Curse of the Blue Tattoo: Being an Account of the Misadventures of Jacky Faber, Midshipman and Fine Lady (31 page)

"I got to go, Missy. Don't ask me to take you with me 'cause I can't—got to travel light to keep ahead of the King's minions."

"But I wouldn't have saved you if I'd knowed you was gonna cut and run!"

"Saved me?" he snorts. "Ah, nay, I was just about to bust loose from them blaggards when you come up. All you did was prevent me from hurtin' some o' them."

Gully slings the Lady Lenore around his shoulder and heads for the door. "I'd kiss ye good-bye, Moneymaker, but ye stinks too bad."

And he is gone.

I get up on Gretchen and ride slowly back to the school. I'm lucky there ain't many people about to wonder at my condition and I get into the Common where it don't matter, so I pokes along, thinkin' about things.

I know I've been fooling myself about a lot of things. I'd made enough money by last week to buy a cheap passage back to England and Jaimy. So why didn't I go? Is it 'cause I'd lose my money that Mistress is holding? No, I don't care about that. Is it 'cause I'm afraid that Jaimy's found another girl, one better and finer than me? No, that ain't it. That would hurt me deep, but that ain't it.

I know it's because I got all these other things pullin' at me. Amy losing Dovecote. Randall marrying that awful Clarissa. And most of all, poor Janey Porter lying unquiet in her grave because of the terrible evil done to her. Ephraim
Fyffe walks the earth without joy and he and Betsey can never come together in happiness till that pall is lifted from them. That pall on which is stitched the name Reverend Richard Mather.

I'd left friends once before, that night back in London, when I put on Charlie's clothes and lit out, and I ain't been easy with myself about that ever since. Oh, I know, what could I have done for 'em, me bein' a mere girl and all, but the thing was, I was clever and cunning and they were not. That's the thing that gets me up some nights and robs me of sleep.

I bring Gretchen to a stop and look out across the town and down to the sea.

That's it, then. I will stay till things are resolved, one way or the other, for good or ill.

Peg has her hand around the back of my neck and she pushes my head back under the sudsy water and she keeps me down there longer than I think she really has to.

"Why can't you ever be good?" she scolds when she brings me back up. I had hoped to sneak in and clean up on my own, but Peg caught me and stripped off my clothes and threw me in a laundry tub and poured in the hot water, all the while yelling at me.

Rachel and Abby are over at the side basins trying to save my clothes. My secret tattoo is now common knowledge to all.

"But Peggy, I had to—" But then my head is plunged underwater again and Peg gets her scrub brush workin' the harbor grit out of the roots of my hair.

"'Had to,' nothin'," says Peg, "Had to get in trouble,
that's you all over. Why a nice girl like you has to carry a knife like that ... and
tattooed?
"

"You're the fastest girl we know, Jacky, and we're proud to know you, ain't we, Abby?" chortles Rachel. Abby nods in delighted agreement.

"But a sailor
always
has a kni—"

Back down under. "But you
ain't
a sailor. You're
supposed
to be a good girl is what you're
supposed
to be, and you ain't even close."

Then the door opens and Amy comes in to join the throng pointing out my faults and is quickly brought up to date on my latest crimes against ladyhood. "Why don't you
ever
think before you act?" is her addition to the conversation. That, and a worried look and a hopeless shaking of the head.

Once again my head is pushed down between my knees. It occurs to me that bein' the only naked one in a room when all about you are clothed and yellin' at you ain't the most comfortable of situations. The warm water does feel good, though, after the chill of the harbor.

This time when I come up, however, I hear neither scolding nor banter.

I open my eyes and see, through the blear of the water and the strands of my hair hanging down, the disapproving face of Mistress Pimm. I put my arms across my chest and I am glad that my tattoo is underwater. My mouth drops open but I don't know what to say, and I rummage frantically about in my head for a saving lie.

"The foolish thing was sent down to the market to buy fish and fell off the pier," lies dear Peg for me.

