Archive of Our Own ^beta

After Stede abandons the family, Mary enjoys the small things. The simple pleasure of smearing paint across a canvas without caring what it looks like, the way her children smell when they’ve just woken up from sleep, sitting with Evelyn Higgins in her living room, drunk and happy. 

Mary breathes in the small things, holds them tight to her chest.

*o*

It’s an Edward who breaks the idolatry. Edward ‘Ned’ Bonnet arrives without warning whilst Mary is in her painting workshop. She’s lost in her thoughts, using a pen knife to scrape thick paint across an old canvas when there’s a sharp rap on the door.

“Come in!” Mary calls without turning around. 

The only people who bother her whilst she’s painting are the people she cares about most, her children and the widows. The servants never bother her here, they enjoy this new way of life where clothes are only washed when they’re completely stained with ink and dirt, and Mary cooks her food with the children, shaping pastry into hearts the way her Grandmother did.

“Mary.”

Mary spins around to find her father-in-law in the doorway. He’s wearing his best clothes, unlike the working uniform which she’s almost always seen him in.

“Mr Bonnet,” Mary says with some surprise. “Hello. I didn’t realise you were visiting – Did you call ahead?”

Ned Bonnet shakes his head. His eyes roam around the room, taking in the various paintings and still lives, the half-finished portrait of Widow Margaret.

“I heard about Stede.”

“Oh, yes.” Mary wipes her hands on her smock, dropping the knife. “I’m sorry.”

Ned clears his throat, drawing his eyes away from some sketches of Evelyn Higgins wearing hardly any clothes. “Yes. A tragedy. That’s why I’m here.”

“We held the funeral last month,” Mary says. “There wasn’t a body-“

“Which is why I’m here.” Ned interrupts. “The body.”

Mary blinks. They’d buried a shirt that she’d always hated, a bright pink that burned her eyes, with yellow detailing of daffodils. Mary had shovelled earth on top of the mock grave, sweat trickling down her temples. She’d spat onto the dirt when she was done and felt pleased with her efforts.

“Would you like to sit down?” Mary asks politely. 

She swipes her sketchbooks from the mismatched chairs that are dotted about the room, most of them rescued from Widow Ellen’s shop. Ned carefully sits himself down, like he’s worried the chair might collapse underneath him. Mary sits down opposite him and crosses her legs neatly.

“How was your trip here?” Mary asks, even though she doesn’t care.

“Fine.” Ned says, knowing she doesn’t care. “A few hours by carriage.” 

 “And your wife?” Mary asks. “How is Mrs Bonnet?”

“Sarah is well.” Ned says. “She sends her regards.”

“Send her my best too.” Mary says. “I hope that-”

“According to the laws,” Ned interrupts and something in Mary’s stomach shifts. “For you to continue receiving Stede Bonnet’s money, pension, and assets, there needs to be proof of death-“

“He ran off to sea and drowned,” Mary interrupts before she can stop herself. Ned stops speaking and looks at her with something akin to revulsion. Mary suddenly remembers that her own father is dead, and the Allamby’s are rich in name alone. Her fingers twitch, and she places her hands into her pockets.

“I repeat, there must be proof of death,” Ned says. “Without a body, I’m afraid you have nothing.”

“I’m his wife,” Mary says. “Does that not count for something?”

“I’m sorry,” Ned says, but it doesn’t come out as sorry. It comes out as a man who has seen the house that Mary now lives in, and the chickens in the garden, and the crops in the fields, and wants it for himself. “Without proof… the Bonnet family will have to come and reclaim their assets.”

Mary thinks of Stede’s various aunts and uncles and cousins in her house, picking up her candlesticks and bartering with each other for them.

“What if I could get proof?” Mary blurts out.

Ned’s eyebrow twitches. “Proof?”

“You need proof of Stede’s death,” Mary says, thinking on her feet. “What if I could find some – if we could find his drowned body?”

Ned doesn’t reply for a while and then finally speaks. “I suppose, if you could swim down to the bottom of the ocean and collect his body from the ocean floor, then that would be sufficient.”

“Okay,” Mary says, thinking of Evelyn, and her corpses, and the large barrels in the store room that they could pickle a body with seawater in. “I’ll get you your proof.”

She marches past Ned to the door of her painting nook and swings it open. The harsh Barbados sunlight streams into the room, coating everything with a sticky glow. 

She turns to Ned, gesturing with her hand. “Would you like to stay for supper?”

“I have dinner waiting,” Ned says, and Mary smiles.

“Very well then.” She says. “I wish you good day.”

The widows come for supper instead.

The Widow Alice arrives first, accompanied by her handsome carriage driver. Alice is the oldest woman that Mary knows, with skin like a soft peach and hair that is perfectly curled, if a dark grey.

Her husband died thirty-something years ago and it hasn’t seemed to dampen her spirits. Indeed, as Alice grips the hand of her carriage driver, smiling as he walks her along the path up to the Bonnet home, Mary thinks she’s got a pretty good deal.

“Good evening Alice,” Mary says, meeting them by the front door. “How are you?”

“Fit as a fiddle,” Alice says breezily. “Henry disagrees.”

Henry, the carriage driver, sighs. “She hasn’t eaten anything since breakfast.”

“Saving herself for my dinner, I presume,” Mary says and smiles at Alice. 

“Of course!” Alice reaches out her hand and Mary offers her arm for her to grip onto. “I’m leaving room for one of your delicious pies.”

“Keep an eye on her,” Henry says, and bobs his head. “Goodnight Ms Alice, goodnight Ms Mary. I’ll pick her up at eleven.”

Alice flaps her other hand. “Make it midnight. The girls and I have lots of things to discuss.”

“Midnight then,” Henry says, and then his voice turns stern. “And no later.”

Alice makes a noise at the back of her throat which they both take as agreement. Henry bobs his head again, and disappears down the path. 

“He cares about you,” Mary says.

“Fusses too much.” Alice shakes her head. “He’s hidden all my whiskey.”

“Now you know as well as I do that you shouldn’t be drinking.” Mary leads Alice inside the house, through the fancy corridor and into the parlour. 

“And you know, Mary Bonnet, that there’s no greater pleasure in life than whiskey and good company,” Alice complains as Mary settles her into a seat by the window. “So I’m expecting your best bottle and nothing more.”

Mary can’t help the smile on her face and goes to the drinks cabinet to pour Alice a glass. Stede was never much of a drinker, but everyone decided to gift them alcohol for the wedding. Luckily he didn’t take it with him when he ran off to be a pirate, otherwise Mary fears that Alice would start slipping the staff bank notes to go buy her fix.

Mary hands Alice a cool glass of whiskey, and Alice doesn’t wait for it to breathe before sipping it.

“That’s the stuff,” she announces, smacking her lips. “It’s good for you, at my age.”

“Is it now?” Mary asks, smirking.

“Makes all the wrinkles fade away.” Alice takes Mary’s hand and holds it over her wrist. “Feel that?”

“Your pulse?”

“That’s the whiskey running through my veins, getting the blood pumping.” Alice nods seriously and then brightens. “We should all do shots!”

Before Mary can answer, someone hammers on the front door. 

“Let me get that,” Mary says quickly, before Alice can drag her into anything. “I’ll be back.”

It’s the Widow Ellen, fresh from running the family dress shop, called Conroy’s Creations. Her hair is scraped back against her scalp with pins, and her work apron is tied around her waist, a tape measure spilling out of the pocket.

“Did you walk all the way here from town?” Mary exclaims, pulling the other woman into a hug, mindful of the pins.

“It’s not that far!” Ellen protests, giving Mary a good squeeze before releasing her. “And anyway, it’s a lovely night for it.”

“I could have sent a cab for you,” Mary says.

“I didn’t know I’d be working so late, and I lost track of time to send a note, so I just walked,” Ellen says. “It’s fine! Come on, I need a drink.”

“Alice is already on the whiskey,” Mary says as they walk to the parlour.

“Not surprised,” Ellen says. “Is Evelyn here yet?”

“Not yet,” Mary says with a shrug. “She’ll be the last one here, I bet you.”

“You’ve been spending a lot of time together recently,” Ellen says.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Mary asks.

“Nothing!” Ellen replies quickly. “Just an observation.”

They step into the parlour to find Alice shuffling a deck of cards.

“Ah!” Alice says. “Just one more person and we can play Whist. Unless you want to call Alma downstairs?”

“Alma is not playing card games with you,” Mary says firmly. “I’ve not heard the end of the last game, and how you owe her two shillings because you cheated.”

“I never cheated,” Alice says, but there’s a wicked smile across her face as she splits the deck. “And your daughter needs to learn to play better.”

“Not happening,” Mary says, sitting down opposite Alice. “Let’s just play All Fours until the others arrive.”

“I’m useless at All Fours,” Ellen complains as she sits down.

“That’s why we’re playing it,” Mary teases. “I want to wager one of your pretty hair pins.”

Ellen reaches into her hair and pulls out a pin with the slightest sheen of pearl on the end. “Fine,” She declares, placing it on the table. “Alice, what are you betting?”

“I’ll wager an earring.”

“I’ll bet a book from the library.” Mary says.

“Which one?” Alice asks.

Mary shrugs. “Whatever one takes your fancy. They’re all about pirates anyway.”

“Done,” Alice says and splits the deck.

Mary has two hairpins by the time that her housekeeper leads the Widows Margaret and Inga into the room.

Margaret is still dressed in her mourning clothes for a husband that died six years ago, her hair dark to match her clothing. Inga on the other hand, is wearing a bright yellow dress, her hair pulled up into a fancy updo that wouldn’t look out of place at a high society event. Inga has never forgiven her husband for relocating the entire family from Sweden to Barbados and then dying of a heart attack in bed with his mistress.

“Cards!” Inga says, delighted. “Who’s winning?”

“Who do you think?” Ellen groans, as Alice cackles behind a pile of pins and three books on Blackbeard.

“Alice is wasted here,” Margaret says, sitting down on the love seat. “She should be living the life of a card shark in London..”

“But instead she’s stealing my entire library,” Mary says, and reaches over to squeeze Margaret’s hand. “How are you?”

“I dreamt about Daniel last night.” Margaret says.

The Widows groan.

“Margaret,” Mary says, setting her cards onto the table to hold both of Margaret’s hands. “Daniel is gone. I know you loved him, and he loved you too, but you need to move on. The world is a big place and there will be other fine gentlemen to fall for.”

“Or carriage boys.” Inga says, pouring herself a drink.”

“Leave Henry out of this.” Alice retorts. 

Inga rolls her eyes and throws herself down onto a seat, managing to not spill her drink down herself. “Men are useless,” she says. “Find a hobby, like Mary with her painting. Or Ellen, with her dresses.”

Ellen leans forward, addressing the room. “The shop is being featured in Bee Bee Cee Housekeeping.”

Everyone claps politely.

“What’s Bee Bee Cee?” Margaret asks, and Ellen shrugs.

“No idea,” she says. “But it’s exciting!”

“It’s British,” a voice says from the doorway.

They look up to see the Widow Evelyn Higgins leaning against the doorframe, dress blood red to match her eye patch. She lifts her cigar up to her lips and blows out a long plume of smoke in Mary’s direction.

“I didn’t hear you knock,” Mary says.

“I didn’t need to,” Evelyn says, and smirks.

Mary feels like all the air has suddenly been sucked out of the room. She stands up instead, smoothing down the front of her dress.

Evelyn is confident in a way that Mary has never known. She commands a room because she wants all the attention on her, likes the way that women look at her, and how men are afraid of her. Mary can’t draw her eyes away from Evelyn sometimes, and it gives her a thrill when she spots the other woman out in public, where she gets to observe Evelyn from a distance. 

“I need to talk to you,” she says to Evelyn. “Privately.”

Inga says something that Mary can’t hear and Margaret elbows her.

“Painting shed?” Evelyn says, and Mary nods.

They walk in silence out of the house and towards the painting room. Mary can hear the sound of muffled laughter from the parlour and the occasional crow of delight from Alice.

“They must be playing Whist,” she says.

“You’ll come back and Ellen will have somehow lost the house.” Evelyn taps ash off the end of her cigar. 

“She’s not that bad,” Mary says.

“She loses even when we combine hands,” Evelyn says. “I should pay for her to have lessons.”

Mary likes it when Evelyn says things like that, the suggestion of a future. Mary would like to be as old as Alice someday, surrounded by her Widows and maybe some new ones too.

They’re coming up to the painting shed now, and Evelyn takes one long drag of her cigar and then stubs it out on the post. She’s convinced that too much cigar smoke near the paintings will spoil them. Mary will never get used to someone caring so much about her art that they’ll stop doing something they love.

Mary holds open the door for Evelyn and they step inside. The air is cool now, and Mary sits down on the chair that she occupied only a few hours before. Evelyn takes Ned’s seat and looks at her expectantly.

“Well?” she asks, lounging back in the chair. “If you’re about to say that Stede’s risen from the sea like Davy Jones, I’ll send him back there myself.”

Mary can’t help herself but laugh. “He’s not back,” she says. “But that’s the problem.”

“What is it?” Evelyn says bluntly. “How can I help?”

“Stede’s father turned up this morning,” Mary says. “The Bonnet family are demanding proof that he’s dead.”

“Did you show them the letter that Stede left you?” Evelyn asks.

“It doesn’t prove he’s dead,” Mary says, looking down at her lap. “He’s just missing.”

“Bastard,” Evelyn says. “Why didn’t that man think of anyone but himself?”

“I don’t know what to do,” Mary admits. “Or at least - I had an idea, but it might be stupid-”

“It won’t be stupid,” Evelyn says firmly. “Nothing you ever say is stupid.”

Mary looks up at her. Evelyn stares her down with stern green eyes until finally Mary looks away.

“I need a corpse,” she says. “A corpse that looks like Stede.”

Evelyn grins in excitement. “Now we’re talking,” she says. “I just got a delivery of a blonde twink who died of gangrene, would he be of any use?”

“Stede wasn’t a twink-” Mary starts, and then stops. “Can you hear that?”

“Hear what?” Evelyn asks, looking around.

Mary cocks her head to one side. She can hear heavy footsteps coming up the path towards the house, the pebbles crunching underneath their feet. They’re too far out of the city for strangers to stumble across the Bonnet family home, and the deliveries and servants always go via the back entrance.

Mary presses her fingers to her mouth to stop Evelyn from speaking and then crosses the room to the window.

There is a strange man walking towards her house. Mary’s eyes widen and she ducks a little so she can’t be seen from the outside of the shed. The man is older than her, grey streaks in his beard and hair, with a mouth set in a grim line. His clothes are all leather, some green from age and sea water, and he strides with the confidence of a man with a duty to fulfil.

Mary forgets how to breathe.

He doesn’t notice her as he marches towards the house, one leather fist clenching and straightening, clenching and straightening. There is a tattoo on his cheek, just below his eyeball, and Mary knows what he is at once.

Mary turns towards Evelyn and flaps her hands. “There’s a pirate.”

“A pirate?” Evelyn says, joining her at the window. “Oh gross. Look at all that leather.”

“He’s going to try and break in,” Mary says, panicking. “The Widows are inside - My children are inside.”

“Mary, be calm,” Evelyn says sharply. “Don’t go chasing after him and get yourself killed.”

“How can I possibly be calm?” Mary asks, raising her voice, and Evelyn grabs her shoulders.

“Mary,” Evelyn says firmly. “I will go to the front of the house and try to cut him off. You can go around the back and surprise him.”

“Will that work?” Mary asks.

“Yes,” Evelyn says, and gives her a little shake. “Now go.”

“Thank you,” Mary breathes, and kicks off her shoes before slipping out of the door.

The bare stones hurt her feet as she creeps to the back of the house, but it’s worth it to avoid being heard. Her heart is pounding in her ear drums as she slips around the back wall, sights set on the study as an entrance route.

The window to the study is open to try and relieve the room of the stifling heat. Mary ties her skirt into a knot around her stomach, ignoring the way it’s churning like the sea itself. She reaches up until her hands touch the window frame, and then pulls herself upwards, legs kicking like a puppy dog when you get it by the scruff of the neck.

She’s gotten stronger since Stede left, lugging feed for the animals, carrying the children to bed at night when they fall asleep in the hallway. She presses her feet into the wall and kicks upwards, sending herself over the top of the window frame and into a heap on the floorboards below.

Mary’s hip twinges. She pushes herself to her feet despite the pain, listening to the sound of raised voices. Everyone seems to be in the corridor arguing: the pirate, the Widows, and even some of the servants.

“Ms Bonnet isn’t here right now,” Margaret’s voice carries into the study, “You’ll have to come back later or leave a message.”

“I’m not leaving a fucking message,” the stranger barks. His voice is hoarse, like someone has their boot on his throat.

“Well, she’s not here,” Ellen says. “She left an hour ago, she’s probably in town somewhere-”

“I know she’s here,” The stranger says. “No woman is leaving her house at this time of night to go galavanting around town in the fucking dark. Where is she?”

“We’re just waiting here for Ms Bonnet to come back,” Inga says. “We don’t know where she is.”

“Of course you know, you Nordic twat,” the stranger spits. “Now tell me or I’ll burn this place to the ground.”

Mary presses her eye between the gap between the door and the frame. The stranger has his back to her, so Mary can see the crowd of women standing in the parlour doorway, huddled together like geese. He’s using a sword to gesticulate his words, and Mary prays that nobody gets stabbed.

She carefully slips between the small gap, ignoring the way that Ellen’s eyes widen slightly at the sight of her. Her feet are muffled against the carpet as Mary reaches out to the side table and picks up a large gilt candlestick. It’s heavy in her hand, the metal cold despite the heat, but the coldness clears her mind.

“Hey,” Evelyn says, marching along the corridor. “Pirate. Why don’t you piss off and pick on somebody your own size.”

“For god’s sake,” the stranger snaps. “All these fucking women and not one of you is the one I need.”

Mary studies the shape of the stranger’s scalp, and thinks about the eggs she boils for Alma and Luis’ breakfast in the mornings.

She swings the candlestick high above her head and strikes down hard.

The stranger drops like a stone, sword scattering across the ground as he makes a low groaning noise into the floorboards. Mary keeps hold of the candlestick, breathing heavily. He doesn’t seem to be dead, and in fact, tries pushing himself up off the floor.

“Help me tie him,” Mary snaps at the Widows, kicking the sword further away so the pirate can’t grab it.

“With what?” Margaret asks, voice higher pitched.

“The curtains,” Ellen says quickly, snatching the sword from the floor and clutching it tightly. “Get the rope from the curtain pulls.”

Inga and Margaret scurry to the curtains as Mary pushes the man down, like she’s trying to force him down below the floorboards. Evelyn drops down beside her, placing one large hand on the stranger’s shoulders to pin him down.

“Nice hit,” Evelyn says.

“Thanks,” Mary replies, and then looks around. “Where’s Alice?”

“She couldn’t get up out of the chair,” Margaret says. “She’s still in the parlour.” 

“Go check on her,” Mary orders, and Margaret leaves quickly.

“You little bitch,” the stranger slurs.

