Authors: L. A. Meyer
Captain Rutherford reads the document in his hands, and while he does that, I look about. The
Juno
's officers are all on deck, as well, and down on the dock is a small squad of Regulars standing at Attention behind a coach-and-two. I had seen Jaimy as soon as I came out of the hatch, but upon seeing the Colonel and casing out the situation, I determined not to look at him, though I could feel his hot eyes burning into me as I was brought up before the two commanding officers. Jaimy is not bound, but he is between two very large lieutenants. No, I keep the Look on my face and wait to see just how this thing will play out.
"But this is highly irregular, my dear Colonel Swithin...," says the Captain, continuing to scan the paper, great doubt plain on his face. He shakes his head. "...and the matter of the reward..."
"Put your mind at rest, my dear Sir," says Colonel Swithin, a slight smile playing about his rouged lips, "all is in order." He gestures to one of his junior officers behind him, who steps forward bearing a heavy sack in his hands. Captain Rutherford's eyes go wide.
"I think you'll be delighted to learn, Captain," continues the Colonel, "that the reward had been increased to a full three hundred pounds. I congratulate you on your fine prize."
I know that swept any remaining doubts from Captain Rutherford's greedy head. A fine prize, indeedâmore than three times his annual salary as Post Captainâenough to buy a small estate, even.
"Very well," he manages to say, ill concealing his joy, "if you will leave with me a signed transfer document..."
"Of course, my dear Captain," says Colonel Swithin with a slight bow. "But first, a mere formality. Would you bring the female over to me so that I might be sure of her identity?"
"Bring her here," barks Captain Rutherford, and I am dragged up before Swithin.
He puts his perfumed handkerchief up to cover his nose, as if to prevent any foul smell from entering it that might be coming from me. He reaches out his other hand and puts his palm on my forehead and shoves my head back so as to peer at my damning white eyebrow.
I bristle at this. "I am not used to being handled so by one to whom I have not been properly introduced. You will take your hand from my person," I hiss from beneath his grasp. I sense a rustle of discontent from the naval officers behind me at this display of maltreatment of one whom they had come to know with some fondness on the voyage here. I cannot see Jaimy, but I imagine he is being restrained.
The Colonel does not answer me but instead runs his thumb over my eyebrow, apparently convinced of its genuineness. He drops his hand and says, "Men of my station are not introduced to harlots. Lift up your dress."
"What? Am I to be made a spectacle of, then, here before any who care to gaze upon me as I am shamed by you?" I ask, outraged. I shake off his hand.
"Hold her," orders Colonel Swithin, and poor Corporal Kelley, who I know wants no part of this, has to grasp me tightly by the upper arms and hold me steady. "I must protest this," I hear one of the officers of HMS
Juno
say, and there are echoing calls for the stopping of this outrage upon my person, but they are silenced with a hard look from their captain.
Shame on you, Captain Rutherford, for allowing this outrage to happen on your ship.
"Talbot. Jameson. Lift up her skirt and hold her."
The two Redcoat officers advance on me. They lift my skirt and petticoats up to my waist, and they wait, the cloth wadded up in their fists, my lower undergarments exposed to the light of day and the scrutiny of all. I do not squeal or struggle in protest. Instead I fix this despicable colonel with the proudest Look I can manage and remain rigid as they hold me thus.
Colonel Swithin, his kerchief still held to his nose, reaches out one finger and pulls the waistband of my drawers down over my right hipbone. I feel the cool of the air hit my skin and hear a gasp from the crew of the
Juno,
some of whom are my friends. Is that a
hmmmmm
of protest starting up?
Thanks, mates, but I know you can do nothing...
"Ah. Just where it is supposed to be," says the Colonel, referring to my damning tattoo. He withdraws his finger but not his handkerchief. "All is in order. You may cover her. Mr. Hale, step forward."
At that, the officers Talbot and Jameson release my skirts, which fall back down to my ankles. The officer holding the bag of reward money steps forward. If Captain Rutherford had been trying to resist licking his lips in anticipation, he failed in the attempt. It is not a pleasant sight to see, and so I look away. Neither do I look at Jaimy, oh, no. Instead I fix my gaze upon the face of the Colonel of Dragoons. His cheek is powdered and rouged, I notice, and a small black beauty mark is affixed on his right cheekbone. A curious fashion, I reflect, what they call
macaroni,
the high style, and curious indeed to find it here in the States.
