by L. A. Meyer
That night, when Amy and I are in for the night, I say, "That preacher cove gives me the creeps, for sure."
She is silent for a bit and then says, "There are things said about that man. Be careful, Jacky."
Chapter 4
We are in Music and most of the chorus has come down from its perch and Maestro Fracelli is gathering up his music sheets when Clarissa decides to have a little fun with me. She approaches me with Lissette de Lise and a few others in tow and says, "Jacky, dear. We have heard that you can play upon some sort of fife. Will you favor us with a tune?" Fake smiles and the beat-beat of the eyelashes.
I can tell right off that they mean to make sport of me, but the whole chorus is listening in on this so I says what the hell, I've faced tougher crowds than this, and so I pull my whistle from my sleeve and place it on my lips and I starts in on "The Eddystone Light."
First I play the melody on the whistle and it's a right sprightly bouncy little jig and then I throws back my head and sings out the first verse:
"My father was the keeper of the Eddystone light,
And he slept with a mermaid one fine night!
Of this strange union there came three;
Twas a porpoise
and a tuna
and then came me!
Yo, ho, ho! The wind blows free,
Oh, for the life on the rolling sea!"
I cast my eyes about the chorus but they're all smiling and wide-eyed and listening and not makin' mock of me so I decides to push my luck and tootles another round on the whistle, makin' it a bit different this time, not the straight melody but something like it.
"Very nice, Miss Faber," says the Maestro. "I especially like that counter melody you did on your flageolet on the second verse."
I blush under his praise. So that's what my whistle is called in the world of higher music. Maestro Fracelli bows and hands his stick to me. What?
"Would you like to lead the chorus in this little song, yes?"
I gulp and take the baton and I step to the podium and give the baton a few raps and say, "Everybody back in your places. Now let's do this little song. I will sing the verses and you will sing the chorus. And the chorus is..."
But they've already got it.
"Yo, ho, ho, the wind blows free,
Oh, for the life on the rolling sea."
So I sings the second verse.
"One night I was trimmin' of the glim
And singin' a verse from the evening hymn,
When a voice to starboard shouted 'Ahoy!'
And there was me mother a sittin on a buoy."
And again they does the chorus and they quite naturally comes in high on the second ho and draws out the final sea like a mournful foghorn that I know they've heard out on the harbor on a stormy night. Could I make some money with this group on the right night in the right tavern when the fleet's in, or what? I sing the next verse.
"What has become of my children three?
My mother then did ask of me.
One was shown as a talking fish,
And the other was served on a chafing dish."
And again they does the chorus and I glances at Clarissa and she don't look happy at all, as this is not goin' the way she thought it would. Good. So I goes into the last verse.
"Then the phosphorus flashed in her seaweed hair,
And I looked again and me mother wasn't there.
A voice came echoing out of the night,
'To hell with the keeper of the Eddystone light!'"
With that the girls light into the last chorus and just at the end I steps out to the center and puts the whistle back to my lips and starts the dance. I plays and dances together for a bit and then I stops with the whistle and just dances, just hammers out the steps and raps the floor with my heels and they echo off the walls and the girls start clappin' in time and I'm doin' all me steps and moves and then, just at the end, I bring back the whistle and with a final flourish on the whistle and a fine rattle of my feet, I ends it and puts me hands in the air and bows low.
Silence. Then one "Bravo, Jacky!" and then another and another and wild applause all around, and I loves it so much that I just clasps me hands together on me chest and closes me eyes till things quiet down.
When I open my eyes, Clarissa is standing there with Lissette and the rest of the girls have left the choral stand and have gathered about, and Maestro is saying that yes, yes the music of the folk is the basis for all the music, and Clarissa says, "I know that kind of dancing. It's what the poor people on our estate in Virginia do. The blacks and poor whites. If it's done by the nigras, it's called buck dancing. If it's done by poor whites, it's called clogging. Sometimes they put on performances for us as we sit on the verandah in the cool of the evening. We find it mildly amusing, if somewhat simple."
