The Wake of the Lorelei Lee

by L. A. Meyer

  I know you do, Higgins. You are avoiding something. I wait for more bad news, which I know is coming.

  “Ahem. Yes, Miss . . .” And here he pauses again. “You know you are to be transported, but you do not know this . . .”

  “Yes?”

  “Your ship, Miss . . .”

  “I know, the Crown has taken her. She is no longer mine.”

  No longer my fine, fine treasure . . .

  “Yes, but not only that—”

  “What are they going to do to her? Burn her? Turn her into a garbage scow?”

  Higgins takes a breath, and then goes on. “No, Miss. The Lorelei Lee has been sold to the East India Company, and they have been contracted to transport a certain group of female convicts to the penal colony in New South Wales.”

  It hits me and I gasp. “What? I am to be taken in bondage to Botany Bay on my own goddamned ship?”

  “I am afraid so, Miss. I perceive that the Admiralty has a fine sense of irony. That and the fact that you outfitted the ship so perfectly to carry a large number of passengers. There is a good deal of irony in that, also.”

  I hate irony.

  I fume as I ponder this. Then I think more on it and say, “This might be a good thing, Higgins, for it will give me a measure of comfort to be on her, if only in a reduced capacity . . . and I will have my ship back, I will . . .”

  “I am happy that you view it so, Miss.”

  “All right, then,” I say, collecting myself from the last blow. “But I know there is something else, isn’t there, Higgins? Something you haven’t told me . . .”

  He looks down at his hands and nods, but says only, “Several things . . .”

  “Jaimy.”

  There, I have spoken his name and let it hang in the air. Why did I not ask of him before? Because I was afraid to hear the answer . . .

  “Where has he been? Why has he not come to see me? Why was he not at my trial? Why . . . ?”

  Higgins takes yet another deep breath. “Steady, Miss, for I must inform you that he is being held in the naval prison at Portsmouth, awaiting court-martial.”

  I bury my face in my hands and bawl. Oh, Jaimy, no, not you!

  Higgins’s strong hands grasp my shaking shoulders and hold them tight till I subside a bit.

  “Wh-wh-what is the charge?” I manage to stammer.

  “Conspiracy to Defraud the King of His Rightful Property.”

  What?

  “Lieutenant Flashby has made sworn testimony to the effect that Mr. Fletcher colluded with you in the misappropriation of gold from the Santa Magdalena. Lieutenant Bliffil adds to the lies, contending that he heard the two of you laying plans for the theft.”

  “The lyin’ bastards! Jaimy knew nothing of my scheme! Bliffil wasn’t even there! And I didn’t even have any idea of the project until we were well into the salvage of the Santa Magdalena! When is the court-martial?”

  “In two weeks.”

  “When does the Lorelei Lee leave?”

  “In about a week.”

  “So am I to leave and cross the Southern Ocean never to find out Jaimy’s fate? How can I live with that? How could they be so cruel?”

  Oh, Jaimy, how much better your life would have been had you never met me!

  Higgins considers this and then says, “If convicted, his punishment would not be as harsh as yours, I do not think. Remember, it is Flashby’s word against his, and Mr. Fletcher has an excellent service record. He is highly regarded by every captain he has served under, and those who can be made available will testify to that. Captain Hudson, for sure. Furthermore, he is an officer of the line of battle, while Flashby and Bliffil are merely intelligence officers. The admirals and captains who sit in judgment will also be much scarred and battle-tested line officers, and their sympathies would lie with Lieutenant Fletcher, one of their own.”

  I clench my fists and think hard on this.

  “It may be,” I say, thanking Higgins silently for, as always, softening the blows that come at me. “But only if Jaimy can hold his temper when that damned Flashby stands up and tells his lies. I can tell you it was hard for me to take, that day in the courtroom, and I was . . . well . . . sort of guilty. It will be harder for Jaimy, who is totally innocent. He had nothing to do with it—I didn’t even let you in on it till afterward, when the expedition was done and we were about to head for Boston.”

  “Yes, Miss. I know.”

  If only Jaimy can hold his temper!

