Wild Rover No More: Being the Last Recorded Account of the Life & Times of Jacky Faber (2 page)

Perhaps with the help of my leather-bound illustrations of their specimens, it is to be hoped that Mr. Sackett willfinally gain a position on the faculty of the college inCambridge, and maybe I will see some of the back rent they owe me, they being as poor as church mice. Hey, my illustrations worked for Dr. Sebastian back at the Royal Society in London; why not in New England? If not, the Sacketts will continue to travel with me, as I enjoy their company and their boundless enthusiasm for science and nature, and I have learned much from them as well.
Think of it as paying tuition, girl. You never know when it might come in handy.

And so it is with no small measure of pride that I stride into the offices of Faber Shipping Worldwide. Long may it prosper.

After I give an affectionate wave of greeting to Miss Chloe Cantrell, who sits at the reception desk poring over invoices and accounts, she shows me into the office of Ezra Pickering, Clerk of Faber Shipping Worldwide.

“So good to see you back, Jacky,” says he, rising from his desk and holding out his hand. “I hope you had a pleasant journey.” He is, of course, impeccably dressed and groomed, as well he should be, being a prosperous young attorney—made prosperous, in large part, because of the primarily legal business doings of Faber Shipping.

“Most pleasant, thank you, Ezra,” I say, taking his hand and a chair. As usual after a cruise, I pass over to him my ship's log and any diplomatic pouches I might have been handed by foreign embassies. There is only one this time. From Havana.

He takes his own chair, and we begin our meeting.

“I perceive that you have been rather restless of late, Jacky. You have taken three trips to the southern waters,” he says, picking up a sheaf of papers, “since—”

“Since I was bound to the courthouse whipping post, my back bared, and administered twelve strokes of the rod for the joy of the mob? And you wonder why I prefer the sea to the land?”

“Well, I believe that situation could have gone much worse.”

I reserve judgment on that with a solid
humph.

“I hope that Amy Trevelyne is well?” I ask, with raised eyebrow. Ezra has been well-mannered in pursuit of the shy Miss Trevelyne for some time now, but she has proved elusive, saying only, “I am not yet ready for that sort of thing.” She has forgiven me for some depredations against propriety and common sense on my part, and she is once again my dearest friend, in spite of the differences in our temperaments. I greatly enjoy my stays with her at dear oldDovecote between voyages.

“Yes, she is well,” he says, and gives me his little half smile. “And she avidly looks forward to your next visit.”

Then we get down to business in earnest.

“Ahem. Revenues are up. The fishing fleet is doing well, as are the Emerald Playhouse and the Pig and Whistle Inn. We were able to sell the cargoes of your last two cruises and expect no difficulty with this latest one. We must keep the rum distilleries supplied with ample molasses, mustn't we? Your fire brigade, the Shamrock Hose, Ladder, and Pump Company, under the able direction of Arthur McBride, are dashing about putting out fires and signing up new insurance subscribers every day. He has become quite the local hero.”

“Hardly surprising,” I murmur.

“And, since Pigger O'Toole's gang of scofflaws has been cleared out of Skivareen's, all outstanding indentures for passage on the
Lorelei Lee
are now paid up, thanks largely to the fists of John Thomas and Smasher McGee.”

“Good lads.”

“And the
Lee
herself is due in with another load of passengers. The trouble between the rival gangs has quieted down, so there should be no trouble disembarking the Irish families.”

“Wonderful news,” I say. “I shall delight in seeing the rest of my friends yet again.”

“Ahem. Well, on to expenses,” he says briskly, handing me a bundle of bills covered with numbers, causing my eyes to cross in boredom. Seeing this, he goes on. “I'm pleased to report that all these annoying invoices have been paid, as has this check for five hundred dollars written on your account and made out to a Madame Babineau at the Rising Sun in New Orleans. I had to cover that, even though I did not recognize your signature. I did, however, close out that account so that no more withdrawals can be made from it. I hope I did right?”

