Unbinding of Mary Reade

by Miriam McNamara

  She took another drink. A good start—but she wasn’t sure where to go now. She had the feeling that from here it might get away from her.

  “You were hard to get out of my head, too,” she said.

  “Was I, now.” Nat bit his freckle in that way that used to drive her crazy. Mary shook the sudden image of Anne looking up through her lashes from her head. Had someone distracted Nat in the meantime as well? The thought of him with another girl had driven her crazy since Rotterdam—but she couldn’t bring herself to ask.

  “I got a job,” she said instead. “I think. Working for the sempstress.”

  Nat frowned. “I hate to think of you having to work.”

  “How else do you think I’m going to survive?” Mary asked incredulously. “What do you think women do, when they don’t have a man to support them?”

  “I suppose … I don’t know any women your age on the island who work,” he mused. “They all came to the islands with a man, or because of one. At least, that’s the case since we shut down the bawdy house. I suppose sewing is better than that.”

  “Christ, Nat,” she choked. “Aye, it suits me a bit better.”

  “All I know is, my wife won’t have to work,” he said. “I’m about to ship out on another privateering mission. If it goes well, I’m going to have enough money to build a real house.” He took a long drink. “I’ll be looking to settle down. Live a Godly life.”

  Her heart skipped a beat. The last time she’d thought to yearn for God’s love, she’d been someone who never could have earned it. But she was starting over, trying to do right this time. “You sound like you’ve got someone in mind,” she said lightly.

  He chuckled, but it sounded forced. “Well now.” He looked deep into his beer. “If Robbie has his way, it’ll be his sister Livie.”

  Her heart sank. “She the kind of girl you’re looking for, then? Doesn’t work, and goes to church on Sundays?”

  “I suppose, something like that.” He cleared his throat and leaned in with a smile. “But right now, what I’m thinking of is all the money I could make on this mission I’m heading out on.”

  Mary took another long swallow of ale, jealousy hot in her stomach. “Is that just because she hasn’t lifted her skirts for you yet?”

  He looked shocked. “Mary Reade!”

  She shrugged irritably. “What? You would have told me straight off, back when we was mates.”

  “Back when—” He shut his mouth, throat working. “I would have, wouldn’t I?”

  “Aye,” she said, and raised her mug to her lips, but it was empty.

  She smacked it down on the bar and gestured for another.

  He looked at her askance as he signaled the barkeep as well. “You know, sometimes it seems that Mark’s the one that was real, and you’re him pretending to be Mary.”

  “We’re one and the same, you know—Mark and Mary. Both are me.” What had she thought, that she’d put on skirts and transform into the kind of girl Nat liked to charm? The kind that lived a righteous life? A dress was just another binding, fooling people into thinking she fit the spaces she filled. She took her second mug of ale.

  Nat nodded uncomfortably. They drank in heavy silence for a moment. “Why do I have to act differently, now that I’m a girl?” she asked. “I’m the same person I was then—just as much as you are.” She didn’t know why this aggravated her so much.

  “It is different, though. You have to see that.”

  She shook her head.

  “You’re a girl, Mary. I think about you different than I did.”

  “And you’re a bleeding tosser,” she snapped. “Just like you always were.”

  He laughed. “Right enough.” He put a hand on her thigh and rested it there, casual.

  Oh.

  He never would have touched Mark like that.

  He gave her thigh a squeeze. “I suppose I could get used to it—you a girl, but maybe still be the cove I knew as well.”

  She didn’t move away. Nat’s hand on her was solid and assured. “Lucky me,” she squeaked out.

  He leaned in, eyes serious, his perfect lips inches from hers. “What I was trying to say about Livie is—she’s lovely, but since I saw you on that beach, I … it’s you I think about.”

  Her head was spinning from the ale. If she was a girl like any other, there was only one thing all of this could have meant—his hand on her thigh, leaning in to whisper about how he couldn’t stop thinking about her. But was she a girl like any other, to him?

  Only one way to find out.

  She leaned forward. She curled her fingers into his hair and pulled him in and brushed her lips against his.

