Curse of the Blue Tattoo: Being an Account of the Misadventures of Jacky Faber, Midshipman and Fine Lady

by L. A. Meyer

  "Henry! Dear Henry, quickly! Amy Trevelyne and I are going to her farm for the weekend and we need Gretchen and Brunhilde saddled up! Please, Henry." Bat, bat of the eyelashes, hopeful smile on the lips.

  "Mistress said it was all right," I pleads. It's sort of the truth—she will know that we are gone, she just won't know how we went.

  Henry looks doubtful. "Maybe I should check with Mistress."

  I look all hurt and abashed and I stick my lower lip out like I'm going to cry and he gives it up. "Oh, all right. For you, Jacky."

  I clap my hands for joy. "Bless you, Henry," I say. "And Henry, if you would, please put a regular saddle on Gretchen."

  He protests, of course, but I say I know what I'm doing and I'll be right back, please please please.

  I take my seabag and duck into an unused stall. I open the bag and reach in and take out the midshipman's uniform I had got from Midshipman Elliot during my last days on the Dolphin. I had put it at the top of my bag so it would be easy to get at today.

  I take off everything I got on—weskit, blouse, chemise, stockings, slip skirt, and then the drawers—'cause nothin' I had on would fit under this uniform, not even the drawers, 'cause the uniform is so formfitting, and with the flounces on the drawers, it just wouldn't work.

  Standing naked in a stable is a new one, even for me, and I hope that Henry don't get done too quick and come lookin' for me. I hurries into my new rig.

  First I put on the white shirt with the white lace at the neck and wrists, then the white stockings, and then the tight white breeches that buckle under the knee and over the stockings. I dust the hay off my feet and slip on the shiny black pumps. Now the black jacket with its shiny brass buttons that button all the way to the neck, letting the lace show above and at the wrists. The jacket comes down to my waist and is of heavy broadcloth and is tight and feels good on me.

  I fold up my girl clothes and stuff them in the bag. Then I put on my cap, which is black like the jacket and has a shiny black leather brim, stuff my hair up underneath, pick up my bag, and stride out. Henry is just bringing up the horses, all saddled and ready. Gretchen whinnies out a greeting as soon as she sees me. Henry's mouth drops open as he takes me in, but not a sound comes out.

  I turn my back to him and tie my seabag to the straps on the back of Gretchen's saddle and then turn back to Henry, who is now a bright shade of scarlet. Well, maybe these britches are a bit tight.

  I take the reins from his hand and put my foot in the stirrup and swing my leg up and over and settle into the saddle. Then I lean way over and whisper into Henry's ear, "You won't peach on me now, Henry, will you?"

  I let my lips brush his cheek as I come away and straighten up. I give him a wink as I give Gretchen a little cluck and we head out, leading Hildy, into the light of day.

  ***

  Amy is dutifully waiting at the appointed spot, now looking back anxiously to see if Mistress has come out to snatch her back, now looking around for me.

  I pull up in front of her and dismount and bow. "Miss Trevelyne?" I say, making my voice low and trying to keep a straight face.

  "Y-yes," she says, all confused. "But who are you and where is..."

  Then I give her my best grin and salute.

  "Oh, Jacky, no..."

  "Do you like it?" I say, spinning around. "Ain't it a good fit?"

  "Jacky, we cannot!" she wails. "After the events of yesterday, I thought you would be somewhat chastened, but oh no ... This is scandalous! You will be arrested and you will be taken and ... and someone will see you! Those are your ... your limbs there."

  "Oh, fiddle-dee-dee," says I, taking her bag and fastening it to the back of Hildy's saddle. "All they'll see is a lovin' brother and sister, ridin' home for the weekend to see our lovin' mum and dad. We'll ride straight through, not stoppin' at no inn for refreshment, and no one will be the wiser. Who'll know?"

  Her bag being secured, I say, "Up with you, now," and I take her hand and lead her to her mount and help her up, just like any decent gent. She sits there, shaking.

  I return to dear Gretchie and I mount, swinging my leg over seabag and horse's rump. Amy shudders and looks away.

  "Believe me, Sister," says I, to make her easy, "folks sees what they expects to see."

  And with a whoop! from Midshipman Jacky Faber, newly back in naval harness, we clatter off down the street.

