A Woman of the Road and Sea

by Amy Wolof

  My response was a groan as my body turned against me. I glanced down at my bulging belly: it could not be long!

  “Ahhh!” I cried. “Aventis, the child—he’s coming!”

  “Yes,” he said, his face going white. “Let us get you somewhere where you can comfortably lie.”

  “Lie-in, you mean,” I answered.

  “Thank God, Margaret, you still have your wit.”

  “Just wait.”

  He half-carried, half-dragged me back to camp, where he laid me out on the grass. My breeches, yawning open, protested along with the rest of me, but it was a relief as Aventis stripped off my boots.

  “I shall not be a moment,” he said, striding back into the forest

  “Wait—” I cried, but the green already masked him.

  The pain was coming more frequently. Even though my head swam, I tried to focus on the trees above. If God does not want us to mate, I thought, why give us the means to do so? Just as all my nerves jumped, I heard a single tread, and, lifting my head, saw Aventis approaching. He was clutching a handful of leaves.

  “Is it time to dine?” I quipped, as he leant by my side.

  “You would not wish to eat this.”

  “Or anything,” I groaned. “Can you not stop the pain?”

  He nodded, then ran into the cave. Emerging with his hands full, he set a small fire and dangled a kettle over it. Crushing those leaves, which smelled of peppermint, he put them into the pot, along with a pitcher of water.

  What is that?” I managed to ask.

  “Pennyroyal.”

  “That kills fleas?”

  “And eases the pain of labor.”

  I drank it reluctantly. But I began to question my own—and Aventis’s—sanity as he pulled two eggs from his coat, along with a sprinkling of sugar.

  “You must have ridden here gently,” I said.

  He ignored me while fumbling in his pockets.

  “Where is that rosewater?” he asked, finally pulling out a small phial. “Good. We require but wine.” Mixing this strange brew together, he thrust a cup toward my lips. “Drink,” he said.

  “Ugh!” I spat after a mouthful. “Are you attempting to kill me?”

  “It is only a caudle,” he said, “to lessen your pain in child-bed.”

  “The pain may be less but so is my will to live!” I cried.

  He gave a thin smile as he slid down my breeches and crouched at my feet.

  “Now, Margaret, heed me—it is time for you to push. Push as if all the King’s Guards are chasing you down to Dover!”

  I pushed, screaming with pain. The act of birthing a child, such a puzzle to me before, became a known event where biting pain and pleasure—that of bringing forth a new life—comingled in a strike like lightning which I thought might split me in two.

  “I see the head!” cried Aventis, and his eyes were full of wonder. “Just a few more pushes, my love—wait! Here he comes!”

  With one last effort—a push that could have moved England closer to France!—I felt a great weight explode from my body . . . and into Aventis’s arms!

  “See, see!” he enthused, using his knife to cut the cord. “Dear Lord! Can it be? Margaret, he is a she! We have given birth to a girl!”

  “Just like a man,” I said, panting. “Always taking credit.”

  “She is beautiful!” he crowed, lifting the babe above his head before daubing her gently with water. He wrapped her in his cravat, then dropped her onto my belly where she set up her first great cry.

  “Why does she do that?” I asked, wiping the sweat from my face.

  “She is telling us she’s here and will not be ignored.”

  “Oh.”

  I picked up this tiny person. There she was, my Frances. I would name her after the mother who had died at my own birth. Thank the Lord, she was whole! With a thick mop of dark hair, blurred eyes of deep blue, and ten fingers and toes.

  “Jesus, I thank you for this happy outcome,” said Aventis, bowing his head.

  “How big would you say she is?” I asked him.

  He seemed to be in a trance as he stared at his child.

  “I-I should say . . . some four pounds short of a stone.”

  He thrust out a finger, which the babe instinctively clenched.

  “Saints preserve me,” I breathed. No wonder her birthing had hurt: she was no piece of porcelain but a hefty plate of pewter!

  “Her name is Frances,” I said.

  “Oh,” said Aventis. “Fine.”

