Part 19 (1/2)

I figure I have heard enough, enough to realize that all is not well here at Dovecote. I feel uncomfortable and I head out to find the stables and make sure that Gretchen and Hildy are taken care of proper, walked and brushed down, like.

Then I go to find the kitchen and that is where Amy finds me, helping Mrs. Grubbs, the cook, with the evening meal, and that is where we take our dinner.

Chapter 20.

I'm awakened in the morning by the sun streamin' in the window and roosters crowin', and I roll over and stretch and give Amy a poke. I look all around and say, ”A room of your own, Amy. Such a thing.” She grunts and does not stir.

I don't think I've ever been in a prettier place, all bright and cheerful with new white and blue paint, filmy white curtains on the window, and thick rugs on the floor. There are framed paintings on the wall, mostly of fields and mountains and trees, but there's one of a fluffy white cat and there's one of three oranges in a plate. And, besides the bed, there's a chest of drawers with a mirror over it, a small desk and chair, and a dry sink with a basin and pitcher on top of it. The pitcher has little red roses painted on it, and so does the chamber pot on the floor.

I get up and pull off my nightdress and toss it over a chair and give the pot a visit. There is soap and washcloths and towels laid out on the sink and so I pour some water from the pitcher into the basin and lather up and wash my face to get the sleep out of my eyes. Then I give my armpits and some other parts a bit of a scrub down as well. Behind me, I hear Amy stir and then let out a loud tsk! and sigh.

”I swear, Jacky, you have all the personal modesty of a monkey,” she says, her voice still thick with sleep.

”A clean mind in a clean body,” I chirps all cheerful and bright, and proceeds to towel off. When I am done I dives into my seabag and pulls out my sailor togs from back on the Dolphin and I puts 'em on. It's the uniform I made to wear when we had Inspection and other fine days like port visits. My white duck pants with a drawstring waist and my white duck s.h.i.+rt with a flap on the back with blue piping. My black mids.h.i.+pman's neckerchief goes under the flap and ties in front. I digs deeper in my bag and comes up with my dear old Dolphin cap and slaps it on.

”Ta-da!” I sings and poses, hands on hips. ”What do you think? Can I wear it today, here on your little farm?”

Amy opens her eyes and she looks at me and her eyes roll back in her head. ”Might as well,” she sighs. ”You are not going to listen to me, anyway, and I am sure everyone here already knows you for a hopeless eccentric.”

I give a delighted squeak, so glad to be back in my old gear, and go over to the mirror and admire myself in it. Not bad for a girl what was a dirty and near-naked urchin not two years ago, but seein' the uniform reminds me of Jaimy and the lads and that takes a bit of the s.h.i.+ne off my pride. I miss them all so and I hope they are all right.

I take off my hat and let out my braid and sit on the edge of the bed and commence to combing my hair, facing away so Amy can get up and go do her necessaries. My hair is quite long now-not so long as Amy's, as she could sit on hers if she wanted-and I decides to wear it looser today, maybe just gathered in back by a ribbon. A blue one. To match Lord Randall's jacket, I thinks, with a touch of evil in my thought.

”What service is Randall in?” I asks, all innocent.

”He is a lieutenant in the local militia,” says Amy from the sink. ”That sounds grander than it actually is-mainly, they just drill and parade around shouting things.”

”Still,” says I, ”how das.h.i.+ng he looked with his sword drawn, ready to storm in and pin me to the wall to save his sister's honor!”

”He was not there to save my honor,” snorts Amy. ”He was ready to save the family honor, so that it would not reflect badly on him. He cares nothing for me and I care nothing for him.”

”Surely that can't be true. That's just brother and sister talk.”

”Would you love someone who was a constant torment to you as a child? Would you love someone who gets to go to Harvard College while you are thrown into the pit misnamed the Lawson Peabody School for Young Girls? And someone who is squandering that education in favor of drink and sloth and lechery? And finally, would you love someone who planned to marry the darling Miss Clarissa Worthington Howe? Now, would you?”

Now that hits me like a stone on the side of my head.

I mulls this over a bit. So that's why Clarissa didn't destroy Amy that time when I was on my knees before her amid the bags of underwear and Amy stopped her from hitting me. Why rock the matrimonial boat over some harmless fun shaming a mere serving girl?

”So he's really gonna marry the Queen, hey?” I probes.

”Oh yes. It will be the social event of the season. Clarissa's family is quite rich, you know. My father is very pleased with the match. My mother, too. It will put her up a notch on the social scene.”

”Where are your mum and dad? I sort of expected them to be here. That's why I was on my best behavior.”