“Quiet,” Mary snaps, as Inga thrusts a curtain tie at her. “Help me with his arms.”

The man tries to move, but Ellen pins his arms behind his back. Working together, they tie his hands, and then his legs for good measure. The stranger curses all the while and Mary wishes she had more cloth to gag him.

“Mama?”

Mary jerks her head upwards to see Alma on the staircase, mouth split in an O. The stranger’s eyes travel upwards to see her daughter, and his brow furrows before he tries to speak. Mary places her hand over his mouth, grimacing at the rough of his beard against her palm, like the coat of a terrier dog.

“Go back upstairs,” Mary says. “Mama and her friends are doing something.”

“Who is he?” Alma asks, not moving.

“Just a man,” Mary says, and then puts on her best adult voice. “Go back upstairs.”

“I’ll put her back to bed,” Ellen says. “Come on Alma.”

“It’s not fair,” Alma whines, but Ellen is already lifting up her skirts and scurrying up the stairs to drag Alma back to bed.

The stranger tosses about the floor like a fish when you first pull it from the water, but the rope stays firm around his wrists. Mary presses her knee into the centre of his back and digs in hard, keeping him still. 

“Stop moving,” Mary says, “Or I will beat your skull in with this candlestick.”

The man turns his head to one side, twisting his mouth into a grin. “You’d kill me in front of your children Mrs Bonnet?” he rasps.

Mary leans in close to hiss into his ear. “You have no fucking idea what I would do for my children.”

She punctuates her point by slamming his head down against the floor. 

“Careful you don’t spill his brains out,” Inga says. “Very hard to clean.”

“Inga, why don’t you go check Margaret and Alice are okay?” Evelyn says sharply.

Inga pouts. “I want to stay here.”

“Inga,” Evelyn says, commanding. “Go.”

“I am not Alma,” Inga argues, but flounces off into the parlour.

“Help me get him into the study.” Mary says.

“You’re not getting your fucking hands on me,” the man snarls.

“I already did.” Mary says, and presses her fingers into the lump where she hit him. The man takes a shaky exhale of pain and Mary removes her fingers.

“Cooperation is key,” Mary says, “Evelyn, help me move him.”

Evelyn takes one leg, Mary takes the other, and together they drag the man into the study. He fights the entire way, thrashing about and hissing obscenities. Mary holds onto his legs tightly, trying to ignore the way her face is flushing. She feels like Luis dragging his toys down the stairs, his toy rabbit’s head going bumpety-bump with each step.

There’s no point trying to get the man into a chair so they leave him on the rug, tying one of his legs to the cabinet. Mary paces the room, skin prickling. Her plan hadn’t gone much further than this, and she almost wishes the candlestick had done more damage. A dead body is much easier to manhandle than a live one.

“Can you leave me alone with him?” she asks.

Evelyn raises her eyebrow. “Are you sure?”

Mary takes a deep breath and nods. “I’m sure.”

Evelyn squeezes the top of Mary’s arm and presses a kiss to her forehead. “I’ll take the girls into the kitchen. Get some tea.” 

“Check on Alice?” Mary says. “Make sure she’s okay?”

“Of course,” Evelyn says, and leaves the room, the door slamming shut behind her.

Mary looks down at the man on the floor and the man on the floor looks up at her. His hair is ruffled from the struggle on the floor and Mary resists the urge to smooth it down with the flat of her palm.

“The Widow Bonnet, I presume?” The stranger says from the rug. 

“A pirate, I presume,” Mary fires back.

The stranger smirks at her. “Not a fan of pirates then?”

“I hate them.”

“That’s a pity then. Considering your husband's one.”

Mary sits on the edge of the desk. “You’ve met him then?”

“Oh I’m well acquainted with the Gentleman fucking Pirate,” the stranger spits. “He’s ruined my fucking life.”

“Good,” Mary says. “From what little of your life I've seen so far, you deserve it.”

The stranger glares at her. Mary fixes him with a gaze that leaves him squirming on the rug.

“Do you have a name?” Mary asks.

“Israel Hands,” the man says.

“Is that your actual name?” Mary asks.

Israel Hands spits in response.

“Careful,” Mary warns. “I could still gag you.”

Israel rolls his eyes but doesn’t push it.

“So,” Mary says. “What was your plan?”

Israel doesn’t say anything.

“Come on, you must have had a plan,” she says. “Or were you just planning on forcing your way into my home and seeing what happened?”

Something twitches across Israel’s face. Mary leans forward, intrigued.

“There was a plan,” she says. “Tell me.”

“I want your husband gone,” Israel says through gritted teeth. “I thought you may be able to entice him away and back to family life.”

Mary almost laughs at the thought of Stede being enticed by anything she did. Then she realises that Israel has no idea about her and Stede’s relationship - and that is something that might work to her advantage.

“I… miss my husband,” Mary says slowly. “Your offer is interesting.”

“I didn’t realise I was fucking offering anything,” Israel says.

Mary chews the inside of her cheek, thinking. If Israel can get her to Stede, then that saves her the trouble of faking his death with a random corpse. She can also loot his personal affects and bring them home to the Bonnet family for proof.

“I’ll be back,” she says, pushing herself up from the desk. “Don’t go anywhere.”

“Where would I go?” Israel asks, as Mary quickly leaves the room. “Oi! You can’t just leave me here-”

Mary slams the door shut behind her.

The parlour is quiet when Mary opens the door, finding the Widows huddled together on the sofa. Alice is clutching a glass in her hand, looking slightly shell-shocked, as Evelyn and Margaret whisper to each other, heads pressed together.

Ellen has wrapped her arms around herself on the loveseat, chin tucked to her knees. Inga is curled up next to her, looking morose. The atmosphere is dark, and Mary coughs so they know she’s there.

“Well?” Evelyn asks, looking up. “Can we kill him and pretend the body is Stede?”

Mary shakes her head. “He’s the wrong height and he’s too hairy.”

“Dammit,” Evelyn says. “It would have saved the twink in the basement.”

Mary sits down on one of the empty chairs and rubs her eyes. Now that the adrenaline is gone, she feels tired, like even her bones are heavy.

“I haven’t even had the chance to see him,” Alice pipes up from the corner. “I got pushed aside when he stormed into the house.”

“Only Alice would complain that she didn’t get to see a home intruder,” Margaret says, trying to make a joke of it. It falls flat, and the room is quiet.

“What have you done with him?” Ellen asks.

“He’s still tied up in the study,” Mary says.

“Safely?” Margaret asks.

“I tied his legs to the desk.” Mary promises. “He’s not escaping anytime soon.”

“Unless he’s smuggling a knife in his tight leather trousers,” Inga says, and they all look at her. “What? I have seen it done in Sweden.”

“Of course you have,” Margaret says disparagingly.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Inga asks, indignant. “Just because I have seen the world-”

“Yes yes, your husband dragged you from your home town to Barbados and you hate it, we’ve all heard the story-”

“That’s rich coming from you!” Inga stabs her finger in Margaret’s direction. “You never shut up about your husband dying-”

“Well I’m sorry for being a widow!”

Mary drops her head back against the chair and groans. “Could we all just be quiet for one moment? I’m trying to think.”

Inga glowers at Margaret but holds her tongue. Margaret makes a huffy noise and turns her face away.

Mary drums her fingers against her legs. It can’t be that hard to kill Stede, can it? People kill other people all the time. It can’t be too difficult. She’s already half-shattered a man’s skull.

Mary clears her throat. “I have a plan.”

Evelyn raises one eyebrow. “Enlighten the room?”

“The Pirate knows where Stede is,” Mary says. “And I need Stede’s body to prove my claim to the Bonnet estate.”

“Since when?” Ellen asks.

“Since my father-in-law turned up this morning and told me so,” Mary says. “Apparently, without a body Ned Bonnet receives Stede’s fortune and not me.”

The room erupts in outrage.

“They never even found most of Daniel’s body after the explosion!” Margaret protests. “And I still receive his military pension!”

“Those bastards,” Alice swears. “If I got my hands on Ned Bonnet, I’d tell exactly where to stick his fortune.”

Mary holds up her hand to quiet them. “Anyway. If I can convince the pirate to take me with him, I can find Stede and show Ned I’m the beneficiary.”

The Widows nod slowly, looking around at each other. 

“It sounds like a good plan,” Ellen says. “Using the Pirate for your own gains.”

“Turning the tables on him,” Alice adds.

Evelyn pulls her pipe from her dress pocket, and starts packing it with tobacco. “I like it,” she says. “Where do we fit in?”

Mary blinks. “We?”

“Well we’re obviously coming with you, aren’t we?” Evelyn holds out her hand and Inga silently passes her a box of matches.

Mary laughs without thinking. “You’d want to come with me? On a boat, across the ocean?”

“Why not?” Evelyn lights her pipe and inhales deeply, before blowing smoke in Mary’s direction. “If you can do it, why not us?”

Mary looks around at the other Widows in surprise.

“I liked the ocean when I travelled,” Inga says. “It was the company I hated.”

“I’ve always wanted to travel,” Ellen says. “My sisters can look after the dress shop whilst I’m away.”

“It’s not like I’ve got anything better to do,” Alice pipes up. “One last adventure before I meet Alistair again.”

“If Stede Bonnet can galavant off to the ocean, why can’t we?” Margaret says briskly. “What can that man do that I can’t?”

“Wear teal and still look good?” Inga says. Margaret flashes her a look.

“This is ridiculous,” Mary says, pushing herself to her feet. “You can’t come with me - Alice, you’re in your nineties, Ellen, you have a career-”

“It’s not any more ridiculous than you running off with a pirate,” Evelyn interjects. “You hate the ocean.”

“I don’t have a choice!” Mary says. “I have to find my husband or I’ll lose everything.”

“And do you not think we care about you?” Evelyn asks. “Do you not think that we’d sit at home worrying about you being alone on the ocean? That’s selfish, Mary Bonnet. Shame on you.” 

Evelyn sits back in her seat, folding her arms. Mary can feel that she’s fighting a losing battle.

“It would be dangerous for all of us,” she says, as one last attempt. “We’d be risking everything.”

“We’d risk it for you,” Evelyn says, and the others nod in agreement. 

“You’re stuck with us now., '' Alice says, a twinkle in her eye. “From here to the ends of the ocean.”

*o*

Here are three things that Mary Bonnet knows:

1. She wants her husband dead.
2. She would do anything for her children.
3. She likes her simple life. 

*o*

The Widows leave around midnight, driven home by Henry in the carriage. Mary stands on the doorstep, shivering slightly now that the sun has dropped. She waves at the departing buggy, wishing that she was with them, crammed together tightly as they gossiped about the latest development in their lives.

She waits until the carriage has completely disappeared from sight before she steps back inside her house, slamming the door shut behind her. She leans up against it, shutting her eyes, and tries to calm herself.

There is a man tied to a desk in her house. She can’t trust him, but then again, Israel Hands can’t trust her. 

(Mary raids the kitchen for anything she can use as a weapon, cursing the fact that Stede stole her father’s duelling pistols. She ends up with a kitchen knife that’s sharp enough to slice through bone, let alone meat.)

Mary pushes herself off the door and walks briskly to the study. She raps on the door with her knuckles before pushing it open.

Israel looks up from where he’s trying to untie his hands. Mary raises her eyebrow, and Israel glares at her.

“Your knot tying skills are shite,” he says.

“I’m sorry, I’ll get a book out from my library on how to properly tie captives,” Mary says sarcastically. 

She kneels down on the floor and cuts through the curtain ties with her knife. “I’m going to bed. You’re coming upstairs with me.”

Israel looks faintly alarmed.

“I’m keeping you in one of the bedrooms,” Mary says. “But I’ll tie you to the bed, and have one of the servants keep watch.”

“Not accepting any funny business, are you?” Israel asks, flexing his hands.

“Definitely not.” Mary presses the point of the knife against Israel’s cheek. “And if you make any sudden movements, or try anything at all, I will run this through your skull.”

Israel follows the blade, making him slightly cross-eyed. “You wouldn’t have the nerve.”

Mary nicks his cheek with the knife and blood bubbles up from the surface. Israel hisses, and Mary smears the blood across his cheek.

“I’m going to blindfold you,” she says. “Don’t move.”

Mary covers his eyes with a sash from her dressing gown, tying it tightly around the back of Israel’s head. She can feel his slightly-quickened breathing as her fingers brush the back of his skull where she hit him.

“Get up,.” she says. “We’re moving.”

Mary leads Israel out of the study and up the stairs to where the bedrooms are. She makes him walk in front of her, directing him with a hushed voice, so as not to wake the children. Israel is quiet, which just makes Mary more suspicious.

One of the servants, John, is waiting outside one of the empty bedrooms. He is a boy of 17 who came with a recommendation from his father and works with the sheep. The boy is trying to better himself, and cleans up well, but Mary has always thought that he needs the confidence that comes with years of service.

John looks at Israel, and then at Mary.

Mary smiles. “Come along John. Let’s make our guest comfortable.”

They tie Israel to the bedposts in a starfish pattern, but not before John has stripped him of his leather clothes and folded them neatly on the dresser. Israel is surprisingly compliant as Mary knots rope around his ankles, perhaps realising that Mary means business, and has no qualms about killing strange men.

“You’re shit at this,” Israel tells John, as the knot he’s trying to tie falls loose in his hand.

Mary leans over and reties it, probably a little too tight. “Be quiet.”

“Or what? You’ll threaten me with your knife again?”

“Confident for a man in your underthings, aren’t you?” Mary says, looking him up and down.

Israel rolls his eyes to the heavens. “A damn sight better than Stede.”

Mary doesn’t answer that, instead tying the final knot and standing back. “There. I’ll come back and untie you in the morning.”

“What if I need to piss in the night?” Israel says.

“I’m sure John will help you.” Mary says.

John shakes his head firmly. “I’m not helping anyone piss.”

Mary looks at Israel. “Guess you’ll have to hold it in.”

“What if I piss myself?” Israel fires back.

Mary looks at him. “I’ve birthed three children,” she says. “And own a farm. There’s nothing I haven’t dealt with.”

She leaves the room, leaving John and Israel spluttering behind her.

Instead of going straight to bed, Mary opens the door to the children’s room and peers in. It’s dark, but she can just make out two figures asleep in their beds: Alma flung out on top of the bedsheets, and Luis clutching the cloth and stuffing doll she made when he was born.

Mary leans against the doorframe, listening to them snuffle and snore, and ignores the voice in the back of her mind that asks what she’ll do if they lose the house.

She quietly closes the children’s door and sets about following her night time routine, in the hope that it will settle her nerves.

(She deviates from the routine only slightly, by storing the kitchen knife underneath her pillow.)

Mary wakes to the cockerel crowing gleefully to have lived another day, and not ended up in the Cook’s soup. She stretches out, clicking her wrists and then her ankles, and rubs her cheek against the pillow like a cat.

The memories from last night come flooding back and she sits upright. She can hear the usual noises from downstairs of the servants moving about, but what if Israel has escaped in the night?

She dresses quickly into Stede’s old clothes, a pair of trousers and a cream shirt with embellishment on the sleeves. She washes her face in the baisen left by her housekeeper, and runs her fingers through her hair before tying it up in a loose fashion.

Mary shoves the kitchen knife into the pockets of her trousers as she walks towards Israel’s room, hoping that if she acts cool and calm, then she’ll feel cool and calm. She can feel her pulse leaping at her wrists, and takes a deep breath before shouldering the bedroom door open.

Her children are interrogating Israel Hands.

Mary hadn’t even known that they were awake yet. She normally has to shake them into consciousness around eight in the morning, yet here they are anyway, dressed in their play clothes. Luis is clutching the fake wooden sword that Stede had bought him years ago, but Alma has gone for the wooden stick from the garden.

John, Mary is disappointed to admit, is asleep on a chair in the corner. He’s even drooling a little.

“Are you a pirate?” Alma asks, having not noticed her mother open the door.

“What do you think?” Israel asks. 

From the position he’s tied in, he can’t raise his head, only stare straight upwards as Alma and Luis prod him.

“You look like a pirate.” Luis says. “You have tattoos. I don’t know anyone with tattoos apart from pirates.”

Alma tilts her head to one side. “Are you Blackbeard?” she asks.

Israel lets out the first genuine laugh that Mary’s heard from him. It seems to take him by surprise as well, and he coughs to disguise himself.

“No, I'm not Blackbeard,” he says. “I do sail with him though.”

“You sail with Blackbeard?” Luis asks, delighted. 

“What’s he like?” Alma asks, rocking up onto her tiptoes with glee. “Does he really set his beard on fire?”

Mary steps into the room. “That’s enough tall tales for today children.”

They both jump, turning around to face her. Mary automatically reaches out, pulling them both close to her body and kissing each of them on the head.

“You both know that you shouldn’t-” she starts but Luis interrupts.

“Charles said we could keep the kitten!” he protests. “And I was keeping it safe and fed under the bed.”

“What?” Mary says, confused, and Alma kicks her brother.

“She didn’t know about the kitten, idiot!” she says, angrily. “Now she’ll take it off us!”

“Don’t call your brother names.” Mary says on instinct. “What do you mean you’ve got a kitten-”

She shakes her head, trying to focus on the task at hand, and making a mental note to question Charles the stable hand in the morning. “Nevermind.”

Mary takes a deep breath and then kneels down onto the floor so that she’s eye level with them.

“You know how father has gone?” she says, and they both nod. “Well now I need to go see where he’s gone, with our friend in the bed here and my widow friends.”

Israel mutters something that shouldn’t be repeated in front of children.

“Will you come back?” Luis asks.

Mary takes them both by the hand. “Of course I will come back.” she promises. “I would never be able to leave you. And the servants will look after you, and make sure you’re fed and watered, and kiss you goodnight, okay?”

“Are you going off to be a pirate?” Alma asks, and Mary shakes her head.

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

“That’s what they all say,” Israel Hands says, and scoffs. 

Mary pushes herself upright, and smoothes down Alma’s flyaway hair. “Why don’t you two go downstairs for breakfast? I’m sure there’s a poached egg waiting for you.”

“I want egg and soldiers,” Luis says, and then taps his sister. “Race you!”

“Not fair!” Alma whines, and then tears off after her brother, Mary pretending that she doesn’t see her daughter try and trip Luis over.

Mary turns to Israel. “Don’t talk to them about pirates. I don’t want them getting any ideas.”

“They’ve already got ideas in their heads,” Israel says. “That girl especially.”

“Don’t,” Mary says icily. “I don’t need Alma running off like her father.”

Israel huffs and turns his face away. The pillow has left indentations across his cheek like a map.

“We have to plan today,” Mary says. “I’ll need your help.”

Israel doesn’t say anything. 

Mary sighs and looks over at John, still asleep. She walks over to him and kicks the chair, causing him to wake with a start.

“Weh?” he says eloquently.

“Nice sleep?” Mary asks.

John looks around the room, eyes focusing on Israel still tied to the bed. He visibly relaxes and Mary sighs.

“Go downstairs and wash yourself. We’ll deal with this later.”

“I’m sorry Ms Bonnet,” John says, pushing himself to his feet. “It won’t happen again.”