  At that moment, he looked so giddy that I might have called her Ned.

  Frances’s howls rose like those of an angry kitten.

  “Perhaps you should feed her,” said Aventis.

  “Yes. I suppose that’s what one does.”

  I groaned into a sitting position and prayed for instinct to call. At least one of us answered, for Frances’s rosebud mouth sought my nipple, then clamped on like a vise.

  “Ouch!” I cried. “Must she be so rough?”

  “She takes after her mother,” said Aventis.

  “Best have a care,” I told him. “Never tease a woman right after she’s given birth. I feel I could run you through and rather enjoy the sensation.”

  He pushed himself back with his arms, watching his daughter suckle.

  “Frances,” he murmured. “How welcome you are to the world!”

  Despite the pain at my breast, I smiled. The unearthly quiet was soothing as Frances enjoyed her first meal.

  Megs’s Departure

  There was so much to be learned on how to care for a babe! My Frances must be washed, fed, and changed—all on a merciless schedule. She kept her little hands clenched in defiance of the world, and spent most of her waking hours crying, eating, or spitting up.

  The day after her arrival (and a fitful night), our little family emerged from the warmth of the cave. Frances responded with screams as if she were being killed!

  “What ails her?” I asked Aventis. “What does she require now?”

  “One of two things,” he said. “Either changing or food. I should say both.”

  “Which comes first?” I asked rather stupidly, not knowing whether to bare my breast or snatch up my lace cuffs.

  I turned to Aventis, scowling.

  “Could you not have thought to bring some cloth and tape?”

  “Apologies,” he said.

  Wisely, he did not wish to provoke me.

  “I can, however, provide some worm-eaten wood dust.”

  “Whatever for?” I asked.

  “It must be used to uh . . . to apply to Frances’s bottom.”

  “Get to it, then,” I ordered, and proceeded to feed her. Though she sucked with the force of a demon, the sight of her tightly closed eyes served to lessen my pain.

  “I wish I could sing,” I told her. Or recite a lullaby. Still, Frances seemed not to mind, for, after I burped her, she quickly fell to sleep.

  “I have it,” called Aventis, as he emerged from the woods. He must have felt truly threatened, for after handing me the wood dust, he took a few steps back.

  “Aventis,” I told him, “Bernardino, a thousand apologies. This is all new to me, and, unlike most women, I have been ill-prepared.”

  “Do not trouble yourself,” he said, sitting by me on the grass. “With a hundred duels under my belt, I could not be as brave as you were. Women have a steel that puts a blade’s to shame.”

  “Thank you,” I said, reaching to touch his hand. “In future, I shall try to be civil. For all of our sakes.”

  Aventis smiled.

  “The future,” he said. “We must address that directly. Now that Frances is here, you and I must be married.”

  “Well . . .”

  The thought had crossed my mind during my long confinement. I even had a fancy that all three of us could join Jeffries!

  “Of course, you will have to convert,” he said.

  “I am sorry . . . what?”

  “To the True Chu
rch. As Charles has almost certainly done for Catherine. I would expect the same of you.”

  “Do you?” I asked, rising with Frances in my arms.

  “You are not religious,” he said, oblivious to my tone. “You know that I am. It would not cost you to convert, whereas for me, turning Protestant would be a sin against God.”

  “You dare speak of sin?” I cried, “when I hold the result of ours?”

  “That is why I wish to put things aright.”

  “On your terms!” I yelled.

  It was much to my advantage that Frances could sleep through anything.

  “I did not think—” he began.

  “No, you did not! It is not the creed that concerns me so much as your wish to force me! That is why I have never married. A woman is no more than chattel: aye, under the law! You have the right to beat me, seize my property, and treat Frances like a servant! I am to obey you just like Ephesians says:

  Wives, submit yourselves unto your own husbands,

  as unto the Lord, for the husband is the head of the wife;

  even as Christ is the head of the church… therefore as the church is subject

  to Christ, so let wives be subject to their husbands in everything.

