She blushes, but before she can say her usual "I am not ready for that sort of thing right now," there is a bit of a bustle down below, and whose head should pop up at the edge of the loft but that of Ezra Pickering himself.
"And what do we have here?" he asks, smiling his secret little smile. "Two dewy country maidens taking their ease in the new-mown hay. How charmingly rustic. May I join them?"
I laugh and say, "Ah, yes, just two simple milkmaids are we. Come on up." I glance at Amy and see that she is not at all displeased at Ezra's arrival. Not at all ... Hmmm ...
He sits down next to Amy. "Can I hope to be invited to dinner, Miss Trevelyne, since I came all the way here?"
"You may, Mr. Pickering," she says.
But I take it further. "You have news, Ezra, else you would not be here."
"That is true, Miss Faber," he says, dusting some chaff off his perfectly tailored sleeve. "HMS Dolphin has docked at Long Wharf and your presence there tomorrow has been ... how shall we say ... 'requested.'"
Chapter 12
It was Solomon Freeman who brought Ezra Pickering over to Dovecote in the Morning Star yesterday, and it is he who brings me back in her today.
"I am honored that the great Lord Othello deigns to convey my poor self back to Boston," I tease, leaning back against the gunwale, watching him trim the sail and tend the tiller. I note that he has become quite expert in small-boat handling since last I saw him, and I compliment him on it. "How good of His Lordship to come all the way across Massachusetts Bay just for me."
Solomon laughs and adjusts the sail a bit, steering a course for the Boston docks. "Well, I may play the warrior Othello on the stage, but you, Miss Faber, are still the boss of Faber Shipping here in the real world, and so I will come pick you up anytime you want me to."
Higgins and I had taken in the play several nights ago and Solomon was magnificent—every inch the victorious general in the beginning, every bit the broken man brought down by treachery and his own jealousy at the end. Mr. Bean plays Iago, and for the duration of their play, I hate him.
It caused a bit of a scandal in Boston, of course, but it shouldn't have—a black actor playing a black character, what could be more natural?
After the final curtain, I joined the cast for a bit of carousing at the Pig and Whistle and got in quite late, but it was good to see Messrs. Fennel and Bean again, as well as Chloe Cantrell, my friend and Faber Shipping's part-time secretary.
Yesterday, in a little side office at Dovecote, Ezra and I had some time to go over the affairs of Faber Shipping Worldwide, he being the Clerk of the Corporation and all. We went over money on hand (not much); the state of our equipment—boats, traps, lines, et cetera; rates of pay for employees—Solomon had to hire several wharf rats to help with the trap hauling, me having most of the able-bodied men with me across the sea; the going price on lobsters, clams, and fish; profit and loss, profit and loss, till my head spun. But Higgins did sell off that china at a good price, so, at the end of it all, we get to meet the payroll and go on.
"Maybe this new expedition will yield something for us," I said, putting my hand on his arm. "Maybe some crumbs will fall through the cracks. Never can tell. We'll see..."
"Well, if anyone can nudge those crumbs toward those cracks," Ezra said, chuckling and gathering up his papers and stuffing them back in his valise, "it is you, Madame President. And now I believe we are being called to dinner."
That evening, Colonel and Mrs. Trevelyne received me most cordially at their table, even though I know they do not entirely approve of me as a suitable companion for their daughter, Amy, or, God forbid, a suitable match for their son, Randall. Of course they were overjoyed to hear my news of their hotheaded son, who had disappeared in late summer after an argument with the Colonel over Randall's performance, or lack of it, at college. I'll wager he'll come back with his head a good deal less hot after having seen that awful slaughter at Jena-Auerstadt, I'm thinking.
Having stormed out of Dovecote, Randall had wrangled a letter of introduction to an important general in Napoleon's army out of Lissette's father, le Comte de Lise, and so ended up as a light horseman on the march to Germany. With me. Pressed for details, I recount how shocked Randall and I were to meet each other that day in Marshal Murat's tent and how, some days later, we both rode in Murat's cavalry charge on the Prussian lines at Jena. I told them of Randall's bravery and how he saved my very life. I know Colonel Trevelyne was pleased to hear that. I also told them of my last meeting with Randall and of his stated intention to resign his commission and return to Dovecote. I know Mrs. Trevelyne was pleased to hear that.
Right now I am at sea and bundled up against the cold—it is early December, after all—a beautiful day with clear skies and just the right amount of following wind to speed us on our way across the bay. Aye, it's a bit chilly, but I still prefer this to a tooth-rattling ride in a coach, which is how Amy and Ezra are returning to Boston at this very moment. I smile to think of the two of them there in the cramped interior of the carriage ... How cozy ... I know Ezra's having a good time of it and I believe Amy is, too, though she won't show it, the fool.
"There she is," says Solomon, heading straight for the side of the Nancy B. lying dead ahead, now tied up outboard of the newly arrived Dolphin. "The captain of that ship ordered us to bring her alongside, so we did it. We moved her yesterday. Hope that was all right with you."
I nod. Aye, I'm certainly not the one calling the shots now, Solly, not even on my own boat.