“I’d fire him if I were you,” Israel pipes up. “Shoddy workers ruin everything, I’ll tell you that for nothing.”

“Nobody asked,” Mary says as John scurries from the room. “But I’ll think about it.”

“You need to run a house with force,” Israel says. “It’s the same with ships.”

“Yes, thank you for your input, I know how to run a house,” Mary says, but secretly pleased for the personal information. If Israel knows how to take care of a ship, he can very easily lead her and the Widows to Stede.

Israel rolls his eyes. “I need a piss.”

“Lovely,” Mary says and pulls the kitchen knife from her trouser pocket. “I’m going to untie you, and you can go in the chamber pot.”

“And the reason for pulling out a knife?”

“So there’s no funny business,” Mary says and unties his legs.

“Have you ever used a knife before?” Israel asks.

“Yes Israel, I have used a knife.” Mary says, like she’s talking to Alma or Luis.

“You know what I fucking mean.” Israel scissors his legs like a grasshopper as he waits for Mary to untie his hands.

“Yes,” Mary says. “I have.”

Israel scoffs. “When?”

“A few months after my wedding.,” Mary says, and cuts his hands free. “Happy?”

Israel doesn’t reply, clicking his wrists. Mary can feel her palm sweating as she clutches the knife, suddenly aware that she’s alone in the room with a strange man. Israel pushes himself off the bed, and Mary studies his back.

“Are you going to watch me piss?” Israel snaps.

“Do you think I’ve never seen a man’s cock before?” Mary replies, and gestures with the knife.

Israel glares at her and bends down to pull the chamber pot from under the bed. He turns away from her, facing the window, and Mary listens to the sound of him pulling down his underwear. She wonders if any of her neighbours will look into her window and see a strange man weeing in her bedroom.

Israel yanks his pants back up and turns back around to face her. Mary applies a poker face and continues pointing the knife towards him.

“There’s clothes in the wardrobe,” she says. “You can wear those instead of your leather.”

“I like my leather,” Israel says, but opens the wardrobe anyway. “Are these Stede’s fucking clothes?”

“Most of them.” Mary says. “He owns a lot of outfits.”

“I’m not wearing Stede’s hand-me downs.”

“Would you rather go naked then?” Mary asks.

Israel glares and pulls out a nondescript pair of trousers and shirt. “I hate this.”

“I don’t care,” Mary says. “Dress. Quickly. We have things to discuss in private.”

Mary walks Israel around the grounds to keep them away from servants listening at the doors. The wind has picked up outside, but not enough to send away the heat. She’s glad that she’s wearing a loose fitting shirt, lifting up her arms occasionally to let the breeze in.

They walk through the gardens, the crops laid out in neat rows. Mary plucks a ripe tomato from a stalk, fat and red like a parson’s nose.

“Open your mouth,” she says to Israel.

“I’m not a fucking baby-” he starts, and Mary forces the tomato into his mouth. He glares at her, chewing, and then swallows.

“Happy?” he asks.

“Unduitibly,” Mary replies.

She wonders what the weather is like where Stede is. She thinks of his round face and yellow hair. If she shuts her eyes, she can imagine his voice, reading to the children at bedtime. She doesn’t miss him.

 “How did you get here?” she asks Israel.

“Ship,” Israel says.

“Did you moor it somewhere?” Mary asks. Israel shakes his head.

“Then what happened to it?”

“I hitched a ride on a fishing boat,” he says. “It’s easily done if you’ve got a sword..”

Mary eats another tomato. “Could you get the Widows and I on a fishing vessel? To find Stede?”

“You can’t have women on ships,” Israel says instantly. “It’s bad luck.”

“Because both our lives are going brilliantly so far.” Mary says. “Could you get us a ship, yes or no?”

“Yes,” Israel admits. “But I’m not taking you and a gaggle of middle-aged women across the ocean.”

“Why not?” Mary says. “You’ve got nothing to lose. And for your information, I’m thirty eight..”

“Oh yeah, and I’m sixteen,” Israel spits into the dirt. “It’s not happening.”

Mary smiles politely and then knees Israel hard between the legs. He crumples like a paper boat onto the floor, and Mary presses her foot down onto his chest.

“You may have noticed,” Mary says, “That you are an intruder in my home, and I am a simple widow who may have to act in self-defence. ”

“You’re a fucking maniac-” Israel says and Mary increases the pressure on his chest.

“Nobody knows you’re here., '' Mary continues. “And I have acres of empty land that I could easily dig a six by six hole in.”

Israel twists underneath her and Mary reaches into her pocket for the knife. Her fingers are just grasping around the handle when Israel blurts out.

 “Fine! I’ll get you a fucking ship. Just get off me.”

“Excellent news,” Mary says. “I need a ship big enough for six women and a painting studio.”

“Fuck off.” Israel says, and Mary looks down at him. “Fine.”

“Good,” Mary says and releases the pressure. “We’re in this together pirate. You can’t get your revenge without me.”

Israel rubs his chest where she’s left a footprint. “I understand Bonnet.”

Mary holds out her hand and hauls him upright. His skin is rough and calloused, a working man’s hand. The memory of her father’s hands cross her mind, and how she used to find them odd when she was younger, because they were pale and smooth. She knows now that the hands were gloved, white silk that he never took off, not even when they buried him. She cannot once remember the bare of her father’s hands, the crescent nails. Just white silk.

“I’ll go to the docks tomorrow,” Israel says. “Find you a ship, if you provide me the money.”

“I’ll come with you,” Mary says. “I’ll bring one of my widows.”

“You’ll draw attention to us. Attention we don’t fucking need,” Israel says.

“I’m not letting you wander off alone,” Mary says. “I may have taken your sword, but I don’t trust you.”

“Where would I run to?” Israel asks.

“To the ocean,” Mary says like it’s obvious. “You wouldn’t let a captive go off on a jaunt by themselves would you?”

“Fine.” Israel says. “I’ll get us a boat with you lurking over my shoulder, we’ll sail it to the Revenge-”

“What’s the Revenge?”

“Your husband’s twat of a ship,” Israel says. “Then I’ll tell Stede that unless he denounces his captaincy and leaves The Queen Anne the fuck alone, I’ll kill his wife.”

Mary screws up her face at the word wife, but Israel continues.

“Then obviously he won’t want to see you get brutally murdered, so he’ll agree to my terms, and come sailing home with you and your women,” Israel says. “And me and Blackbeard will go back to the way we were.”

“The famous Blackbeard,” Mary says. “Sounds like a plan.”

“Shake on it with blood,” Israel says.

“What?” Mary says.

“Cut our hands open and shake.” Israel demonstrated by drawing a line across his palm, which Mary notices is covered with thin silvery scars. “It’s the pirate way.”

Mary pulls the knife from her pocket, and Israel wordlessly offers his hand. She cuts him lightly, the blood bubbling from the line almost instantly, and then slices across the palm of her left hand. It stings, but not enough to be distracting.

They shake, wordlessly. The deal is done.

(Mary ties him to the bedpost when they get back inside. She’s not taking any chances.)

***

Mary visits Evelyn later that day, making sure to knock on her front door with the hand that isn’t bandaged. She can hear shouting coming from the inside - not angry shouting, just Evelyn making her presence known - and then the door swings open.

“Hello Pirate Wife,” Evelyn says and smirks. “How are you?”

“Fine,” Mary says, but Evelyn has noticed her hand.

“Oh my god,” she says, grabbing Mary and peeling off the bandage to reveal the pink flesh. “Did he hurt you?”

“No!” Mary says quickly before Evelyn can go chasing off after Israel Hands. “I did it myself.”

“It’s very neat,” Evelyn says, inspecting it.

“Yes, I did it with a knife.” 

Evelyn looks up at her.

“We made a blood pact,” Mary says. It sounds silly now that she’s saying it out loud.

“You are absolutely insane, Mary Bonnet,” Evelyn says. “Come inside so I can examine that brain of yours.”

They end up in Evelyn’s sitting room, joined by her leopard. The room is themed red, with an exotic crimson velvet sofa, and wallpaper bleached with cochineal beetles. It feels like being in a brothel, from what Mary has heard from men’s conversations.

“I’ve convinced Israel to take us to Stede,” Mary says as Evelyn redresses her hand.

“Does he know you’re going to kill Stede the moment you set eyes on him?”

“I hadn’t mentioned that part.” Mary squirms in her seat. “I’m doing the right thing, aren’t I?”

“Of course.” Evelyn secures the bandage. “You just want to provide for your children.”

“I wouldn’t be able to handle it if anything happened to them.” Mary flexes the fingers on her hand. “What if it goes wrong?”

“Well if you can’t stomach killing him, I’ll do it for you,” Evelyn says.

“You’d do that?” Mary asks.

“You’re my best friend,” Evelyn says bluntly. “I’d take care of you.”

Mary smiles shyly. “I’d take care of you too, if anything happened.”

“Would you fight Ned the leopard for me?” Evelyn teases, and Mary nods.

“Of course. I’m very good at wrestling leopards.”

“Oh?” Evelyn’s foot knocks against Mary’s own accidentally, and Mary moves her legs out of the way. 

“I’ve fought so many wild beasts,” Mary says. “Wolves, lions. Taken care of them all.”

“How did you fight them off?”

“With my bare hands.” Mary raises her palms. “That’s actually why I cut myself. I was fighting a wild pig that was trying to break into your house.”

Evelyn laughs, leaning her cheek on the palm of her hand. “Did you win?”

“Of course!” Mary says. “Do you see any wild pigs running around the place?”

“Only Melvin,” Evelyn says, and Mary snorts-laughs.

“Evelyn! Be nice about your step-son.”

“He snorts like a pig!” Evelyn protests. “It’s an accurate description.”

Mary can’t stop the smile on her face. “So if Melvin’s a pig, what am I?”

“Hmm,” Evelyn says, thinking it over. “You’re very loyal, like a dog, but you’re clever like a cat. Good at sitting pretty like a dove, but also quick like a hare.”

Her foot knocks against Mary’s again and Mary huffs at her own clumsiness.

“You make me sound like a menagerie,” Mary tells her.

“You’re a woman of many talents,” Evelyn says. “I’ve heard talk that people want to commission you.”

Mary’s eyes widen. “Really?”

Evelyn nods. “You’re a famous woman.”

Mary smiles down at her own feet, pleased. The idea of being paid for her own artwork is something she’s dreamed of briefly, but never thought would become a reality.

“Come on,” Evelyn says. “Let’s get drunk and discuss this plan of yours.”

“That sounds good,” Mary says, and kicks off her shoes.

When Mary comes back home later that night, she finds Israel asleep in the bed. He’s still tied where she left him, but his wrists and ankles are raw from where he’s tried to free himself. She watches his chest rise up and down as he dreams, and leaves him to it. She doesn’t want to deal with a cranky pirate.

Instead of turning left to her own bedroom, she turns right, and heads towards the children’s room. She can hear muffled noises on the other side of the door, and pushes the door open with her foot, bracing herself for carnage.

They’ve clearly flung themselves under the covers at her approach, playthings tossed on the floor and Luis breathing heavily under the bedsheets like he’s just run a marathon. Mary looks over at the clock on the wall and notices they were meant to be in bed an hour ago.

Mary sits down on the edge of his bed and places her hand on his leg. “If I check, will both of you still be fully dressed from today?”

Alma shakes her head but Luis nods.

Mary smiles and tugs back the sheets, revealing Luis in a full English navy outfit. “Mothers always know,” she says.

“The man in the spare room says he’s fought the Royal Navy several times,” Alma says. “And won.”

“The man in the spare room cannot be trusted,” Mary says.

“Then why is he still here?” Alma sits upright, revealing her pirate outfit.

“Because I need him for something,” Mary says.

“Is he helping you find father?” Luis asks.

Mary leans back against the sheets so that her and Luis are face to face. Alma, annoyed at this special treatment, climbs out of her own bed, and flings herself next to her mother.

“I need to ask you something,” Mary says. “Do you miss your father?”

Both children pause, lost in thought.

“I miss playing with him,” Alma says.

“He told good stories,” Luis adds.

“Do you feel like you’re missing out, not having a father?” Mary asks.

Alma shakes her head. “One of the girls in my class doesn’t have a father,” she says. “He was blown up in an explosion.”

Mary grimaces. “That’s lovely Alma.”

“She didn’t see it happen, but one of the servants did.” Alma sits upright. “Apparently he got hit in the face by the man’s eyeball.”

“Alma, really?” Mary says as Luis squeals.

“That’s disgusting!” he says excitedly.

“You are both monsters,” Mary declares and tickles them until they’re in hysterics.

Luis rolls off the bed to evade his mother’s hands and stands there, giggling. “Are you going away to find father then?”

“I’m going to try,” Mary says, wrapping Alma up in her arms before she can escape.

“Can we come?” Alma asks.

“Definitely not,” Mary says. “Where we’re going is no place for children.”

“But is it a place for mothers?” Alma asks.

Mary hesitates for only a moment. “Yes.”

Luis’ kitten crawls out from underneath his bed and looks at Mary with its tiny whiskered face. It’s a black little thing, with deep brown eyes like an oak table. Mary smiles, and reaches out towards it, clicking to try and encourage it towards her.

“We don’t know if it’s a boy or a girl,” Alma says, leaning forward.

Mary picks up the kitten by the scruff of its neck and looks at it. “Little girl,” she says. “Like you.”

“I wanted a boy,” Luis pouts, and Mary deposits the cat on Luis’ lap.

“What are you going to call him?” she asks.

“I don’t know,” Luis says. “Charles found them in the woods. He took the Damn-Cat, and he gave me and the others the kittens.”

“You could call him Charlotte,” Mary says. “After Charles.”

“Or Sophia,” Alma says. “Like the queen.”

The kitten licks its paw delicately and Mary reaches out and ruffles her soft head.

Luis thinks for a moment. “I’m going to call her Gilbert,” he announces. 

“Gilbert?” Mary blinks.

“That’s what tame cats are called in England. Charles told me.” Luis strokes the kitten. “She looks like a Gilbert.”

“Fair enough,” Mary says, because she’s not getting into an argument with children over the names of animals. 

Instead she looks around at their messy room, the toy soldiers strewn across the floor, the half finished drawings, and aches. She’s tried to give her children the childhood she never had, and she can’t quite believe she’s about to leave them alone for so long.

“We’ll clean everything up tomorrow,” Alma says, noticing her mother’s gaze. “I promise.”

“Good,” Mary says. “This place looks like a pig sty.”

“Hey!” Luis says. “Pigs styes are clean. I’ve seen them.”

“Don’t go near the pigs,” Mary says seriously. “They eat children.”

“No they don’t.”

“They do,” Mary says and prods him in the ribs. “They love eating little boys who don’t go to bed on time.”

“Don’t,” Luis says stubbornly, but yawns as if on cue. “Will you read us a story like father?”

“Of course,” Mary says. “What kind of story would you like?”

“A nice one,” Alama says. “With a girl in it.”

“Okay then,” Mary says, wrapping her arms around them both. “Once upon a time, there was a little girl…”

***

The harbour port is crowded with bodies and the stink of fish. Mary scuttles after Israel like a lost child, one eye fixed on his salt and pepper hair, the other roaming the faces of the crowd. They’re supposed to be meeting Margaret at some point, as she’s agreed to pay for some of the boat costs. Mary can’t find any familiar faces as she walks. Instead, her hand keeps finding its way into her hair, exploring her new cropped haircut.

She’d cut it in her painting room as they were about to leave, Israel standing guard in the doorway. It had been a brutal job, slicing at the dead weight with the kitchen knife, until it fell to the ground in tatters.

“It’s just hair,” she’d told herself, watching it pile up around her. “You can grow it back.”

She’d left most of it in the painting room, the rest of it she’d gathered up in her fist and thrown to the birds for their nests. Israel had scoffed at her efforts but hadn’t made any snide comments. Mary was grateful for that, as she thought that if he’d tried to pick a fight, she might have started crying.

“Wait there,” Israel says, breaking her out of her thoughts. “I’m going to go barter us a vessel.”

“I’m not waiting anywhere,” Mary argues. “How am I to know that you won’t jump onto the nearest ship and escape?”

Israel huffs, and then pulls the ring from his finger with his teeth. He grabs hold of her hand with his bare hand, unfurling her fingers as she squirms, and then deposits the ring into the palm of her hand.

“This is the most important thing to me,” he says. “I wouldn’t fucking leave port without it. That’s my promise that I’ll stay.”

Mary studies the ring in her hand. It’s silver with a small black stone in the centre, that when held up to the light, reveals a swirl in the jewel.

“How do I know you’re not lying to me?” Mary asks.

“You’re just going to have to trust me,” Israel says and folds her fingers around the ring. “I’ll be back in ten minutes. Try not to get killed.”

“I’m not stupid,” Mary glares, and Israel rolls his eyes.

“Could have fooled me.”

He slips back into the crowd, holding a chicken under one arm. It would be amusing if Mary wasn’t slightly terrified for her life. She perches herself up on an upturned barrel, swinging her feet slightly in the breeze. 

Israel moves through the crowds of people easily, a commanding presence against the Barbados fishermen. She watches him pause and talk to a man with a moustache standing near the water’s edge, and it seems to be a fast conversation.

She wishes she could hear better, or at least sneak closer without Israel noticing her. The man makes a gesture with his hand and Israel catches him by the sleeve of his tattered shirt, speaking into the man’s ear. It seems to have the desired effect because the man nods, and pushes himself out of Israel's grip, into the masses of people.

Mary spots Margaret in the distance, wondering how the woman is managing to wear all black in the height of summer. The other woman carries herself well, and marches over to Israel Hands like a woman on a mission.

They have a hurried conversation, the chicken straining in Israel’s arms, and then the two disappear from view. Mary bites at her top lip, trying to pick them out in the crowd - which should be easy enough, They’re the only two wearing all black.

Mary doesn’t know how long she waits, only that her top lip is now raw when she presses her tongue against it.

A man strides past her, stops, and then spins around. “You.”

“What?” Mary says automatically, and then quickly recants. “Yes?”

“Do I know you?” he asks.

Mary looks up into his face and realises that she knows him. He's a lawyer on the island, and she’s taken tea with his wife several times.

She shakes her head. “No Sir. I’m new to port.”

“Interesting.” The man reaches out suddenly and tilts her chin up towards the light, studying her.

Mary ignores the urge to bite him. It’s hard to remember that she’s a lower class now, that men are allowed to touch her when they want, to manhandle her body. His hand is smooth against her skin, and it repulses her.

“Do you... sell flowers?”

Mary blinks. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

The man’s hand is still on her. “A pretty girl like you wouldn’t be in port for the fun of it. Unless… You do like fun?” 

Mary has a good idea of what he’s getting at and is about to tell him exactly where he can stick his treasure in starboard, when someone places their hand on her arm.

“Get the fuck away from her,” Israel Hands spits, Margaret hovering behind him.

The man jumps at the sudden intrusion, flustered. “I was just-“

“I know what you were doing,” Israel says. “Get the fuck out of here, or I’ll turn your skin into a flag.”

