Wild Rover No More: Being the Last Recorded Account of the Life & Times of Jacky Faber Read Free Page A

next to me.
“My God
—
Jacky!”
he said as his glass slipped from his hand and fell to the floor. I tore my gaze from the remarkably realistic painting of you, wearing nothing but a tattoo and a smile, to look upon him.
“Do you know her, Sir?” I asked. He is a newly minted Royal Navy Lieutenant named Raeburne, I believe.
“Y-yes, Sir,” he replied. “W-we served together on HMS
Wolverine.
”
“Ha! You dog!” I said, clapping him on the shoulder. “I have read that book. So you are the midshipman RobinRaeburne of that little epic and have seen that holy blue tattoo in the flesh, or, rather,
on
the flesh, as it were?”
He could only nod.
“Well, young fellow, my congratulations. It might interest you to know that she now has another tattoo stitched onto her lovely hide, it being a golden dragon, and it lies—”
I was interrupted on this discourse of your various comely parts and the decorations thereon by a very beautiful young woman who had come up beside me bearing a fresh glass of champagne, which she demurely offered to me, saying in a very soft and charming accent . . .
“Please accept this, Lord Allen,” she murmured, her eyes modestly cast down, “for I know we share a mutual acquaintance with my very dear friend Jacky Faber, pictured so gloriously there. My name is Miss Clarissa Worthington Howe.”
To make a long story short, Miss Howe and I have been enjoying each other’s company for some weeks now. I get up to New Orleans when I can, and she has come down to visit me in Jamaica. I can tell you, my reputation has certainly been enhanced by squiring
that
one about Kingston. She does turn heads.
Clarissa’s family—Clarissa’s very rich and powerful family, from which she had been estranged—has made overtures concerning reconciliation, and she plans to go to Virginia in the spring and wishes me to be by her side. As a rather impoverished lord of a poor estate, I have little more to offer than my title and a rather nicely turned leg, but still, it seems to serve. So, having cleared it with my commanding officer, I intend to go and ride to the hounds in OldeVirginia. I shall show the colonials how it is done, by God.
Well, I must end this letter, as Clarissa and I are off to the races, and then to a play this evening in which she has a part. She lies, in fact, curled up next to me here in my rooms as I pen this and wishes me to tender her most warm regards as well as a heartfelt kiss. See, she has donned fresh lip rouge and leans over my lap to plant a kiss for you here on the letter itself. See, there it is. Then she places one on my cheek as well, which I find equally warm and welcome.
Before sealing up the letter, Clarissa has taken it from me and taken up the pen. Between the impressions of her upper and lower lips, she has drawn a very sharp tooth.
Ah, the merry repartee between dear friends, how utterly charming.
 
I remain your dear friend and most ardent admirer,
Richard
    Â 
    â€œYou can well imagine my reaction to
that
one, Ezra.”
    â€œUmm. The word
volcanic
comes to mind. And the letter is rather the worse for wear.”
    â€œIndeed.”
    I slip back into remembrance of that particular time . . .
    Â 
    â€œGODDAMITTOHELL, ANYHOW!”
I bellowed as I crumpled up that letter and flung it against the wall.
“First she takes Jaimy, then Flaco, and now Richard! Must she have them all? I can’t stand it, I just can’t stand it!”
    â€œNow, Miss,” said my good friend John Higgins, who was attending me in my state of towering fury and attempting to calm me. I stood quivering, with arms held to my sides, fists and teeth clenched, and face in a grimace of absolute rage. “Please sit down and let us discuss this situation. Please, Miss, you will injure your mind and bring on brain fever. You must be calm. Here, a glass of wine with you. There,