  We head south in the city, first a wild gallop across the Common, scattering livestock out of our way, and then by the ropewalk and a burying ground and onto Pleasant Street at a brisk trot, down to Orange and across the causeway and out of the city of Boston. The town thins out very quickly and soon buildings give way to rolling fields and farmhouses. We go at a quick walk for a while to give the horses some rest.

  "Ain't this just prime?" I exults as we leave the cobblestone streets of the city and head off into the country.

  "This will be just prime if we do not get caught," says Amy, ever the optimist. "Oh no, someone is coming!"

  I see a gent up ahead, approachin' in a small open buggy pulled by one horse. "Our first test!" I says, all gleeful, and wipes the smile off me face and puts on a serious but pleasant face.

  "Good day to you both!" says the man cheerfully as we come abreast. "And a beautiful day it is!"

  I drops me voice down a notch and says, "And a very good day to you, Suh!" And I raise my riding crop to my brim by way of salute. Amy drops her eyes and nods demurely.

  "Played like a pro, Amy, my dear," says I, when the man and his rig have passed. "You were the perfect sister, and you see that we have nothing to fear."

  "I suppose," sighs Amy.

  I take a deep breath and feel the jacket tighten around my chest—it is of heavy material and cut so close and snug that I did not even have to strap myself down. Not that there's all that much of me to strap down, but still ... I smile to think back to my old Deception.

  It is so good to be out and free and back in sailor gear again that I just can't keep down the joy bubblin' inside my chest.

  "Free!" I have to shout out. "Free of the school, free of Mistress, and free of that awful Preacher. Free! Free of switches and constables and rods and—"

  "Hush, Sister ... or rather Brother," scolds Amy. "We do not want to attract attention."

  "Right," says I, and I stands up on the saddle, which is something I wanted to do ever since I got a little bit good at riding but which I could never do in front of Herr Hoffman or even Henry.

  "Ta-da! Miss Jacky Faber, Queen of the Circus, for your delight and amazement!" I announces, the reins in my left hand, and my right hand in a grand sweepin' gesture as my feet step up on Gretchie's dear broad rump.

  "Jacky, you are going to fall!" pleads Amy. "Get down, now!

  I drops back down and my bottom makes a soft whump as it hits the saddle.

  "You are going to hurt yourself, you are," she says, sounding like she's fed up with me and my ways.

  "Ah, no little babies for little Jacky, now, eh?" I tease.

  "Hummph," says Amy, but I think I almost get a smile out of her.

  "Let's have a song, then."

  And so the day wears on. We pass many people on the road, but no one suspects us of being anything other than what we appear, a brother and sister riding along talking and singing amidst the glorious colors of the fall.

  We trot for a time, and then canter awhile. Then walk, then gallop, then dismount and walk the horses to let them rest and cool down. There are ripe apples hanging from branches overhead and we feed them to Gretchen and Hildy and we eat some ourselves.

  We stop for lunch next to a brook where the horses can water themselves, and we sit on the grass beneath a tree and eat the sandwiches that Peg had made for us. Earlier we had come upon an old man selling cider by the wayside and I pulled out a coin from my jacket pocket, one of several I had put there last night, and bought a jug of it.

  "I am sorry I do not have any money," says Amy, looking a little ashamed. "I have never b
een given any."

  "Ah, who expects a poor farm girl to have any coin o' the realm, and, besides, I say it's a pretty poor sod what can't stand her mate to a bit of a treat."

  We pass the jug back and forth. The sandwiches are made from slabs of meatloaf tucked in thick pieces of bread on which Peg has put some sort of gravy and they are wondrous good. Thanks, Peg.

  "You Yankees have fine soft land here," says 1.1 tips back the jug again and takes a long swig, then sprawls back on the grass, knees in the air.

  "Let us hear you say that in a few months when we are in the dead of winter, dear," says Amy. "And you had better be careful of that cider. It is quite hard."

  "'Hard'?"

  "It has fermented and has some alcohol in it."

  "Ha. Don't worry about that. I know to be wary of old Mr. Booze. Ain't I seen his handiwork lyin' outside many a tavern? No, Jacky Faber ain't gonna be one of his victims, I can tell you that."

  I think of Gully then and how he's wasting his great gift on the drink and how I don't understand that at all.

