Viva Jacquelina! by L. A. Meyer Read Free Book Online Page A

well recall the eight-gun
Nancy B. Alsop
charging into battle against the eighty-four-gun behemoth
San Cristobal
back there on the Caribbean Sea. Do you recall that as well, Captain Miss Faber? Hmmm?”
    â€œThat was different, Captain Lord Allen, that was—”
    â€œNo, it wasn’t. It was foolhardy and crazy and you damn well know it. But you did it, anyway. Now, alas, we must get back. My men have probably all deserted by now. Here, let’s get you squared away.”
    I had shoved my wig back on my head and it sat there all askew, its locks falling about my streaming eyes.
    â€œThere,” he says, straightening my hairpiece and placing my shako upon it. “All Shipshape and Bristol Fashion. And let’s kiss those tears away.”
    â€œI know I’m a bit of a mess,” I say, beginning to blubber. “Why do you bother with me, Richard?”
    He laughs. “Because I love you, Jacky. You are the light of my life. Now, you stay at headquarters and out of trouble, you hear me? You’re in this, too, and given your past behavior, well . . .”
    I put my arms around him and my tears are kissed away.
    I love you, too, Richard. One last kiss, Richard, one last one, oh please . 
.
 .
    And then we turn and head back to our duty.
    Â 
    As I mount up and return to headquarters, all disconsolate and full of grim foreboding, an old Irish song taught to me by Mairead McConnaughey comes unbidden into my head.
    Â 
I know where I’m going,

And I know who’s going with me

I know who I love,

But the Lord knows who I’ll marry...

Chapter 6
    Deep in the dark of the night I hear a distant rumble of artillery. I cringe and burrow further down into the covers and pull the pillow over my head. It does not shut out the sound.
    In the military there is a term called “four o’clock courage.” It means that, while it is easy to feel brave and hopeful on the eve of battle, when you are eating and drinking with your friends in the glow of a warm fire and good fellowship, things tend to look a lot different in the cold light of the pre-dawn when, alone and fearful, you must climb out of a warm and safe bed to confront what is sure to come. The soldier who can do that and not quiver and shake is said to possess “four o’clock courage.”
    That is all very well. However, I, Jacky Faber, do not have that kind of courage, and never have. In fact, I have very little of any kind of courage at all.
    I burrow deeper, but—heavy sigh—I throw off the covers and get up to dress and face the coming day, the butterflies in my cowardly belly in full flight.
    Shivering, I climb into my Royal Navy gear, which Higgins had laid out for me the night before. If grim Death does find me today, I prefer to go off with him in Navy blue. I do not bother with the wig. What good would it do me today? My own hair will have to serve whether I end up at the Pearly Gates or at the Gates of Hell.
    At least I won’t be buried at sea,
I think as I pull on my boots.
That’s some consolation.
    With sword rattling at side, shako somewhat askew on head, I go next door to tap on Higgins’s door. He is, of course, already up and has procured from somewhere some good hot coffee and small sweet cakes, which do much to restore my spirits. In the soft light of a lantern, we share a battlefield breakfast.
    â€œYou will go to be with Mr. Scovell?”
    â€œYes, I think that would be the best place for me. The man is absolutely amazing in his ability to crack enemy codes. He has given me a relatively simple message to try to break, and I believe I just about have it.”
    He reaches into his jacket and pulls out a small leather-bound notebook and shows me some meaningless figures written thereupon. Under them are some words in French, undoubtedly parts of the deciphered message.
    â€œDear Higgins,” I say, with a fond smile on my face and a hand on his shoulder.