Under the Jolly Roger

by L. A. Meyer

  The food was good, but now it's done and time to be gone, so we get up, pay both money and compliments to the landlord, and go back out into the bright light of day. Just as we are heading down the road and back to the ship, the midday coach from Colchester pulls up and Higgins gets out.

  "Ahoy, Higgins!" I say. "That was quick. We hardly had time to miss you."

  "Yes, Miss," he says, as he joins our little group. "I had good luck in..."

  "Nancy!"

  I whip my head around and there he is again, the dusty little old man who stood over me yesterday as I lay asleep on the hillside. Again, he comes at me with his hand outstretched, tears running down his face. "Nancy," he wails again, "oh, don't you know me, Nancy?"

  "Crazy old beggar," says Liam, fishing a coin out of his pocket and holding it out to the man. "Here's a penny, old man. Now off with you."

  The old man, who I now notice is wearing a churchman's collar and an old-fashioned frock coat, once fine but now threadbare, ignores Liam and his coin.

  "No, no," he says, never taking his eyes off me, "I don't mean Nancy, I know you can't be her, because she's ... she's dead, my child is dead. I'm sorry, I'm sorry ... I got confused because you look so much like she looked is why I got confused ... I'm sorry..."

  Liam makes a move to hustle him off. A chill runs up my spine and I put my hand on Liam's arm to hold him back.

  "Wait. Wait, let's hear him out," I say, feeling myself start to tremble. From out of the half-forgotten past it comes to me now and I know why I was so uneasy yesterday when first I saw this old man—My mother's name was Nancy.

  "You are not Nancy," the old man says, nodding as if getting his mind in order. "You are her daughter Mary ... Mary Faber ... and, as such, you are my granddaughter."

  ***

  We have taken him back to the ship and sat him at my table. Liam, Higgins, and I stand frowning down on him like agents of the Spanish Inquisition looking down on a hapless heretic. He looks around in wonder at the richness of my cabin and then he begins.

  "My name is George Henry Alsop. I am, or I was, the Vicar of Saint Edmund-Standing-in-the-Moor, up in North Allerton, just north of Leeds..."

  I look at Higgins and he says, "A considerable distance—over two hundred miles."

  "With my dear wife, Rosemary, now sadly departed and much missed, I had but one child, a daughter, Nancy. When Nancy grew up, beautiful and wild, she married one Jack Faber, a poet, scholar, and a bit of a rascal. They were well matched, for Nancy, always a cheerful child, had grown into a young woman of independent mind and adventurous spirit."

  Here Liam and Higgins turn to look at me.

  "At any rate, they had a child, Mary, and then later another, Penelope, and after that they decided to decamp for London, for there was certainly nothing in St. Edmunds for a penniless scholar like Jack Faber, and nothing to contain the spirit of Nancy. Jack believed himself in possession of a teaching post in London and so they all set out. Jack, Nancy, Penny, and Mary. I never saw any of them again, till now, with you."

  "I know all that," I snap, without much warmth. "How came you to hear of me, here in this place?"

  "I was teaching Sunday School one day and found that two boys, two very naughty boys, were giggling over an assignment, one of the book of Job, which I never found particularly funny, and upon peering at their book from behind them, I found something quite different therein..."

  I know what's comin' here ... just like Ned and Tom and their navigation book...

  "What they had was a copy of a penny-dreadful book called Bloody Jack: Being an Account of the Curious Adventures of Mary Jacky' Faber, Ship's Boy. I would have immediately thrown the thing away and given the boys a swift smack for their inattention to their lessons, but the 'Mary Faber' caught my eye. I wandered off and read the first page and it was like the very heavens opening up. What was described there was nothing less than a description of the end of my own dear family, the thing most precious to me in the world. But through the misery of reading of my own lovely daughter's lifeless body being dumped in a cart, I saw that glimmer of hope—the hope that one of you had survived."

  He sniffs and looks down at his hands, which are worrying each other on the tabletop, and he continues. "It became an obsession with me—it was all I could think of—could the child in that book be my own daughter's daughter? When I heard from a traveling tinker that the girl who was the heroine of that book was known to make port in Harwich, well, I had to know, and so I packed up what little I had—and it was not much, even my books belonged to the vicarage—handed over my post to young Reverend Stewart, who always wanted it so much anyway, and I put my foot on the road and came here."

  "You walked the whole way?" I ask.

  "Aye. Shank's mare, mostly, but sometimes a kindly farmer would give me a lift on his hay wagon. And once I rode for ten full miles on the back of a plow horse next to a cheerful plowboy riding the other member of the team." He pauses to collect his thoughts and smiles a small smile and then goes on. "You know, I've never felt better—since that time ... when all that I held dear was lost—I had in my mind a mission, which was to find out what happened to the one member of my family I could not absolutely account for—you."

  "Why didn't you come looking for me back then? Why didn't you try to find me back then ... back then, when I needed you?" I bite off the words and I've got my haughty Look on my face—I don't know why, but I do.

  "I did. As soon as the letters from Jack and Nancy stopped, I went to London. I feared the worst—and the worst is what I found. I learned that they had died and had been buried in a common grave and that about you and your sister there was not a word. And that..."