  “We have but a few more minutes, Higgins,” I say, trying to calm myself but beginning to tear up again, for I know he will soon be gone and I will be back in the cell. I must now ask him to do some things, to put some things in order.

  “Please, Higgins, if you would, go back to Boston and take over the helm of Faber Shipping. I hereby give you all the remaining shares in the corporation. I will sign a paper to that effect. So many people now depend upon that business, little as it now is. Get Ezra to—”

  “I’m afraid I cannot do that, Miss.”

  “Oh,” I say, confused. “Why not?”

  “Because I have taken other employment.”

  I gasp and lower my head. Oh, Higgins, I cannot bear to lose you! I collect myself and say, “Of course, John, you must do what’s best for you now that my silly house of cards has collapsed, probably for good and ever. Give me your hand in farewell, dearest friend, in hopes that we might meet again in gladder times. Oh, I so wish it!” Tears pour from my eyes as I squeeze his hand and press it to my wet cheek.

  “You may have my hand, Miss, but do not despair of seeing me.” Through the blear of tears I see the glint of his teeth in the gloom.

  “What . . . ? Why . . . ?”

  “I have signed on as steward to Captain Augustus Laughton of the Lorelei Lee. I have met the captain and I’ve found him to be an affable man.”

  Apparently my face betrays incomprehension, so he goes on to clarify things.

  “You see, Miss, I am going with you.”

  My mouth is agape.

  “But why, Higgins?” I manage to gasp. “You are a rich man now. You could set yourself up quite comfortably. Why would you do this? You musn’t! I have left nothing but confusion and waste and destruction in my wake!”

  He smiles his perfect smile. “Yes, but much joy and excitement, as well. I’m afraid I can never go back to being a simple valet to a rich man. It would be just too . . . boring. No, Miss, you have led me onto the path of adventure, and from that path I cannot retreat.”

  Once again I place my face in my hands and sob.

  “Besides, if they have arrested you and Mr. Fletcher, it is possible that the judiciary will soon cast a wider net, and it is possible that it will be my turn next. I fear that I, too, would not be able to give a court a plausible explanation for my sudden wealth.” He pauses, looks about, and sniffs. “I also know that I could not abide a less-than-clean prison cell. I fear the men’s prison is not any better than this, and I believe I would find neither the accommodations nor the company all that . . . charming.”

  “Who shall run Faber Shipping?” I ask, still astounded.

  “I have written to Mr. Pickering, informing him of the recent events. We both know he is a very competent man. He will handle things.”

  I ponder this. “You must get another letter off to Ezra before we go. Tell Davy and Tink to lie low, very low. They are to do the Caribbean run only and must stay close to the shore. No telling what lies Flashby has told about them, too, and Davy is still technically in the British Navy. Give everybody my love and tell Amy not to worry.”

  “Yes, Miss. Although that last request is a vain one.”

  From his tone, I suspect he has already done all that. Though my mind is spinning, I manage to clear it enough to ask, “This Captain Laughton, is . . . is he a good man?”

  “Yes, Miss, I found him to be so. Furthermore, I have gone into what will now be his cabin, where I managed to retrieve your seabag and most of your clothing, and I’ve
stashed it in my quarters below—your violin as well.”

  The Lady Gay! And I thought I’d never see her again!

  “Hmmm . . .” I muse, calculating. “Then, Higgins, if you would, and if we have any money left, please go out and buy me as much sheet music for fiddle and guitar as you can—Boccherini, Bach, Vivaldi—anything you can find, and lots of spare strings for each instrument, too.”

  Higgins nods in agreement and then voices some thoughts of his own.

  “I think it would be best if we were to pretend not to know each other till we see how things lie. Also, it’d be better if you are known as Mary Faber, as that was the name under which you were tried and convicted, and that is the name that will appear on the ship’s manifest. Your notoriety as the infamous Jacky Faber might not work to your advantage, you know. When Captain Laughton was conversing with me, I got the distinct impression that he has yet to be apprised of the fact that not only will he have La Belle Jeune Fille Sans Merci onboard, but also the former owner of his ship.”

