by L. A. Meyer
That ain't what she's gonna get.
"Mairead. I have a plan. It is, I think, a good plan, and I want you to be part of it."
Now she looks a bit mystified.
"You already know that as a young girl I was an orphan and lived in the streets of London," I continue. "You also know that I have recently made a lot of money."
She nods.
"I have asked my grandfather if he will help me set up a small orphanage in Cheapside, my old neighborhood in London, to help the homeless ones there."
When I had broached this to my grandfather, he went positively radiant with joy. I had known, even though he did not mention it, that he did not entirely approve of the way I was making my living. But now, with this ... Oh, joy! he exulted, and clasped his hands together in an attitude of thankful prayer. He probably had been praying pretty heavily over my somewhat spotted soul for a while now. Well, nothing like giving a man a mission, I say.
"He agreed, wholeheartedly."
Mairead looks up at me confused.
"I want you to help me in this thing, Mairead, I really do," I say and drop to one knee beside her. "I want you to be Mistress of Girls at the London Home for Little Wanderers."
Now her mouth pops open for real.
"Hear me out," I say, pressing my case. "You won't have to go back to the farm and you won't have to marry that Loomis Malloy. You'll never smell peat smoke again. You will have a respectable post and you'll be paid and you'll be able to buy fine clothes and you being so beautiful—oh, yes, you are—you'll be the toast of London! And oh, Mairead, London is such a city, you cannot even imagine—it's the very center of the world!"
"But what about Ian?" she asks, her eyes wide.
"You know damn well that if you go back to Waterford and then back to the farm that your mother ain't gonna let Ian McConnaughey within fifty yards of you. Besides, it ain't like you'll be worlds apart. It'll be a good test of Ian's love ... his constancy, like."
...and I can tell you all about male constancy, I can...
"But, my dad ... what..."
"Your father says he'll agree to let you go, but only if you swear on your sacred honor that you will place yourself under my grandfather's guidance as regards your personal behavior, and I agree with him on this—I know, I know, I sound like a hypocrite—but there are many pretty boys in London and boys lie, oh, yes, they do. I know 'cause I've met a few of 'em. Even good boys lie. I know, I know, I'm sounding like your mother and you hate that, but it's only 'cause I care for you that I'm saying this, and I'll say it once and I'll say it no more as it's your life and you've got to lead it. There. That's it."
She looks at the floor, stunned with the turn of events and the choice she is given.
"You will have a position and respect, and, no, you'll never have to change a diaper again, unless it's for one of your own."
Her head lifts.
"And, Mairead, if later on, if you find that the seafaring life still calls to you, then we'll go a-roving again, me and you. This war can't last forever, and when it's over I plan to set up as an honest merchant, and then we'll sail to the South Seas and China and the Japans, and we'll see Bombay Rats and Cathay Cats and Kangaroos and..."
"And Hottentots, too?" grins Mairead.
"And lots and lots of wild Hottentots!" I say, and the bargain is made.
Chapter 42
We have a War Council, the staff of the London Home for Little Wanderers and me, in my cabin before their departure. Higgins will go with Grandfather and Mairead to find a suitable place and set things up. He has the papers that I have signed granting him power of attorney over my money, which he will give to my lawyer, Mr. Worden. My grandfather is a sweet man, but the sharpers in Cheapside would smell "country rube" all over him and we'd get fleeced right quick. Nobody, however, fleeces Higgins.
"You will go to Cheapside, right around Blackfriars Bridge, and look for a place there. You should be able to find something cheap but clean. Something that can house about forty children. We can expand later, if things go well. I don't want any more than half my stash of money used for this, 'cause we'll need the rest to keep the school running—and I do prefer to think of it as a school, and not a charity house. See if you can find the girl Joannie. She's probably still living with her gang under Blackfriars Bridge. She will know every orphan in the neighborhood and be able to tell you which kids can still be saved. I don't want any bullies in my school, and I want the girls to be educated just like the boys in music, art, arithmetic, science, reading, and writing."
I take a breath. I get so worked up about this.
"Mairead, you will handle the girls and teach them sewing and their early letters. You will make them be good, but I want them treated fairly and with respect—after all, they have managed to survive where many have not. Grandfather, you will be the Schoolmaster and you will handle the boys and teach the older children philosophy. Look about you when you set up. There will be plenty of penniless scholars that can be hired as teachers. Hire them, but let them know there will be no flogging. If a child is bad, give him a warning. If he continues to be bad, throw him out. There will be plenty of others to take his place. Let them all know that."
Another breath.
"Attorney Worden will be in charge of the money when Higgins returns to me. You will both submit your accounts to him"—and here I think back on Mistress Pimm's class on Household Management and the Ledger We Must Keep for Our Husband—"and I will brook no sloppy bookkeeping."
I think that's about it.
"Make your preparations for departure. Higgins has all the papers. All is set in train, and ... Higgins, stop beaming at me."
"I can't help it, Miss," he says. "This is such a fine thing you are doing."
Well, how much money do I need, anyway? Never let it be said of Jacky Faber that she wouldn't stand her mates to a treat when she had some jingle in her pocket.
