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.
“