  "You know, Amy," I says after a while of looking up at the sky with its fluffy white clouds and birds scudding by. "We sound awfully good singing together. We might think about getting up an act. To play in the taverns, like."

  I hear a choking sound from Amy and figure she's taken a bit too big a bite of her sandwich.

  "We could do songs, of course, and dancing, but we also could do recitations of your poetry and dramatic readings and such. We could be the Fabulous Valentine Sisters. 'Valentine' sounds all exotic and romantic, don't you think?" I says. I suck a bit of meat out of my back teeth and go on. "Trouble is, that harpsichord of yours ain't too portable."

  "Come," says Amy, getting up, "we have several more hours to go."

  "I shall think on the problem as we ride," says I.

  We're gettin' pretty close to the end of our journey, ac-cordin' to Amy, who has, for some reason, gotten more jumpy with the nerves the nearer we get. I figures she thinks I'm gonna be disappointed with her little farm, but she's wrong. She don't know yet just how humble my beginnings really were, so if we get there and it's just a lean-to and a pigsty, it'll look like home to me. In truth, I'd be glad to be gettin' just about anywhere, as my bum is gettin' sore from sittin' in the saddle all the day long.

  I'm babblin' along, talkin' about this and that and how maybe we could mount the harpsichord on wheels, when Amy says, "Turn here."

  She pulls Hildy's head to the left and starts down a smaller road that goes between two great stone pillars. On one of the pillars is fixed a brass plate with "Dovecote" writ on it.

  "Wot's this?" I says. "The name of the village your farm is in?"

  "No," says Amy, real low, "it is the name of our farm."

  "Your farm's got a name? I never heard of such a thing," says I, givin' Gretchie me heels and pullin' up next to Amy as she goes over a small rise and the woods end and the prospect opens up. "But, then, that's sort of sweet it is, to name your little ... Oh, my God..."

  "I'm sorry, Tacky," cries Amy, lookin' at me all trembly and worried. "I thought if you knew you wouldn't come!"

  I look down over the prospect. There is the great house with its three stories and its huge chimney at either end and its grand entrance, gleamin' all white in the afternoon sun. There is not one, but one two three four five barns. A stable. A racetrack with white fencing all about. There are horses in paddocks and cows in fields. There is a small river running down on the left and, on the right, neat fields, newly harvested. There are men and women and boys and girls, all out on their many tasks, and beyond all is the sea, all sparkly and bright.

  "What is done now, my Lady? You'll have to help me 'cause I don't know what to do," says I, hanging my head all humble. "Do I get off and lead your horse down? Where are the servant quarters? Should I go there direct? Should I—"

  "You stop with that now," hisses Amy, reaching out to clutch my arm. "Are we not still the Dread Sisterhood? Are we not still the Fabulous Valentine Sisters?"

  I laugh and lean over and give her a nudge and say, "Of course we are, Sister, and I'm glad you're rich and I wish you the joy of it! But I shall pay my way when I am here, I shall gladly curry the horses, and if any hog needs slopping, well, I'll slop the hell out of him!"

  We ride down toward the main house when I spy there a young man dressed in a fine uniform and talking to one of the stable hands.

  "He's a pretty one, he is," I says.

  Amy starts up in her saddle. "It is Randall. My brother. He is not supposed to be here." Her brow furrows, and she does not seem pleased.

  "Your brother?" exclaims I, delighted. "Why are you not glad to see him?"

  "You will see," says Amy, and she will say no more.

  "Well, then," says I, the evil fizzing up in me again. I feel it comin' but I can't stop, I can't be good I can't I can't. "Let's have some fun! Play along! Follow my lead! Let's go!"

  And with that I give poor Hildy a swat on her rump with my crop and give poor Gretchie a dig with my heels and together we gallop down to meet Brother Randall in a fine cloud of dust.

  When we gets there, I wheels Gretchen about and dismounts as I does it, which looks rash and dashing. I bounds over to the astounded young man and pulls myself to attention and salutes and roars, "Midshipman Jack Faber. At your service, Suh!"

  He manages to nod, astonished.

  "Your sister Amy has honored me beyond measure by inviting me here for the weekend, to sample the charms of your beautiful estate and her own sweet company! I am blessed beyond measure!"