"Captain Rutherford, have you a secretary with quill and ink so that we might sign the necessary papers?" he asks, apparently satisfied that I am indeed the Dread Pyrate Jacky Faber, Scourge of the Caribbean and the Normandy Coast, Misappropriator of His Majesty's Propertyâto wit, the brigantine bark
Emerald
âand, as such, properly despised by all good Britons.
"Smithers!" barks the Captain, and the ship's purser dives below, to reemerge with a small table and pen and ink, which he sets up very quickly in front of Colonel Swithin, who takes the pen from Smithers's quivering hand, dips it in the inkwell, and scratches his signature on the Letter of Prisoner Transferal, then hands the paper to Captain Rutherford.
"And now if you will just sign this receipt for the reward money, we shall be on our way, a good day's business having been concluded," says Swithin.
Captain Rutherford takes the pen, but he does not sign. At a nod from Colonel Swithin, the bag of money is placed in the hands of the purser Smithers, who takes the bag and disappears below. There is a pause as Captain Rutherford continues to examine the receipt form, until Smithers reappears and nods at the Captain. At this, Captain Rutherford beams, dips the pen, and signs the receipt. He hands it to Colonel Swithin, who passes it to his subordinate.
"All is concluded, then. I must take this creature back to New York, where, I assure you, she is most eagerly awaited. Put her inâ"
"I assume I am to go with this female, as you put it, to face whatever charges are against my good name," I hear Jaimy call out.
"What is this?" asks Colonel Swithin. "Is there no discipline on this ship?"
Captain Rutherford reddens and says, "This man, Lieutenant Fletcher, has made it known that he is romantically attached to the Faber girl. I intended to take him with her back to London, to see if he had committed any crimes against the Crown in that regard."
"Charges against my good name have been lodged by Captain Rutherford because of my connection to this woman. I demand that I be allowed to be taken with her so as to be able to clear those charges against me." I still do not look in his direction.
"Well, then, perhaps we should take him with us. For interrogation," says Colonel Swithin, appearing to consider this option.
"Nay," says Captain Rutherford. "There is no warrant or reward out for him. He shall remain with us. I'll take him back to London and turn him over to the authorities." He turns to Jaimy. "No, sir, you shall come with us. You can see your lady love in London when they bring her out to the gallows! Perhaps you will even join her there!" He barks a laugh at his own wit.
At this, my heart dies within me.
"And what do you have to say about this young swain, then, Miss? He seems to hold you in some regard," sneers Colonel Swithin in my direction.
What can I do? I'm going to have to deny him to save him.
With the Look in place, I turn to face Jaimy. "This boy?" I say, my voice dripping with contempt. "Why, he is absolutely nothing to me. It is true we shared a friendship when we were children on the
Dolphin,
but since then he has turned against me in every instance of our meeting."
Strong hands now hold Jaimy back. His eyes burn into mine, but I hood my own eyes and go on. "What would I say about such a boy? That he proved untrue with another girl, that he sank my ship, an action which resulted in my capture, that he is member of a service that has vowed to bring me low, as low as you see me here. Nay, he is less than nothing to me. Let us be off. I hope the accommodations and the company in New York are better than what I have found here."
"Take her. I've had enough of her twaddle," says Captain Rutherford. Lieutenants Talbot and Jameson come up and take me by my arms. I give Michael Kelley's hand a final squeeze as he releases me. Lieutenant Hale takes up my seabag and I am led off the ship.
"Adieu, my good Captain," I hear Colonel Swithin say behind me. I assume there is much bowing and many compliments as he leaves. No compliments for me, though, as I am hustled down the gangway, across the wharf, and thrown roughly into the carriage. Lieutenants Talbot and Jameson are on each side of me. I sit there and fume.
In a few moments, the door opens again and Colonel Swithin heaves his bulk into the carriage. "Driver! Go!" he roars out the window, and we clatter off.
We sit there in silence for a moment, and then the Colonel says, "Well played, Miss."
And I say, "Well played, Higgins, but we must go back and get Jaimy, we mustâ"
"We must be calm and carefully plan out our next move. Mr. Fletcher is in no danger, believe me."