“Yes, you did, Ezra, and thank you,” I say, pulling out a letter from my vest and handing it to him. “This will explain.” I flip Clarissa's New Orleans letter across his desk.

Never hide anything from your lawyer, I always say . . .

Ezra takes it and reads. When he is finished, he folds up the letter and looks off, plainly considering something.

“Very interesting and, indeed, it does explain much.”

“It certainly explains why I have chosen to live single all of my life. If it does not, here is another letter that I received after that. It is one that certainly threw the latch on my heart for good and ever. It is from Cavalry Major Lord Richard Allen. When last I saw that gallant officer, he was being carried off the field at the Battle of Vimeiro, grievously wounded. I got it several weeks after Miss Howe's chatty little note.”

I toss over the letter bearing the coat of arms of theSeventh Dragoons at the top. He takes it up and reads . . .

 

Major Lord Richard Allen

Seventh Dragoons

Kingston, Jamaica

August 28, 1809

 

Miss Jacky Faber

The Pig and Whistle

Boston, Massachusetts, USA

 

My dear Jacky,

Yes, Prettybottom, I am back from the dead and back on the line. I cannot thank you enough for seeing me into the care of the very competent Dr. Stephen Sebastian and his delightful family. I am quite sure I would now be bothering the imps of hell if not for your efforts.

You can see from my address that I am back in harness, and with a promotion to boot for showing “conspicuous bravery” in holding that breastwork at Vimeiro. I was also given a nice medal. I asked that you be awarded one, too, since you also were there, but they would hear none of that. Surprisingly, though, Old Nosey spoke up on that one, saying, “The girl was most valuable both in Portugal and Spain and certainly deserves something for her service,” but nothing came of it. I think the only reward you will receive is being once again reassigned to his staff when he returns to Spain as Lord Wellington. Best lie low, Jacky, if you want to avoid that singular pleasure.

I have heard you are back in Boston, and I do hope you will meet up with your Lieutenant Fletcher, Royal Navy. That would be a good thing, as I found him a fine man and entirely worthy of you . . . should I ever let you slip from my grasp.

I myself have had a rather pleasant time of it—travel-, career-, and romance-wise. It went down like this:

Last month I was selected to lead a delegation of politicos to New Orleans to confer with American officials there to try to lessen the tensions that are growing between our two countries—maybe they thought a “Real British Lord” would impress the colonials; I don't know. But I certainly put on the Aristocratic and Arrogant Young Lord act for them, and I hope they appreciated it, and I further hope it did something to avoid a stupid war.

But if it comes down to a conflict, what will you be, Jacky—British or American? Hmmm . . . I hope you never have to choose.

But on to more pleasant things . . . much more pleasant things.

After the political business of the first day was done—thank God; dreadfully boring stuff—our party was shown to a very active gambling and sporting house for some pre­dinner drinks. We were standing at the bar and toasting kings and presidents and such, when the bell for four o'clock was chimed. Then one of the comely young things the place seemed to be full of advanced to a spot behind the bar where hung a silken cord that was attached to a set of velvet draperies, which apparently concealed something of interest to the crowd. I guessed this was a sort of ceremony that opened the night's festivities, and I was right.

The girl pulled the cord, the curtains parted, and a fine painting was revealed. The place gave a roar of approval.

Oh, my God, Princess, how you have gotten around!

Glasses were lifted and toasts were made to “
The Venus de New Orleans
,” “
The Naked Maja
,” and “
The Girl with the Blue Tattoo
,” and I must say, Prettybottom, you may rest assured, your front is every bit as pretty as your back.

My gasp of astonishment was echoed even more forcefully by a young man who stood next to me.
“My God
—
Jacky!”
he said as his glass slipped from his hand and fell to the floor. I tore my gaze from the remarkably realistic painting of you, wearing nothing but a tattoo and a smile, to look upon him.

