The Jezebel's Daughter (10 page)

Time passed. My crate was moved onto a boat and rowed out to the ship. I could hear the sailors talking around me, discussing meaningless things—what they ate the previous night, where the prettiest whores were, how much they missed their families back in England, the journey ahead. The rocking to and fro of the waves and the soft, sonorous sounds of the sailor's voices lulled me to sleep.

IX

On board the Neptune, Atlantic Ocean

January, 1716

When I awoke, it was dark and utterly silent. I must have been in the cargo hold of the ship. I was still rocking to and fro, though the motion was much less, confirming my suspicions that I was indeed aboard the ship. I wondered if we were at anchor still or if we had departed Nassau Harbor. I felt around beside me and located my haversack. I pulled out a roll and carefully broke it into quarters. Three of the pieces I put back; the other I nibbled at. I would have to strictly ration my food and figure out some way to get water without the sailors discovering me. Stowaways were treated as criminals; some were pressed into service, some were clad in irons, still others were thrown overboard. Since I was a girl, I wondered which of these fates would await me if I were found.

After I ate my meager meal, I pushed up on the crate's lid, moving slowly lest it squeak as the nails came loose. It opened quietly and I climbed out and squinted into the darkness. I could just barely make out the shapes of other crates, barrels, boxes and sacks, stacked neatly side by side and one atop another. Definitely the cargo hold, then.

I made my way over to a barrel and pressed my ear against it as I tried to discern its contents. It didn't slosh around so I guessed something solid, refined sugar or salted meat, perhaps. I went through four other barrels before I found something that sounded liquidy. I pried up the lid and was rewarded with the sweet scent of wine. I used my hand to sip directly from the barrel, making sure not to drink enough that I would be drunk. When my thirst was slaked, I fitted the lid once more and moved the barrel closer to my crate, dragging it inch by inch across the hold. Carefully rationed, my food and the wine should last for most of the journey home.

Home. I grinned into the darkness, my excitement about finally seeing England again filling me with hope. I could smell the sooty air of London, feel the grass of Kensington Gardens beneath my bare feet. I could see Uncle Frederick's face when we were reunited; his smile would light up the city and his embrace would crush my ribs. I fell asleep that first night aboard with a sense of peace, something I hadn't felt for six months.

It was impossible to tell how long I was hidden away in the hold. I ate—sparingly—when I was hungry, drank deeply from the wine barrel only twice a day, used a far corner for as a chamberpot, and slept whenever I was tired. There was no way for me to discern night from day, nor how much time actually passed. It could have been as few as two or three days or as much as a fortnight or perhaps even a month.

I probably would have made it all the way to London undetected, if not for a storm. It scared me, made me think of the storm that had sunk the
Resolution
, and I screamed and sobbed, shaking like a leaf in my terror every time the ship listed too far to one side. The cargo hadn't been stowed away properly and the crates burst free from their flimsy ropes to roll all over the hold, smashing into each other and breaking open, spilling their contents across the deck. My own crate was pinned against the stairs, held there by a pileup of the rest of the cargo. I could hear water slowly seeping in through cracks in the hull and soon, it invaded my crate.

Finally, the storm blew itself out and I was able to relax and get control of myself again. There was some three inches of water in the bottom of my crate and I suspected there was even more outside. The ship settled into gentle waves, rising and falling with a soothing rhythm. I couldn't get out of my prison, and I suspected that my wine barrel had been smashed. Unable to do much of anything else, I merely settled down to sleep after eating a bit of biscuit and salt pork.

Voices woke me. My eyes snapped open and I was certain the sailors could hear my pounding heart over the sound of the waves slapping against the hull and the creaking of the ship.

“Would you hark at this mess? Give us a bucket.”

“Aye, it'll take weeks to clear it away. Who was supposed to stow the cargo?”

“That'll be our Jimmy,” said the first voice. “Christ, it stinks down here. Help me shift this.” My crate suddenly moved and I made an involuntary squeak of fright.

“Was that a bloody rat?” asked the second voice. “Open this crate. It came from inside.” The crate's lid lifted with a squealing of nails and dim lantern light poured in, revealing me to the two sailors.