  "They were not buried in a common grave ... that's too nice a word for it. They were stripped and thrown into a lime pit at the edge of town. I saw that pit once when the gang and I were out that way. Arms and legs stickin' up through dirty white powder, that's your common grave. And as for Penny, she was sold to the anatomists to be cut up and put in jars."

  Why am I being so cruel? I don't know...

  He nods his head and looks down at the floor. "I know. I know. I read all of the book. Penelope ... Little Penny ... was only one year old when they ... you ... left for London. I can still see you sitting up on the wagon, all gay in your new bonnet, all sparkling with excitement over the coming journey, all..."

  "Did you come to Cheapside when you made your inquiries?"

  "Oh yes," he replies to me. "I had the address of their flat from their letters. I went to the flat, but..."

  "You probably went right by me, then. I was the one in the dirty shift and snotty nose with my grubby hand held out to you."

  He nods again and says, "I know. I know."

  I think for a minute and say, "So what do you want from me now?"

  He seems startled. "Oh, nothing. Just the joy of knowing that you are alive and..."

  "Good. You have your joy, then. Higgins, if you would be so good as to take this gentleman out and buy him a new set of clothes and then give him a bit of money and send him on his way back to Saint Edmund-Standing-in-the-Bloody-Mucky-Moor. I bid you good day, Sir. I found our talk most interesting."

  With that, I end this reunion by turning and leaving the cabin. I'm up in the maintop in a mighty sulk before they can even leave the cabin.

  What the Hell do I need with a grandfather, now? Ain't I got enough men about me tellin' me to be good without a bleedin' gramps doin' it, too? And him a goddamn preacher to boot! Nay, go back to Saint-Who-Cares-What's-Squattin'-in-Some-Bloody-Cesspool or wherever the hell you come from! Jacky Faber is a wild and free rover who takes none of this ... oh, the Hell with it!

  I put on my maroon riding habit, and, with bonnet on my head, I leave the ship and go out into the town. It is not long before I see Higgins and Reverend Alsop emerging from a tailor's shop.

  I take the edges of my skirt and give a deep curtsy and say, "I am sorry ... Grandfather ... it was just so sudden for me. Pray, p
lease return with me to the ship and we shall have dinner and talk."

  A spark of joy lights the old man's eyes. He nods and says, "Thank you, dear. Thank you. I—I know it was sudden for you, but can you imagine what it was like for me—to have lost a child and then to see her again walking toward me? I..."

  I go to him and open my arms and fold them around him. By holding his form, I find him to be a trim and upright little man. I also know he is trying hard to keep from weeping.

  I see Higgins beaming at me with that look that says, I knew you would do the right thing, Miss. Well, I don't always do the right thing. In fact, I almost never do the right thing, and I wish people wouldn't expect that from me.

  "Ahem."

  I turn from my grandfather's embrace to see that a group of women has come up to us. I give them a glance and figure them for churchwomen looking for a donation for some worthy cause—a new bell for the belfry or something like that. Well, they know I got money, so who can blame them for asking?

  "Yes?" I ask, all stupid and innocent.

  A thin woman with a disagreeable look on her face marches forward. It is plain she is the leader and it is plain, too, that a donation ain't what they got in mind. "We wish you to leave this town immediately and never return," snaps this biddy. "Find some other port in which to do your dirty business. We know you to be a bad influence on the good girls of this place with your whorish ways, and we will not have it!" Her mouth snaps shut. I recognize her as the woman at the picnic who shooed the girls away from me.

  I feel Higgins stiffen beside me, but I put out my arm to hold him back. I don't need no help in fighting this fight. I lower my eyelids to half-mast and wipe the pleasant look off of my face.

  "Do you know that I had thought that you were going to ask me for a donation to some worthy cause, or to invite me to one of your services, or to welcome me into your Christian fellowship? But, no, that was not your intention at all. Instead, you come up unbidden to me and call me a whore in front of my own grandfather."

  Her mean little eyes dart over to my now well-dressed grandfather with his unmistakable vicar's collar.

  "The way you dress, the way you carry on..." She is not to be stopped. Neither am I.

  "I, Madam, am an agent of King George the Third, by the Grace of God, King of England, Scotland, Wales! I hold a personal commission from His Majesty to harry the trade of the enemy, an enemy, I might add, who could very likely land right there on that very beach and sweep over your land and all that you hold dear. What would your good girls do then, as they were thrown over the shoulders of Napoléon's soldiers? How will your teaching help them when their skirts are lifted and their drawers hauled down?"

  I think she's going to faint away. Good for her, stupid old biddy. What does she know of bad influences?

  "If anyone here is a bad influence on the minds of young girls, it is you, with your failure to welcome a stranger in your land."

  She recovers and throws back her head and spits, "For all your fine words, you are naught but a common thief!"

  "For all your fine airs, you are naught but a common scold! I bid you good day, Madam!"

  Later at dinner I think about things and say to my grandfather, "You know ... what that woman called me? I hope you know that I am not one ... a bad girl, I mean. I am free and easy in my ways, but..."

