The Jezebel's Daughter (11 page)

My room was the same as I had left it two weeks ago. Apparently Graves and Madame were counting on me being found and recovered. I walked to the bed and collapsed; my legs would no longer bear my weight. I let go of my anger, of my rage, and grieved for Tansy, keening out my heartache, my shoulders wracked with sobs, my tears hot and bitter. I grieved for Ben, hoping that he would survive his savage beating. And I grieved for my freedom. I knew I would never have another chance at it. This room, this bloody island, was my home now, like it or not. The consequences of my escape attempt had been so awful that I would never again try to escape.

The
Jezebel
sailed the next day. Ben went with her, tended to by Mr. MacIsaac, or so Madame told me. Graves had compensated her for the loss of Tansy. Her life was worth only twenty pounds. It made me sick to my stomach and I slapped Madame, the sound of the blow ringing out in my room, the stark red outline of my hand upon her cheek. There was no retribution; apparently Madame was too frightened of me now. Had I been in a better frame of mind, I would have used my new-found fame as a witch to my advantage. But the loss of Tansy clouded my mind and I let the opportunity pass by.

Four weeks passed. I rarely left my bed. I saw no one but a nameless slave who brought my meals. I ate sparingly, didn't bathe, didn't change my clothing. I didn't want anyone touching me now that Tansy was gone. My heart hurt when I thought about her smile, her gentle touch, the song she would always hum when she saw I was particularly upset. She had been a substitute mother and had helped me heal after losing my real mother. I missed them both so much that my bones ached.

One morning, there was a pounding at my door. It flew open, revealing Ben and Mr. MacIsaac. They were both filthy, covered in what looked like blood and gunpowder. I sat up, blinking at them and wondering if I was dreaming.

“He's dead,” Mr. MacIsaac said without preamble. “The rutting bastard is finally dead.”

I gaped at them, my mouth working like a hooked fish. “Who?” I managed at last. “Who is dead?” I daren't hope...

“Graves,” Ben said, coming forward to fall to his knees at the side of the bed. He reached for me, pulling me into his arms and holding me close. “Graves be dead, Loreley.”

“What? How?” I
had
to be dreaming. “Who is captain now?” I heard their words, I felt Ben's embrace, but it was like I was wrapped in cotton batting. I felt numb and remote, and was grasping at things that I could understand and process.
Graves is dead
...

“He be,” Ben nodded to Mr. MacIsaac. “Crew elected him this morning.”

The new captain squinted at me, studying me intently. “Do you understand what that means?” When I didn't react, MacIsaac knelt next to Ben. “You're free, Loreley. You can go home.”

I disengaged myself from Ben's embrace and sat up straight, my spine rigid, barely breathing.
Free
... Could it be true? “How? How did it happen?” I asked, my eyes darting to Mr. MacIsaac's face.

The men exchanged an opaque glance. “Just as you said,” Mr. MacIsaac whispered. “Alone, on the
Jezebel
, run through with his own sword.”

X

House of Earthly Delights, Nassau, New Providence Island

January, 1716

Mr. MacIsaac and Ben forced me to bathe, to dress in fresh clothing. They summoned one of the other girls—thank God, it was
not
Katie—to help with my toilette. When I was clean and fresh, we went down to the tavern and Ben ordered a meal for us, and as the night fell and the tavern filled with sailors, merchants, planters, and whores, Mr. MacIsaac told me the story of Gideon Graves's death.

“We were two weeks out of Nassau,” he said, “chasing a Spanish galleon, the
Nuestra Señora de las Estrellas
, coming out of Veracruz. We had Charles Vane and his
Ranger
with us, and Graves had agreed to split the take between the two crews. The
Estrellas
was carrying more than the usual cargo of lumber or sugar; she had silver, gold or jewels, maybe pearls even. She also had an escort, the
Begoña
, a corvette armed with eighteen guns, probably thirty-two pounders.

“When we heard about the
Begoña
, we—the crew and I—questioned the idea. The
Estrellas
had at least twelve guns of her own, plus the eighteen on board the corvette. Even with the
Ranger
and her twenty-four guns, it would be a battle.”

“The
Jezebel,
she only carry swivel guns,” Ben explained, “nothing big enough to go up against long-range cannons on the Spanish ships.” I nodded in understanding. Swivel guns were for shredding sails and masts and for killing sailors. The pirates used them when they wanted to take a ship, as well as her cargo. The guns could not penetrate a ship's hull, so there was no chance of the ship foundering or taking on water.

Mr. MacIsaac nodded at Ben's words and continued his story. “Graves and I went aboard the
Ranger
to discuss strategy with Vane and his quartermaster, a ridiculous fellow called 'Calico' Jack Rackham. He's got two wives on board the ship with him, Jack does,” he said with a disbelieving shake of his head and a smirk. “Vicious girls, Anne and Mary. Worse than any man I've ever known.”

