Boston Jacky: Being an Account of the Further Adventures of Jacky Faber, Taking Care of Business (36 page)

I run off down the hill crying . . .

Jaimy! Don't go! Please wait!

 

I arrive, panting, down at the docks, just in time to see the
Ciudad de Lisbon
pulling away from the wharf, her sails filling with a following wind.

“Jaimy! Wait!” I shout, but I know he cannot hear me. I can see him, though, standing on the deck, facing away.

Then I see something that strikes me to my very core. A figure comes up next to Jaimy and puts her arm around his waist.

It is Clarissa Worthington Howe and she sees me standing desperate on the dock. She gives me a little finger wave and very clearly mouths,
We are even now.

I fall to my knees, unable to cry out anymore . . . or even to cry.

Miss Clarissa Worthington Howe

The House of the Rising Sun

New Orleans, Louisiana, USA

 

Miss Jacky Faber

The Pig and Whistle Inn

Boston, Massachusetts, USA

August 28, 1809

 

My dearest Jacky,

It is my fondest hope that this letter finds you in the highest of spirits and in the very pink of condition, you sweet little thing, you.

You are surprised at my return address up there above? Well, dear, I felt it was a perfect place for me to go—my daddy will never find me here. Thank you for introducing me to Mademoiselle Claudelle de Bourbon on my previous visit here, for through her I find I have entry to a very sporting class of people. Mam'selle is well and great fun, of course, and sends her love and affection. And do not worry, I shall not again fall into dependence on those substances she is so eager to provide—no, I am older and far wiser now.

Is your Mr. Fletcher here by my side? Oh, you silly thing, don't you know that was an elaborate little joke? It was just a game. You do realize I had to pay you back for my loss of Randall, don't you? So now we're all even—Polly Von can have both Randall and my part in your little play. That was amusing, but time for me to move on.

And the very idea of me, Clarissa Worthington Howe, being married to a very junior British naval officer, oh my dear, it just could not be. Oh, I mean he was most pleasant company on our way down to New York. We did enjoy many fine promenades on the deck as night fell, but I did find him a bit gloomy. I suspect he is still mooning over the loss of his pwetty widdle Jacky Faber. Oh well, he'll get over that. But Oh! Oh! Oh! If you could have just seen the look on your face when our ship pulled away from the dock and you came running down to find Jaimy looking out to sea and me with my arm around his waist. Joy! I must say my timing was perfect! It was as perfect as that scene you staged back at Dovecote when I pulled up in my coach to find you and Randall rolling around on the grass, Randall above and you below, with your skirts up around your waist. And turnabout is fair play, right, Jacky?

Anyway, dear, thank you for introducing me to New Orleans, as the place suits me. I have taken rooms here at the Rising Sun, as it seems to be the center of all activity in this city, and I have found employment as a singer. I did have to post a bond with Madame Babineau, considering my past behavior here at the Rising Sun, silly stuff that I can scarcely recall. Anyway, I gave her a check in the amount of $500 written on the account of Faber Shipping Worldwide, and she seemed pleased. You have probably noticed that one of your cunning little checkbooks is missing. Is it not the most wondrous thing, Jacky—I write out the amount and sign your name and they give me money? I will try to be careful with it.

Thank you also for teaching me to play upon the guitar. With my good soprano voice and my beauty, of course, I am quite the hit. Could I be becoming you? Heaven forbid . . . but, possibly . . . a well-bred, cultured, and beautiful version of you, maybe. You have shown me the way, Jacky, and I thank you for it . . . and for the loan of your guitar. I'm sure you'll find another one soon.

As for my beauty, my fame is spreading. I am performing in several theatrical productions and do not lack for money nor notice. As a matter of fact, I am to be escorted to a grand ball tonight by a General Jackson—do you know him? He is friends with the Lafitte brothers, both of whom send their regards in hopes of seeing you again very soon. They were most emphatic on that.

And on the subject of beauty, if I were you, I would not go looking for the painting that Spanish boy did of you, as I have borrowed it, also. It has been beautifully framed and now hangs over the bar at the Rising Sun and is admired by all. The Lafitte Brothers and I, together with Andrew, were just minutes ago standing in front of it, and all toasted you most warmly—the resemblance is simply amazing. I swear Mam'selle kneels in prayer before it every day. I cannot imagine why it upset your Mr. Fletcher so. After all, we have always known of your . . . exhibitionist tendencies.

Mr. Fletcher . . . Oh, yes, you will probably want to know about him. We parted at New York and he took ship for England, while I continued on to New Orleans. I believe he will try to regain his commission in the Royal Navy, and I say good luck to him. Actually, I think he still loves you, poor man. I did, of course, intercept that letter to you that he placed at the Pig, wherein he suggested a meeting of reconciliation between the two of you—and betrayed the location of that charming painting. Silly boy. I just could not allow that to happen. I enclose that letter with this one so that you might enjoy.

Your piratical friend Flaco Jimenez was in New Orleans last week. I believe he came because he had heard I was here, and he showed me an excellent time. The Lafittes do not know all of the low dives in this town, but Flaco is familiar with all of them. He asks after you, of course, but has invited me to go a-roving with him. He might even give me my own ship. I must say the offer is most enticing and I might do it someday . . . The dread Pirate Howe—it has a nice ring to it, don't you think?

The night is very pleasantly warm and the air is heavily laden with the perfume of tropical flowers, and, oh, I do believe Andrew is here to escort me to the ball.

Till later, Jacky. Keep well. I do love you, you know, in my own way. I used to think you were something nasty stuck to the bottom of my shoe, but I have changed my mind on that. Since you have come into my life, you have been ever so much fun.

Sincerely,

Clarissa Worthington Howe

 

Visit
www.hmhbooks.com
to find all of the books in the Bloody Jack Adventures.

 

L. A. M
EYER
is the acclaimed writer of the Bloody Jack Adventures, praised for engaging characters and vivid historical detail. This rollicking series follows the exploits of a spirited heroine who climbs from the squalid streets of London to become an adventurer of the highest order. L. A. Meyer lives on the coast of Maine. Visit his website at
www.jackyfaber.com
.