  “Hmm. Wise counsel, Higgins, as always. I will—”

  “Awright, time’s up,” says the Frog. “Ye got one more minute to get yer business done, guv’nor, then getcher self gone.” He stands, leering at me, grinnin’ a snaggletoothed smile. “Me and ’er, now, we got some business of our own to git on, a little later.”

  I stiffen and he turns away, laughing.

  Higgins takes my hand and whispers, “Don’t worry, Miss. When I found out where you were to be taken after the trial, the first thing I did was to bribe the Supervisor of this Hulk to ensure that you would not be . . . bothered in that way. That . . . man . . . will not disturb you, rest easy.”

  I squeeze his hand. “In spite of all that has happened, things are looking up, Higgins, and I thank you for it.”

  “No thanks are necessary, Miss.”

  I look over at the snickering Toad and Frog, and oh, how I wish I had John Thomas and Smasher McGee here, by God, and Davy and Tink, too, and then we’d see just whose food those bastards would take!

  “Those two,” I say, with a nod toward the Toad and the Frog. “If we have a spare bob or two . . . ?” Then I run my finger across my throat.

  But Higgins merely smiles and nods . . . and rises. I kiss him on the cheek. He picks up his hat, cloak, and walking stick, then leaves.

  I am taken back to the cell, where my ankles are re-shackled, and I sit and seethe.

  The Frog and the Toad may very well pay dearly for their meanness in some dark alley this night. As for the others—all the ones above these two weasels; all the ones with power—King George and his goddamned Crown . . . the judiciary . . . the Admiralty and all its minions . . . all of those bastards . . . to them I say . . .

  You may yet regret the day

  you sent Jacky Faber in chains

  to Botany Bay.

  Chapter 14

  It being June, the dawn comes early.

  I rouse myself and stretch, waiting for the guards to come open our door and let us shuffle down to the privy, which is, of course, the derelict’s old head—that place at the bow of the ship with the open holes to the seas or, now, to the Thames. Some fetid water will be placed in buckets for us to wash as best we can. Bits of harsh soap are provided. We must dry with the hems of our garments.

  That done, we shuffle back to our cell, and I am shocked at the sight of three ghosts seated within, and . . . oh, what a welcome sight it is!

  On the bench, huddled under my cloak, which I had thought was lost forever, sit Mary Wade and Molly Reibey and Esther Abrahams!

  Oh, thank you, Lord!

  “Jacky! We thought you was dead!” says Molly, who rises, amazed, upon spying me.

  “And I thought you hanged!” cry I, equally amazed. “Come, embrace me and tell me how you come to be here, alive and whole!”

  I hug each of them in turn, as we had grown quite close when we shared not only the hell of the Condemned Cell at Newgate but four very doubtful futures as well.

  Mary Wade gulps and tells their story in a rush of words and gasps.

  “Well, they puts us on bread and water, and then three days later, on Sunday night, they made us go to that awful sermon . . . with the open coffin and all . . . and then in the mornin’ they come got us and led us out to the gallows. I saw it high above me with the nooses hanging on this long piece of wood, and I’m so scared I wets me drawers. And . . . and they took some coves up there and slung the ropes around their necks and put hoods over their faces, but they didn’t take us, no. They led us to the side, and then the traps fell and them poor blokes was hanged; and after they stopped kickin’, they flung us girls in a cart and hauled us ’ere.”

  She looks about her in wonder at how her fortunes have changed. “And ’ere we are.”

  “Here you are, indeed, Mary, and I am so very glad of it!”

  “And when they led us away, the people that was there reached out and tried to touch us.” Mary has this faraway look in her eye, and no wonder, considerin’ the hell she’s been through. “They was yellin’ and grabbin’ at us . . . I don’t know why.”

  I had heard of things like this before, and I take her by her thin shoulders and hold her and say, “You managed to cheat the hangman, Mary, and they wanted to take some of your luck for themselves. That’s what it was.”

  “Oh,” she says, looking around at our dismal prison. “Luck? I dunno . . .”

