The Jezebel's Daughter

by Juliet MacLeod

  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.

  His wife! Gideon Graves was married and she lived here, on the island somewhere. Did she know about me? Did she care? Why did I care? The man was a bastard, heartless and cruel. He had misused me and misused his wife. Why was I so surprised that he had violated his wedding vows and broken the sanctity of his marriage? Why did it bother me so? Why was I so angry? I snorted derisively at my own thoughts. He was a pirate; vows clearly meant very little to him. He was a criminal, the lowest of the low. Such behavior was no doubt perfectly acceptable in his world.

  A strong hand fastened itself around my upper arm and swung me around. I squealed in fright and hit out, connecting my palm with a solid chest. “Lady Loreley!” Ben's voice cut through the haze of my anger.

  I yanked my arm out of his grip and took a step back, staring up at him, snorting like an enraged bull. “Why did you bring me down here?” I raged at him. “To humiliate me more? What he did to me last night wasn't awful enough, so you had to heap more injury on top of it?” By the time I was finished, tears were streaking down my cheeks, hot angry tears that I shoved away with the heels of my hands, hating that I was crying again. Why couldn't I be more like a man? Why couldn't I be angry without crying?

  Ben was staring down at me with wide eyes and a confused, hurt expression. “I thought you know about Mrs. Graves,” he said quietly.

  “No, I bloody well didn't know about Mrs. Graves. I met the... the... bastard for the first time last night.” I paused for a moment and then said in a low, vindictive voice, “Do you know what he did to me last night?” Ben shook his head minutely, his expression part curiosity, part dread. “He bought my virginity, like it was a cow or a pig.” I enunciated each horrible word carefully; my elocution teacher would have been very proud.

  He jerked his head back as if I'd slapped him and I laughed; it was humorless and cruel and a small, mean part of myself enjoyed the pain on Ben's face. “Oh, you didn't know that about your captain? That he does things like ruin a young, innocent girl just because he can?”

  “I take you back to Madame's,” he said quietly and took my arm once more, his hold on me gentle but firm. I let him steer me back through the tents and the market to the narrow streets of the town proper. Once we were in the brothel, he led me upstairs to my room and said, “I be going downstairs for an ale.” He closed the door before I could say anything and locked it.

  I threw myself down on my bed and stared out the windows, watching the sheers fluttering in the breezes. I was miserable, angry and ashamed. My mother would have been so disappointed in the way I had treated Ben, in the way I'd taken my sour mood out on him. He was just as innocent in all of this as I was. Nothing that had happened last night or even earlier on the beach was his fault and yet I was punishing him for it. I felt so guilty, knowing I'd betrayed my mother with my abysmal behavior. I felt guilt for hurting Ben's feelings, too. While I couldn't apologize to my mother—I could only hope that, wherever she was, she understood—I made up my mind to apologize to Ben as soon as I saw him again.

  The door some time later, and Tansy came in, carrying a tray loaded down with lunch and a small brown paper-wrapped package. She set down the tray on the table and brought the package over to me. Handing it to me, she asked, “What you do to moun lib? He be sittin' down there, drinkin', ignorin' the fi.”

  I studied the package for a moment and as I was opening it, I said, “I did nothing but tell him the truth of my situation.” I was silent for a moment and then asked, “Did you know Captain Graves is married?”

  “Wi, I knew. What does it matter? He not in love with you.”

  I shuddered at that thought, grateful to God and all His angels that it was the truth. “He's breaking his wedding vows,” I explained piously. “Marriage is sacred. One man, one woman, until death do you part. It says so in the Bible.”

  Tansy shook her head and chuckled. “Things work different here than they do in London town. Bib la don't make much difference in most lives here. Mr. MacIsaac dropped that for you.” And with that, she left my room and locked the door behind her.

  Her words stung, but I had already seen their veracity. Things were very different in Nassau. But God was God, no matter where I was. His law, His Word still needed to be followed and obeyed.

  I finished pulling off the wrapping to reveal a slim volume covered in greenish leather. In gold leaf on the spine was the title, Les Contes de ma Mère l'Oye. The author was Pierre Perrault Darmancour. “Stories of Mother Goose,” I read aloud in English and opened the book. A handwritten note slid out, which read, “With compliments of Captain Gideon Graves”. The handwriting was neat and quite lovely, though obviously mascul
ine, and I wondered who wrote it—Mr. MacIsaac, Graves, or someone else entirely. Could pirates have lovely handwriting?

