John Locke - Now & Then Страница 20

Abby sighed. “Being sold. Today.”

“Sold? You don’t mean sold. What’s the word you’re seeking?”

“The only word I’m seeking is the one I used. She’s to be sold in the town square at noon today, and that’s a fine fact.”

“Do you mean to say you can actually sell your wife to another man in these Florida colonies?”

“Well of course you can! Where have you been?”

“And you don’t need her permission?”

“Well of course you need her permission! How can you not know these things? Are you not related to Mayor Shrewsbury?”

Jack paused. “In a round about manner of speaking, yes.”

“Well the connection wasn’t so ‘round about’ the last time we met, was it?”

“The connection to Mayor Shrewsbury is a bit fuzzy, but there is one. In general.”

“Then you should know about these things. How can you not?”

“These ideas regarding the selling of wives never came up.”

“Perhaps they did and you forgot.”

Jack doubted that.

“So,” he said. “How much will she fetch?”

“What?” She slapped his face. “Why? Do you mean to marry me, plow me like a field and sell me to some degenerate scallywag?”

“Why, no!”

“Well then, we need to move this thing along. I’ve been waiting day and night for your return, with no means of contacting you to tell you my news.”

“About your mother being sold?”

“No, you nit! About this!” She pulled her night shirt high enough to accommodate his hand, and helped him feel her belly. Before he could recoil in horror, she lifted his hand higher, and pressed it to her swollen breasts. What was it about these St. Alban’s women? Last night Johanna, now Abby. To Jack it seemed to be raining titties! He’d never felt so many breasts in such a short period of time. Of course, while Abby Winter’s breasts were only three years older than Johanna’s, there was clearly a difference to the touch, and it was this difference that stirred something in Jack.

Which is how she got the swelling in the first place.

Abby looked radiant, and Jack’s heat was all consuming. “Can we…”

She looked around. “Not here. Walk with me a bit.”

“But I…”

“Walk with me. It’s not far.”

Jack forced his thoughts elsewhere as they walked toward the brush on the far side of the crossing.

“What about your father?” he said, searching for a way to extricate himself from the possibility of marriage. “Surely we’d need his blessing?”

“He’s not my father, he’s my step-father and he means to marry me the moment he’s sold my Mum. Then I’ll be slaving for this pig of a man even as he ruts and beats me half to death.”

“He can’t be that bad.”

“He can and he is. Wait—why would you say that? Do you mean to abandon me to my step-father after troubling yourself to bend me over last time and seed me with child?”

“The way you’re putting that…”

“Yes?”

“I mean, it weren’t no trouble to do it, it was a pleasure!”

“Well, how nice! I’m so glad to hear how much pleasure you took in deflowering me. And now that you’ve had your pleasure, where does this put us, sir?”

Jack didn’t know, but he figured she’d correct him if he said the wrong thing.

“We should definitely be together, I suppose.”

“Well there’s a start,” Abby said. Then, “Do you mean to say you’ve never given this a thought prior to now?”

“I guess it never came up in my thoughts.”

“The selling of wives never came up. Marrying the girl you impregnated never came up. I’ll suggest in your world the only thing that comes up is your prick, sir.”

Jack didn’t know what to say. Up to now, his experience with women had been confined to whores and platonic friendships. Well, there had been a brief fling with a female pirate a few years back, but that encounter served to hurt his dignity more than it offered insight into the workings of a proper woman’s mind. Jack didn’t remember much of what happened that night in Tortola with the female pirate, except that she’d been rough enough to blush a whore. Now, years later, people still told the tale of Jack Hawley and Dorothy Spider’s sexual congress. There was even a popular song composed to commemorate the occasion, which is why to this day Jack refused to dock in Tortola.

“Henry?”

Dorothy had been a savage pirate and fierce bar brawler whose face bore the marks of many battles. While not pirating, she lived in Tortola with a famously fat female tattoo artist named Helen, who lovingly covered Dorothy’s battle scars with tattoos. By the time she finished, Dorothy’s face looked so much like a spider web that Helen decided to continue etching, to complete the theme. It was right around that time that Dorothy Spider caught Jack in her web during a misguided moment of high heat and heavy drink on his part, and the rest, as they say, is legend.

“Henry,” Abby persisted. “Whatever is on your mind? Do you not see me lying on the ground with my legs bent? Is this not why we came to the bushes? So you could spread a little more seed while considering whether or not to abandon me? Perhaps you can thrust hard enough to give me twin bastards to rear on my own. Oh, please do! It will be fun to have this lovely memory in my head in the years to come when my stepfather violates my body and pounds my eyes with his fists.”