Amy snorts and then gradually collapses into helpless laughter, and it occurs to me that this is the first time I have heard her really laugh hard, and it is a most pleasant sound, even if it is at my expense. ”On. Your. Best. Behavior,” she manages to say and then returns to outright laughter. I didn't think it was all that funny.

Eventually, she calms down enough to say, ”They are in New York, for the winter social season. They will be back for Christmas and then will go back to New York and not return until spring. That is why I am in the school: They do not want me here alone; and they do not want me with them in Society.”

Amy comes into my view wearing a riding outfit, all wine colored with touches of dark green and very finely tailored.

”Well, look at you, now. Ain't we the grand one, Milady,” says I, popping up and going to her and smoothin' back her lapels and the fabric over her shoulders. ”Looks like hangin' with the Jack has been good for you. Runnin' from the police and such.” I pull out the sides of her jacket. ”You'll have to have this taken in a bit.”

Amy looks pleased. She blushes and says, ”Let us get some breakfast.”

Out we go to the kitchen, where Mrs. Grubbs whips us up some fine bacon and eggs and tea and toast, and it's all so rich and fine with the fat sausages and hams hangin' down from the ceiling and the big wheels of cheese all stacked up. There's jars of things put up for the winter and pickle urns and foamy pitchers of milk and loaves of lovely fresh bread, but in my contrary way I thinks about Polly and judy and Nancy and the rest back on the streets of London and how it ain't fair, it just ain't fair that some have so much and some so little.

And it's strange, I thinks, how quickly I get used to all this, like I takes it for granted that I have always lived this way and will always live this way. Even when I know it ain't gonna be true.

We go outside in the warm autumn air and look upon chickens and cows and a new litter of piglets, which I feed a bit of grain, and their squishy little noses pressin' at the palm of my hand makes me wish bacon didn't taste so good. In the henhouse, we take baskets and gather eggs still warm from the chickens. The eggs lie in the cozy little nests and it is like a fine game to collect them.

I meet the people of the farm-the plowboys, the milkmaids, field hands, herders, and all. Dovecote is like a little village, sufficient unto itself-there's a miller and a weaver and even a blacksmith, with little cottages all around for the people to live in. They all seem to really like Amy, and they greet her most warmly. Maybe she warn't always so solemn and gloomy.

There's children, too. Lots of them, and they stare all openmouthed at me, strangers bein' rare here, especially ones decked out in sailor togs, but that's all right, I just whip out my whistle and give 'em a tune and dance a few steps and that delights 'em and makes 'em laugh and dance about. We have a little parade for a bit.

There's some raised eyebrows about my dress, but they get over it.

We're walkin' over to the stables to saddle up Gretchie and Hildy for a ride around the place when a black-and-white thing appears from nowhere and capers all about me. I goes rigid and stands there scared.

”What is it?” I wails. ”What does it want?”

”It's just Millie,” laughs Amy, grabbing the beast by its ears and-yuck-kissing it. ”She's our collie sheepdog and is just the dearest thing.”

”Make it go away,” I begs. To me, dogs was vicious beings that we fought with over sc.r.a.ps of food on the streets of London. The dog comes back to me and pokes at me with its pointy nose.

”What's it doin'?” I wails. ”Make it stop!”

Amy is lookin' at me with a small smile on her face. ”The redoubtable Jacky Faber, scared at last.” She calls the dog back to her and says, ”She was herding you. She wanted you over here by me, and that is how she goes about it.”

”I think she was bein' mighty familiar, if you ask me,” I fumes.

”Poor Millie, a sheepdog who has lost her sheep,” says Amy in a musing way. ”And does not know where to find them.” The dog rolls its eyes and actually seems to smile under her petting.

Amy's smile is gone now and she continues in a clipped tone, ”But it was not poor Millie who lost our sheep. It was Father. With one cut of the cards. Five hundred sheep. And the pasture on which they used to graze. That field over there, beyond the river. That one. Gone. Let us see to the horses.” Amy strides briskly toward the stables. I hold my tongue and follow.

We get to the stables and I meet the grooms and stable hands. One of them is the boy that Randall was talking to when we rode up yesterday. His name is Edward and I remember him lookin' real daggers at me when I was prancin' around in my male finery and seemin' to be all tight with Amy. You are not as unloved as you think, Sister.

With Gretchie and Hildy saddled up, we gallop off across the land.

”This is the Neponset River,” says Amy, when we pulls up after a while. ”It is the border of our land to the north.”

”It's lovely,” I say, lookin' out over the sparklin' waters movin' down to the sea. ”Too bad it's a bit chilly. We could swim ... and look, that huge tree hangin' out over that pool is just beggin' to have a rope hung on it for swingin' out over the water. Do you know how to swim? I could teach you if you don't.”