“Christ,” said the first sailor, crossing himself. His eyes were huge in the lantern light. “It's a ruddy girl!” He was a short, squat man with dirty blond hair. “She's a stowaway. Lord have mercy. Captain O'Reilly will want to have a word.” He reached into the crate and grabbed my arm, hauling me bodily out of the crate. “Come along, lass.”

Sandwiched between the two sailors, I climbed the stairs to the captain's quarters, blinking in the bright sunlight. I tried not to look to closely at the stunned and dumb-founded looks on every face I passed, but it was difficult. I wondered what my punishment would be.

The first sailor knocked on the captain's door and a gruff voice called out, “Enter!” The door swung inwards and the sailor shoved me inside and then stood between me and the door. I looked at the captain, sitting stock-still behind his desk, and nearly laughed at his expression. He looked as though someone had smacked him in the face with a fish.

“What's this?” he spluttered. “McGillie? Where'd you find her?”

“Stowaway, Captain. Found her in a crate of flour sacks, down in the hold.” He leaned close and made sniffing noises like a harrier in a rabbit warren. “Smells of shit.”

O'Reilly stood, straightened his waistcoat, and approached me. “Well, girl?” He said, staring down his nose at me. We were of the same height and he was obviously trying very hard to appear taller than me. “What have you got to say for yourself?”

Before I could speak, McGillie interrupted. “I think I know her.” He grabbed my arm again and spun me towards him. Leaning in close, he squinted at me and brushed a greasy tendril of my hair out of my face, studying me intently. His eyes went wide. “Blimey,” he breathed and thrust me at O'Reilly. I noticed he made horns with his fingers and tucked them behind his back. “She's Graves's girl. The noble lass he stowed at the Earthly Delights.”

“Christ,” O'Reilly cursed and shoved his hand up his face and through his hair, knocking his wig aside. “How far are we from Nassau, Mr. McGillie?”

“Seven days, Captain. Shall I give the order to turnabout and go back?”

“At once. And bring up some shackles from the brig. I won't lose Graves's prize and risk this ship or my crew.” McGillie nodded and hot-footed it out of the captain's quarters. The captain took me by the arm and forced me to sit down on his berth.

“Please, Captain O'Reilly, my unc—er, father. My father is the Marquess Weymouth. I can pay you anything—”

“Can you guarantee Graves will not set fire to my ship? Can you guarantee the safety of every one of my crew?” He shook his head and went to his footlocker, digging through it and coming up with a neckerchief. He twisted it into a thin rope and shoved it into my mouth, tying it tightly behind my head. “You'll sit there until we get back to Nassau and I can return you to Captain Graves.”

O'Reilly kept me captive, shackled and gagged, for the entirety of the return trip. He allowed me food and water, but warned me not to speak to him or to any of the other sailors if I wanted the rations to continue. I cried myself to sleep every night, terrified of what Graves would do once I was back in Nassau.

It was the worst week of my life; far worse than the first week in the Earthly Delights, far worse than the first week after Graves bought me. If I hadn't been under surveillance or bound hand and foot every second, I would have killed myself. The captain's pistols were always primed and left on his desk; failing that, there were knives and swords hanging from the walls of the captain's quarters. They would have done in a pinch.

Two weeks after I left Nassau, I arrived much as I had arrived in the first place, captive and against my will. O'Reilly had brought me up to the fo'c's'le as we sailed into Nassau Harbor and a frozen finger of terror trailed down my back. The
Jezebel
was at anchor, and as we grew closer to shore, I could make out a small group of people waiting on a dock—Graves, Mr. MacIsaac, Ben, and even Tansy were standing on the boards, their eyes on our approaching ship.

“Seems we have a welcoming party,” O'Reilly said. “Mr. McGillie, with me.” The captain removed my gag and I was lowered into a jolly-boat. O'Reilly and McGillie rowed us ashore. Tears were streaking down my face and though I was bound, I fought against McGillie's grip on my arm. I plead with them, promised them money, prestige, land, anything if they would take me with them to England, if they would save me from Graves. They ignored me, their faces hard, their eyes fixed on the shore.

