Unbinding of Mary Reade

by Miriam McNamara

  Mary turned, shading her eyes. “Who?”

  “Jimmy.”

  There were plenty of men in the market. “Which one is he, now?”

  She turned to find Anne backing away. “I’ve got to make sure Jack’s got his pardon first, before Jimmy knows I’m here. I shouldn’t be wandering about. I can’t have someone see me and let James know before we have a plan—” Anne talked fast and almost to herself as she turned and hurried back down the path.

  Mary began to follow her; then she remembered how Anne had taunted her for being scared back on Isla de Cotorras, and turned away. She needed to find Nat. She poked around the stalls, running her hands over swaths of fabric and baskets of fruit. The pocket watch Jack had given her swung against her hip—she’d need to turn it into money for food and clothing and a place to stay, but first things first.

  Not seeing Nat at any of the stalls, Mary lifted her eyes to the scruffy buildings behind the market. A few yards down she spotted a tavern with a thatched roof, its walls wide open to the breeze. It was crowded with men seated around tables with tankards in their hands.

  There! She sucked in a breath when she spotted him standing near the corner closest to her. He was in profile, handsome and tall as she remembered—and clean and well-dressed. She fingered the chain on her pocket watch, wondering how much a hot bath and new clothing would cost.

  Then her eyes fell on the man next to him.

  Robbie. His broad shoulders, his frame a few inches taller than Nat’s. The thick wavy hair. That stance, feet spread wide, like he was straddling something.

  Him standing over her, just like that—

  His bulk pinning her to the floor, bones grinding against her. Running—him only arms-length behind, breathing hard—

  She wanted to flee. She wanted to jump back in that jolly boat and paddle away, she didn’t care where—back to Isla de Cotorras—she could eat parrots and fish and be alone for the rest of her life and forget Nat and this silly notion of a place where she’d fit.

  But she would not run. Nat had hinted, at least, that there might be a place with him, if she came looking for it.

  She forced herself to exhale, to unclench her fists. Of course Robbie was here. He’d come to the islands with Nat on their pirate-hunting venture. Why wouldn’t he be here? She scanned the pub as she approached but didn’t see Kit, thank God. They were in public, she reminded herself, and she had a pistol tucked into her belt.

  “Nat,” she said when she stood, only trembling a little, on the other side of the low wall across from him. Nat and Robbie wore similar outfits, something like a uniform: clean white shirts, tan britches, gleaming pistols at their side. Nat turned to her. Shock flashed across his face when he recognized her, and his eyes darted to Robbie. Bile rose in Mary’s throat as Robbie looked at her, but his face was blank, and she had a moment to swallow and steel herself.

  Then Robbie smiled broadly. “Well fancy that.” He turned to a man who had just walked over and lifted a hand in greeting. “Here’s that friend of Nat’s I was telling you about the other night. The boy shaped like a girl—or was it the other way around?”

  Nat gave a short laugh and patted the stranger on the back. “The other way around, Robbie. You know that.” He turned to the stranger, who was looking Mary up in down in a way that made her skin crawl. “This is—well, I knew her as Mark, but I suppose that’s not her real name. We’ll have to ask her what she calls herself these days.”

  She hated how Nat kept looking at Robbie to gauge his reaction. “It’s Mary,” she said through clenched teeth.

  “So you’ve come begging pardon,” Nat said, nodding approval, and Mary felt a stab of nerves. Please, dear God, let him not have told Robbie about their meeting.

  “Why would I beg pardon?” Mary asked, forcing innocence into her voice. “Why, I’ve just come in on a merchant ship these past few days. I’ve done nothing wrong.”

  Nat’s eyes narrowed. “I’d say you’ve done nothing but wrong.”

  Mary’s stomach twisted. Where was the softness she’d hoped to see in him again?

  Robbie snorted. “Aw, he’s still put out about what happened on the Catherine. You should’ve heard him moaning, all the way to the islands! About how his best mate had betrayed him.”

  Mary forced herself to exhale. It didn’t seem like Nat had told Robbie about Isla de Cotorras after all. But if Robbie didn’t know she’d been a pirate, why was Nat acting so cold?