My brows rose in surprise. Women were only allowed aboard a pirate's ship if they were being held hostage. For women to serve with a crew meant they were indeed more vicious and blood-thirsty than any man. They would have had to prove themselves, probably more than once.

“We settled on a plan,” Mr. MacIsaac said. “We anchored off the northern tip of the Yucatán, half-way between Veracruz and Havana, waiting for the ships to pass us. Since the
Begoña
was in front, we would maneuver out behind the
Estrellas
, where we would be safe with her bulk between us and the corvette.

“We came up from the south on the
Estrellas
's stern and cut across her wake, presenting our broadsides. The
Jezebel
's guns shredded her sails, while the
Ranger
fired on her decks and took out her mizzen and main masts. As soon as we were visible, the
Begoña
came about to fight us off. The
Estrellas
was dead in the water, with no hope of outrunning us.

“Once we had enough room to maneuver, the
Ranger
and the
Jezebel
split and came about for another run across the galleon's wake, still firing.” Mr. MacIsaac paused to drink from his flagon; this was the most I'd ever heard him speak at one time.

Ben picked up the tale. “Now it come down to a game of cat and mouse between us and the corvette. We take minimal damage from the
Estrellas
's stern chasers but once the
Begoña
be clear of the galleon, we be in for a fight.”

Mr. MacIsaac nodded and said, “The
Ranger
moved closer to the
Estrellas
, while the
Jezebel
went farther south, forcing the
Begoña
to go between us. It was a risky move for us and the
Begoña
's captain as well. She would be forced between us, and while her armaments were better than ours, she would be facing two of us, with our guns hammering away at both sides.

“The
Ranger
took heavy damage, but we managed to sink the
Begoña
. We scooped some of her sailors out and put them down below in chains; Graves wanted offer them a spot with a crew once we reached Nassau, but we couldn't trust them to help against the galleon's crew in the meantime.

“We closed on the
Estrellas
and boarded her from both sides. The fighting was intense and I lost track of Graves in the haze of gun powder and the screams of the wounded and dying. The boarding action was fast and intense and over quickly. The Spanish losses were heavy; two out of every three men were wounded or dead. We took losses, as did the
Ranger
's crew, though ours were much less.” Mr. MacIsaac and Ben both went silent, their eyes downcast as they stared into their flagons. They must have been remembering the battle—the sights and sounds, the smells must have been horrid, even if they were relatively used to it.

“I rounded up the Spaniards to take them back to the brig on the
Jezebel
and that was when I found Graves.” Mr. MacIsaac paused and ran a hand down his face, his rough palm scraping against his unshaven cheeks. When he looked at me, his eyes were haunted. Ben looked away and drank deeply from his own flagon.

“It was just as you said, Loreley.” Mr. MacIsaac's voice was nearly a whisper. “He was alone on the main deck, his own sword thrust through his guts. No one was around. Not a single soul.”

I blinked in shock and sat back in my chair. I had the queer feeling of floating above everything again, and I could look down and watch the scene unfold, a passive observer rather than an active participant. I swallowed and closed my eyes, trying to come back into myself. When I opened my eyes again, both Ben and Mr. MacIsaac were staring at me intently.

“Is it true?” Ben asked. “You be a witch? A
bokor
who serves the
lwa
with both hands?”

The whispers from the sailors on the beach the morning I had cursed Graves came back to me and cold fingers of dread traced down my spine.
Witch. Bruja.
I shook my head and tried to answer, but found I couldn't, not if I wanted to be honest in my reply. The words that cursed Graves weren't mine. I hadn't thought them; they had formed in my mouth and had come out against my will. Was it God who spoke through me? Or was it the Devil?

“I don't know,” I whispered and Ben tucked his thumb between his fore and middle fingers, a gesture I'd seen other slaves make, a gesture meant to ward off evil spirits.

“It doesn't matter if she's a witch or practices
vodou
,” Mr. MacIsaac said. “Gideon Graves is dead. That's what is important.” He leaned forward and took my hand. “What will you do now, my lady?”

My heart stopped and I found I couldn't breathe. I had a future now.
I was free
. I could go anywhere, do anything I wanted. But there really was only one choice, no matter the reality of having the freedom to do differently. “I want to go home,” I said firmly. “To London.”

They exchanged a look and Mr. MacIsaac turned to me. “That might be a problem, my lady,” he said.

XI

House of Earthly Delights, Nassau, New Providence Island

January, 1716

I frowned. “Why would that be a problem?” I asked.

“The
Jezebel
needs repairs and modifications,” Ben explained, clearly happy to be back on a safer topic of conversation. “It be some time before we can. She should be careened while she out of the water, too.”

“I can wait,” I said immediately.

“Madame won't let you stay here,” Ben said. “She be expecting you to... entertain.”