  “Aye, ’tis a pit,” say I. “But cheer up, ladies, for this afternoon we’re gonna board a fine ship!”

  Leaving them wondering at this, I go to the bars and stick my face through.

  “Hey, screws!” I call out. “Get the Matron! We got three fine new girls here what’s got to use the privy and wash up, ’cause we’re a-goin’ sailin’, we are!”

  I’m gratified to see that the guards who answer my call are not the Frog and the Toad.

  Maybe it was just their day off, or maybe they was sick . . . But maybe it was a day of reckoning . . . Take that, you sods . . . You mess with Jacky Faber and you might live to regret it.

  There is a great hubbub as we are taken up out of the dark and into the sunshine on deck. Oh, the wonderful, glorious warm sunshine! How I have missed it! I hold my face up to it as we are pushed along, and I revel in its warmth. And then we are pulled over the deck and down the gangway, across the wharf, and pushed onto great rough open carts. We all still wear the heavy wrist shackles and are bound together in a line to keep any one of us from suddenly darting off and disappearing into the alleys of the city. Big thick and sturdy draft horses are harnessed to the wagons, and as soon as we are somewhat settled, the driver gives a flick of his whip and we are off.

  We roll down from Woolwich and plunge into the heart of London, through Cheapside, the mean but familiar and somewhat beloved streets of my youth, then down to the Lower Docks on the Thames.

  People on the streets jeer and throw things at us as we roll along. I pay it no mind, but I notice my companions’ heads begin to droop in fear and shame.

  “Heads up, girls,” I chirp, to cheer them up. “Never let them see you cringe and cry, as it only makes ’em happy. Here, do this—chin up, eyelids at half-mast, lips together, teeth apart. Like this . . . that’s it.”

  They manage a reasonable version of the Lawson Peabody Look. “And remember, you’re as good as any of those sods over there and prolly a damn sight better.”

  There is a cart behind us containing a very unruly gaggle of girls, and standing at the head of the bunch is the woman I saw shouting curses at the guards as she was brought aboard yesterday. More garbage is thrown, but she and the other women in the wagon give as good as they get.

  “Back off, ye curs!” she cries at the mob. “Or you’ll get what for!”

  With her shackled hands she picks up a stone that was thrown and pitches it back at the crowd.

  “You tell ’em, Missus Barnsley,” shouts a woman behind her. “The filthy buggers!”

  “Roight, ye’ll
miss us when we’re gone, you sods!” crows another of the girls, whipping around and pulling up her skirts and bending over, exposing a considerable span of knicker-clad buttocks to the roaring crowd. “’ere’s one fine arse ye’ll n’er see no more!”

  “Coom, Rosie, gi’ us one more kiss ’fore ye goes!” shouts one rounder, who clutches the side of the cart and presents his pursed lips to this Rosie but only gets a rap on his knuckles from her wrist irons.

  He yowls and falls back into the laughing mob.

  After about an hour of this, we arrive at the docks, and there . . . there . . . lying like a jewel, is my Lorelei Lee, all glorious in the summer sunlight. Tears come to my eyes . . . Oh, I thought never to see you again!

  The carts come to a stop, and we are pulled roughly to the ground and shoved in a line snaking up toward the gangway. We pass underneath the figurehead, and several of the girls exclaim in wonder at it. Too late, I try to cover my face.

  “Coo, Jacky, that looks just like you!” says Mary Wade.

  “Does it? Strange, that,” I reply, and say no more.

  We are pushed into a line that heads up the gangway. There are maybe twenty in front of us. We are one of the first carts to arrive, which I think is good, as we might be better able to grab the choicer berths.

  As we get to the top of the brow, I see that, incredibly, it is Higgins who sits at a table, open ledger in front of him, pen in hand. When each girl stands before him, he asks her name, checks it off the list, and then writes her name on two small wooden disks, to which are attached strings and pins. He is dressed in what would appear to be a standard white steward’s uniform, except that it is made of the finest cloth and sports several special touches here and there—a bit of lace at the cuffs, some trim on the collar.

  When I stand before him, he looks up at me and tonelessly asks, “Name?”