The Unbinding of Mary Reade

by Miriam McNamara

  His breathing shifted and he opened his eyes.

  She jerked back, then half-smiled, and gave him a jab with her fist. “Morning, mate.”

  He blinked at her, unsmiling. Then he clenched his jaw and turned away.

  “Nat.” She was trembling, but she knew she had to push forward. She had to tell him. “I have to tell you something.”

  “Please don’t,” said Nat tightly, sitting up. “I just want everything to keep going between us the way it’s always been. I can’t—I just want to keep being mates, all right? We can stay mates so long as nothing changes. Do you understand?”

  She sat up and reached for his elbow. “But I—”

  “Stop, Mark. I don’t want to hear it.”

  Nat got up and walked away without looking back.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  NEW PROVIDENCE—1719

  MARY AND ANNE WERE BOTH CLEAN AND WELL DRESSED. THEY’D PRACTICED demure faces for each other, laughter dispelling some of their anxiety. Anne squared her shoulders. “Allow me to lead the way,” she said, faking a sophisticated accent. “The governor’s house is a grand old thing, one of the only buildings on the island that made it through the war. You’ll be very impressed.”

  Mary followed her through the market and down a sandy path that wound up a hill, away from the water. They passed houses made of wattle and daub, with plots of potatoes and yams in the yards, falling into silence as they walked. Anne kept inhaling deeply, then slowly letting out her breath. Her fists clenched and unclenched, knuckles going from white to red and back again. Mary grabbed a hand and threaded her fingers through so Anne would have something to hold onto. “The worst thing he can say is no,” she offered.

  Anne kept her gaze fixed ahead. “I’m not terribly sure you’re right about that.”

  Tension crawled up Mary’s neck. “We can turn around if you like. We can always go tomorrow.”

  Anne gripped Mary’s hand like it was the only thing keeping her upright. “I have to do it before I lose me nerve. I have to try. Before I go running back to Jack, or stow away on the next ship that leaves the harbor. This is me home. James shouldn’t be able to control me like he does.”

  Mary let her squeeze the blood from her fingers. Somehow, after just a scant week spent with her, the thought of being without Anne felt empty and dull. But Nat was coming back. It wasn’t as though they could go on like this forever.

  The jungle opened up ahead, and Mary glimpsed the first grand house she’d seen since arriving in the Caribbean. It was freshly whitewashed, three arches leading into a shadowy, open-air foyer. Two stories rose above that with neat rows of windows. The area around the mansion was freshly cleared, broken foliage and turned earth surrounding the building in a defiantly symmetrical circle. A man in a steward’s uniform met them in the foyer, sweating in his high collar and long sleeves.

  “We’re here to petition the governor,” Anne announced.

  The man inclined his head. “Of course, ma’am. If you would kindly wait here, I’ll inform Mr. Rogers of your arrival.”

  They waited in fidgeting silence until the man returned and led them through a door, into a hallway that smelled of stewed meat and mildew. The fine curtains were frayed at the edges, and the fixtures on the doors and lamps had the green patina of corrosion. The man knocked on another door and Mary heard a muffled invitation from within. He opened the door and Mary and Anne stepped hesitantly inside.

  A broad-shouldered man with gray in his dark brown waves sat behind a grand desk, bent over something and writing intently. As they drew close he put down his quill and looked up, the sideways light through the window revealing a puckered, disfigured cheek. “Ladies. How may I help you?” he asked. His voice was commanding, despite a slight lisp. His skin was drawn and sallow.

  “If you please, sir,” Anne said, her voice firm, “me name is Anne Bonny.”

  “Ah,” Rogers said, leaning back in his chair. “Bonny’s wife. Good man—unlike most of the indolent inhabitants of this godforsaken island. He’s been a great help to me since I arrived.”

  Mary clenched her teeth to stop her jaw from dropping. Rogers must not know what James was capable of. “I’m Mary Reade,” she said evenly. “A dear friend of Anne’s. And I have come to vouch for her.”

  He leaned back in his chair, looking Anne up and down. “And why should you need vouching for, Mrs. Bonny?”

