Curse Of The Blue Tattoo Part 14

"Call me 'Tacky,' please. I ain't a 'Miss' no more."

"I will try to get your money, Tacky," he says. "And for my efforts I will charge you fifteen percent of whatever I recover. If I recover nothing, then there will be no charge."

I do the math. My boat just got about fifteen feet shorter, I thinks.

"Done," I says.

"There are several problems, however," he says, leaning back in his chair. "The chief of which is that you are an underage female and have, as such, essentially no rights of property."

I ain't likin' the way this is goin'.

"Oh, and speaking of property, I believe this is yours." He reaches in a drawer and takes out my s.h.i.+v and places it on the desk before me. I had not hoped to see it again and I am glad to see the c.o.c.ky rooster. I thank him and slip the blade in my weskit and it feels good there against my ribs once again.

He continues, "You cannot hold property in your own name if you have a father, uncle, brother, male cousin, or even a son. The instant you marry, all your property becomes that of your husband. Do you understand so far?"

"I get it, and it ain't fair," I says through me teeth. "But I don't have any of those things and so I'm ent.i.tled to my money. Right?"

"I'm afraid not. You are underage and have been placed in the custody of the school and it is acting, in the eyes of the Court, in loco parentis, or, in place of your parents."

"Finally been adopted," I snorts.

Ezra chuckles and says, "But I think I could pet.i.tion the Court to break that hold on you because of the fact that the people who put you there had no real legal right to do so. They were only acting out of charity."

"They didn't know what else to do with me," I say, somewhat resentful.

"My reading of it is that they were trying to do their best by you, but never mind. The problem is that if I succeed in breaking the hold the school has on your a.s.sets, the Court would then have to appoint a guardian for you, being female and underage. Do you have any marriage prospects?"

"I do. I am promised to one James Emerson Fletcher, Mids.h.i.+pman, His Majesty's Royal Navy," I say primly and proudly.

"You have my congratulations. However, an engagement will not do, especially to someone half a world away," says Ezra, leaning over the desk and lookin' at me intently. "The problem is, someone has already stepped forward and pet.i.tioned the Court to be appointed guardian of a particular female child, one Jacky Faber, late of England and now resident in Boston."

His statement hangs in the air while my mind tries to understand it.

"What!" I blurts out. "Who in the h.e.l.l..."

"The Very Reverend Richard Wilson Mather, pastor of the Beacon Hill Congregational Church, is the pet.i.tioner," says Mr. Pickering, all composed and calm. "I happened to be in court yesterday on another matter when he came in to start the guardians.h.i.+p proceedings."

I feel a coldness come over me. "He can't! I won't-"

"I am afraid he can, Jacky. He is an ordained minister and a member of the board of the school you attend. Or attended. You are a female orphan with no relatives of any kind. You have spent time on a wars.h.i.+p in the company of rough men. The Court knows that you have exhibited some wild behavior in the recent past and you are very probably in need of the very correction and guidance he is in a unique position to give. The Court will look very favorably on such a pet.i.tion."

I jump to me feet. "That's it then. I must run away. My seabag is always packed. I'll be gone in five-"

"Please sit down, Jacky. I a.s.sumed this would be your reaction," continues Ezra, "and I took the liberty of informing the Court that I was acting as your attorney and that I would be conferring with you on this matter. I asked the Court for a stay of their judgment and they granted it. That put a twist in the Preacher's nose, I'm pleased to report." Ezra broadens his usual bemused smile at the thought.

"You are a very good lawyer and I am glad I have you lookin' out for me," I says, sittin' back down and tryin' to calm myself some.

"Thank you, Jacky, but it was mere luck that I was there. Otherwise, you might be sitting in his vestry right now."

I s.h.i.+vers at that thought. Swallowed up by that horrid old church.

"It is possible, though, that it was not my skill as a lawyer that delayed the Court's granting Reverend Mather's request but rather that other thing."

I look back all confused. What other thing?

Ezra makes a little tent of his pink little fingers and looks off in a considerin' way. "There was an ... incident last year, in the Reverend's household: A young girl, employed by him as a housemaid, hanged herself in her room in the vestry."

I sit up in horror as it hits me. The unmarked grave!

"The circ.u.mstances were unusual-please forgive me here for giving you the details, but you should know-one end of one of her stockings was tied around her bedpost and the other around her neck. She was slumped against the bed. Her feet were on the floor."

"How can you hang yourself with your feet on the floor?" I asks, all dumbfounded.

"It can be done, if one really wants to do it. Condemned prisoners have done it to cheat the hangman. But to continue, she was known as a cheerful sort of girl, only sixteen, and her suicide came as a shock to all who knew her." Ezra pauses. "One other thing. It was rumored that she was with child."

I draw in my breath sharply.

