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
“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
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