  “Anne recently suffered painful injury,” Mary said, but when she looked at Anne she realized that much of the bruising was gone. With a cold feeling in her stomach she realized she’d taken too much time making Anne’s dress perfect, when she’d just needed to look respectable. “James, the man you claim is so upstanding, is the one who did it to her.”

  Rogers put down his quill. “Did she not disappear from him these past months?” he asked mildly. “Did she not violate the promise she made to God to stay by his side?”

  “I left him because I was in fear,” Anne said, her voice trembling. “His abuse started long before I ever thought of leaving him.”

  “I’ve heard stories about you, young lady,” Rogers said, his tone indulgent. “They say you are a godless woman. An adulteress. That James tried his best to set you on the right path, but that you refused to listen.”

  “Anne has never borne a child for him,” Mary interrupted, trying another tack. “Impotency is grounds for divorce.”

  “So that’s why you’re here, is it? You’d like to sue for divorce?”

  Anne nodded meekly.

  “Who is to say that Anne is not the infertile one?”

  Mary glanced at Anne, who shook her head imperceptibly, and Mary choked on her response. If she said Anne had carried Jack’s child when she was still married to James, it would brand her an adulteress. But there was no other proof.

  Rogers watched them shift nervously. “My dears.” Rogers sighed, steepling his fingers. “Bonny warned me that you might show up with just such a query. He seemed to think a man named Jack Rackham would be accompanying you, Mrs. Bonny. Nonetheless, James advised me that any annulment granted would be against his wishes. And it is his right, as your husband and master, to prevent such a thing from coming to pass if he does not wish it.”

  Mary felt Anne twitch against her side.

  “Sir,” Mary said. “Anne’s face was bleeding, bruised, and swollen from his hand. His right should be forfeit, whether or not he is impotent. It’s not fair that she doesn’t have some protection.”

  “He gave her a bruise on her face, did he? Look at my face, young lady. Tell me, does James’s chastisement compare in any way?”

  Mary’s eyes flicked to the puckered flesh of his cheek, guessing it was the result of a musket ball to the face. “What one risks in battle is not what one should have to risk in marriage,” she said quietly. “He’s supposed to care for her.”

  “I am a fair-minded man,” Rogers continued as if she hadn’t spoken, in the same condescending tone. “I will choose not to judge you too harshly for this insolence. Bonny wanted me to have you whipped in the square if you came to me like this, but I am not so harsh.”

  Rogers smiled indulgently, and Mary felt a surge of dread. She’d seen women and men in the pillory, bleeding, soiled, delirious with dehydration, vulnerable to anyone who would spit on, hit, or fondle them—and for many crimes, that was getting off lightly.

  Rogers’s smile faded as he stood. “However, if I hear that you do not return, repentant, to your husband—if I hear you are carrying on with Rackham—if I get wind of you continuing to dishonor your marriage vows, I will have you whipped, publicly and dishonorably.” He leaned forward, fingertips on the desk, giving Anne a severe look. Anne twitched again, and Mary didn’t doubt he would do what he threatened. “Do you understand?”

  “I don’t think I do,” Anne ground out. “How is hitting your wife not dishonoring your vows? How is abusing someone who trusts and loves you not worthy of flogging instead?”

  “Anne,” Mary hiss
ed. It was clear Rogers wouldn’t be convinced. “She understands,” she said hastily.

  Rogers straightened. He leaned heavily on an ivory-tipped cane and came around the desk. His face up close was grotesque, the blast of a firearm having carved his mouth into an elongated, puckered frown. Mary flinched when he stabbed the cane down in front of her.

  “Mary Reade, was it?” he said. “You’re new to the island, aren’t you?”

  Mary fought the urge to look away. “Aye.”

  “Ah.” He tapped his cane against the floor as he considered her. “Do you know, I believe I heard some of my men talking about you.”

  Fear raced up her spine. “Who would have cause to do that?”

  “They were discussing certain—predilections you have.”

  Mary’s throat closed up. “I’m done with all of that, sir.” Oh, God. The pamphlet for her hanging would read: A full and true account of the discovery and apprehending of a notorious sodomite in New Providence, taken in for wearing the dress and affecting the mannerisms of a man. “I’ve—ah, repented.”

