"Thank you, Jonathan."
"And, Miss, the Doctor sent word that he would like to get to work right after you've had breakfast and are ... dressed," says the young Marine, blushing nearly as red as his coat.
I am completely covered in my nightdress and mobcap. Is it the sight of my ankles and bare feet on the floor that makes him blush and stammer so? Men, I swear.
"Thank you, Jonathan," I say, stepping aside. "Please put it on the nightstand there."
He does it, and I make sure he has to brush up against me on his way out.
"And if you could have the steward bring me up a pitcher of water so I could wash?" I say with a flutter of eyelashes. Hey, I've got to make as many friends as I can. And fast, too. Every passing minute brings this ship closer to England.
When the water is brought and the door closed, I whip off my nightclothes to do the necessaries and then wash hands, face, and parts, and dry off with the towel that hangs by the washstand. Then I sit down on the bed to eat my breakfast.
It is good—oatmeal with berries and sugar, hot tea, and a nice piece of johnnycake. As I munch away, I think about my plan. Well, it's only the start of a plan, but it's starting to come together. As usual, it involves me getting in good with the crew and then jumping overboard at the right time and swimming for it. I remember the Captain saying, "Christ, at this rate we'll never round Margate!" when I was taken. Margate—that means we're definitely going to London, because Margate is at the mouth of the Thames and that means, if I remember my charts and I believe I do, we shall first spot land off the Isle of Dogs, about fourteen miles away. Not an easy swim, and things are starting to get a mite chilly. Well, I'll work out that part of it as we plow along. It is not a finished plan, but it is a start and it makes me feel better. The rest will come to me later. I hope.
After I have eaten my breakfast, I rummage through my seabag and pull out my old Lawson Peabody serving-girl outfit to wear today—black skirt, loose shirt, and low leather weskit laced up tight under my chest, letting whatever there is of me up top swing free under the thin white cloth of the shirt. I will be in close quarters with the Doctor, as well as maybe some others, and I figure my dress exhibits a bit of poor-little-girl humility befitting my lowly stature as a captive, and yet, with its low bodice and snug waist, shows off whatever I might have in the way of female charms.
Thus attired, I throw the latch to open the door. "Take me away, Private Morris, for I am yours to command," I say grandly, as I place my arm on his and we go to the hatchway, then out and onto the deck.
Once there, I blink in the bright light and see Joseph Jared on watch up on the quarterdeck, looking down on me when he should be tending to his sails. I put my nose in the air and stride past in the safe custody of my Marine. But I turn my head just before going down into the fo'c'sle to the orlop and glance his way. Of course, his grin is in place. I pretend not to notice and toss my head higher and go down.
"Today we start with the Fringillidae Geospiza fortis,"announces the Doctor by way of greeting. He places in front of me a dried-out and very dead little bird and explains, "It's a medium ground finch that I collected in the Galápagos."
I sigh and settle onto my stool, then pick up my pencil.
When I finish inking my drawing of the bird, he asks me to render a particularly disgusting bit of gut that has been pickled in some sort of strong-smelling liquid. After I've been bending over it for a time, concentrating on my drawing, I find my head spinning and I feel like I'm going to faint. Dr. Sebastian, noticing that his precious specimen might be ruined by my face descending onto the smelly thing, orders a halt, and I'm given a break to go get some fresh air.
"We will resume our work after lunch," he says, curtly, and takes off his lab coat. I am dismissed.
When I get out into the air, my head clears so I walk to the rail to look out across the sea. It is another fine, soaring day, and with the breeze behind her, the Dauntless tears right along.
"Careful, Miss. Not too close," warns my Marine.
"Oh, don't you worry, Patrick," says I, sucking in a deep chestful of the good salt air. "I'm not going to jump." Not yet, anyway.
I have discovered that there are four guards who have been assigned the Jacky Watch rotation: Privates Morris, Kent, Marsten, and this Patrick Keene. He's a pleasant lad from County Cork. There are, of course, many sailors about the deck, and some of them look like they'd like to have a word with the infamous Jacky Faber, but a growl and a warning look from Private Keene wards them off. I guess he has his orders.
I leave the rail to go grasp the first rung on the ratlines that lead up to the foretop.
"I'm going up on that little platform there—that way none of the sailors will bother me, and you won't have to keep 'em off. See? And I'll play you a bit of a tune to cheer you during your watch."
"But—"
Before he can do anything, I'm up the ratlines and heading for the foretop. There is a moment, just before I reach it, that I consider going up through the lubber's hole because I'm wearing a dress, but I just can't do it. I'm too much the proud salty sailor for that. No, I go to the edge, do the flip over, and land on the foretop. If anyone got a peek at my drawers, well, good for them. I hope they enjoyed it.
I pop my head over the side of the foretop platform. "You won't get in any trouble, Patrick. See? I'm right here. I can't go anywhere." Well, I could if I really wanted to, but...