  The book's table of contents listed eight stories. I selected one at random, La Barbe bleue, and began reading. The story was about a barbarous merchant with a hideous blue beard. He wanted to marry one of two women, who understandably wanted nothing to do with him. The younger girl finally relented and was taken to Bluebeard's castle, which was filled with locked rooms. The girl was given keys to all the locked rooms, even one that fitted a door to a room her new husband warned her never to enter. She entered it, of course, and discovered pools and puddles and buckets of blood, and the bodies of all his previous wives, who ostensibly suffered from the same curiosity. Bluebeard soon discovered his wife's broken vow and announced his intention to kill her. She begged for some time to say her last prayers and he relented, locking her away in a tower. While she is praying, however, her brothers come to rescue her and kill her husband.

  A shiver traveled down my spine and I wondered at the prophetic nature of the tale. Was Graves a Bluebeard? Did he have a locked room with the bodies of all his former wives and whores? Would I soon suffer the same fate as Bluebeard's wife? I set the book aside with a shudder, refusing to think any more on the subject, and went to eat lunch.

  Ben came back just after sunset, carrying supper for us both. We ate in silence after I tried unsuccessfully to start a conversation with him. After our meal was done, he took the dishes downstairs and I got ready for bed. I tried to wait for him to come back so I could properly apologize to him but he didn't return before I fell asleep.

  Sometime in the night, Graves sneaked into my room and climbed into bed next to me. I squealed in fright and tried to push him away, but he was heavier and stronger than I and easily batted away my protests. He roughly shoved my shift up above my waist and got on top of me, using one hand to pull open my legs and the other to cover my mouth and nose so I wouldn't cry out.

  I struggled against him, beating him with my hands, trying to kick at him with my feet, but he was just too strong. I stopped trying to fight him off and just lay still beneath him, silently crying, the tears sliding hot and wet down my cheeks to stain the pillow beneath my head.

  “M'lady. Mistress Loreley, wake up. It be a dream.”

  I sat up straight in bed, a strangled scream caught in my throat, my heart racing. Ben was sitting on the side of my bed, his hands on my shoulders. I threw myself into his arms, clinging to him. He held me close, wrapping his arms around me so tightly that I fought to breathe. I didn't care. Sobs racked my body and any hope of delicately crying had long since passed by, leaving me ugly, my face contorted and sounds like a wounded animal coming from my wide-open mouth.

  Ben's hand stroked down the back of my head, smoothing my hair over and over, his voice a soft, sonorous drone as he sang to me. It sounded like a less melodious version of the same song Tansy sometimes hummed. My sobs died away and Ben gently pressed me down into bed and arranged the bedclothes around me, tucking me in and smoothing my hair from my forehead.

  “You sleep now. It be only a dream,” he said again.

  “Stay with me?” I asked softly.

  “All night. I be right here.”

  “I'm sorry I was cruel to you today. It's not your fault I'm in this situation. I shouldn't take out my feelings on you.”

  He patted my hand and shushed me. “It be no hardship, m'lady. You be in a terrible situation.”

  “Loreley,” I corrected him. “Not m'lady. We're friends, aren't we?”

  “Yes, Loreley. We be friends. Now you hush and go to sleep. I be here all night. Right here.”

  I nodded and closed my eyes, eventually falling asleep and feeling somewhat soothed and safe with Ben's solid presence next to me.

  VI

  House of Earthly Delights, Nassau, New Providence Island

  September, 1715

  The next few weeks passed in a purely mundane way—Ben slept in my room, breakfasted with me, allowed me privacy to dress, then we walked around the town. Every Sunday, I attended services at Christ Church Cathedral. Ben refused to enter the building, so he sat outside in the shade of a candlewood tree. The most exciting thing to happen during that time was making friends with the girl at the fishmonger's stall. Her name was Susannah Abbot and she was indeed from the St. Giles area of London. Her older brother, Jamie, was a sailor aboard an English merchantman that docked in Nassau Harbor once every few months, bringing goods between England and New Providence island.

  After walking through the market and spending Graves's money, Ben and I went back to the brothel, where we had lunch and I read or napped, while he spent time in the tavern or with a special girl. Whenever Ben was out of the room, I worked diligently on a letter that I hoped would save me. I planned to give it to Jamie Abbot, who could perhaps somehow manage to get it to my uncle in London. I could imagine a British royal naval ship sailing into Nassau Harbor and a captain springing ashore to demand my release. The expression on Madame's face when I left would be priceless, though not nearly as dear as my own freedom and eventual return to London.

