The Jezebel's Daughter (17 page)

“I see,” I said. “So none of you are concerned?”

They all shook their heads and I felt immeasurably ridiculous for sprinting halfway across the town, bearing a message that wasn't even that important. Duquesne took pity on me and bought me a flagon of ale for my efforts and I sat quietly, sipping it and listening to the men's conversation as they made plans for the next hunt. There were a few options and Sebastian and Hamilton finally settled on a British merchant, said to be carrying tea and spirits.

“Will we sell it all?” I wondered. It had been nearly a year since I'd had a proper cup of English tea and I missed it dearly.

Sebastian chuckled and said, “You'll have to excuse Mr. Jones. He's been away from London for too long. Misses his tea.”

The men joined in his laughter and soon left the tavern, intending to spend a few hours in one of the other local brothels or taverns. Sebastian stayed behind, and I sat across the table from him. Neither of us spoke, neither of us looked at the other, all of our attention trained on the table or our drinks or the room around us. The silence stretched out between us, awkward and oppressive.

Finally, I took a deep breath and looked up at him. “Pooley attacked me in the market earlier. That's what I was coming to tell you when I... Before I went to church services.”

Sebastian's head snapped up and his mouth was set in a thin, dangerous line. “He attacked you? What for?”

“Well, it was more like he purposefully bumped into me and then accused you and I of being sodomites.”

“Sodomites?” He shook his head. “Seems a case of the pot calling the kettle black.” At my confused expression, he clarified. “We don't let Pooley work with any of the crew who are younger than I am. He's got a bit of a taste for young men and I suspect he fancies you. He's probably jealous that you and I spend so much time together.”

“We should be careful nonetheless.”

“Does this mean you're staying with the crew?” His voice was soft and there was an urgent, pleading look in his eyes. I nodded and a slow smile dawned on his face. “Good. I'm glad. I was hoping you would.”

“It's not because of you,” I said, a little too harshly. “It's because I don't have any other options. I'm only staying long enough to save up enough money to buy property, maybe a ship or two.”

“You want to become a merchant?” I nodded. “Bold choice for a someone without a male relative to act as a guide. No father, no brothers, no one else. You certainly don't do anything by halves, do you?”

“I saw you earlier,” I said, ignoring his question. “Here. With the whore in your lap.”

His brow arched and I expected him to become defensive or perhaps to apologize. He did neither. Instead he merely shrugged and asked, “Did you also see Hamilton with his hand up the other one's skirts?”

“No. I don't care what Hamilton does. I care what...” I bit off the rest of my words. I did care what he did and with whom he did it, but I didn't want him to know that he had that much power over me.

Sebastian waited for me to say more, to finish my thought, but when it became apparent I wasn't going to speak further, he sighed heavily and leaned forward, dropping his voice to conspiratorial tones. “It's a business arrangement with these spies that
you
have insisted upon. If we were to meet with them and not touch them, not take advantage of what they're selling, wouldn't it be suspicious?”

“Do you often take advantage of what they're selling?” I couldn't keep the childish petulance out of my voice and I hated that despite my previous decision not to let him see how much power he had over me, I was showing him exactly that.

“I fail to see how that is germane to this discussion. But to answer your question and wipe that distrustful look from your face, no. I do not. I am not a whoremonger.”

I narrowed my eyes and studied his face. He looked honest. I'd always believed he was better than Graves, that he wasn't driven by his base desires. He was a man of learning, after all, someone who could discuss French literature and philosophy. Someone who had been carefully wooing me with books for nearly a year now. I needed to trust that impression. “Alright,” I said carefully. “I believe you.”

“Thank you,” he said sincerely.

“What will we do about Pooley?” I asked, anxious to get away from such uncomfortable subjects. My feelings for Sebastian were very complicated and they were the last thing I wanted to consider while there was a threat to my life.

“I'll speak with him. Perhaps I'll be able to convince him that you and I are not enjoying that sort of relationship.” He finished off his flagon, a clear indication that the subject was closed and settled. “We head for the Yucatán in the morning. See if there are any charts for the area and make corrections if you can.”