We are going to put them in a boat and land them at Brighton. It will be but a short run up to London. Before we do that I say to Liam, "You've got to give them two minutes."
He grumps and says, "Two minutes, no more."
And Mairead Delaney and Ian McConnaughey are allowed two minutes alone in my cabin. When we tap on the bell, they come up, looking flushed. She wipes her eyes and goes to her father.
Liam embraces his daughter at the rail before she steps off.
I nod to Arthur McBride and he shouts, "HIP, HIP..."
And the rest of the crew, all standing in the rigging, replies, "HOORAY!"
Again he does it. "HIP, HIP ... HOORAY!"
And finally for the third cheer, "HIP, HIP, HOORAY!" and hats are thrown, and Mairead Delaney goes tearfully over the side.
That night, as we run back toward Waterford, the Emerald cutting through the waves like the fine nautical shiv she is, I prepare for bed.
Before I put my nightdress on, I lie back and feel my new silk cushions and sheets, made of the finest damask, cool against my skin.
So, now, Tonda-lay-o, once a castaway and Queen of the Jungle, lies in her own silk bed aboard her own dear ship and is now Tonda-lay-o, Queen of the Ocean Sea!
She has what she always wanted. A fine ship and a fine crew and the whole wide wonderful world to roam. She has money, and, since she has decided to live single all of her life, she is free. She calls no man master.
I am content. I really am.
Really.
PART III
Chapter 43
And so, we passed the winter in the port of Waterford, Province of Leinster, County Waterford, Ireland. Or, rather, the Emerald did, after fixing up the few things that were wrong with her—plucking musket balls out of her dear sides and making everything right with caulk and varnish and all, and making a few changes to the rigging that Liam and I thought might make her a bit faster. Lord knows, she already is the fastest thing ever, but it never hurts to keep pushing—after all that, we posted a guard on her and my crew scattered, to meet back again in the
spring. Liam and his brood took off for their farm, Moira steaming but mollified that her wayward daughter Mairead had a good, safe post, at least, and I was off for London. I know that Moira probably said, "Good riddance!" Well, you can't please everybody.
I took passage on a ship from Waterford to Bristol, and coach from Bristol to London. We had a joyous reunion, even though I had been gone scarcely a month, and I found that Higgins and the Vicar had indeed found a suitable place—a cozy little building on Brideshead Street, not far from the Admiral Benbow Inn and my old stomping grounds. It has three stories and a big great room with a fine fireplace on the first floor. The cost was within our means and the deal had been closed. I can't really believe it, but we own a house. I know it is true, but to me it is still a great and most amazing thing.
I was gratified to see Joannie there, she from the Black-friars Bridge Gang, dressed in clean clothes, well fed, and helping with the younger kids. She had been found right off and was a great help in bringing in just the right group of children from the surrounding neighborhoods. As I had thought, she knew the ones who would benefit the most from the Home, and the ones who would prove difficult. We can't save the whole world, but we have a nice batch of thirty-two, for starters, half of them boys and half girls, and they range in age from two to twelve. All have their studies, but all work as well—there's constant laundry to be done and the place has to be kept clean, too. When I arrive and am introduced, they are lined up as if to thank me, but I will not have that. You can thank me, I say, by being good and studying hard and doing well in your studies.
Joannie said she almost didn't come in—the pull of the street was awful strong. Zeke, the last leader of the Blackfriars Bridge Gang, did not come in. As she reported it, "He stood there thinkin' to 'imself, considerin' the freedom of the street and all, and then he said to the Vicar, 'Sorry, Guv'nor, but I'll be on me way. You take care o' the little ones, now,' and he took the shilling that was offered him and went whistlin' down the street. I thought about doin' the same, but I knew that Zeke could go off and be a soldier or a sailor or he could apprentice himself as a laborer, but I knew I didn't 'ave none of them choices, so I come here. And I'm glad I did."
Mairead has gotten right into the running of the place, too. She is brisk with the children, but not at all unkind, and they grow to love her very quickly. She knew of a widow woman back in Kilkenny who didn't have anyplace to go once her man died and she sent for her and hired her on as cook. "Can't have a Brit making my colcannon now, can I?" says Mairead. Mrs. Kinsella is a very good cook, I find, and seems happy in her new job.
I don't stay at the Home. Higgins and I have taken rooms at the Admiral Benbow. I tell Grandfather that I don't want to disrupt the routine of the school, but it's really 'cause I want to come and go as I please, and I don't want to be asking anyone's permission.
On Sundays we all have to go to church, of course. Grandfather is a vicar, after all, and the services are not all that bad—no ranting and raving like I'm used to back in Boston. I enjoy looking around at the great space of St. Paul's Cathedral, the vaulting in the ceiling high overhead, the beautiful stained-glass window. It reminds me of the last time I was in this place, but back then I sure didn't come through the front door. Us street kids weren't allowed in because they thought we'd steal the money from the poor box, and, of course, they were right in thinking that. Plus we were filthy and ragged and smelly. No, but there are other ways to get in here ... plenty of ways...