  Is that what you expect? My sheeplike obedience? Starting with your command to alter my faith!”

  “Margaret,” Aventis said sharply. “Consider what refusal means.”

  “I will be free of all men, save Jeffries. At least he provides a living.”

  “Yes,” said Aventis, coming so close I could feel his breath on my cheek. “What I meant was . . . as an unmarried mother, you will be considered a whore. So, for that matter, will Frances, and—God forbid!—you both might have to take that path.”

  “I am a man, remember?” I asked. “And Frances may likewise be disguised as a boy. As ‘males,’ we may do whatever we please.”

  “It might appear so,” said Aventis, “but recall that you must leave her while you ply your trade. Do you not think that a nursemaid will discover her true sex? And that that revelation may well lead to your being unmasked?”

  “You’re right—again!” I cried in exasperation. “Forever triumphing over me. That is why I cannot endure being harnessed to you.”

  “Yet you told me,” said Aventis, “while I lay ill with the Plague, that you would have married me . . .”

  “Much has happened since. First, the tyranny of Ned— and now of-of yourself! You will not be my gaoler. I will not convert. Do you know me so little that you thought I would?”

  “Your stance is worse than you know,” he said, looking tearfully at Frances.

  “Indeed! You are a man who cannot get his way.”

  “Do you not see the way forward?” he cried, and the words seemed torn from his throat. “If we are not wed, then Frances must be sent off. Neither you nor I can raise her and have her remain respectable.”

  I tried to make my fancy real.

  “What if we all join Jeffries?” I asked.

  “And let him know without a doubt what has passed between us? Surely, he will cast us out as Sarah did to Ishmael! Then where shall we go?”

  I closed my eyes, for he spoke a harsh truth. We would not be allowed to live within normal circles; and now, with a child, we could not live outside them.

  “I have a plan,” said Aventis, and his face was hard. “I know of a place where Frances might be raised beyond prying eyes. If one day you choose to convert, she will be there for our taking.”

  What was this? I breathed so heavily I nearly woke the sleeping child. Give her up?

  I had just birthed her yesterday! The very thought seemed monstrous. Though I had never longed for a child, I could still feel a mother’s bond. Yet, I knew that Aventis was right. To think of my Frances taunted in the street by brutes, vulnerable to their advances . . . No! I would not have her relive my childhood, or suffer one far worse . . .

  It was then that I held her close and kissed her on the head.

  “Go,” I told Aventis, and handed over my precious bundle: she who meant more to me than all the gold in the world; than even my love for him. “Quickly. Before I change my mind.”

  He gave me a last plaintive look before making for his horse.

  “Mind you find a good wet nurse!” I called, then fell to the ground.

  I spent the next three days sobbing.

  A Future Highwayman Arrives

  I sat at Epping, alone, until my breast milk dried up; until my belly shed its excess as I rode and swam through the days. What now? I wondered. I was no longer young, being fully thirty: could I continue to ride with Jeffries? What’s more, in a troop that included Aventis?

  After two long months, no other plan came to mind, and so I headed south, in the direction of Hounslow. There, at our old hideout, I found our merry band: or, at least two of them were so.

  “Megs!” Jeffries cried when he saw me. He leapt to his feet. “Aventis relayed it did not go so well at home. And that you wished to remain by yourself while you considered the future.”

  I winced as I heard that word.

  “I missed you all,” I said, with a nod to Carnatus and Gad.

  “It was sadly dreary without you,” sighed Carnatus. “Who was there to take up my bets? Praise me on my fine cooking?”

  “Well, I am returned,” I said, “and to be honest, quite starved. Do you have a bit of dinner?”

  “A moment!” Carnatus cried, then bent over the fire. While he was so occupied, I turned and nodded to Aventis. To my eye, he looked gaunt and pale.

  “I am quite sorry,” he said, “things took such an awful turn. At the Whale, I mean.”

  “Yes,” I said slowly. “I thank you for your assistance. Matters would have gone badly had you not been present.”