"Then it had to be murder," says I. "No girl would kill herself with a baby in her belly!"

"Maybe she killed herself because of it," says Mr. Pickering, gently. "Because of the shame."

I don't say nothin' to that. I just sits and smoulders.

Mr. Pickering sighs and leans back in his chair. "Anyway, there was an inquest, but nothing could be proved. The girl's parents did not claim her body because of the nature of her death, and Reverend Mather wasted no time in getting her in the ground. There was suspicion cast on a young man of the town, but no charges were brought."

I am quiet for a while.

"What was her name?" I ask of him, breaking the silence.

"Ah. Let me think.. Jane, it was. Janey Porter."

Again, there is silence. Finally, Ezra gives a little cough and says, "As for our course of action, I will file an injunction to stop, or at least delay, the granting of guardians.h.i.+p. We can demand a hearing, and that will give us some time. At the same time I will file a pet.i.tion on your behalf to regain your money-it won't work, but it will at least show the Court that there is money involved here and that might throw some doubt on the supposed selflessness of the Preacher's pet.i.tion."

I nod in agreement. Can I pick a lawyer or what?

I rise and say, "Thank you, Mr. Pickering, for all you have done for me. Now I must go and buy some fish. Good day to you, Sir."

"Good day, Jacky, and please call me Ezra."

I hurry through the throng in Haymarket and get the fish at Anzivino's, himself crying, "Right off the boat, Signorina!" but I sniff it all the same, and he implores heaven with his hands in the air, "The trust! Where is the trust?" It is fresh and I take five of the redfish and put them in my basket and tie it to the back of Gretchen's saddle and I head out of the market with its sounds of vendors calling out their wares in many kinds of English and its heady smells of produce and meat, both fresh and frying, and of the sea and the clam flats nearby and the horse manure to which Gretchen adds her bit but n.o.body seems to mind.

I head out and back up toward Beacon Hill, and as I go I think about Gully MacFarland and the idea of us getting an act together. We certainly sounded good together in our practice session. I've never heard anyone play the fiddle better than he, that's for sure. He gets some amazing sounds out of the Lady Lenore-he makes her whisper, he makes her growl, he makes her shout, he makes her plead, by turns pathetic and heroic and grand-and he knows how to slip in and out of my whistle playing and singing, doing the straight melody sometimes and sometimes countermelodies and by and large making it easy for me to sound good.

It would really be a good act, but I don't know ... I'm still smartin' from my last brush with the law. Gully said that won't matter, we'd be playin' inside and Wiggins won't touch me, but I don't know. Maudie says to me that I seem like a bright girl but if I trust a drunk like Gully then I ain't bright at all, and he told her to shut her gob, but I don't know ... And when Gully asked if I can get out at night to do this and I say I prolly can, he says meet me here tomorrow night and we'll have a go, but I don't know...

I do know I told him that I'd think it over and let him know soon.

I get back just in time and take Gretchen to Henry and say, "Please, Henry, could you please walk her cool, I've got to get in to serve supper. I'm sorry I'm late."

"Anything for you, Jacky. You go on." He starts to walk Gretchen around the yard, cooling her down from our final gallop across the Common.

"Thanks, Henry, I'll make it up to you," I say, and take the basket of fish from the back of the saddle and dash down toward the kitchen entrance of the school.

"It's about time, you!" says Peg. She takes the fish and smells them and then spills them out on a cutting board and picks up a cleaver and begins chopping off the heads and tails and such, all of which go into a pot for the making of stock. "Take the chimes up and call them to supper and get ready to serve it. You take the head table tonight."

I start rapping the chime thing in front of the dormitory and I turn to go back down to get ready to serve when I hear, "Wait."

I look back through the door and I see Clarissa standing straight in the center of the room. There are some of the girls around her.

"Come here, girl."

I heave a mighty sigh and go into the dormitory room. I try to never be close to that room when the ladies are around, but this time I had no choice.

"Yes, Miss," I say, and stand there and wait for it.

Clarissa tosses her net bag of soiled underwear at my feet. Some of the others do the same.

"Wash them and dry them and iron them and have them ready tomorrow."

I put the chimes aside and stoop to pick up the bags. I save Clarissa's for last and that one I pick up twixt my thumb and forefinger and with pinky extended hold it out at full arm's length and turn my face as if the bag and its contents stink. I wrinkle my nose, turn, and head for the door.

I hear the patter of her feet behind me as she charges, and I feel her hands. .h.i.t my back as she stiff-arms me to the floor.

"You insolent piece of baggage, you! How dare you!"

I roll over and get to my knees and look up into Clarissa's furious face and I say, "Miss Howe, do whatever you're going to do and get it over with, please."

