Rapture of the Deep: Being an Account of the Further Adventures of Jacky Faber, Soldier, Sailor, Mermaid, Spy

HARCOURT
Houghton Mifflin Harcourt
Boston New York 2010

OTHER BOOKS IN THE BLOODY JACK ADVENTURES

Bloody Jack
Being an Account of the Curious Adventures
of Mary "Jacky" Faber, Ship's Boy

Curse of the Blue Tattoo
Being an Account of the Misadventures
of Jacky Faber, Midshipman and Fine Lady

Under the Jolly Roger
Being an Account of the Further
Nautical Adventures of Jacky Faber

In the Belly of the Bloodhound
Being an Account of a Particularly Peculiar
Adventure in the Life of Jacky Faber

Mississippi Jack
Being an Account of the FurtherWaterborne Adventures of
Jacky Faber, Midshipman, Fine Lady, and
the Lily of the West

My Bonny Light Horseman
Being an Account of the Further Adventures
of Jacky Faber, in Love andWar

Copyright © 2010 by L. A. Meyer

All rights reserved. For information about permission to reproduce selections
from this book, write to Permissions, Houghton Mifflin Harcourt Publishing
Company, 215 Park Avenue South, New York, New York 10003.

Harcourt is an imprint of Houghton Mifflin Harcourt Publishing Company.

www.hmhbooks.com

Text set in Minion

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Meyer, L. A. (Louis A.), 1942-
Rapture of the deep : being an account of the further adventures of Jacky Faber,
soldier, sailor, mermaid, spy / L. A. Meyer.
p. cm. - (A Bloody Jack adventure)

Summary: In 1806, star-crossed lovers Jacky Faber and Jaimy Fletcher are kid-
napped by British Naval Intelligence and forced to embark on yet another daring
mission—this time to search for sunken Spanish gold off the Florida coast.
ISBN 978-0-15-206501-0 (hardcover : alk. paper) [1. Spies—Fiction. 2. Seafaring
life—Fiction. 3. Buried treasure—Fiction. 4. Kidnapping—Fiction. 5. Orphans—
Fiction. 6. Caribbean Area—History—19th century—Fiction.] I. Title.
PZ7.M57172Rap 2009
[Fic]-dc22
2009019494

Manufactured in the United States of America
MP 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

Again for my dear Annetje.

And for Chris and Tuck and memories
of Florida and the Keys.

For Betsey, too, as well as for Chelsea and Chelly,
both noble Cockers, who lay by my feet all of these
years and by their loving presence helped me
pound out these words.

1806

The London Home for Little Wanderers

England

"Ah, and it's a bonny, bonny bride ye shall be, Jacky. Just look at you, now!" exclaims one of my attending bridesmaids. She adjusts the waist on my bridal gown as I look at my reflection in the mirror and grin. "And in an hour or so, you'll be a fine married lady!"

I am swathed in yards and yards of the finest white cloth on this, my wedding day, and I am consumed with happiness as I am being dressed by my three bridesmaids. The unabashed grin of pure joy spreads over my face and it will not go away.

Oh Jaimy, it's finally gonna happen!

"All right, let's see how this fits, then."

As the girls carefully place on my head the veil's coronet of braided posies and adjust the filmy cloth, I marvel at just how I came to be here in this place, when, not five days ago, I was kneeling in the sand of a desolate beach in France, a pistol pressed to the back of my head, waiting for the bullet that would surely end my life...

"You, Miss," pronounces Higgins, "are a complete mess."

I groan and stretch out over my lovely bed on my lovely schooner, the
Nancy B. Alsop,
neither of which I had ever expected to see again.

"Please calm down, Miss. I know you want to be with your young man, but Mr. Fletcher's feet are a mere four feet above your head, tending to the business of getting you and your ship as far away from the coast of France as quickly as possible. Please let him do that and allow me to take care of you."

You might have thought that Jaimy and I would have tumbled into the sack right then and there, as soon as we got back on the
Nancy B.,
but no, such was not to be. While Jaimy assumed the con on the quarterdeck and gave orders to set sail and fly, Higgins hauled my sobbing and gasping self into my cabin, where he stripped me down to clean me up and, hopefully, make me presentable. That's when he discovered that I was covered head to toe with scratches and bruises from when my dear Mathilde had dragged me across that battlefield in Germany, my foot being caught in my stirrup and she being blind with terror. I don't blame her none—she was a good horse and already I miss her.