Ben met the boat and helped pull it ashore. He wouldn't look at me, didn't speak to me, as he lifted me out of the boat and carried me to Graves. He put me down in front of the captain and forced me to my knees. Graves ignored me, his attention on O'Reilly and McGillie. “Where'd you find her?” he asked, his voice tight and dangerous.

“A crate in our cargo hold,” O'Reilly said. “No one knew she was there until we got caught by a storm a week out of harbor. We turned about immediately when McGillie here told me who she was, what she meant to you.”

Graves nodded and tossed a wash-leather bag at O'Reilly. When the
Neptune
captain caught it, it clinked with the tell-tale sound of coins. “Thank you,” Graves said. “That should cover any losses she might have caused. The
Neptune
is safe.” O'Reilly and McGillie made grateful sounds and then got back into their boat, headed out once more to their ship.

Graves slowly turned around and split a murderous look between Ben and Tansy, who was shaking in fear. “You two failed in the only job I gave you,” he said, cracking his knuckles and rolling his head on his neck.

“Now, captain,” Mr. MacIsaac interrupted, moving to stand closer to Graves, his hand reaching for the captain's arm. Graves cut his eyes to MacIsaac, who held both hands up and stepped back. Not even the quartermaster, who stood head and shoulders above the captain, would try his rage.

In a flash of black cloth and a sickening crunch, Graves's fist landed on Ben's face and splattered his nose across his cheek. Blood flew, darkening the sand and Tansy screamed, lunging for Graves, crying out in Kreyol, her hands formed into claws that were reaching for Graves's neck. He backhanded her, withdrew the pistol from his belt, cocked it and fired.

Tansy collapsed to the sand, blood leaking from the wound in her head, turning the sand black. I screamed and ran to her, though my hands were still bound. The captain ignored me, ignored the explosion of chaos around him, and continued beating Ben viciously, kicking him, pounding his face into something unrecognizable. I fell to my knees next to Tansy, covering her with my body, screaming and crying, struggling against my bonds just to touch her once more, to save her life, to tell her how much she meant to me, to thank her for keeping me alive.

Mr. MacIsaac at last intervened, pulling Graves away from Ben, who was huddled at the captain's feet, curled around himself, bleeding and groaning softly. The free man's face was a mess; his left eye swollen so badly it didn't even look like a human eye anymore. His nose was shapeless mass in the center of his face. Blood poured from dozens of wounds and I saw—in minute detail—three of his teeth laying in the sand not far from his face.

Someone loosed my bindings and I hauled myself to my feet. I straightened, pulling myself to my full height, using those two or three inches on had on Graves fully, and looked down my nose at him. “You fucking spineless by-blow!” I shouted at him, using language I'd heard from the scores of sailors and whores amongst whom I'd lived for the past three months.

Graves's eyes widened and then narrowed dangerously and I could see his hand curling around the pommel of his sword. The edges of my vision went dark and suddenly, it was like looking down a tunnel at the pirate. I felt light-headed and a cold, terrifying rage built up in my breast.

My mouth opened to speak, though I had no control over what came out. “You will die, you heartless animal,” I intoned, monotone and emotionless. “Someone will run you through with your own sword and leave you bloody, gasping for breath. You will die alone on the deck of your own ship.” The words were not mine. They came from my mouth but I did not think them. They moved through me, filled me, and emptied out, like water poured into a glass and then upended.

The wind picked up, sending my hair and skirts swirling around me in a cloud of fury. The edges of my vision bled back in and I watched as Graves went white to his hairline and his eyes widened, fear now swimming through their green depths. A low muttering started from the assembled crowd at my back, and I heard whispers of “
envoûter
,” and “
bruja
”. I nodded, encouraging the whispers and the names, my nostrils flaring, my whole body vibrating with incandescent, righteous rage. “I curse you, Gideon Graves,” I said, my voice low and vicious. I pointed at him and said, “I curse you with the knowledge of how you will die.”

I left the beach then, stumbling through the streets of Nassau with a queer feeling, almost as though my head was not fully attached to my body, like I was floating above myself, looking down as I walked back to the House of Earthly Delights. Word of the chaos on the beach preceded my arrival and Madame and all the girls were clustered in the tavern and the courtyard, whispering and talking in low voices until they saw me. Then they stared in silence as I walked up the stairs to my room, every line of my body rigid in anger.