The Jezebel's Daughter

by Juliet MacLeod

  “What? What could work?” I sat forward, eager to hear whatever plan they might have cooked up. Anything was preferable to staying on this island at the mercy of Madame and her customers.

  “We're going to need to take on a new crew while we're ashore,” Mr. MacIsaac explained. “We suffered casualties, and those hands will need to be replaced. And since Graves is dead, some of the men will want to seek a position on another ship or perhaps try their hand at something else. We could bring you aboard then.” My face lit up in a smile and I lunged out of my seat to grab the man in a rib-crushing embrace. He laughed and gently pushed me off him and back into my seat. “Now wait. There's a catch.”

  “I don't care.” Better sense intervened and I frowned as my thoughts caught up to my words. “What catch?”

  “You'd have to pretend to be a man.”

  My smile disappeared and I sank back against the back of my chair. “A man?” I said. “But you live in close quarters. It wouldn't be long before the secret was out. What then?”

  “We'll bring you aboard as the ship master's mate. You'll share quarters with him, spend all your time with him.”

  “Why master's mate?” I asked.

  “It's the only position open with the senior crew. I want you somewhere I can keep an eye on you, and there's private quarters, which is something you need to pull of this disguise.”

  Ben made a pained sound. “No. Please. Don't be doing this to me. I can't be playing nursemaid to some spoiled white girl.”

  “Ben is the ship's master?” I asked, ignoring Ben's barb. “But he can't read or write.”

  “True. But we have fine charts and I can certainly read them well enough. Besides, who better than Ben to help maintain your secret. Do you know anything about navigation?”

  I nodded. “My father taught me as soon as I could read and write.”

  “Well, then. It's perfect,” Mr. MacIsaac said. “You can read the charts. Maybe you can even teach Ben how.”

  Ben groaned softly and covered his face with his hands. I frowned and took a deep breath, looking back and forth between them. Mr. MacIsaac—the captain—looked as though he though this plan might just work. Ben looked as though he was going to be ill. “So, how long would I have to stay aboard the Jezebel?” I was cautiously optimistic. This plan of Mr. MacIsaac's did have some potential.

  “Until repairs are made and the careening is done. You'd have to help with that. Then we'd set out for London.” Captain MacIsaac paused for a moment, his eyes narrowed in thought. “Three months at the most.” Ben groaned and rested his head against the table. Mr. MacIsaac laughed and clapped the man on the shoulder. “Cheer up, Ben. You'll have someone to boss around for a time.”

  “Other way around, more like,” came Ben's muffled voice. I chuckled at his discomfort and he turned his head enough that I could see the sour look he gave me. That only made me laugh harder.

  “Will you do it?” I asked, reaching for Ben's hand. He groaned again but I felt him cling tightly to my hand for a moment. I took this as an affirmation and leaned forward to kiss his cheek firmly. “Thank you.” He grunted and gave my hand another squeeze before letting go and sitting up once more.

  “I'll settle up with Madame,” Mr. MacIsaac said. “You'll stay here tonight with Ben and then he'll bring you down to the shore in the morning. Bring whatever you cannot leave without. You'll not see this place again.”

  “I'll need proper clothing,” I said. “And something to bind my... my breasts.” Luckily, I was not what one might consider well-endowed, but my bust was still feminine in shape. “I would like to sell my dresses, too. And the easel and paints. I want only my books and my pencils and the pen and ink. That will come in handy for map-making, won't it?”

  Mr. MacIsaac nodded. “Ben can take care of getting you properly outfitted. I'll take care of the rest.” He stood and patted my shoulder. “You'll need a new name.” He studied me for a moment and then said, “Luke, I think. Luke Jones, yes?” he asked Ben, who merely nodded. “See you in the morning then, Mr. Jones.”

  “Yes, sir, Captain MacIsaac,” I said with a grin. I turned that grin on Ben and he groaned deeply before resting his head atop the table once more.

