Curse Of The Blue Tattoo Part 37

I don't know what he says to that, 'cause I slip off to sleep.

Later, when I wake up, the silks have been cleaned and are folded on my seabag, and by them is a pair of supple black riding boots. And they fit, too.

"We shall dance and we shall be gay. That tall mids.h.i.+pman is rather cute, don't you think?" I'm all rested up and ready to go to my first ball. Little Mary Faber, late of London's better gutters, is dressing for a ball with Captains, Colonels, Lieutenants, swells of all kinds, and the finest of Ladies, what a thing.

"Ah yes," smiles Amy, "Miss I-Am-Promised-to-Another Faber." Amy's been smiling a lot since the race and that is good.

I feel a wave of sadness slip over my gaiety, and I am quiet. Yes, and no word from the one I am promised to for over nine months. Not one word. Amy says mail comes to Dovecote on Monday, but I dare not hope.

"I shall be good," I say. But I shall also be gay.

We had crimped up our side curls with the curling iron warmed on the cooking fire in the kitchen, being careful to stay out of the way 'cause mighty preparations are being made for tonight's dinner and Mrs. Grubbs ain't puttin' up with no silly girls, not even if one of 'em is the daughter of the house. There's steamin' pots and great joints of meat, but thankfully, no little suckling piggy. Her serving girls are being run ragged and well I know the drill, so we get done and get out. But not before I lifts us a couple hot cherry tarts from a tray. Ain't lost me Cheapside touch.

We then go up and watch the doings in the great hall-men stringing banners and a chamber orchestra setting up their music stands, and that's sure to be a treat, dancing to music provided by someone other than myself. The men have also set up a long table with crystal goblets set out on it and another man brings in a huge punch bowl in the center. The great chandeliers are being lit and the place just glitters with light ... and promise.

Entering the dining room we find the table set, with the silver polished and the gold-rimmed plates placed just so, and the winegla.s.ses winking in the light so cheerily. I walk around the table, peering at the name cards.

"Hmmm..." I muses. "I think there's been some mistake. You and I are all the way down at the end. Surely whoever did this didn't know I must sit next to the Royal Navy officers to get the news. So we'll just put this Mrs. Cabot in my place at the end. Who is she, anyway?"

"An old lady, but-"

"Good. She won't notice. And we'll put me next to this Captain Humphries and we'll take this Mr. Adams and put him here..."

"Jacky, you can't put an Adams down at-"

"I just did. And I'll put you in his place next to that Lieutenant-what's his name ... oh, Flashby, the one with the mustachios. And Clarissa is there and Randall there, and I believe we've got it right now.

"Our work here is done," I say, all grand. "Let us go dress for the ball, dear Sister."

We are dressed and ready to go. I have on the blue dress that I made myself and I know that Amy does not quite approve of it, being as low cut as it is, but it is all I have. My hair is up and my dress is on. I am powdered, pampered, and perfumed.

There is a tinkling of a bell in the hall. It is time.

"Are you ready, Miss Faber?"

"I am, Miss Trevelyne."

We put on the Look and glide down to the dining room.

We enter the room and introductions are made, bows and curtsies all around, and then we go to our places. The place is a blaze of color, what with the ladies in their finest and the gentlemen in their jackets that go through all the colors from bright blue to deep purple, light mauve to kelly green, but never, oh never, red. None of these Yankees want to risk being taken for a redcoat. I mean, the war is over long since, but some things linger on. The naval officers are, of course, in blue with much gold.

I am handed to my place by Captain Humphries, who's beaming and twinkling away at me, having already consumed a good deal of wine, I'll wager. He pulls out my chair and I sit. Would it pain him to know that he had just performed a courtesy for a s.h.i.+p's boy, I wonder?

I settle in and grin at Amy across the way. She looks absolutely wonderful in her rig, a black silk thing with red ribbon worked into the bodice and puffed sleeves, and I think she knows it. She has the Lieutenant on her right and Randall on her left and Clarissa next to him. Clarissa, of course, looks gorgeous and is laying the charm on all about her. She even smiles upon me, which makes me wonder what she's up to.

The grace is said, the wine is poured, toasts are drunk to the host and to several of the guests, and the soup is served and the conversation begins.

"Isn't it wonderful that Amy could have two of her dear cla.s.smates from Mistress Pimm's here?" warbles Mrs. Treve-lyne from the head of the table. The three of us allow that it is indeed wonderful.