  “Have you.” The corner of Rogers’s mouth turned up. “Tell me, are you a Protestant?”

  “Aye,” she said quickly. She had every intention of being one from now on.

  He tsked. “I haven’t seen you at church.”

  She swallowed. “Like you said, I’m new here.”

  “And which ship did you say you came in on?” he asked. “Surely you’ve been here since last Sunday?”

  “I—ah—” Her mind went blank. Anne watched with wide eyes.

  Rogers sighed. “When I lay in a bunk in the middle of the ocean, unable to speak because of the musket ball buried in my palate, unable to walk, upon death’s very door—do you think I whined about it? Do you think I blamed the king or my men or God for my plight?”

  She shook her head mutely. It had been a mistake to come, drawing attention to herself. It had been foolish mistake of both of them.

  “I had faith, Mary,” he said gently. “Faith that I would be rewarded by the king, my investors, and God once they all saw the way I bore hardship and tragedy—with humility, with patience. Always asking what God wants of me. I have a greater purpose than my own whims and desires, and I know I will be rewarded for that.” He turned and picked something up from his desk. “I expect that once both of you understand that you are part of His plan, you will find the strength to overcome your petty trials.”

  He held out a folded piece of paper, and Mary took it with shaking hands. SOCIETY FOR PROMOTING CHRISTIAN KNOWLEDGE was printed across the front.

  “Do you think I threaten you for my sake?” he asked. “My concern is your immortal souls, and the souls of all the misguided people of these islands. I want to make sure you know what God needs of you. I want you to know how great your reward will be if you perform well—and how great the punishment will be if you do not. Do you understand?”

  Mary nodded mutely, the pamphlet creasing in her grip.

  “Mrs. Bonny?” Rogers prodded.

  “Aye,” she said tensely. “I understand now, governor.”

  “I expect to see you at church this Sunday.” Rogers walked past them and opened the door, gesturing for them to leave. “Both of you will find the answers you need there.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  NEW PROVIDENCE—1719

  “JIMMY GETS THE POWER OF THE LAW, AND I GET THE POWER OF PRAYER,” Anne fumed, ripping the pamphlet to shreds and tossing it in the weeds. “I knew it. Me only choice is to go back to James and pray to bloody God he doesn’t kill me one day, as is his bloody right.”

  Now that the fear had worn off, Mary was shaking with anger. “That was unbelievable,” said Mary, crumpling her pamphlet into a ball. “I can see now why you wanted to blow the whole place to bits.”

  “We could still do it,” Anne said.

  Mary laughed despite herself. “I hear there’s plenty of powder in that fort,” she said. “We’d have to find a way in—but then, you’re very convincing when you put your mind to it.”

  “I am, aren’t I,” said Anne, grinning. Then she grabbed Mary’s hand and stopped walking. “Except with you.” She tugged Mary to face her, and Mary’s heart began beating harder. They were out of sight of the governor’s house, alone, with the jungle pressing close. “I can’t figure out what I have to do to get you to kiss me again.”

  The impotent anger racing through Mary ignited with the challenge in Anne’s gaze. Blood pounded in her ears as she looked back toward the governor’s house, but Anne drew her in with the hand she clasped. “Come here, Mary,” Anne whispered, and before Mary could hesitate again she chucked the crumpled pamphlet into the jungle and pressed Anne back against the rough trunk of a palm tree. The sound that left Anne’s lips as Mary gripped her waist made the whole world go white.

  “Dammit,” Mary breathed, their mouths almost touching. She stared at the full curve of Anne’s lip.

  She shouldn’t—she should remember—what? Anne breathed her name and leaned forward and caught Mary’s lips with hers. Giving in to Anne was dangerous and meaningless and foolhardy—and Mary sank into her. She gathered up layers of chemises and skirts and the skin of Anne’s thigh under her hand was a revelation, her mouth gloriously fervent and sweet.

  Anne put her hands on Mary’s face and pulled away, breathing hard. “There—there could be another way,” she said, chest rising and falling. “A way to rid meself of James without having to marry Jack.”

  Mary struggled to get her mind past the shine of Anne’s lips, the smoothness underneath her palm. She let the skirts slip down. “What is it?”

