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

by L. A. Meyer

  My heart leaped for joy and I saluted and said, "Thank you, Sir," and I was about to head for the ratlines when he said, "And leave the letter down here, Mr. Fletcher; there will be plenty of time to read it when again you return to the deck."

  He could not have devised a more exquisite torture.

  The bell had not ceased ringing when my feet hit the deck and I scooped up the letter and raced down to the stateroom I share with Elliot and leaped into my bunk and tore open the packet and the portrait of you fell out into my hand.

  Again, I felt on the verge of shedding not very manly tears upon seeing your bright countenance shining out from the tiny disk. That open and trusting face, lips slightly parted as if to speak, and, knowing you, capable of either declaring eternal love or challenging me to a race in the rigging. When I had read the letter and discovered that you had painted the picture, I could not believe it—that you had gained such a skill in such a short time. A short time!—listen to me—it's been an eternity, waiting for word of you!

  I devoured your letter as a starving man devours bread. I care not a whit that you have been demoted, as I know that you were brought down by that same excess of high spirits that I find so endearing in you. You are a fine girl and never forget that, whether you are dressed as chambermaid or as lady. Rest assured, too, that whoever in my household has been keeping your letters from me shall be dealt with. I shall write to my mother directing her to look into it immediately.

  When I was in the foretop, I watched the boat with Davy in it go back to his ship and I saluted the departing boat and held the salute till all aboard climbed up the Raleigh's ladder. That he would risk a certain flogging to deliver the letter ... I cannot even speak of it ... We have such good friends in this world, Jacky, and I am glad you have found good friends there, too.

  I shall lie here in my bunk and gaze at the picture of you until it is time for me to go up on watch. I cannot tell you how happy you have made me.

  Your most humble, obedient, faithful, and overjoyed servant,

  Jaimy

  PART V

  Chapter 48

  Colonel John Trevelyne

  Dovecote Farm

  Quincy, Massachusetts

  May 23, 1804

  Beadle and Strunk, Private Investigations

  30 Devonshire Street

  Boston, Massachusetts

  My dear Sirs:

  I am writing herewith to engage your services in the pursuit and return of a young female, named Jacky Faher, formerly associated with members of my household.

  This person was last seen at my house in Quincy three days ago and my daughter believes the girl will try to go to New York. She is penniless, so she will in all probability take some time in gaining her objective. She will probably play music and dance in various madhouses along the way and you would be well advised to inquire in such places.

  You know my name and that I will pay you the going rate for such an undertaking.

  Sirs, I relate to you that this is a matter of utmost importance as my daughter will not eat and my son has broken off his engagement to a fine girl and is trying to climb into a bottle.

  Bring me that wretched girli

  I am your most humble and obedient servant,

  Colonel John Trevelyne

  Chapter 49

  My hands are tied behind me and my ankles are bound. I am facedown on the floor of a coach. I can hear my kidnappers outside, bartering with someone over something. I guess that something would likely be me.

  "Well, Sir, as long as we had the girl, we figured that we'd see who'd be payin' the most for her. I mean, Colonel Treve-lyne did hire us, but we figured you might pay a bit more, Sir, considering you had hired us to keep an eye on this one before he did, and who did we owe our loyalty to, Sir, I ask you?

  I hear a low rumble of a voice and chills run up me spine.

  "Aye, Sir, she's the one. Tattoo on her belly and all. We checked." He gives out a low chuckle, the bastard. "Oh no, Sir, we didn't do that. She's in exactly the condition in which we found her. We're not that sort, Sir, we are professionals!"

  Professional thugs, I'd call 'em if I could call 'em anything, which I cannot, havin' a gag in me mouth. I've been spending my time chewing on the gag, it bein' a single piece of thin cloth put across my mouth, pullin' my lips back and tied tight in the back of me neck. I figures if I can chew through and free my voice and shout out at the right time, well, I might yet be saved. I can see that darkness is falling outside and that's not good. As if reading my thoughts, a clock chimes out nine o'clock. It's spring and night comes late. That clock. Does it sound familiar?

