Later, when all is quiet, I'm thinking that maybe in light of what happened with the now lumpy-headed and very sorry landlord, I should not have sung that "Jolly Coachmen" song, for perhaps it might have given him the wrong notion as to my own character, him figuring me to be free and easy in my ways. Which I surely am, in some ways, but not in all. Still, the song was not that bad, considering the words to some I know. Tucked deep in my seabag I still have the book Laugh and Be Fat that I bought back in Ireland, which is filled with the awfullest, most gross and foul jokes and songs in the world, all of which used to send both me and Mairead Delaney into fits and howls of uncontrollable laughter back in my cabin on the Emerald during that time she sailed with me. Dear Mairead, you of the flaming red hair and fiery spirit, I do hope you and Ian are well and happy...
Note to self: Never, never again sleep in a room that cannot be locked from the inside. And maybe lay off the naughty songs when you don't know the lay of the land. So resolved, and so back to bed.
Star log, Nov. 30.05:00. Under way on Course 090. Weather clear, winds fair and from the southwest. Making good time. Bound for Chatham.
And so it went, from Chatham to Eastham, from Wellfleet to Provincetown, and, on a terrific, tearing beam reach, from Provincetown across Cape Cod Bay to Green Harbor. Thence to Scituate and then, on the next day, into Boston Harbor.
I played in each of those towns, and in each made money, and all in all, my voyage around the Cape was most pleasant. I could happily do this for a long time, plying the musical trade I have learned, seeing places I have never seen before, meeting good people and bringing them a good time, but winter's about to set in, and I must find out what's happening at the Home for Little Wanderers and what's up with Jaimy, and what is to be my own fate as well, so I press on.
I anchored this last night in the lee of one of the many islands that dot Boston Harbor. I made myself a nice dinner and ate it, then sat sipping my wine and watching the sunset. No black clouds, neither in the sky nor in my mind. This journey has been good for me, I reflect, putting my hand on the tiller of my lovely Star. In a way, a very small way, to be sure, I am again Tonda-lay-o, Queen of the Ocean Sea.
Tomorrow, Boston.
Chapter 6
The coast seems to be clear. Having left the Morning Star in the care of my newfound coxswain, Jim Tanner, I'm peeking around the corner of a warehouse and peering up and down Boston's Union Street, but no, I don't see anything that looks like a British soldier, sailor, officer, or spy, so I continue watchfully on my way down to my intended destination, that destination being the office of Ezra Pickering, Esquire. Before I left the Star, I had gone down into the cabin and changed into my old black school dress, the one I had once so proudly worn as a student at the Law-son Peabody School for Young Girls. Well, sometimes so proudly worn, that is—there was that time when Mistress Pimm stripped it from my back for bringing shame and disgrace to her school, and I was put in serving-girl gear in punishment for my crimes against ladyhood. Ah, yes, those good old golden school days...
I also donned my mantilla, the black lace one that Randall Trevelyne gave me that Christmas at Dovecote, and wrapped it around my head, shoulders, and face for both warmth and disguise. It is a cold day and there is, after all, a hefty reward out for my capture. I wonder if they've gotten to Boston yet with their damned posters. I haven't seen any, but that doesn't mean there ain't some around.
I go through the Haymarket Square, past Faneuil Hall, then go right onto Union Street.
Was it only the Christmas before last that Randall gave me this shawl? It seems like a century ago, that—Ah, here we are...
Damn! Ezra's door is locked! Where the hell could he be?
Hmmm ... I'm thinking he's probably in court, today being Monday and him being a lawyer and all. Well, I can't stay around here—too suspicious looking, a lone female hanging about the streets—so I'll walk up to Court Street and see if I can catch him there. Shouldn't be any danger lurking in an American courthouse, 'cept maybe from that swine Constable Wiggins, who for certain would still enjoy getting his piggy paws around my blameless neck.
I start back up in that direction and get over to State Street, looking about me with fondness on this town where I washed up two years ago and which I've grown to love. I had some of the best of times here, as well as some of the worst, and it is here on this soil that I have made some of my finest and truest friendships. Ah, well, enough of that...
I trudge up State—oh, and there's The Pig. Ah, how I would love to stop in to see Maudie and ... no, not yet. Careful now, girl, you've no wish to dance your last dance at the end of a rope—and step onto Court Street and there's that hateful jail of which I have no fond memories whatsoever, having once spent a very uncomfortable night there, and there's the courthouse where I was tried and convicted, and there...
And there, from that same courthouse, comes a chattering gaggle of women. I know from the brightness of their dress and the amount of rouge and powder on their faces, they are Mrs. Bodeen's girls, once again having got into trouble with Wiggins and once again being released from custody—after a suitable bribe was paid, of course. They are followed shortly down the stairs by the plump form of Ezra Pickering, Attorney at Law and Clerk of the Corporation of Faber Shipping, Worldwide. And my dear friend and protector, as well. Having done his duty for Mrs. Bodeen and her girls, he is plainly headed back to his office, his sweet little half smile still in place, as always. Oh, Ezra, how good it is to see you again!