"Good Lord," exclaims Higgins. "Amongst a veritable constellation of contusions, right there is a bruise the size of a cricket ball. A lovely shade of purple and yellow, as well, I might add."

My mind is still reeling from the events of the past hour. "If you've never been dragged on your back across some very rough ground by a terrified horse, Higgins, then you have no room to chastise me."

"I believe I will take a pass on that particular experience, Miss. Hold still now."

I feel the healing salve being applied to my poor bare and much abused bum.

Ahhhhh ... nobody has a touch like Higgins.

"Turn over, please, Miss."

I give out a low moan and turn over on my back.

"Ah. Your front is not quite so bad. Just a bit of salve on your shoulder and some about your knees, there. Good."

I don't mind being tended to by my dear Higgins. In fact, I'm loving it—that and the fact that I am still alive. I had spent the time in the lifeboat that brought me here curled up in Jaimy's lap, trembling and weeping—after all, a mere hour ago I had been on my knees on the beach, waiting for a bullet from the pistol of spymaster Jardineaux to scatter my brains all over the sand—and I do need some time to calm down.

"But how came you to be here?" I ask, still in wonder at my rescue. "With our ship and Jaimy and all..."

Higgins takes my shako and places it on my writing table. "Yet another trophy," he muses, putting his pinkie through the bullet hole in the front. "I shall tell you, Miss, but first will you tell me about this?" He holds up the medal I had worn about my neck.

"It is the Legion of Honor. I didn't deserve it, but
L'em-pereur
gave it to me, anyway," says I, once again stretching out and reveling in the smooth sheets on my bed, my own dear bed, which tonight will hold both me
and
James Emerson Fletcher—right next to my own sweet self.
Oh yes!

"The
Emperor?"
asks Higgins, for once surprised and incredulous. "Napoleon Bonaparte himself?"

"Right. He had given me a ride in his coach after the Battle of Jena. He wanted me to deliver a letter to Empress Josephine. Which I did."

"You never fail to astound me, Miss."

"It was not all that astonishing, Higgins," I say, and then proceed to tell him of Jardineaux, the guillotine, Madame Pelletier, Les Petites Gamines, Jean-Paul, Marshal De Groot, my commission as a second lieutenant in the Grand Army, Bardot, the Clodhoppers, my job as messenger between the generals and Napoleon, my delivery of Napoleon's message to Murat, which ordered him to charge the Prussian line, meeting Randall Trevelyne again, the great and terrible battle, and finally, that dark time down on my knees on that beach, crying, and expecting nothing but death.

"Remarkable," says Higgins, looking off into the middle distance. "However, we might have a problem here. With that message you delivered. If Naval Intelligence gets wind of that, it might be trouble. And they
certainly
will not be pleased to hear of the death of Jardineaux, whom they considered very valuable." He shakes his head and sighs. "I could have told them that when you, Miss, get thrown into any mix, unforeseen events occur, but I was not given that opportunity. Not till later, and then it was too late."

"What do you mean?"

"You asked how I knew you would be on that beach. Well, after I learned, through certain sources, that you had been pressed into the Intelligence Service, I, myself, using my Hollingsworth connections, joined that same service so as to be able to find you. I met and gained the confidence of Mr. Peel, Sir Grenville, and the very delightful Dr. Sebastian. We passed many pleasant hours at dinners and in intellectual discussions. Dr. Sebastian declared himself to be especially fond of you—he greatly appreciated the fine illustrations you did for his naturalist endeavors and hopes he will be working with you again someday."

"So I have confessed to treason in front of an agent of the Intelligence Branch?" I ask, with some dread. Higgins is my dearest friend, but male honor and all...

"Never fear, Miss," he says. "I would never betray you, but there are other agents in France, some of whom might have learned of your actions and reported them to my colleagues in the Admiralty. We shall see. Now let us get you back into some clothing. Since we left England in a hurry, I did not have time to purchase any female garments for you. I do, however, have your midshipman uniform, the one you were wearing when you were captured."

