Read Online Curse of the Blue Tattoo: Being an Account of the Misadventures of Jacky Faber, Midshipman and Fine Lady by L. A. Meyer - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: L. A. Meyer
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towel.
"But, Jacky, Iâ"
"I know, I know, you just washed it last month. I knows the old chant, 'Onc't a year, whether it needs it or not.' Well, it needs it right now, Amy, believe me."
I scrub away, workin' my fingers in her thick, black hair, gettin' the soap down to the roots. Her hair is surprisingly long and glossy, when it's taken out of that schoolmarmish bun she's been keepin' it in. We can work with this, I'm thinkin'.
"We've got to get you shaped up, Amy. Won't be too long 'fore you're lookin' for a proper husband, and not one from back on your farmâa real gent, like."
There's a tap on the washroom door and one of the serving girls, a girl with dark eyes and dark hair and a quiet and shy demeanor, who I know is named Sylvie, comes in with a fresh pitcher of water and I take it and say, "Thanks, Sylvie,"
and she dips and leaves. I pour the rinse water over Amy's head and say, "All right, let's wring it out and then wrap it in this towel."
"That is nonsense, Miss," says she, her eyes squinted up against the soap. "No one will want me. I am fat and ugly and no one will ever love me and I do not care that they will not." I twist her hair into the towel, as she ain't very practiced at it. "Besides, I'm not ready for that sort of thing yet."
Does she blush just at the mere mention of a husband?
"Well, I loves ye, Amy," says I, and plants one on her cheek, "and you ain't fat, just a bit plump, and there's coves that likes 'em that way. Besides, it's just baby fatâstick with the Jackaroe and you'll be beatin' the boys to the foretop in no time, you will. And as for ugly, why, your teeth are good and I finds your pug nose downright charmin'. Better than my pointy beak."
We drop the towels and head outside to let our hair dry in the sun. It's a wondrously warm mid-September day. We go down through the kitchen and out the backâthe less Mistress sees of me, the better, I figure. I wave to Peg and the girls as we pass through.
Amy and I go out into the sunlight and across the road to the field across the way, next to the church. The sun warms our damp hair and we fluff it out to dry, and it's so warm and beautiful that I twirl myself about, making both hair and skirt blossom out, and then I flop down in the grass and look up at the sky.
It's so nice to be out of the school for a bit. I've been here for about two weeks now and I'm starting to feel more easy in the place. Today is Saturday and so it's a lot quieter
around the schoolâa lot of the girls live locally and they can go home for the weekends if they sign out and are picked up by their families. I saw Clarissa go off in a carriage with Lissette this morning, so I guess she's staying with her. There's no classes on Saturdays and we're free to do what we want. Sort of what we want. I figure I'll write a few more things to Jaimy and then take Gretchen out for a ride.
I'm getting much better at the ridingâHenry's been ever so helpful and patient with me and he says I have come along in an amazing way, which pleases me no end. I had him show me how to saddle Gretchen myself so's I wouldn't bother him all the time, and even though he said it was no botherâ"Not for you, Miss"âI learned how to do it. I find I like being off alone on her, looking out over the city and its harbor and buildings and marshes and fields and such, and now I can go and get her myself, without having to ask.
Tomorrow we will all troop over to the church again and have the Preacher shout at us for a couple of dreary hours. When he gets all worked up about sin and stuff, it's like he don't know how to stop, shouting and jabbing his finger at us, and me in particular, it seems. Wonder why? I don't know what he thinks we could be up to in the way of sin, living in this convent as we do. I usually let my mind wander off to think about Jaimy when the Preacher rants on and on. I wonder if impure thoughts count as sin? Prolly do, and I do think up plenty of
"But, Jacky, Iâ"
"I know, I know, you just washed it last month. I knows the old chant, 'Onc't a year, whether it needs it or not.' Well, it needs it right now, Amy, believe me."
I scrub away, workin' my fingers in her thick, black hair, gettin' the soap down to the roots. Her hair is surprisingly long and glossy, when it's taken out of that schoolmarmish bun she's been keepin' it in. We can work with this, I'm thinkin'.
"We've got to get you shaped up, Amy. Won't be too long 'fore you're lookin' for a proper husband, and not one from back on your farmâa real gent, like."
There's a tap on the washroom door and one of the serving girls, a girl with dark eyes and dark hair and a quiet and shy demeanor, who I know is named Sylvie, comes in with a fresh pitcher of water and I take it and say, "Thanks, Sylvie,"
and she dips and leaves. I pour the rinse water over Amy's head and say, "All right, let's wring it out and then wrap it in this towel."
"That is nonsense, Miss," says she, her eyes squinted up against the soap. "No one will want me. I am fat and ugly and no one will ever love me and I do not care that they will not." I twist her hair into the towel, as she ain't very practiced at it. "Besides, I'm not ready for that sort of thing yet."
Does she blush just at the mere mention of a husband?
"Well, I loves ye, Amy," says I, and plants one on her cheek, "and you ain't fat, just a bit plump, and there's coves that likes 'em that way. Besides, it's just baby fatâstick with the Jackaroe and you'll be beatin' the boys to the foretop in no time, you will. And as for ugly, why, your teeth are good and I finds your pug nose downright charmin'. Better than my pointy beak."
We drop the towels and head outside to let our hair dry in the sun. It's a wondrously warm mid-September day. We go down through the kitchen and out the backâthe less Mistress sees of me, the better, I figure. I wave to Peg and the girls as we pass through.
Amy and I go out into the sunlight and across the road to the field across the way, next to the church. The sun warms our damp hair and we fluff it out to dry, and it's so warm and beautiful that I twirl myself about, making both hair and skirt blossom out, and then I flop down in the grass and look up at the sky.
It's so nice to be out of the school for a bit. I've been here for about two weeks now and I'm starting to feel more easy in the place. Today is Saturday and so it's a lot quieter
around the schoolâa lot of the girls live locally and they can go home for the weekends if they sign out and are picked up by their families. I saw Clarissa go off in a carriage with Lissette this morning, so I guess she's staying with her. There's no classes on Saturdays and we're free to do what we want. Sort of what we want. I figure I'll write a few more things to Jaimy and then take Gretchen out for a ride.
I'm getting much better at the ridingâHenry's been ever so helpful and patient with me and he says I have come along in an amazing way, which pleases me no end. I had him show me how to saddle Gretchen myself so's I wouldn't bother him all the time, and even though he said it was no botherâ"Not for you, Miss"âI learned how to do it. I find I like being off alone on her, looking out over the city and its harbor and buildings and marshes and fields and such, and now I can go and get her myself, without having to ask.
Tomorrow we will all troop over to the church again and have the Preacher shout at us for a couple of dreary hours. When he gets all worked up about sin and stuff, it's like he don't know how to stop, shouting and jabbing his finger at us, and me in particular, it seems. Wonder why? I don't know what he thinks we could be up to in the way of sin, living in this convent as we do. I usually let my mind wander off to think about Jaimy when the Preacher rants on and on. I wonder if impure thoughts count as sin? Prolly do, and I do think up plenty of
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