  "Yes, Sir, we caught her on the Post Road heading south. We found her the night before, playing her whistle and singing in a roadside tavern. Pretty good show it was, too. We all enjoyed it hugely. Anyway, we let her spend the night there and then took her when she was out and on the high road the next day. Aye, the Colonel's daughter told us where to look for her."

  Amy? Oh no, not you, Amy ... You couldn't hate me so much as to betray me, could you?

  "Now, as to the matter of money, Sir, it's like this. If it was just the apprehendin' of a wayward child, a helpless girl, like, then the price wouldn't be so much, but this is a different case altogether, yes it is, Sir."

  I notice that the wind is really whipping up out there.

  He's the leader of this bunch, the one called Strunk, I think. He clears his throat and goes on. "But, Sir, it warn't no helpless child, 'cause after we got in a circle around her there on the road and she saw there was no escape, the slut come at us with this wicked blade, yes, Sir, she did, and she cut poor Dick Beadle sore after he killed her dog. The vicious beast laid about very free with its teeth, it did, and then sunk them in poor Dick's leg, which is when he brained the cur..."

  Poor Millie, you was the bravest and best of all of us, you was... Tears roll down over the bridge of my nose and onto the floor of the coach. You stood your ground, Millie, and you tried to save me. And now you're dead for it. I am sorry, Millie, I am. I am so very hard on my friends.

  "We would, Sir, have dearly wished that either you or the Colonel had warned us that she was armed with the knife and willing to use it. And it's not like we can bring charges against the female, 'cause we wasn't workin' in an official capacity, like, and we still ain't, so we would like compensation for poor Dick's wounds, we would, as we got added medical expenses, like. And his pain and sufferin', too, poor devil, only doin' his job like he was. Oh, like a serpent's tooth, Sir, the fury of a woman."

  There is the clink of coins. I have been bought and sold.

  "Why, that's very handsome of you, Sir. Very handsome, indeed. I hope you'll keep Beadle and Strunk in mind for any future business of this sort. Where do you want her?"

  I can't hear the man's reply, but the man Strunk says, "Help me wrap her in this here rug, Dick, and we'll carry her inside. Here's her bag. Toss it over there." I see Strunk's hateful face for a moment and then the rug floats over me and I feel it tucked around me and then I'm flipped and rolled up in the thing. They ain't too gentle about it, neither. I'm thinkin' they got to sneak me in someplace, someplace where I could be spotted and maybe saved if they didn't cover me up somehow. Then I am lifted and carried inside. I can tell 'cause I hear echoes like it's a big enclosed place.

  I'm dropped to a floor and given a kick for good measure.

  "That's it, then, Sir. I wish you the joy of her," and there is the sound of the men leaving and the sound of a door closing. And then the sound of a latch being thrown.

  Footsteps approach. An edge of the rug is taken and tugged and I am rolled out onto the floor. I see high windows and a high lectern and pews. I roll over and look up into the crazed eyes of Reverend Richard Mather.

  "Ah," he says, "the little witch. At last."

  "Yes, Grandfather," says the Preacher. "Yes, I have the witch now and..."

  He cocks his head as if to listen to a voice. "Yes, Grandfather, it will not be long
now."

  I tuck me legs under me and struggle to a sittin' position so's I can face him. I shake my head back and forth and try to say, "No no I ain't no witch please I'm just a stupid girl now let me please go," but all that comes out past the gag is a strangled mumble. I'm scared beyond clear reason but I keep on grinding me teeth on the gag.

  "Yes, and now we have all the evidence we need to kill the witch with a clear and open Christian heart. No Court in the land could ignore the damning proof—the mark of the Devil, the very pitchfork of the fiend, burned on her belly..."

  No no you lunatic it's an anchor, not a pitchfork! It's not—

  "See, Grandfather, come look. You will be amazed..." He takes down a lighted lamp and puts it on the pew next to me and then he reaches for me.

  I try to wriggle away but he leans down and grabs my arm and brings me to my feet. He pulls down me skirt and drawers, farther than he needs to to see the tattoo.

  I squeal in terror. See? See? It's an anchor! See?

  Suddenly, his head snaps up and the color drains from his face. There is a scratching at the door! A scratching like I'd scratched as Janey Porter on his roof all those times! Maybe, oh God, maybe...

