The Jezebel's Daughter (5 page)

For the first time since the storm sank my ship, orphaning me and throwing me to the wolves, I was glad my family was dead. They were better off not knowing what was certainly awaiting me.

V

House of Earthly Delights, Nassau, New Providence Island

August, 1715

I awoke the next morning, stiff and sore and heart-sick. There was a bone-deep ache in my belly and I loathed the idea that I would have to endure the same act again—probably more than once—in just a few hours. Surely Madame would not allow me to linger in bed, hiding from my future. Five hundred pounds was no small amount, but a woman like Madame Dupris would not be satisfied with it. She would want more. Tansy's prediction of ten guineas—which I took to mean for each act I performed—seemed on the conservative side. Madame had to realize that. She would demand more, starting this evening.

Reluctantly, but spurred on by last evening's promise to myself, I rose, made use of the chamberpot, and slipped a robe over my shift before going to the windows. I opened them to the cool, pre-dawn breezes, and watched the sun rise over the harbor. The town was slow to wake, though the market was doing a brisk business as a few housewives did their daily buying. I turned my eyes to the ships at anchor and wondered which was the
Jezebel
. There were only three ships out there, a brigantine and two merchantmen. I would put my money on the brigantine, were I a gambler. Brigantines were fast and more maneuverable than most other ships, perfect for a pirate's needs.

There was a knock at the door and the sound of a key in the lock, drawing my attention away from the windows. Tansy came in with a tray, followed by Mrs. Davies, who was once more carrying clothing and fabric samples. My brows rose in surprise when I saw her and looked at Tansy, questioningly.

“
La Metrès
, she say you need more gowns,” Tansy offered in explanation. She set down a tea pot and cups on the table and added a plate of fruit and some soft-looking rolls. “Eat you
dejne
, and be nice for Mrs. Davies. She make you pretty for
moun sa a dyab
.” Tansy darted a quick look at the diminutive woman, as if to check whether the woman understood the Kreyol epithet. Luckily the woman was either truly ignorant or had decided to ignore Tansy's description of Captain Graves, because she showed no reaction. Tansy curtsied to me and then left the room.

I sat down at the breakfast table and poured myself and Mrs. Davies a cup of tea, and while I breakfasted, the tiny woman bustled around me with her strings and asked me my favorite colors and things like that. I learned that she was a widow and supported herself and her five children by sewing gowns and other costumes for Madame's girls. She had been paid to create four more gowns for me—another formal gown like the pink one I'd worn the night before, and three everyday gowns, plus petticoats, stomachers, and two more pairs of stockings. Mrs. Davies also said a cordwainer would be along at some point to make me two more pairs of shoes. If I was going to be forced to remain a prisoner here for the foreseeable future, at least I would be a pretty one. It was difficult to take comfort in that, but I would take comfort where I found it.

“I'm not really a lady, you know,” I confided once I'd eaten my fill and we were lingering over the rest of the tea in the pot. “My uncle is the marquess, not my father.”

Mrs. Davies nodded. “I suspected as much. Madame Dupris likes to say that her girls are all nobility of some sort or another. They ain't. But she does have the highest-class bawdy house on the island. Her girls are cleaner and healthier and prettier than the rest.” She paused for a moment and then leaned forward to whisper in conspiratorial tones, “I hear stories of Madame Dupris being the King of France's favorite lady when she was a girl.” I arched a dubious brow and Mrs. Davies laughed. It was a delicate sound, like silver spoons tinkling together, and made me smile despite my mood, pain, and situation.

Mrs. Davies helped me dress in a light blue cotton gown, white linen petticoats, and even helped dress my hair. Then she left, promising the gowns within three or four days. Tansy came in shortly after and cleaned up the breakfast dishes. Before she could leave, however, I took hold of her arm and asked her, “What's to become of me? When will I have to... to entertain more men?” I didn't bother hiding the desperation in my voice or my expression.

Tansy blew out an impatient breath through her nose and shook her head. “
La Metrès
and Captain Graves, they make arrangement. You his and only his. You live here and be ready for when he come ashore. But no one else touch you. Oh, he hire a guard for you, too. Free man, called Ben. He be here later.”