Higgins has everything set up, moneywise, and I leave that all to him and Lawyer Worden. Higgins has enlisted the aid of Lady Hollingsworth and her daughters in this enterprise, and that is good because expenses are beginning to mount—including some unexpected ones. Last week we had to hire a wet nurse because a baby was left on our doorstep one cold night, and we do not expect this baby will be the last one, either.
We have Christmas at the Home for Little Wanderers. The holly and the ivy garlands are hung in our hall and in the great room and a wreath is put on our door. We go about the neighborhood on Christmas Eve, when a light snow is falling, singing carols and wassails, and on Christmas Day we have a huge spread of goose and ham, with potatoes, gravy, pudding, and sweets. And gifts, too, for which Mairead and I have combed the shops—dolls for the girls, spinning tops for the boys, and pennywhistles all around.
Mairead has been good about taking moral guidance from my grandfather, but now that I'm here, we two have a chance to go out on the town together and be, well, not quite so good ... Mairead will stay over with me tonight, Grandfather, all right? We are going to the exhibit at the Royal Academy and ... We put an act together—whistles, fiddle, songs, and dancing—and are well received at several of the better taverns. And there's the theater, and expositions, and lectures, and all that glitters in this wonderful town.
The time passes very quickly.
When spring comes, Higgins and I go back to Waterford to ready the Emerald for her next cruise. We need to get the victuals on board, fresh powder and water and countless other things.
It is not long after we get back that I find that I have lost a member of my crew. Ian McConnaughey has gone off to London, and he does not come back. Good luck to you, Ian. You are a fine young man and we will miss you.
***
Now that I have a fixed address that I can use, I write a letter to Ezra Pickering, my good friend and lawyer back in the States.
Jacky Faber
On Board the Ship Emerald,
Moored at Swett & Daggett's Wharf
Waterford, Ireland
Ezra Pickering, Esquire
Union Street
Boston, Massachusetts, USA
Dearest Ezra,
I hope this letter finds you healthy and happy and that you prosper in your business. I know that you are just the best of lawyers, so you must be doing well.
Well, like that bad penny, here's Jacky Faber turning up again. And this time she's got a ship, if you can believe that! That's right, Ezra, I have a ship! She's named the Emerald and she's one hundred and ten feet long, thirty feet in the beam, displaces two hundred and fifty tons, has a crew of thirty-nine, counting me, and is absolutely the most beautiful and graceful thing I have ever seen. Please enter her onto the books as an asset of Faber Shipping, Worldwide, and register her as American, since our company is based in Boston.
It is rather a long story as to how I got the Emerald and I would rather tell it to you over a couple of pints down at the good old Pig and Whistle. For now, suffice it to say that I have managed to get a Letter of Marque from the British Admiralty and have used the ship as a privateer to seize some very good prizes.
I have made a lot of money, and I have put some of it to use in setting up an orphanage and school in my old neighborhood of Cheapside in London. Knowing my past as you do, you will understand why I would do that. Should you wish to write to me, address me there:
The London Home for Little Wanderers
24 Brideshead Lane
London, England
We sail soon to resume our raiding, but letters sent to me there will eventually get to me.
My funds are in the Bank of England and my lawyer here is a Mr. Worden of Newgate Street, London. Should you ever recover my money from Mistress Pimm, please forward it to Mr. Worden, as he is in charge of finances for the Home.
If you continue to see Miss Amy Trevelyne and she allows you to speak of me, please tell her that her book has made me go right famous in the nautical world and I wish her joy and success in that book and anything she might write in the future—I just hope it's not about me next time. I think I'm about as famous as I need to get. I know, though, that it is not likely she will do anything connected with me, it being that I brought disgrace to her and her family. I hope that she does not still hate me, but when I think back on how she betrayed me to Preacher Mather's men, I despair in that hope—not that I didn't have it coming, I mean. I generally do have it coming.
Anyway, give her my gree
tings, for what they're worth.
Thank you, Ezra, for all you have done for me in the past and I hope to see you soon. Maybe when this war is over I will turn my ship to the transatlantic trade, and then I will see you often.
Until then, I remain,
Your Dearest Friend and Most Devoted Servant,
Jacky
We will go again to the coast of France, where last year we found the best pickings. If the pickings are scant, then we will head south to bother the Spaniards again, maybe even venturing into the Mediterranean, if we have to.
It will be good to get back to sea after the long winter, to feel the roll of the waves slipping under the Emerald's keel again, to once more look up at the white of the sails against the blue of the sky. It is good for a sailor to be at sea, for on shore we get soft.
It will be good to get back, too, for now I've an orphanage to maintain.
Chapter 44
The Emerald could not be in better form, every sail tight, every line humming, as the good ship fairly rips along, the bow lifting and then crashing down into the waves to send spray over the fo'c'sle and into my face. Ah, it is good to be standing in my usual spot on the quarterdeck, the wind in my hair and my long glass under my arm, one booted foot on either side of the centerline, the better to feel the action of my beautiful ship.
"On deck there! Sail off port quarter!"
Ha!
Yes, it's good to be back.