“I will. See you tomorrow, Sebastian.”

“Be safe, Loreley.” Sebastian left, but I remained, sitting at the table and sipping a fresh ale. Soon Ben came back and joined me.
A tavern wench with gold-flecked hazel eyes and an abundance of curves brought us fresh drinks. Ben's eyes lingered on her, an undisguised look of sheer lust and need in his expression.

“You fancy her?” I asked. He frowned at me and shook his head. “It's perfectly all right if you do,” I went on. “It's been awhile since...” I broke off and looked meaningfully at him.

“Since Tansy died,” he finished, his eyes becoming cold and hard. “Yes. It be a long time.”

“Maybe it's time to think of someone else?”

“It ain't,” he said, standing up suddenly and knock his chair over with a loud crash. He stepped over it and left the tavern in a rush, every line of his body screaming out anger. I watched him leave, my mouth hanging open in shock.

I ran to catch up with him, finally cornering him in the marketplace. I grabbed his sleeve and turned him towards me. His expression was frightening and I drew back a pace, my eyes wide with fear.

He saw my fright and drew a deep breath. His face relaxed, the tension in his body drained away, and he asked, “What you want?”

“Why are you angry with me?”

“Who say I be angry with you?”

“You did. Just now, when you stormed off.”

“You talking 'bout Tansy made me mad,” he said.

“Ben,” I said. “Talk to me.”

“You get all you want. But I get nothing.”

“
All I want
?” I repeated incredulously. “Do you have any idea how utterly ridiculous that is? I haven't gotten anything I want! My family is dead. I was raped. I can't go home. I'm stuck pretending I'm a man. And every day of my life, I risk my secret getting out and being marooned or hanged!”

Ben stared at me with hard, emotionless eyes, before saying, “But you get Sebastian. You get to be free. Tansy be gone, dead, because you get what you want.”

I got Sebastian? What did that even mean? I shook my head, pushing away the topic of the Captain. “When you were on that plantation in Jamaica,” I said, my voice unsteady and thick with tears, “when you were separated from your mother and your people, didn't you ever try to escape?”

He shook his head and looked away.

“Why not?” I pushed.

“I be too afraid,” he said in a whisper.

“I was afraid, too. Afraid that Graves might kill me. Afraid that he'd grow tired of me and throw me out. Afraid of how I'd have to survive if that happened. But it didn't matter how much I was afraid because I would not—
could not
—live another moment as Graves's prisoner.” I brushed away the flood of tears streaking down my cheeks and stood up straighter. “I didn't kill Tansy, Ben. Graves did. If you're going to be angry with someone, be angry with him.”

I walked away, leaving him standing there, miserable and angry. I returned to my cabin and laid down on my cot without bothering to take off my boots. I let the tears flow and grieved once more for my lost innocence, my lost family, and my lost friend.

My dreams that night were a confused jumble of images. Pooley and Graves played cards while the priest railed against them, against all pirates, but most especially against me. He pointed to me, called me a harlot, a sinful whore, and Pooley egged him on, agreeing with everything the priest said. Then they held me down and took turns branding me with a red-hot metal letter W, all while Pooley called me a filthy indorser.

“Loreley?” Ben's voice was soft and I could barely make him out in the gloom of our tent. He was sitting up on his cot, leaning forward towards me. I'd woken him.

“I'm alright,” I whispered back. “Only a dream.”

He grunted and I saw him lie back down, facing me. I could feel his eyes on me. “I miss her,” I said.

“I do, too.” I could hear him swallow and his breath hitched.

“I'm so sorry that you lost Tansy.”

“Sometimes I think I should leave, join another crew. I get so mad at you because... I be blaming you for her being dead. If you'd be listening to me, if you'd be hearing me when I told you not to try to run, she might still be alive.”

I grunted with the impact of his words. They left me breathless and reeling. Tears filled my eyes, but I didn't bother dashing them away. I know he didn't mean that he actually wanted me dead, but the thought that sometimes he begrudged my survival was a lot for me to take in. I was silent for a long moment, listening to his breathing, fighting down the urge to attack him out of my anger and guilt. Finally, swallowing down my anger and pride, I whispered into the dark, “Please don't be angry with me anymore, Ben. I need you. You're the only family I have left. Please forgive me.”