He says nothing to that so I slide back to prop my shoulders against the foremast, then pull out my pennywhistle that I had up my sleeve and commence to play "The Glens of Killarney," which I know to be a favorite of the Irish boys, at least the ones I've encountered, anyway, and I've met quite a few. That goes well, the notes wafting away on the wind and not likely to gain the attention of the officers three hundred feet back on the quarterdeck.
Then I play "Jackaroe" and then my own "The Ship's Boy's Lament," which I had made up back on the Dolphin after the death in battle of my mate Benjy.
As I'm doing it, I hear footfall behind me. Who? I look aft and see that Joseph Jared is still on watch, so it can't be him ... what?
"Hullo, Jack," says my visitor, who has plainly dropped down from the top.
Davy?
"Davy! What are you doing here?" I ask, incredulous.
"I'm in the Royal Navy, remember?" he answers, settling next to me, his own back to the mast. "And this is a Royal Navy ship. I could well ask you the same question, 'cept I already know why you're here—you've got your scrawny butt in a lot of trouble yet again and it will prolly be up to me to save it."
I squirm around to throw my arms about him and hug him tight. "Oh, it is so good to see you, Davy!" I plant a kiss on his cheek. "Have you heard anything of the others?"
"Well, Willy's still on the Temeraire, rated Able, and lookin' to become a Bo'sun. Tink's in London, out of the Navy and leanin' on a crutch—he was banged up pretty bad at Trafalgar, but he's getting better. They're lettin' him sleep under the bar at the Bell and Boar in return for him sweepin' up nights. Don't know where Jaimy is. Thought he was off chasin' after you."
"Poor Tink, he always was the one of us to get himself hurt," I say, remembering that time when Tink had been wounded during a fight with the pirate LeFievre. "Jaimy's on the Mercury, escorting a convoy to the Orient. We're going to be married when he gets back to London."
I release Davy and lean back against the mast again. "Or at least we were," I say, heaving a sigh. "Till I got caught."
"Right, I saw those wanted posters. You've been a bad girl, I reckon. I thought about running you down and turning you in myself for that fat reward."
I give him a poke in the ribs. "Not quite as bad as they say."
"Well, you always said you wanted to be famous in legend and song and I guess you got that," he says. "So you think they're gonna hang you?"
"I believe that is one of the more festive events they have planned for me, yes." I reach over and take his hand and heave out yet another heavy sigh. "Isn't this just like the old days, Davy," I say to get off the subject of my imminent death. "When we were kids back on the Dolphin, us lyin' around the foretop, out of sight of anyone who might want to put us to work, talkin' and dreamin' and jokin' around."
He laughs and says, "Aye, those were good days, it can't be denied." I notice that his laugh is much deeper now. Truly he has grown into a man, fully six feet tall, and in a moment I find that true in more ways than just a lower voice and a manly frame.
I crane my head around and look him full in the face because I sense something off, something not quite right.
"Where's your Brotherhood earring, brother?" I ask, looking at his vacant left earlobe and regarding him with a stern look worthy, I believe, of Mistress Pimm. "Did you lose it? Give it to some slut? Gamble it away?"
He looks at me with a sly grin. "So where's yours, Miss High-and-Mighty Nob-Come-Lately?"
I tap my breastbone. "It's right here on a chain, next to my heart. I keep it there rather than in my ear because sometimes I need to be perceived as more demure than I actually might be."
"Well, Jack-ass," he says with a slight leer, "my golden hoop now rests on the ring finger of the left hand of one Annie Jones, formerly Ann Byrnes, which person I think you might know."
What? Annie! How...?
"Right-o, Jack-o, you're lookin' at a married man. Happened a week and a half ago. When we got into Boston, I explained to Mr. Curtis, who's my division officer, the way things lay twixt Annie and me, and after he told the Captain, I was granted three days' liberty whilst the ship reprovisioned, so I went up to the school, swept her up in my arms, and plighted me troth, as it were. She accepted, bless her, but then, of course, I had to ask her old man. When I told him that I was as Catholic as the Pope, he gave his grudging consent, so the next day we was married. Then we spent two whole days of, without doubt, the finest and most pure and lusty honeymoons ever down at the Pig and Whistle. Everybody said it was a right shame that you had left on your little schooner not two days before, 'cause you surely would have wanted to be there, if only to scold me into being a good husband, as I suspect you're gonna do now."
"You be good to her, you," warn I, poking my finger in his chest. "She is one of my dearest friends on this earth and if you..." My eyes well up at the thought of missing that wedding. Oh, everybody must have been there but me ... Bet-sey and Ephraim, Sylvie and Henry, Ezra and Amy, oh...
"Don't you worry about her and me, Jacky. I drew out what pay I had on the books and left it with her. She's fixed all right till this war is over and I can get back. Now, let's talk about you. I know you for a conniving, devious, and cunning sort, so I know you've got a little somethin' cooked up to keep you from dancin' the Newgate jig. Am I right?"
Down below we hear eight bells being rung, signaling that it is noon and the watch will change.
"Well, I have been working on something, but I'll fill you in later," I say, squeezing his hand ever harder. "Oh, Davy, it is such a comfort to have you here, I—"