Kage Baker: Or Else My Lady Keeps the Key

There was a little pearl-handled knife. There was a ring. There was a sort of doll made of a carved nutshell, with a body of ribbon scraps and rags. There were three parrot feathers bound together with gold wire. There was a piece of heathen money with a hole in it. There was a whistle carved from a bone. All hidden in his pillow…

John heard his heart beating. His mouth was dry. Stone cold sober, he turned and opened the door.

Mrs. Waverly stood there, looking at him with narrowed eyes. He grabbed her hand and pulled her into the cabin.

“What’s this, then?” he demanded. “What’s this stuff doing in my gear? It was you took it, wasn’t it, and hid it in my gear?”

She looked into his eyes a long moment, her gaze unfathomable; then she turned away and lifted her arm to hide her face. “Oh, God,” she moaned, with tears choking her voice. “It has begun again. Oh, poor dear Mr. James, forgive me, please forgive me!”

John lessened his grip on her hand a bit. “What’re you talking about?”

“They’re only trifles. I meant no harm. I can’t help myself—” Her tears were coming in full flood now. “Oh—Mr. James, I must—must throw myself on your mercy!”

John evened his breath, trying to calm himself at least. “First thing we got to do is put all this back,” he said. “And it’s a good job everyone else is ashore. Come on.” He stooped and swept everything back into the pillow.

They went into the crew’s quarters, with Mrs. Waverly whimpering and sobbing the whole while. She mastered herself enough to point mutely at each particular sea-chest, as John held up first one oddment and then another, so he could stow them back where they belonged. The whole time he listened hard, fearful of hearing footsteps creaking overhead that meant some of the crew had come back early. Once or twice he nearly told Mrs. Waverly to stop her noise, but gritted his teeth and forbore, realizing that rough treatment would only make her more hysterical.

When they were finished putting everything back, John took Mrs. Waverly by the hand and led her up on deck. “Now,” he said, seating her on the helmsman’s bench. “What in thunder did you steal all that trash for?”

“I don’t know,” said Mrs. Waverly, her voice rising shrilly. “I have never known. Oh, Mr. James, please don’t tell! They were only petty, silly things, of no real value; and yet I should be so ashamed, if all those brave gentlemen thought less of me on that account.”

“They’d likely do a bit worse than think less of you,” said John. “I seen men flogged for doing what you done. You don’t go thieving from your shipmates.”

“But you’re pirates ,” said Mrs. Waverly, looking genuinely confused. “You murdered everyone on that Spanish ship and stole their goods.”

“Well—yes—yes, we did. But they was Spaniards, so it don’t count.”

“And before that, Captain Reynald and his crew stole the Fyrey Pentacost , whose crew were English!”

“Well, so they done, but he’s a Frenchman. So it wasn’t exactly like common thievery, see?”

“I see,” said Mrs. Waverly, with a sniff. “ Common thievery is the sticking point, then. I did think I might have found myself in the one society in which persons might be better disposed to excuse my little frailty.”

“I’m sorry to say that ain’t the case, ma’am,” said John. “Your householder’ll go and fetch a constable if he catches you stealing his goods, but your pirate won’t bother with all that. He’ll just pull out his knife and stick you a few times to make sure you don’t go doing it again. D’you catch my meaning?”

Mrs. Waverly shuddered. “I suppose.”

“And with you being a woman and all,” John paused, uncertain how to phrase it delicately. “He’s likeliest to pull something else out first, afore he goes for his knife.”

Mrs. Waverly covered her face with her hands. “Oh, great God forbid!”

“How long have you been doing this?”

“I hadn’t given offense in years,” said Mrs. Waverly. “Oh, Mr. James, pity me! I am sure it is grief and the desperation of my present circumstance that has made it break out again. My father was old gentry in Hertfordshire—well-bred but improvident, and too trusting—we lost our manor and he died untimely, and we were obliged to go live with an aunt in London, in very mean circumstances—I think it began then.

“I am sure I do not know what possessed me. I could never recall how it had happened afterwards—all manner of oddments would be found in my apron pockets, or once or twice in my stockings. Spoons, mostly. Other people’s thimbles. Hair ribbons. Nothing anyone would consider real theft , surely!

“And when I was happy and at peace, it would never happen at all. You see, do you not, Mr. James, that I am no malefactor?”

“Of course not,” agreed John, though he was remembering Bess Whidbey who’d lived in the next street but one in Hackney, who’d been arrested coming out of a shop with a packet of brass pins hid in her bosom, and when they’d gone to her room they’d found row upon row of packets of pins lined up along the cupboard shelf, never opened, and her cool as ice the whole time declaring her innocence.

“Did Tom know about what you done?”

Mrs. Waverly nodded, weeping afresh. “Such a kind man—such an understanding man. He knew that I should die of shame were I ever caught out, and he protected me. And in truth, when dear Tom was alive I was seldom troubled. Will you not have mercy on an unhappy woman’s weakness, Mr. James?” She reached out and clasped both his hands.

“Aw—” said John, and then her mouth was on his, she was grabbing his arms fit to leave finger-marks and pulling him down to her. He overbalanced and fell on one knee on the bench, which hurt considerably, but her mouth tasted of comfits and her little white teeth were raking his lip.

Except—

“Wait,” he said, coming up for air with effort. “Wait. I thought you was sweet on Reynald. I ain’t fighting no adultery duels with any Frenchman, especially when you and me ain’t really married in the first place.”

“Oh, Mr. James!” Mrs. Waverly tossed her head impatiently. “How can you imagine I should so demean myself as to dishonor Tom’s memory with a person like Captain Reynald? I but play a role, as you do. Circumstance has placed us at the mercy of these wild and vicious men; what is more prudent than to smile, and flatter them, and make myself generally agreeable to preserve myself from harm?”

“You’re not staying on in hopes of getting yourself some more earrings, then?”

“Sir!” said Mrs. Waverly, pulling away from him and sitting straight. “That insinuation is unworthy of you! One might as well ask why you have made no move to escape. We need but slip over the side, after all.”

“Well,” said John. “Where’d we go? The island is all bloody pirates. We’d only be leaving devils we know to trust ourselves with devils we don’t. And anyone agrees to take us to Leauchaud for a price is going to want to know why we’re going.”

“You’re not staying on because you find a brigand’s life suits you?”

The shot hit home. John scowled at her.

“You can argue like a lawyer when you’ve a mind, can’t you?”

“Of course I can. Consider, Mr. James: you are a man . You have at your disposal tremendous strength and courage with which to defend yourself, to say nothing of cutlasses and pistols. What have I, a weak and feeble woman, by comparison? Naught but my wit, my grace, my politesse!”

“True enough,” said John, though he remembered a girl who had wielded a cutlass and pistol well enough and feared nothing. Her kiss had burned his mouth like white rum; and the memory of that gave him a bleak feeling, and suddenly he didn’t feel like having Mrs. Waverly right there on the steersman’s bench anymore.