The Jezebel's Daughter (14 page)

XVI

On board the Jezebel, Caribbean Sea

June, 1716

The sound of booted footsteps stomping over the deck drew me out of my misery. The crew was busy transferring sailors, goods, and cleaning up and repairing both ships. And I was hiding, shirking my responsibilities. I felt guilty but didn't stir. Hamilton would be sorting through the cargo and directing the crew to bring aboard the most valuable things and leave the rest behind. Finally, I drew myself to my feet and headed to the gangway, a hole in my heart where my good opinion of MacIsaac had been. His betrayal tasted of ashes in my mouth.

I saw Ben still on the
Nonsuch
. He had found Jamie, who appeared to be physically fine. Ben saw me and nodded once before he turned Jamie away from the
Jezebel
, hiding me from the boy's view and talking to him as they walked down to the lower decks, no doubt to help offload cargo.

“Mr. Jones.” I turned and saw MacIsaac standing behind me, a look of relief on his face. “I had worried—”

“You heartless, cruel murderer!” I spat at him, my venom loud enough that heads swiveled towards me, looks of astonishment on the men's faces. “He had surrendered! How could you be so cold? You're no different than Graves!”

MacIsaac's eyes narrowed and went hard, flashing dangerously, and his ire rose, turning his already-ruddy skin even darker. His hand curled around my upper arm, fingers like steel, and he dragged me forcibly down to the main deck and into his cabin, which was tucked away beneath the quarterdeck. He threw me against the desk and slammed the door shut behind him, sliding home to the bolt to ensure privacy.

I stood with the edge of the desk pressed against the backs of my thighs, my hands rubbing at the sore spots on my arms where he'd dug his fingers in. I watched him warily as he stalked back and forth in front of me, reminding me of a lion I'd seen at the royal menagerie in Osterly. They both had the same look of slow-boiling rage that threatened to erupt into violence at any moment. I shrank back, wishing I knew where I'd dropped my pistol and cutlass.

He stopped pacing and turned to stare at me. His eyes went soft. “Stop it,” the captain said, his voice gentle. “Stop cowering from me. I'm not Graves. I won't hurt you. I would never raise a hand against you, Loreley.”

“You shot Glenconner,” I reminded him. “Without provocation or reason.”

He was suddenly standing in front of me, his chest pressed against my body as he leaned forward, bending me over the desk backwards. “Without reason?” he said viciously through clenched teeth. “Without provocation? Is that what you truly think of me?”

I stared up at him, tears flooding my eyes, unable to speak through the knot of emotions in my throat. He looked down at me for a beat longer and then straightened, stepping away, giving me room to breathe. I brushed angrily at the tears that were streaming down my cheeks and sniffed. I hated crying and I seemed to have done more of it in the past six months than in the past sixteen years combined.

“That dovie captain fired on my ship,” he said once I'd reined myself in. “He may not give a toss about his own crew, but I do about mine. He killed three of them and injured five more, two seriously and permanently.” He took a deep breath and slowly released it. “
He
killed without reason or provocation. Not me.” He stared hard at me, skewering me to the desk with the weight of his gaze.

“I'm a new captain, Loreley, a new captain on a ship that carries Graves's reputation.” His tone changed, become softer, almost pleading with me. “Gideon was ruthless and cold—all the things you accused me of being. I am not that man. But I will become that man if it means protecting my crew. Do you understand?” I nodded, a curt angry gesture, and he shook his head. “I need to hear you say it,” he said as he stepped closer to me, stopping six inches or less away.

“I understand,” I answered. “You killed him to send a message.”

“I forget sometimes how bright you are,” he said, one corner of his mouth rising and falling in a brief smile. “Yes, to send a message. More than half of the
Nonsuch
's sailors want safe passage and they will carry the story of what happened here today. Maybe other captains will hear it and think twice about firing on the
Jezebel
. Men will live because one useless English brat died.”