"How is the old witch?" says a woman with hooded eyes and parted lips a few chairs down.

Ah.

"Mistress is well, Madame," says I, taking a chance. "You would find her skill with the cane is quite undiminished." Laughter all around. Whew, I'm glad that went over well.

I take some soup and look across to see that Lieutenant Flashby has taken an avid interest in me ... or at least in the rise and fall of my chest. I sneak a quick look down to make sure I ain't dribbled something down there, but no, it looks all right.

Each of the officers has a mids.h.i.+pman standing ramrod straight behind their chairs, to get them anything they might need, but it's mainly for show: This is what Royal Navy discipline looks like, Yankee rabble.

"Expecting weevils?" says the Captain, his eyebrow raised in question.

"Excuse me, Sir?" I say, confused. "I don't underst-" Then I realize I've been tappin' my biscuit on the tabletop without thinkin'. d.a.m.n! "I'm sorry, Sir, it's an old habit."

"That's all right, Missy. Here, a little more wine with you." He gestures and the tall mids.h.i.+pman goes to the sideboard and takes a bottle and fills my gla.s.s. Too bad. I had meant to fill my gla.s.s with water to dilute the wine, but I didn't get to it in time. Ah, well. Next time. I take a sip.

"So, schoolgirls, eh?" says the Captain, and then he leans in close and whispers, "Thanks for being here. I thought for sure I'd get stuck next to some old biddy and I sure didn't come all this way to talk to ancient dames! Har, har!" He laughs out loud at his wit and I gulp and nod. Under the table he places his hand on my leg and gives it a squeeze. I gulp again. I don't know what to do about it.

The soup bowls are taken away and the main courses brought. The Captain, needing both his hands to dig in to his dinner, frees my leg and I squirm and move a little out of his range. I know the serving girls a little bit now and I wink at them in thanks as I am served. They know me for one of them, and I think they delight in my being here.

Clarissa speaks up. "Perhaps, Cla.s.smate, you'll tell us something of your family." She smiles sweetly and brings her gla.s.s to her lips.

Uh-oh... I look at Amy but she shakes her head and mouths Not me, and then I look at Randall and he just looks back at me as if he's mildly interested in my answer. Clarissa, however, looks me right in the eye, and there is a wicked merriment in her gaze. She knows, and how she knows, I don't know-prolly looking through Amy's scrib-blings when she wasn't around.

I lift my chin and say, "I have no family. I was orphaned as a young child."

"Oh, what a pity!" says dear Mrs. Trevelyne. "Who took you in?"

"No one took me in," I say. I put my hands in my lap and look down at them. "I was left on my own." I know what's comin'. A pity. This would have been such fun. Oh, well.

Amy tries to change the subject. "Captain, could you tell us of the exotic ports you have-" but Clarissa rides right over her.

"But what did you do, you poor thing?" she purrs. "Left on your own as you were?"

I stick out my lower lip and say quietly, "My parents died when I was a little girl and I was put out on the curb to live or to die. I fell in with a gang of street children and I ran the slum streets of London with them for several years." I put my napkin on the table and look Clarissa in the eye. "You ask me what I did, Clarissa? I was a beggar and a thief. What kind of beggar was I? I was a naked beggar and a filthy beggar. Any kind of beggar you can imagine and I was it. I begged pennies and I stole bread. I lived under a bridge, but I had good mates in Rooster Charlie's gang, I did, a lot better mates than some I have now."

I take a sip of wine and I will my hand not to shake in rage as I continue. "Actually, if you must know, I was a better thief than a beggar. I stole bread and I pickpocketed fancy handkerchiefs and I stole clothing off of clotheslines and I stole anything that would keep me and my friends alive. In fact, I picked pockets at the very foot of the gallows, the gallows that were sure to be my fate someday."

The whole table is lookin' at me with open mouths, their knives and forks and gla.s.ses held motionless in midair. It would be comical if this were a play, which it ain't.

"Then I find it a shame, dear Jacky, that you did not remain in your chosen profession," purrs Clarissa.

I look at her without expression. "It is true, Miss Howe, that my estate was very low. So low, indeed, that it was very like that of the slaves you hold in bondage. Except that I was free."

There are rumblings around the table as some of the guests realize that Clarissa and I could actually go at each other, right here and right now, and they try to soothe ruffled feathers with there, there, and all right, now, and suchlike.

But Clarissa is not to be soothed.

