I take a deep breath and think on that. That, and the fact that I might see him tomorrow. That, and I'm afraid of what will happen when I do.
There's a tap on the door and a young girl's voice says, "Miss? Your bath is ready."
I am sunk up to my nose in the lovely hot water, with great gobs of suds drifting about me like ships on the ocean sea. My knees stick up out of the water and I name my left one there to be Gibraltar and the right one to be the coast of North Africa and now the mighty ships of suds sail majestically through the Strait. With a puff of my breath, I speed the great galleons of suds through the channel like a fair and following wind. That one shall be the Raleigh on which Davy sails—whoops, a little rough weather there, Davy? Did you run aground on mighty Gibraltar? Tsk! Sorry, Mate. And that one is the Endeavor, which holds Tink, and that one's the Temeraire with Willy on board, and there, that fine shapely one there, that is the Essex, whereon my true love Jaimy lies—Midshipman James Emerson Fletcher, that is. That one sails all pretty right between my knees and on toward my toes. I slide a little bit up against the high back of the tin tub to let my chest come halfway out of the water. Let's see if we can get the boys to come sailing back to me. I wriggle my toes to send the ships back upstream.
There's a rap on the door and once again I sink beneath the waves, but it is only the girl, this time lugging a large steaming pitcher. "More hot water, Miss?" she pipes. She must be all of ten, the daughter of the house, dressed plain but clean.
"Bless you, child, yes," I sigh, relaxing back into the water. She pours it in over the edge. The new hot water swirls about me, making what I thought was hot before seem now to be merely warm. "And there'll be an extra penny in it for you if you bring me another in a little while."
The girl leaves and it's time for me to stop daydreaming about ships and shores and start getting down to the business of washing the stink of the whaler off me.
I'm soaping my armpits and wondering—I had heard that fine French ladies had the hair under their arms shaved and the hair on their legs, too, but I never got a chance to ask Amy whether that was true or not. She, being very proper, wouldn't have thought it a decent question, is why I never asked. Amy Trevelyne was my best friend back at the school, but she sure ain't now, that's for sure—not after I shamed myself at the big party at her house last spring by getting stupid drunk and bringing disgrace to her family. Besides making a complete fool of myself, I got Randall hurt and almost killed and it's no wonder she betrayed me to the Preacher's men and I don't blame her a bit for doing that ... Stop thinkin' about that now. What's done is done and thinkin' about it ain't gonna do you any good at all...
Looking at my toes sticking up at the other end, I reflect that my toenails could use a bit of a trim so I haul the right foot up and start gnawing 'em off all neat and trim with my teeth. It's easy to do since they've got all soft with the hot water. Thinkin' back on Amy and hairy armpits puts me back to thinking about Mistress Pimm. She was the headmistress and tried her best to make a lady out of me. Well, some things stuck, Mistress, and some things didn't. I pull up my other foot and fix up its toenails in the same way. I know I learned enough to act like a lady, if I'm dressed for the part, but I know, too, that I'll never actually be one. Not down to the bone.
I've found that boys seem to like me, though, and that has been a constant surprise to me, since I consider myself quite plain and even a little bit worked over—I've got a scar under my left eyebrow, which makes the hair of it come in white, and I've got sort of a welt on my neck from when the pirate LeFievre strung me up that time—usually you can't see it, but if I get excited, it flares up red. There are other scars, too, but mostly in places what can't be seen. No, I am not beautiful—that Clarissa Worthington Howe back at the school sure showed me what was a beautiful and cultured lady, that being her, and what was not, that being me. So, I don't know. ... Maybe Jaimy's found someone more pretty than me and that's why. ... just stop thinking that way. You just go round and round and that's not going to help...
I spit out the last toenail clipping and turn to my hair. I dunk down face-first in the water to get it good and wet, then come up like a dolphin and start in to soaping it up. After it's good and soaped and rubbed all in with my fingers, it's back down under to rinse. My hair has gotten really long, in spite of the singeing it took on that last day when the Lawson Peabody burned to the ground along with the church that was next to it and the stables, and maybe other stuff, too. ... I don't know. I didn't stick around long enough to find out. Poor Mistress. I hope they build you another school, this time one of brick that I can't burn down. You were fierce, but you tried to do your best for me, in your way.
I bring my face back out of the water and let my hair come down in streaming rivulets over my face and shoulders and back. It's probably not gonna dry in time for tonight's show, but I'll just put it up in a braid and it'll be fine.
That Ishmael was a fine lad, though, think I, musing back on the voyage again. He certainly made the trip a pleasant one, to have one such as him as your mate. I toss a thought out to Jaimy, somewhere out there in the world, but, at least, a lot nearer now. Don't worry, Jaimy, I was a good girl, mostly... I mean, what's a little kiss here and there. Here. And there. Between friends.
The girl comes back in with another pitcher and pours it in and I groan and writhe in absolute sinful pleasure and think about nothing except how good it feels. Then I start to think on the songs I'll do in tonight's show. This being England I'd probably better stay away from the Irish and Scottish stuff and stick to the British. Hmmm. Just coming off a whaler as I am, maybe I'll start with "The Bonny Ship the Diamond." It's got that good, rousing chorus. That'll get 'em started.