I put my face to the window and look up at the rail of the
Juno.
Is that Jaimy?
Oh, Jaimy, I didn't mean any of what I said, no I didn't, but...
"Miss, you must get back from the window. Here, let me undo your wrists." My hands were still bound but I didn't notice, as I am so often bound and confined.
"Oh, yes, very well played by all," chortles Mr. Bean, formerly Lieutenant Talbot, who sits on my right, "but I must especially compliment you, Mr. Fennel, on your portrayal of Officer Jamesonâyou were the very picture of a British junior officerâjust the right amount of officiousness, bluster, and complete asininity."
Both Mr. Fennel and Mr. Bean begin hurrying out of their uniforms, showing that particular lack of modesty common to the theatrical world. It is not an easy thing, as the carriage is rocking wildly back and forth. I noticed when I boarded that the driver was Ed Strout, the same member of the acting troupe who worked in the daytime as a hack driver and had been the one to help me haul poor Jim Tanner off for repair after he had been badly beaten by those rotters Beadle and Strunk those long months ago.
The carriage careens around a corner, and our escort squad disappearsâI know they will have slipped into the side entrance of the theater to doff their costumes and slip back into anonymity.
Thanks, mates.
"Thank you, Mr. Bean, and I must say I found your performance to be equally above reproach." Mr. Fennel struggles out of his striped regimental trousers and reaches into a bag concealed under the seat and pulls out a pair of workman's overalls. He tosses a similar pair to Mr. Bean. "But I do think the highest accolades belong to our Mr. Higgins."
"Oh, without a doubt, Sir!" exults Mr. Bean, as he worms himself into his overalls. "Such carriage, such easy elegance, such a fine turn of leg!"
"Yes, surely you must return someday to our stage!" says Mr. Fennel. "What a Caesar you would make with that fine brow and that noble nose! Or Marc Antony! Can you see it, Mr. Bean?"
"Oh, yes, Mr. Fennel. Hamlet, even."
Higgins, for his part, merely smiles and doffs his helmet and red coat, then puts on his fawn and white suit coat, pulling his white trousers out of his boot tops so that the cuffs fall about his ankles. Higgins pulls off the beauty mark from his cheek and flings it away and then takes out a handkerchief and wipes the powder from his face. A matching fawn top hat, and he is once again the civilized civilian that he so very much is.
"You flatter me, gentlemen, and I do look forward to returning to your stage. However, we do have our young charge to consider." Higgins adjusts his cravat. "And was not her performance something for the ages?"
It is all too much for their young chargeâcoming into port in high triumph at our victory over the
Bloodhound,
seeing Jaimy, and then being taken and losing Jaimy once more, and then my sudden deliverance from a certain death sentence to where I now sit. The tears spill out of my eyes and over my cheeks.
"Her selfless denial of her young lover to save him from durance vile, the self-sacrifice, oh, the dramatic possibilities. Can you not see it as a play? Why, there would not be a dry eye in the house."
"I shall get out pen and paper immediately upon our return to the theater. I can see the program notes: The story of a young maiden forced to renounce her own true love for the sake of his own dear safety. We shall call it
She Gave All for Love, or, Love's Favor Lost
... Why, my dear, what ever is the matter?"
I wrap an arm around each of the actors' shoulders and plant a wet, tear-mingled kiss on their cheeks. "That you should risk allâyour freedom, your reputations, your very livesâto save me in my moment of peril, I cannot tell youâ"
"Tut-tut, my dear. Do you think we would leave our own Puck, our own Ophelia, our own Portia, to languish in the cruel clutches of a heartless enemy? Nay, never! Excelsior. What? Into the fray, that's the ticket!" says Mr. Fennel.
"All that and more, but now we must
Exeunt
Stage Right, Miss," says Mr. Bean, his hand on the door latch. "Come back to us soon. You must finally consent to play Cordelia! You must!"
They each don a workman's cap, stick a foul pipe into their mouths, and, as the carriage pulls to a prearranged stop, they are out the door and onto the street, just two doughty yeomen heading home after a day's honest labor.
"We will be debarking soon, so you must make yourself ready," says Higgins. "Your Jim Tanner will be at the bridge to Cambridge with horses to take us into the interior until we can decide what to do."