Once Upon a Pirate Anthology

by Merry Farmer

  Odious man.

  His words didn’t lessen her instant dislike of him when he said to one of his crew as he turned away without so much as a greeting, “Show the woman to my cabin. She’s distracting the men and will just get in the way.”

  The woman? He’d called her, the woman? And as though she were some stray cat who would get underfoot. Calliope’s mouth dropped open. Of all the insufferable…

  In all the months she’d been at sea on the Vestal, she’d never been ‘in the way’. And after her maid had quit her post when they’d docked in Madeira—claiming she was tired of being sea sick and terrified she would drown at sea—Calliope had been the only female on the merchant ship. If she was ‘a distraction’, she certainly wasn’t aware of it.

  “Oh, I say, Captain Townsend,” called Uncle Theo after the man’s broad-shouldered form. His voice bristled with affronted anger on her behalf. “That’s my niece you’re talking about in such a crude fashion. And she’s Lady Calliope Banks, to you, sir. The daughter of George Banks, the late Earl of Winthrop.”

  Captain Townsend immediately swung back and affected a mocking bow which was no mean feat on the rain-slick, rolling deck. “Please forgive me then, Lady Calliope. I am but a coarse mariner. But what I said is quite true. You need to go below. It’s been months and months since my men have seen a comely woman and given your current state of…” he cocked a black eyebrow, “dishabille, it would be better for everyone if you made yourself scarce until we dock in Mahébourg in Grand Port Bay. Once the rest of the Vestal’s crew is on board, which will be in under an hour, we’ll be on our way. All going well.”

  He turned his direct gaze on Uncle Theo. “You, sir, may accompany your niece, or retire to the officer’s quarters. Or take your chances and stay out here in the wind and rain. It’s entirely up to you.”

  Uncle Theo caught Calliope’s eye and leaned in close. “I suspect you’d like some privacy, Peewee,” he murmured. “And as much as it pains me to say such a thing, it’s probably best if you try to dry off a little.” His weathered cheeks grew ruddy as he made that last pronouncement.

  Good Lord, if Uncle Theo is blushing… Calliope simply nodded. “Yes. You’re right.” And she was whole-heartedly sick of being drenched to the skin and chilled to the bone. Even though she’d wrapped her arms about herself, her teeth had begun to chatter. “But you m-must go below t-too. If you g-get swept overboard by a rogue wave when we are so close to our d-destination…” She shuddered.

  “I will,” he replied with a gentle smile. “Mr. Lucas and I will do as the captain suggests and repair to the officer’s quarters. I won’t be far.” He gave her arm a squeeze. “We’re almost there, my dear girl. All will be fine.”

  A sandy-haired cabin boy who couldn’t have been older than twelve or thirteen, escorted Calliope down the narrow stairs that led to Captain Townsend’s cabin. His quarters were sumptuously-appointed. Appraising it with her artist’s eye, it was a study in gleaming rosewood paneling, polished brass, and fine furnishings—and Calliope was grudgingly impressed. For a ‘coarse mariner’ he certainly didn’t possess coarse tastes.

  Wine-colored velvet curtains framed the lead-paned windows, a thick oriental carpet graced the polished wood floor, and aside from an ornate desk with carved lion’s paws for feet and a large oval dining table with matching Hepplewhite chairs, there was one other piece of furniture that caught one’s attention: the captain’s wide tester bed. Built into an alcove, the heavy silk damask curtains were tied back to reveal a burgundy-hued counterpane and fine snowy sheets and plump pillows.

  The cabin boy—Tom—procured a bundle of clean linen towels from a drawer cleverly secreted in the wood paneling then deposited them on the end of the bed.

  He shifted nervously on his thin legs, bare feet shuffling on the plush rug as he regarded her with wary eyes. “Milady…” he began. “If you’d like to change into somefink dry…” His voice trailed off and he turned beet red. “I happen to know Cap’n Townsend has a few lady’s gowns stashed away. Unmentionables too…”

  Calliope blushed as well. She didn’t want to know how the captain had come by such attire. If female passengers were few and far between on the Andromeda, no doubt they were cast-offs from old paramours. Or perhaps they were intended to be gifts for a current mistress. In any case, beggars couldn’t be choosers and wet, transparent white muslin was probably not the best attire for a young lady in her position to be wearing. So she agreed to take a look.