"Yes, you did right, Mr. Freeman. The men on that ship are my friends." Most of them, anyway.
We are close enough now that I can make out John Tinker and John Thomas and Smasher McGee standing on the deck of my schooner and young Daniel Prescott and Joan-nie together up in the rigging. Jim Tanner and Davy Jones are, of course, nowhere to be seen. And on the Dolphin I believe I spy ... aye, that's him ... Captain Hannibal Hudson on his quarterdeck, hands clasped behind him and deep in conversation with another, younger officer and ... Is it?...Yes! It's Jaimy!
I jump to my feet and shout, "Hullo, Jaimy Fletcher!" waving my arms wildly about in my joy at seeing him safely delivered from across the sea.
Hearing my call, he bows to Captain Hudson—no doubt begging his pardon for the sudden, female intrusion—and then turns and brings his hand to his hat in salute to me. Oh, Jaimy, I am so glad. I can see the white gleam of his teeth as he gestures over the side to the brow that has been set up alongside the Dolphin.
"I see it, Cap'n," says Solomon, anticipating my order, his grin huge in seeing the complete happiness writ all over my face. "We'll be right there. Steady, now, Missy."
He brings the Morning Star about, drops the sail, and steers her expertly in. I doff my cloak, leap over onto the platform, up the stairs, and onto the deck of the Dolphin. In spite of my excitement and my urge to leap upon Jaimy, I know that courtesies must be paid, so I go up before Captain Hudson, and the officers who stand beside him, and dip down into a deep curtsy.
"So good to see you again, Captain," I murmur, as I come up from the curtsy and give him my hand and look into his merry eyes.
Captain Hudson bows. "And good to see you again, Miss Faber," he says with a smile. "It is not often we welcome a French officer onboard one of His Majesty's ships. You shall have to tell us the tale of that sometime."
I expected a comment like that, for I am wearing my French Hussar's jacket, all blue, with gold frogging across the front, and strapped down nice and tight, just the way I like it. It is the one I wore as a messenger in Napoleon's army, and it matches the blue skirt I have on. I knew I could not get away with the trousers I actually wore during that campaign, so I made do with the skirt. Likewise, I do not wear my old shako but instead have perched on my head a bonnet to match. I do, however, wear the five-pointed star of the Legion of Honor on the left side of my chest, just like l'empereur wears his. Let them think what they like. I had thought of wearing my Trafalgar medal, too, but it ain't that formal an occasion, so I don't. And it might be a bit much, even for me.
"I shall, with great pleasure, Captain Hudson," I purr. "And Mr. Bennett, I am pleased to see you once again onboard a Royal Navy ship." And indeed I am pleased—the last time I saw him we were both in a foul French prison.
"And Mr. Flashby, my Second Mate."
I lock the frostiest of my Lawson Peabody Looks in place—back straight, eyes hooded, lips together, teeth apart—and dip down ever so slightly before the cur. "Sir," is all I say in greeting.
"We meet again, Miss Faber," he says, smiling and bowing just as slightly in return. "It is to be hoped that this time things will be more ... cordial ... between us?" This exchange is not missed by Captain Hudson.
I don't answer the bastard, but turn my face to the next man in line, and, Oh, Jaimy, it is so good to see you!
"And my Third Mate, Mr. Fletcher, with whom I believe you are already acquainted."
Oh, very well acquainted, indeed!
I dip down in my best curtsy, swirling my skirt so that it describes a perfect circle on the deck, and then I rise up and take Jaimy's hand in mine and look into those beautiful slate blue eyes and—
"Ahem!" says Captain Hudson. "Time for that later. Maybe. Ha-ha. Now we must go below and gaze upon the wonderful scientific device that has just been brought aboard. I think you will be most interested. Dr. Sebastian is already below with the scientist who designed the thing. If you will follow me?"
I give Jaimy a nudge and one of my foxy grins and plant a quick kiss on his lovely cheek and allow him to lead me toward Three Hatch. As we pass it, I see that the hatch is uncovered and a very stout line runs taut from a crane above and disappears into the gloom below. As it sways slowly back and forth, I assume something very heavy is suspended from it.
I find I am not wrong in that assumption. As we descend the ladder and my eyes become used to the gloom, I am able to make out a large, bell-like thing made, it seems, of iron and brass. It is about six feet across and about eight feet high and has a window of very thick glass, fitted and dogged down with brass toggles. The bottom of it has what appears to be lead weights attached to it by short thick chain, and all are suspended about three feet off the deck. Out of the bottom of it also sticks two pairs of trousered legs and I hear excited talk coming from within what I shall now, and probably always will, call the Damned Bell.
"...and you see, Doctor, the construction is such that when lowered into the water, it is kept upright so that atmospheric pressure keeps the air trapped within, so that the occupant can easily and freely breathe while observing all about him," says the owner of one of the pairs of legs. The voice sounds somewhat familiar, and for some reason I feel a sense of dread and impending catastrophe come over me. "It's good, I am quite sure, to withstand the pressures down to at least two hundred and fifty feet below."
"But how does that occupant get out should he ... or, in this case, she ... wish to get out?"
I feel Jaimy tighten up beside me.