“I’d listen to him if I were you,” Margaret says. “I’ve seen Mr Hands in action.”

The lawyer turns and flees.

Mary pushes Israel off her arm, annoyed. “I was handling it.”

“I’m not having you sold to the fucking merchant navy before I can sell you to Stede,” Israel says. “Get off the fucking barrel.”

Mary jumps off the barrel and turns her attention to her friend. “You’ve seen Israel skin a man?”

“I didn’t know what else to say,” Margaret pulls her into a tight hug, smelling of sugar. “Your hair is new.”

“I thought it was time for a change,” Mary says. “Do you like it?”

“It’s short,” Margaret says politely, which means she hates it. “We come with good news.”

“Oh?” Mary says.

“We have a boat,” Margaret says.

Mary looks at the two of them with excitement. “Really?”

“It’s nothing special,” Israel says bluntly. “It’s an old fishing vessel, but it’s big enough for what you need.”

“Mr Hands did some excellent bartering,” Margaret says.

“Threatened them until they handed it over for a discounted price,” Israel says, with a slight hint of pride in his voice.

“What is it like?” Mary asks. She thinks of the ship that Stede commissioned with their money and shudders at the thought of the extravagance. 

“It’s small,” Margaret admits. “It used to be a fishing vessel for long haul trips.”

“Stinks of fish too,” Israel adds, but Mary ignores him.

“And you’d be willing to travel on it?” she asks Margaret.

“Of course,” Margaret says. “You’re not going to scare me away from helping you.”

“It’s not a summer excursion,” Israel says. “There’s going to be danger out there, storms, rats on the ship.”

“I’m not scared by rats,” Margaret says.

“You’ve never met ship rats,” Israel says. “Ship rats are as big as cats, and twice as mean.”

“You’ve never met Barbados rats,” Margaret fires back. “They get drunk on sugar and go wild in the fields, eating anything they can see. I knew someone who lost a baby.”

“Yeah, but you can make another baby,” Israel says. “You can’t make more provisions on a ship. Once they eat through your dried food, then it’s long pork for the rest of the voyage.”

Mary decides to ignore him. “When can we set sail?”

“A day or so,” Israel says. “Enough time to pack supplies, rations, whatever else you’re thinking of bringing.”

Mary can’t believe this is actually happening, nor can she stop the grin that’s spread across her face. 

“You’ll get to see your husband soon.” Israel says, and even that horrible thought can’t dim her joy.

*o*

Mary takes her first baby to the sea. Stede walks her down to the sand, one hand gripping her tightly. It was a bad birth, the second-worst experience of Mary Bonnet’s short life. Her feet fumble on the soft earth, and she clings to the squalling hot bundle in her arms.

It’s raining.

It never rains in Barbados.

They sit on blankets on the ground, and Stede makes a little house of sand, using salt water to keep it firm and sturdy. Mary shivers in her dress, holding the baby, who screams and screams. The beach is empty, and she tries to feed the baby, hoping that the joy from Stede will leak into them both.

The baby refuses to suckle. Mary cries. Stede walks into the water and looks for ships in the distance.

They walk back up to the house: Mary, Stede, the baby. The world is grey and miserable, and Mary wants nothing more than to go to bed alone.

The baby dies six months later.

*o*

Mary still tries her best to convince the others not to come.

She sits in Alice’s living room and tells stories about pirates on the high seas and all the horrible things they do, with Israel as evidence. Alice listens intently over a glass of sherry and makes enthusiastic noises at all the juicy parts.

“He sounds fascinating,” Alice says, as Israel finishes the tale of Blackbeard, the severed toe, and the priest from Yorkshire. “I hope we’ll get to meet him.”

Israel and Mary exchange glances.

“He’d eat you alive,” Israel says. “Tear you limb from limb with his tentacles.”

Alice visibly brightens. “How exciting!”

Next, Mary drags Israel along to Inga’s house, where Israel describes in detail what the British Navy does to people suspected of piracy. Inga lounges on her love seat as Israel describes cages with skeletons rotting inside, and the crows that eat the dead flesh. 

“In Sweden, I once saw a moose eat a man,” Inga says.

“Moose don’t eat people,” Mary says.

“I saw it with my own eyes,” Inga says. “People think they are herbivores, but they’re liars. It crunched through his head like an apple.”

“Were you drunk at the time?” Mary asks, and Inga throws a cushion at her, which misses and hits Israel in the face.

“Ow,” Israel says, deadpan.

Neither woman apologise, instead bickering over carnivorous moose and the time that Inga swears she saw a horse stand on its hind legs and recite poetry.

After Israel has recovered from the vicious pillow assault, they go to Ellen’s dress shop and act out a scene in front of Ellen and her sisters that involves Israel being a defenceless fisherman, and Mary as a pirate.

“And scene,” Mary says, after she’s finished mock-stabbing Israel in the eye with a blade. “That’s what could happen to us.”

Ellen’s sister turns to her admiringly. “You’re so brave for going Ellen.”

“I know, it’s going to be such a fun time,” Ellen’s other sister adds.

“I can’t wait,” Ellen admits, beaming. “And it’ll be nice to do something to take my mind off of Henry.”

“You won’t be able to think about Henry when you’re dead,” Israel points out.

“Oh it won’t come to that,” Ellen says. “I’ll have you two to protect me.”

Mary sighs, and shoves her knife back into her pocket. “I suppose so.”

“I’m letting you all get stabbed,” Israel mutters, and Mary kicks him.

They skip Margaret, because a) she’s paying for the ship, and b) Mary doesn’t want to hear anymore stories about her dead husband. There is A Limit.

Finally they go to Evelyn’s house, where Mary and Israel put on their best performance, involving Ned the Leopard, one of the Higgin’s coffins, and some small pyrotechnics. Evelyn smokes throughout the performance, and doesn’t even raise an eyebrow when Mary uses jam as blood. 

“How long have you been planning that?” Evelyn asks when they’ve finished.

“A good day,” Mary says, slightly out of breath on the floor. “Still want to come with me?”

Evelyn hauls Mary up and brushes her down with her hands. “Yes,” she says firmly. “I said I’m coming, so I’m keeping my word.”

“What about your big fancy house?” Israel asks. “Who’ll look after it when you’re gone?”

“My stepson Melvin,” Evelyn says breezily. “He’s promised not to burn the place down, and I trust him.”

Melvin, who’d been watching from the corner, waves at them. Mary waves back.

“It’s going to be tough,” Israel says. “We’ll struggle.”

Evelyn turns to him. “I’m a six foot woman with an eye patch and several dead husbands. My life has been nothing but a struggle.”

She looks back at Mary and smiles, tilting up Mary’s chin to face the light. “And how could I let you adventure without me?”

Mary smiles and ignores the flutters in her stomach.

***

The Widows and Israel Hands board the boat 2 days later.

It’s small, like Israel said, with space below deck for them to sleep and store rations. Mary’s glad that it’s just going to be her Widows and Israel on the ship, and nobody else in close quarters.

Mary had debated about saying goodbye to the children. Saying goodbye was final, a clear End in their pathways. She’d thought about slipping from the backdoor with Israel, clutching her belongings in her arms, and then she’d remembered that Stede had done the same thing, and how much she hated him for it.

Instead, she’d eaten breakfast in bed with them, and not commented when Luis smeared it over the bedsheets, and Alma chewed with her mouth open. Instead she held them tightly in her arms, trying to sear the memory into her brain, and told them how much she loved them.

They’d already lost one parent who didn’t care for them. She didn’t want them to think that they were losing another.

Mary stands on the top deck, watching her friends carry their belongings onto the ship. Alice is making Henry carry her things for her, sitting in a nest of blankets and pillows that Ellen has set up on the top deck.

“What are you thinking about?” Evelyn asks. She’s wearing a dark red dress with a matching eye patch, her lips stained almost the same shade.

“I don’t know,” Mary admits. “I’ve never been out of Barbados before.”

“My island girl,” Evelyn says, and tucks a loose strand of Mary’s hair behind her ear. “It’ll be an adventure.”

“I’m not the kind of girl who has adventures,” Mary says. “I stay home and take care of the family. And I like that.”

“Maybe you’ll discover that you like both,” Evelyn says. “Adventures and home life.”

“I’m not sure,” Mary says.

They’re distracted by Inga arguing with one of the men she’s paid to carry her things, who apparently squished one of her hat boxes by sitting on it. Mary can’t help but smile as she listens to Inga argue that she has a need for great many hats on their voyage, and the entire trip will be ruined if just one of them is flattened.

“I have something for you,” Evelyn says. “A present.”

“It’s not even my birthday,” Mary says. “What is it?”

Evelyn reaches behind her back and pulls out a white cavalier hat with three corner folds. She places it carefully on top of Mary’s head, arranging it at a rakish angle.

“There we go,” Evelyn says. “Captain Bonnet.”

Mary reaches up and touches the brim of her hat with her fingers. It’s soft to the touch, and it must have been expensive for a joke present.

“Oh, Evelyn,” she says, “You shouldn’t have!”

“I thought it would make you smile,” Evelyn says. “You look cute.”

Mary strikes a pose, making them both laugh.

“How do you feel?” Evelyn asks.

“Like the Captain,” Mary jokes, and then tips the hat towards Evelyn. “And you’re my Vice Captain of course.”

“There’s no such thing as a Vice Captain,” Israel says, suddenly appearing from nowhere like a leathery ghost. “It’s called a First Mate, and that’s my fucking position.”

“I don’t remember appointing you,” Mary says, and Israel huffs. “But if you really care that much-”

“I don’t care,” Israel interrupts, and stalks off, muttering under his breath.

“Oh he cares,” Evelyn says, smirking. “He cares very much.”

“I know,” Mary says, watching Israel shout at the people bringing their items onboard. “Funny man, isn’t he?”

“Very odd,” Evelyn agrees. “We’ll push him overboard as well.”

“Evvie!” Mary says, but she laughs.

They leave port shortly after.

Mary and Israel stand on the deck together, Mary holding onto the railing tightly as she watches the island disappear off into the distance. She can’t believe that Stede could stand on the deck of a ship and watch his family disappear.

Maybe he looked the other way, she thinks. Towards the great expanse of ocean.

“Weather looks good,” Israel says. “We’re one step closer to your happy husband.”

“Is he happy?” Mary asks. She doesn’t think she’s ever seen Stede happy before - maybe at the birth of their children but Mary can’t remember, too high on pain and opium.

“He’s in my fucking bed,” Israel says, in a tone of voice that Mary thinks is speaking metaphorically.

Mary reaches into her pocket and runs her thumb against the sharp of her kitchen knife.

“We’ve only been married 8 years,” Mary says.

“I don’t care,” Israel says. “Some men run away to sea on their wedding night.”

“Why?” Mary asks.

“Why what?”

“Why do men run away to sea?” Mary asks. “I mean, what’s so good about the sea? It’s just big... and wet.”

Israel snorts. “It’s beautiful,” he says. “It’s cruel. It doesn’t care about you, and it wants you to know that it doesn’t care. It would rather see a drowned sailor than a live one.”

“And you like that?”

“It’s...” Israel looks down at his hands. “When there’s that moment when you finally tame it, when you survive the wave, and you’re standing there on deck gloating... That’s the best moment.”

Mary doesn’t reply. Instead she thinks of Stede on the deck of a ship, fighting back against the waves. She can’t picture it, but she can picture Israel facing off against the sea, knife in one hand, grin plastered on his face.

“I’m going to call a ship meeting,” Mary says. “Explain the rules to everyone. You can help.”

“I’m so grateful,” Israel says sarcastically.

“Do you ever rest?” Mary asks curiously. “Is there ever a moment where you’re not on the attack?”

“No,” Israel says. “This is just what I’m like.”

“No wonder you and Stede don’t get along,” Mary says. “Go round up the Widows.”

“I’m not a fucking sheepdog.”

“Yes, but you’re my First Mate,” Mary reminds him. “So go do your job.”

Israel flips her off, but complies.

The Widows gather on the top deck, all dressed in their own interpretation of sailing uniforms.

Evelyn, of course, is in crimson, and Margaret is in her mourning clothes, but she’s removed the black gloves for ease. Ellen joins the group wearing a light cream dress with blue piping that has several secret pockets that she’s using to hide various objects she’s stolen from Israel.

Inga and Alice turn up arm in arm, both dressed in elaborate ensembles. Alice for some reason is wearing a pair of yellow wellingtons that were once Henry’s. It makes her look like an odd sort of duck.

Mary can say for certain that they’re not going to be stopped by the Royal Navy for looking like pirates.

“Hello,” Mary says. “Welcome to the ship.”

Ellen claps.

“We’re calling her The Widow’s Revenge,” Mary continues. “Because as we all know, Stede ran away from his family, and I’m here to get him back. ”

She looks over at Israel who is leaning against the side of the deck. He glares at her, and Mary glares back.

“Israel knows Stede’s last location, and it’s going to take us about two weeks to travel there. On this ship, I will be Captain,” she says. “And Israel is First Mate. Any problems with the ship, go straight to him. Any personal problems, come to me.”

“And if Alice steals all your belongings in card games, that’s your own fault,” Evelyn says. “We all know that woman is a cardshark.”

Alice cackles dirtily. Mary can’t help but smile.

“Meals will be at set times everyday, and we’ll try and eat together. Israel is pretty sure we’ve got enough rations, but we’ve also got items on board that we can swap at the ports.”

“None of you ladies will starve,” Israel says and gives a sharp nod.

“We’ll be running watches in shifts,” Mary continues. “We’re a small slow boat, so unlikely to get any hassle, but if there is any-”

“I’m a swordsman,” Israel interjects. “I’ve killed hundreds of men, and I’m not afraid to get my hands bloody.”

“Neither am I.,” Evelyn says, “And Mary’s proving herself to be handy with a knife.”

“I can fight,” Inga says. “If needed.”

“If she doesn’t run the risk of getting her skirts dirtied,” Margaret says haughtily.

“If she doesn’t get her skirt dirty,” Inga mocks Margaret's accent. “I am here, what more do you want?”

“Anyway,” Mary says firmly. “We’ll be doing night watches just in case. Alice, you don’t have to do that if you don’t want to.”

“I quite like the dark,” Alice says. “Gives me time to think.”

“Just as long as you don’t fall asleep,” Israel says. “I’m not fishing an old woman out of the ocean.”

“I wouldn’t dream of causing you any hassle,” Alice says with British politeness.

Mary hides a smile but turns to the group. “Does anyone have any questions?”

Ellen raises her hand. “How does the toilet situation work?”

Mary looks over at Israel. “Care to explain?” she asks cheerily.

Israel, for all his faults, gives it a good go.

That night, Mary steps into the belly of the ship, where Alice is lying on one of the bunks, hands crossed over her chest and eyes closed. For a second, Mary thinks the woman is dead, and then notices the slow breathing of her chest.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Alice says without opening her eyes.

“How did you know it was me?” Mary sits down on the edge of the bed.

“You’re a worrier,” Alice says. “I can feel it in the air.”

“I didn’t realise I was travelling with a witch,” Mary jokes, but it falls flat. She runs her hands through her short hair, tugging at the long bits she missed.

“I thought my life would be over when my husband died,” Alice says. Mary looks at her. “I thought it was an ink blot on the page of my life, stopping anything else from happening.” Alice opens one eye. “But you know? You can always rip out the page and start again.”

“I’m trying,” Mary says. “Life keeps getting in the way.”

“You’ll move past this,” Alice says. “Once the money is secure, you can buy fine things again, and flirt with whoever you want.”

“I don’t want to flirt with people,” Mary says.

Alice gives her a look that makes Mary feel very stupid. “Of course you do,” Alice says. “It’s fun.”

“I don’t know-“ Mary starts, and then stops herself. “It’s only been Stede. Nobody else.”

“What about the nice painting boy?” Alice asks.

“Doug?” Mary says, and laughs. “I don’t know if he’s my type.”

“What is your type?” Alice asks. “Cast Stede from your mind. Pretend you never caught sight of that dandy.”

Mary snorts at that. “You only ever saw him at Church.”

“I can tell a dandy from a mile away,” Alice says seriously. “And anyone who wears white in Church is asking for trouble. Now, do as the old lady says.”

“Fine,” Mary says, and shuts her eyes. “I’m thinking of… Someone nice. Someone who listens to me.”

“What else?”

“Someone who…” Mary thinks hard. “Someone who understands that I’m boring. That I like staying at home with my children, and my pets. Someone who’ll let me paint all day in my studio, and come back into the house covered in ink, and not even care that I’ve ruined my clothes.”

She opens her eyes. Alice is looking at her with a soft expression, and Mary doesn’t know what she’s thinking about.

“I think you’ll get it soon,” Alice says kindly. “I really do Mary.”

“If my one true love turns out to be Israel, I’m throwing myself overboard,” Mary warns, and Alice chuckles.

“For some reason, I don’t think your Mr Hands would be right for you.”

There’s footsteps on the stairs, and they both look up. Mary can’t help but admit that she’s expecting Israel stomping down, but instead it’s Margaret, fiddling with the necklace around her neck. She looks surprised to see the two of them, as if they’re not trapped on a boat in the middle of the ocean.

“Hello,” Alice says. “We’re discussing Mary and Israel’s upcoming nuptials.”

“Oh disgusting,” Mary blurts out before she can stop herself.

Margaret shudders. “That man….”

Margaret sits down on the bed opposite, still fiddling with her necklace. She doesn’t look like the strong confident woman that Mary is used to, and Mary reaches out and touches Margaret’s slipper with her own socked foot.

“Hey,” Mary says. “Daniel would never believe you were doing this.”

“I know,” Margaret says. “He’d laugh at the thought of it.”

Margaret lays down on the bed, surprising Mary. It makes her look young, her head resting against the pillow as she wraps her arms around herself.

“Are you okay?” Mary asks.

“I’m struggling,” Margaret admits, her eyes focused somewhere past Mary’s shoulder. “I’m not like you girls. I love my husband.”

“I loved my husband,” Alice says. “I still think about him.”

“But you’ve moved on,” Margaret says. “You’ve all moved on so easily – even Ellen, and Henry only died six months ago. I don’t know why it still hurts.”

She rubs her eye with the palm of her hand, irritated. “I wish I was like you, but I’m not. I miss him.”

“You married for love,” Mary says kindly. “I was ordered to marry Stede, Inga was forced. You’re different in that you were happy.”

“Alice, what about you?” Margaret asks.

Alice speaks slowly. “He was younger than me, which was unheard of. He was the son of one of my father’s friends. I was supposed to marry his older brother, but he died in a cart accident. Sometimes…” Alice rubs her hands against her skirts. “Sometimes I can still feel him with me.”

“I’m the same,” Margaret says. “I’ll be doing something, and I can smell him. Or feel his hands against my back.”

Mary shivers, but can’t deny that she knows what Margaret’s talking about.

“When I was a child, I thought I saw my father,” she says. “After he died, I was coming home late, and I could see a figure in the distance, standing in the doorway. He was in front of the lantern, blocking out the light. As I got closer, he became fainter and fainter, until the lantern blinded me.”