Clarissa brings the power of her gaze to rest upon my poor self.
"Sounds like the poor people have all the fun where you come from," I says, gettin' all hot and comin' up nose to nose with Clarissa.
"Oh no." She smiles, all superior. "The people of your class have very little fun. They have to work for their keep, you know. As do the slaves who—"
"A slaveholder. I heard you were a slaveholder, but I couldn't believe it. Even of you." I'm lookin' her up and down and holding my hands to my mouth as if I'm about to throw up and I ain't fakin' it, no, I ain't banterin' now. "I've seen slavers at sea, Clarissa. You really ought to be ashamed."
Clarissa's smile has been replaced by a low, level stare. "I am not the least ashamed. The superior orders must keep the lower orders in their place. We take care of them and they work for us. It is the way of the world and it is as it should be."
I'm workin' up a big gob of spit and am fixin' to put it in her eye when she wheels and heads toward the door.
"Clarissa," I says, and she and Lissette stop and turn to face me. I point toward the French girl, right between her eyes. "Tell me, Princess. When you kiss the Frog, does it turn into a prince?"
There is a snicker. Then another. Then many. And, finally, all-out laughter. Lissette looks, all confused, to Clarissa—the French girl does not get it.
Clarissa, however, does get it. She shoots me a look of pure malice as the laughter swirls about her. She puffs up and comes back to face me and says, "I'll bet your mother was a slutty mermaid. You do smell strongly of fish; you do know that, don't you?"
A curtain of red comes down over my mind and I hear myself say in a low growl, "My mother was a lady, Clarissa, and if you ever..."
At this moment I am aware that Maestro has come up between us and is saying, "Ladies. Ladies, please. The sheathing of the claws, please."
Clarissa puffs up and goes to leave, but this time, I spins on my heel and I flounces out, leaving Clarissa in flames behind me.
I go out into the hall, flushed with the emotion of the performance and the confrontation, and I see Mistress standing there. She has heard all of it. I bob and then go on down the passageway. She does not stop me.
We leave Geography, the last class of the day, and gratefully head for the afternoon tea, and settle down in the soft leather chairs. It is Lissette's turn to serve, so I must watch out for any false moves with the teapot. Amy, sitting next to me, has something on her mind, I can tell. But I can wait.
After we are served our tea and cakes and I thank Lissette and she gives me a frosty nod, I winks at the girl Rachel who's acting as Lissette's servant and I get a small grin out of her. Amy says in a low voice that none but me can hear, "I don't know if it is my place to be telling you this, and I hope you do not think I make a practice of eavesdropping on other people's conversations, but..."—and there's a long pause.
Come on, Amy, get it out.
"But, as I was walking by Mistress Pimm's office door, I chanced to hear Reverend Mather inside asking to see the school's financial records. Mistress murmured something that I couldn't catch, but I heard a desk drawer opening and I assumed that she was handing over her ledger.
He is a member of the Board of Governors of the school, after all, and has a perfect right to inspect the records. Still, and I cannot be sure, but from the tone of her voice, I felt that Mistress was not entirely pleased at this intrusion into what I am sure she feels is her own affairs."
Amy sits back and seems lost in the recollection. I have another bit of cake and wait. After a bit, she goes on.
"He was riffling the pages for only a few scant seconds when he asked outright about you, and how much money you had brought to the school. Mistress named a page and I heard him turning to it. He then made a sound like 'Hmmm!' and in a moment he bid Mistress a good day and was back in the hall, putting his hat back on. He strode right on by me standing there in the hall, and I do not think he even saw me, even though I dropped a curtsy and bid him good day. He did not answer and was through the front door in a moment."
I thank her for this information and assure her it was right and proper that she should tell me this. Then I think on it for a long time.
That evening, as we ready for bed and I am in my nightdress, I take my hairbrush out into the hall and stand there brushing my hair and looking out the window at the end of the hall, the window that looks out on the church. There is a light in one of the upper windows of the Preacher's church.
