. I will find it most interesting to watch you preserve your integrity aboard our ship. And your secrets.”

  “You think me remarkable? I am flattered. It is…more than I had hoped.”

  “You set your sights very low, then.”

  “It seems that I set them too high last evening. I confess I was disappointed.”

  “I know better, Doctor. A man as accomplished as you will not give up after one disappointment.”

  The surgeon halted and turned to look on her. His eyes were interested, curious. “Again, Madam, your candor gives me pause. I am not good at games. Are you encouraging me?”

  She smiled, half-way. “I am very good at games. I don’t give my strategies away.”

  “How can I know, then, what is play and what is real?”

  The lady dropped her levity. “When you know me better, Mister Hanover, you will know that I always tell the truth.”

  She tried to walk on, but his sudden pressure on her arm restrained her.

  “Then you will answer me truthfully. Are you encouraging me?”

  She looked down at his hand, then up to his face. He relaxed his grip.

  They continued their walk, in silence.

  As they neared the cluster of sailors, Jill acknowledged them. “Gentlemen.”

  The men inspected the surgeon, but greeted the pair with bows to the lady and cheery good-mornings.

  “Are you all acquainted?” she asked.

  “Aye, Ma’am, Mr. Smee saw to it earlier.”

  “Good. Where is the captain?”

  “In the galley, Ma’am.”

  “I see. Mr. Tootles, is it fencing today?”

  “Aye, Lady. Mr. Starkey’s orders.”

  “Quite right. I may join you tomorrow. Mr. Nibs, please send Mr. Cecco to me at the change of shift.”

  “Aye, aye, Madam!”

&nb
sp; The pair walked on toward the armory under the forecastle and crossed to port, the gentleman’s stick tapping slowly, every other step.

  He commented, “This morning I was given to understand that those two young men are your sons.”

  “Yes. I am very proud of them. You might say I adopted them, when I was quite young.”

  “Most unusual. And they consider you to be their mother, yet, I observe, they address you formally.”

  “Ship’s discipline, Doctor,” she replied. “I’m sure you understand the concept very well. Neither Captain Hook nor I will tolerate favoritism. It breeds no end of trouble.”

  The surgeon stole a glance at her face. “Yes, certainly. But Captain Hook allows you personal involvement with some of his men? Your Mr. Smee, for instance?”

  “Mr. Smee is the exception to every rule.” She watched his eyes. Was that a flash of jealousy?

  “Is this not a form of favoritism?” His clipped tone conveyed only a hint of irritation.

  Not disguising the warmth of her affection for the bo’sun, she smiled. “Perhaps it is. As I say, Smee is the exception.”

  “The man appears to me to take liberties with the captain’s trust.”

  “You begin to sound as if you care— about the welfare of our company.”

  He attempted to make it a simple observation: “He touches you.”

  “You, Sir, are touching me now.”

  Looking down at her hand on his arm, Hanover registered the truth of her statement. He bent his elbow further to secure her grip, but otherwise allowed the comment to pass.

  “This Mr. Cecco for whom you send. Isn’t he the Italian, with— I’m sorry. The subject is most unpleasant. Never mind.”

  “Yes. He is the man with lash-marks on his back.”

  “Barbaric!”

  “I would appreciate it if you would examine him to see that his cuts are healing properly. Tell him it is my wish.”

  “I will do so, of course, but it is too late. The man will be hideously scarred for the rest of his life.”

  Jill dropped the doctor’s arm to lean on the portside rail. Her voice when she spoke was quiet, but firm. “Sir. You and I both know that one can live with scars. We can even take pride in them.”

  “It is one thing to have a mark accidentally or honorably inflicted. It is quite another to suffer from intentional cruelty.”

  “And another to commit dereliction of duty.”

  He paused. “And Hook ordered this done to him?”

  Jill lowered the temperature once more, turning a stony look upon him. “I will tell you the truth, Doctor. I was the reason for Mr. Cecco’s punishment. I might have stopped it. Instead, I insisted on it.”

  Hanover’s face contorted with incredulity. “But how— how could you cause such torture to be inflicted?”

  Clearly, Jill’s confession had dealt a blow to the surgeon. Now she looked out to sea, allowing time to deepen his wound. Eventually she answered.

  “I don’t expect you to understand. You cannot see the need, but believe me, Doctor, in such matters, the manner in which I am regarded by this crew is my only interest. My survival depends upon it.”

  He, too, rested an arm on the rail, and as he stood, his posture stiffened. “No, I admit that I cannot see the need to impress these buccaneers. Please enlighten me.”

  “Doctor Hanover, you are a strong man. You were taken aboard this ship as a prisoner, yet now you stroll among her crew unafraid. You are skilled, you are able to defend yourself.” She turned to face him. “How if you were a woman? What then?”

  His eyes lit with understanding. “Madam, I begin to comprehend.”

  “It is no longer as simple as right and wrong, as what is proper and what is not. Is it?”

  “Yes, yes.…I see. You are caught indeed, in a delicate situation.”

  Jill restrained a smile. She could see the particulars of that ‘delicate situation’ taking shape behind his eyes. He wanted to believe the best of her. How else could he justify his attraction?

  She said, “Last night I disappointed you. I am not a maiden in what you perceive to be distress.”

  “Perhaps, nonetheless, you require the services of a white knight.”