  You kiss him just like that, he’ll fall for you …

  Nat’s hand tightened on her thigh and she kissed him again, trying to wipe Anne from her mind. This kiss was different. This was real. This was soft and tasted like malt and honey and was just as good as how she’d imagined it.

  She pulled away unsteadily, and Nat looked as disoriented as she felt. “I’ve been wanting to do that for a long time,” she murmured. His lips were just as warm as Anne’s, his response just as eager. Mary leaned in again, determined to kiss Nat until there was nothing left in her mind but him—but Nat glanced up and pulled back suddenly. “How’s it going with Burgess, Robbie?” he said over her shoulder, letting his hand slip from her thigh.

  Mary made her face pleasant before she turned.

  Robbie was glowering at her. “Burgess himself sent me to find you,” he said, taking in her new attire. Mary tried to hold his gaze defiantly but looked away after a moment, and he focused his glare on Nat. “They’re struggling to ship out on schedule, no thanks to you getting into your cups.”

  “It was only a pint of ale,” said Nat. “I just stopped for one last drink.”

  Robbie folded his arms. “Burgess says you’re needed at the fort. Says you ship out tomorrow—or had you forgotten?”

  “Fine, fine!” Nat laughed, pushing back his stool. “I’m coming.”

  “Hurry up then.” Robbie turned and stalked out of the tavern.

  Nat grabbed Mary’s hand. “Can I see you again, when I return?” Nat asked. His smile was a brisk wind on a fair day.

  Mary squeezed his fingers. After so much confusion and so many mistakes—maybe she could still right her course. “Go on then,” she said, “I’ll be waiting for you.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  ROTTERDAM—1717

  ON FIRST GLANCE ROTTERDAM WAS JUST LIKE LONDON. TO GET THERE, the Queen Catherine tacked up a river like the one they’d left just days before. Wharves and shipyards lined the waterfront, just as they did in Wapping. The ship dropped anchor at a dock like the one they’d left, thronged with a similar bustle of goods going this way and that. But this river was not the Thames; it was blue and calm, smelling of salt instead of sewage. Mary overheard snatches of conversations she couldn’t understand.

  Lights winked on as the sun set, beckoning the crew in all directions at once as they finished docking the ship and headed into the city.

  Mary grabbed Nat’s elbow, her stomach humming with nerves. “You want to grab a pint of ale with me? It’s been a while since it’s been just the two of us, and it’ll be months before we have the chance again, once we ship out!”

  But Nat looked toward Kit and Robbie, who were shoving each other up ahead. “We’re headed to a pub we found on our last trip here,” he said. “But me and you will have a beer before we ship out, just the two of us. What do you think—want to come along?”

  Mary nodded, the tension in her belly releasing. She wanted to tell him everything before they left, but another day or two to work up the courage couldn’t hurt.

  Every street they turned down was pretty and wide, and every person they passed was fatter than the last. The taverns had spotless front steps, glass in their windows, and bright tiles on their roofs. The horses were fat and freshly curried, the hackneys gilded and gleaming. The air smelled heavenl
y, like roasting meat and whitewash and the damp of rain. Even the cobblestones were clean. Where was the dirt and filth, the gray air, the stench, the gangs of starving brats and pockmarked beggars? Where were the rotting warehouses and crumbling tenements? Where did these people empty their chamber pots and throw their refuse, if not in the streets and the river?

  The hot scent of roasting meat filled her nose as Mary followed Nat, Kit, and Robbie into the pub. She was ravenous. They found an empty table, Nat hailed a serving girl, and Kit whipped out a deck of cards and started dealing them all in. They’d been playing Ruff and Honours every time they had a free moment. Mary had just started getting the hang of it, and was eager to make up for all the points she’d lost over the past few days.

  The air crackling from the fireplace blazing in the center of the room was hot, and Mary soon shrugged out of her tarred jacket. A girl bearing a tray of tankards dropped one off in front of each of them. She had yellow hair that wisped around her face and a wide gap between her front teeth when she smiled. She left a lovely, soapy trail of scent behind, and Nat turned and watched her glide back to the bar.

