“Captain Jaggery, I left it . . .”
“Miss Doyle,” he said again. “Do you recognize this knife?”
“Captain Jaggery ...”
“Was this the blade that killed Mr. Hollybrass?” he repeated.
“Yes.”
“Very well then,” he said. “I shall ask once more. Do you recognize this knife ?”
“I do,” I said reluctantly.
“Tell us about it.”
“Zachariah gave it to me.”
“Mr. Zachariah?” he said, pretending to be surprised.
“Yes. And I showed it to you a few days into the voyage.”
“But when you showed it to me,” he quickly put in, “and I asked who gave it to you, what did you say?”
I said nothing.
“You told me that a certain Mr. Grummage of Liverpool gave it to you. Am I correct?”
“Captain Jaggery . . .”
“Answer the question. Yes or no?”
“Yes.”
“Are you saying now that you lied? Yes or no?”
“Yes,” I said, appealing to the crew, “but only because I didn’t wish to bring harm upon Zachariah.”
“Whatever your excuses, Miss Doyle, you admit you lied to me.”
“Yes,” I was forced to say. “And you said I should keep the knife.”
“Indeed I told you that. And you did keep it, didn’t you?”
“Yes,” I said sullenly, sensing he was getting the best of me.
He turned to the crew. “Did any of you see this girl with this knife in hand at any time?”
The men shifted uneasily.
“Come now, gentlemen!” the captain barked. “This is a court of law. All of you are required to speak the truth. You swore upon the Bible to do so. I’ll ask again, did any of you see this girl with this knife?”
The crew appeared to be looking every way but at the captain. Then I noticed Dillingham rub the back of his neck.
The captain saw it too. “Mr. Dillingham,” he called out sharply. “Do you have something to say? Step for ward, sir.”
Dillingham came forward awkwardly.
“What have you to say?”
“I saw her with the knife, sir.”
“When?”
“Shortly after we set sail.”
“Thank you, Mr. Dillingham. I applaud your forthrightness. Now then, did anyone else see her with the knife. Mr. Ewing?”
Ewing said as much as Dillingham. When pressed, so did Foley. So did Mr. Johnson.
The captain was now leaning over the rail, clearly enjoying himself. “Did anyone not see her with the knife?” he said dryly.
No one spoke.
“I wish,” he said, “to state how unnatural it is for a girl to carry a knife.”
“You have no reason to say unnatural,” I objected. “You even gave me one!”
“Did I?”
“Yes. During the storm.”
“Why did I?”
“To cut away the rigging.”
“To be sure, that was an emergency. By what reason did you have a knife when there was no emergency?”
“To defend myself.”
“Defend yourself? Against whom? Against what?”
Fearful of his traps, I was not sure what to say.
“Against what?” he pressed. “Did anyone threaten you? Any of these men?”
“No, not them.”
“Who then? Come, speak up.”
“You.”
“How so?”
“You struck me.”
“Miss Doyle, I do strike members of the crew. It is a common enough practice.” He turned to the men. “Have any of you ever known a captain who has not, from time to time, struck a member of the crew? Come now, speak up if you have!”
No one spoke.
The captain turned back to me. “But do they turn upon me with a knife? Is that what you are suggesting, Miss Doyle? That members of a crew have the right to assault their captain with a weapon?”
He had confused me again.
“Besides,” he added, “You had that knife on the first day of this voyage. Did you think I would strike you then?”
“No. I believed you were a gentleman.”
“So, Miss Doyle, you had the knife before you met me, did you not?”
“Yes,” I admitted.
The captain smiled with obvious satisfaction. “The knife, then, is clearly yours. And you were seen with it. You admit to all this.”
He turned to the crew. “Have any one of you seen a knife in her hand other than during the first few days of this voyage? Step forward if you have.”
It was Grimes who did so.
“Ah, Mr. Grimes. You have something to say.”
“Begging your pardon, sir, I saw her.”
“In what circumstances?”
“I was teaching her to use a knife.”
“Teaching her to use a knife?” the captain repeated portentously.
“Yes, sir.”
“When?”
“Before the storm.”
“And did she learn?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Was she good at it?”
“Aye. Uncommon good.”
“Mr. Grimes, I ask you, did you ever hear of another girl who desired to learn the use of a knife?”
Grimes hesitated.
“Answer.”
“No, sir.”
“Do you not think it’s unnatural?”
“Sir, I don’t know as if . . .”
“Agree or disagree?”
He bobbed his head apologetically. “Agree.”
“Unnatural again!” the captain proclaimed. “Mr. Hollybrass was murdered during the hurricane. Did anyone see this girl on the deck during the storm?” He looked to the crew. “Anyone?”
There were a few murmurs of “Yes.”
“Mr. Barlow, I think you say yes. What was Miss Doyle doing?”
“She was with the crew, sir. Doing her part like we all was. And good work too.”
“Doing her part like we all was,” the captain echoed in a mocking tone. “Mr. Barlow, you are not young. In all your years have you ever seen, ever heard of a girl who took up crew’s work?”
“No sir, I never did.”
“So, then, is it not unusual?”
“I suppose.”
“You suppose. Might you say, unnatural?”
“That’s not fair!” I cried out. “Unusual and unnatural are not the same!”
“Miss Doyle, have you an objection?”
“There was nothing unnatural in what I did!” I insisted.
“Miss Doyle, let me then put the question to you. Have you ever heard of a girl joining a crew?”
I felt caught.
“Have you?”
“No.”
“So even you admit to that.”
“Yes, but—”
The captain turned to the crew. “Is there anyone here who has ever heard of a girl doing what this Miss Doyle has done?”
No one spoke.
“So what we have here is a girl who admits she owns the weapon that murdered Mr. Hollybrass. A girl who lied about where she got it. A girl who was taught to use a blade, and learned to use it, as Mr. Grimes would have it, ‘uncommon’ well. A girl who, all agree, is unnatural in every way she acts. Gentlemen, do we not, as natural men, need to take heed? Is it not our duty, our obligation, to protect the natural order of the world?”
Once more he turned to me. “Miss Doyle,” he said, “Mr. Zachariah was a friend of yours.”
“The best of friends.”
“What happened to him?”
“He was flogged,” I murmured.
“And?”
For the last time I appealed mutely to the crew. They were all looking steadily at me now.
“I asked you a question, Miss Doyle. What happened to Mr. Zachariah?”