  “I prefer dragons. A woman knows just what to expect from them.”

  He studied her face. “My Lady. You have done what you had to do.”

  She waited a moment, and then she deliberately laid her crimson hand, the one she knew revolted him, upon his arm. “You understand, then?”

  He stared at her hand. “I see now. You are not to be censured. Quite the opposite; you are to be commended for upholding your standards, and for gaining the cooperation of these— well, what else can I call them? Pirates.”

  “Pirates. Yes. We are all pirates.” Her regard grew keen. “We all have hidden treasure to protect.”

  The scar on Hanover’s face twitched. He changed the subject.

  “I have wondered from the first.” With his cane, he gestured behind him. “Excepting your sons, of course, these sailors are obviously common men. But how does a man born into gentility turn to such a life? Surely Captain Hook has always commanded the best that polite society can offer?”

  “I cannot tell you his story. Only mine.”

  “And will you tell it? Will you tell me how you came to be marked in such ways? Your hand,” he hooked the ram-horned stick on the rail, and brought himself, at last, to lay his hand over hers. His eyes rose to her scar, “Your throat?”

  Jill slid her fingers from the heat of his hand and grasped her cloak. “I’m sorry. I find after all that I prefer you not to touch me. I am touched by so many here. But you are different. I believe you understand the meaning of your touch, and you will, therefore, honor my request.”

  Immediately, Hanover bowed. “Of course. I will respect you, and in the true sense of the word.”

  Jill’s gaze filled with gratitude. “It is most satisfactory, Sir, to be in the company of a gentleman. I find your attentiveness very agreeable. Even—” She looked down.

  With mounting hope, he studied her. “Yes?”

  “No. That will be my secret.” She allowed a smile to cross her lips, then turned toward the sea and touched her throat, lightly. “But to answer your question, the wound you can see was not inflicted by pirates, Doctor. I innocently placed my trust in one who was not deserving, and one day found a knife at my throat. Hook delivered me from that innocence. It was he who saved my life. I owe him a great deal, and I learned from that experience.” She smiled. “It is part of my pirate treasure.”

  “And— forgive me for asking— your hand?”

  Straightening, she faced him. “Among my men, I am called Red-Handed Jill.”

  “He named you this?”

  “No. I chose the name. And I chose the mark.”

  “It would appear to be—”

  “Blood. Yes. It is Captain Hook’s. And someone else’s.”

  “But, ah…what is the nature…Whose—?”

  “It is the blood of a girl. She no longer lives.”

  The meaning of her words struck him, and he recoiled. “So! The captain saved you from a knife at your throat, only to take your life himself, in an even crueler way! And in some heathen blood ritual?”

  Her temper flared. She seized his hand and forced his wedding ring to the level of his face.

  “Have you never murdered a girl, Doctor, in just such a way— in the ritual of the wedding night?”

  He stood frozen, speechless.

  “I think you are no more innocent than the rest of us!”

  The dueling scar became an angry line on his cheekbone. “Madam!”

  She almost laughed, but her eyes blazed as she dealt the final blow. “Welcome, Sir, to the order of gentlemen— aboard the Jolly Roger!” Then she turned on her heel and left him, flinging her cloak over her shoulder and moving in light, quick steps toward the helm.

  The surgeon watched her go, staring in an ungentlemanly fashion. The
lady exchanged a word with Yulunga, who bent to hear her as he stood behind the wheel, his huge shadow falling over her brightness, and then she lifted her skirts and continued up the steps of the companionway, passing Liza coming down. She nodded to the girl and glided on to enter the captain’s quarters. Liza turned to watch her. The door closed, and Doctor Hanover heard, all the way across the deck, the click of the brass bolt as bloodstained fingers shot it home.

  Behind his back, the huddle of sailors had fallen silent, grinning and exchanging glances. Mr. Starkey jerked his head at Nibs, who slid off the capstan and silently headed for the galley.

  Hanover blinked, and his fingers felt for the neglected watch. She couldn’t know…There was no way for her to know!

  But the lady had shocked the gentleman in beige, utterly and completely. She had shaken him right down to the soles of his soft-leather shoes.

  Why, then, in heaven’s name, was he smiling?

  § § §

  Liza collected the tea tray and turned to study her father. It had been long since she’d seen him that way. He was smiling.

  She knew why.

  Just as Liza had foreseen, he’d fallen under the enchantment of the pirate queen. The storyteller. She’d overheard the men call the mistress by that name in the morning as she’d loitered outside the galley, listening. The storyteller had woven him into her web, just as she’d done to Liza yesterday.

  Liza couldn’t read, but she knew herself to be smart. She had broken free of the lady’s silken strands, but for all his manners and book-learning, the reality was exactly as Jill had told her— her father was only a man. He wouldn’t break free of the lady’s tangle, even if he did feel the strangling threads at his throat. He would let her suck him dry.

  No, he would make Jill do it. And Liza knew how. Her father would apply his very special skills, and then he and the mistress would feed on each other until there was nothing left. Except the captain.

  One good thing about life aboard this pirate ship, Liza thought as she made her way forward. She was learning how to smile again.

  Lowering his gaze, her father noticed her. The softness in his charcoal eyes hardened, and he snatched his cane from the rail. Waiting for her to come to him, he appeared to Liza, once again, like what he was. A gentleman, with a stick and a scar.