I stared at her in shock, her words not making any sense to me. “He bought me? He owns me now? I'm... I'm to be just his?”

One corner of Tansy's mouth quirked up in a small, ironic smile. “
Wi,
he buy you, he own you. But you only work once, maybe twice every three months. And once Ben be here, you no longer prisoner up in this room. You go out, walk the town.” She patted my hand awkwardly and slipped her arm out of it. Then she left and the door closed behind her.

I sat down at the table again, still confused by Tansy's revelation. Apparently five hundred pounds gave a man quite a bit of leverage, and Graves had used that leverage to make a rather nice arrangement for himself. If I was completely honest with myself, it was a pretty nice arrangement for me, too. I wouldn't have to see other men, wouldn't have to let them touch me or kiss me or even be near me. I would only see the captain infrequently—something that made my stomach turn, but it was a vast improvement over what I had prepared for.

And best of all, I would be allowed to leave my room and go out and explore Nassau.

This realization made me shoot out of the chair to my feet with joy. If I was allowed out into the streets, I could find someone to get a note to my uncle. I could be ransomed and rescued. I could soon be on my way home to London, free of this place forever!

My excitement was brought abruptly to an end, however, when I remembered the rest of Tansy's words. A guard. A free black man she said was named Ben. If Graves had freed him, then he owed the captain quite a debt and would no doubt be quite loyal to him. There was probably no way of getting the man to look the other way so I could escape or even just get a note to my uncle. I sat down hard again with a sigh. I was still a prisoner; my cage was just a little larger now.

* * *

Ben arrived later that afternoon. He was a slightly-built tall man with wise eyes, an easy smile, and a wonderful, deep, rich laugh. He spoke English with only a hint of a musical island accent, and was dressed in well-tailored clothing of good cotton and linen. Amos followed him in, dragging a cot with him, and set it down near the hearth, opposite my bed.

I stared at it and then at Ben. “You're sleeping in my room?” I demanded, outraged by the very thought of a man sleeping in my room. Would he expect things from me?

Ben and Amos exchanged a smile before the hulking brute placed the room's key in Ben's hand and exited the room. Ben turned to me and said, “Yes, Mistress Loreley. I be sleeping in this room. For your protection, you hear? Sometimes, sailors who be here get a bit rowdy. Captain just wishes to make sure no one enter this room to take his... Well, you.”

I frowned petulantly and sat down on my bed, my arms crossed over my chest. “His ruddy property, you mean,” I said.

“Yes, his ruddy property,” he said with an almost perfect upper-crust English accent. He laughed at my surprised reaction and unslung a haversack from over his shoulder, storing it away underneath his cot. “Shall we go walk the town? Captain give me money for you, tell me you get whatever you want. He want you happy.”

I snorted indelicately and threw a light shawl over my shoulders. “Then he should free me and return me to my uncle.” I slanted a look in Ben's direction and added, “The Marquess. He's very friendly with the King, you know.”

Ben chuckled softly. “The King's arms ain't long enough to reach Nassau. Ain't you noticed? No soldiers here. No sailors. No law, 'cept what the Republic of Pirates make.”

Despite myself, I was intrigued, and as we left my room and descended to the streets of the town, I asked, “Republic of Pirates? What is that?”

“Well, near as I can figure, the pirates bribed the former governor some thirty years ago, and they took over, though the governor stayed for a bit. Then the Spanish and the French attacked and the English abandoned the island. Ain't been no formal British law in more than ten years.” I had, of course, heard my father discussing this subject with my mother occasionally. He called it the Nassau Problem, and it was proving difficult for the Admiralty to overcome.

We left the brothel behind and fell into a very motley crowd. Pirates, housewives, small children and merchants filled the streets. It was unbearably hot, and the air was thick with humidity. I hadn't been out in it for more than five minutes before my gown was soaked through with sweat. I glanced frequently at Ben, who did not appear to be perspiring in the least. Of course, he must be used to this. I had only been in the tropics for a week; no doubt the awful weather would take some getting used to.