  The door is at the side and there is an aisle leading to it. The Preacher throws me back down to the floor and takes me by my feet and drags me a bit up the center aisle so that I can't be seen by anybody when he opens the door, and the scratches come again and he recoils and puts his hand to his throat in horror.

  I wriggle like a worm back up the aisle to get my head to where someone could see me if they looked around the Preacher when he opens the door and I get my head there and I've got my eyes glued on the door when he opens it a crack. He looks out, and it is not a horrid specter coming to haul him down to hell but instead a medium-sized black and white dog looking in at me from between the Preacher's legs.

  Millie! Oh, Millie, it's you! You didn't die, you wonderful dog you didn't... I try to call to her but I can't. All that comes out is a mumble.

  Millie tries to get in to get to me but the Preacher blocks her with his leg and closes the door on her. She yelps and retreats. "Begone, Fiend!" says the Preacher, and he turns his attention to me. And to old dead Grandad. "Her familiar has found her already, Grandfather, and she not here ten minutes. You see what a trial it has been to me. Who knows what other minions she has about her. We must be quick."

  Millie's still alive! My mind is churning for a plan. If Amy is next door at the school and she sees Millie, she'll know that I'm nearby 'cause we ran off together, so ... How to alert Amy? Maybe if Millie sets up a huge barking, Amy'll hear and come down. The girls'll be in the dorm now, getting ready for bed. I almost choke on my gag, I want to be there with them so bad. Calm. Calm yourself. Now, I can't shout to Millie, but I can whine, whine like a hurt dog, I can keen.

  Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee...

  Millie sets in to barking, loud and sharp.

  "It won't do you any good to cry, now," says the Preacher. "No one will hear you."

  Someone has already heard me, murderer. I do it again as high-pitched as I can—Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee—and Millie goes into a wolflike howl and she keeps doing it. Good girl.

  "What's that?" he says all fearful.

  It's the Hound of Hell come to take you, Preacher, take you down for the murder of Janey Porter and me! That's what it is! I keep grinding on the gag—about halfway through now.

  Millie's unearthly howl suddenly stops, followed by a yelp. A shiver runs through me. Was that a yelp of delight upon seeing Amy come down to her, or a yelp from being kicked by someone to just shut her up? I can't tell. I only know my life depends on which one it was.

  The Preacher takes the lamp and hangs it on a hook on the stairway wall. He comes back and pulls me to my feet again and we start toward the stairs up the back of the church. I struggle and twist and he hits me and I fall and pretend that he knocked me out so I can play the deadweight to the full without bein' hit again. He drags me to the foot of the staircase. Prolly wants me up in his office, where I'll be hidden for the rest of the time I'll be on this earth.

  "And when I tell the Court of her openly practicing witchcraft at that horse race, why, they'll applaud my sending her back to Hell and wonder why I did not do it sooner," says the Preacher. "Can you believe it, Grandfather? The boldness of the beast, casting spells in front of multitudes, the fiendish boldness! Oh yes, I had my spies there, too, you may rest assured, Sir."

  Me bein' all limp is provin' a harder bundle to get up the stairs than he would have thought. In floppin' my legs about I manage to stick my feet between the posts of the railing and hook my toes to stick them there. The Preacher curses and tries to free my entangling feet by tuggin' at me ever the harder, but it don't do him no good, so he throws me down and when he lets me go I try to slither headfirst back down the stairs, but he comes after me, and this time he picks me up with one arm under my knees and the other under my back like you'd carry a child, with my feet toward the wall. He's huffin' and puffin' with his labors and I can feel and smell his breath on my face.

  We go past the lit lamp on the wall and I kick out with my feet and I hit the lamp and it comes off its hook and falls to the stairs behind us. The Preacher don't notice 'cause he's wheezin' away with the effort of gettin' me up to his lair and 'cause the lamp hit the carpet on the stairway, which muffled its fall, but I notice 'cause I can see over his shoulder and I see that the lamp has spilled out all its oil onto the stairs and the wick flickers in the middle of the mess like it's gonna go out but it don't, it lights the spilled oil on the wooden floor and it flares up with a whoosh, but he don't notice, no he don't notice 'cause he's still mumblin' with his gramps. He just pushes us through the doorway at the top and, with his foot, slams the door shut behind us.

