Chapter 46

I wake up looking at the bottom of a chamber pot by which I am kneeling and into which I am throwing up.

“Ooohhh . . . pleeeeease . . . God . . . ,” I hear myself say.

“God shall not help you,” I hear Amy say severely. “You brought this on yourself.” I dimly see that she is standing above me as I swim back into full awareness and total misery.

“Please, Lord, take me now. I can’t stand this.” I cough and spit up some more vile juice. I have never been this sick before, ever, not even when I was seasick. “Please . . . I want to die now. Please, Lord.”

A long string of spittle hangs from my lower lip down into the mess at the bottom of the pot. I wipe it away with the back of my hand and then look up at Amy for sympathy and forgiveness, but I do not get it.

“Who . . . who undressed me . . . how did I get back here?” I see that I am clad in my under-linen and stockings.

“I undressed you, Jacky,” she says. “But as to how you got here, that story is a little more . . . vivid, shall we say. Would you like to hear?”

“Noooo . . . ,” I say in a very small voice. My back suddenly bucks and a stream of sick comes out of my mouth and into the pot. There is a strong, sour smell in the room.

“Oh, hear it you shall, Jacky,” she says, disgusted. “Make no mistake about that. Shall I start with a description of the dance you performed? On the tabletop? It was quite well received by those sailors and other low males in the room.”

“Oh no . . .”

“Oh yes. And the song you sang up there, Jacky? Oh, that was such a hit! Why, it brought the house down! Do you recall? It was the one about bullies rowing other bullies, the one that ends with—”

“Please, no more . . .”

“Oh, there is more and plenty. It gets better and better. After you came down from your stage . . . well, actually, you fell unconscious from your stage, right into the arms of that loathsome Lieutenant Flashby, who picked you up and strode off out of the ballroom looking for a convenient room to put you in. I suspect you and he would discuss naval tactics or tell sea stories. I’m sure that was his intent. He had gone down the main hall kicking open doors, finding nothing appropriate to his needs until he came to one of the guest rooms and was about to enter, when Randall came storming furiously into the hall, confronting your naval comrade and bidding him put you down.

“‘I’ve got the strumpet and I’ve got the time, now get out of the way and sod off, Puppy!’ roared the bold Lieutenant and our own beau sabreur Randall roared back, ‘Puppy! I’ll give you Puppy, by God!’ and swords were drawn and crossed. I’m sorry, Miss, that you weren’t awake for that because I know how you love it all so, all that dash and gallantry and derring-do, but you were dumped in a pile on the floor, rather unceremoniously, I thought, for the supposed prize in this encounter. By the by, you might notice a pain in your derriere, as that is the part of you that hit the floor first, with something of a dull thud. The impact did seem to rouse you a bit, because you did manage to get to your hands and knees and try to crawl down the hall for a space, but then you passed out again, with the aforementioned bottom remaining in the air, leaning against the wall. Your arms were splayed out and your face was against the carpet and your mouth was open, and, I believe, drooling slightly. Most elegant. It is an image that will stay with me a long, long time.”

“Oh, please . . .” I don’t know what feels worse, the sickness or the knowing of what I had done. I moan again, my head down. More gagging, more spewing.

“Anyway, as I said, the swords were crossed and Randall made an ill-considered lunge at our lustful Lieutenant Flashby, which that experienced officer easily parried. As Randall was unbalanced, his opponent brought up the hilt of his sword and smashed it into Randall’s face, bloodying his nose and opening his cheek . . .”

“Dear God, no . . . not Randall . . . not hurt . . .”

“. . . and rocking him back against the wall. The bold Lieutenant did then draw back his sword and was about to put it through our Randall and into the wall when our jolly little party was joined by Father and Captain Humphries, who stepped up and ordered his officer to stop since, as he put it, sitting at a man’s table and then putting a sword in his son, well, it just isn’t done, old boy, not even in America. Then Randall wipes the blood from his mouth and snarls, ‘I’ll meet you in the morning, you filthy son of a bitch!’ and Lieutenant Flashby says, ‘Fine, I’ll kill you then, Puppy! Name your Second!’ Then Father draws his own sword and says, ‘You’ll not hurt the children of my household, by God, my son will second me and I’ll meet you, myself, you British bastard!’ Captain Humphries holds up both his hands and says, ‘I absolutely forbid it! All we need is an international incident over a dumb girl!’”

Amy sniffs and says, “Actually, Jacky, he did not use ‘girl’ in referring to you. He used a short, harsh word that I did not know the meaning of, it probably being of low Anglo-Saxon origin, and, I’m sure, quite crude.”

“I am so sorry . . .”

“Sorry? Sorry? Of course you are sorry! You are always sorry. Every time one of your cockeyed schemes goes wrong you are sorry.”

A spasm racks my body and my mouth opens but nothing but sour spittle comes out.

“Why . . . why are you . . . so cruel to me, Amy?” I am crying now, the tears running down my face and dripping into the pot with the other. I start keening in distress, “I thought you was my friend. I said I was sorreeeeeee . . .” Millie, outside the window, howls at the sound.

“You can stop making that noise. It will not help.” She primly folds her hands before her. “Do you know what I think, Miss? I think that when you first came to our school and were treated badly by Clarissa that you vowed that someday and somehow you would bring her down because the good Lord knows that nobody ever runs roughshod over Bloody Jacky Faber and gets away with it. Isn’t that right? And do you want to know what else I think? I think that you used me to get close to Randall, and you used him to get to Clarissa, and you . . .”

I stop keening and a coldness comes over me that is stronger than the sickness. “That you should think that, Miss,” is all I say and I look up into her face.

“Jacky, no, I’m sorry . . .” she says, uncertainty now in her eyes. “I didn’t mean . . .”

