Part 13 (2/2)

I put my finger in the pocket of my vest and pull out the coin that was tossed to me by the sailor John Thomas on that day that I was taken.

”It is a dime, I think,” I says.

”It will do,” says Gully MacFarland, and orders. A ”bite to eat” turns out to be two tankards of ale for Gully and nothing for me. I don't mind. I am well fed.

On our way here we had stopped at a washhouse where Gully was allowed to wash up in some dirty rinse water they was about to dump in the street. He even managed to sweet-talk a bit of soap out of the washerwoman, and so, with his hair washed and his face clean, he looks almost presentable. Almost. His clothes are still dirty and they sure don't smell very good. I edge my chair as far away from him as I can manage.

Gully sticks his nose in the first tankard and takes a long, slow drink and drains it and the expression on his face turns almost holy, looking like in those pictures of cherubs that me and the gang used to see in Saint Mark's Cathedral in London on those few days we could get in to receive alms and steal what we could. He puts down the now empty tankard and sighs with relief.

”So, takin' money off little girls are you now, Gully?” says the woman behind the bar. ”What's this, then? Better not be one of Bodeen's.”

”No, Maudie, this here is my new partner in the performance of music and dance and joy for the populace.”

”No, Ma'am. I am in service up at the girls' school,” I speaks up for myself.

”Ah, well, that is a good post. Don't lose it by hangin' about the likes of Rummy MacFarland, mind.”

”I ain't doin' that yet, Missus. I'm just listenin' to what he has to say,” I answer.

”The Lady Lenore,” says Gully, and he puts out his hands.

Maudie reaches under the counter and pulls out the fiddle case and lays it on the bar. ”He left it here last night when he was hauled out by the constable, half out of his mind with drink, he was,” she says to me by way of further warning.

Gully gets up to get the fiddle, but she pulls it back out of his reach and, with her eyes narrowed and her voice level and low she growls, ”Listen to me, Gully MacFarland. Last night was over the top. You and me go back a long ways, but now that's done, and here's a new rule for you, Gully, and you will obey it. That rule is: None of the hard stuff for you in the Pig and Whistle, ever again. No rum, no whiskey, no brandy, no wine. Beer and ale only. Do you mark me, Gully?”

”Aw, Maudie, now...” says Gully, shuffling his feet.

”I mean it, Gully. You break the rule and I'll have my Bob take his club to your head and put you out cold, thereby savin' you the time and expense of drinkin' yourself there. And you'll never set foot in here again.” She slides the fiddle case over the bar, and Gully grunts and takes it back to where I'm sittin'.

Maudie goes back to swabbin' the bar, I suppose in hopes of some customers, but there don't seem to be none comin', just me and Gully. I look over the situation and it don't take too much sense to figure out that the Pig is too far from the docks to catch the sailors as they step off their s.h.i.+ps with their terrible thirst that has to be slaked right off in the nearest tavern, which the Pig ain't, being perched up the hill a bit.

Gully opens the case and gently pulls out the Lady Lenore.

”Look at her,” he breathes. ”Ain't she lovely?”

I own that she is indeed lovely, all glowing red brown in the dim light.

”Look,” says Gully, pointing at a scrawl on the inside. ”It says here it was made by some I-tal-ian whose name starts with an s. See it? And it was made in a place called Cremona.”

I look and indeed it seems to be signed by someone whose name starts with an s and a t, but it's all so old and dim and almost rubbed out.

Gully takes out the bow and tightens up the k.n.o.b on the end and says, ”Let's do 'Bungo Rye.'”

”All right,” I says, and pulls out my pennywhistle and puts it to my lips. ”But that one I usually does with my concertina.”

He looks at me with joy. ”Good Lord! It sings! It dances! And it plays the concertina! Little Miss Moneymaker, by G.o.d!”

And then he brings down the bow on the Lady Lenore.

Later, I head down to Haymarket and look at the clock on Faneuil Hall and I see I'd better be gettin' a move on. I nip into the post office just long enough to have my hopes of a letter from Jaimy crushed yet again-”Sorry, Miss, nothing”-and then head Gretchen down Union Street to Mr. Pickering's office, which ain't hard to find 'cause there's a sign hangin' above which says: EZRA PICKERING, ESQUIRE.

ATTORNEY AT LAW.

Under the words is painted a picture of a hand holding a scale.

I dismount and tie up Gretchen and enter, the door being open. I spy Mr. Pickering sitting at a desk. He rises upon seeing me come in and says, ”Ah, Miss Faber. How good of you to come.”

He pulls out a chair for me to sit down in across from him. His slight smile is in place.

I thank him and he says, ”I see by your costume that you have had a reversal of fortune, my dear.”

”Aye. I've been busted down to chambermaid.”

”I am sorry.”

”Don't be. I had it coming. Besides, the life of a serving girl has its charms.”

”Well. That changes things somewhat,” he says, and I wonder what that means and he shuffles some papers on his desk till he finds the one he was looking for. ”You have nine hundred and fifty-seven dollars on account at the Lawson Peabody School. Previous to learning of your demotion, I would have advised you to stay at the school. Now, I don't know.”

Nine hundred and fifty-seven dollars! Enough for me to buy a small cutter! I clap my hands in delight. ”So get it for me and I'll be gone!”

Mr. Pickering has his usual half smile on his pink face and he folds his pink hands. ”I will try to get it for you, Miss Faber, and for-”

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