I nodded again and the tension level in the room dropped. I exhaled harshly and relaxed my shoulders. MacIsaac reached out and splayed his fingers against my cheek, cupping it briefly, tenderly, before he turned and unbolted the door. “Clean yourself up and get topside,” he said over his shoulder. “There's still cargo that needs shifting.” He left, closing the door gently behind him. I crossed the cabin to the ewer and basin and was surprised to find water ready. I washed my face, scrubbing away the tears and wondered just what, exactly, MacIsaac's parting gesture meant. I raised my hand to my cheek and despite scrubbing at it, I could still feel the heat of his hand resting there.

* * *

We took twenty-four hogshead of raw sugar cane, ten casks of molasses, five casks of rum, fourteen kegs of gunpowder, and various other goods like calico fabric, salted pork and fish, salt, tea, and a case of sherry from the
Nonsuch
. It was exactly as the whore in Spanish Town said—a fat prize that Mr. Hamilton figured would bring in at least seventy-four thousand silver
reales
—roughly two thousand pounds—an amount that was
roughly equivalent to my father's income for a year. After the men who had lost limbs were compensated, the rest of the take would be distributed amongst the sixty-five member crew. My very rough calculations showed that the crew would each be receiving approximately five hundred-twenty
reales
. It was a hefty amount, more money than many of these men could have earned in a whole year had they worked on naval ships or even merchantmen like the
Nonsuch
. Most of them would spend it immediately after we anchored. I longed for an account at the Bank of England.

Supper that night was a relaxed affair. Most of the crew were worn out from the fight and from shifting cargo, so there was little talk and no music. Hamilton and MacIsaac were thick as thieves, their heads together over what looked like account ledgers all night. They spared no attention to the rest of us, something that was strange. Usually, the captain and quartermaster chatted with the crew, sharing food and drink, and occasionally even a song.

After supper, Ben and I retired to our cabin, to get some rest before we took middle watch. Neither of us bothered taking off our boots or breeches. We just tumbled into our cots and blew out the lanterns that were suspended from the ceiling above us. The silence was too thick and I couldn't turn off my mind. I shifted in the cot so I was facing Ben. I could just barely make out the humped shape of his body beneath a blanket. “What happens to the cargo now?” I asked him.

“Captain try to find a fence for it,” Ben replied. He sounded exhausted and I felt slightly guilty for keeping him awake. He'd had a rough day. The
Nonsuch
had employed a doctor who had been able to stitch up his head, but the man's hands were shaky, either from fear or drink, and Ben would have a terrible scar as a result.

“What's a fence?” I asked.

The sound of Ben's sigh reminded me of an angry bull I'd once seen. I bit my lip to keep from giggling at the vision of a horned Ben charging me from across a pasture. “Someone who buy stolen cargo,” he said, annoyance definite in his tone, “and sell it to legitimate merchants in other ports. Now go to sleep.”

“I can't. I have too many questions.” I paused for a moment. “Will we go back to Nassau? Is that where the fence is? Wouldn't that be dangerous for me?”

“Yes, there be one in Nassau, though he be a greedy bastard. Captain will probably take us to Cap-Français. Fence there is much better. If you won't go to sleep, will you at least stop talking to me?”

“Sorry,” I said and rose from my cot and left the cabin. I knew if I was forced to remain there, I'd get restless and annoy Ben with more questions. So to spare us both, I headed up to the fo'c's'le and climbed out along the bowsprit, settling down just above the figurehead. It was one of the prettier examples I'd seen—a bare-breasted woman with long black hair and a serene expression. She held a lantern on a chain in her outstretched hand. The lantern was lit tonight, though it made little difference in the inky darkness through which we sailed.

I liked sitting on the bowsprit. No one else would chance it; they were all too afraid of falling in and getting swept under the hull. I had all the privacy in the world, something that went at a premium on the ship. It gave me a quiet place to think, somewhere I wouldn't constantly face the pressures of trying to keep up the ruse of being a man. I was thankful for the quiet, peaceful solitude.

I straddled the bowsprit like the back of the horse and twisted my hands in the stays and stared up at the moon. It was the same moon as I'd seen in London; it was the same moon that kept me company when I was in the brothel in Nassau. I was the only thing that was different. I'd been away from England for a year now, and had spent most of that time on board one ship or another. I was no longer the brash, spoiled girl I'd been when the
Resolution
sank. I was stronger now, both physically and mentally. I'd finally grown up. It was amazing to me what humanity could overcome if forced to.