"I have a dress, there in my knapsack. It will serve as my wedding dress."

Higgins reaches into my bag and pulls out my white gown, the one dress I had taken with me on my way to join Napoleon and the Grand Army of France.

"Hmmm ... It could use a bit of ironing, but I know you will not wait for me to do that."

"You are so right, Higgins."

"And your underclothing is not even close to dry."

"The dress itself will be enough. I don't plan to have it on long," I say, popping up and putting my arms in the air so that Higgins can slip the dress over them and then over me. He adjusts it, and then I regard myself in my mirror.
Not too bad, considering...

"May I ask, Miss, if the color of the dress is still appropriate for the wedding you seem to be planning?"

"Yes, it is, Higgins. I've done just about everything else, but not yet that particular thing," I say, getting up from my bed and not taking offense at Higgins's question as to the state of my rather shaky virtue. Higgins has always been my friend and protector, and has often given me gentle advice concerning my often impetuous conduct with the assorted males whom I have met on my travels, but he has never interfered when I finally set a course in that regard.

"Ah. Well. I ask only out of concern for your welfare and what you might recently have gone through."

"I know that, Higgins," I reply, continuing to look at my reflection. "Should I wear my wig?"

"Ohhhh." Higgins shudders. "That awful thing? No. Please. I think you will look fine without it, Miss. Let me give your hair a bit of a brush-up."

I sit at my desk while Higgins applies the brush.

"How did Jaimy come to be here, standing on the deck above us?"

"Upon the arrival of the
Nancy B.
in London, I immediately sought out the Fletcher residence and found to my great joy that your Mr. Fletcher was there in the bosom of his family, recuperating from his wound. Upon his complete recovery, I, as the only senior representative of Faber Shipping Worldwide present, appointed him Captain of the
Nancy B. Alsop
in your absence, as I thought that would be your wish, had you been in my place."

I nod.

"So. I shall finally be married this day." I sigh, beginning to fully come back to myself. "I still cannot believe I was so wondrously delivered again into this world."

"I know you have experienced a shock, Miss, but please relax, and soon you shall be your old self. And as for marriage, may we discuss that?"

"All right, Higgins, let's have it." I know what that means—I'm about to be given a lecture on the proper deportment of a young lady.

"Have you considered getting
legally
married first, before you leap headlong into the conjugal bed? Many people do, you know. We are only a day or so away from London and you could be legitimately married, in a church."

In a church? Hmmm ... Little Mary Faber, former street urchin, married in grand style at Saint Paul's Cathedral, wouldn't that be something?

"Nay, Higgins, I'm going to be married, all right, but it's going to be today. A captain of a ship is authorized to perform marriages," I say. "And, Higgins, if you think for one moment that I am not sleeping next to Jaimy Fletcher in this bed tonight, then you are sadly mistaken." I look up at the ceiling, amazed to think that Jaimy is right up there on the deck, not five feet above me.
Imagine that...

"I certainly know that a captain of a ship is authorized to perform marriages, but can he marry himself, or in this case,
her
self?"

"Well, then, Higgins," I retort, "as Chairwench of the Board of Faber Shipping Worldwide, I will appoint
you,
John Higgins, captain of the
Nancy B. Alsop,
current flagship of that company, for as long a time as necessary, and
you
are going to perform the service. See if you can find a Bible on this bark."
And, oh, that brush feels so good!

"Yes, Miss," says Higgins. "It would probably be legal, but you must know that the very instant I pronounce you man and wife, you will never again issue an order as the head of Faber Shipping Worldwide, as your husband, Mr. Fletcher, would own all of your property, including this ship, all your shares in Faber Shipping, and even the clothing on your back. You would own nothing, not even your own self."

What?

"It is the law, Miss."

"Well, even if it is, Jaimy would never be like that—to deny me my rights and all," I say, fuming about the unfairness of it all. "I know he wouldn't."

"I agree that he probably would not. But I have noticed that he has a very protective nature when it comes to you, and it is possible that in order to protect his frail and delicate flower from harm, he might order her to that rose-covered cottage by the shore to safely keep house and await his return from the perilous sea. Hmmm?"