She’s never told that to anyone before, not even Evelyn. She’d once tried to mention it to Stede, but he’d gone off on a tangent about ghost whales, and Mary had given up. She wishes that just once, he’d listened to her.

“If my father was still alive, I don’t think he’d have married me to Stede,” Mary continues. “I don’t think we would have been poor.”

“I think we should blame men for all our problems,” Alice says. “They always seem to ruin our lives.”

“In more ways than they could even imagine,” Margaret says. “I wish I could shake Daniel by the shoulder and tell him not to die.”

“I wish I could shake Stede and tell him to leave a body part behind,” Mary says. “Why couldn’t he have cut off a toe before he left?”

“Are you really going to kill him?” Margaret asks.

“I haven’t decided yet,” Mary admits. “I might do.”

“Best to do it quick,” Alice says.

“Because you don’t want him to suffer?” Margaret asks.

“Dying men scream,” Alice says. “Easier to do it quickly, in case you get noticed.”

A thought that Mary doesn’t like presses at the corner of her mind, and she pushes it away. She stands up instead, smoothing down her dress.

“I’m going to check on the other Widows upstairs,” she says, and leaves Alice and Margaret in silence.

***

They slip into a routine, and Mary finds she doesn’t hate it. She wakes when Israel comes downstairs to finish his watch, his boots heavy on the stairs before he shakes her awake. They swap beds silently, and Mary dresses in Stede’s forgotten clothes and creeps upstairs.

It’s always biting cold, and Mary wraps her shawls around herself as she stares out at the empty ocean. Sometimes she’ll spot another fishing boat on the horizon, not close enough to see the crew, but close enough that Mary doesn’t feel alone. She refuses to think about her children, because if she does, she’ll cry.

On this morning, Ellen is already awake, sitting on the top deck. She’s knitting something heavy on her lap, and glances up with surprise when Mary sits down next to her.

“You’re up early,” Mary says.

“I was on watch with Israel,” Ellen replies.

“How was it?”

“It was… good,” Ellen says. “Nobody attacked us in the dark.”

“Glad to hear it,” Mary says with a smile. “How was our pirate friend?”

“Quiet.” Ellen starts up another row of her knitting. “I think he likes having tasks to do.”

“He’s a miserable bastard,” Mary says, tucking her feet underneath her chin. “But I do enjoy annoying him.”

“He thinks you’re strange,” Ellen says. “He’s always complaining about you.”

“Good to know,” Mary says. “How are you finding all this?”

“It’s sort of like a holiday, isn’t it?” Ellen says. “I know we’re on a quest, and we have to find Mr Bonnet, but it’s nice almost.”

Mary watches Ellen’s quick hands.

“When was the last time you took a break?” Mary asks. “An actual break, not just visiting for supper.”

Ellen thinks for a moment. “I had a week off work when Henry died, when I laid in bed and cried all hours. So I suppose, six months ago?”

“You need to take care of yourself,” Mary says. “You need to take time off.”

“I can’t though.” Ellen scrubs at her face. “My sisters, they’re sweet, but they can’t run the shop well. I’m dreading going back, to see what a state they’ve made of it.”

“I’m sorry for dragging you along with me.”

“No! Don’t apologise,” Ellen says. “I wanted to come. If you didn’t have me, who would be knitting scarves?”

She spreads out the piece she’s been working on, and Mary can see now that it’s a scarf, black with little accents of grey. It’s gorgeous, and Mary reaches out and rubs the wool between her forefinger and thumb.

“It’s lovely,” Mary says. “You’re so talented Ellen.”

“Thank you,” Ellen’s cheeks flush. “It isn’t that hard, but it’s something to do.”

“Are you going to sell it at one of the ports?” Mary asks. “Or are you taking it back home?”

“Well I was thinking,” Ellen’s cheeks go redder. “Mr Hands might be cold during the watches. I was planning to give it to him.”

“Oh!” Mary says. She cannot imagine giving Israel a gift that wasn’t a kick. “I’m sure he’ll be surprised.”

“I hope he doesn’t throw it overboard in disgust,” Ellen says, looking at her scarf. “I have spent quite a bit of time on it.”

“I’ll string him from the mast if he does that,” Mary assures her. “I think it’s a good idea. Stop the chilblains.”

“Exactly,” Ellen says, and starts up her row.

When Mary comes back downstairs to fetch another shawl, Israel is laying on the floor with his eyes shut. Mary pokes him with the edge of her boot, and Israel grabs hold of her ankle tightly with his gloved hand. Mary gives a shriek, kicking out of his grip and almost toppling over.

“What was that for?!” she exclaims and Israel cracks one eye open.

“Thought you were an assailant,” he says, flat voiced.

“No you didn’t.” Mary sits down hard beside him. “You were trying to scare me.”

“It worked, didn’t it?” Israel says.

Mary tucks her knees up underneath her chin and studies Israel’s face. He’s weathered by the ocean, just like the fishermen she remembers from home, and his tattoos are fading from the sunshine.

“Do all pirates have tattoos?” she asks.

“Yes,” Israel says. “Why? Considering ink?”

“I’m not a pirate,” Mary says, and then. “Does Stede have any tattoos yet?”

Israel snorts. “Could you imagine Stede letting anyone ink him with a sharp stick and coal?”

“There’s a lot of things I apparently didn’t know about him,” Mary says.

Israel opens his mouth, as if he’s going to say something, and then closes it again.

“Some of us are trying to sleep,” he reminds her gruffly. “Did you stomp down here for any particular reason?”

“I needed my shawl,” Mary says, grabbing it from the foot of the bed. “It’s still cold out there.”

“We’re in danger of still water,” Israel says, closing his eyes. “Keep an eye out.”

“For water?” Mary says. “That’s easy enough.”

Israel flaps a hand at her. “Just piss off for five minutes will you Bonnet?”

Mary wraps her skirt around her head. “Yes Sir,” she says sarcastically, and goes back upstairs.

Everyone quickly picks up hobbies to do whilst the ship sails. Ellen continues knitting, Alice ropes Izzy into playing cards when he’s not being miserable, Evelyn does whatever Evelyn does when she disappears downstairs, and Mary paints.

Margaret and Inga carry on with their favourite hobby of arguing with each other.

“She is a rude cow,” Inga curses when Margaret is downstairs, napping. “I don’t like her in our Widow group.”

“Yes dear,” Mary says, doodling in her sketchbook. “I know.”

“Face of a slapped arse,” Inga says, and Mary looks at her. “What? She does!”

“Can’t you find something to do?” Mary asks. “Instead of complaining about Margaret?”

“I have nothing to do,” Inga complains. “There are no boys to flirt with, or things to buy.”

“Well, do something creative then,” Mary says.

“I wish I could draw,” Inga says. “It would come in handy.”

“I taught myself,” Mary says. “I could teach you?”

“We have no paper,” Inga says. “Or ink.”

“We don’t need paper or ink,” Mary says. “We just need a dry surface and water.”

Inga looks out across the deck, and the ocean beyond it. “We’ve got plenty of that,” she says, and Mary grins.

She teaches her like she taught her children letters, wetting a brush and painting across the deck. The drawings don’t stay for longer than a couple of minutes, but it’s a start, and Inga soon gets the hang of it.

She draws a portrait of Mary, a blobby circle with spiky hair and a smiley face. Mary wishes she could capture it somehow, pin it up on the children’s wall like a butterfly. She draws a portrait of her in the water, curly haired and serious, and Inga grins in delight.

Israel watches them from afar. Mary ignores him for the most part, because that’s how you treat a nervous dog, and eventually Israel comes over and stands beside her.

“Your Stede has an artist on the ship,” he says. Mary doesn’t know if he’s bringing up Stede to piss her off or as a sign of friendship.

“Is he as talented as me?” Mary asks, drawing a heart on the deck.

“He draws a lot of cocks,” Israel says.

“Charming,” Mary says.

She draws a rough estimate of a penis on the deck, and then steps back to admire it. It’s slightly misshapen, and Israel looks at it miserably.

“Is it based on Stede’s?” he asks.

“It’s the only one I’ve seen up close,” Mary admits. “That wasn’t an animal.”

Israel looks like he’s going to be sick. The two of them stare at the cock and balls until it fades away in the sunshine.

“I’m going to teach everyone how to play pirate cards,” Israel announces.

“Why?” Mary asks.

“To stop you drawing cocks everywhere,” Israel says. “Come on Bonnet.”

The days go by quickly. Mary enjoys spending time with her friends, telling stories with Margaret and Inga, being creative with Ellen, losing at cards with Alice, and whispering to Evelyn at night when they’re supposed to be asleep.

She even finds herself not hating Israel on occasion. He’s the only one that can beat Alice at Brelan, but she thrashes him every time at Whist. Mary sometimes leaves them at night on the top deck playing games with each other, Israel protesting as Alice steals his entire deck.

Mary loves her friends, but she still fucking hates the ocean.

They eat dinner on the top deck one night, illuminated by a lantern up above. It’s raining, but there’s a canopy overhead that covers them just enough to keep the flame alight. They’ve wrapped themselves up with blankets and pillows to keep themselves warm, apart from Israel, although he is wearing Ellen’s scarf.

Mary wriggles her way closer to Israel so they can talk privately. He’s staring moodily off into the distance, prodding the dried meat on his plate with his fork.

“What’s your plan when we find Stede’s ship?” Mary asks.

“Tie you to the mast,” Israel says. “Say that I’ll kill you if he doesn’t leave Edward.”

Mary chews and swallows. “Who is Edward?”

Israel pauses. “Just a man.”

“Seems like he’s pretty special to you,” Mary says.

Israel doesn’t answer.

“I know about special people,” Mary says slowly. “If you want-“

“I don’t want to fucking talk about him,” Israel interrupts. “Shut up and eat your fucking food.”

“Yes Mate,” Mary mocks and takes another mouthful.

They eat in silence for a while, listening to the rain hit the ocean. It makes Mary realise how alone they are out here, with nothing but the dark and the roar of the waves.

“When Stede agrees to leave,” Israel says. “What are you going to do?”

Mary shrugs, because she hasn’t thought of a scenario where Stede gives up piracy for her. “Go back home. Carry on living our little lives.”

“What was it like before you were married?”

“I met him on my wedding day,” Mary says.

“Fuck me,” Israel pulls a face. “No wonder he’s unhappy.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Mary asks.

“You’re not like him,” Israel says.

“What am I like?” Mary looks across at him.

Israel doesn’t look at her. “You’re dangerous,” he says. “I wouldn’t trust you.”

“And you trust Stede?”

“I know what he’ll do,” Israel says. “He believes in the power of friendship, and smiling his way out of a fucking hostage situation.”

“And me?”

“You’d stab your way out of a hostage situation,” Israel says. “I wouldn’t trust you in a hundred years.”

“And yet here you are, on a boat with me,” Mary says.

She reaches into her pocket and pulls out Israel’s ring. It’s cold in the palm of her hand, and she squeezes it until the stone bites into her skin.

“I’ll give this back when I’ve got my hands on Stede,” she promises.

Israel eyes the ring. “Fair.”

Mary tucks the ring back into her pocket, and leaves her hand there to try and warm it up. Even pressing her hand through her trouser fabric against her thigh sends shivers down her spine; she feels like a body made of hailstones.

“You’re getting better at cards,” Israel says to fill the silence.

“I’ve got a good teacher,” Mary says, surprising herself. “I’ll never win against you or Alice though.”

Israel snorts. “I’ll drink to that.”

Mary holds up her flagon of weak ale and offers it to him. “Cheers.”

Israel taps his own against her hand. “To finding Stede Bonnet.”

“To Mary Bonnet and Israel Hands,” Mary says.

“Izzy,” Israel says, and then looks at her. “Everyone calls me Izzy.”

“Izzy,” Mary repeats and then nods. “Okay.”

Israel pushes himself up from the deck, and leaves the Widows outside in the rain.

***

The fog appears from nowhere. Mary staggers up to the top deck one morning, and the air is thick like soup. Mary can barely see her hand in front of her face, and forces her way to the edge of the boat to try and see any signs of life.

“I’ve never seen fog like this before,” Israel says. “We should lay low.”

“Is it an omen?” Margaret asks.

“It’s not an omen,” Mary says, before anyone else can interrupt. “Israel, what do you want us to do?”

Israel looks around, uneasily. “Alice and Margaret, downstairs. Ellen and Inga, I want you on lookout. Evelyn and Mary, you can clean the barnacles off the side of the ship.”

“Why do we get the awful jobs?” Evelyn asks. She’s changed into a pantsuit look, with big flared trousers that could pass for skirts.

“Because I like you two the least,” Israel says.

“Oh you’re so fun,” Mary says, rolling her eyes. “Come on Evvy.”

It’s a tough job, but it’s not the worst thing that Mary has ever done with her hands. They stab the barnacles with a knife until they splinter from the wood, sitting on the small platform together that stops them from falling into the ocean.

Mary is pressed up against Evelyn, her thighs warm against her own. She keeps having to wiggle about to get the right angle on the barnacles, and it feels odd to have someone in such close quarters.

“Is it what you imagined?” Evelyn asks. “Piracy?”

Mary stabs at a stubborn mollusc. “I like it more than I expected,” she admits. “But I still couldn’t live like this.”

“I understand,” Evelyn says. “I miss my leopard.”

“I miss my garden,” Mary says, glad that they can speak plainly. “I miss fresh food.”

“I miss my own bed,” Evelyn pulls a barnacle off the boat. “I can’t wait for soft covers, and someone beside me.”

Mary stabs, misses. “Are you courting?” she asks.

They’ve never really spoken about the prospect of dating after widowhood. Yes, Alice has Henry, and Inga has been seen twice with Fisherman Coles, but it’s not serious.

“Mmm,” Evelyn says. “I suppose.”

Mary knows that Evelyn has lived an exciting and mysterious life – one that Mary barely knows the basics of. It’s completely understandable that Evelyn has other friends, friends from other countries even, but still.

“What does your stepson think?” Mary asks.

“Oh Melvin doesn’t care about anything I do,” Evelyn says. “He likes a quiet life.”

“Maybe Melvin and I should get together,” Mary jokes, and Evelyn looks disgusted.

“Oh gross. He wet the bed until he was seventeen.”

Mary pulls a face. “Delightful.”

Evelyn pushes the barnacle swing so that they sway back and forth. It makes Mary’s stomach do a flip, and she presses her feet against the side of the boat and then pushes off so they swing again.

Evelyn laughs. It’s a good sound.

They’re skiving off their work when the ship is attacked.

Mary hears it first: the dead silence and then the scream. She jolts in her seat, almost falling into the water below, and it’s only Evelyn’s grip on her arm that stops her toppling over.

Ellen screams again, like a fox.

There’s nobody to hoist them upwards, so Mary pulls herself up the side of the boat with her bleeding hands, knife shoved between the space of her corset and shirt. She hauls herself up over the side of the deck, breathing fast.

The fog is worse now, thick and white. Mary can just see shadows in the gloom, and she holds out the knife in front of her with both hands. She’s trembling, up until the figure looms up out of the white.

It’s a man, dressed in tattered clothing, hair long and matted. He stares at her, and Mary stares back.

“Hello pretty thing,” he says, and Mary rushes forward and plunges her knife straight into his shoulder.

The man wails, trying to beat her off with his fists, and Mary pushes with her weight, sending them both toppling to the floor. She pulls the knife out with some difficulty, and then stabs it straight in again to the man’s chest. He howls, and Mary withdraws her knife.

Her hands are covered with blood, making her grip on the knife slick. The man struggles underneath her, his hands scrabbling at her thighs. Mary closes her eyes and thrusts the knife in between his chin and throat. 

(It’s not the first time. It’s not the last.)

She’s dragged off the corpse by another pirate, who punches her hard in the side of her head. It dislodges a tooth somewhere in her skull, and she spits it at him, misses.

“Little bitch,” the pirate says, and Mary fights like a tom cat, screaming and whirling in his arms. His grip on her is strong however, and soon she’s forced down onto her knees.

Inga is fighting someone across the deck, trying to scratch out the man’s eyes. He punches her in the stomach and she doubles over, which the man takes advantage of by pushing her down against the deck. 

She can’t see Israel. A horrible sinking feeling that he’s betrayed them enters her thoughts and chills her cold. She slumps slightly, and the pirate pats her on the head, presuming submission.

Out of the fog, a man with tattered clothing and a moustache looms. He’s holding Ellen by the hair, almost swinging her back and forth across the deck.

“What have we here?” he calls out. “A women’s sailing trip?”

“Let her go!” Mary shouts. “We don’t have anything worth taking!”

“Sure you do,” the pirate says. “You have a ship, for one.”

Ellen tries to punch the pirate and he shakes her. “No. Be good.”

He wraps his hand around Ellen’s throat and squeezes, tilting his head as if curious what the outcome will be. Mary tries to fight her way out of the grip of the man holding her, but his nails are digging into her skin. 

Someone is dragged up from the lower deck, kicking and punching. It’s Margaret, limbs flailing like a horsefly. Mary, ashamed, turns her face away from the other woman.

The pirate drops Ellen to the floor, and Ellen’s hands rise to her neck, touching the bruised skin. She makes a gulping noise for air, and the man grins, excited by the sound.

“Is Izzy around?” he asks.

Ellen shakes her head. 

“Interesting,” the man says. “He’s not the kind of man you’d protect. So where’s he gone, little Miss Muffet?”

“Are you here for Israel?” Mary calls, hoping that she can lie her way out of this situation.

“Israel?” the man repeats, and laughs. “He’s Izzy Hands. No motherfucker on this Earth calls him Israel.”

His gaze has drifted back to Ellen again. Mary doesn’t like that.

“Why are you looking for him?” she asks. “I can help you find him.”

“He promised me something,” the man says, not distracted by Mary’s words. “But maybe you’re a better prize.”

The pirate runs his calloused hand across Ellen’s cheek, scraping his thumb over her lower lip. Ellen looks up at him with big wet eyes, and the pirate pushes his thumb inside her mouth.

Ellen bites down so hard that she almost takes his thumb right off.

The pirate screams, trying to pull his hand out of Ellen’s mouth, but Ellen clamps her teeth shut like a bulldog. The other men onboard the ship rush to their Captain’s aid, trying to pull Ellen off him, but there’s no force like a woman on a mission.

Finally, someone grabs Ellen by the hair, causing her to cry out in pain. The thumb slips from her mouth, half severed, and blood dribbles down Ellen’s chin, enough to choke her.

“You fucking monster!” the Captain screams, high pitched and scared. He cradles his thumb in his hands, staring down at the mess of blood and bone.

Ellen spits blood onto the floor, her nose wrinkled. “Don’t put your fingers near me,” she says hoarsely.

“Women on ships aren’t human,” one of the pirates says, sounding scared. “She must be a witch.”

“She’s not a fucking witch,” the Captain snaps. “She’s an angry little bitch.”

“Needs to be taught a lesson, Calico Jack,” a man suggests. 

“That’s what I was thinking,” he responds.

He takes his sword with his good hand, knuckles clenched around the hilt. Mary starts to struggle, trying to escape from the man holding her, but she’s not strong enough, not yet.

