Curse of the Blue Tattoo: Being an Account of the Misadventures of Jacky Faber, Midshipman and Fine Lady (42 page)

I have taken the baby doll from my breast and I slowly extend my arms and hold it up to him. I have blacked out the doll's eyes and blackened its nose and drawn skull teeth across its mouth so it looks just like me.

I hear a low but clear whistle and I pull back the doll to my chest and slowly bend my knees more and more, so it looks like I'm sinking back into the grave, till I'm on my knees and then I bend forward till I'm hid behind the wall and then I quick crawls away. Done!

We meet back in the upper room. We are quiet and I wish Abby could be here, too. I am glad we all come together in good fellowship for I feel an ending coming. A good one or a bad one, I don't know. But an ending, for sure.

We are back at Dovecote, but there is to be no getting in my sailor togs this weekend, oh no, as many of the area's finest people, as well as some that are not so fine, will be coming here for the Great Race tomorrow. Colonel and Lady Trevelyne arrived yesterday and we paid our respects and Mrs. Trevelyne said she was glad to see me and how nice Amy was turning out, I guess you are good for her, Miss. The Colonel nodded and grunted and headed for the stables. When I am in front of him, I have to keep myself from bowing my head and putting my knuckle to my brow, and force myself to curtsy instead, as he is so strongly in command of his family and his holdings that it brings out the lowly ship's boy in me. Would that he was equally in command of himself.

The field for the Sheik to conquer has been narrowed to ten, they being the very finest of all the horses in the Northeast. We have been watching them being brought in, just as we watched that day the Sheik was brought in, from the same hill that is again turning green and will soon be once more covered in daisies.

We are mounted, sidesaddle, Amy on her Daisy and me on a little bay mare named Molly. She ain't my dear Gretchen, but she's nice. Millie races around as usual, delighted with our company.

"Here comes another one," I say. It's a big chestnut that is being just as difficult as Sheik can be when he's in a foul mood. I look over at Amy and catch her heaving a great sigh. She, also, is in a foul mood, and no wonder—tomorrow could be the end of her life as she knows it.

I don't want to do it, but I got to ask. "Will you really lose everything if the Sheik loses?"

Amy nods. "Everything."

"How fast would it happen?"

"Oh, it would take a while for the mortgages to be called, for the creditors to pick the place apart." She looks out across the fields of her home. "My tuition at the school is paid until the end of the term, and then I would have to leave. I ... I don't even know if I could bring myself to go back with you after all this is over. All of them will know of ... the shame. I don't know..."

"Clarissa will still marry Randall?"

"I think so, unfortunately. It's the name Trevelyne she wants, not the money. Her family has lots of money."

"She arrives today?"

"At any time."

"How will she come?"

"In a coach-and-four. That is her usual style."

She is quiet for a while and then says, "If the Sheik loses, and I leave for school on Monday, I will know then that I will never see this place again."

I reach over and put my hand on her arm and say, "He
will not lose, Amy, he is too much horse. But if he does, we will go out in the world together, and we will make our way. And we will not make that way by being governesses or by making dull marriages. Do you believe me on that, Sister?"

She puts her hand on mine and manages to smile. "Of course. Are we not the wild and contrary Valentine Sisters?"

"Yes, we are," I say, sitting up in my saddle and cocking my head to one side. "Now, what's that?" I thought I'd heard a far-off trumpet call and a rattle of drums.

"The local regiment of militia is having their Spring Muster today, as part of the festivities. Over in the field across from the paddock. They came in yesterday and are camped in their tents. They march about and shoot off cannons and other foolishness."

As if to echo her statement, a dull thud of a cannon is heard.

"But why did you not tell me?" I shout joyfully. "Let's go!" and I give Molly my heel and we're off.

"Why not, indeed," I hear Amy say, with a certain weariness in her voice.

We get to the parade ground and I size up the battlefield. There are four companies of about one hundred men each and they seem to be drilling by company, as they certainly are not all moving together. In fact, their drill seems pretty sloppy all around, but then, what can be expected. They are only militia, after all, and not regulars. The uniforms of the men are varied at best, ragged at worst, but the officers are well turned out. There is a lot of bellowing of orders and the ranks lurch back and forth like unwilling beasts being prodded with sticks. I see that Randall and his company are the
ones nearest to us here by the road. That is good. I look back up the road and note that I can see up it all the way to the two stone pillars at the entrance.