The stars looked so different here. From my place at the front of the ship, I had a perfect, unobstructed view of constellations I hadn't heard of a year ago. My favorites were still present in the skies above my head—Virgo, Libra, Hercules—but they had been joined by new groups. Corvus and Canis Major were the two that had stuck out for me, the crow and the dog. They were such commonplace animals, familiar and comforting, and I'd clung to the stars in Nassau, a place where everything was so strange and foreign.

“Which one is your favorite?” MacIsaac's voice came out of the gloom behind me. I turned to look over my shoulder and found him standing at the gunwales, looking out into the night.

“Which star?” I asked. He made a grunt of agreement and I turned back to point to my favorite and said, “That one. Canis Major.” I turned back to him. “Which is yours?”

He pointed in the same direction as I had. “Pyxis Nautica. The mariner's compass.” He looked at me then. “Would you come down from there? You're making me very nervous.”

I chuckled and rose to my feet. Holding onto the stays so I didn't further contribute to his poor health, I climbed down to the deck and stood next to him at the railing. “Better?”

“Much. Thank you for humoring an old man.”

“Old man?” I snorted softly. “You can't be more than twenty-five.”

“Twenty-seven, but I thank you for the compliment.”

“Young for a captain. Young for a quartermaster. How did that happen?”

He was quiet for a moment, his eyes once more on the skies. “Graves couldn't read nor write,” he said at length. “He needed someone who could do both. His old quartermaster was killed when we took a ship, and since I was the only one on board who had letters and learning at the time, I was elected.”

“So how did Hamilton get the job? Surely he can't read or write.”

MacIsaac grinned, a flash of white in the darkness. “Oh, he's a fine head for figures despite his colorful word choices. He's good with the men, too. They trust him. He always has time to hear grievances, no matter how petty they might be.”

He fell silent and we stood side by side, watching the skies, until eight bells rang out, signaling the beginning of middle watch. I turned to go to my station high up in the crow's nest, but MacIsaac reached out, taking gentle hold of my wrist. “Let someone else take your station for a bit,” he said. “There is something we need to discuss.”

I nodded woodenly, a small panicked feeling starting in my gut. “Yes, Captain,” I said in my most formal tone.

He shook his head and turned to me. “Sebastian. Or if that's too familiar for your comfort, MacIsaac. All right?” I nodded and he patted me on the shoulder before letting his hand fall away to grip the railing once more. He turned away, looking out over the calm seas. “I have a confession,” he said in a soft voice.

“Oh?” What could he possibly need to confess to me? I could think of nothing. “Aren't you supposed to see a priest for that sort of thing?”

He laughed, the volume out of step with the humor in the question. It was a sound that shouted of broken tension and relief. “Not that sort of a confession.”

“Oh. Well, then. Speak your mind.”

“Before Graves made him your guard, Ben was just a sailor without any real skills except for his loyalty. In fact, Graves was punishing Ben by leaving him with you.”

“Punishing him? For what?”

“Fighting while we were at sea. I don't know the exact circumstances, but he was involved in a row with another sailor and broke the man's nose, a few ribs, and tore his ear off. Fighting is strictly forbidden on the ship. Ben got off lightly. Others have been marooned or flogged.”

I shuddered at the thought of being flogged. “Why the special treatment?”

“I like Ben. He's clever. Loyal. Hard-working. I convinced Graves that Ben was too valuable to him to permanently injure or kill, so he agreed to put him ashore to guard you.” Two sailors appeared on the fo'c's'le and nodded to the captain. MacIsaac returned their nods with an easy smile and they continued past us. He waited until they were out of earshot and then spoke again, his voice lowered to conspiratorial tones. “It will probably come as no surprise to you, but Graves was not well liked during his tenure as captain of this ship. He was tolerated as captain because he was successful and because most of the crew were terrified of him.” I nodded in understanding. I'd seen only a small sliver of that cruelty. The
Jezebel
's crew had had far more opportunities to experience life under Captain Graves.