“This is what happens,” Calico Jack says. “To women who don’t know their place.”

Calico Jack swings his sword towards Ellen’s neck.

Mary screams.

The pirate misses, and his sword drives into Ellen’s shoulder.

Mary is filled with a rage that she’s never felt before. She wrenches her arm out of her captor’s grip and lurches herself forward. Ellen is crying, hot and snotty, and Mary charges her way towards Calico Jack.

He turns towards her, laughing.

Mary drives her knife into his stomach.

Calico Jack makes a gurgling noise that echoes around the ship. Mary keeps pushing the knife, further and further inside him until she can hold it no longer, buried deep inside. Calico Jack’s hands scrabble for purchase on the hilt, and Mary screams loud and pitched.

“Why – won’t – you – die!” she roars, and Calico Jack does the first sensible thing he’s done that day, and promptly keels over.

Mary drops forward onto her knees, and it takes her a moment to realise she’s wailing. She covers her face with her hands, screaming and weeping in the uncontrollable way that a child does when it thinks it’s completely alone.

Someone is beside her on the ground, speaking in a low voice, but she can’t hear anything, not over the roar of the blood in her eyes and the sound of Ellen in pain.

“Bonnet.”

Mary has blood everywhere and her hands are still raw and red from the barnacles, and she doesn’t want to be here, she wants to be home-

“Bonnet.”

She did this, she brought everyone onto the ship, and it’s all her fault, and she doesn’t know if anyone else is injured, or dead, or-

“Mary!”

Mary looks up through the tears and Israel Hands takes hold of her wrists, holding them tight enough that it feels like a burn. It bites through the pain, and Mary takes a great gulping breath.

Israel’s hair is out of place, his cheek smeared with a stripe of blood. There’s excitement licking at him, and Mary lets him hold her hands until the bones grind against each other.

“Listen to me,” Israel says, pushing his face into hers. “You need to stop and think.”

“Ellen-“ Mary starts.

“Will be fine,” Israel says. “You need to get below deck, we need to go.”

He hauls Mary to her feet, his gloved hand wrapped around her wrist to keep her steady. Tears are dripping down her face, and she feels numb as Israel pushes her against another body. It’s Evelyn. Mary recognises her by the smell. 

Everything seems to happen as if in a dream. She’s being lifted up off her feet, Evelyn holding her in strong arms, whispering soft things to her, and then they’re going down the stairs, and the light is fading.

She’s laid down on something soft, and there are warm bodies beside her, and Mary shuts her eyes and forgets.

***

Mary wakes up wrapped in someone’s arms. She stirs, making a small sleepy noise, and the person holding her squeezes her tightly. For a moment in her sleep-addled brain, Mary thinks it’s Stede and wrinkles her nose.

Then she smells Evelyn’s perfume and opens her eyes.

Evelyn isn’t wearing her eyepatch, and Mary can see the empty socket. She’s never asked Evelyn about her injury, and the sight of it frightens and comforts her all at once. Evelyn has her own eyes shut tight, and Mary rubs the top of her head against Evelyn’s chest.

“Awake?” Evelyn asks sleepily.

“Mmm,” Mary says, and then the memories from earlier come flooding back.

She pushes herself upright, startling Evelyn. They’re lying in the sleeping quarters of the ship, and Mary can tell that it’s light outside from the cracks in the planks above. She can hear the faint sounds of people talking, and she looks around, trying to spot the others.

The quarters are empty.

“Ellen,” Mary says.

“Israel’s taking her to Port for medical help,” Evelyn says, sitting upright. “Don’t panic Mary.”

Evelyn’s hair falls loose down to her waist, the oversized men’s shirt she’s wearing half-slipping off her shoulder. Mary turns her face away from Evelyn’s nakedness.

“Was anyone else hurt?” Mary asks in a small voice.

“Shaken up,” Evelyn says. “More than anything.”

She reaches up and pushes a loose strand of hair out of her face. There’s a long cut running down her arm, and Mary gasps, taking Evelyn’s arm in her hands to inspect it.

“You’re hurt,” she says.

“It’s nothing,” Evelyn says. “Just a scratch.”

“I got you hurt,” Mary says.

“You didn’t make me attack a pirate,” Evelyn says. “I decided to tackle him head on.”

“You could have been injured seriously.”

“But I wasn’t,” Evelyn assures her. She wiggles her arm out of Mary’s grip. “Your Israel worried about you.”

“No he didn’t,” Mary says.

“He did,” Evelyn’s one eye glitters. “He kept coming down here to check on you.”

“If I die, he can’t bargain with Stede,” Mary says. “Where is he now?”

“With Ellen and the others,” Evelyn says. “Shall we go check on them?”

“Please,” Mary says.

They dress in whatever clothes they can find strewn about the sleeping quarters. Mary ends up one of Margaret’s long black skirts, and a shirt that Inga bought on board which has daisies sewn into the sleeves. Evelyn wears one of Alice’s green dresses, and Mary admires the nape of her neck as Evelyn ties back her hair.

“Ready?” Evelyn asks, adjusting her eye patch.

“Ready.” Mary says, and together they climb the stairs.

The Republic of Pirates is busy and gloomy, and Mary keeps a tight hold on Evelyn’s arm as they walk. She’s well aware that they’re being watched by several men and women, dressed in similar garb to Calico Jack’s men.

Evelyn has clearly been here before, and leads Mary through alleyways and dark passages until they reach a tavern with SPANISH JACKIE’Z written across the doorway.

“I hope Israel hasn’t led us into a trap,” Mary says.

“Come along,” Evelyn says, tugging at Mary. “Where’s your sense of adventure?”

They find the rest of the Widows in a private room, spread across chaise lounges and various elaborate chairs, the room decorated like one of Stede’s fantasies. Ellen’s shoulder is bandaged, her throat bruised, and Mary goes to her first, dropping down onto one knee beside her.

“I got you injured,” she says angrily.

“I bit a pirate on the hand,” Ellen says mildly. ”I think we were all expecting him to retaliate.”

“You shouldn’t have been in that position in the first place,” Mary says.

“Don’t apologise.” Margaret says sternly. “That was not your fault.”

“Gave us a chance to let off steam,” Inga adds. “I have a pirate hat now.”

She’s not lying; there is indeed a pirate hat perched rakishly on her head.

“Mm,” Margaret says, seemingly not impressed. “Now get up off the floor Mary or you’ll dirty your skirts.”

“Yes Margaret,” Mary says, pretending to be annoyed, but she pulls herself up off the floor and sits down next to Ellen.

Evelyn squishes up next to her, one arm wrapped around Mary’s waist. Alice passes them both cups and saucers, and Mary sniffs it.

“It’s tea,” Alice says. “Freshly made.”

Mary sips it cautiously. It’s burning hot, and she can feel it slipping down her throat and into her belly.

“Where’s Israel?” she asks.

“Important pirate meetings,” Margaret says, motioning towards a heavy locked door. “With Spanish Jackie.”

“Who’s Spanish Jackie?” Mary asks, as the door swings open.

Spanish Jackie turns out to be one of the most beautiful women that Mary has ever seen. She’s tall, and when she lights her cigar with her wooden hand, Mary feels her stomach twist. It’s how she feels when Evelyn smiles at her over a private joke, or brushes a loose strand of hair behind Mary’s ear. It’s a queer feeling.

“Mary Bonnet!” Spanish Jackie announces to the room. “The widow on a mission.”

Mary stands on ceremony. Jackie crosses the room and shakes Mary’s hand with her own. It’s the most aggressive handshake that Mary has ever experienced.

“Hello,” Mary says. “It’s nice to meet you-”

“You know, we don’t get enough widows like you,” Jackie interrupts. “I’m a big fan. Huge.”

“Oh,” Mary says. “Thank you?”

Jackie finally stops shaking Mary’s hand, and Mary wiggles her fingers to make sure she still has feeling in them. She sits back down onto her seat and Jackie throws herself down onto the chair opposite.

“Geraldo!” she calls. “Rum for all my friends.”

“Whiskey if you’ve got it,” Alice says.

Jackie laughs, showing off pearly white teeth. “And a dram of whiskey for this old lady.”

Evelyn’s hand strokes up and down Mary’s arm lightly. It sends goosebumps across her skin.

“Where’s Israel?” Mary asks.

“Eh, around here somewhere,” Jackie waves her wooden hand. “Lurking about the place. Complaining about your husband.”

Jackie leans forward. “Were you really married to Stede?”

“Yes?” Mary says cautiously.

“Christ,” Jackie says. “A pretty thing like you, married to a man like that? He was punching well above his weight.”

“It was arranged,” Mary says.

“That explains it,” Jackie says. “Knew someone as cute as you wouldn’t settle.”

Mary’s face flushes.

Thankfully, they’re interrupted by Israel entering the room like a bad smell. He looks relatively pleased to see she’s alive, but not enough to say anything comforting.

“You look like death,” he says bluntly, and then turns to Jackie. ”How quick until word spreads?”

“That Calico’s dead?” Jackie shrugs. “Hours. Days. Depends.”

Israel grinds his teeth together. “We’re going to have to swap ships.”

“I’m not swapping shit with you,” Jackie says. “I’ll accept a boat as payment, but I want more than just a fishing boat.”

“We have money,” Margaret says.

“How much?” Jackie asks.

“Lots,” Inga says, “What? It’s true, I am very rich.”

“Gold’s boring,” Jackie says, and she’s looking at Mary. “What else have you got?”

“Chickens,” Alice says. “Lots of chickens. And a safe place for you to stay in Barbados, if you should ever need sanctuary.”

Jackie sucks her teeth. “Now that’s a good deal.”

She drums her wooden fingers against the table. “Fine. I accept your conditions. But only because you girls interest me. Izzy, you’re dumb as hell.”

Israel rolls his eyes.

“Thank you,” Mary says gratefully. “This means a lot to us.”

“We’ll stay for the night,” Israel says. “Pay for bed and board. Then off to St Augustine tomorrow.”

“Oh, you haven’t heard?” Jackie says, “Stede’s moved on.”

Silence falls across the room.

“No,” Israel says slowly. “He’s in St Augustine with Blackbeard.”

Jackie shakes her head and takes a puff of her cigar. “They’re going to the Cove.”

Israel clenches his jaw and doesn’t look at Mary.

“Will we be able to catch up with them in time?” Mary asks.

“I’ll figure something out,” Israel says.

“Like you figured out a plan if pirates were to attack?” Mary asks, raising her voice. “We couldn’t find you. Ellen was stabbed.”

“Lightly stabbed,” Ellen points out.

“Where did you even go?” Mary asks him. “What were you doing whilst we were being pinned to the deck?”

“I was working out a plan,” Israel says.

“Was this your plan?” Mary asks. “That we’d end up here, scared and injured?”

Behind her, she hears Jackie lean in and whisper to Inga.

“Is she normally this bold?” Jackie asks.

“Mary doesn’t suffer fools,” Inga whispers back, and Mary ignores the pride it feels her with.

“What do you want me to say?” Israel snaps. “You’re not my fucking wife. I don’t answer to you.”

“I’m your Captain,” Mary says. “I thought that would mean something to you.”

Israel snarls at her. Mary grips the knife in her skirt pocket, silently daring him to make another move.

The room is quiet.

“Fuck this idiocracy,” Israel says, and walks out, slamming the door shut behind him.

Jackie lets out a whistled breath. “Jesus. You two either need to fuck or fight.”

“Fight,” the widows chorus at once.

Jackie laughs, and it echoes around the room. Mary wants to swim in it like molasses.

“Fair enough,” Jackie says, and pushes herself to her feet. “Who wants more alcohol?”

Alice raises her glass, along with Inga and Mary. Evelyn is suspiciously quiet, and Mary nudges her with her arm.

“Okay?” she asks.

Evelyn offers her a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. “Fine,” she says. “Don’t worry Bonnet.”

Mary is drunk. She’s never been drunk before, and she doesn’t know if she likes it or not. She’s very aware that she’s lying on one of Spanish Jackie’s chaise lounges as noise spills out around her. Her head is spinning, and she feels both sleepy and awake at the same time.

“And then he tried to steal my noses!” Jackie declares, and laughter rises up from the room.

Mary tries to laugh but her mouth feels heavy. She tries to push herself upright, but her body isn’t responding.

“Hey!” Jackie says, noticing Mary, as if for the first time. “This girl - This woman right? Leaves her life behind and goes chasing after her husband. Now Spanish Jackie likes a husband, but not enough to follow him out into the ocean.”

“I hate him,” Mary says miserably.

Someone elbows her. It might be Evelyn, or Ellen. So many names beginning with E. She still can’t sit upright.

“And I’ve met her husband,” Jackie continues. “He is no-othing special. Spanish Jackie would kick that perky ass out of bed for making crumbs.”

Mary manages to find her feet. Incredibly, they were at the ends of her legs.

“I’m going to bed,” she declares.

“Don’t go,” Alice says, a sailor on each arm. “We’re having so much fun.”

“Jackie is going to tell her about Spanish husband-murdering pirates,” Inga says, still wearing her hat.

Mary screws up her face. She knows that hat. Not from Inga wearing it - but someone else.

The man in the port. Calico Jack. Who Israel spoke to.

“Damn,” Mary swears, and staggers off.

She doesn’t know where Israel would be. He might be outside but Mary can’t find her way out, or he might be in the lodging rooms upstairs, but she can’t work out where the staircase is, and where did Evelyn go? Mary misses her face. It’s a good face.

She pushes open a door and steps inside. It’s dark, and Mary fumbles about looking for candles and matches.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Israel says out of the darkness. His voice is slurred ever so slightly. Mary would be the only one to notice it.

“Trying to find you,” Mary says, still feeling around.

“Go back to Jackie,” Israel says.

Mary slams her hands against the wall. “No.”

“Why not?”

“I’m trying to find you,” Mary drags her hands across the wall, knocking a lantern off the hook, where it smashes.

“Now look what’ve done,” Israel’s voice says from close by. “Jackie won’t be pleased with you.”

“I don’t care,” Mary says “Where are you?”

“Trying to hide from you-” He’s cut off by Mary’s fingers investigating his mouth.

“Found you,” Mary says, and Israel bites down hard.

It’s not enough to draw blood, but the pain sends a shock down Mary’s spine. It sobers her, but not fully, which explains why she punches Israel hard in the stomach.

It’s the first time that they’ve been properly alone without anyone being tied up. Mary has a knife in her skirt pocket and Israel’s sword hangs in his belt.

They end up wrestling on the floor like children, fingers in each other’s facial orifices. Mary ends up on top, pinning Israel to the ground with her thighs. She leans over him, triumphant, and Israel spits up into her face. He stinks of beer, and other things that make men thick and stupid.

(The man in the carriage house was drunk and cruel, and his breath was sour against Mary’s neck.)

“You lied to me,” Mary says.”You told Calico Jack about our ship.”

Israel struggles underneath her. “I didn’t.”

“You told your pirate friends about us,” Mary leans in closer, her hair covering her face. “That we were a ship full of widows with items for trade. You know what men like him do to women like us.”

Israel’s hand finds her hip. He digs his nails into the skin and Mary grabs hold of him and twists his fingers back. He hisses in pain.

“I trusted you,” Mary says. “I thought we were friends.”

“I didn’t tell fucking Calico Jack about you,” Israel snarls. “I told him about your fucking husband.”

“Why would he care about Stede?” Mary argues.

“He doesn’t, that’s the fucking point,” Israel tries to hit her and she holds him down. “I told him to find Stede’s ship and distract Edward.”

“Why?”

“So that Stede and Edward were split up,” Israel says. “Then we could arrive, and Stede would be lonely and sad, and he’d come running back to his wife and your simple life.”

“There is nothing wrong with a simple life,” Mary snaps. “I am happy-”

“Is that why you’ve left everything behind to travel with a pirate?”

“I had no other option!” Mary shouts, louder than she anticipated. “I am nothing but property under Barbados law. I don’t even control my body.”

Mary slumps back, the tears pricking at her eyeballs.

“They would have taken my children,” she says between her hands. “And sold me off like cattle to the highest bidder. I have no brothers, or father. There is nobody to protect me.”

Mary wants. She wants in the way that Stede Bonnet does, in the way that every man she’s ever met wants, selfishly and for her own pleasure. She wants a painting shed, good wine, and the love of her friends. She wants to never be bothered again.

It prickles underneath her skin, the envy she has for her husband. She’s never been given the choice.

Israel is quiet for a while, his chest rising up and down. He’s warm underneath her, and Mary is so tired suddenly. She just wants to curl up and sleep like a small animal.

“Mary-” Israel starts, and then the door swings open.

“Oh Christ, if you’re fucking in the wine cellar, I’m going to have to decontaminate the whole area,” Geraldo says, covering his eyes with one hand. “This is literally the most disgusting thing I’ve ever seen, and I watched Spanish Jackie feed a man his own eyeball.”

Mary clambers off Israel, cheeks crimson. She doesn’t know how to explain their relationship to a stranger, especially someone like Geraldo.

“I’ve got to go,” she says to nobody in particular. “To bed. Goodnight.”

Mary walks back to the ship in the dark. The air is humid, and it makes her sticky underneath her clothes. She can hear the ocean lapping against the sides of the port, and for one horrible moment, she wants to jump in.

She climbs up the ladder of The Widow’s Revenge, and the stillness reminds her of the legends of ghost ships. She quietly opens up the hatch to the lower deck and steps down into the darkness below.

Mary welcomes sleep like an old friend.

***

Ellen is too sick to travel.

Not that she’ll admit it. The bruises around her neck have bloomed overnight, leaving purple blotches, and her face screws up with pain every time she tries to move her arm. Even eating breakfast in Spanish Jackie’s private chambers is hard for her, and Mary watches as Ellen moodily stabs at a boiled egg with her left hand.

Evelyn, sitting opposite Mary, isn’t looking at her. Mary tries to nudge her underneath the table, but Evelyn doesn’t react, slicing her breakfast with clinical precision. Mary feels sick, and the breakfast that Geraldo cooked isn’t helping.

The atmosphere is tense. 

“I’ve missed sleeping in a bed,” Inga says, remarkably fresh-faced. “No seabirds screaming in the night.”

“Really?” Alice says. “I missed the sound of the ocean. I barely slept a wink.”

“Henry will do ocean sounds for you when you return,” Inga says, and makes the sound of the tide with her mouth, a soft shh shh noise.

“If you hold a shell against your ear, it sounds like the sea,” Ellen says. She tries to bring her egg up to her mouth and drops it onto the plate instead. “Oh, again?!”

“Here,” Alice takes a heaped spoon of yellow egg from Ellen’s plate. “Open up.”

Mary looks down at her plate as Alice feeds Ellen like a baby. The helplessness shames her, and doesn’t help her own guilt about this journey.

“Do we have a plan today?” Margaret asks across the table.

Mary eats a slice of boiled potato before answering. “Find out where Stede is now. Travel there. Push him overboard.”

“Glad to hear that nothing’s changed,” Evelyn says.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Mary asks.

“Nothing,” Evelyn says blankly.

“What would you do?” Mary asks. “If you were Captain?”