“Do you know her, Sir?” I asked. He is a newly minted Royal Navy Lieutenant named Raeburne, I believe.

“Y-yes, Sir,” he replied. “W-we served together on HMS
Wolverine.
”

“Ha! You dog!” I said, clapping him on the shoulder. “I have read that book. So you are the midshipman RobinRaeburne of that little epic and have seen that holy blue tattoo in the flesh, or, rather,
on
the flesh, as it were?”

He could only nod.

“Well, young fellow, my congratulations. It might interest you to know that she now has another tattoo stitched onto her lovely hide, it being a golden dragon, and it lies—”

I was interrupted on this discourse of your various comely parts and the decorations thereon by a very beautiful young woman who had come up beside me bearing a fresh glass of champagne, which she demurely offered to me, saying in a very soft and charming accent . . .

“Please accept this, Lord Allen,” she murmured, her eyes modestly cast down, “for I know we share a mutual acquaintance with my very dear friend Jacky Faber, pictured so gloriously there. My name is Miss Clarissa Worthington Howe.”

To make a long story short, Miss Howe and I have been enjoying each other's company for some weeks now. I get up to New Orleans when I can, and she has come down to visit me in Jamaica. I can tell you, my reputation has certainly been enhanced by squiring
that
one about Kingston. She does turn heads.

Clarissa's family—Clarissa's very rich and powerful family, from which she had been estranged—has made overtures concerning reconciliation, and she plans to go to Virginia in the spring and wishes me to be by her side. As a rather impoverished lord of a poor estate, I have little more to offer than my title and a rather nicely turned leg, but still, it seems to serve. So, having cleared it with my commanding officer, I intend to go and ride to the hounds in OldeVirginia. I shall show the colonials how it is done, by God.

Well, I must end this letter, as Clarissa and I are off to the races, and then to a play this evening in which she has a part. She lies, in fact, curled up next to me here in my rooms as I pen this and wishes me to tender her most warm regards as well as a heartfelt kiss. See, she has donned fresh lip rouge and leans over my lap to plant a kiss for you here on the letter itself. See, there it is. Then she places one on my cheek as well, which I find equally warm and welcome.

Before sealing up the letter, Clarissa has taken it from me and taken up the pen. Between the impressions of her upper and lower lips, she has drawn a very sharp tooth.

Ah, the merry repartee between dear friends, how utterly charming.

 

I remain your dear friend and most ardent admirer,

Richard

 

“You can well imagine my reaction to
that
one, Ezra.”

“Umm. The word
volcanic
comes to mind. And the letter is rather the worse for wear.”

“Indeed.”

I slip back into remembrance of that particular time . . .

 

“GODDAMITTOHELL, ANYHOW!”
I bellowed as I crumpled up that letter and flung it against the wall.
“First she takes Jaimy, then Flaco, and now Richard! Must she have them all? I can't stand it, I just can't stand it!”

“Now, Miss,” said my good friend John Higgins, who was attending me in my state of towering fury and attempting to calm me. I stood quivering, with arms held to my sides, fists and teeth clenched, and face in a grimace of absolute rage. “Please sit down and let us discuss this situation. Please, Miss, you will injure your mind and bring on brain fever. You must be calm. Here, a glass of wine with you. There, that's better. Have another sip.”

I did sit then, and attempted to quiet my heaving chest. “What I am going to do, Higgins,” I said, more quietly now, “is outfit the
Nancy B.
for a cruise down the southern coast, deliver a cargo, then put in to New Orleans and kill that scheming bitch in the most gruesome way possible.”

“Now, Miss, I know you do not mean that—”

“Yes, I do, Higgins,” I retorted. “I befriended her, helped her out when she was in need, shared my bed with her, introduced her to my friends, gave her shelter from the storm, employed her in Faber Shipping Worldwide, and now I find I have clasped an asp to my bosom! And if Richard marries her, I shall have to call her Lady Allen! Oh, God, not that! I can't stand it.
I just can't stand it!
”