What is he about? I wonders.
Chapter 5
We're returning from Equestrian, and I'm flushed with victory—Henry and Herr Hoffman had decided I was ready to join the others in the circle of riders! I rode in on my dear Gretchen, both of our heads held high, the Look firmly on my face, and with all eyes on me, I spurred us to the spot right in front of Clarissa, so that she would view my mare's behind as we circled around. Herr Hoffman cracked his whip and we were off on a fast trot, then a canter, then a full gallop, then "Veel!" and we turn about, and as we do I lock eyes with Clarissa and perfect understanding and perfect hatred passes between us. Then it was my turn to stare at her horse's rump, but I didn't care. Later, Gretchen and I were called to the center, and while the others sat their mounts, we showed them a bit of dressage— first walking in place, then turn to right, forward three paces, then back up three and turn to left and then she paces forward, one step, pause with one foreleg held up high, then another step, another pause, then step. Then stop. I get a "Veil done, Mädchen!" and then it's back in the circle with Gretchie and me. Glory!
Later, when we were walking the horses to cool them, I saw the Preacher standing off in the distance. He had climbed a small hill and was standing there, watching us. I got the uneasy feeling he was especially watching me. It put a little chill on my joy, but I shook it off.
Clarissa, of course, does not walk her own horse, but instead flips the reins to Henry for him to do it. She strides off alone back to the school, head high, whipping her riding crop at bushes and leafy branches and anything else she passes.
So the gang of us plunges back into the school. We run up the stairs and burst into the dormitory to wash up a bit and we're startled to find Clarissa standing in front of Sylvie, pointing her finger in the girl's face and yelling at the trembling chambermaid.
"I told you to have that dress brushed and ironed before I got back!" Clarissa's riding habit is thrown across her bed and she is pointing an enraged finger at her dress hanging on a hook on the wall.
"I'm sorry, Miss, I—"
Clarissa's hand lashes out and catches the girl across the face. The sharp sound of the slap startles the room into silence. Sylvie puts her hand to her face and stands there stunned. Then she begins to silently cry.
I charges across the room and shouts, "Belay that, Clarissa! She ain't here for the likes of you to slap around!"
Clarissa whirls around to face me. "You shut your dirty mouth, you low-down piece of trash!" she snarls.
That's it. A red curtain of fury comes over my mind and I launches myself at her, fists all balled up and ready to bash her, dammit, bash her so bad, and she comes at me with hands hooked into claws.
We meet in midair, both of us squealing with rage. I catch her above the eye with my knuckle, which knocks her head back some, but she gets one hand in my hair and brings the fingernails of the other down my face. I cry out and try to get her hand out of my hair, but I can't, I can't, her fingers are locked in there and she holds my head against her front so I can't see to get at her, and I can't, I can't, I can't lift my head and I know she's gettin' ready to claw me again so I pulls back me fist and puts it in her belly and I hear her grunt and so I do it again and she goes oof! and I go to do it again but we fall backward over the bed and then down to the floor and we roll over and over, legs entwined, and I reach up and catch her hair in my fist and pull hard and strain against the hand in my hair and get my head up to where we're nose to nose and eye to furious eye, breathing hard in each other's face. Then I sense her other hand comin' at my face again, but I catch her wrist in time and we lie there locked in what seems to be a draw with me on top, but then Clarissa suddenly bares her teeth and lunges her head toward me and I jerk back just in time to hear her teeth click together a scant half inch before my nose. Failing to bite me there, she turns her head aside and sinks her teeth in my wrist and I groan with the pain of it, but still I don't let go, I'd rather be bit on the arm than clawed on the face, and I'm bringin' up my knee...
...And then I ain't. A very strong hand clamps around my neck and pulls me off Clarissa. She unclamps her jaws from my arm and looks over my shoulder and I know, from the sudden silence in the room, that she is looking up at Mistress.