  He bowed.

  “It was my decided pleasure. After I left you, I went on a small journey.” He cleared his throat. “The one I told you about.”

  “Ah. And how did you fare?” I asked, the blood rising in my ears so that I could barely hear.

  “Very well,” he said. “My bundle was delivered and greeted with much delight.”

  “How now?” yelled Carnatus, handing me a plate of stew. “You two talk in such circles, I feel I must chart your diameter!”

  I smiled weakly. Aventis took up a goblet, then handed me one of my own. We sat before the fire.

  “Well,” I said. “It has been some time since I had a drink.”

  Gad narrowed his eyes in suspicion.

  “I mean . . . not such a fine one as this.”

  Gad nodded, then continued to eat.

  “All is truly well?” I whispered to Aventis.

  “Aye.”

  “Where is she?” I asked. This is the question which, night after night, had kept me awake and fitful.

  “I cannot say,” he said softly, then let loose with a hearty laugh. “Did that really happen?” he chuckled, throwing a glance at Jeffries.

  “You mean you will not,” I hissed through my false smile.

  “It is better this way,” he said. “If I tell you, you will go. And that you must not do.”

  “I must say,” I said, “you have never been shy in telling me what I must do.” I lowered my voice. “Now, I tell you to go to Hell!”

  He nodded, all feigned humor gone, and rose to move away from me.

  So it went for the next two years. I barely acknowledged Aventis, except in matters of business, while he kept his distance from me. Jeffries surely perceived we were not as “close” as formerly, which for him must have been a relief.

  As for me, I found my mind crowded with plans: that I could kidnap and threaten Aventis until he told me where Frances was; that I could desert Jeffries and not be cursed by the sight of Aventis; or, worst of all, that I could end myself. This last surprised me, for I had been a survivor since the literal day I was born. Yet, in recent days, the urge to take my pistol and put it to my head became a nightly temptation. Though I aspired to act care
free before Jeffries, Aventis could not be fooled.

  “Margaret,” he whispered, after coming downstairs at Jeffries’s, where a blessed event was soon expected.

  “Leave me,” I told him from my divan. Since Moll knew the secret of my sex, I was dressed in a woman’s nightshirt. “What if Jeffries appears?”

  “He will not,” said Aventis, taking a seat on the chair before me. “He is far too distracted.” He sighed. “I know what is in your mind.”

  “Are you a witch then?” I asked. “Careful, lest they put you to the flame.”

  “I am already there,” he said, and, in the morning’s half-light, I saw tears specking his eyes. With some hesitation, he put out a hand. “Do you think that I do not suffer the same as you? That I don’t think of her daily? She is always in my thoughts and dreams.”

  “How is she?” I asked, clutching his cuffed wrist. “Will you at least reveal that?”

  “She is fine. A hardy two-year-old who chatters away all day.”

  I smiled, blinking back my own tears.

  “Much unlike her parents.”

  “Yes.” Aventis leaned forward, pressing my hand in his. “Margaret, you know you have but to say it—"

  “Do not speak of this,” I said, hard as any highwayman. “I told you before and I meant it. I will not convert for any man—lest it be Jesus Himself.”

  He sighed, bowing his head, and I could feel his breath on my palm. Despite all that had passed, I found myself patting his head. Damn him! And damn my own feelings of love!

  Aventis stirred and lifted his head, then caressed my cheek lightly.

  “Margaret,” he said, “you must swear to me an oath—not to do anything foolish. Of late, I have seen a look in your eyes, and I do not like it.”

  I turned away.

  “Always recall,” he said, “that there are two in the world who love you: not only myself, but Frances. Swear.”

  “Very well,” I said. “I will suffer to live for you both.”

  “Thank you,” he whispered, then buried his face in my hair.

  The next day proved a noisy blur in the Jeffries household. I saw women unknown to me going upstairs and down, bearing between them a kettle, blankets, and cloths. A doctor appeared with instruments best left to the basement of Newgate.