In The Belly Of The Bloodhound by Louis A. Meyer Read Free Book Online Page B

street till we came to a wash-house that I knew of. As soon as Jim saw just what I was up to, he tried to run, but I grabbed his arm and held it tight and said through my teeth, “You do this and I’ll allow you to sleep inside the cuddy from now on. But you will not climb dirty into my[_ Morning Star_] bed, count on it, boy.”_ Besides, if you want to work for Faber Shipping, Worldwide, you must be clean and presentable, by God._
    “Here, Madam,” I said to the washerwoman, who stood between her steaming tubs of water. “Wash this down thoroughly and then dress it up in these clean clothes. Spare not any part of him with your brush.” He squalled, but the old woman took him by the scruff of his neck and tossed him inside. I paid the woman the amount she demanded for the task at hand.
    “You are sure you know how to get there by boat?” asks Ezra, when I come out of the cabin with my chart.
    I fix him with a gimlet eye. “You’re asking Jacky Faber, Queen of the Ocean Sea, if she can find her way about well-charted Boston Bay?” I snort.
    Ezra cuts his eyes to Jim, back at the tiller.

    Ooops…

p. But I don’t think the boy heard me stupidly use my real name, he being too concentrated on making a good showing of his sailing ability on this, our maiden voyage together. And actually, he’s doing quite well.
    “I meant no offense, Miss,” says Ezra.
    “I could never take offense from you, Ezra, you know that,” I say, plopping down next to him and spreading the chart out on my lap. I’m wearing my maroon, gray, and dark green riding habit, the one that Amy gave me for Christmas two years ago, in hopes that the sight of me in it might warm her now chilly heart. I’m starting to feel a little nervous about this coming reunion. “See that big island there? That’s Thompson Island. Right here on the chart.” I point to it and Ezra looks at it. “We’ll leave that to our port and steer directly for Quincy. When we go past the mouth of the Neponset River, we’ll know we are near Dovecote, as that river forms the northern boundary of the Trevelyne estate. Jim, come a few degrees to starboard. There, that’s good.”
    We are heading in toward Dovecote’s boathouse, with me again at the tiller and Jim up on the bow, looking down for rocks. I suspect there will be none, otherwise the boathouse wouldn’t have been put where it is, but one can’t be too careful—I’d hate to show up at Amy’s place, drenched and bedraggled from having hit a rock, swamped and capsized a mere twenty feet from the shore. As we slowly work our way in, I look at the beach and think of the many hours Amy and I spent there, she sitting on the bank reading from a book of poems or some dreary political stuff, me with my skirt off and my drawers rolled up, wading in the water. Me turning over stones to see what was under them, she begging me not to eat what I found. The scavenging orphan in me does die hard, I must admit, and I know that sometimes I am a scandal to other, more well-bred people—in this and other ways.
    “All clear, Miss. I can see the bottom now and it seems to be smooth mud or sand.”
    “Good. We’ll moor starboard side to. Ready about. Hard a’lee.”
    I put the tiller toward the boom, spinning the boat about, drop the sail halyard, and slip in next to the dock, pretty as you please.[_ You may be pleased with your own performance today, Jim Tanner, but_] this[_ is what’s called good boat handling._]
    Jim jumps over and secures the lines, and Ezra and I begin our walk up to the main house.
    “Make her secure, Jim,” I say over my shoulder, “then go up to that house there. Go in through the kitchen in the back. I’ll make sure they give you something to eat. On your best behavior, now. Remember you are a representative of Faber Shipping, Worldwide.”
    The other two members of that same corporation link arms and trudge up the hill toward Dovecote Hall.
    After renewing acquaintances with the downstairs