This visit wasn’t turning out quite the way Jack had envisioned during the ride over. The beautiful, shy and charming Abby Winter had somehow turned into what Pim and his mates would at best call a saucy wench. But he had to admit, the view she currently afforded him was an outstanding one, and if Abby meant to give him a ride while angry, maybe she’d give him even better rides in the future if he could find a way to keep her happy.

And so it was with these thoughts that he smiled and dug in and tried not to think of Dorothy Spider.

Chapter 11

PIM WOKE TO the chatter in the street. He looked around and realized he’d failed to make it to the lodging house and had instead passed out in the street, where he’d thrown up at least once, and rolled around numerous times in raw sewage. He knew not what time it was, but the auction hadn’t started yet, and he was eager to get a front row seat. Checking his pockets and money pouch to make sure he hadn’t been robbed, he mentally calculated the worth of a used wife and decided he had money to spare.

But wait—had he imagined it?

He got to his feet and went to the post where he’d seen the sign. In the light of day he had no problem reading the bulletin:

NOTICE OF A WIFE TO BE SOLD AT NOON

ST. ALBAN’S TOWN SQUARE

SATURDAY, JULY 19, 1710

IN ACCORDANCE WITH ENGLISH LAW THAT PROVIDETH

A MAN MAY SELL HIS WIFE IF HE DO SO IN OPEN MARKET

AND SHE GIVETH HER PERMISSION BY WEARING A HALTER

ROUND HER NECK;

THIS MAN, PHILIP WINTER SHALL SELL HIS WIFE HESTER

IN SUCH A MANNER ON SATURDAY THE 19th of JULY, 1710.

BUYER MUST AGREE TO ACCEPT HESTER WINTER AS SHE BE,

WITH ALL HER FAULTS.

Pim wanted to make himself more presentable by jumping in the river or ocean, whichever was closer, but after inquiring the time from a horrified passerby, he was afraid he’d miss the auction. He went to the nearest house and knocked on the door and offered to pay a half-crown for a basin of water.

“That’s a fair price for the basin,” the woman allowed, “but where would I get another? You’ll have to try someone else.”

“I’d be buyin’ only the water in the basin, Mum.”

“What? Are you daft? Be gone, or I’ll call my husband.”

Pim produced the coin.

“I’ve only got used water,” she said.

“How used?”

“Two days worth. But it’s a full basin. You want it?”

“Aye, and a rag to scrub with.”

The lady of the house eyed Pim closely, scrunched her nose and said, “Is that vomit in your beard?”

“Aye, Mum.”

“Well in that case you may keep the rag. I wouldn’t want to touch it after you’ve used it.”

“You’re too kind.”

“I’d rather bring a horse turd into my home.”

“Yes, Mum. Thank you.”

Pim did what he could with the basin of used water, though it smelled worse to him than he did. When he got to the town square he sat on a rock and waited for Captain Jack, whom he sensed was drawing near. Ten minutes later Jack Hawley was standing over him, chewing him out.

“Are you insane? If they see you here they’ll lock you up!”

“I’m not a pirate no more, Cap’n.”

“What?”

“My sweet Darla’s dead, and I’m gonna buy this wife what’s bein’ sold today.”

This was shaping up to be Jack’s most interesting shore leave ever. He tried to picture Abby Winter’s mother marrying the wild and wooly pirate, Mr. Pim. An unintended smile crossed his face.

“What’s so funny?” Pim growled.

“Easy, man. I’m sorry for your loss. I never met Darla, but I know she was special to you. I meant no offense by the smile. It’s just the thought of you settling down. Pim: a landlubber!”

Pim nodded. Then said, “You know this woman what’s to be sold today?”

“I don’t, though I suspect she’ll be happy to marry a kind-hearted soul such as yourself.”

“Thank you, Jack. I’m not picky. I’m sure she’ll do.”

Jack looked him over. “You’re sober?”

“Mostly. I think.”

“Good. Looks like you had a rough night pining for Darla.”

“Aye. And I drank some, too.”

“And coughed some back, by the look of it.”

“Aye.”

“You need some money?”

“Why, thank you Cap’n, but no, I did no whorin’ so I’m flush.”

“Well, do me a favor and act like you know me not.”

