To writhe and bide in my distressed soul,

It is then that I rise and...

Christ, Amy, don't you ever cheer up, and such a pretty day out, too. It seems she is struggling to come up with the next line. I think a bit and then say, "How 'bout ... and tell him to bugger off."

She drops the quill, ruining a perfectly good piece of paper as well as a very bad poem. I see her shoulders begin to shake and tremble. Then she slowly turns around and looks at me, mouth open in astonishment. I flash her my best openmouthed, foxy grin, but she says nothing and only looks at me as if I were a ghost.

Abashed, I back away and drop down into a curtsy.

"I am sorry, Miss, if I intruded upon your privacy and startled you. If you want to put me out, I shall certainly understand." I start to retreat to the door. I knew this was a bad idea.

She gets shakily to her feet, her eyes filling with tears. Her chin is quivering and I fear she's going to faint dead away, but she doesn't. Instead she gasps, "Oh, Jacky, I've been so desperately worried. I've been..." Then she puts her face in her hands and starts crying, and I put my arms around her and gather her to my chest and make soothing noises and tears come to my own eyes, too.

"There, there, Amy. Come now. Take this handkerchief. Come, let us sit on the edge of your bed."

"How could you go off and leave me like that?" She sniffs. "You knew how I loved you, how you were my dearest friend in all the world..." She has lost a good deal of weight and there are dark circles under her eyes.

I poke at her ribs and say, "We're going to have to get some sausages down you, Miss, that's for sure. You're fair wasting away."

She continues to sniffle.

"Well," I say, in answer to her question, "when I left Dovecote in total disgrace, I was sure you hated me-after my drunken behavior at the ball, and Randall, his handsome face smashed because of me, and all. Then when I overheard those men, the ones who had kidnapped me and handed me over to the Preacher, when I heard them say that you had told them where to find me, I just figured you would be happy never to see the front of Jacky Faber again"

Her back bucks and she starts bawling into her hands again. "Th-that you could think that I could ever b-b-betray you..."

"I didn't blame you. I figured I had it coming. I usually do ... have it coming, I mean."

"My f-father had hired those men to bring you back to us at Dovecote, that is why I told them where I thought you would be. I did not know they would take you to the Preacher."

"Back to us?" I ask, all innocent.

"To me ... and Randall"

Ah.

"And how is young Lord Randall, and the lovely Clarissa, his bonny bride-to-be?" ask I, carelessly arranging the folds of my skirt about my knees, as if I don't really care what the answer is.

"That is off. Randall sent her back to Virginia the day you left."

Hmmm. I'd better watch my back very carefully if I ever again meet up with my old classmate and chief tormentor Miss Clarissa Worthington Howe. It'd be all right with me if that never happens, that's for sure. We loathed each other from the start, Her Ladyship and I-she figuring me for the upstart lowborn guttersnipe I really am, and me figuring her for the spoiled highborn snotty arrogant aristocratic brat that she really is. Well, maybe she'll stay down in Virginia and bother them that's unlucky enough to be around her, and not bother me.

"All right, Sister," I say, banishing Clarissa Howe from my thoughts. "Collect yourself and I will tell you what has happened since last we saw each other. But, please, please, do not take out your quill for a while-you've already made me famous enough, thank you. But first..."

But first there is a pounding of boots and rattling of spurs on the stairs outside and the door flies open and there stands Randall Trevelyne, his own beautiful self, wearing a huge grin and looking perfectly splendid.

"Mr. Trevelyne, how good to see you again." I stand up and start to curtsy but he sweeps me up and I bleat out, "Now you put me down, Randall!" with my feet a good foot off the floor.

"I'll put you down when I'm ready, my girl! Well met, oh yes, very well met, Jacky!" Randall is wearing a ruffled white shirt, open at the collar, and from the smell of hot horse on him, he has been riding. Or was riding till he got word that I was here.

"I may be well met, but I ain't your girl, Randall." I put my hands upon his shoulders and look into his face. "But I was very sorry to hear that you were hurt in trying to protect my honor when last I was here, and when I was in a helpless state."

