Boston Jacky: Being an Account of the Further Adventures of Jacky Faber, Taking Care of Business (17 page)

I wish Higgins were here, but Joannie manages, tucking in the shirttails as I bring up the pants and fasten the waist. Now the boots, and then the jacket. Fasten it down, and on with the medals from my jewel box—first the Legion of Honor on my left breast, then the Trafalgar medal, on its red, white, and blue ribbon, around my neck.

There, all shipshape and Bristol-fashion,
I proclaim to myself upon viewing my image in the mirror.
Just the way I like it.

I turn to the other two and break out my cosmetic kit.

“Here, Clarissa, a bit of powder for your—”

“I know how to do it,” she says, taking the puff from my hand and applying it to her cheeks and chest. When she is done, I give Joannie a little dusting and then open my bottle of jasmine perfume and dab a little behind each ear and then do the same for Joannie.

“There, dear. That'll drop any midshipman to his knees if he is lucky enough to get his nose anywhere near your neck. Clarissa? Will you have some?” I hold the bottle out to her.

She takes out the stopper and sniffs. “Ah,” she says with eyebrows raised in disdain, “our Miss Jacky Faber, nothing but the best in taste and refinement.” But still, she takes a few dabs.

I stuff my midshipman's cap on my head and say, “Are we ready? Good. Then let's go.”

 

The boat is sent over at the appointed hour and we are escorted onto the deck of USS
Chesapeake
, to be met there by Second Lieutenant Randall Trevelyne, USMC, and by Captain Stephen Decatur, himself. Introductions are made, bows and curtsies all around, a brief tour of the upper decks, where I find everything shipshape, of course, and then down into the Captain's cabin, where the table is prepared for a splendid feast—the places set, the candles lit, the wineglasses sparkling.
Ah, yes, one of the many ways to Jacky Faber's heart.

We are seated, me to the left of the Captain, Clarissa to the right, Lieutenant Trevelyne by my other side, and the very fortunate Lieutenant Pulver to the left of the very beautiful Clarissa Worthington Howe. Glasses are filled, and Captain Stephen Decatur rises to his feet.

“God save the United States of America!” he says, and all rise to echo that wish. “God save the U.S.A.!”

I lend my voice to the toast, and when all have drunk, the Captain says to me, “As the only one here wearing the uniform of Britannia, Lieutenant Faber, would you like to offer a toast as well?”

“I would, Sir,” I say, knowing in just what esteem a British officer is held on this particular American ship. I hold up my glass. “In spite of our recent difficulties, our two countries are not officially at war, and considering the brotherly love we have for each other, I hope with all my heart that they never shall be!”

Some
hear, hear
s are heard, but they are faint and not unanimous, and more's the pity, for I fear the worst.

“Lieutenant Trevelyne has filled me in on your past exploits, Miss Faber. Could you please tell us of your recent activities? I believe you have been in Portugal with General Wellesley on the Peninsular Campaign against Napoleon?”

“Yes, Sir, I was there by his side at the Battle of Vimeiro and was thereafter sent to . . .”

Yes, I sparkle in the telling of these past things, but I do not sparkle half so much as does the one who sits across from me . . .

The brilliance of my meager fame fades quickly in the radiance of Clarissa's beauty. Yes, I tell of the Portuguese battles and of Madrid and Cartagena and the Roma and all that, but somehow that doesn't hold a candle to Clarissa's mere presence. All my military glory dims. These men have been at sea a long time, and the sight of Clarissa's girls sitting up all jaunty above her bodice, quivering with her slightest move, has captured every male's attention in the cabin.
Hmmm . . .

Note to self: Next time, girl, forget the uniform and do the dress.

“And we went into the palace to set up for the royal portrait and . . .”

“. . . and what will you do now, Miss Howe?” asks the worshipful Lieutenant Pulver, his eyes full of Clarissa and completely in her thrall.

“Oh, Ah believe Ah shall go on the stage, as that befits my generous nature and mah desire to share mah special gifts with the world of the theater.”

Oh, Clarissa, spare me . . .
She is sure layin' it on thick with the accent.

“And where will that performance be?” asks another smitten male farther down the table.

“Why, at the Emerald Playhouse in Boston, of course, you deah man, only the finest venue in that fair city, Ah do declare.”

“Well, we shall be there, Miss Howe! Count on it! The
Chesapeake
expects to dock there within two weeks!”

“Well, Ah expects to see all you fine gentlemen at the stage door when Ah am finished with mah performance and in need of some comfort . . .”

There is an exhalation of male breath all around the table.

“And now, Miss Joan, if you will hand me mah guitar, Ah will play some songs that you gentlemen might find amusin'.”

I sit as Clarissa runs through some of the songs I have recently taught her—“
Jolie Blonde,” “Plaisir d'amour”
—to the great acclaim of the gathering, then, protesting a need for some air, I go out of the cabin on Randall's arm.

“Well!” says Randall. “Clarissa is quite the belle of the ball! You must be jealous, given your nature.”

We go to the rail and look out over the sea.

“Nay, Randall, let her have her fun, as I have had mine in similar circumstances, and in very similar cabins. No, let us enjoy this lovely night.”

“You did hear we will be in Boston in two weeks?”

“Yes, Randall, and that will be grand. I shall tell Polly when we get back. I know she will be most happy.”

I lean my head against his shoulder. “We are a very far way from Jena-Auerstadt, are we not, Lieutenant Trevelyne?”

“Indeed we are, Sous-Lieutenant Bouvier, and thank God for that.”

I give his arm a squeeze as we hear sounds of merriment coming up from the Captain's cabin. Then I look over to see two forms at the other rail. In the moonlight I can see that one is a young girl and one is a young midshipman. The young girl lifts her head in that time-honored invitation for a kiss and the young man delivers it.