  The third man snorted. “This is that lass? The one Robbie told me you was always going on about?” His lip curled as he leered at Mary.

  “I didn’t go on about her,” said Nat.

  Mary flinched at the hardness in his tone. This was going nothing like she’d wanted it to. “So I’ve done nothing but wrong.” She couldn’t keep the hurt from her voice. The last time she’d seen him, he’d given her so much hope.

  “You know what I mean. You need to beg pardon, Mark—Mary.”

  She looked from Nat to Robbie to their friend, then fixed her gaze firmly back on Nat, swallowing a meek reply. She wasn’t the only one needing forgiveness, but she was the only one expected to ask for it.

  Well, she wouldn’t. Not like this. She set her jaw, turned on her heel, and strode away.

  Mary stomped back down to the beach, breath hissing through her teeth, tears burning behind her eyelids.

  “Mary, wait!” Nat called from behind her, and anger roared up inside her.

  She spun around to face him. “You here to drag me off to the governor?” She stalked back and shoved him. “Fine. Take me then!”

  “Hey, Mary.” He flinched when she pushed him, but held his ground, and she couldn’t help noticing the way her real name sounded in his voice. He caught her fisted hand and held it. “You took me by surprise—with Robbie, of all people, and bloody James, who he’s told everything to. I—you threw me off a bit.”

  “James—Bonny?” Of course Robbie was best mates with Jimmy. Of course.

  Confusion flickered across Nat’s face. “Aye, you know of him?”

  “Never mind.” The warmth of his grip on her hand was distracting, but she kept her fingers clenched. “Me best mate died, you know that?” she said. “The one you shot right in front of me, remember?”

  “Did you know Kit died on that beach as well?” Nat asked, and with a shock Mary realized he was as close to tears as she was. He dropped his head and took a deep breath. “Neither side is innocent,” he said quietly.

  They were both silent for a moment. She wanted to say I’m sorry, because she was sorry he’d lost his mate even though she’d hated him—but he hadn’t apologized for Paddy, either. “I won’t beg pardon, Nat. From you or the bloody governor.”

  He released her hand gently. “Of course. You’re right. I’ll just keep me mouth shut and no one’ll know better. No one needs to know you was ever on the account. I should have thought of that.”

  Mary nodded tensely, lowering her hands.

  “It’s good to see you,” he said quietly. “I’ve kept an eye out for you ever since I saw you, praying you’d show up.”

  A lump rose in her throat. Here was the softness she longed for. “I—it’s good to see you, too.”

  Nat cocked his head, the corner of his mouth turning up. Shadows of palm fronds shifted across his face as the breeze picked up.

  “Where are you planning on staying?” he asked.

  Mary’s chest tightened. “I thought I’d just stay on the beach tonight, until I get me bearings.”

  “No need for that!” he said, lighting up. “There’s a place you can stay until you get settled. It’s close to here. Follow me.” Nat spun around and strode toward the water, gesturing for Mary to follow. They followed the shoreline around a curve, out of sight of the main beach, where the tree line dipped closer to the high tide mark.

  Not long after, they stopped beneath the shade of a palmetto stand, in front of the oddest structure Mary had ever seen. It looked something like the d
isembodied captain’s quarters of a ship, with a whole wall of old glass windows across the front, a few of them shattered. It was as if a ship had sunk into quicksand, leaving the stern end thrusting up toward the sun. A doorway on the side was hung with sailcloth. A phalanx of mastheads stood along the top—a fierce-looking gull; a bare-breasted maiden; a rearing dolphin. All listed to one side or the other, tied in place by knotted ropes, perched along the roof like drunken birds. “Here you go!” Nat said, holding open the sailcloth door. “This used to be a whorehouse, but Rogers had us clean it out not too long ago. No one’s been staying here since.”

  Mary ducked under the sailcloth and found herself in a gloomy room, illuminated only by sun through the wall of windows. Hammocks, straight-backed chairs, a broad wooden table, a number of low cots along the back with moth-eaten curtains dividing them. Rats scurried from the pitch-dark corners, but it was dry and protected, and sleeping on a straw mattress would be a luxury.