Perfect.

We dismount and go to the edge of a slight rise and watch. I know that Randall spots us right off, cause of the way he straightens up and struts all the more. I swear he is flexing the muscles of his tail for my benefit. He has on his blue uniform with the tight white breeches and the shiny black boots and his sword scabbard hangs by his side. He has his sword drawn for the giving out of his orders and has on his hat, which I have not seen before. It is like the hats that the officers on the
Dolphin
wore, 'cept that it's worn with the peaks front and back, rather than sideways.
Contrary Yankees,
I thinks, but it does look quite dashing.

I check the road. Nothing.

Down next to the drilling troops, not far from us, is a tripod of rifles and next to it, a drum, with sticks and straps. Like my old drum from the
Dolphin. Hmmm. Even better.

Randall gives an order, "To the right flank, march!" and half the unit goes right and half goes left. Randall sneaks a glance up at me to see if I have seen the mess. I put my hands to my mouth to stifle my laughter, and Amy says, "Shall I remind you that it was just such a rabble that defeated ... oh, never mind."

Down below, Randall rains a torrent of abuse upon his hapless troops and, kicking and swearing, tries to get them back in order again.

And then I see it. A coach-and-four just passing the pillars and heading down the road toward us, about a half mile away.

"Amy, dear, will you take Millie by the collar so she doesn't follow me. I want to get a closer look at their equipment."

"I do not have to hold her collar. Here, Millie. Sit. Stay. Now what..."

But I am already heading for the drum.

I hang about the tripod of guns, pretending interest in the old flintlocks and keeping an eye on the road and its approaching coach. About a quarter mile now.

I dip down and pick up the drum and slip the harness around my shoulder and take it up a few notches till it sits on my hip just like my old drum on the
Dolphin,
and I take up the sticks and rattles off a drumroll and then settles into a pattern, and then I sings out as loud as I can.

"
Lord Randall he was tall and slim,
And he had a leg for every limb.
But now he's got no legs at all,
For he ran a race with a cannonball!
With me rue dum dah,
Faddle riddle dah whack!
For the riddle with me rue dum dah!
"

When I come to the
whack!
I give the drum rim a hard hit with the stick so it sounds like a rifle shot. All the men are facing me and their delight is plain. They are trying to keep from laughing at their gallant commander's discomfort, but some are not succeeding. Randall's back is to me and I can't see his face, but his head seems to sink down behind his high blue collar, and while I cannot see his ears, I got a real suspicion that steam is comin' out of each. I keep the drum rhythm going and go to the second verse,

"
Oh, were you deaf or were you blind,
When you left your two fine legs behind?
Or was it sailing on the sea,
That wore your legs right down to the knee?
With me rue dum dah,
Faddle riddle dah whack!
For the riddle with me rue dum dah!
"

Still not enough, Randall?
All the companies are now watching this play out. Very well, here's another verse,

"
Lord Randall he was long and tall,
Till he lost a race with a cannonball,
Now he sits with...
"

That did it. He jams his sword back into his scabbard and turns to chase me. I squeal and slip off the drum and run back up the rise toward the road and I can hear him poundin' up behind me and I run fast ... but not too fast.

Now run, Jacky, that's it, a little bit more now. Let him get right behind you, now get close to the road. Now trip, Jacky, oh poor dear, now trip and fall to the ground, you frail female thing you, and feel the tangle of his legs with yours as he falls on top of you and pins your wrists to the ground. Now look up into his face, Jacky. Why, he don't look half mad at all, does he, Jacky, he looks more, well ... lusty like.

He brings his face down to mine and I turn my face to the right and feel the rasp of his jaw on my cheek, and he tries again and I turn my face to the left and again he misses. Then I face forward and he's about to come down for the
prize when he hears the rattle of the coach-and-four and he looks up into the wide-open and unbelieving blue eyes of Miss Clarissa Worthington Howe, staring out the window.

The coach rumbles on. Randall thrusts himself to his feet and calls me a name I wouldn't have thought he would have known, him bein' a gent and all.

