So I rode down into town and, of course, as soon as I turned off State Street, whom did I encounter but Constable Wiggins, swingin' his stick and peerin' up at me. He nodded and brought his stick to his brow by way of salute, but I put on my best young aristocrat damn-your-eyes, couldn't-be-less-mterested-in-a-lowly-constable look and ignored him. As I passed on, I knew that he was standing back there scratching his head and wondering just where he'd seen me before.
I pulled up to Ezra's door and tied the good Gretchen's reins to the hitching post and got inside quick.
"So, Mr. Pickering," I said when I spotted him at his desk, behind a pile of papers, peering over his spectacles at me, "it looks like you increase and prosper. Perhaps I have brought you luck." I flopped down in a chair and crossed my limbs. "What news have you for me, then?"
Ezra gazed at me for a long while. Then he said, "You no longer amaze me, Jacky, as you beggar the imagination. You are completely incorrigible and I suppose I must accept that fact in my dealings with you. I will do so. Starting as of now, I will no longer give you advice as regards to your personal conduct. I will only give you legal advice. Agreed?"
"Yes, Ezra," I said, all meek, 'cause that's the way he seems to want it.
He harrumphed a few times and then said, "The Court on Friday accepted Reverend Mather's petition for review. I entered a counterproposal stating that if you had to be assigned guardianship, you preferred it be the Boston Asylum for Women. It is a refuge for females in distress and also takes in orphans. It has a fine reputation, and if you had to go there, I believe you would agree with my assessment. At any rate, this move delays action on his petition by many weeks."
"Good. You worry the Preacher from your end and I'll work on him from mine," I said.
"What's that supposed to mean?"
It means I got a plan, Ezra, that's what it means, I thought to myself, but I didn't say nothin', I just shook my head and looked off.
Ezra looked hard at me and told me not to do anything stupid, and I said that I won't and I put on my innocent look and that seemed to satisfy him.
He shuffled some papers and held one up. "I took the liberty of drawing up incorporation papers so that, should we reclaim your money, you would have a place to put it where it could not be easily taken from you because of your minority and femaleness. Essentially, your corporation is a separate legal entity in which you would own all the shares. It is a layer of protection." Ezra looked at me to see if I understood. I did.
"Ain't you some smart, Ezra," said I, beaming in appreciation. "I could not have a better lawyer or a better friend."
"What do you want to name this corporation?"
"Faber Shipping, Worldwide."
"No sense aiming low, is there?" said Ezra, taking up his quill and dipping it in his inkwell and scratching away. "There. Faber Shipping, Worldwide. One hundred shares, all held by J. Faber, President. So recorded by E. R. Pickering, Esquire, Clerk of the Corporation. I shall file this copy with the Court Registry, and you shall have this other copy. If you ever make changes, such as sell shares or appoint officers, you must tell me. Do you understand?"
"I do, Ezra, and I thank you." I stood and took the paper and slid it inside my jacket and prepared to leave.
"Your friend Amy. Is she well?"
"Yes. She is back at the school. Resting, I suppose. Knowing me has proved a bit of a trial to her, I think."
"I can well imagine," he said, his small smile back in place. He got up and escorted me outside. I gathered Gretchen's reins and stuck my left foot in the stirrup. Ezra sighed and averted his eyes as I swung my right leg across. I looked down on him as Gretchie started to caper a bit. I knew she wanted to get home to her little stall. Knowing me is rough on her, too.
"I know you don't approve of me or my ways, Ezra, but I got to make my way in this world the best I can. I got to work with what talents I got 'cause ain't nobody gonna look out for me but me. I will play my music, I will sing my songs, I will dance my dances. And sometimes, as I have found in my life, it's easier being a boy. That's the way of it. Till later, Ezra."
I turned Gretchen's head and off we trotted. She wasted no time getting back to her stable, her stall, and her oats.
I shake those thoughts from my head and go back to my letter.
You know, Jaimy, you might hear things about me from sailors crossing back and forth across the great ocean—about me singing and dancing and playing music in taverns and sometimes getting in trouble with the law and such, but Vve been a good girl for you, Jaimy I really have, so don't put no stock in it at all. I've been learning lots of things from Peg, the head housekeeper, and the downstairs girls are sweet and I've been keeping up with my higher studies, and all the teachers ('cept Mistress) have been ever so kind in helping me on the sly and so I've been keeping up. Amy helps me, too, and I love her for that and for being my friend.
I believe I see HMS Excalibur being brought to the dock. I must hurry and get this all down on paper and get it ready to send.
Please write to me. I'm afraid you have forgotten me, Jaimy. I'm afraid of that, I am.
Yours,
Jacky
Chapter 23
It being Wednesday, we're deep into the washing, the water hot and sudsy and steaming and all of us sweating with our paddles going, swirling the sheets and pillowcases and net bags of small clothes around about in the big tubs. Later, the bedclothing will be wrung out by hand and hung to dry outside. The ladies' linen will be taken out of the bags and scrubbed out against the washboard and done singly so as not to mix them up. I try not to notice whose linen I'm doing when I do that job.