"Free? Ah, yes. Free," says Clarissa, tilting her head as if what I had said amused her. "Free to beg. Free to steal from honest folk. And free..." Here she pauses and her tongue flicks over her upper lip as if she is about to taste something delicious. "Free to have yourself tattooed."

There is a common gasp from the guests at the table.

"Why don't you tell us about your cunning little tattoo, Jacky?" says Clarissa, relentlessly plowing on. "What is it? An anchor? How daring of you, Jacky. I do declare you leave all the rest of us poor girls far behind in the pursuit of new fas.h.i.+on."

The game is up now, for sure, for there are no tattooed ladies in this world, not outside of freak shows. I get to my feet and I turn to my hostess. "Mrs. Trevelyne, you have been nothing but kind to me here at Dovecote and I thank you for it and I beg forgiveness if I have brought dishonor to your table. I am sorry. Sometimes I get above myself. I'll be excused now." She sits there stunned.

I get up to leave the room but a rough hand comes down on my bare shoulder and shoves me back down in my chair.

"Oh, nonsense!" says Captain Humphries. "Sit down! That's the best story I've heard all day!"

I take up my napkin again and look over at Mrs. Treve-lyne, but she's just all a-goggle with the turn of things and simply takes another dainty sip of her wine.

"So how did you get from there to here? From the rags to the riches? From an urchin in the streets to a neatly turned out young lady in the very bosom of New England society?" the Captain booms out. "We must hear! Leave nothing out!"

Before I say anything I turn to my hostess again, "Please, Mrs. Trevelyne, if anything said here causes you pain, just tap your knife on your gla.s.s and I will be out of here in an instant. All right?" She manages to nod. I look at Amy and she is stunned. I look at Randall and he is astounded. I look at Clarissa and she is smirking. I look at Lieutenant Flashby and he has left off looking at my chest and is instead peering at my face, as if trying to figure something out.

"Actually, Captain Humphries, I had a bit of very good luck," I say. "I had the great good fortune to be taken into your own service."

"The Royal Navy?" he says, perplexed. "How? In what capacity?"

"First as s.h.i.+p's boy, then as mids.h.i.+pman, on board the..."

"It's b.l.o.o.d.y Jacky Faber, by G.o.d!" shouts Lieutenant Flashby, bringing the flat of his hand down hard on the table. He points his finger at my nose. "It's the Jackaroe!"

"Wot! Can it be? The girl from the Dolphin?" says the Captain, all incredulous. "Are you sure?"

"Yes, yes!" says the Lieutenant. "Look! She's still got the mark on her neck where they tried to hang her." That scar has mostly gone away, 'cept when I get excited, like now, and then it flares up all red. I pull my hair around to cover it.

"Is it you?" asks the Captain.

"I don't know ... yes, I was on the Dolphin, but I had no idea my poor adventures had-"

"Oh, Trevelyne, you dog!" says the Captain to the Colonel, who's sitting there like he's been hit with a bludgeon. "You set this up for us, didn't you! Oh, what a fine thing! It's too perfect!" The Captain's hand has found my leg again, higher up this time, but I am too amazed to move.

"But this can't be..." I stammer.

"Oh yes!" says the Captain, giving my thigh an affectionate squeeze. "It is the talk of London, it is all around the fleet! On all the broadsides! You there, Padget! Sing a few verses of the song! 'Jackaroe'!"

Mids.h.i.+pman Padget, the pretty one, flushes in mortification. He will, of course, obey, as he would obey if his Captain told him to drop his breeches and waddle around the table clucking like a chicken, but he does not have to like it. He fixes his eye on a wall lamp, and dying a thousand deaths, he opens his mouth and gives forth: "She brought herself unto the dock

All dressed in men's array,

And stepped on board a man-of-war

To convey herself away,

Oh, to convey herself away."

I am completely astounded. The melody sounds like a faster version of my "s.h.i.+p's Boy's Lament," done in a major key instead of the minor. I think I hear Liam Delaney's hand in this.

"'Before you come on board, Sir,

Your name Yd like to know.'

She smiled all in her countenance,

'They call me Jack-a-roe.'"

It warn't like that at all, I'm thinkin'. I have recovered my senses enough to reach down and lift the Captain's hand off my leg. He does not seem to mind. He merely uses the hand to refill my gla.s.s. Sailors, I swear, be they Captain or be they seaman, it's all one and the same. Mids.h.i.+pman Padget launches into what proves to be the last verses.

"'Your waist is light and slender,