“Ahem,” I say. “I believe it is time for me to get my brood back to my nest. Goodbye, Randall, I look forward to seeing you in Boston.”

With that I give him a kiss on the cheek and go collect Clarissa and that Joannie.

 

When we are abed this night, Clarissa lifts her head from the pillow and whispers, “Did you have a good time with Randall out there on the deck?”

“Wot? No, we just talked.”

“Uh-huh . . .”

“Hey, you seemed to be having a good time back there in the cabin, so don't give me that.”

“Uh-huh . . .”

“And . . .”

“Right . . . I did have a good time. But one thing you gotta know, Jacky,” she says, “I still owe you one . . . for Randall.”

I sit up and look down on her.

“But that's crazy. Neither one of us has Randall now, Clarissa. Polly Von has him.”

“True, but I did have him once and then a certain dirty little London street urchin arrived on the scene and then I did not have him.”

I give her a light punch.

“C'mon, Clarissa, we were but kids then. Just puppies. Surely that bet is off. Surely you cannot still bear a grudge.”

“Oh? Of course not, dear,” she says, her voice heavy with impending sleep, “but all is fair in love and war, right? And remember, Jacky, I do owe you one in the game of love, and someday I mean to collect. Goodnight, Jacky.”

“Goodnight, Clarissa,” I say, slipping off into sleep myself, but still wondering at the implied threat.
Surely she cannot mean it, can she?

James Emerson Fletcher

State Street

Boston, Massachusetts, USA

June 21, 1809

 

Miss J. M. Faber

The Pig and Whistle Inn

Boston, Massachusetts

 

Dear Jacky,

This shall be the last letter I shall send to you. I will conduct the business I must accomplish here in Boston, and then I shall be out of your life forever.

The reason for my change of heart will soon become clear to you. It goes like this:

Having taken lodging at the headquarters of Faber Shipping, I went out into the town to secure a place of business for my patron, and, having found a suitable space on State Street, I put down money, signed the necessary lease papers, and went to the Pig and Whistle for what promised to be an excellent lunch.

Feeling in high spirits on a very fine day, I hobbled back down to my lodging, soaking up the old familiar sights and looking out over the harbor in hopes of spying the returning
Nancy B.,
but alas, that was not to be, and more is the pity. For if I had spotted you down at the docks, all this would not have happened.

As it were, I climbed the stairs to my rooms and was about to enter when I noticed that the door to your studio was ajar, probably left that way by a cleaning woman. Thinking you would not mind, since we soon would be sharing all things in our lives, I went in to look about.

It was a very pleasant, light-filled space, and I can see why you chose it for your workspace. Wandering about, I spied a very nice portrait in progress of a ship's captain, a large sign laid out proclaiming
Wilson Bros. Ships' Chandlers
,
and some drawings, which I took to be student work, arranged about on wooden easels. Then I spied a leather tube, which looked a lot like a nautical map case.

Thinking that it might be a chart of your recent travels, which I would find most interesting, I removed the cap.

Indeed, I did find the contents most interesting . . .

It was neither a chart nor a map. No, it was nothing more than the end of all my hopes that you and I might share a life together.
How much, just how much, Jacky, can one man take, even a man such as I, who in the past has overlooked and forgiven some of your more outrageous transgressions?

I spread the canvas out on the workbench and it lay there, glowing in the afternoon light pouring through the tall windows. Beneath the reclining nude figure of the girl are these words,
La Maja Virginal. Con todo mi amor. Amadeo Romero, 1808
.

I do not have much fluency in the Spanish language, but it does not take much to figure out that
Con todo mi amor
means “With all my love
.
”

I stood there and steamed in inchoate rage. Yes, I can well imagine what “all my love” meant in this case—all of you, from top to bottom, given up to this damned Amadeo Romero and, yes, to Joseph Jared and Richard Allen and all the rest of your mob of male “friends” whom you have successfully explained away in the past. Oh, yes, you have a glib tongue, Jacky, but I don't believe it will be able to explain away
this
one—and no telling where that lying tongue has been.

I slammed my rod down hard on the bench top, the green-eyed Monster of Jealousy in full possession of me.
No, Master Kwai Chang, I cannot follow your teachings, I cannot let go of this thing that tears at my mind. I cannot.
I am not a worthy student, I know that now. I know that I am merely a beast, driven by my passions, by my rage, and I shall remain forever so.
I am sorry, Master, but that is the way of it.

I compliment this Señor Romero on his skill—the resemblance is striking, for it is definitely you lying there, Jacky, mocking me with your smile, no doubt about it. If I had ever once thought that I would rejoice in once again seeing you in your natural state with your Brotherhood tattoo proudly on your hipbone, I was dead wrong.

A great sadness fell over me. I rolled up the painting and put it back in its case. I retreated to my now unhappy room to pen this letter. I will drop it at the Pig and Whistle the day I leave Boston, after I have completed my business here.

I now put you out of my mind, Jacky. Only bitterness remains . . .

 

In sorrow,

James Fletcher

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Emerald Playhouse

 

A new Theater on State Street, presenting only the finest in Musick, Dance, and the Thespian Arts. This season we offer the following:

 

N
OW
A
PPEARING

 

O
PENING
J
ULY 20

 

Many Lands, Many People, Many Songs,
a Musickal Revue, featuring the Song & Dance Stylings of the Internationally Acclaimed Musician and Instrumentalist Miss Jacky Faber, as well as Vocals by Mr. Solomon Freeman and others. After Intermission there will be a playlet,
The Villain Pursues Constant Maiden, or Fair Virtue in Peril,
written by J. M. Faber, and starring Miss Clarissa Howe in the Title Role.