I keep on walking toward him, my head down and my veil carefully tucked about my lower face. As we draw near, he doffs his hat and murmurs, "Good day, Miss," but instead of nodding in return, I whip around to link my arm in his and commence walking in step with him.
"So, Ezra," I say, "and what is the state of Faber Shipping, Worldwide, then?"
He is ever the cool one. Though I could feel his arm tighten as I slipped mine in his, he does not even break stride.
"Ah, Jacky. So good to see you. Or part of you," he says, gazing at my eyes above the veil. "Are you cold?"
"No, Ezra," I say, "but there is a bit of a problem."
He sighs and pats my hand. "Of course."
We get back to his office, I doff my mantilla, we joyously embrace, and then I lay it all out before him—my time on the Wolverine, the taking of the prizes, including the Emerald, the buccaneering, the eventual loss of my ship, my own capture, the great battle, and my escape over the ocean back to here.
"Astounding. Absolutely astounding," he says when I am done. He shakes his head in wonder. "So the charge is piracy?"
I nod. "Aye. And a few others. I think they are especially miffed at my taking the Emerald without asking permission."
"You are probably right in thinking that. And miffed is hardly the word. The British Lion does not like having his nose tweaked," says Ezra, "particularly by a young girl barely halfway through her teens."
I look down at my hands in contrition. "I know, Ezra, that I tend to be a bit impulsive at times, but it all seems so reasonable at the time I do these things, and so unreasonable when everyone looks back at what happened and what I did."
"Well, I must say I expected nothing less of you, given your nature. But since you are quite obviously guilty of the crimes with which you are charged, we cannot fight this in any court, we can only contrive to hide you till this all blows over, if it ever does. You are sure Lord Nelson is dead?"
"Yes. It was the last signal I saw as I sailed out of range. I'm sure that both the Royal Navy and the country itself are devastated. For a little man, lacking an arm, one eye, and, sometimes, common sense, he was much loved by all who knew him."
"I'm sure. England's joy at Napoléon's fleet being destroyed and the homeland being saved from invasion would be severely mitigated by news of his death," says Ezra. He rises from his chair and clasps his hands behind him as he paces the floor, thinking. Good Ezra, keep on thinking and get me out of this mess. "However, we can turn this to our advantage," he continues. "There are three British warships in the harbor right now..."
"I know. I spotted them on my way in. His Majesty's ships Sirius, Aldebron, and Revenge. I stayed well away from them, you may be sure."
"Good. Now I shall put out word about the great victory and the death of Nelson and they will all be gone in the morning, rushing back to Britain to pick up whatever pieces need picking up. Carlson, come here!"
A young man appears from a side room. Hmm ... Ezra must be doing better—he has hired himself a clerk. Carlson looks over Ezra's shoulder, mystified at the sight of me sitting here looking all Spanish. Ezra gives him quick, concise instructions, and then the young man leaves to spread the word to the British ships. I can well imagine the uproar.
"Well," says Ezra, sitting down opposite me at his desk, "that takes care of that. I believe we shall be Brit free very shortly. Except for you, of course."
I sit quiet for a while and then I say, "For all of it, Ezra, the thing I regret most is the fact that the home for orphans that I had set up with my prizes will now go begging ... My poor, dear grandfather."
"I did receive your letter that you had sent from Waterford, hinting at what you had been up to," he says, "and I think I can set your mind at ease as to the London Home for Little Wanderers. Miss Amy Trevelyne, upon hearing the news of your letter, immediately directed me to forward all the proceeds of the book she had written concerning your early life—and those proceeds are considerable, believe me—to the orphanage, in your name."
Well, I'll be damned ... I guess that book did some good, after all.
"...and that brings me to another point. I have recently met with Mistress Pimm at the Lawson Peabody School for Young Girls, trying to pry out of her very tight fist the tuition money you had left there so that you, or your orphanage, could have the benefit of it and I could finally get my commission out of all this, but she would have none of it." He pauses. "However, she did say that she had learned of the circumstances of your actions when you were last in Boston and that she was prepared to receive you back at the school, under certain conditions."
I am astounded. "But I thought the school was burned to the ground, and that I had caused—"
"You caused nothing. It was not your fault. The Lawson Peabody is being rebuilt and it is almost complete—and this time with bricks, not wood. The girls will be returning after Christmas"
"Oh, and Constable Wiggins?"
"Well, he has said he would like to question you about the fire"
"I bet he would," says I, putting my hand to my neck, which not so long ago had been encircled by that same Wig-gins's hand as he hauled me off to jail and deep disgrace. "Probably with the aid of a five-foot rod laid across my backside. I think I'd best be on my way."
"Now, wait, Jacky," says Ezra, coming around his desk. "Think on this: While the British have no jurisdiction here, there is nothing to prevent them from secretly nabbing you on the street should they spot you. The school would be an excellent place for you to hide until this thing blows over. You know that Mistress Pimm would never allow an unwelcome male through her doors, no matter what the reason, if there was a threat to one of her girls. She was a patriot during the Revolution and has no love for the British government. Your tuition is paid and winter is coming on. It is warm there and you have friends. Your only alternative is going to the frontier, and I don't think you would like that. It is very harsh there."