Betsey is working next to me and I tell her about Amy and me meeting with Ephraim and she listens with keen interest, nodding sharply at each recollection of his words and his suspicions.
"Betsey, tell me what Janey looked like," I says. I run my forearm across my forehead to take off the sweat. "Her hair and how big she was and all."
"Here, take the other end," she says, and I reach in and grab the other end of the sheet she is beginning to twist, and I haul it out and start twisting my end in the opposite way so as to wring the water out. Then she says, "She was small, not much bigger than you, and she was tight like you, too, wiry and strong and not afraid of work. In fact, you remind me a lot of her, in her cheerfulness and happy nature and all..." She pauses and I know this is hard for her. She takes a breath and then goes on. "'Cept for the hair, though ... Her hair was almost white blond and she wore it in the Dutch fashion, you know, the bangs cut straight across over the eyes and the rest hanging straight."
"Did she dress as we do?"
"Yes. The same."
We fall silent, and then there is a jangle as Mistress's bell rings over our heads. It is a bell on a cord that goes through a hole in the ceiling, up through the floor, and into Mistress's office where it runs through a pulley system and ends in a black (of course) tassel hanging by her desk. The rule is, one of us has to answer the call before she takes her hand off the cord, or watch out.
"Betsey. You," says Peg, and Betsey dries off her hands and squares away her apron and cap and runs upstairs.
In a moment she is back with a note that she hands to Peg, who opens it, reads it, and sighs, and says, "Mistress has invited a bunch of the boys from the college over for the afternoon tea. Miss Howe is to be the hostess and she has picked Sylvie and Jacky to serve. We are to finish up with the laundry, serve dinner, and then you all are to help the ladies prepare." Peg claps her hands. "Let's go, girls. Mistress has done it again!"
Sylvie and I look at each other. Of course. The one Clarissa slapped and the one who fought her, right there under her control. Shows us who's boss, now, don't it?
***
As I rush about doing my duty, I'm thinking that Mistress prolly sprung this as a surprise so that the ladies would just spend one day getting ready, instead of a whole week. And keep them on their toes and get them used to preparing on the spur of the moment—never can tell when the President's gonna drop by, don'cha know. And I figures Mistress set this whole thing up so's the ladies could show off their refinement and good manners and social skills in mixed company. And maybe to scout out some future marriage prospects, hmmm? Mistress did say that all her girls made good matches.
The place is in a dither of excitement all day as the ladies rush about furiously powdering and perfuming and combing and primping. There's not much done in the way of school-work after the noon meal, that's for sure. All us girls are pressed into service, combing and putting up hair, brushing out and ironing dresses, and suchlike, but finally, all is done and the boys arrive and are met at the door by Abby and Annie all starched and primped and in their best uniforms. Swords and scabbards are unhooked from sword belts and are placed in the cloakroom next to the entrance foyer, and then Mistress appears and she takes the young men up to the tea room, where the ladies anxiously await their coming.
There are introductions and bows and curtsies and dimples and giggles, blushes, and female eyes peeking out over the tops of fans and males strutting about, and oh, but there will be a lot of posing and posturing this day, depend on it, and all, all under the very watchful eye of Mistress, for woe be to any boy who would venture to as much as touch any of the ladies, and even more woe to any lady who would allow such a thing to happen.
Except that Mr. Randall Trevelyne is allowed to take Miss Clarissa Worthington Howe's hand to bring her up from her curtsy, 'cause they're engaged to be married, so it's all right. And even those lovely hands are in snow-white cotton gloves, white gloves that she had me wash and dry before the fire earlier today. At least I didn't have to comb and set her hair—she didn't trust me to be so close to her face with the hot curling iron, and well she shouldn't.
There are clusters of easy chairs grouped around low tea tables on which the cups and saucers and spoons and napkins are set, and Clarissa leads Randall to the one she has selected for herself—the grandest one, the one with the largest bouquet of flowers on it and, as the central one, visible to the entire room. Randall pulls out her chair, she places her lovely bottom in it, and all are seated. They do look splendid together, I got to admit—Clarissa in a dress of white with touches of pink here and there, low cut in the latest French style, her shining blond hair piled high with cunning little ringlets to the side, and Randall is the very picture of male beauty in a velvet coat of the deepest crimson with white lapels and white lace at the throat and cuffs, snow-white breeches, and black boots to the knees. A lot of the boys are wearing crimson, I notice. Prolly the school's color.
Also seated there is her pet Lissette and a few other carefully selected toadies and some young men of various sizes and shapes, one of whom seems especially taken with the Frenchy, with her exotic manners and haughty ways. He is trying to speak to her in stumbling French and is making a fearful botch of it, I'm afraid. His name seems to be Chad-wick and she is not being very nice to him at all. I get the feeling that she'd much rather be next to Randall, and for that, I would not blame her. Amy's at this setting, too, in a state of cold fury, she being family and all and required to be there.