Evelyn shrugs. “I’d wait for Stede to dock here, and kill him in private.”

“I don’t have time to wait for him,” Mary says. “I need to find him as soon as possible.”

“I thought you’d like a plan where you got to stay at Spanish Jackie’s,” Evelyn says.

“Why would I want to stay here?” Mary asks, confused. 

Evelyn doesn’t get a chance to reply before Israel enters the room from behind them, slamming the door with enough force to shake the hinges. Ellen looks up, and then looks straight back down at her plate, cheeks flushing. Mary bites back a smile, because that was not something she was expecting.

“I’ve done some investigating,” Israel says. 

“Oh?” She looks over her shoulder to look at him. He doesn’t meet her eyes.

“Found out where Stede is,” he says. “We’ll need to move fast to catch him.”

“How fast?” Mary asks.

“By midday,” Israel says. “If the wind is right. I’ve got a ship waiting in the dock.”

Mary looks around at the Widows. 

“Ellen can’t travel,” she says, “And everyone is still shaken up by the attack.”

“You’re not,” Israel says.

“No,” Mary agrees. “I’m not.”

The room is silent.

Margaret breaks it. “I’m not letting you travel with a man by yourself,” she says. “It’s unladylike.”

“This whole thing is unladylike,” Inga says.

“I didn’t ask for your opinion,” Margaret snaps.

“Yes, well you got it,” Inga says with a harsh blink. “I will go with Mary. I’m not shaken up.”

“Neither am I,” Margaret says. 

Mary looks at Evelyn, who has lit a cigar. “I’ll come,” she says finally. “Who else will be there to scare off the pirates?”

“I think it’s very unfair that I’m being left behind,” Alice says, but then sighs. “But someone has to look after Ellen.”

“I’m sorry,” Ellen says. “I really want to come.”

“I know you do,” Mary reaches across and lightly touches Ellen’s left hand. “I’m sorry.”

Israel sniffs at the display of affection. “Let’s just board the fucking ship.”

Mary is stealing rations when Spanish Jackie catches her. One moment Mary is slipping a bottle of rum into her skirts, and the next she’s pinned against the wall, a wooden hand against her throat.

“Hey little thief,” Spanish Jackie says, looking her up and down. “That’s mine.”

“I’m sorry-” Mary says, and Jackie increases the pressure. “I’ll give it back!”

Jackie reaches inside Mary’s skirt pocket and pulls out the bottle of rum. She uncaps it using her teeth, takes a long swig, and then offers it to Mary.

Mary takes the bottle and sips it. It burns going down her chest.

“I’m here to warn you,” Jackie says, watching Mary swallow. 

“About what?” Mary says.

Jackie tilts her head to one side, like Mary is a puzzle piece that she’s trying to slot into place. “You’re brave, you know that? Travelling out into the middle of nowhere with pirates.”

“I care for my husband.”

“Maybe you do,” Jackie says. “And maybe you don’t.”

Jackie takes the rum from Mary and takes another long drink.

“You need to keep an eye on your First Mate,” Jackie says. “He’s keeping things from you.”

“Like what?” Mary asks.

Jackie hands the bottle to Mary again instead of answering.

“I’m not thirsty,” Mary says.

Jackie smirks. “You’re going to have to drink it little thief. I don’t sell open liquor.”

Mary takes another small sip. Jackie tilts the bottle so that it drips down Mary’s chin, and Mary gags on it.

“You’re not the only person on your ship that wants what isn’t theirs,” Jackie says.

“What does Israel want?” Mary manages to gasp out.

Jackie leans in close, her breath hot enough to send goosebumps. “Blackbeard.”

There are footsteps close by, heels clacking against a tiled floor. Mary looks over and spots Evelyn in the corridor, her mouth a flat line.

“Evvie,” Mary says, and the words taste like rum.

“Bonnet,” Evelyn says. “Get your things. We’re leaving.”

Mary pushes Jackie off her, almost tripping over her own feet. Somehow the bottle of rum ends up in her hand, and she clutches it like a lifeline as she follows Evelyn out into the daylight. 

 Evelyn doesn’t speak to Mary when they board the ship, when they set sail, or even when they drift off across the ocean. It’s worse than if they were actually arguing, and Mary doesn’t even know why.

Israel doesn’t speak to her either, but that’s normal. He stares moodily out at the horizon, gloved hand on his hip. Mary doesn’t bother to ask him what’s wrong.

Inga and Margaret are the only ones who haven’t got the memo. They start an argument in the lower quarters that travels up to the top deck, and soon they’re trading insults back and forth across the ship, Inga yelling as she stands at the hull, and Margaret shouting from the stern.

“You are a rude spoilt little brat!” Margaret says over the churning of the waves. “Who doesn’t think about anyone but themselves!”

“And you are a stuck up bitch!” Inga screeches. “A liar and cruel!”

Mary slumps in her chair, face in her hands. She wishes that she could push them both overboard without doing any damage, because if she hears one more argument, she’s going to slit her own wrists.

“Ladies,” Evelyn says wearily. “Can we shut up for an hour? Just one measly hour?”

“She started it,” Margaret says.

“Oh? Oh I started it?” Inga says. “Then I will finish it.”

She makes to run at Margaret, but Evelyn gets in the way, holding Inga back like a rabid dog. Inga struggles in her arms, but Evelyn merely sighs and forces Inga down into the seat beside Mary.

“You are behaving like a child,” Evelyn says sternly.

“I-”

“And if you don’t stop it, I will find Israel’s sword and I will cut up all your nice dresses,” Evelyn warns.

Inga’s mouth falls open. “You wouldn’t?”

“I would,” Evelyn warns. “All those lovely gowns, I would slice off the sleeves and tear great big holes in the lining.”

Inga looks at Mary with alarm.

“She means it,” Mary says, and carries on drawing.

Inga sees the ship first. Mary is sitting at the end of her bed, sketching a portrait of her children from memory, when Inga comes running down the stairs, almost tripping over her skirts.

“What is it?” Mary says, cross hatching the shadows of Alma’s jaw, expecting some gossip about Margaret.

“There’s a ship,” Inga says, out of breath. “With sails like clouds.”

Mary tilts her head to one side.

“It’s flying the British flag,” Inga says, thrusting her hand out towards Mary. “Quickly – Come see.”

They take the stairs two at a time, bursting up onto the top deck. The air is humid, and Mary peels off her waistcoat, tying it around her stomach. Inga points towards the horizon, and Mary lays eyes on the biggest ship she’s ever seen.

It’s beautiful, cutting across the water elegantly as her sails bloom in the wind. Her bowsprit is pointing upward proudly, leading the ship forward like an outstretched hand.

Mary holds onto the deck railing in awe. She doesn’t like ships, but this one takes her breath away.

“Where’s it going?” she asks.

“I don’t know,” Inga says. “Not after us.”

Mary leans across the barrier, peering into the distance. “I think it’s hunting something,” she says. “Another ship.”

“Pirates?” Inga asks.

Mary screws up her eyes to try and see better. “A smaller ship. With a black flag.”

“Should we get involved?” Inga asks.

“I don’t know,” Mary says. “I’m not getting involved with pirates.”

Inga says something in Swedish that sounds oddly like Israel Hands.

The wind picks up from behind them suddenly, catching The Widow’s Revenge’s sails and pushing her in the direction of the Navy ship. Mary knows she should probably find Israel, and make sure they’re sailing towardsThe Cove, but it’s fun to feel the wind push them along, like a helping hand.

They’re close enough now that Mary can just make out the flag of the second ship. It’s a mixture of flags patched together; a vomiting skull, a cat licking it’s paw.

“I think it’s a pirate ship,” she says. “Maybe we’re about to watch a battle.”

“Should I get the others?” Inga asks.

“Get Israel,” Mary says. “Margaret won’t take kindly to you disturbing her, and Evelyn isn’t my biggest fan at the moment.”

“Maybe you should stop flirting with other women,” Inga says bluntly.

Mary flushes red. “I haven’t been flirting with anyone!” she protests, and Inga folds her arms.

“You and Spanish Jackie were friendly. Very friendly.”

“That’s just how I talk,” Mary says weakly.

“No, it is not,” Inga says. “You never talk to me like that.”

“Well I’m sorry,” Mary huffs. “Just go get Israel. And I don’t flirt!”

“You do!” Inga says, and lifts up her skirts to hurry downstairs.

Mary leans against the side and tries to keep watching the two ships, but Inga’s words press on her mind. She hasn’t been flirting, has she? She doesn’t think that she’s ever flirted in her life. Maybe after Stede and herself had married, when she was still trying to make the best of her marriage, but not since then. She wouldn’t even know how to flirt with another woman.

Unless she has been flirting and she’s never realised it. Oh god, all this time, has she been leading people on? Was she leading Spanish Jackie on?

Mary is brought out of her thoughts by Israel stomping up the stairs, Inga close behind.

“I was busy,” he snaps, “Why are you bothering me?”

“Look at these ships,” Mary says. “We think it’s a Navy and pirate battle.”

Israel shakes his head, but pulls a spyglass out of his pocket. He draws it up to his right eye, squinting with his left, and peers out at the horizon.

Then he goes white.

“What is it?” Mary says. “What’s wrong?”

Israel pulls the spyglass away from his face. “That’s Stede’s Bonnet ship,” he says hoarsely.

Mary feels her heart fall deep into her stomach.

“Stede?” she whispers.

“And that’s the Navy’s biggest vessel,” Israel says. “Captained by Badminton. Your husband’s really fucked up this time.”

“Why am I not surprised?” Inga mutters.

“We’ll have to try and catch them,” Israel says.

“How?” Mary says. “We’re a small boat.”

“I don’t know,” Israel says through gritted teeth. “Let’s pray.”

Mary looks up at the sky and wonders if anyone is looking down on them. She doesn’t really think so.

It turns out God is looking out for them. Or maybe an omniscient narrator who understands how deadlines work.

The Widow’s Revenge slices through the water like a shark, the wind pushing them closer to Stede at a rate of several knots. Mary feels physically sick as they advance towards the other ships, and the feeling gets worse when Evelyn joins her above deck.

“So this is it,” Evelyn says quietly, unable to be heard by the others. “The moment we’ve been waiting for.”

Mary nods her head. Her palms are sweaty.

“Are you nervous?” Evelyn asks, not looking at her.

“Yes,” Mary says. “Are you?”

“I’m not scared of Stede Bonnet,” Evelyn replies. “Or the Royal Navy.”

Mary looks down at the ocean underneath them. “I thought it would be quiet. Without an audience.”

“You’ll be fine,” Evelyn says. “You’ll be doing the Royal Navy a favour by killing a pirate.”

Mary wishes she could see her own reflection in the water. She hasn’t been able to look at herself for a long time.

Evelyn sighs. “You know, it’s hard to be angry at you when you’re being so sad and sorry for yourself.”

“I don’t want you to be angry with me,” Mary says. She thinks back to the conversation with Inga.  “Did you think I was flirting with Spanish Jackie?”

Evelyn blinks. “You were flirting with Spanish Jackie. Very plainly, may I add.”

“Well I wasn’t,” Mary says fiercely. “I would never flirt with anyone.”

Evelyn lets out a snort of a laugh. “Mary,” she says. “You’ve been flirting with me for months.”

“I would know if I’d been flirting with you-“ Mary starts, and then stops.

The bed sharing.

The foot touching.

The way that Mary gets upset at the thought of Evelyn having other friends.

“Oh,” Mary says in a small voice.

Evelyn looks at Mary like she is very silly, but very sweet. “Mary Bonnet,” she says. “You are the kind of woman who will leave her entire life behind to sail the ocean on a murder mission, but not the kind of woman to tell when her best friend is flirting with her?”

Mary buries her face in her hands. “I’m such an idiot.”

“Yes, you are,” Evelyn agrees.

“Why did you have to tell me now!” Mary protests. “I’m about to go murder my husband and the whole time I’ll be thinking about you – Not that I ever stop thinking about you-“

She cuts herself off angrily, because how did she never realise! Evelyn! It’s always been Evelyn!

“You think about me?” Evelyn asks, sounding pleased.

“Stop that,” Mary says, “I’m going to walk to the other side of the ship and plan my next move.”

“You do that sweetheart,” Evelyn says with a smirk.

“Don’t,” Mary says, pointing at Evelyn. “No.”

Eveyln doesn’t say anything, but there’s a wicked expression on her face. Mary turns and storms off towards the other side of the ship, because if she stays there a moment longer, she’s going to do something stupid. Like killing her husband, or kissing a woman. Both thoughts are equally terrifying. 

They’re close enough now that they can see that the Navy is boarding Stede’s ship. Mary can see the crew being thrown to the ground, belongings being scattered across the deck. There’s suddenly a flash of a pale white naked man running across the top deck, and Margaret makes a sound like an injured goose.

“Oh my goodness,” she bristles. “I’m glad we don’t have that on our ship.”

“Reminds me of my husband,” Inga says. “You’d know about that, wouldn’t you Margaret?”

“I never saw them together,” Margaret snaps. “As I have explained to you a thousand times.”

“Only my husband in your family home,” Inga says pointedly. “And never thought to ask his intentions.”

Mary interrupts before they can get into another argument. “Are we just going to pull up alongside them and climb aboard?”

“No other choice,” Israel says miserably. “They’re going to kill Stede and Edward for piracy.”

“Hang them at Execution Dock,” Inga adds. “Leave them to rot.”

“Yes, I’m sure Israel needed the visuals,” Mary says. “Is that our grand idea then? After weeks at sea? We’re going to walk aboard like we’re ladies going on a picnic-”

Mary stops dead, and then turns to the group excitedly. “I have a plan.”

“Christ,” Israel says. “Enlighten us?”

“You said that Badminton was on board,” Mary says. “Correct?”

“Yes,” Israel confirms.

“Right,” Mary says. “Everyone, go downstairs and put on your best clothing. Israel, wear something that doesn’t make you look like a leather prune. We’re going to trick the Royal Navy.”

***

They send Margaret out to speak to Chauncey Badminton because a) she’s the oldest, and b) she’s the one that Chauncey knows the least.

They’ve pulled the Widow’s Revenge alongside Stede’s ship, close enough that the two boats are gently bumping against each other in the breeze. It was easy enough for Margaret to step neatly between the two ships, lifting up her skirts to expose a socked ankle to the crowd.

Mary and the others have spread out one of Ellen’s blankets across the deck and are sitting across it, with elevenses  set up in front of them. The food is a mixture of rations that they scrounged from the store room, artfully arranged on plates, and the tea is whiskey that Israel found underneath Alice’s bed.

They look, for all intents and purposes, like a group of English aristocats  going for an afternoon jaunt on the ocean.

“What do you think she’s saying?” Mary whispers, as Margaret approaches Chauncey Badminton.

“Hello, I am Margaret. My sister was a whore. Would you like tea?” Inga says.

“I truly doubt that’s her opening line,” Evelyn says dryly. “But she seems to be introducing herself.”

Mary watches as Margaret gestures towards the Widow’s Revenge. Chauncy looks over at them, and Inga flutters her fingers at him.

“He is more ugly than his brother,” Inga says.

“They’re identical,” Mary says. “How can one be more attractive than the other?”

“Nigel had more hair,” Inga says. “This one is bald. And stupid.”

“You like a man with a flowing mane,” Evelyn says. 

Inga nods. “That is why Israel is so repulsive to me.”

They look over at Israel, who is dressed in a mixture of men’s clothing that they found at the bottom of the ship. 

“I look like Stede Bonnet,” Israel says miserably, picking at the sleeve of the white shirt that Inga forced him into.

“No you don’t,” Mary says. “You look respectable.”

“I look like a right ponce,” Israel continues to tug at the loose thread. “Why couldn’t I have worn my own clothes?”

“Because no respectable gentleman wears full leather,” Mary says. “I don’t want to think about how many cows died for your outfits.”

“They’re comfy.”

“You squeak when you walk,” Inga says. “Like a mouse.”

“I don’t,” Israel argues, and Evelyn shushes them.

“Quiet. Chauncey’s speaking.”

The group falls quiet, watching Chauncey discuss something intently with Margaret. He seems to be waving his arms about, but Margaret has folded hers, not budging. 

“Come on,” Mary mutters. “Take the bait. Come aboard.”

(It is a truth universally acknowledged that a man in possession of an English navy ship and a small fortune, cannot reject an offer to tea from a lady.)

Finally, Chauncey gives a nod of his head. Margaret breaks into a smile and curtsies politely. Chauncey, unable to break from English politeness, bows his head.

“Fuck me,” Israel says. “Has she done it?”

“Don’t jinx it,” Mary says, but Margaret is walking back towards them, a spring in her step.

“Good morrow friends!” she calls loudly so the others can hear. “We are about to have guests!”

Margaret steps over onto their ship, and then hurries towards them, lowering her voice. “He really is annoying, isn’t he?”

“The worst,” Mary says, moving over so Margaret can sit down beside them. “What happened?”

“He’s not happy,” Margaret says quickly. “But he couldn’t refuse my invitation, not in front of all his men. They’ll be joining us in ten minutes, as soon as they’ve tied Stede and his crew to the ship.”

“And they are all coming?” Inga asks. “Every sailor?”

Margaret nods. “All of them. You’re sure we have enough supplies?”

“I’ve checked,” Israel says. “We’re set.”

“I love a bit of Fuckery,” Evelyn says, leaning back on her hands. “And I’m going to enjoy Chauncey’s face when he realises.”

“I didn’t even know you’d met before,” Mary says.

“I’ve had my own experiences with the Badminton siblings,” Evelyn says. “And their wives.”

She smirks at Mary. Mary looks down at her cup of whiskey, garnished with a rock painted to look like a lemon.

“When you two have finished,” Israel says. “Can we start preparing?”

“Yes,” Margaret agrees. “Let’s get this finished.”

True to his word, and unable to deny an invitation from a lady, Chauncy brings his entire fleet of men aboard for afternoon tea. 

The sailors are barely old enough to grow facial hair, gangly teenagers stolen from ports and seaside towns across Britain. Mary thinks about her son, in his replica uniform, and is filled with hatred and sadness all at once.

“Captain Badminton,” she says, standing to greet him.

“Mrs Bonnet,” Chauncey says with some surprise. He kisses her hand, and Mary fights down a shudder of revulsion. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m on a trip with my friends,” Mary says, trying to wriggle her hand out of Chauncey’s grip. “We were so delighted when we caught sight of your vessel. I haven’t seen you since my wedding.”

“Ah yes,” Chauncey says. “Your wedding to Stede.”

They both look at Stede, who is tied to the mast of his own ship.

“How are you coping without him?” Chauncey asks.

“Oh, wonderfully,” Mary smiles. “Do sit down.”

They’ve specifically laid places out for all the men, each with a plate of food and a glass of unidentifiable liquid. The men sit, hands hovering over the cutlery as they wait for the Widows to start eating.

“What are you doing out in the ocean?” Evelyn asks Chauncey, deliberately not looking at her food.

“I’m here to kill Stede Bonnet,” Chauncey says plainly.

“Why?” Mary blurts out before she can stop herself.