He was silent for a long moment. I heard him shift in his cot and moments later, felt him climb into my bed, sliding down next to me. His arms circled me and he pulled me close. “You be the only family I have left, too. I forgive you, girl.” He kissed my forehead and I laid my head against his chest and closed my eyes, the steady thumping of his heart helping me drift off to sleep once more.

XX

Nassau, New Providence Island

September, 1716

We hunted three ships in fast succession over the next two months, taking aboard more crew members and cargoes worth over two hundred thousand
reales
total. My meager purse was expanding at an alarming rate and so was my selection of books. Sebastian gave me first pick of any books, maps, or charts he found in the captain's cabins, and as a result, I spent hours in Sebastian's cabin aboard the
Jezebel
, working alongside Ben, Hamilton, and Sebastian as they discussed business. I updated and corrected what I could, determined to create the most complete and accurate set of navigational tools in the entire Caribbean.

During a rare day of idleness, I sat on my bunk, engrossed in Daniel Defoe's account of a hurricane that hit London when I was just four years old. I had only the vaguest memories of that storm, mostly of not being able to play out-of-doors for a week and my father's crushing disappointment when he was notified that his ship had been destroyed at dock. Defoe's book was a collection of personal accounts of that week and I found it fascinating.

“Uh, Loreley?” I looked up to find Ben standing in front of me, his posture that of a supplicant before his regent. I arched a brow and set aside my book, using my finger to hold my place.

“Yes, Ben?” I was fighting not to laugh at him. This meekness was completely out of character for him. It was rather like a particularly cantankerous dog that's learned to sit and wear a hat and a gown. You knew the poor animal hated it, but he was doing it to please his master.

“I be wondering if maybe... if you want to, that is... if it be no hardship for you...”

“Oh, out with it already! You're not asking me to marry you, are you?”

He gaped like a fish out of water and I couldn't help but succumb to my laughter. This only caused him to glare bloody murder at me, which in turn made me laugh even more. “Never mind,” he said petulantly and went through the door to the passageway outside.

I scrambled off my bunk and grabbed his arm, dragging him back into the room and forcing him to sit down. “I'm sorry,” I said sincerely. “It's just... Well, I'm not accustomed to seeing you so... meek. What is it?”

He took a deep breath and blurted out, “I want you to teach me to read.”

“To read?” I asked and looked at the book still laying on my cot. “Books?” I asked dumbly.

“Of course, books,” he said as if I had lost my mind. “And maps and charts. If you be willing.”

I grinned. “Of course I'm willing! What a wonderful idea! Oh, I'm so proud of you.” I jumped up from my cot and threw my arms around him, hugging him tightly. He clung to me for a moment and then let go, taking a step back and looking down at the floor between us.

He raised his hand and scratched at the back of his neck and if his skin hadn't been so dark, I'm sure I would have seen him blush. “Well. Thank you.” He slipped off his bunk and went out the door quickly, almost as if he expected me to change my mind and refuse to help him.

The next day, I began teaching him to read and write, using Sebastian's cabin and one of the blank books normally reserved for ship's logs. My vague memories of how my mother and father taught me to form my letters and the sounds they made were the only things I could draw on, but whenever we anchored in a port, I made sure to look for children's primers. They were mostly Bible stories, but they did their job. Soon Ben could read basic words and write his name, my name, and Sebastian's, too. And best of all, he could help me with the charts and maps, which he soon came to enjoy doing almost as much as I did.

The rest of my time at sea was less pleasant. Every time I turned around, I found Pooley intently watching me. I knew he was waiting for Sebastian or I to slip up somehow, to sneak off together somewhere to be alone, so he could catch us in the act. I was glad that Pooley and I had watch at opposite hours; I would hate to think what the man would try to do if he ever caught me alone again.

After taking our third ship, we returned to the Bahamas to careen the ship and to see to other repairs and maintenance. We again set up our camp on Sun Caye and began the arduous task of hauling the ship ashore, lashing her masts to trees, and propping up her hull at an angle to make scraping the barnacles and teredo worms infesting her easier.