  Anne’s eyes searched hers. “If Jimmy went to the governor and asked for a divorce himself. But Jimmy won’t let me go without getting what he thinks he’s due.”

  “You need Jack for that,” Mary said.

  “Not if—we could pay him off.”

  “We haven’t any money for that,” Mary said slowly. “We never will. The piecework I’m doing will never pay enough, no matter how fast I sew.”

  “Aye,” said Anne. “But what if you dressed as a sailor again, and got a job on the next privateering mission? So long as the war drags on, there’ll be more going out and coming back stuffed with Spanish treasure. A share of that is a sight better than the pennies you’re making now!”

  “Jesus Christ.” Mary let go of Anne and stepped away, shaking. “I’m a bloody fool.”

  “What—what do you mean?”

  “God, I’m so stupid. I can’t believe I let you lure me in again.”

  “No, Mary, that’s not it at all!” Anne reached for her, but Mary shoved her hands away. Anne looked panicked—of course she did, now that Mary was on to her. “It would be good for both of us! You’re making nothing working for that woman, and anyone can see you hate living like this, wearing your skirts and trying to act like everyone wants you to. What if Mary just disappeared, and Mark slipped off on a mission, with no one the wiser?”

  “And risk Rogers finding out and hanging me from the gibbet? Not to mention completely scuttling me chances with Nat!” God damn it, how had she let Anne distract her from what she really wanted again?

  “The gibbet?” Anne asked incredulously. “Don’t tell me Rogers scared you that much!”

  “I’ve seen men hanged for much the same,” spat Mary. “I’ll not risk death just because you turned your charms on me when there was no one else around to save you.”

  “It’s not like that.” Anne said quietly.

  Mary folded her arms. “Oh, isn’t it?”

  “I—I’m sorry, Mary,” Anne said with a note of desperation. “I shouldn’t have asked that of you. I just thought—”

  “Forget it,” Mary said heatedly. “You can stay with me until Jack and Nat get back, but then you’ll have to try your act on Jack instead. See how that works out for you.”

  “But—that’s not what I want, Mary.”

  “I know. You want your freedom. But that’s not th
e way the world works.” Mary turned and started stomping down the path. “You better go to church on Sunday and thank God there’s a decent man who still might save you,” she threw over her shoulder.

  “Barely decent.” Anne gave a bitter laugh behind her.

  “Jack’s not so bad!” Mary said with forced enthusiasm, whacking a branch out of her way. “You said so yourself!”

  “I really have to settle for that?” Anne asked, sounding defeated.

  “You’ve got no choice,” said Mary, walking faster. “Your other options have run out.”

  CHAPTER FORTY

  ROTTERDAM—1717

  THE QUEEN CATHERINE CAME INTO VIEW AS MARY RAN BACK FROM THE gunsmith, every inch of it shining in the bright sunlight, outfitted with an obsessive perfection that only Dutch money could buy. New cannons peeked from every gun port. The crew had spent the past few days scrubbing it down with holystones, giving it a fresh coat of paint, and checking over every rope and sail. It was ready for the New World, and they were headed straight for Nassau in the morning.

  “Did you find the bastard?” Johnny growled as she approached.

  “Aye,” Mary panted, coming to a stop on the gangboard beside him.

  “What’s his excuse?”

  The gunsmith’s English had been terrible. “I think he was saying he never got the order, so I put in another. He was short at the shop, but the extra flint will be here by the end of the day.”

  Johnny grunted. “All right. See what Abe has need of you for next.”

  Mary dodged a barrel being rolled up the gangboard. The main deck was crowded with the last bits of supplies being inventoried—barrels of brined meats and water, bags of gunpowder, a few pigs. Her heart leapt when she saw Nat. He sat with Robbie and Kit on the poop deck, close to where Mary had left them a few hours before. They’d since exchanged cards for guns.

  Mary had been in misery the three weeks since she’d tried to tell Nat. He had ignored or been short with her at every opportunity—but gradually, he’d gone back to being friendly. She would do whatever it took to stay mates with him. She would cross the sea with her secret still intact, and she would figure out how to tell him once she got to the islands.