  I bow to Randall and go to Amy's side and help her down. I take her bag off of Hildy and get my seabag from Gretchen and hand the reins to the astounded stable hand. Bowing again to her brother, I take Amy by the hand and lead her toward the big house. I turn and salute again.

  "You must excuse us, Suh, but my time here is not long, and 'gather ye rosebuds while ye may,' and all that! Off to your chambers then, Milady! Adieu!" Puttin' my arm around Amy's waist, we run, laughing, to the house, over the porch, and inside the door. "Do you have a room?" I ask, startin' to unbutton my jacket.

  "Yes! Up here!" Amy is grinning widely and is fully in the spirit of the thing.

  We storm up the stairs and into her room. I throw my seabag on the bed and rip it open. I pull out my serving-girl gear and tear off my jacket and shirt and put on the blouse and step into the skirt and on with the weskit and lace myself up tight. I'll get out of the white britches and stockings later.

  Done!

  I go to the window and look out and see Randall standin' there not knowin' what to do. I open the window a crack and put my mouth to it.

  "Oh, Amy," I cries out and lets it go at that.

  It is enough. I look out the window and see that he has reached a decision and has drawn his sword and is headin' this way.

  "Quick!" I squeaks to Amy. "Stand over here. How's my hair?"

  I hears him thunderin' up the stairs and then he's beatin' against the door and then the door bursts open and there stands Randall Trevelyne, sword in hand and blood in his eye. And looking quite handsome, I might add. I've always liked a man in uniform.

  "May I present my friend Jacky Faber, from my school," says Amy, all cool and aloof. "Jacky, this is my brother Randall."

  I bounce up and down on my toes, about to burst with excitement for the trick played upon this Randall, but I drop my eyes and bob my best curtsy "My lord," I say.

  He looks me over quite frankly. He does not bow. "So you would play tricks on me with your serving wench, would you now, Sister?"

  "She is not my servant. She is my friend, although she constantly gives me reason to think otherwise."

  Randall Trevelyne puts the point of his sword on the lip of its scabbard and rams it home. It is plain that he does not like being made sport of.

  "What brings you home, Brother?" asks Amy, all puffed up like a pigeon. "I would have expected you would be at your studies ... or at Mrs. Bodeen's
for the weekend."

  That gives him a start. It occurs to me that being with me has given Sister Amy another arrow in her quiver in her war with her brother, for war it quite plainly is.

  "The Sheik is being brought down early tomorrow," he replies coldly. "Father thought it best I see him settled in myself."

  "Ah," says Amy. "The last nail in the family coffin."

  Randall whirls on me and says, "Get out."

  I bob and duck out of the room.

  When I am outside the door I hear them going at it for real. I can't hear it all, but I hear snatches.

  "Damned impertinence! Our family's business is not to be spoken of in front of the help!"

  "Help? I'll thank you not to order my friends about, Randall!"

  "Your 'friend'? A cheap trollop going about dressed as a man is your friend? Then you have fallen in bad company, Sister! You bring something like that here to mock me, to mock our family, to..."

  "Our family! Oh, our sacred family! Oh, the holy name Trevelyne, which is going straight to ruin in a..."

  I figure I have heard enough, enough to realize that all is not well here at Dovecote. I feel uncomfortable and I head out to find the stables and make sure that Gretchen and Hildy are taken care of proper, walked and brushed down, like.

  Then I go to find the kitchen and that is where Amy finds me, helping Mrs. Grubbs, the cook, with the evening meal, and that is where we take our dinner.

  Chapter 20

  I'm awakened in the morning by the sun streamin' in the window and roosters crowin', and I roll over and stretch and give Amy a poke. I look all around and say, "A room of your own, Amy. Such a thing." She grunts and does not stir.

  I don't think I've ever been in a prettier place, all bright and cheerful with new white and blue paint, filmy white curtains on the window, and thick rugs on the floor. There are framed paintings on the wall, mostly of fields and mountains and trees, but there's one of a fluffy white cat and there's one of three oranges in a plate. And, besides the bed, there's a chest of drawers with a mirror over it, a small desk and chair, and a dry sink with a basin and pitcher on top of it. The pitcher has little red roses painted on it, and so does the chamber pot on the floor.