“Oh.” I sighed heavily and drank deeply. The ale was sour and reminded me why I preferred wine. “Well, couldn't I just take another ship? Surely there will be one along soon. I can just live on the beach or perhaps with the fishmonger's family. Susannah and I are friendly.”

“How will you pay your passage?” Mr. MacIsaac asked.

“Surely Madame will be willing to part with some of the money Graves gave her for my care and keeping. I can't have gone through the entire five hundred pounds already, can I?”

Mr. MacIsaac merely arched a brow in response. My mood sank into despair. Madame would never give me any part of that money. “So I'm still trapped here, in this hellish place, at the mercy of Madame and whatever man comes along.” Tears formed and I blinked to clear them away, not wanting to cry in front of the men, especially not in light of what they had faced themselves just recently.

“Not necessarily,” Mr. MacIsaac said. Ben fixed him with a skeptical look, to which he replied, “It could work.”

“It won't work.”  Ben shook his head. “We all be marooned... or killed.”

“What? What could work?” I sat forward, eager to hear whatever plan they might have cooked up. Anything was preferable to staying on this island at the mercy of Madame and her customers.

“We're going to need to take on a new crew while we're ashore,” Mr. MacIsaac explained. “We suffered casualties, and those hands will need to be replaced. And since Graves is dead, some of the men will want to seek a position on another ship or perhaps try their hand at something else. We could bring you aboard then.” My face lit up in a smile and I lunged out of my seat to grab the man in a rib-crushing embrace. He laughed and gently pushed me off him and back into my seat. “Now wait. There's a catch.”

“I don't care.” Better sense intervened and I frowned as my thoughts caught up to my words. “What catch?”

“You'd have to pretend to be a man.”

My smile disappeared and I sank back against the back of my chair. “A man?” I said. “But you live in close quarters. It wouldn't be long before the secret was out. What then?”

“We'll bring you aboard as the ship master's mate. You'll share quarters with him, spend all your time with him.”

“Why master's mate?” I asked.

“It's the only position open with the senior crew. I want you somewhere I can keep an eye on you, and there's private quarters, which is something you need to pull of this disguise.”

Ben made a pained sound. “No. Please. Don't be doing this to me. I can't be playing nursemaid to some spoiled white girl.”

“Ben is the ship's master?” I asked, ignoring Ben's barb. “But he can't read or write.”

“True. But we have fine charts and I can certainly read them well enough. Besides, who better than Ben to help maintain your secret. Do you know anything about navigation?”

I nodded. “My father taught me as soon as I could read and write.”

“Well, then. It's perfect,” Mr. MacIsaac said. “You can read the charts. Maybe you can even teach Ben how.”

Ben groaned softly and covered his face with his hands. I frowned and took a deep breath, looking back and forth between them. Mr. MacIsaac—the captain—looked as though he though this plan might just work. Ben looked as though he was going to be ill. “So, how long would I have to stay aboard the
Jezebel
?” I was cautiously optimistic. This plan of Mr. MacIsaac's did have some potential.

“Until repairs are made and the careening is done. You'd have to help with that. Then we'd set out for London.” Captain MacIsaac paused for a moment, his eyes narrowed in thought. “Three months at the most.” Ben groaned and rested his head against the table. Mr. MacIsaac laughed and clapped the man on the shoulder. “Cheer up, Ben. You'll have someone to boss around for a time.”

“Other way around, more like,” came Ben's muffled voice. I chuckled at his discomfort and he turned his head enough that I could see the sour look he gave me. That only made me laugh harder.

“Will you do it?” I asked, reaching for Ben's hand. He groaned again but I felt him cling tightly to my hand for a moment. I took this as an affirmation and leaned forward to kiss his cheek firmly. “Thank you.” He grunted and gave my hand another squeeze before letting go and sitting up once more.

“I'll settle up with Madame,” Mr. MacIsaac said. “You'll stay here tonight with Ben and then he'll bring you down to the shore in the morning. Bring whatever you cannot leave without. You'll not see this place again.”

“I'll need proper clothing,” I said. “And something to bind my... my breasts.” Luckily, I was not what one might consider well-endowed, but my bust was still feminine in shape. “I would like to sell my dresses, too. And the easel and paints. I want only my books and my pencils and the pen and ink. That will come in handy for map-making, won't it?”

Mr. MacIsaac nodded. “Ben can take care of getting you properly outfitted. I'll take care of the rest.” He stood and patted my shoulder. “You'll need a new name.” He studied me for a moment and then said, “Luke, I think. Luke Jones, yes?” he asked Ben, who merely nodded. “See you in the morning then, Mr. Jones.”

“Yes, sir, Captain MacIsaac,” I said with a grin. I turned that grin on Ben and he groaned deeply before resting his head atop the table once more.