I am not dead yet, nor am I going to place my fate entirely in the hands of Jaimy’s lawyers, nor will I throw myself completely on the mercy of his family’s influence. I snort to myself on thinking of the Fletcher family as regards the fate of one Jacky Faber—his father would probably love to see me swing for stealing all that wine from him, and Jaimy’s mother? Oh yes, I’ve no doubt Mother Fletcher, if anything, is helping to build my gallows right now. I can see her with hammer in hand, nails held in her teeth, pounding in the very boards herself.
I continue to study the key and I try to think of ways to duplicate it, since it’s plain that I will never be able to get at the key itself. The trouble is, I need metal and metal is what I do not have. My Marines bring me my trays of food but it is the now very careful and respectful Weasel who picks up the dirty dishes afterward, and he always counts the silverware when he does so. I have asked my Marines to let me play my pennywhistle that’s in my seabag, and they do it, but they always make sure it goes back in the bag when their watch changes. I don’t think I could twist the tin whistle into the proper shape, anyway.
My plan, of course, is to fabricate a key, then ask the Marine to step outside while I use the pot, open the cell door, strip to my drawers, and bolt out the open door of the hold and over the side and swim for the French coast, just like I did that first day on the Wolverine. If it’s too far away and I die in the attempt, well, so be it. I’d rather breathe my last and sink forgotten to the bottom of the sea, than be taken back to London and put up on the scaffold to be hanged for the joy of the mob.
I know that’s where we are, right off the coast of France, and this time I think I’d make it, ’cause I don’t think my Werewolves would pursue me very hotly—’cause I think they still love me some.
The only problem is the damned key.
Today, when Jaimy comes back down to see me after his watch, I am able to control my emotions a bit more than I did yesterday and I take in the news he has to tell.
“Your men from the Emerald are being transferred to other ships in the Fleet. Captain Trumbull thinks their love for you might cause trouble. He knows that you’ve been in command of both these crews and it would not take much of a spark to put you back in command of all of them again.”
“Ah.”
“He has said that you might bid them farewell as they go.”
I notice now that Jaimy has a small coil of light line in his hand. “That is very kind of him,” I say. “Will he put me on my knees again? If so, I won’t do it.”
“No. He says only that you cannot wear the uniform you were captured in.”
I smile. “He can’t bring himself to say my ‘lieutenant’s uniform,’ can he?”
“No, but that is the only condition, other than that your hands must be bound. He has heard the account of you jumping overboard and swimming for shore that time.”
I nod and stick out my crossed wrists and wait for the rope that will bind them.
“Sheehan, good sailing to you. You, too, O’Hara, Doyle. Good-bye, John Reilly, good-bye, Farrell, Denny, Sean . . .”
I stand by the railing of the Wolverine as the crew of the Emerald files by me and, one by one, goes over the side into the waiting boats below.
“God be with you, Ryan, Kinsella . . . not so glum there, Brian, cheer up. Good-bye, Kelly, Lynch . . .” Make things light now, heads up, don’t let them see you cry.
Then up steps Arthur McBride.
“Now here’s one Arthur McBride, off to serve his King. Now ain’t that just a sight?” I say, in my bantering way. “Now who do you think got the best of things, you or your friend Ian McConnaughey?”
That gets the old familiar smile flashing again. “Aye, the sod,” says Arthur McBride. “Him all snugged up with Mairead and me about to enter the hairy embrace o’ some cruel monster of a Bo’sun’s Mate on a British Man-o’-War. Life sometimes just ain’t fair, is it, Jacky?”
“It is not, but somehow I think you will fare well. Good-bye, Arthur. You always brought me cheer.”
He goes and then Padraic stands before me and I lean forward and kiss him on his cheek. “Fair winds, Padraic Delaney, you were the sweetest of all the lads and you were ever so kind to me. I will always think fondly on thee.”
He gulps and nods and goes over. Liam is the last one. He stands in front of me looking very big and very glum.
“Didn’t we ramble, then, Liam, didn’t we ramble?” I say, stepping up close to him.
This brings a bit of a rueful smile to his face. “Aye, that we did, Jacky, that we did.”
I figure I can let the tears come now and it doesn’t matter what I figure ’cause they’re gonna come anyway, and down they do trickle. “Put your arms around me, Father, please.”
He takes me in his big embrace and I put my face up next to his and I whisper in his ear, “Liam, tell the others not to despair of me—I have a plan and I’m not dead yet!”
I hear a harrumph behind me and I know it is Captain Trumbull, so I stand back from Liam and say, “Fare thee well, Liam Delaney.”
“Fare thee well, Daughter,” says Liam, and he goes over the side.
Captain Trumbull has indeed taken Higgins as his steward and for that I am very glad. I don’t think he would have fared very well as a common sailor.
That night Jaimy and I sat and talked long into the night and held hands through the bars. I had the opportunity to explain exactly why I did what I did when I did it and I think he understands and is easier in his mind concerning my impetuous nature. I mean, he’s got to see that I had reasons. And when it was time for him to go, the Corporal gave us another count of twenty-five.
I think on that fondly and then snap my mind back to the present. We leave in two days for England and trial for me, so that doesn’t give me much time. How can I make a key? Come on, girl, your life depends upon it! Think!