  Tom dug several gowns out from a carved rosewood chest at the base of the bed followed by an armful of flimsy chemises, stockings, and elaborately embroidered stays. “Take your pick, milady,” he said, laying them carefully beside the towels.

  Calliope stepped forward to examine the garments and a rich exotic perfume—sandalwood and some other heavy floral scent she couldn’t quite place—wafted around her as she picked up the topmost dress. It was a deep turquoise silk, with a low-cut bodice. The neckline, hem, and sleeves were decorated with an abundance of tiny jet beads sewn into an intricate swirling pattern. It really was quite lovely. The second gown was a fine Indian sprigged muslin, not dissimilar to the dress she currently wore. The third gown was fashioned from crimson velvet and gold tissue and lace. She couldn’t possibly wear that as the rain and saltwater would ruin it within ten seconds.

  “I’ll leave you to it, milady,” offered Tom as he retreated to the door. “I’ll be wanted above decks. There’s fresh water in the pitcher in the washstand if you need it. And don’t mind Nelson. He’s harmless really.”

  Nelson? But there was no one else in the cabin. Before Calliope could ask the boy what he meant by that peculiar remark, he’d disappeared.

  With a shrug, Calliope pulled a towel from the pile and wiped her face and squeezed as much water as she could from her matted, dripping hair. In the corner of the cabin near the desk was a brazier but the coals weren’t alight. She permitted herself a small wistful sigh. Of course, it made sense given the wild weather. However, considering how cold and wet she was, she would give a great deal to feel warm. It was a shame that most of her own clothes would now sink into the depths of the Indian Ocean along with her treasured folio of water colors, paints and brushes. But at least Uncle Theo had rescued her mama’s precious jewelry. That was the one thing that couldn’t be replaced.

  Yes, all things considered, she should count her blessings. And changing into one of the borrowed gowns would be better than nothing.

  Calliope felt a bit odd donning another woman’s ‘unmentionables’ but unless she decided to keep her own wet stockings, stays, and chemise on, or went without undergarments altogether… As it was, she’d have to forgo wearing petticoats.

  Calliope’s cheeks burned just thinking about meeting Captain Townsend again if she wore nothing at all but a thin silk dress. Enduring the knowing sweep of his gaze had been unsettling enough the first time.

  The worst part was, she knew deep down that a tiny part of her had liked the way he looked at her. As though she was an attractive woman worthy of male admiration.

  And hadn’t she always dreamed that a handsome man would notice her in that way one day?

  Calliope gave an unladylike snort and inwardly admonished herself for being so naive. She was certain she resembled a drowned rat and Captain Townsend hadn’t been admiring her figure even though he’d said she was ‘comely’. Ha!

  He’d simply been ogling her person because she was the first female he’d seen in an age and her wet clothes had clung to her body in a most indecent way.

  Yes, her first assessment had been correct. Captain Townsend was an arrogant, ill-mannered, odious ass. And she’d do well to remember that.

  Calliope bent down to untie the laces of her water-logged kid half-boots. But as she fought with one of the knots, a loud screech split the air followed by a raucous call. “Aaargh! Booty ahoy! Booty ahoy! Aaargh!”

  Good Lord above! She wasn’t alone. Her heart hammering, Calliope whipped around
to discover who’d spoken.

  And then she saw who the culprit was. Sitting on an ornate wooden perch on the far side of the cabin by the window was a large African gray parrot. She swore it hadn’t been there when Tom had first shown her into the room. The bird’s beady golden and black eyes seemed to regard her with impish amusement as it bobbed up and down.

  She narrowed her gaze in suspicion. She’d been bending over. Had that impudent bird just likened her derriere to ‘booty’? A prize to be plundered?

  Considering the bird’s owner, Calliope rather suspected the parrot had.

  She cautiously approached the perch and the parrot—Nelson she assumed—stopped bobbing and cocked its head. “Aargh! Come blow me hornpipe, lassie,” it squawked.

  What. On. Earth?

  Calliope’s mouth dropped open for the second time that day. She was absolutely certain that the parrot had just uttered something exceedingly lewd even though she didn’t quite understand the sexual connotation.

  She summoned a quelling scowl. “Nelson, you are a very rude bird. Have you no manners?”