  Finally, the letter was perfect and ready for me to entrust to Jamie. The next day, while Ben was busy flirting with a pretty little mulatto slave girl, I pulled Susannah aside and asked her, “Can I trust you with a secret?”

  The girl, homely and mousy but with a sweet temper, nodded emphatically. “Yes, Lady Weymouth. For certain.” She cut her eyes to Ben and then back to me with a coy look. “Do you fancy him? He is rather nice-looking, for a Negro. He has a wonderful smile.”

  I made a sour face. “No, I don't fancy Ben. He's... Well, he's my guard. That's all.” I waved my hand to dismiss the idea. It was utterly ridiculous, after all. “Do you think you might introduce me to Jamie? I'd like him to deliver a letter to someone for me.” I pulled out the note, sealed with a bit of candle wax and an owl cameo ring I had found a few days before in the marketplace

  “Is it a secret letter to your secret love?”

  I nodded sagely. “Yes. He's a sailor on the HMS Nottingham,” I said, picking a name at random, “and he wants to marry me. The Nottingham will be here soon and then we will be together. But I have to petition my unc—er, my father to marry a commoner. So I'm sending a letter to him to ask permission.”

  Susannah's face took on a dreamy quality and she sighed softly. “I'll make sure you meet Jamie as soon as he comes ashore. He and the Nonsuch are due in soon. Within the next few weeks, to be sure.”

  I leaned forward and kissed her cheek softly. “Thank you,” I said, blinking away tears and putting the letter back in my pocket. I felt badly for lying to her about the circumstances of the letter, but the fewer people who knew about my escape plans the better. Ben came back to collect me, a satisfied look on his face, and I said my good-byes to Susannah. She patted her pocket and gave me a secretive smile before I left.

  After supper that night, I went to bed with a smile, hopeful for the first time in nearly a month that my captivity was soon to end. I watched the tiny green lizard crawling up one of the posts of my bed and wondered if he would survive in England.

  * * *

  For the next week or so, Susannah and I giggled over my secret love and we made silly wedding plans—she wanted to wear red garters on her stockings so her husband would have a treat on their wedding night, and I wanted to carry a single seashell in my bouquet as a remembrance of how my fictional sailor and I met. We talked of what our houses would look like when we had our own and where we would live and if our children would be friends and marry each other. I felt like a normal girl again for the first time in ages. I had forgotten how much fun it was to have a friend and to act like a child, rather than a prisoner or worse, a whore.

  Ben spent more time than usual in the tavern in the afternoon. I figured it was because he had a girl he was especially fond of, or perhaps he was bored of spending time with me. I couldn't do anything exciting, after all. I was trapped in my room
with my few books and a rapidly-filling journal. I begged him to find me some paints and a canvas and he said he would try, but that there wasn't much call for such things in Nassau.

  Jamie and the Nonsuch docked two weeks after I mentioned the note to Susannah—the ship was a three-masted, square-rigged English fluyt with a huge cargo hold—and Susannah introduced us. He was a bean pole of a boy, with a shock of unruly brown hair and a large port-wine stain on his brow. I gave him the note and he promised he would pass it on to someone in London who could get it to my uncle. I knew that I had at least two or three more months on the island, but that was nothing when compared to the rest of my life, so I was prepared to be patient.

  After just two days in, the Nonsuch completed off-loading its goods and stowing what it would take back to London. Ben had been strangely quiet and withdrawn while the Nonsuch had been in the harbor, though perhaps it was because he was tired of spending so much time at the shore with the merchantman's sailors. Maybe he missed the open waters. Maybe he was angry—or at the very least annoyed—by his shore duty. I tried to be solicitous of him but he ignored my repeated attempts at conversation. Finally I left him to his own devices and read more of the book from Graves. I was particularly enamored of the tale of little Briar Rose. Would a prince ever come to rescue me from my bramble-covered castle?

  The day after the merchantman left port, Ben was waiting for me when I awoke. He was sitting at the table with a bottle and a half-full glass. He had clearly not slept; he looked haggard and his eyes were bloodshot. I sat up in bed and watched him for a moment before rising and slipping into my robe to join him at the table.