Hamilton, Duquesne, and I went to Nassau to lay in supplies for the time we would spend ashore, and once everything had been purchased, the men returned to the ship. I stayed behind and wandered the marketplace on my own. I was sad to see that the Abbot family's fish stall was gone. One of the other merchants said the family had gone north to try their luck in the new British colonies in America. I wished them well. Susannah's friendship had meant much to me and I hoped she got the opportunity to wear red garters on her wedding day.

I bought a banana, since pineapples were out of season, and a book and headed to a shady place near the center of town. I didn't anticipate seeing anyone I knew in that area of town. Most of my shipmates were on Sun Caye, and the whores would be at the brothel, entertaining clients. I was virtually guaranteed peace and quiet and a rare moment alone to let down my guard for a few precious moments.

As I made my way through a dimly lit alley, I heard footsteps behind me. A chill went up my spine but I managed to maintain my calm. I tossed the banana peel over my shoulder suddenly and without warning, and whirled around to see who was following me. My hand immediately went to the butt of my loaded pistol when I saw Pooley.

“What do you want?” I asked through clenched teeth.

His perpetual sneer was back and he took a menacing step forward. “You told the captain 'bout me,” he said. “That I attacked you in Spanish Town.”

“Yes. What of it?” I was proud of myself for my outward calm, which hid my inner turmoil.

“He told you that I've an eye for boys, didn't he? It's true. I like 'em young. Like you.” He paused and took another step forward. I took one back, keeping an even distance between us. I did not like where this was going and tried to remember exactly where I was. If I cried out, who would come? And would they do anything to help me?

His sneer grew and a sly look entered his eyes. “But you're not a boy, are you?” I felt the blood drain from my face even as my pulse pounded in my ears. My fingers went numb and my throat was dry. “You're that whore Graves kept at Earthly Delights. I seen you on the shore after they dragged you off that merchantman.”

Somehow I managed an incredulous-sounding laugh. “I don't know what you're talking about.”

“I been watching you everyday for the past three months. I tried to talk to some of the other crew but they wouldn't have any of it. They said you brought us good luck with that plan of yours. They said MacIsaac was a good captain, best they ever had. They told me to stop stirring up trouble. But I knew something was off. You ain't got no Adam's apple.” He took a step towards me. “You don't never go without your shirt. You don't never use the head on the weather deck.” He stepped even closer and reached a hand between my legs, cupping my crotch. “And you ain't got no stones, neither.”

I shoved him violently and stumbled back a few steps. My mind went completely blank in a blind panic. I had no defense, not in the face of his astoundingly clever observations. “Get your filthy hands off me, you rutting animal!” I shouted, my voice raw.

“My hands ain't no more filthy than the captain's,” he said as he took another step forward. I backpedaled even more before fetching up hard against a wall. My book fell to my feet and Pooley's hand reached for me. He hooked a finger in the neck of my shirt and tore it straight down, revealing my bound breasts. “I ain't got nothing against swiving a girl,” he said, his attention on my body and not my hands. “'Specially not a pretty piece like you.”

I drew my pistol without thinking, cocked it, and fired. It exploded in a thunderous crash and a plume of smoke. I felt a splash of something hot and sticky across my chest and bare stomach. Pooley's eyes went wide and he stumbled back a few places. A fast-spreading dark stain grew across his shirt and he stared at it for a few moments and then looked up at me. Surprise and shock were in his face. Betrayal and pain moved through his eyes, as if he suddenly realized I'd robbed him of his life. “You... filthy whore! You fucking...” He fell to his knees, clutching his gut and soon collapsed to his side, eyes sightless and staring into oblivion. My pistol clattered to the ground, dropped from nerveless fingers.

The world went gray and I suddenly found myself sitting down, my legs akimbo in front of me, with no memory of how I got there. I turned my head and vomited neatly to the side and wiped my mouth with the back of my hand. My head felt like it was stuffed with wool.

Pooley was dead. I'd killed him.