  But Nelson was not put off in the least by her scolding tone. He rocked from side to side as if amused by her discomfiture. “Blow it out yer bunghole. Blow it out yer bunghole,” he chanted, his eyes gleaming with wicked delight.

  Calliope raised an admonitory finger. “Enough. Not another word.”

  Nelson flapped his wide gray wings and fanned his scarlet tail feathers out. “Come ‘ere, me buxom beauty. Give us a kiss. Give us a kiss.”

  “Well, you can jolly well blow that idea out your own bunghole,” muttered Calliope as she retreated to the bed and tugged one of its damask curtains free. It would serve nicely as a makeshift screen. Because there was no way in Hades that she was going to undress in front of the foul-mouthed parrot. Lord knew what else he might come out with.

  Thank goodness they’d be docking in Grand Port Bay very soon.

  Thank Poseidon himself that we’ll be docking in Grant Port Bay soon.

  That was the thought that crossed Jonathon’s mind when he first noticed that the red-haired chit with the enormous blue eyes had decided to defy his orders and venture onto the deck again.

  If she gets washed overboard it will be her own bloody fault, he decided as he lounged near the helm. Or gets leered at by the crew. He did try to warn her.

  On the other hand, the weather had calmed considerably in the last half hour. The worst of the storm had passed, and a heaving swell and brisk wind were the only lingering remnants. He supposed Lady Calliope thought she’d take her chances out here rather than endure Nelson’s ribald company.

  He inwardly chuckled at the idea of his parrot making the young woman blush with his salty language.

  Dressed in a fine turquoise blue gown—a gift once intended for another young woman he’d rather not think about—Lady Calliope Banks currently stood on the foredeck with her uncle, Dr. Bell. No doubt she was longing to set foot on dry land again. Although, from what Jonathon could see, she seemed to possess a decent pair of sea legs.

  Actually, she had more than decent legs. Or should he say, indecent legs?

  Jonathon’s gaze couldn’t help but appreciate the sight of how the strong wind molded her silk skirts to the shapely length of her long, slender thighs. And of course, the delightful curve of her hips and peach-shaped arse.

  While she wasn’t pretty in a conventional sense given her freckles and unruly mass of copper-red hair, the lass certainly possessed the kind of figure that provoked all sorts of libidinous and inappropriate thoughts. Especially in a man who hadn’t swived a woman in months.

  Thank God his helmsman knew the waters around Mauritius like the back of his hand, because the way the man’s gaze kept straying to the chit’s backside, the Andromeda would surely have suffered the same fate as the Vestal if he didn’t.

  As the Andromeda’s first mate, Mr. Keats, approached the helm with the Vestal’s captain, Jonathon, at last, dragged his attention away from Lady Calliope.

  “Captain Townsend, I wanted to thank you again for your timely intervention,” began Captain Pickering. “I really thought we were done for.”

  “Think nothing of it,” Jonathon replied with an inclination of his head. Truth be told, he was more than a little rankled with the situation, but he hid his irritation behind a smooth smile. It wasn’t entirely Pickering’s fault that his ship had run aground while trying to outrun the Orpheus.

  Indeed, for the past two years—both for personal reasons and at the behest of the Crown—Jonathon had been chasing the Orpheus and its perfidious captain, Michael Flint, back and forth across the Atlantic and Indian Oceans. But the evil bastard always managed to give him the slip.

  If it weren’t for the fact that the Vestal had been in distress and that Jonathon had been obliged to rescue its crew and passengers, he’d still be in hot pursuit of the notorious pirate and slave trader. A man who was also a deserter from the British navy and a ruthless murderer.

  And Jonathon would like nothing more than to see the dog clapped in irons before being summarily executed for his many crimes.

  “Of course, I’ll quite happily share half of anything that can be salvaged from the Vestal,” continued Captain Pickering. His expression grew somber. “If the sea doesn’t claim her that is.”

  Jonathon clapped him on the shoulder. “Believe me, if it weren’t for the foul weather, I would have stayed to recover your cargo. However, the risk to my crew and others,” he glanced meaningfully toward the young noblewoman and her uncle, “was too great. But tomorrow is a new day. With any luck, the Vestal will stay intact for a little while longer.”