There, on my knees in front of Clarissa, I decide that I will join with Gully MacFarland and I will make enough money to buy pa.s.sage for England and I will go see Jaimy.

Clarissa raises her hand and I get ready for it when I hear, "No. You shall not hit her. She is not one of your slaves."

I look up and Amy is standing between Clarissa and me, and Clarissa's face is a porcelain mask of absolute fury, but she does not challenge Amy. She turns and stalks off.

I wonder why.

Amy comes to me and lifts me to my feet.

"Come," she says, gathering up the scattered net bags, "I will help you carry them down."

In serving the supper this evening I study the Reverend more closely. He gives no sign of his plans for me except to glance up as I hold the platter next to him. He smiles and it is a ghastly sight to see, a smile on the face of what I am almost sure is a murderer. My stomach churns and threatens to come up on me, and it is with relief that I turn to Mistress and Dolley, the chosen one this evening. Dolley gives me a wink as she takes her portion. She is a good one and I like her.

There are two windows in my attic, one at either end. The one on the eastern end faces toward the church and is therefore no good. The window on the other end looks out to the west over mostly open field and marsh and is on a side of the building where almost no one ever goes, and tonight, I try this window again. I had tried it before but it wouldn't open, having been sealed shut by many coats of paint carelessly applied. Some of that vile Dobbs's work, no doubt. I take out my s.h.i.+v and get to work.

It takes me about an hour to free it up. I slide it open and lean out and look down. It's about three stories down to some bushes and there's a fairly large tree a ways out that will give some cover to my actions. Tomorrow I shall get some rope.

Chapter 17.

"Peg?" says I, turning the ball of bread dough over and adding flour to keep it from sticking to my fingers. I resumes kneading the spongy white lump. "Did you know the girl from the church? The one what died over there? Last year?"

Peg don't say nothin' for a long time. "A sad thing, that," she finally says, s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g her face up into a grimace and shaking her head. "We don't talk much about Janey Porter. It's all so sad ... what she did to herself. Not right, it wasn't."

I don't say anything to that.

"Here, girl," says Peg. "You've got to get your shoulders into it. Make your knuckles into half fists and push 'em in hard. Arms straight. Like this."

I does as she says. The dough puts up a fight but finally gives it up and becomes a smooth white ball. I put it on the rising board and I asks, "What did she look like? That girl Janey."

Peg sighs and says, "She was pretty. Bright. Always with a laugh and a joke. Like you." Peg smiles sadly at the remembering. "She was over here a lot, not that you could blame her. Who'd want to spend all their time over there? With him and all his gloom and doom."

"Don't like him much, do you, Peg?"

"All I'll say on that is that it was a sad day around here when Reverend Miller died and he took over the pulpit." Peg puts her dough on" the board next to mine and sifts more flour into the mixing bowl. "Now, old Miller could d.a.m.n us all to h.e.l.lfire and brimstone for our sins with the best of 'em, but somehow it was different. Under it all you got the feeling he loved his flock and was takin' care of 'em best he could. Don't get that feelin' with this Mather."

"Amen," says I, taking the sifter and putting in it three cups of flour. Ain't seen a weevil yet, not like on the s.h.i.+p. The flour falls down into the bowl in dusty waves. Like white curtains blowing in a breeze.

"You said Janey Porter was cheerful..." I trail off to see if Peg will pick it up or just tell me to be quiet and get off this sad subject.

"She was, till a while before ... it happened. Then she started gettin' more quiet. Like she was worried about something. No more laughin' and jokin'. I tried to get her to talk about it, but she wouldn't." Peg starts in to kneading her next loaf, and I add water and yeast starter to mine and begin mixing it with a wooden spoon. "Still, everyone was shocked when it happened. Poor thing, to die like that and be put in the ground without even a headstone to mark her time on this earth."

"Warn't nothing wrong with Janey till he done her dirty," says a voice behind me.

"Hush, Betsey. You don't know and 'cause you don't know, you should keep your mouth shut," warns Peg.

I look back and see the usually quiet Betsey sitting at the long table, sh.e.l.ling peas into a big wooden bowl on the floor between her feet. I finish off my last dough ball and dust my hands and go help Betsey with the peas.

I let her be silent for a while and then I pop a few raw peas into my mouth and savor their earthy flavor and say, "So?"

She looks up and I see that her eyes are full of tears. "She was a special friend of mine, Janey was, and she was good and never hurt no one in this world."

"I know she was a good girl, Betsey," I say as gentle as I can. "Can you tell me more? I'm not just being curious. It's important."

She looks up at me sharply and I think she can tell I ain't lying.

"How came she here?" I ask.

"From a farm to the west. She was so happy and excited to be here when first she came to the city. We had such a fine time. Then ... well, you heard." She snuffles back tears and savages a few helpless pea pods.