I get up on one elbow and watch Lord Randall follow the retreating coach to the house. Then I feel Millie's cold nose poke me in my cheek and I hear Amy say, "Take her back to the house."

I do not take my dinner with the Trevelynes this night, as I am banished by Amy to the kitchen. Fine. Just as well. Let the lovers stew.

I have a fine dinner with Mrs. Grubbs and the downstairs staff, and afterward, I walk out into the evening and go to see Pete in his room. There's a line of rooms built into the grandstand for the visiting jockeys and grooms and it sounds like there are parties going on in several of them, but I look at Petey and know for sure he ain't goin' to any of 'em, as he don't look good at all. He tries to put on a brave front, but I place my hand on his forehead and feel that he's burning up with fever.

"Don't worry, Lass, I ain't never missed a race yet."

"Ain't there no one else what can take your place tomorrow? Take the load off you, like, in case you need more time in the kip?"

"Nah. There ain't enough jocks to go around, and the other owners..." He stops to cough, long and deep, and it racks his small frame. "The other owners ain't gonna be
lendin' their jocks to the Colonel—there's a lot of money ridin' on this race. Plus the Sheik don't like nobody on 'im but me. No, 'e wouldn't run for em."

There's a noise at the door and two jockeys in silks burst in and say, "Come on, Petey, there's a rum bash in ... ah, now, he's got a girl. Old Petey! just like 'im! Bring her along, then. Three doors down!"

Pete waves and says, "Righto!" but he don't move.

I ask him if he wants me to get him anything to eat—chicken soup, perhaps—but he says that he couldn't keep nothin' down. Maybe another blanket, though, and so I find a clean horse blanket on a shelf and throw it over him. He says, "Thanks, you're a good lass," and appears to go to sleep, shivering in spite of the warmth of the night and the blankets that are piled on him.

I go to sit with the Sheik for a while, petting him and talkin' low and soft to him while he whickers in the dark.

I sit and I think for a long while, and then I go back to our room.

After I'm all ready for bed, I open my seabag and take out the asafoetida bag that Mam'selle Claudelle put around my neck that night in Boston, and I lay it out with the things I'll be wearing tomorrow.

Just in case.

Amy wakes up with a huge, worried, shuddering sigh and gets out of bed. We get up and get ready without speaking much. There is not much to say. We can only hope that Petey is better.

Breakfast is a grim affair. I eat, she don't. I put my hand on hers. "Don't worry, Amy, it'll be all right, either way."

"I know," she says. "I just wish it was over."

Well, it will be over at two o'clock, five hours from now, 'cause that's when the race is to be run.

"Come, let us walk down to the sea. It's a fine day. It will take your mind off things." And we do it, and we sit on rocks by the shore and take off our shoes and stockings and wade in the gentle surf. The sea, as usual, calms me, and it calms Amy, too.

The grandstand is full, there's trumpet blasts and horses are being paraded around and there's excitement and gaiety in the air. There's finely dressed women with parasols and there's fine gents decked out in bright jackets, smoking cheroots and hallooing to one another, some placing bets and others covering them. There's plenty of men who look
slightly shady and there's some women that wouldn't look out of place at Mrs. Bodeen's, too. And, oh, look! There's a pair of Royal Navy officers! Next to Amy's mum and dad. They must be guests. A captain, no less, and a lieutenant! I must get next to them later to see if they know anything of Jaimy. Maybe at the ball tonight. And they brought some midshipmen with them. We'll have dance partners tonight, that's for sure.

The Trevelynes and their party are in a boxed-off area, I guess to keep the riffraff away from the quality. Well, it ain't gonna keep this piece of riffraff out. "Come on, Amy, let's join your family." She don't want to, but I prod her and up we go.

The Colonel is in his finest uniform and his wife is a froth of pink silk and Randall looks absolutely smashing in a dove gray velvet jacket and Clarissa, of course, is the very picture of beauty in white with touches of lavender. I am in my school dress, it being the only one I have except for my blue one that I made on the
Dolphin,
and
that
one I'm saving for tonight's dinner and dance. Amy has lent me a fine hat, 'cause us ladies can't be in public without one and I sure can't wear my mobcap or my school bonnet to somethin' like this.