“The lock is better for a proper oiling,” she leered back.
“Aye, lady, and for a proper key as well.”
“I judge you to have the key,” she said. “But for the lock, well, that must wait the proper time. Leave me a few minutes with this hungry dog, and then we shall have ourselves a turning such as you will not forget.”
The guard chuckled and unlocked the door. She went in; the door was locked behind her, and the guard remained.
“A few minutes with this man,” she said, “as decency permits.”
“ ’Tis not allowed.”
“Who cares for that?” she said, and licked her lips hungrily at the guard.
He smiled back at her, and walked away.
As soon as he was gone, she set down the pot of stew on the floor and faced Hunter. Hunter did not recognize her but he was hungry, and the smell of the turtle stew was strong and agreeable.
“You are most kind,” he said.
“You hardly know,” she replied, and, in a quick gesture, lifted her skirts from the hem, pulling them up to her waist. It was an astonishingly lewd movement, but more astonishing for what was revealed.
Strapped to her calves and thighs was a veritable armory - two knives, two pistols.
“My secret parts are said to be dangerous,” she said, “and now you know the truth.”
Quickly, Hunter took the weapons and stashed them in his belt.
“Do not, sir, discharge prematurely.”
“You may count upon my staying power.”
“How long may I count?”
“To a hundred,” Hunter said, “and there’s a promise.”
She looked back in the direction of the guard.
“I shall hold you to your word, at another time,” she said. “In the meanwhile, shall I be raped?”
“I think it is best,” Hunter said and flung her to the ground.
She squealed and screamed, and the guard came running. He saw the import of the scene in a moment, and hastily unlocked the door, running into the room.
“You damnable pirate,” he growled, and then the knife in Hunter’s fist was buried in his neck, and he staggered back, clutching at the blade beneath his chin. He pulled it free and blood gushed out, a hissing fountain, and then he collapsed and died.
“Quickly, lady,” Hunter said, helping Anne Sharpe to her feet. All around them, the men jailed in Marshallsea were silent; they had heard, and they were utterly quiet. Hunter went around, opening cell doors, then he gave the keys to the men and let them finish the task.
“How many guards at the gates?” he asked Anne Sharpe.
“I saw four,” she said, “and another dozen on the ramparts.”
This presented a problem for Hunter. The guards were English, and he had no stomach for killing them.
“We must have a ruse,” he said. “Call the captain to you.”
She nodded, and stepped out into the courtyard. Hunter remained behind, in the shadows.
Hunter did not marvel at the composure of this woman, who had just watched a man brutally slain. He was not accustomed to the faintheartedness of women, so fashionable in the French and Spanish courts. English women were tough-minded, in some ways tougher than any male, and it was equally true of low- and high-born women.
The captain of the Marshallsea Guard came over to Anne Sharpe, and at the last moment saw the barrel of Hunter’s pistol protruding from the shadows. Hunter beckoned him over.
“Now hear me,” Hunter said. “You may call your men down, and have them throw their muskets to the ground, and no lives shall be lost. Or you can stand and fight, and all surely die.”
The captain of the guard said, “I’ve been awaiting your escape, sir, and I hope you will remember me in the days to come.”
“We shall see,” Hunter said, promising nothing.
In a formal voice, the captain said, “Commander Scott shall have his own action upon the morrow.”
“Commander Scott,” Hunter said, “shall not live to see the morrow. Now take your stand.”
“I hope you will remember me-”
“I may,” Hunter said, “remember not to slit your throat.”
The captain of the guard called his men down, and Hunter supervised their locking up in the Marshallsea jail.
…
MRS. HACKLETT, HAVING given her instructions to Richards, returned to her husband’s side. He was in the library, drinking after dinner with Commander Scott. Both men had in recent days become enamored of the governor’s wine cellar, and were engaged in consuming it before the governor recovered.
They were, at this moment, deep in their cups.
“My dear,” her husband said, as she entered the room, “you come at a most opportune moment.”
“Indeed?”
“Indeed,” Robert Hacklett said. “Why, just this very moment I was explaining to Commander Scott the manner of your getting with child by the pirate Hunter. You understand, of course, that he will soon swing in the breeze until the flesh rots off his bones. In this beastly climate, I am told that happens quickly. But I am sure you know of haste, eh? Why, speaking of your seduction, Commander Scott was not previously acquainted with the details of the event. I have been informing him.”
Mrs. Hacklett flushed deeply.
“So demure,” Hacklett said, his voice taking a nasty edge. “One would never think her a common bawd. And yet that is what she is. What would her favors fetch, do you think?”
Commander Scott sniffed at a perfumed handkerchief. “Shall I be frank?”
“By all means, be frank. Be frank.”
“She is too lean for the usual taste.”
“His Majesty liked her well enough-”
“Perhaps, perhaps, but that is not the usual taste, eh? Our king has a preference for hot-blooded foreign women-”
“So be it,” Hacklett said irritably. “What would she fetch?”
“I should think, she would fetch not above - well, considering she has tasted the royal lancet, perhaps more - but in no case above a hundred reales.”
Mrs. Hacklett, very red, turned to leave. “I shall attend no more of this.”
“On the contrary,” her husband said, leaping from his chair and barring her way. “You shall attend a good deal more. Commander Scott, you are a gentleman of worldly experience. Would you pay a hundred reales?”
Scott gulped his drink and coughed. “Not I, sir,” he said.
Hacklett gripped his wife’s arm. “What price would you make?”
“Fifty reales.”
“Done!” Hacklett said.
“Robert!” his wife protested. “Good gracious God, Robert-”
Robert Hacklett struck his wife in the face, a blow sending her across the room. She collapsed into a chair.
“Now then, Commander,” Hacklett said. “You are a man of your word. I shall accept your credit in this matter.”
Scott looked over the brim of his cup. “Eh?”
“I said, I shall accept your credit in this matter. Have your money’s worth.”
“Eh? You mean, ah…” he gestured in the direction of Mrs. Hacklett, whose eyes were now wide with horror.
“Indeed I do, and quickly, too.”
“Here? Now?”
“Precisely, Commander.” Hacklett, very drunk, staggered across the room and clapped his hand on the soldier’s shoulder. “And I shall observe, for my own amusement.”