  Nat stepped in behind her, letting the sailcloth fall and dim the light. “There you go. You can stay here until you get settled.”

  Mary felt his fingers touch hers, then take her hand and clasp it. She turned—what did it mean that he’d taken her to a brothel, of all places? But when she looked at him, there was no lechery in his gaze. His grip was firm, his face unsure. “This is confusing for me,” he said quietly. “You look like Mark, but I know you’re someone else. I want to see one or the other—girl or boy—not both.”

  “I—I’m not sure that’s possible.” Her breath was loud between them. “I think I might be permanently mixed up.”

  He gave her a lopsided smile. “I’ve thought about you a lot,” he said. “What it might have been like, if you’d always been Mary. I couldn’t help wondering—” He paused.

  Mary swallowed hard. “I’d like to see what it’s like between us,” he said finally. “Now that you’re Mary. I’m excited to meet her. You.”

  Mary exhaled. “I’m excited for that, too.” Even more than Nat meeting her—who would she be, when she wasn’t Mark to everyone?

  “I’m at Jacob’s tavern most evenings,” Nat said casually, giving her a sideways look as he gestured to her britches. “Maybe Mary could stop by sometime, when she comes to town?”

  “You arse.” Mary grinned. “Yes. She’ll be sure to swing by.”

  The morning sun coming through the palmetto fronds outside the windows made the room glow green. They were alone, the sounds of the beach outside muffled by the walls. He was so close. He had a bit of stubble on his cheek—that was new. But he had the same freckle on his lip. The same dark eyes, long lashes, the same easy smile. He pulled a flask from his pocket and popped the stopper out with one hand. “A drink, Mary. To you. To getting to know the girl I grew up with. To forgetting about the boy.” He took a swig and held it out.

  In truth, she didn’t know if it was possible. Even she didn’t know where one ended and the other began. But if Nat was asking it of her, standing so close and looking at her so intently, she knew she could try. “All right then,” she said. She took the bottle and tipped it back. “To Mary, whoever she is. To making a proper girl of her.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  NEW PROVIDENCE—1719

  MARY STEELED HERSELF AND WENT BACK TO THE MARKET THE NEXT DAY, dragging her feet as she approached a stall where a sempstress was selling dresses and underthings. She made herself ignore the fine britches and shirts, clean and freshly pressed like Nat’s, and instead picked a plain blue linen dress out of the gaudy, beribboned confections that surrounded it. She could see herself, she decided, in its simple, clean lines.

  The sempstress came huffing around the side of the stall, leaning heavily on her cane. “Lord have mercy,” she said, landing on a chair with a thump. Sweat stood out on her forehead. “Who would have thought I would be busier on a godforsaken island than the center of London. There’s no competition, is what it is, and I can hardly keep up.”

  “Business is good, then?” Mary said conversationally, trying to keep the tremble from her voice.

  “Aye, I should be thanking God, shouldn’t I? It’s a sin to complain.” The sempstress’s eyes landed on the dress in Mary’s hands. “Have a sweetheart you’re hoping to impress?” she asked, brows waggling.

  “No,” Mary said, heart racing. “It’s for me.”

  The sempstress went silent, looking Mary over. Her eyes narrowed when they landed on Mary’s unbound chest, her gaze sharp as it fixed on her face again. “Two shillings,” the sempstress finally said. “I’ll throw in a gown petticoat to match.”

  “Two shillings?” Mary asked incredulously.

  “Came all the way from London, that did,” she said. “And I’ve got enough work that I don’t need to bargain, keep that in mind.”

  Mary exhaled. “If you help me figure out the underthings to go with it, I’ll pay you that and more.”

  The sempstress pinched her lips together. “I suppose I could do that,” she said finally. “God favors the charitable. Let’s see. You need a shift, stays, dickey petticoat, all of that?”

  “Everything,” Mary said, swallowing.

  “Well then. Let’s see. Stays for someone about your size.” She fumbled through a couple of baskets and stood up with something in her hands. She came around the table and held the stays up to Mary. “This looks like it should fit. I’ll throw in a day cap and apron as well. Give me a moment and I’ll get everything together.”