Mistress says nothing to this. Instead she says, "Dobbs has discovered a ladder leaning against the outside wall under your window. We have investigated and discovered that your room has been ransacked. I trust you had nothing of value in there. You will be well advised to keep your window latched from now on."

Mistress turns and leaves.

The first thing I check for is the money and, of course, it's gone, every penny, the poor little bag lying flat on the floor. The rest of my things are scattered about, where he emptied my seabag and overturned my chest in his search for other things that might be worth selling. Did I even tell him that I kept my money in my seabag when he expressed concern that I might lose it and must be careful? I might have. Did I really think it was a kindness when he walked me back home the other night, when all he really wanted to do was case the job?

How could I be so stupid?

I look over the mess and then flop down on my bed, facedown.

James Emerson Fletcher
9 Brattle Lane
London
October 24, 1803

Miss Jacky Faber
The Lawson Peabody School for Young Girls
Beacon Street
Boston, Massachusetts, USA

Dearest Jacky,

I hope this letter finds you safe, well, and happy and that you are continuing to profit from your schooling and that you are enjoying the companionship of your new friends. I am sure that you are most popular with the others, considering your wealth of charm and your infectious high spirits.

I am sorry to tell you that the crew of the
Dolphin
has been broken up. Upon our arrival in Britain, an inspection of the repairs needed to get her back shipshape showed that they were much more extensive than we had previously thought, and she would have to go into dry dock for a long time. The Brother
hood is scattered, I'm afraid—Davy to the
Raleigh,
Tink to the
Endeavor,
and Willy to
Temeraire.
I am posted to the frigate
Essex,
along with George Elliot, whom you will remember as being a fellow midshipman on the
Dolphin.
He is a very decent sort and we have become quite good friends. It is a very good posting, the
Essex,
and we have Captain Locke to thank for it, for it was his recommendation that secured it for us. We will soon set sail to join Lord Nelson's fleet, which has bottled up the French fleet at Toulon. It is important work, for Napoleon intended to use his fleet to invade our country, and he has been thwarted in that attempt. May Britannia always rule the seas!

It is rumored that we might even meet the great man himself, can you believe it?

Perhaps it is well that I have left the dear
Dolphin
because in my time on her after your departure, when on watch or in the performance of my regular duties, I would see you in all our old nooks and crannies and it would both delight me and sorely oppress my mind. The day before we left her, I climbed to the foretop and carved our initials there
—JF + JF—
I wonder what future generations of ships boys will make
o/that?
At least in leaving the
Dolphin,
I will no longer be subjected to the looks of envy directed toward the scoundrel who wormed his unworthy self into the affections of the redoubtable Jacky Faber, Girl Sailor, Midshipman, and the Scourge of the Seven Seas.

Well might they be envious, for I am a very lucky man to have been loved by such as you. I hope that I continue to be lucky by remaining uppermost in your heart, but I fear that I may be mistaken and unlucky after all—I have received no letters from you, Jacky, and the
Shannon
has returned from Boston, as well as the
Sprite
and the
Plymouth.
I check with my mother each time I am home, but she informs me, to my infinite
sorrow, that there is nothing from you. I am cruelly disappointed and I am beginning to be worried.

My mother further implores me to seek out alliances of those "within our own set," but I will not allow her to continue in this vein. I inform her that there is none for me but my brown-eyed sailor.

We leave on the tide tomorrow. There are many rumors flying about, but it seems certain we are about to blockade the French fleet at Toulon, and will be on station for many months. I shall continue writing, but I fear the delivery of my letters will be chancy, at best.

Please be careful. I worry about you, given your propensity for plunging into trouble. And please write to me.

Your most devoted servant,

Jaimy

I mope around for a bit, but then, like always, I get over it.

In a few days I take tea with Maudie and we both grumble over our losses.

"Never trust a drunk," says Maudie, again.

"Older and wiser now," says I. "How much did he get you for?"