  XII

  House of Earthly Delights, Nassau, New Providence Island

  January, 1716

  Ben and I spent the last night in my room at the Earthly Delights, talking about the sorts of things that would be expected of me as his mate. I was to help him take the ship's position once a day and make course corrections accordingly. I would also make entries into the ship's log about weather and position, since Ben couldn't read or write with any skill. And since I was small and light, I would occasionally be responsible for climbing up to the crow's nest to spot for land or other ships while we were out at sea.

  Despite the fact that I would have to spend at least the next three months of my life pretending to be a boy called Luke, I was excited about the future. I was one step closer to going home, and I knew that Ben and Captain MacIsaac would look out for me. By early spring, I would finally be back in England, safe in my uncle's home and able to live the life my father had wanted for me. I would marry well, have children, and re-take my place in British society.

  The next morning, I dressed hastily and collected together all the things that Captain MacIsaac said he would sell on my behalf and left them spread out in my bed. My books and drawing supplies I packed into Ben's old haversack and left it on the table. Once I was ready, Ben and I went down to breakfast and found that Madame was waiting for us in the courtyard. She drew us aside into her private rooms and asked, “What do you intend to do now, girl?”

  “I'm going home. To London.” I didn't expand on my statement; she didn't need to know the circumstances of how I would get to England.

  She fixed me with a shrewd look and then shook her head. “That's too bad,” she said. “You would have earned a lot.”

  Ben snorted derisively. “Once she stopped earning, you turn her out and let her starve in the streets. She be better off.” He cupped my elbow gently and we left Madame, going into the tavern for breakfast.

  After eating, we went back up to my room and discovered that it was empty of my belongings. Only the stack of my precious books and my drawing supplies remained. My gowns and petticoats, baubles for my hair, the extra pair of my shoes, the jewelry, the easel and paints—it was all gone, replaced by a wash-leather bag that was filled with coins. It sounded as though there was rather a lot of them and I wondered where Mr. MacIsaac—Captain MacIsaac, I reminded myself—had sold my things.

  I picked up the bag and shook out a handful of coins. They were from all over—Spanish reals, English pounds, French francs—and I extended my hand to Ben. “You'll need this to get new clothes for me, right?” He stared at my hand and then looked up at my face, studying it intently. I frowned. “What's the matter?” I asked.

  “You're entrusting me with—” He lowered his gaze to the coins in my hand again. “With that much?”

  I shrugged and pushed the coins into his hands. “Why wouldn't I?”

  He put the coins in a purse on his waist. “It just be a surprise. Most folk wouldn't trust a Negro—even a free man—with any amount of money.”

  “But I trust you, Ben,” I said, my brow furrowed in confusion.

  He smiled softly and darted a quick kiss against my cheek. “I'll go get you some clothes and other things you'll need. Linen, do you think? To um... bind with?”

  “Oh, yes. Definitely linen. A nice long roll of it.” I nodded and hid a smirk behind my hand at his discomfort. He left, on a mission to transform me from a noble-born lady to a sailor aboard a pirate's ship.

  Would my life ever be normal again?

  Ben returned a few hours later, carrying with him breeches, two shirts, a wesket, a pair of stockings and sturdy boots, and a roll of linen gauze. He handed them all to me and turned to leave. “Um,” I said, holding up the roll of linen. “I'll need help with this.�
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  Ben turned slowly to face me, his expression one of utter horror. “Me?” he squeaked. I bit my lower lip so I wouldn't laugh at him. “Why can't one of the girls help?”

  “It's supposed to be a secret, right?” He nodded grudgingly. “Well, the girls around here are gossiping harpies. If one of them discovers what we're up to, soon the whole house will know, and then the whole island just after. No more secrets.”

  He closed his eyes and his mouth worked as though he was praying in silence. When he was finished, he opened his eyes and fixed me with a grim, determined look, as though I'd asked him to help execute someone, and held out his hand for the roll of linen. I handed it to him and he sighed heavily, shaking his head ever so slightly.

  I held up a hand and motioned for him to turn around. He frowned but complied, giving me his back. I grinned and began shucking off my last gown, stays, petticoats, and shift. Then I stepped into the breeches and said, “All right. You can turn around now.” I crossed my arms over my chest, trying to limit his view of my breasts as much as possible since it was obviously making him so uncomfortable. His discomfort made me completely forget my own.