A hurt expression creased Pim’s face.

Jack said, “I’m not ashamed to be in your company, but if some townie recognizes you, they’ll lock us both up and I won’t be able to rescue you.”

Pim nodded. “Aye, you always was a smart one, Cap’n.”

“And Mr. Pim?”

“Aye?”

“I’m proud to have served with you.”

Pim’s eyes moistened. “It’s been an honor, Jack.”

“Good luck man.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Chapter 12

Wife selling always followed the same public ritual. The wife—in this case, the gray-faced but comely Hester Winter, was led into town by her husband Philip with her hands bound and a halter around her neck. In most cases, wife selling was a spur of the moment decision, and the husband had to make a big noise to draw a crowd. But the enterprising Philip had thought to post notice of his upcoming sale, and so the town square was packed with leering men, derisive women, and ill-mannered children, most of whom shouted profanities and vulgar insults at Hester.

As Philip got his wife onto the auction block, he displayed a wide, shit-eating grin and bade the crowd to gather near, since he was preparing to take bids. Hester’s eyes searched the crowd, hoping to spot Thomas Griffin, but there were too many people. From behind her, a crude boy of about nine jumped onto the block and lifted the back of her skirt with one hand and held his nose with the other as his friends hooted and jeered. Philip laughed and swatted at the boy in a playful manner, which did nothing to dissuade him from raising Hester’s dress again, and higher. Soon, half a dozen brats were taking turns spanking her rump Finally Philip called an end to the abuse.

“Who’ll offer me a crown?”

“Does her privates work?” one man shouted.

Hester squeezed her eyes shut and reminded herself a better life was moments away.

“Her privates?” Philip said. “They work right well, mate, if your equipment be long enough to reach the prize.” He gave an exaggerated stage wink and received some scattered chortling in return.

“Does she cook?” said another.

“She ain’t the worst I’ve et,” Philip said.

“How much discount are you offering for that face?” the fishmonger’s wife yelled out.

“Already factored in the bidding, Missus. Why, are you interested in marryin’ her yourself?” Philip made a lewd gesture and the crowd laughed.

Hester was thankful Philip had made Abby stay home. Thomas Griffin had obviously changed his mind, and now that she thought about it, why wouldn’t he? He was a respectable businessman with a shop on the far side of the square. If he purchased her he’d be a laughing stock. Hester hadn’t considered that possibility the three times she let him take her behind the counter. Ah well, men lied. What could she do about it now but accept her fate.

“I’ll give the crown,” someone said.

Hester opened her eyes and found the bidder, a young man, twenty at most, with curly brown hair and a lopsided grin that showed some gnarled brown teeth. Half his face was puckered from a fire, and he was missing an ear on that side. But he had broad shoulders and looked strong, and seemed kind.

Hester smiled at him.

“See that, son? She likes you!”

Someone else offered a sovereign, someone Hester couldn’t see from her vantage point. She thought how strange it would be if she wound up married to someone she’d never even seen before.

“How ‘bout it son?” Philip said to the curly haired boy. “Can you beat a sovereign?”

Hester looked at him hopefully. He might not be much to look at, she thought, but she had facial problems of her own, and no right to complain. This boy wasn’t a Thomas Griffin in appearance or property, but he seemed a step above her husband.

The boy looked at Hester with sorrow in his eyes. He mouthed the words, “I’m sorry,” and she nodded.

“Don’t that just break your heart folks?” Philip said. “Is there no one here who’ll lend this poor boy a few paltry coins to help him find his true love?”

“Can we work it out in trade?” said a crippled man with a scar on his scalp that was so large and had healed so poorly, it looked like he’d grown a colony of little pink mushrooms on his head.

Hester shuddered.

“Don’t think she likes you, Grady,” Philip said.

The crowd was calm for a moment. Grady’s head had that effect on people.

“How’s her titties?” said a large man with a serious facial tick and a hole where his left eye should have been.

“Well if it ain’t One-Eyed Charlie Fine!” Philip said. “What’re you doin’ in town when all them privateers be in port up yonder?”

“You’ll know soon enough why I’m here and not there,” Charlie Fine said. “But if this iron-headed bitch has titties to make up for that god awful face, she might be worth a piece of eight.”

The crowd murmured with amazement. Pieces of eight were Spanish silver coins of near perfect purity. A piece of eight represented a month of work for a common man of the time.

Philip Winter was stunned by the price. “You figure to put her to work at the whore house?”