"Protect your honor? Hah! What nonsense! I was merely trying to haul you off myself for a bit of ravishment of my own when that miserable Flashby interfered. Now, give us a kiss."

"I don't believe you on that, Randall." I put my fingers to his cheek. "Is that scar from that time?"

"I count it a badge of honor, my dear."

"And well you should. Thank you. And I mean that."

He cocks his head to the side and peers at my temple. "What are these blue specks by your eye? Surely they can't be the latest fashion idiocy from Europe"

"I did not think they were noticeable, Sir."

"They aren't. Only when one gets this close." I can feel his breath on my face. He is angling his mouth toward mine. I duck my head and put my fingers to his chin and gently push him back.

"I must tell you, Randall, that I am still promised to another, and you really must put me down." I say that, but I cannot help but smile at the rogue as I say it. Randall Trevelyne may be a spoiled rake, but he's damned handsome and dashing as all hell.

"And I must tell you, Jacky, that I've heard that foolishness from you before, and I'll tell you this, too: I do not care if you are promised to a hundred men, as long as I am one of them. Now, enough idle talk. Off to my chambers with the two of us, to drink deeply from the Cup of Love!" And the dog actually turns to carry me out the door.

"Very poetic, Mr. Trevelyne, but I fear you mean the Cup of Lust, not Love, and though your offers are charming"-and though I have never recoiled from the thought of a bit of a tumble with the beautiful Mr. Trevelyne, I must be good- "nay, we shall not drink from that cup," I say firmly, trying to wriggle free and not succeeding.

"All right, plenty of time for that later. One kiss and tell me about the blue speckles and I'll let you down, I promise."

I put my head forward and kiss him on the forehead and say, "They are powder burns I got from leaning over a cannon."

"Why were you leaning over a gun?" he asks, astounded now.

"I was aiming it. At the French. At Trafalgar."

He is even more astonished now. He puts me down and my feet once again touch the floor. He steps back and gives a quick, formal bow, his face now set and unsmiling. "Forgive me. I did not realize I was mishandling a damned war hero." It is plain that he has heard of the Great Battle, and this information is not going down well with him.

It has always rankled Randall that though he is a lieutenant in the local militia, he has never been tested in combat, while I, a mere girl, have been. Count yourself lucky, Mr. Trevelyne, you who have both your fine arms still hanging by your side and both your fine legs still under you.

"Those specks are a true badge of honor, not a counterfeit such as I wear. I salute you. You should wear those marks with pride."

"I wear them because I must, and you must not mistake them for signs of valor, as I have none. I hold male concepts of honor in no great stead. I count myself a coward and have trembled and shaken through any danger I ever was in."

Randall gives out a snort. "Still, it must have been very exciting to be at that battle. Reports of it have been sweeping the town. They are calling it the greatest naval battle in history."

Ezra's man Carlson has done his job well, I reflect, and then say, "I don't care about history, and no, it wasn't exciting. It was horrible. I lost many dear friends that day. I hope that I never see anything like it ever again."

He stands and appears to think on that for a moment. Then he crosses the room and throws himself into a chair. "So now you have two blue tattoos. One upper and one ... lower." He throws one booted leg over the other, his spurs jingling. He seems to be recovering some of his old cheek. That is good-I prefer him this way.

"Even so, Mr. Trevelyne," I say, giving a slight bob. Randall is one of many, I'm afraid, who have seen my Brotherhood tattoo in the flesh, as it were. I do consider myself to be a good girl, but I do seem to lose my clothing quite often in certain highly charged circumstances.

"So what brings you back to dull old Dovecote?"

"Ah, well, I'm in a spot of trouble with the British government and must hide out for a bit." I go over to Amy and put my arm around her shoulders and shine my countenance down upon her. "Actually, Sister, I'll be going back to Lawson Peabody to hide till things get less hot for me."

"Oh, Jacky, I am so glad!" exclaims Amy, clasping her hands together and squeezing her eyes shut in great joy. Amy, my dear friend Amy, you should already know that a little of Jacky Faber goes a long, long way.

"I, too, am glad," says Randall, getting to his feet once again. "It will give me time to work on what might be left of your virtue."