"Some lodging, some board," sighs she, who warned me in the first place but who I guess didn't take her own advice. "But what I hate most is losin' the business his fiddle and you brought in."

What I hate most is being taken for a fool. I just found out that the Battle of Culloden Moor was fifty some years ago and Gully couldn't possibly have been there, Jacky Faber, Cheapside scammer, was scammed again, scammed royally. And all my money gone. I had noticed that my concertina was gone. I find out later that Gully had sold it at the pawnshop and it's gonna cost me two dollars to get it back.

"Aye," I says. I could do a solo act, but we both know that without Gully's fiddle and without his wild craziness, it wouldn't work. Just some afternoon shows with me makin'
a few sailors cry in their beers with my sad songs—not the thing that fills the coffers. I mean, I'll do it, 'cause I
really
need the money now, but it ain't gonna be the same.

I bid Maudie good day and go out and climb aboard Gretchie, her saddlebags bulging with the stuff from the greengrocer's that I was sent to buy. I bring her up to a brisk trot 'cause I want to get back quick to show Mr. Peet my latest poor attempts at miniature portrait painting and to get his kind advice, and I got a math problem I can't figure out that I want to see Mr. Sackett about.

And then, after I'm done with the work of the day, I must make my preparations for tonight.

I put the last strand of the mop to the top of my watch cap and sew it in tightly. Then I patiently unravel the mop strand as I have done to all the other strands I have sewn on to the cap.

I have long since sent Amy down to her own bed, complaining of sickness that I do not want to pass on to her.

I am going out to visit the Preacher, but this time I do not put on my black gear but instead keep on my serving-girl outfit. And this time, instead of blackening my face, I take flour and spread it over my face, rubbing it in so it won't dust off. Then I rub it on my hands. I have already worked it into the strands of my watch-cap wig.

Now I take a little dish and put some soot and a little water in it and mix it around with my finger till it's a black paste, and with my biggest watercolor brush, I fill my eye sockets with black and then paint six up-and-down lines of black from my upper lip down to my chin, to look like the
teeth in a grinning skull. Then I put on the white, Dutch-boy wig.

I wrap my black cloak around me like a shawl to keep me from being spotted in my white blouse, and I open my window and go down the rungs, tying the rope to the third rung from the bottom, and drop down to the ground.

I stick to the shadows and work my way around to the graveyard, looking up to see that the Reverend has yet not come to the window of his study. He may never come to the window this night, but I must be patient—if not this night, then the next. If not then, then the one after that.

Patience.

I dart across the road and fling myself down next to the stone wall that lies between Janey's grave and the church. I worm my way along on elbows and knees till I am lying next to the grave, and there I lie and wait, hidden from the church by the wall and hidden from the road by a row of bushes. The side of the school that faces this way is the opposite side from my rung ladder and, like my side, is made up mostly of massive chimney. It is the blind side of the school, without even one window.

The moon is rising and casting a fine light on the graveyard. I wait, my eye on the window.

What to do while I wait? Maybe I'll compose another letter to Jaimy: "Dear Jaimy, I hope you are well and passing your time in joyous pursuits. I myself am lying next to a grave in the middle of the night waiting for a demented witch-hunter to—" Hush! There he is!

I hear him before I see him. "
Sorceress! Witch!
" comes clearly across the churchyard from the window. Then,
"
Demon!
" I put my eye to a cleft between the stones and I can see him, but he cannot see me. He is gesturing and posturing like before, but this time I can see his crazed face straight on and it is not a sight to make one sleep easy at night. While he seems to be shouting and pointing directly at
me,
of course he is not. He is pointing at poor Janey in her grave.

I know the way he moves through this performance of his, having watched it twice already, and I wait for one of those times when he steps away from the window to rant and rave inside and pour another drink and gather fury for another bout of arm-waving, pointing, and hissing.

There he goes! Now!

I get up and stand on top of the grave. I step carefully so as to leave no footprints. The earth is hard, but still...