"Cheer up me lads,
Let your hearts never fail,
For the Bonny Ship the Diamond
Goes fishing for the whale!"
I sing a bit more of it:
"Well, it'll be light both day and night
When the whaler lads come home,
With a ship that's full of oil, me boys,
And money to their names.
"They'll make the beds all for to rock,
And the blankets for to tear,
And every lass in Peter's Head
Will sing hush-a-by my dear."
Boys and men, I swear, they always get back to that. Having their pleasures and then going off having adventures and stuff and leaving the girls behind to rock the cradle. Not this girl, though, by God.
After I had hauled myself out of the bath and dried and dressed, I went out of the inn and found the town crier, who for a few pence would go about the neighboring streets ringing a bell and crying out, "Hear ye! Hear ye! Hear ye! Tonight for one night only the re-nowned Miss Jacky Faber will be in per-for-mance at the Rose and Crown Pub-lic House! New-ly re-turned from a tri-um-phant tour of the Am-er-i-cas, Miss Faber will en-ter-tain with songs and bal-lads both joy-ful and sad, se-ri-ous and com-ic, and will ac-com-pany herself with the fid-dle, con-cer-tina, and flage-o-lay! All are wel-come and are sure to be pleased! Eight o'clock at the Rose and Crown! Hear ye! Hear ye..."
I was glad I had hired the crier, for the tavern was full to overflowing come night with a jolly, good-natured crowd. The show went over right well with the cheering audience demanding three encores before they finally let me bow off for good. I left flushed with pleasure, for I so very much love both the joy of the performance that I give, and the applause that I receive in return.
So now, having gotten some more coin for my money belt, I'm lying in bed thinking of tomorrow and what it might bring. Not one letter, Jaimy, not one, except for the one you pressed into my hand on the day you left me in Boston.
I take a deep breath and let it out slowly. Ah, well, tomorrow I will know. Even if he is out at sea, which he very probably is, then I will find out from his family and friends just how he feels about me. I just hope he's all right. A lot could have happened since. ... No, don't think about that.
I turn on my side and pull my knees to my chin.
Yes, my girl, tomorrow you will know, but right now you will go to sleep.
Chapter 2
I take the coachman's offered hand and step down from the carriage. Again my new friends and I had sat on top of the coach and laughed and sang our way into London on this glorious, sparkling day. It is late morning as I bid farewell to my companions, pick up my seabag, and enter the coach house. Five minutes later I have hired a one-horse carriage.
On this day, this special day, I have put on my glorious riding habit, the one Amy gave me for Christmas last year, the coat all maroon and the skirt all dark, dark green and the trim all gray and beautiful—with a gathering of white lace at my throat and the stiff lapels turned back just so. I put some powder in my hair and comb it so that it sweeps up under my jaunty Scot's bonnet. My hat's got a gold pin on one side and feathers hangin' down all elegant. Why us young women put white powder in our hair to make it look gray, I don't know, but it's the ton, the style, so I do it. And I must admit it looks grand.
I really like the way the jacket clutches my chest and makes me feel all trim and taut. Also, I can tuck my shiv in its usual spot next to my ribs and I can't do that in a dress. Plus, I think I look smashing in it. I really think I could charm my way into Buckingham Palace in this rig. I know I could. Yes, Little Mary Faber, late of the Rooster Charlie Gang, formerly residing under Blackfriars Bridge, Cheap-side, returns to London in fine style.
"Nine Brattle Lane, Driver," I say grandly, and climb aboard. "If you please."
As we clatter through London, I get more and more nervous about what's going to happen today. Jaimy and I had exchanged promises to marry, promises that I know were heartfelt and true, and we had even exchanged rings, sort of rings, anyway—they were the rings of the Dread Brotherhood of Ship's Boys of HMS Dolphin that we had put through our ears and welded shut that wonderful day in Kingston on the island of Jamaica. I have mine on a chain about my neck so that it hangs close to my heart, since Mistress Pimm had it snipped out of my ear the first day I was at her school. Sometimes I put it back in my ear to remind me of the old days, but today I had thought I'd better look as ladylike as possible, so I didn't. I take a deep breath and try to calm the butterflies kicking up a fuss in my belly.
Not only did I get no letters from Jaimy when I was back in the States, there's a good chance he didn't get any of mine, either. I saw our old mate Davy last fall when his ship came into Boston, and he told me Jaimy hadn't got any letters from me and I had sent a whole bunch of them. I figured out that someone in Jaimy's household must have been intercepting the letters and I have a good idea who. I hated the idea that Jaimy might think I was faithless because of this, so before Davy left, I dashed off a letter and made Davy swear on his Brotherhood tattoo to put the letter in Jaimy's hand and his hand only if they should meet. I do hope their paths did cross, I do hope. ... Ah, we're here.
It is a nice-looking brick house with stone steps and curtained windows and it has two stories with a chimney at each end and appears to have a yard in back. There are some small boys playing with a hoop in the street and it gives me pleasure to think of Jaimy as a boy playing in this same street and in that yard.