“That you should think that, Miss,” I say again. I begin to get up.

“Please, Jacky, forgive—”

And just at that instant came a pounding on the door and a girl’s voice calling, “Miss! Miss! Your mother wants to see you in her chamber right now!”

“Tell her I’ll see her in a while!” says Amy, all frantic.

“No, Miss! She wants you right now! She’s hoppin’ mad, and if you don’t come she’ll have me beat, she will!”

“All right, all right! Tell her I’ll be right there!”

By now I’ve sat back on my heels and am staring straight forward, saying nothing.

“I must go see what Mother wants, Jacky. Do not leave this room.”

“I hear you, Miss,” is what I say.

“Please, Jacky, please don’t try to leave.”

“I hear you, Miss Trevelyne.”

“That’s not an answer, Jacky, please—”

“Miss, please, now!” the wretched girl pleads and Amy has to follow.

“You sit right there, Jacky. I’ll be right back.”

 

When she comes back, she will find me gone.

 

“Millie, you silly dog,” I plead, “please go back. You can’t go with me. Go back. Shoo, now.” But she will have none of it, she just grins her joyous grin and leaps about. Maybe she’ll go back when we get farther along.

I plan to walk along the beach till I meet a road and I’ll take that road till it meets the Post Road and then I’ll head down to New York, as I think that’s the best place for me. I sure can’t go back to Boston—Clarissa will spread the news of my disgrace at the school and Mistress will surely boot me out, this time for good and ever, and I can’t just go down and live at the Pig ’cause the Preacher’d find me there and that’d be the end of me. And I sure can’t go back to Dovecote, what with Amy so mad at me. Her mother was prolly calling her upstairs to tell her to get rid of me quick ’cause I was stmkin’ up the place. No, New York’s the place for me. Maybe they’ll be more forgiving of my ways there. I’ll worm my way into another tavern and do the music, and I’ve got my colors and some disks, so maybe I’ll do some portraits of sailors to send to their girls. There’s letter writing, too, just like my dad used to do and I . . .

I stop to be sick again. Oh, Lord, if you’re gonna take me, please take me now . . . This is so awful . . . The drink sure tasted better going down than it does coming up. Damn that Clarissa! I had her in flames and now I’m the one that’s burnt to the waterline and Oh, my poor head. You sure showed me, Clarissa, just who was the thoroughbred and who was the mutt. I sit down on a rock to rest and I put my throbbing head in my hands. I know, I know, Liam, as you’ve often said, “’Tis the iron fist ’neath the velvet glove,” and it is.

Millie comes up and puts her chin on my knee and looks up at me with her big brown eyes. I put my two hands on the dome of her forehead and I say out loud, “I swear, by the sweet, gentle soul beneath my hands that I will never, ever, take a drink of spirits again. Amen.”

I’ve got a little money in my money belt, but I think I’ll be sleeping out tonight. It don’t look like rain and I’ll have to watch what I spend, ’cause now my plan is to make enough to buy passage to England and see what’s up with Jaimy. I can’t wait no longer, I got to know, so I can get on with things, no matter which way it goes with him. So I’m sorry, Ephraim and Betsey, sorry that I didn’t finish up the Preacher, but he’s almost done so maybe you can finish the job yourself and, if not, I hope you can put all that behind you and get married and have lots of fat, happy babies. And Sylvie and Henry, be happy in the company of each other. I’m sorry, Amy, that I couldn’t stop Randall from marrying Clarissa, I did what I could but it wasn’t enough. I never did really learn to fight like a lady, to fight like Clarissa knows how to fight. She showed me that, for sure. I had my foot on the neck of my enemy yesterday but still she wriggled free and beat me down. And, Amy, I’m sorry that I made a mess of things and brought dishonor to your house and family, and I’m sorry, Randall, that you got hurt in protecting me when I was helpless, I really am. And helpless I was—all my cunning and cleverness gone because of my wanton ways. It’s funny that you, Randall, the one who mounted the most ardent assault on my poor virtue, should be the one to save it. I thank you for that. Sorry, Gully, that I left the Lady Lenore back at the school. I thought I’d be back, but now I ain’t gonna be. Maybe Amy’ll save my stuff—though she sure seemed to hate me last time I saw her, so I don’t know. And I’m sorry, Mistress, that I didn’t turn out to be a lady. I know you tried.

Dear Millie, why do you leap and bound about so? You’ve nothing in this world but your hair and hide and bone and your foolish doggie grin and yet you are full of joy and think it just the very best of things to be going down an unknown dusty road with one such as me. Go back now, Millie, you must know I am so very hard on my friends.

I open my seabag to pull out my serving-girl gear, as I think I’ll cause less comment that way. Bad enough, a girl alone and on the road, let alone one dressed in a blue party dress. As I’m getting it out, I feel a pang as I spy the bright racing silks all folded up there. Was it only yesterday that I had that triumph on the Sheik and was looking forward to my first ball like any silly girl?

I’m starting to feel better. Maybe I’ll live, after all, I thinks as I finish dressing. The weskit feels good cinched up tight against my ribs, my shiv and my whistle nestled in there all snug where they belong.

Millie, will you not go back? No? Ah well, then, stay and herd your one black lamb, as she certainly needs it. Shall we have a tune, then, to cheer us and speed us on our way? What? “The Boys Won’t Leave the Girls Alone”? Why, that’s one of my favorites, too. A perfect traveling song! What, and you dance, too? You foolish dog, of course you would! All right, here we go . . .

 

“I’ll tell me ma when I get home,

The boys won’t leave the girls alone.

Jacky’s fair and Millie’s pretty

And they’ve both gone to New York City!”