As we moved through the market, I lingered at those stalls manned by the British. The rest, owned by French, Spanish, or even other islanders, didn't hold my attention for long, even if they sold things like sweeties and fresh fruit. I was listening to the British gossip, news and stories of my beloved home, hoping to make an alliance with someone who still had strong ties to London.

“I know what you be doing,” Ben said to me as we moved away from a fishmonger's stall, where a girl my age spoke as though she was fresh off the boat from St. Giles. I had made it a point to chat briefly with her and I hoped the early seeds of friendship had been planted.

“I'm sure I don't know what you mean,” I said loftily as we made our way out from between the close-packed buildings and market stalls, down to the beach. The white sand was covered with tents and men and fires. The stench down here was awful—smoke, roasting meat, old fish, male sweat, refuse, and near one particularly grimy tent, the sweet scent of old, dried blood. I reached into a pocket and withdrew a scented handkerchief and held it up to my nose.

Ben smiled enigmatically at me as he led me through the tents. “You be making friends,” he said. “I understand. I be a stranger here, too, Mistress Loreley. We be friends?”

“I don't think it would be proper for me to be friends with you, Ben.”

“Of course. I be a negro. And you be nobility,
Lady Weymouth
.” His tone was bitter as he stressed my assumed title.

I stopped and fixed him with a level look. “That has very little to do with it. I am a prisoner, and you are my guard. You are paid, I assume, to keep me locked up against my will. We cannot be friends.” He nodded as if he understood, but I think the difference between our stations—and the fact that he thought it was the reason I wouldn't be friendly toward him—still rankled.

As we continued through the tents, I studiously ignored the expressions and murmured conversations of the men we passed, though a spot right between my shoulder blades itched almost continually. The men were looking at me much the same way the planters had looked at me the previous evening. I wanted to turn and scream at them, just to break the tension that was slowly, unbearably building inside me. Thankfully, my guard seemed to notice my agitation, and put his body protectively between me and the tents, casting baleful glares and resting his hand upon the hilt of his sword. I felt a tiny amount of gratitude towards him.

We soon came upon a small cluster of some fifty or sixty men were standing in the surf, loading two small jolly-boats with boxes and crates and bags of supplies. Another boat was headed towards the brigantine I'd seen earlier at anchor. I had been right—the
Jezebel
was the brigantine. Overseeing it were two familiar figures—Captain Graves, dressed once more in black, and Mr. MacIsaac, standing a head taller than his captain, wearing black breeches, a white shirt, and a black waistcoat brocaded with Chinese-style flowers in a bright, peacock-blue thread.

All eyes swung in my direction and work halted as the men stared at me, open lust in their expressions. I cut Ben a sharp, betrayed look, and all my feelings of gratitude disappeared. Graves murmured more orders to the crew before he and Mr. MacIsaac made their way up the beach toward Ben and me.

“Lady Weymouth,” Mr. MacIsaac said before taking my hand and bowing over it. He straightened and nodded at Ben, who returned the gesture with a smile.

“Good morning, Mr. MacIsaac,” I said, reluctantly letting go of the quartermaster's hand and extended my own to the captain.

He merely glanced at it before turning the whole of his attention to Ben, his face frightful as he stared hard at the free man. “Why is she here?” he grated.

“Sir, I thought it be nice for her to see you off,” Ben explained.

“If I wanted a woman to see me off, I'd have told my fucking wife I was ashore. Take her back to Dupris's.” He glanced at me then, his eyes raking me hard from head to toe. “Blue suits you,” he grunted before turning and going back to the crew, which had stopped working to watch the scene.

I could feel the shame and anger burning brightly in my cheeks and I fisted my hands at my sides, holding back the urge to burst into tears or strike the Captain right in his bloody mouth.
His wife
! I clenched my jaws and turned away angrily, not responding to Mr. MacIsaac's mumbled apologies. I began walking back in the direction where I thought the brothel was located, not paying any heed to where I was going, anger clouding my vision.