"Randall has been expelled from college for the rest of this term," says Amy, primly. "For duelling. That is why we are honored with his presence. It was the headmaster's son in whom Randall put a hole."

"The little prig should have borne his honorable wound with pride," says Randall, looking put upon. "But to hell with it. I am sick to death of schoolwork, anyway."

"I believe the British Army is hiring cannon fodder for a campaign against Napoleon," say I, wickedly, the old evil rising up in me, "if you are so bored with student life, or life in general. Oh, and the Austrians, too, will be needing soldiers, as Boney's after them now. And with your experience, why, you would surely be made a private, at least. Maybe even a corporal."

Randall looks at me with fire in his eye, but he nods and decides to smile at my banter. He gets to his feet, bows low, and says, "I believe I saw my sister's fat friend Pickering down below. Shall we all go to dinner and hear more tales of your adventures?"

Hey, Ezra ain't fat, he's ... well ... sleek is what he is. Sleek, like a well-fed seal. Or, hey, maybe even a Silkie...

Dinner is a jolly affair, with Ezra seated beside Amy, and me next to Randall. Randall drinks too much wine, but that's to be expected. At least he is not the kind to get mean when he's in his cups but is more likely to sing and tell rude jokes and put his hand on my knee. He actually gets on well with Ezra and refrains from insulting him, which surprises me. Maybe he figures that it wouldn't hurt for one as reckless as he to have a good lawyer as a possible brother-in-law. He's probably right.

"You said the British were looking for you?" asks Randall. He gestures for his glass to be refilled, and it is. "What do they mean to do with you if they find you?"

"I think they mean to hang me. I believe it's been decided that this would be the best resolution for all concerned," I say, as I let my eyes go all hooded. "'Cept maybe for me."

"What? But why?" This from both Amy and Randall. Ezra already knows, of course, and he sighs and gives out with a wry "Why, indeed..."

I put my hand inside my jacket and pull out the wanted poster that I had torn down that day in Newport. I hand it to Amy. "That is why. Soon these will be all over Boston. When that happens, I will have to stay a virtual prisoner at the school. As for now, if I keep my face hidden, I believe I shall be all right."

Amy's eyes go wide, yet again, as she reads. "Oh, Jacky, no!" she says, as she has said so many times before in regard to me and my ways.

Randall reaches over and snatches the paper from his sister's hand and reads. "Well, I'll be damned. You have been up to some serious mischief. Not only do you single-handedly save Mother England from destruction, you also dip your dainty little toe into the waters of vile piracy. Amazing!" He brings the palm of his hand loudly down upon the table. "I demand that you become my mistress immediately! It has been ordained by the gods of war and of love. One such as you and one such as I? I will hear nothing against it."

"This cannot be true," exclaims Amy. "Is it?"

"Wellllll..." The corners of my mouth pull down in a rueful grimace. "It all depends on how you look at it."

"Perhaps you had best start at the beginning," suggests Ezra.

"Yes," says Randall, beaming at me with all the lust that's in him. "At the very beginning, and spare us nothing in the telling of it."

Amy says nothing, but only looks very, very anxious.

And so after I take a sip of wine, I take a deep breath, then begin to tell it, and, as I did with Mistress, I mostly tell the truth. However, so as to spare Amy's Puritan sense of propriety and so as not to give Randall even more reason to try to jump me, I leave out the naughty bits. Most of them, anyway.

Later, lying in bed, with Amy sleeping contentedly beside me, I look off into the darkness and smile. Ah, it's good to be back at Dovecote and forgiven my wanton ways, once again.

Chapter 8.

"Till later, Ezra. Have a good day, and I thank you for everything."

We have returned from our short stay at Dovecote and are back in Boston, Jim having brought in the Star neatly and tied her securely to the dock cleats.

Ezra steps carefully off the boat and climbs the ladder to the pier. Jim had found this excellent mooring for her tucked in between the Crane and Woodward's and the Hollowell's wharves. There's a little floating dock attached to the pier that goes up and down with the tides, so she's easy to get in and out of. This is good for Ezra, 'cause he ain't much of a sailor. But he's game, for a landlubber, I've got to give him that.

When he has gained the top, Ezra turns and tips his hat and smiles his little half smile down to me.

