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Rapture of the Deep Page 5
Author: L.A. Meyer

What? Jaimy?

Flashby opens the door and goes out while I return to full-scale bawling. The Black Cloud rolls in and I cannot stop it; I can't, I—

"Jaimy!" I exclaim, astounded upon seeing him brought in to the room. I try to rise to go to him, but Bliffil puts his hands on my shoulders and pushes me back down. He leaves his heavy hands there and squeezes hard, and I wince and cry out.

Jaimy, furious, shakes off Flashby's arm and glares at those about him, especially at Bliffil, who still has his heavy hands on my shaking shoulders.

"Just what the hell do you think you are doing?" cries Jaimy, enraged. "Get your filthy hands off her!"

Sir Grenville now speaks. "Lieutenant Fletcher. You have already been told that you are to hold your tongue when you are in this room. I am First Lord of the Admiralty and, as such, your ultimate superior officer, save the King himself. Do you understand? Good.

"We have brought you here, Mr. Fletcher, for a good reason. You will observe these proceedings, and then both you and this girl will be offered a choice. You will find out shortly exactly what that choice is, but for now you will remain silent. Now, Miss Faber, as for you..."

He turns his attention to the papers laid out before him. "Ahem. To recapitulate your rather checkered past—in 1803, Ship's Boy on HMS Dolphin, made Midshipman, found to be female. In 1804, sent to girls' school in Boston. In 1805, left said school under a cloud, soon discovered onboard HMS Wolverine, made Acting Lieutenant on that ship. Took command upon death of captain, seized prizes, relinquished command of Wolverine, departed on the bark L'Emeraude, one of the prize ships. Became known to this agency by revealing to us a spy ring she had uncovered and was given a Letter of Marque. Renamed the bark the Emerald and set sail as a privateer. The King's Treasury then discovered that she had taken four prizes and turned in only three, keeping the aforementioned Emerald for herself. The Letter of Marque was revoked and a warrant issued for her arrest. Captured off the coast of France and her ship sunk, she escaped in the confusion at the Battle of Trafalgar."

Here Grenville pauses to catch his breath and to clear his throat. Now he goes on.

"In 1806, appeared again in Boston and was briefly recaptured, but escaped again and was later found in the interior of the United States, where she interfered with British agents who were negotiating with our Indian allies in the region, causing injury to one such officer"—here he looks up at Flashby, who is looking down at me with a certain amount of pure hatred—"and the possible fatal loss of another. Several months later she was taken from her schooner, the Nancy B. Alsop, by our frigate the Dauntless. That ship, in turn, was taken by the French, and she spent some time in a French prison. Our operatives in France were able to extricate her from that place, and she was brought here and given a mission to Paris to gather information—"

"Totally against my will," I say, and sniff, looking down at the bunch of poor, wilting flowers that I still hold in my hand.

"—which mission she did accomplish, up to a point. Sometime later, she, on her own accord, got herself up in military uniform and joined the French army as a messenger. In that capacity, she delivered many messages between highranking French commanders, even those from Napoleon, himself. At the Battle of Jena, she was given a message from Bonaparte directing Marshal Murat to charge the Prussian line. She did deliver the order, Murat charged, and the day was won for France. Had she not done so, the outcome might have been very different."

He stops and looks at me severely. "Do you wonder why we sometimes grow impatient with you, Miss Faber?" I slump down further into my chair.

"To conclude—we were able to get her out of France but lost a very valuable operative in the process," he says. "And here we are. So, what do you have to say for yourself?"

I don't say anything for a while, but then I lift my head and begin to explain.

"When I went to join the French army—to avoid being placed as a common camp-following prostitute, by this very Service, I might well add—it was my intention to volunteer as a simple messenger. I thought in that capacity I would garner much valuable information, and I was right. But instead of assigning me right off to that position, my battalion commander gave me a squad of poor country boys—raw recruits, nothing more than cannon fodder—to train as we marched toward the battlefield at Jena. I believe he did it to establish my worth as an officer. I did work with them, and I gained their respect and loyalty. They watched out for me, too, and soon I had great affection for them as well."

Here I stop and look the First Lord in the eye. "If you have ever been in a war before, my Lord, which I very much doubt, you would know what kind of affection I mean. When it comes down to it in a battle, you are not fighting for King and country, or for Emperor and empire. No, you are fighting to keep your comrades alive as best you can. When I rode across that battlefield with that message in my hand, I knew that if I did not deliver it, my men would be butchered—and I could not let that happen."

"But your mission was—" interjects Mr. Peel.

"My mission was to be a spy, sir, to gather information, which I did. I did not believe I was sent as a saboteur ... or as an assassin. If you think otherwise, then take me out and shoot me—or hang me, or cut off my head, or whatever—I don't care anymore. I have faced all those things and I just don't care anymore. You have stolen all of my joy today, so why don't you just go ahead and kill me?"

Mr. Peel regards me thoughtfully. "Did you really meet Napoleon Bonaparte?"