I sat on the floor of the filthy alley for a moment, shaking my head back and forth as if trying to jolt some sense back into it. I couldn't think. I couldn't breathe. I couldn't do anything but stare at Pooley's body. Finally, I gasped and it was as though all the sounds and scents and sights of the world rushed back in and my head was clear again.

Could I have done differently? Could I have talked my way out of whatever he had planned? Could I have bribed him into not raping me or spilling my secret? Surely I could have done something other than kill him. There were always other choices than ending someone's life, even someone as vile and disgusting as Pooley. Weren't there?

“Oh, Christ Jesus, please forgive me,” I moaned and stumbled to my feet, remembering at the last moment to pick up my pistol and shove it into my sash. I looked down and saw my torn shirt and Pooley's blood drying on the linen wrapped around my torso. I held my shirt closed with one hand, and turned and ran out of the alley. When I reached the mouth of it, I slowed to a quick walk and kept my head down, not making eye contact with anyone as I made my way through the marketplace. I snatched a shirt from a stall and slipped into another alley to put it on. Then I headed to the docks, hoping that someone from the
Jezebel
was still there.

Luckily, one of her jolly-boats was on the sand, manned by the cook's mate. He gave me a queer look as I settled down in the prow. I knew I probably looked terrible, white as a sheet, blood-spattered, and wild-eyed. He didn't press, though, didn't ask any questions, for which I was thankful.

Two torturous hours later, the sun was down and we finally arrived at Sun Caye. I climbed ashore and paused for a moment to get my bearings. The beach was dark and only occasional torches lit my way. Most of them men were clustered around the mess tents or what were delightfully described as “fuck tents”, places where a few local whores had come to provide entertainment for the men. I avoided the place for fear of finding Madame's girls in residence.

I looked for Ben and Sebastian, hoping they were together in the captain's tent. Thankfully they were, and when I saw them, I fell to pieces. I rushed into Ben's arms, clinging to him and sobbing. He cradled me until my sobs died down and then held me gently out at arm's length, studying my face. “What happened, girl?” he asked gently, his eyes moving over me as he assessed me for injuries.

I looked over his shoulder and saw Sebastian watching us intently, his eyes hard and flat, his expression unreadable. I looked back at Ben and said, “Pooley. He... I... He's dead. I killed him.”

Sebastian's face went bright red with rage and he stepped between Ben and I, taking me firmly by the shoulders and demanding, “What the devil happened, Loreley? You killed Pooley?”

I nodded and looked away, feeling sick to my stomach again. I sat down hard in the captain's chair and covered my face with my hands, trying to get myself under control enough that I could tell the story clearly. “He was following me,” I said at length, my voice muffled by my hands, the words pouring out of me like sand through an hourglass. “He cornered me in an alley. He said he knew I wasn't a boy and then he... He tore my shirt open and said... Said he had nothing against swiving a woman.” I couldn't look at them, couldn't see the pity or anger or disgust in their faces. Pooley's touch still burned on my skin, like his fingers had left behind smoldering embers.

“That fucking animal,” Sebastian said and I felt his hands gently around my wrists, pulling my hands away from my face. He was kneeling in front of me, looking up into my face, his eyes soft and full of compassion. He let go of my wrists and cupped my cheeks in his hands. “Are you alright? Did he hurt you?”

I shook my head and he held me close. I could feel him press his face into the top of my head, could hear his heart pounding beneath my ear. “You're safe now, Loreley,” he said into my hair.

“Yeah, you be safe,” Ben said. He gripped my shoulder gently and squeezed. “We protect you. Don't you worry 'bout nothing.”

I stayed in Sebastian's embrace for a moment longer then pulled away, sniffing and wiping at my cheeks. “What... What do we do now?” I asked, my eyes moving from Ben's face and back to Sebastian's.

Sebastian stood and looked at Ben. “We nip it in the bud immediately. Better the men find out what happened than have them speculating about the reasons for Pooley's absence.” He turned back to me. “We'll tell them a version of the truth. He's been trying to stir up trouble, telling the crew that you and I have been having an affair. The men know what he is, what his tastes are. We tell them he cornered you, made unwanted advances, and you were forced to shoot him to defend yourself.”