  “I’ll take whatever this can buy,” Mary said, setting her pocket watch down. “That’s worth five shillings if it’s worth a penny. And I’ll take a few extra shifts if you have them.”

  The sempstress’s eyes lit up. Then she looked around furtively. “Contraband ain’t legal no more,” she said slowly. “I’d be taking quite the risk in accepting this. We could both end up in gaol.” But then she seemed to change her mind, palming the watch quickly. “All right, then. Dress, three shifts, stays, and the dickey and gown petticoats. That should be a start. I’ll wrap them up for you.”

  The sempstress bustled around with crinkling tissue paper for a couple of moments, then piled a stack of soft packages in Mary’s hands. The paper gave delicately beneath her grubby fingers.

  “Come by if you need the gown tailored any, you hear?” the sempstress added generously. “I’ll throw that in for you as well. If I’m not here, just ask around for Molly Hatch.”

  “I won’t need any help with that,” Mary said, then an idea dawned on her. “I’m very handy with a needle. Tell me, what would you pay for help with your orders?”

  Molly gave her a skeptical look. “I pay a half-penny per piece. If the stitching is impeccable.”

  Piecework. Mary did the figures quickly in her head—she was going to have to sew awfully fast to make anything, and it would still be nothing like what she’d been promised as a sailor, or what she’d made for her three months as a pirate off just the one pocket watch. Still, it was better than nothing. “Would you be interested in my help?” Mary asked.

  Molly narrowed her eyes again. “Tell you what. You come back in those togs tailored to fit, and I’ll take a look at you and your stitches and tell you if I’m interested.”

  “Thank you,” said Mary, a thrill running through her. “I’d be very grateful.”

  Nat was sitting at the bar, a half-full mug of ale before him, empty stools on either side. Mary ran an uneasy hand over her cornflower skirts and tugged nervously on the braid that she had plaited that morning. The braid was fine; she was used to a sailor’s pigtail. And she was gloriously clean, head to foot. It was these damned skirts that made her feel so uncomfortable, like an actor on a stage. She definitely hadn’t been Mark, that was true. But she wasn’t so sure she was this girl, either.

  This would surely be the test. She ducked under the palmetto awning. “Well, well. Just the cove I was looking for.”

  Nat’s face split in a grin when he saw her. “If it ain’t Mary in the flesh!” He pulled a stool ou
t. “Let me buy you a drink?”

  Did she imagine that he looked her up and down appreciatively as she approached? She smiled and tried not to walk too stiffly. “I’ll have the same,” she said to the barkeep as she took the stool, then wondered if that was the proper thing to do. She tried to remember: did girls drink ale? Mum had drunk gin; Granny, port. Anne liked wine, but she wasn’t exactly a standard for proper girlishness.

  “Prepare to be impressed!” Nat raised his mug. “This is no taplash, but a fine English ale—can’t believe it made it all the way from London without the tars downing the whole keg!”

  The barkeep set a mug down in front of her, and Mary took a sip. It was light and malty, with an aftertaste of honey. “It is good,” she agreed.

  Nat nodded.

  She was at a loss. What would a proper girl say now? She knew what Mark would have said, but that was probably exactly the wrong thing. Her cheeks were heating up under the warmth of Nat’s gaze.

  Damn it.

  “It’s good to see you like this,” he said, and touched her sleeve. Not quite her arm, but almost; she felt the fabric tug in his grip. “It’s as good as I imagined it.”

  Way back when, she’d imitated Nat to learn how to flirt with girls. Perhaps she could try to flirt with him like Anne. God, Anne was good at it. The comments, touching her hair, raising a brow as she leaned in close. A light touch that went on a little longer than it should. Mary couldn’t begin to imitate all of it—but she could raise an eyebrow, at least. She tried it. “You imagined me like this, did you?” Eyebrow up. There.

  He leaned back on his stool. “Lord, I’ve said too much.”

  It seemed to be working. She took a long pull of her ale and kept going. “Robbie did say all you talked about was me, after I left.”

  He laughed, sounding pleased at her boldness. “That’s a bit of an overstatement. It was just a shock to lose you like that. And after learning you was a girl—” He shook his head. “It was hard to get you out of me head, I’ll admit.”