"Yes. I carried many messages for him. I had breakfast with him on the morning of the Battle of Jena. I rode in his carriage. He gave me a medal. I'm sure you saw it when you went through my things."

"Remarkable. You do have your ways, don't you?"

"I try to do my duty. Wherever I find that it lies."

"Ah, well. We shall now discuss your new mission."

"My new mission?"

The Black Cloud comes rolling in again, and I am helpless before it, and, I'm sorry, Jaimy, that you should see me like this. Any shred of my dignity or courage is gone, but I just can't help it. I can't ... Tears pour down my face as again I keen, "How can you be so mean to meeeee?"

"You really should try to calm yourself, Miss," says Peel. "And as to our supposed meanness, I want you to listen to this. You should know that, in a certain way, you have been somewhat under our protection ... Oh yes, you are doubtful of that, I can see. But should we cut you loose, the Chancellor of the Exchequer would be most interested in taking custody of you. He is the Lord in charge of the King's Treasury, and he wishes to discuss a certain matter of theft of the King's property. I do not think it would end well for you. The judicial branch of government is involved in this as well. They think it sets rather a bad precedent. One judge has declared within my hearing at the court, 'If we let her get away with it, we will have legalized thievery. I am afraid she must be hanged.'"

"I don't care, just do it."

"Oh, you do not care? Very well," says the First Lord, picking up yet another paper from his desk. "Do you care about this, then? We have here a young French royal, a certain Monsieur Jean-Paul de Valdon, with whom you were recently romantically involved, and who, we believe, was instrumental in the death of our very valuable spymaster Monsieur Jardineaux. Just what did happen on that beach in France, Miss Faber? Hmmm? Do you want us to investigate further? Do you want us to instigate inquiries within the French Republic?"

I shake my head. "No. He is an honorable man. Please don't hurt him." I glance over at Jaimy and see that he is standing ramrod straight, his eyes fixed on the wall. Im sorry,Jaimy...

"And then there is the matter of cavalry captain Lord Richard Allen, now stationed in Kingston, Jamaica," continues Peel, consulting yet another damning paper. "It seems there was some sort of ... affair ... between the two of you, and there is some question as to whether he willfully disobeyed the orders of certain superior officers last summer. Charges could be brought."

I look up at Jaimy again to find he is no longer looking at the wall but rather at me.

I sigh and take up my bouquet again. Amongst the other flowers, I see a daisy and I draw it out from the bunch. With thumb and forefinger I begin to pluck the petals and let them fall to the floor, one by one, while chanting softly in a singsong way, "He loves me, he loves me not. He loves me—"

"Please don't play the simpleton with us, Miss."

"He loves me not—"

"I suspect, Miss, that in spite of all your depredations against proper maidenly behavior, the poor man does indeed still love you, and is to be pitied for it," says Peel briskly. "But be that as it may, here are the terms."

He directs his attention to me first. I sit dejectedly indifferent. To hell with him and his terms.

"Ahem. Miss Faber, you will reboard your schooner and set sail for the Caribbean Sea to gather information on the doings of our Spanish enemies in the area. You will sail under your American colors, so the Spanish will not bother you, as they are not enemies of the United States. Your cover will be that of a scientific expedition..."

My chin lifts and my eyes begin to widen at this.

"...gathering specimens of the local flora and fauna. You will be accompanied by Dr. Stephen Sebastian, with whom you are acquainted and who you also know is a member of our branch of service. He will be both your control and your guardian. We know that you have some command of the Spanish language, picked up during your buccaneering cruise there in the summer of '05 and your ... association ... during that time with a certain Hispanic pirate named Flaco Jimenez."

How many more names from my past can they dredge up with which to wound poor Jaimy ... or me?

"Although you will have nominal command of your little craft, you will be under the direct orders of Captain Hannibal Hudson, who has been given command of HMS Dolphin, a forty-four-gun frigate with which you are both familiar and which will be on patrol in the area, not only to harry Spanish shipping, but also to accept your periodic reports."

What? The Dolphin? Can it be?

Mr. Peel seems to be done with me and now looks to Jaimy.

"As for you, Mr. Fletcher, to show that we are not completely cold in matters of the heart, you will be assigned as Third Mate on said Dolphin, so that at least you will be in the same area as your ... lady ... and you might even get to see her occasionally—from afar, of course. It is an excellent posting, as you well know, Third Mate on a forty-four-gun frigate at your young age. But you might well wonder why we are doing this. The reason is that you have an excellent record and come highly recommended by all your former commanding officers, and you should be rewarded for that service. And, too, we wish to keep an eye on you, Lieutenant Fletcher, to make sure you do not raise a fuss over what has just occurred. You will keep your mouth shut. You will inform all who were involved in that aborted wedding that you each had a change of heart. Oil will be spread on the waters. Is that clear?"

Jaimy says nothing.

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L.A. Meyer's Novels
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» Boston Jacky
» Curse of the Blue Tattoo
» In the Belly of the Bloodhound
» Mississippi Jack
» My Bonny Light Horseman
» Rapture of the Deep
» The Wake of the Lorelei Lee