  He lurches forth and we go into a room, but it ain't his office like I'm expectin', no, it's a plain room with a single bed with high bedposts and a bedstand with a pitcher and a basin. There's a window, but the curtains are pulled. There is a chest of drawers and one of the drawers is half open and I can see some things inside. Girl things. There is a neatly folded handkerchief on the top.

  It is Janey Porter's room. The one she died in. And the one I'm going to die in, too.

  He throws me down on the bed.

  "You recognize your old chamber, do you?" He leans over my face and peers into my eyes. "Yes, I have quite figured it out, you see. I did not punish you enough last time and so you came back to haunt me. To tempt me again into sin. To make me do it again. I did not kill you enough then. I did not punish you enough then. I shall not make the same mistake this time. Oh no, I shan't."

  Great plan, Jacky. Oh, this worked out just fine, Jacky, you fool!

  He reaches into one of the deep outside pockets of his coat and pulls out me own shiv. Oh, to be killed with me own shiv!

  I can smell smoke.

  He takes my knife and very carefully cuts the cords from my ankle. I wait a moment and then lash out my foot to kick him and I connect, but not hard enough 'cause he just goes ooof! and sits down on me and takes a piece of the cord and ties my right ankle to one bedpost and then pulls me legs apart and ties the other ankle to the other bedpost. He does the same thing with my wrists and I can't do a thing to stop him. He don't notice the smoke curling under the door, but I do.

  He puts me shiv on me breastbone and I thinks, This is it, I'm sorry Lord for everything I done, and it's at this moment that I finally chew through the gag and the slimy pieces fall to either side of my mouth and I gathers all the fear and terror in me and I opens my mouth and I lets out the longest, most bloodcurdling shriek I got in me, "God help me I don't want to burn!"

  It ain't God who comes smashin' through the door in a shower of splinters—it is Ephraim Fyffe, but he looks damned good to me! The door falls off its hinges and Ephraim stands there lookin' like the very Avenger of the Lord, with his fists clenched, his shirt torn, and rivulets of blood co
ursin' down his face.

  The Preacher gazes at him as if at Beelzebub himself. Ephraim brings his fist around, and the Preacher's mouth falls in on itself and blood and teeth spatter against the wall as he sinks to his knees and moans.

  "Ephraim! Get the knife!"

  Ephraim bends down and picks up my shiv and starts cutting me loose. There's loud crackling now and the smoke what's comin' in is thick and black and—Hurry, Ephraim— and he's done with my hands and he flips me the blade and I catches it and saws through the ropes on my ankles while he goes after the Preacher, who's staggered to his feet and out into the hall.

  I'm on me feet and I stick me shiv back in me vest and grabs Janey's hanky and puts it over my mouth and nose 'cause the smoke is chokin' me and me eyes are runnin' from the sting of it and I gets to the hall and see that the flames are roarin' up the staircase and I follows Ephraim's white shirt in the black smoke and he shouts, "Jacky! In here!" and we fall into a side room where the smoke ain't so bad yet. I see it's the Preacher's office and Ephraim goes to the window what's been busted in and what has jagged glass pointin' in all around the inside edges, which is how he got all cut and bloody, coming through that window. He kicks at the glass from the bottom edge and looks out.

  "Look out, she's comin'!" The flames are at the door behind us and the floor is hot.

  "I can—," I shouts over the roar.

  "No time!" says he. "Keep your arms to your sides till you're clear of the window!" and he lifts me up, one hand on the scruff of my neck and the other in the clothing bunched up around my crotch, and holding me level-like, he pitches me out the window like a sack of grain, clear of the cruel glass.

  I hit the blessed cool air and expects to kiss the hard ground but instead land on something soft that gives beneath me and I look up and see all around me people holdin' the edges of the blanket they held there to break my fall. There's Henry and Annie and Dolley and Betsey and Sylvie and sturdy Peg on a corner, and there's men and women I don't know but can only gawk at in wonder, and there's more people pouring up the hill with buckets and axes, and there's water wagons and men in helmets, and the people holding the blanket let it down to the ground and I roll off it and I find, wonder of wonders, that I have rolled up next to my seabag. It's here by the door where my kidnappers had thrown it.