  “Yes. Of course. I understand completely,” replied Pickering. “And when I arrive in Port Louis and see Governor Farquhar, he will hear of your valiant actions and the considerable trouble you went to in order to save everyone on my ship. Such an act of heroism should not go unrewarded.”

  Jonathon tilted his head again in acknowledgment of the compliment. “It was no trouble at all.”

  No, the only truly troublesome thing he’d encountered today was Lady Calliope Banks. Because if he were being completely honest with himself, her presence on his ship was the only reason he hadn’t gone after Flint.

  His mouth quirked into a wry grin. Despite his decidedly ungentlemanly thoughts, it seemed he still possessed a trace of chivalry after all.

  Chapter 3

  Captain Pickering recommended that they seek lodgings at a well-appointed tavern in Mahébourg, close to the main port, and Calliope was quite relieved that Uncle Theo readily agreed. After a twelve-week sea journey that had nearly ended in disaster, Calliope couldn’t wait to spend the night on terra firma in an ordinary bedchamber in a comfortable bed with fresh linen. The overland journey to the capital of Mauritius in the north-west, Port Louis, could definitely wait until tomorrow or even the day after.

  “Until the British took Mauritius from the French in the Battle of Grand Bay in 1810, Mahébourg was hitherto named Port Imperial in honor of Napoleon Bonaparte himself,” Pickering explained as a hired dog-cart ferried the Vestal’s captain, Calliope, Uncle Theo, and her uncle’s assistant, Mr. Lucas, to the Anchor and Crown Inn. A white-washed brick building of two-stories with a pale gray slate roof and matching shutters, the tavern had once been named L’Empereur after the deposed French dictator.

  Once installed in her room, which had a picturesque view of the bay and the nearby sphinxlike peak, Lion Mountain, Calliope ordered a bath and wallowed in the scented water until it was practically cold and her fingers and toes looked like wrinkled prunes. Uncle Theo had organized a private parlor for dinner and apparently Captain Pickering and his first mate would be joining them—her, Uncle Theo, and Mr. Lucas—at seven o’clock; that meant she needed to make herself look presentable again.

  As Calliope combed out her damp locks with her fingers—a brush was just one of the many things she had to replace over the coming days—her stomach growled. It seemed lik
e forever since her last meal aboard the Vestal and even though she was exhausted, she was very much looking forward to a decent dinner. After she’d arranged her coppery curls into a loose chignon at the back of her head using a handful of hairpins that she’d managed to procure from one of the inn’s chambermaids (in exchange for a sixpence that Uncle Theo had provided), she dressed in her borrowed clothes again. Captain Townsend hadn’t even given her a second glance when she’d disembarked from the Andromeda so she assumed he didn’t really care that she’d taken them.

  Nevertheless, as soon as her own garments were laundered, she’d somehow return the turquoise gown and delicate underthings to him. She couldn’t bear the idea of being beholden to such an arrogant creature. In the meantime, she had to grudgingly concede, yet again, that she was grateful she had something respectable to wear. As she examined herself in her chamber’s looking glass, she also conceded that the blue-green silk and the elegant cut of the dress suited her.

  And then she recalled the way Nelson had whistled at her approvingly, called out ‘cor blimey’, and then flapped his wings when she’d emerged from behind the bedcurtains in Captain Townsend’s cabin. Not that she should pay heed to the raucous catcalls of an obnoxious parrot, she reminded herself when Uncle Theo knocked on her door just before seven o’clock to escort her to the private parlor.

  All thoughts of Nelson and his equally irritating owner were banished as soon as her uncle began to prattle off a long list of things they needed to get sorted out on the morrow. Aside from replacing all their clothes and personal items, Uncle Theo was hoping there might be a bank in Mahébourg, otherwise he would need to wait until they reached Port Louis to exchange a bank note for more cash. They’d need to hire horses and a conveyance. Purchase art and writing paraphernalia and new tools for conducting an excavation. Rent a house so Uncle Theo and Mr. Lucas could conduct interviews with Mauritius’s inhabitants about the local lore associated with the dodo bird. And then of course, begin preliminary investigations into the creature’s last known habitats. Uncle Theo had a research paper to write and he would not be deterred in his quest to find evidence that the dodo wasn’t just a legend. Even though the dodo bones at the Ashmolean Museum at Oxford University might have deteriorated to such an extent that many doubted their authenticity, Dr. Theophilus Bell was convinced that they were real.