It is the vile Dobbs who has his hand around my neck and who untwines both our fingers from each other's hair, a smug smile on his vile face.
"Stand up. Both of you," says Mistress.
We struggle to our feet, and we stand there with our chests heaving, steam comin' off the both of us. My eyes never leave hers and hers never leave mine. I sense the other girls standing about, stunned, but I don't see them. All I see is Clarissa, who has the blood from my face smeared on the front of her camisole, the blood from my arm on her lips. She may have a bruise over her eye and I'm sure her belly's gonna be sore, but she came out the better in this battle, that's for sure, for she laid her mark upon me and I did not mark her.
"To my office. Now," says Mistress.
Neither of us turn. Clarissa is working her mouth—had I hurt her there? No, I didn't, I quickly find, for she suddenly leans in toward me and spits full in my face. As I see a thin bit of pinkish spittle hang from my eyelash, Bloody Jack comes unbidden to my whirling mind. Aye, I thinks, but this time it's my own dear blood.
"Crawl back in your gutter where you belong!"
When she says this, I try to go at her again, but the vile Dobbs holds my neck fast in his filthy paw.
"Mr. Dobbs, you will bring them to my office. Now!"
The vile Dobbs reaches out and, with a huge grin on his nasty face, clasps a startled Clarissa about her own neck. Mistress turns and goes to leave, but before she does she turns to the other girls and says, "You have nothing better to do than stand about and gaze at the spectacle of two of your own debasing themselves?"
The girls flee like a flock of birds. Mistress follows them out and the vile Dobbs propels us after her.
My arm is throbbing and I look down to see two neat semicircles of teeth marks, oozing redly. "I know you are diseased, Clarissa," I say, "but I can only hope you are not rabid as well."
Clarissa goes to reply, but the vile Dobbs puts a squeeze on her neck and all that comes out is a strangled gurgle. We are taken into Mistress's office and released. I advance to the desk and put my toes on the line.
"You may wait outside, Mr. Dobbs," says Mistress from behind her desk. "I will call you if I need you. Oh, and make sure none of the other girls is hanging about the door."
A plainly disappointed Dobbs says, "Yes, Mistress," and leaves, closing the door behind him. Poor vile Dobbs, were you looking forward to a jolly good show at our expense?
Stop it. Stop being giddy. Yo
u are in a lot of trouble here, and you must keep your mind sharp. Steady down.
Clarissa does not put her toes on the line but instead starts right in with, "Mistress, how could you let that man put his hands on me in my state of undress, how could—"
"Miss Howe, you will put your toes on the line there, next to Miss Faber." Mistress says this with a calm, cold evenness of tone. She leans back almost languidly in her throne and surveys the both of us. Don't be fooled by her calmness, Clarissa, I thinks, Mistress is mad.
Clarissa hesitates, confused. I'm sure she's never been in here under these conditions before. "But—"
"Do you recall, Miss Howe, the rule about never talking back to me? Hmmm?" says Mistress. "And if you want me to call Mr. Dobbs back in here to put you on the line, well, that can certainly be arranged."
A seething Clarissa comes up next to me and puts her toes on the line.
"Now, then," says Mistress, "let's get to the bottom of this unseemly matter. Miss Howe, you will remain silent until 1 ask for you to speak. Miss Faber, would you care to explain your behavior?"
I stand at attention and give her the old Royal Navy response—there is only one answer in a situation like this when a superior officer asks you a question like this and that is: "No excuse, Mistress." What's it gonna matter, anyway? She's sure to believe Clarissa's side of it.
"Come, Miss Faber. I want more out of you than that." Mistress taps her stick on the edge of her desk.
"Miss Howe was mistreating a servant, Mistress," I say, my chest still heavin' and my breath still ragged.
"How so?"
"She slapped the girl Sylvie, who is the most shy and un-forward of any of your staff, Mistress. Miss Howe hit her and made her cry in front of the ladies, and I didn't think it was right." There. I have said it.