L. A. Meyer - Rapture of the Deep: Being an Account of the Further Adventures of Jacky Faber, Soldier, Sailor, Mermaid, Spy

HARCOURT
Houghton Mifflin Harcourt
Boston New York 2010

OTHER BOOKS IN THE BLOODY JACK ADVENTURES

Bloody Jack
Being an Account of the Curious Adventures
of Mary "Jacky" Faber, Ship's Boy

Curse of the Blue Tattoo
Being an Account of the Misadventures
of Jacky Faber, Midshipman and Fine Lady

Under the Jolly Roger
Being an Account of the Further
Nautical Adventures of Jacky Faber

In the Belly of the Bloodhound
Being an Account of a Particularly Peculiar
Adventure in the Life of Jacky Faber

Mississippi Jack
Being an Account of the FurtherWaterborne Adventures of
Jacky Faber, Midshipman, Fine Lady, and
the Lily of the West

My Bonny Light Horseman
Being an Account of the Further Adventures
of Jacky Faber, in Love andWar

Copyright 2010 by L. A. Meyer

All rights reserved. For information about permission to reproduce selections
from this book, write to Permissions, Houghton Mifflin Harcourt Publishing
Company, 215 Park Avenue South, New York, New York 10003.

Harcourt is an imprint of Houghton Mifflin Harcourt Publishing Company.

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Text set in Minion

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Meyer, L. A. (Louis A.), 1942
Rapture of the deep : being an account of the further adventures of Jacky Faber,
soldier, sailor, mermaid, spy / L. A. Meyer.
p. cm. - (A Bloody Jack adventure)

Summary: In 1806, star-crossed lovers Jacky Faber and Jaimy Fletcher are kid
napped by British Naval Intelligence and forced to embark on yet another daring
missionthis time to search for sunken Spanish gold off the Florida coast.
ISBN 978-0-15-206501-0 (hardcover : alk. paper) [1. SpiesFiction. 2. Seafaring
lifeFiction. 3. Buried treasureFiction. 4. KidnappingFiction. 5. Orphans
Fiction. 6. Caribbean AreaHistory19th centuryFiction.] I. Title.
PZ7.M57172Rap 2009
[Fic]-dc22
2009019494

Manufactured in the United States of America
MP 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

Again for my dear Annetje.

And for Chris and Tuck and memories
of Florida and the Keys.

For Betsey, too, as well as for Chelsea and Chelly,
both noble Cockers, who lay by my feet all of these
years and by their loving presence helped me
pound out these words.

1806

The London Home for Little Wanderers

England

"Ah, and it's a bonny, bonny bride ye shall be, Jacky. Just look at you, now!" exclaims one of my attending bridesmaids. She adjusts the waist on my bridal gown as I look at my reflection in the mirror and grin. "And in an hour or so, you'll be a fine married lady!"

I am swathed in yards and yards of the finest white cloth on this, my wedding day, and I am consumed with happiness as I am being dressed by my three bridesmaids. The unabashed grin of pure joy spreads over my face and it will not go away.

Oh Jaimy, it's finally gonna happen!

"All right, let's see how this fits, then."

As the girls carefully place on my head the veil's coronet of braided posies and adjust the filmy cloth, I marvel at just how I came to be here in this place, when, not five days ago, I was kneeling in the sand of a desolate beach in France, a pistol pressed to the back of my head, waiting for the bullet that would surely end my life...

"You, Miss," pronounces Higgins, "are a complete mess."

I groan and stretch out over my lovely bed on my lovely schooner, the Nancy B. Alsop, neither of which I had ever expected to see again.

"Please calm down, Miss. I know you want to be with your young man, but Mr. Fletcher's feet are a mere four feet above your head, tending to the business of getting you and your ship as far away from the coast of France as quickly as possible. Please let him do that and allow me to take care of you."

You might have thought that Jaimy and I would have tumbled into the sack right then and there, as soon as we got back on the Nancy B., but no, such was not to be. While Jaimy assumed the con on the quarterdeck and gave orders to set sail and fly, Higgins hauled my sobbing and gasping self into my cabin, where he stripped me down to clean me up and, hopefully, make me presentable. That's when he discovered that I was covered head to toe with scratches and bruises from when my dear Mathilde had dragged me across that battlefield in Germany, my foot being caught in my stirrup and she being blind with terror. I don't blame her noneshe was a good horse and already I miss her.

"Good Lord," exclaims Higgins. "Amongst a veritable constellation of contusions, right there is a bruise the size of a cricket ball. A lovely shade of purple and yellow, as well, I might add."

My mind is still reeling from the events of the past hour. "If you've never been dragged on your back across some very rough ground by a terrified horse, Higgins, then you have no room to chastise me."

"I believe I will take a pass on that particular experience, Miss. Hold still now."

I feel the healing salve being applied to my poor bare and much abused bum.

Ahhhhh ... nobody has a touch like Higgins.

"Turn over, please, Miss."

I give out a low moan and turn over on my back.

"Ah. Your front is not quite so bad. Just a bit of salve on your shoulder and some about your knees, there. Good."

I don't mind being tended to by my dear Higgins. In fact, I'm loving itthat and the fact that I am still alive. I had spent the time in the lifeboat that brought me here curled up in Jaimy's lap, trembling and weepingafter all, a mere hour ago I had been on my knees on the beach, waiting for a bullet from the pistol of spymaster Jardineaux to scatter my brains all over the sandand I do need some time to calm down.

"But how came you to be here?" I ask, still in wonder at my rescue. "With our ship and Jaimy and all..."

Higgins takes my shako and places it on my writing table. "Yet another trophy," he muses, putting his pinkie through the bullet hole in the front. "I shall tell you, Miss, but first will you tell me about this?" He holds up the medal I had worn about my neck.

"It is the Legion of Honor. I didn't deserve it, but L'em-pereur gave it to me, anyway," says I, once again stretching out and reveling in the smooth sheets on my bed, my own dear bed, which tonight will hold both me and James Emerson Fletcherright next to my own sweet self. Oh yes!

"The Emperor?" asks Higgins, for once surprised and incredulous. "Napoleon Bonaparte himself?"

"Right. He had given me a ride in his coach after the Battle of Jena. He wanted me to deliver a letter to Empress Josephine. Which I did."

"You never fail to astound me, Miss."

"It was not all that astonishing, Higgins," I say, and then proceed to tell him of Jardineaux, the guillotine, Madame Pelletier, Les Petites Gamines, Jean-Paul, Marshal De Groot, my commission as a second lieutenant in the Grand Army, Bardot, the Clodhoppers, my job as messenger between the generals and Napoleon, my delivery of Napoleon's message to Murat, which ordered him to charge the Prussian line, meeting Randall Trevelyne again, the great and terrible battle, and finally, that dark time down on my knees on that beach, crying, and expecting nothing but death.

"Remarkable," says Higgins, looking off into the middle distance. "However, we might have a problem here. With that message you delivered. If Naval Intelligence gets wind of that, it might be trouble. And they certainly will not be pleased to hear of the death of Jardineaux, whom they considered very valuable." He shakes his head and sighs. "I could have told them that when you, Miss, get thrown into any mix, unforeseen events occur, but I was not given that opportunity. Not till later, and then it was too late."