  Mary nosed her own sleeve, smelling her own sour stink. She never smelled like that girl.

  She bent as if to scratch her leg, and inhaled Nat’s stench as she leaned over the bench. That same unwashed odor smelled so good on him.

  When she looked back up, both Kit and Robbie were giving her narrow-eyed looks. They said nothing, and Mary grew uneasy. “What?”

  Robbie’s nostrils flared. “Your turn, mate.”

  “Oh. Aye.” Perhaps they hadn’t seen her smelling Nat.

  She’d just smelled Nat. She needed to mind herself.

  They were playing two against two. Kit and Robbie were up three points. The serving girl approached again as Mary threw down her card, carrying two plates full of meat and gravy that she set down before Kit and Robbie. “I’ll be back with two more?” the girl said with a broad smile and a thick accent. Nat stared up at her, blinking, then nodded slowly. Robbie laughed as she left and gave Nat a shove. “In love, are you?” asked Kit.

  Mary kept her eyes fixed on her cards as Nat grinned and shrugged.

  “Looks like we picked the right alehouse,” said Robbie. “Wonder if these girls work the rooms upstairs as well, eh?”

  Kit glanced at his hand and pulled a card. “Oh, what I’d do for an extra shilling …”

  Mary felt a bit sick, the strong ale turning her empty stomach. She put her cards down and looked to the bar, hoping to see the girl returning with their food, but the maid was chatting with someone instead. When Mary turned back, Nat was grinning. “Liked what you saw as well, did you?” he asked.

  “I’d like her better if she brought me a plate.”

  “I’d like her better if she brought me upstairs,” Robbie quipped, nudging Nat again.

  Nat was distracted by his hand. “Damn,” he said, and played an honour. Mary was never going to win if he kept playing like this.

  “This place reminds me of the Red Ox back home.” Robbie slopped gravy around his plate with a crust of bread. “They was a lot of common doxies, but they did know how to treat a feller right.”

  “Sure you know, the amount of time you spent hanging over the taps there.” Kit took the trick.

  “Only reason you saw me there is you were there all the bleeding time yourself!”

  They fell silent for a moment, staring at their hands.

  “Did you ever go?” Mary asked Nat suddenly. “To one of them bawdy houses?”

  “Aye.” Nat frowned, wiggled a card free of his hand, then changed his mind for a different one.

  She hadn’t known that.

  “So our young Nat’s fallen for a loose woman’s charms before,” Kit said.

  The way the conversation was slowing the game’s pace was beginning to get to Mary. “Your turn, Kit.”

  “You unrig the drab, then?” he asked Nat, ignoring her.

  Nat sighed and nodded wistfully. “I was sure she’d taken a real fancy to me, but turned out the girl that took me innocence was only interested in me coin.”

  “That’s all that ever interests them.” Kit finally played a card, and Mary put down hers. Finally, she’d won a point.

  “I don’t know about that, now.” Nat tilted his head at the leading card Mary played, but his eyes wandered toward the bar. “That yeller-haired angel might be different, and I’ve a mind to find out.”

  “Are we playing cards or not?” Mary threw down her hand. “If you lot aren’t going to play, I’m out.”

  “Now Mark, no need to be jealous,” Nat said, laughing. “I’ll find out if she’s got a sister when I’m getting to know her.”

  Robbie leaned back in his seat. “If that girl’s got a sister, she’s mine. Sorry, Mark.” His smile grew nasty. “But it’s her brother you’d fancy more, eh?”

  Mary stared at him, mouth open, unsure if she’d heard him right. “What—what’s that?” He couldn’t have guessed. Could he? He had a sly look on his face.

  Then suddenly, she understood.

  He didn’t think she was a girl—but he didn’t think she was a proper chap, either.

  She stood. She should make a crack, or ignore him and go back to the game. But she couldn’t. She was shaking. “You—you’re a bastard, Robbie, you know that?” Why did her voice have to sound so weak? She shoved the bench back.

  “What the devil are you getting so worked up about?” Robbie asked, a smug expression on his face as she stumbled over the bench. He loved her reaction, and she hated herself for giving it to him. “Sure I was just poking a bit of fun.”