  He reaches out and pats my hand and looks at me with a serene expression. "I hope you are a good girl, Mary, and I think you are one. But it is not for me to judge you. I care only that you are alive and in the world."

  Well, good, I'm thinking. "Now tell me about my mother when she was little, and how she grew up and all."

  "I will," he says. "And gladly, but first..." He puts his hand into his waistcoat and pulls out something carefully wrapped in velvet cloth. He hands it to me.

  I unwrap it and find that it's a miniature portrait. It's of a young girl wearing a blue collar trimmed in lace. Her sandy hair is tied back with matching blue ribbon, and from the look on her merry face, it looks like she's been up to some mischief.

  "It's her," says my grandfather. "That's my Nancy."

  It is like looking into a mirror...

  And then he starts to tell me about her.

  Chapter 39

  The bell of St. Nicholas peals off its seven notes at seven o'clock like always. It's getting to be the time of the year when that's around dawn. We're up and having breakfast for there's lots to do on this, our last day in port.

  Mairead is looking a bit grumpy, I guess from knowing she's going back to face the wrath of Moira. Grandfather, however, is quite cheerful and in high spirits. Our talk last evening went far into the night, so far, in fact, that we went out on the deck so Mairead could turn in.

  One thing I found reassuring was that, even though my mother looked exactly like me, she managed to have two children without dying. I always imagined that I would probably die in childbirth, because of my narrow hips and all, and it was a bit of a relief to find out that I might not. Not that it matters, for I intend to live single all of my life, but still...

  "So what will you do now, Grandfather?" I ask. "Will you go back to your parish?" Higgins refills our cups, and I nod my thanks.

  He thinks for a moment before answering. "No, I have been on the road and have had a taste of adventure and now I have no desire to go back. I'll leave the vicarage to Reverend Stewart. I don't suppose you'll let me join your crew?" he says, smiling, already knowing the answer. "No, I thought not. Well then, I think I will go to London and set up as a letter writer as Nancy's Jack did before me. Maybe I'll get some tutoring jobs. I am not so old that there is not another adventure in me. I believe I will set up near to where my child died so that I might feel a bit closer to her."

  I put my hand on his arm and am unable to speak for a moment. Then I do.

  "Grandfather. I have a much better idea."

  But I do not get to tell him of my Grand Plan, not yet anyway, as there comes a pounding on the door and John Reilly's voice calling out, "Miss! Come quickly! There's trouble!"

  I fly out the door, followed closely by Mairead. The look on Reilly's never-cheerful face does not bode well.

  "What happened?"

  "The young men of the Starboard Watch. They were taken by the police late last night. There was a fight."

  "Who?"

  "Delaney, McBride, McConnaughey, Duggan, Lynch, Hogan, and O'Hara."

  "Where's Liam?" I demand, fuming. The idiots!

  "He's below, loading his pistols," says Reilly, darkly. "He says he won't let his son rot in no English jail."

  Damn!

  Just then Liam comes out of the hatchway, armed to the teeth and a look of grim determination on his face.

  "Liam! Stop! We've got to talk!" I say, stepping in front of him.

  "Get out of my way, girl," he says through clenched teeth. He pushes me aside and heads for the gangway.

  I leap up and get my arms around his neck and hiss in his ear, "Liam! You've got to calm down! We've got to plan! Get in my cabin, now!" But he keeps on going. "Liam! Hear me out! Then if you still want to go commit suicide, then do it, with my blessing, but hear me out first!"

  Liam stops and he lets his shoulders sag.

  "I was happy," he says in a low voice. "I was back at sea and making money. I was able to put food on the table for my wife and family. Now my own two oldest children are conspiring to drive me stark-raving mad."

  "Ah, Liam, and just how happy and content did you make your own parents, going off and being a bold rebel and all? Now into my cabin. All is not yet lost."

  We get him down into the cabin.

  "All right. How did it happen?" I ask when all are gathered about my table.

  "Apparently Padraic was seen talking to a local girl in the afternoon—out on the quay—they went walking for a bit...," begins Reilly.

  Great, just great, Jacky, you idiot: "Oh, do come down to my ship for a tour, girls, it will be ever so much fun." It was the brave girl
from the picnic, I just know it—I guess she decided to come for her tour. Damn!

  "...and they were seen by some local boys. Last night at the Bull and Rooster some of the local toughs told our young hotheads to leave their girls alone. McBride then got up on his hind legs and told them that he and his mates would kiss what girls they wanted to and if the local boys had nothing to kiss, well then they could kiss his fine Irish ass, and the fight was on. Not just with fists, either—swords were drawn and used. None of our boys were hurt, but some of the locals were cut. Nobody's died yet."

  Uh-oh... more serious than I thought. Not just a simple bar fight. If someone dies ... I think of that gallows tree ... and a judgment of five hundred lashes, where a man is turned into a bloody side of beef—that can be a death sentence, too.

  I shake those thoughts from my head. Action now, not worry.

  "Higgins. Take money—lots of it. Go up there and see what can be done to buy them out. It's Saturday, so they can't be brought up before a judge till Monday."

  Higgins nods and goes over, pulls out the money drawer, and unlocks the strongbox. He loads up his pockets and prepares to leave.