"And a very good day to you, too, Miss Alsop. Please do be careful. And watchful."

I assure him that I will be both and my dear Mr. Pickering heads back to his law practice.

This is a really good mooring for another reason, too, I reflect as I look across the harbor. I can see any British ships that might pull in next to Long Wharf, without them seeing me first. And they always moor at that wharf, it being the biggest and best in the harbor. There are none there now.

"Very well, Jim, I'm off for a while to see about the traps. Clean her up a bit, if you would. Then grab something to eat, and maybe see what Gardner's has got in the way of some small portholes for the cabin. I do hate not being able to see out from the cuddy when it's all battened down."

"Aye, aye, Captain," says Jim, and though I know he's being cheeky, I do like hearing it.

It takes me longer than I'd thought it would to bargain for the traps off the crook who was selling them, him taking me for a dumb girl and therefore to be stripped clean of any money she might have-and she getting steamed and contemplating physical violence-but eventually we come together and agree on the sale of five lobster/crab traps, and five fish traps, which is about all I figure Jim can handle. I also buy two clam forks for when the tide is right and the opportunity for taking some clams presents itself. Bad luck for the clams, lobsters, crabs, and fish, but good luck for Faber Shipping, Worldwide, I figure. I cannot see how we will not prosper, even if only in a small way.

I arrange to have my fishing gear picked up later, and feeling right bold because of the lack of British warships in the harbor, I work my way up State Street and duck into my beloved Pig and Whistle, scene of my first musical triumphs, for a reunion with Maudie and her man, Bob. After the joyful cries of surprise and delight on all sides, she quickly brings me up to date on how things are going..."Good, but not as good as when you and Gully MacFarland was bringin' in the crowds, and speakin' of that, Gully's been around lookin' for ye."

Gully MacFarland. Uh-oh... I draw in a sharp breath, and twist around to watch my back, then...

"But don't worry, dear, he seems to have straightened himself out a bit. Besides, he's back at sea again. Says the ocean air was good for him and he's given up the drink. I don't know if that's true, but he was a lot cleaner than when last I saw him..."

The last time I saw Gully MacFarland, I had tied his drunken self to a wheelbarrow and delivered him to a Royal Navy ship that would take him out to sea and out of my life forever, I hoped. He'd have killed me right then and there if he'd had the chance, I know that.

"No, Jacky, he said he was thankin' you for it ... He was only looking to get his fiddle back"

"Well, Maudie, the next time you see Gully, you tell him the Lady Lenore's back in London but in good hands and I'll give her back to him if ever I see him again and if I happen to have the Lady in my hands and if I happen to be in a forgivin' mood, in which mood I might not be, considerin' I ain't forgot how he laid his mark on me that last night we was together, so it'll have to be at arm's length, and in the presence of some of my larger friends, like ... like John Thomas there just come in the door ... John, so good to see you! Come here and give your Jacky a hug! And Smasher, too! And as pretty as ever! Tell me, who else in the old crowd is still about? Maudie, a pint for each of my friends!"

I've been gone for longer than I had planned to be and I'm hurrying back down to the docks, as I want to get started on setting the traps, so's they can get to catchin' stuff, but it was good, oh so good seeing everybody again. I wanted to do a set tonight, but I can't, I just can't do that, and when I left them, I had to say, "Now remember, if anybody asks, you ain't seen me."

I'm thinking we'll put a string of the traps on the other side of Spectacle Island. I like the looks of the bottom there. I bought ten wooden buoys to mark the traps, and I imagine I'll paint them white with a blue stripe, those being the colors of Faber Shipping. Gotta get these things settled, 'cause I ain't gonna have much freedom once school starts up again, that's for sure.

I step off the pier, go down the ladder to the floating dock, and hop onto the Star, where I see Jim splayed out there in the bilges, facedown. The two new portholes are lying beside him. What? Asleep on duty? Or drunk, even? No, I won't have that, I-Ah, no ... it's not that, it's- Horror.

I turn him over. He has been severely beaten. Blood pours from his mouth. There are thick little pools of it on the decking next to his face. His eyes are swollen and closed. Oh, God, no.