  He turned slowly, his eyes firmly fixed on the linen in his hands, and handed me one end of it. I snugged it around me as tightly as I could, then held my arms straight up in the air. Ben walked around me in a circle, wrapping the linen as tightly as he could. It wasn't much different than being laced into my stays, though instead of pushing my breasts up to make them fuller-looking, they were flattened and made almost invisible.

  When we had used all the linen, I put on the shirt and wesket and then stood in front of Ben, awaiting his approval. He nodded slowly. “Fine. You got to cut your hair, though.”

  “My hair?” My hand moved up to the back of my head, where my hair was gathered in a bun. “But why?”

  “It be too long. You seen the captain's hair. You got to cut yours.” He drew a short-bladed knife from his side and nodded to one of the room's chairs. “Sit down. I'll do it.”

  I meekly sat down and unbraided my hair for him. He gathered the thick mass of my hair at my neck and tied it with the ribbon I was holding out for him. Then he hacked at my hair with the knife and when he was finished, he held a fistful of golden curls in his hand that was at least a foot and a half long. My eyes grew wide and filled with tears.

  “Don't cry,” he said as he resheathed his knife and patted me gently on the shoulder. “It be only hair. It grow back. I left you some.” He considered the hair he held and shrugged lightly. “We can probably sell the rest to some wig makers.” I nodded and closed my eyes, swallowing heavily.

  “Put your boots on and we'll go to the beach,” he said, stuffing my hair into a small bag he'd pulled out of his pocket. “You got a lot of learning to do and we still need to find weapons for you.”

  I followed along behind him, leaving the brothel where I'd passed the worst months of my life. It was all behind me now. I was starting a new journey, one of excitement that would end at my uncle's doorstep. Soon enough, I could forget all about Nassau and the awful things I'd been forced to endure, and I would be free to focus on the future.

  PART TWO

  1716-1718

  XIII

  Sun Caye, Bahama Islands

  January, 1716

  The island where the Jezebel had been careened was a two-hour trip in a small rowboat. As we grew closer to the caye, I saw the shore covered with men and tents and crates. I felt butterflies forming in my stomach. So far, my disguise had fooled everyone I'd come into contact with—the wig maker where we sold my hair and the blacksmith where we'd picked up a cutlass for me had both referred to me as “boy” and “lad”. I hadn't noticed any untoward attention or inspection from either of the merchants or any of the townspeople we encountered, so I was willing to call the disguise a success. But I hadn't spent three months in close contact with them, hadn't worked and fought and lived alongside them on a ship that measured just one hundred feet in length and only twenty feet wide.

  Ben gave me advice during our journey to the caye, the most important of which was, “Don't show no fear when you first meet the crew. They be like rabid dogs and will bite you if you show you be afraid.” Easier said than done. Especially when my stomach was in knots.

  I turned my attention to the hull of the Jezebel, hoping to take my mind off my predicament long enough that I could calm myself. The ship was elegant, even on land. Sturdy ropes threaded through heavy pulleys kept her masts lashed to a stand of palms up the beach from where the ship's hull lay, exposed to the air. She was canted a bit on her side, exposing most of her pitch-blackened hull, which was supported by a forest of thick planks stuck deeply in the sand and held in place with wedges. Everywhere I looked, there were men scrambling and climbing over her hull. Some were armed with axes and hatchets they used to scrape the ship clean of barnacles and teredo worms, tiny creatures that burrowed into ships' hulls beneath the water line, eating right through the wood and causing sometimes disastrous damage. Other men were carrying buckets of pitch that would be spread over the cleaned hull with rags and brushes.

  On the shore was a small tent city where the ship's sails were being repaired, the guns seen to, the men relaxed, stores were counted and inspected, and Captain MacIsaac held court. His was the largest tent on the shore and I soon saw why. He had brought the entire contents of the captain's cabin ashore—bedstead, armoire, bookshelves, desk, chairs, table.

  “Why is everyone queued up outside the captain's tent?” I asked Ben as we beached the rowboat and dragged it up the shore.