  Mark stalked toward the door.

  “You’ve ruined the teams, Mark,” Nat called over the crowd. “Get back here. Come on, Mark!”

  She pushed through the tavern and out the door, breaking into a run as soon as cold air hit her face. She didn’t get far—she stopped when she hit a railing at the water’s edge of a little inlet, and then she crouched down on the dock, arms over her head, breathing hard. Why? Why couldn’t she just play the game, keep her mouth shut, and eat her supper? Why couldn’t she take a joke with the rest of the boys?

  Nat caught up quickly. “Bloody hell, Mark! You’re in rare form tonight, aren’t you?” His boots stopped beside her. She kept her head bent so he couldn’t see her face, but he squatted down next to her, grabbed her arm and gave her a gentle shake. “Come on, sure it was just a joke.”

  “I’m pretty sure it was more than that!” She twisted out of his grip and lost her balance, falling against the railing.

  When he saw her face, his expression changed. “Crying over it, are you? God Almighty.”

  She pushed herself upright and wiped her cheeks furiously. Now. She should tell him now.

  “Christ, Mark. Is it really—” Nat’s throat worked. “Are you—?” He didn’t finish.

  “No, Nat, I’m not.” Say it. This is the moment.

  Nat put his hands up. “Mark, look, I’ve been trying to tell them. But I don’t know, sometimes I wonder meself—”

  Mary held her breath. “What?” she whispered. “What do you wonder, Nat?”

  “I just—nothing.” He looked away, sounding embarrassed. “I’m stupid to listen to them, ain’t I?”

  She wondered how he couldn’t see the answer shining in her face through the darkness. “Nat, look, I—” she said, stammering. She’d worked so hard for so long not to let it slip.

  “You know what? It’s fine,” he said, standing up. All questioning was gone from his voice. “You don’t have to convince me. I know you, and I trust you. If you say you’re not a molly, then you’re not.”

  She stared across the water. Lights blazed up on the inlet’s opposite shore, their reflections lapping out toward her. It was so hard to break his trust. And what for? Did she think he’d fall in love with her, with her face and body that passed for a boy’s, when pretty Dutch serving girls smelled so good and curvy girls like Susan kissed him for h
ours?

  “I’m not a molly,” she said finally.

  “I’m sorry I gave it any credence,” he said. “I’m on your side, all right? I know it’s true, you was always going on so about Beth.”

  “Aye. I was.” She looked at Nat’s earnest face, remembering how quickly Beth’s eagerness had hardened to contempt.

  “Come on, she’s surely brought our plates by now. Our food’s probably going cold.” He offered his hand, but withdrew it before she could grasp it. He looked ashamed, but he turned away. “I’m starving,” he said, walking off. “Let’s go.”

  Mary used the railing to pull herself to her feet, then followed him to the tavern, wishing she could just return to the way it was before, back when they’d been children playing pirates down on the docks. If there was any way to go back to that easy fondness, she would have gladly done it. But as her gaze lingered on his broad shoulders, easy gait, and unkempt hair, she knew there was no hope of that.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  NEW PROVIDENCE—1719

  “MOLLY HATCH?” MARY ASKED, APPROACHING THE SEMPSTRESS’S STALL.

  Molly looked up from her stitches. “Well now!” she exclaimed. “Don’t you look lovely in that color.”

  Mary came close, and Molly leaned in to see her work. “I’m still interested in doing piecework for you, if you’re in need of the help,” Mary said.

  Molly set down her work. “Let me take a good look, now. Me fingers have been dreadful arthritic as of late.” She came around the table and lifted the skirt, inspecting Mary’s needlework. “The lines are unconventional,” she said, raising her brows. “Still, the stitching is neat, and I’m desperate for some relief.”

  “You won’t regret it,” Mary said. “I can start as soon as you like.”

  The sempstress gave her a hard look. “I’d be grateful for the help, so long as you stay in your skirts. Won’t sit right with me customers if I seem to have hired a godless wench.”

  Mary fought a flush of anger. “Of course not,” she said agreeably.