  “Oh, those be new crew members. They be signing the articles.”

  “Articles?”

  “Ship's rules.” He laughed at my shocked expression. “Pirates have a code. We not all lawless thieves. Come on, Jones. You be needing to sign as well.” He took my haversack and slung it over his own shoulder.

  I joined the end of the queue and tried not to make eye contact with any of the men standing around me. One of them, a particularly scruffy-looking fellow with a nasty scar that bisected his right cheek, said to Ben, “Who's the pup?”

  Ben elbowed me hard in the rib cage and it was all I could do not to fall over. I shot him an ugly glare, which earned me a round of chuckles. “This be my new mate, Luke Jones,” Ben said. “Picked him up in Nassau. Promised me he had book learning. Guess we see.”

  “Master's mate, eh?” The sailor squinted and stepped closer to me, looking me over intently from head to toe. “Awfully pretty, aintcha, boy? You ever sailed?”

  I shot Ben a panicked look and he merely nodded at me. Sink or swim, his expression seemed to say. I drew myself up and squared my shoulders. Luckily, I'd had time to come up with a believable history for myself as Luke Jones and this was the first chance I'd had to try it out. “Yes, sir,” I said, trying to remember to keep my voice in a lower register. I sounded like my brother, Gunnar, and I felt a slender blade of grief prick my heart. “I was press-ganged out of Bristol, put to work aboard the Resolu...Restoration. The Restoration.” A trickle of sweat slid down my back.

  “How old are you, pup?”

  “Seventeen, sir.” I was tall for a girl, thankfully. This would hopefully give credence to my claim.

  The sailor made a sour face but nodded, seemingly accepting my story. I shot Ben another look and found him grinning at me. He winked and then turned away, off on some obscure errand, leaving me to my own defenses. My story had held so far and the men around me lapsed back into conversation, largely ignoring me, for which I was immensely grateful.

  Soon I was standing in front of the captain. He shoved a book at me and pointed to a page. “Can you read?” he asked without looking up.

  “I can. Sir,” I added after a moment's hesitation.

  He looked up at me and his eyes grew wide and a smile slowly spread across his face. Then he remembered himself and cleared his throat. “Good. Read and sign at the back,” he said in a gruff voice, lowering his eyes once
more to a chart that was spread across his desk.

  I lowered my eyes to the book, hiding my own smile at the captain's reaction to my disguise. The page was the ship's articles and I read them with curiosity and interest. They seemed pretty straightforward and indicated that every man had an equal vote in affairs and an equal share of provisions. There were punishments written out for stealing, fighting with other men, or not keeping pistols and swords in working order at all time. The provisions for men injured in battle shocked me. If a man lost a limb at sea, he would be paid five hundred pieces of eight and allowed to remain aboard the ship for as long as he wanted. Everything I had ever been told about pirates—that they were merciless, bloodthirsty savages was so far proving to be the exception, rather than the rule.

  Captain MacIsaac's finger casually touched a particular passage and I read it closely. No women on board, unless they were captives and being ransomed. Any man found harboring a woman would be marooned. I looked up at him and his face was stern, as if emphasizing the gravity of my situation. I nodded—I understood how important it was to keep my secret.

  I picked up a quill, dipped it in the ink pot, and carefully wrote my name—remembering at the last moment to write Luke Jones, instead of Loreley Jones—and added my position as an afterthought. I pushed the book back to the captain, who read it over and looked up at me. “Master's mate, eh?” He nodded to the chart in front of him. “Can you read this?”

  He must be testing me, proving to the men standing in queue behind me that I was a good choice for Ben's second. I moved around to the opposite side of the desk, standing right next to the captain. There was a blob of land off to the left of the chart, labeled Athol Island. There was another smaller blob just to the north of Athol Island that was unlabeled. I pointed to it. “That's where we are,” I said before leaning closer to the chart. “The depth isn't right though. It's off by about a foot. Should be marked deeper. Oh, and there's a reef with a deeper channel through here.” I touched the chart in each place and then glanced at the captain out of the corner of my eye.