“Well, the piracy for one,” Chauncey says.

“Are they pirates?” Inga asks. “I thought they were dressing up for fun.”

The group looks at the obvious pirate ship anchored next to them.

“They’re flying a pirate flag,” Chauncey says slowly. 

“Is it though?” Margaret asks. “It has a cat on it.”

“I like cats,” Inga says.

“Big fan of pussy,” Evelyn says.

“It’s definitely a pirate flag,” Chauncey says. “And anyway, look at them. They’ve practically got peg legs and parrots on their shoulders.”

The seagull sitting on top of the naked pirate’s head squawks.

“I have an eyepatch,” Evelyn says. “Are you going to accuse me of being a pirate?”

“Well obviously not,” Chauncey says. “You’re a woman. Women can’t be pirates.”

One of the sailors reaches out towards his plate of food, and an officer slaps his hand away. 

“We have to wait for the Lady of the Ship,” he hisses.

Mary smiles. 

“Are you hunting pirates then?” Margaret asks. “You and your little group?”

“We’re highly respected members of the Royal Navy,” Chauncey says, a little tense. “Not just a little group.”

“Of course,” Margaret says. “The Royal Navy. Very important.”

“It’s so nice when men have hobbies,” Evelyn says. “Rather than sitting around all day talking about their silly problems.”

Chauncey glares at her. Evelyn smiles back and lights her cigar.

“I am specifically hunting Stede Bonnet,” Chauncey says. “Because he killed my brother.”

Mary laughs. “Stede? Stede couldn’t kill a wasp with a magnifying glass. And Nigel was-“

“A talented swordsman, yes I know,” Chauncey says, embarrassed. “But I’m afraid it's true. Your husband stabbed him in the eye with his own rapier.”

“Should have kept better hold of it,” Inga says under her breath.

“I’m sorry?” Chauncey asks.

“Nothing,” Inga says. “Tell us more.”

Chauncey continues. “The whole Badminton clan was horrified, of course. I mean, you know how special Nigel was.”

“Very special,” Margaret says.

“I’ve never met anyone like him before,” Mary adds.

“Mama had to go to her bed for weeks,” Chauncey says. “And Papa could barely sit through his favourite opera. It was ghastly, truly ghastly.”

“What a shame,” Mary agrees. “And you saw Stede kill him?”

“Well, no,” Chauncey admits. “Nobody did. But we know that he did it.”

“He’s good at sword fighting,” Israel says. “Bonnet.”

Chauncey looks at Israel and frowns. “Do I know you?”

“This is my cousin,” Mary says quickly. “He’s from Somerset.”

“Oh god,” Chauncey wrinkles his nose. “How awful.”

“I know,” Mary says, and pinches Israel behind her back. “He’s visiting on a holiday.”

“You don’t look much alike,” Chauncey says. “And… are those face tattoos?”

“I had a rough childhood,” Israel says. “Somerset’s a terrible place to live.”

“He’s lucky he survived,” Mary says somberly.

Someone’s stomach gurgles.

Mary looks sideways at Evelyn, who breathes out a neat circle of smoke in her direction.

“Well then,” Mary says, “Shall we eat?”

The soldiers grab hold of their plates as soon as the words have left Mary’s lips, shovelling food into their mouths. It’s probably the first non-maggot infested meal they’ve had in months, and even Chauncey forgets his table manners for a second, licking his fingers clean.

“This is very good,” an officer says. “I like the aftertaste. Almondy.”

“It’s a special recipe,” Margaret says.

“Very special,” Inga adds.

Chauncy looks up from his food, and suspicion crosses his face. “Why aren’t you eating?”

“Well,” Mary says. “The reason is-”

One of the sailors collapses face first onto the table cloth, spraying the group with crumbs.

“I’m not really a fan of rat poison,” Mary admits, as the sailors begin to fall around them.

Chauncey grows pale, staggering to his feet and pulling his sword from his belt. 

“You tricked us,” he says, his voice coming out in a pathetic gurgle.

“And you were stupid enough to fall for it,” Mary says.

Chauncey takes a step towards her, brandishing his sword. “You’ll pay for this Bonnet. You’re just like your pathetic husband.”

“I’m nothing like Stede,” Mary says coldly. “But you are just like your brother.”

“How?” Chauncey asks, trying to take another step forward but not being able to lift his foot.

“Dead,” Mary says.

The Widows watch as Chauncey sways in the breeze, and then topples forward onto his own sword. It drives up straight through his ribcage, and out the other side, covering everyone in blood.

“Well,” Margaret says after a few moments. “I thought we’d only put in enough poison to drug them.”

Inga presses her ear against one of the sailor’s chests. “This one is alive. I think they are all just sleeping.”

 “If only Chauncey hadn’t stood up,” Mary says. “He’d still be alive.”

“What a pity.” Evelyn says.

They look down at the second dead Badminton sibling on the floor, spilling blood over Ellen’s blanket.

“I’m taking his sword,” Israel says.

“I’m taking his jacket,” Eveyln says.

“No!” Inga protests. “I wanted that.”

“Fight you for it,” Evelyn smirks, and Mary rolls her eyes.

“Before you start tearing his clothes off,” she says. “We do have another matter to attend to.”

She looks across at The Revenge. The crew are staring at the Widows with a mixture of horror and awe, but mostly horror.

Mary points at Stede, who looks like he’s going to be sick. “Hello husband.”

***

Stede’s ship is full of stolen things. As Stede leads her through the corridor, she finds furniture from her own home, cabinets that were given as a wedding present, a lamp that had come from her childhood bedroom. 

The anger grows deep inside her, cultivating when they reach Stede’s bedroom, and she finds her own painting of the lighthouse hanging on his wall. She reaches up and strokes her fingers across the canvas, staring down at the brushstrokes. This was painted by a woman who’d never been to sea, or slept under the stars. 

“Well then,” Stede says nervously, standing in the middle of the room. “I didn’t expect you here.”

“Why did you take this?” Mary asks. “You don’t even like my artwork.”

Stede blinks. “I like that painting.”

“You thought the children had done it,” Mary says. She traces the lighthouse with her finger. “Did you take it because it was about you?”

Stede doesn’t reply, which Mary takes as a yes. She laughs. “Oh my god you’re so self-centred.”

“I am not!” Stede protests. “I think about other people!”

“No you don’t!” Mary says, turning to him. “If you thought for one second about anyone other than yourself, then I wouldn’t be here!”

“I didn’t invite you!” Stede bristles. “I’m very grateful that you killed Chauncey, and I know that you’re still in love with me-”

A laugh bubbles up out of her throat. “Love you? I don’t even like you.”

Stede pauses, “What?”

“Do you think I’m here to try and win you back?” Mary asks, “To try and convince you to come home, so I can be unhappy for the rest of my life?”

“I thought you liked our life together!” Stede protests.

“A life of boredom and stilted conversation?” Mary raises her voice. “A life where you pay no attention to me, or our children?”

“I paid attention to you!”

“You spoke at me Stede!” Mary exclaims. “You talked about the ocean after I told you I hated the ocean! You played pirates with the children after I said that you gave them nightmares!”

“When I tried to tell you about the coach house,” Mary says, her voice cracking. “You didn’t listen.”

“I didn’t know what to do,” Stede says.

“You should have done something,” Mary slams her hand down on the desk. “Instead of watching me wash the blood off my own hands.”

The words hang in the air for a while.

“In your absence, I have made a new life,” Mary says. “Where I have picked up the pieces of your abandonment, and turned them into something new. But I cannot continue this, because your father wants proof that you’re dead.”

“Ah,” Stede says. “So you’re here for clothing, or?”

“I’m here to kill you,” Mary says. “And take your body back home.”

Stede looks at her. “You’re not killing me!”

“I deserve to!” Mary says. “You’re a terrible husband, you’re a terrible pirate. You got caught by the Navy and I had to save you!”

“I was handling it!” Stede protests.

“You were tied to the mast! What was your plan if I hadn’t turned up?”

“I’d have thought of something,” Stede argues. “Or Edward would have.”

“The famous Edward,” Mary says. “The whole reason why Israel Hands tried to kidnap me - Not that you even asked why he was with me!”

“Yes, I did wonder about that,” Stede says. “You don’t seem the type to be friends.”

“He was planning to ransom me,” Mary says. “To you.”

“Why me?” Stede asks.

“Because he didn’t realise that you don’t care about your wife,” Mary says. She reaches into her pocket and pulls out her knife. “But now I’m here, and I’m going to stick this into your stupid skull.”

“Mary-” Stede says, holding up his hands to protect himself. “Let’s talk about this. You don’t really need to kill me.”

“What do you suggest then?” Mary asks, advancing on him.

“We could divorce?” Stede says, backing away.

“You’d need to come home to do that,” Mary says, following after him. “Next option.”

“You could take my clothes and say I drowned at sea?” Stede ends up pressed against the loveseat.

“They want proof of a body,” Mary reminds him, the knife at his throat. “Next.”

“I don’t know,” Stede despairs. “You’re not killing me, and you’re not taking any of my body parts! I don’t have any spare-”

Stede flaps his hands suddenly, excitedly. “I have an idea!”

The sudden movement causes the knife to slip against the bare skin of Stede’s throat, causing a bubble of blood to rise from his neck. They both wince, but it’s not enough to do any damage. Yet.

“Oh god,” Mary says. “What have you possibly thought of?”

“What about a finger?” Stede asks. “Pickled? You could put one of my rings on it and say it’s the only body part you could carry back with you.”

“Why on earth do you have a spare finger?” Mary says.

“Lucius cut it off after it got infected when Buttons bit him,” Stede garbles out at once. 

“What?”

“Here!” Stede manages to squirm away from Mary and rushes to the cabinet that used to occupy their dining room. “I found it floating in the ocean, and I pickled it in a jar as a sort of curiosity, thought it might amuse some of the crew!”

“You thought the crew would enjoy the pickled finger of their friend?” Mary admonishes. 

“It’s interesting!” Stede protests, shoving the glass jar towards her. “Look, you can still make out the finger prints.”

“I don’t know what that is,” Mary says, but can indeed see that it’s a severed finger. “It’s very real.”

“There we go then,” Stede says happily, “You get to prove I’m dead, I get to live. We both win.”

Mary looks at her pathetic husband.

“If I tell your family that you’re dead, you can never come home,” she says. “You will never be able to reclaim your fortune, or see your children again, do you understand?”

“Well I could always sneak back-” Stede starts.

“No,” Mary says firmly. “You chose to leave us. I’m not having you confuse the children.”

“That’s very cruel,” Stede says.

“I know,” Mary says. “Welcome to the real world Stede.”

Stede looks into her face for a moment, and then sighs. “Fine. I will stay away from you, and the children, and the house. Happy?”

“I’m satisfied,” Mary says, placing the glass jar on the table, alongside her knife.

Stede hesitates in front of her.

“What?” Mary asks.

“I need to tell you something,” Stede says. “You may have to sit down.”

Mary sighs and sits down heavily on the loveseat. Stede sits down beside her, taking hold of both her hands. Mary looks down at their intertwined fingers and is reminded of their wedding day.

“I’m in love with someone,” Stede says.

Mary nods her head. “Okay,” she says. “Were you in love with them before you left?”

“Oh gosh no,” Stede says. “We only just met. Afterwards.”

He rubs his thumb over the back of her hand. “Would you like to know who it is?”

“If you feel it would help, tell me,” Mary says.

Stede takes a deep breath. “It’s Edward.”

Mary thinks of all the times she tried to seduce her husband, all the tips and tricks she tried, all the mortifying conversations she had with other women. The three terrible, terrible nights that lead to three beautiful children.

“Ah,” Mary says.

“Are you… okay with that?” Stede asks slowly. He sounds more worried about this than when Mary was chasing him around his own bedroom with a knife.

Mary squeezes his hand. “You know my friend Evelyn? Tall, eyepatch? Smokes like a chimney?”

“Funeral home Evelyn?”

“That’s the one,” Mary says. “I think… I think there’s something there. Between us. In the future.”

Stede blinks, and then breaks into a smile. “That’s good. Great even! Women!”

“Women,” Mary agrees. 

Stede pats her on the hand. “I hope you’re happy with her.”

“I… I hope you’re happy with Edward,” Mary says. “I don’t forgive you. But I hope Edward is good to you.”

“He is,” Stede says, and his voice is light.

“Good,” Mary says. “Now give me as many rings as possible to shove on this rotting finger.”

Stede leaves soon after to talk to his beloved. Mary lies down on the chaise lounge with her boots still on and closes her eyes. She can feel the ship rocking underneath her, and the cry of a seagull outside that sounds surprisingly mournful.

She’s so tired.

She knows Israel has entered the room before he speaks, but he’s hesitant as he walks across the wooden floor to stand next to her.

“Well?” he asks, and there’s hope in his voice. “Is he leaving?”

Mary rolls over onto her side, deliberately not looking at Israel. “He won’t leave.”

“What?”

“He won’t come home with me,” Mary says. “He wants to stay here, with Edward.”

There’s a crash of something being knocked over.

“I’m sorry,” Mary says again because she doesn’t know what else to do. “He loves Edward.”

“He doesn’t love Edward,” Israel spits. “Men like Stede don’t love anything apart from themselves.”

“I’m not disagreeing with you,” Mary says into the cushions. “But Stede’s mind is made up. He’s staying on the Revenge.”

Israel takes her by the shoulder and rolls her onto her back. Mary looks up into his snarl of a face, and for the first time, she’s apprehensive of Israel Hands. The anger is pulsating from him, and Mary wants him to go away.

“You need to convince him to go home with you,” Israel tells her. “I don’t care how you fucking do it, but-“

“What if I don’t want him to come home with me?” Mary blurts out.

Israel pauses.

“What if my life is better, with him gone? What if I’m happier without him?”

“Then why did you drag me across the fucking ocean to find him?” Israel hisses.

Mary doesn’t know what to say.

Israel takes a step back, knocking into the table. The glass jar clinks, and Israel looks over his shoulder, catching sight of the disembodied finger and Mary’s knife.

“It’s not what it looks like,” Mary says.

“Why is there fresh blood on your knife?” Israel asks.

“I...” Mary starts. “I tried to persuade Stede. Forcefully.”

Israel picks up the knife and inspects it. Mary swallows hard, pulling herself upright.

“You’re lying to me,” Israel says quietly. “But I don’t know what about.”

Mary looks down at her hands. There’s a smear of Stede’s blood across her knuckles.

“I didn’t want him to come home with me,” she says softly. “I wanted him dead.”

Israel is still holding her knife.

“The conversation at Spanish Jackie’s,” she continues. “Stede’s family, they said they’d take over my house if I couldn’t prove that Stede was dead. I couldn’t survive on my own.”

“So you tricked me,” Israel says, cold and flat.

“I didn’t have a choice,” Mary says.

“We swore on it,” Israel says. “A blood pact.”

“You’re a pirate,” Mary tries to argue. “I couldn’t trust you with the truth.”

Something has changed behind Israel’s eyes. Mary suddenly feels frightened, and she stands up so that they’re facing each other. She’s very aware that she’s alone with Israel.

“Give me my knife,” she says.

“No,” Israel says.

“Israel-“

“You said that you would convince him to leave.” Israel’s hand clenches. “If you’d said that you wanted him dead, we could have made a plan.”

“I’m sorry-“

Israel presses the blade between her chest, the tip biting into her skin. Mary’s heart is jumping in her chest. She tries to step back, but Israel grabs hold of her arm with his gloved hand, tight enough to leave a bruise.

“I liked you eventually,” Israel says, and Mary twists in his grasp. “But now I’m going to have to kill you.”

Mary tries to punch him with her free hand, but Israel slams her back onto the chaise lounge, one knee between her skirts. Mary thinks of the carriage house, of the scent of old sweat and horse shit, and punches Israel in the side of the head.

He grunts in pain, loosening his grip of both the knife and her arm. Mary makes a split second decision and grabs the knife, holding it underneath his chin. She bares her teeth at him, panting heavily.

“I will kill you,” she says, and Israel pulls his own rapier from his belt, pressing it against Mary’s stomach.

“You couldn’t win against me in a fight.”

“Already have,” Mary says. “Candlestick. Your skull. Crunch.”

“You took me by surprise,” Israel argues.

“I will slice you open like a fucking orange,” Mary curses. “Let me go.”

“Make me,” Israel says. His sword is pricking the soft flesh of her stomach, on the very edge of drawing blood.

Mary stabs him between his ribs.

Israel looks at her with surprise, like he wasn’t asking for it. Mary fixes him straight in the eye, pushing her dagger deeper and deeper until Israel gives a gasp of pain, and gracefully rolls off her and thumps onto the floor.

The dagger sticks out of him comically, like a lighthouse on the coastline.

“And this is someone special I’d like you to meet!” Stede’s voice comes from behind the door. “My wife, Mary Bonnet!”

Mary looks down at Israel. Israel looks up at her.

The door swings open, and Mary gets her first sight of the famed pirate Blackbeard. He’s shorter than she expected, with wild dark hair and a cropped shirt that exposes his tanned stomach.

“Christ,” Edward says, looking down at Israel on the floor. “What the hell is going on here?”

“Blackbeard,” Israel says weakly. “It’s not what it looks like.”

“It looks like you’ve been stabbed mate,” Blackbeard says, stating the obvious.

“Uh,” Mary says, leaning forward to quickly swipe the jar off the table. “I think we need some medical attention.”

“You’re wearing my shirt!” Stede says, more upset about the stolen clothing than the critically injured pirate. “That was one of my best!”

“I’m going to leave,” Mary says, climbing off the sofa. Her legs wobble underneath her and she grabs hold of a bookshelf for stability. “Get a doctor.”

“Roach is your best bet,” Blackbeard says, not looking at her. “Bloke in the kitchen. Carries a cleaver.”

“I’ll get him,” Mary says, and escapes before anyone can ask any questions like Where Are You Going, Why Are You Covered In Blood, or even Why Was Izzy Stabbed?

Mary hurries through the corridor, not knowing where she’s going, or what she’s doing. The adrenaline is still coursing through her veins, and when someone grabs her by the arm, she shrieks and tries to hit them.

“Hey pirate,” Evelyn says, grabbing hold of both Mary’s hands. “Did you do it?”

“Do what?” Mary asks.

“Kill Stede,” Evelyn says. Her eyes are roaming Mary’s body, and Mary feels hot and flustered. “Did he die quick or slow?”

“I didn’t do it,” Mary says, and Evelyn’s face falls. “But we’ve come to an understanding.”

“What kind of understanding?”

“We’re going to go our separate ways,” Mary says. 

“What about the proof we needed?” Evelyn asks. “Tell me you at least sliced something off him for abandoning you in the middle of the night.”

“He’s given me a severed finger,” Mary says. “And some of his personal effects.”

“Unorthodox,” Evelyn tilts her head to one side. “But I kind of like it.”

“I stabbed Israel as well,” Mary says, because she wants Evelyn’s approval.

Evelyn gives a sharp laugh. “What? Why?”

“He found out that I never wanted Stede to come home in the first place,” Mary says. “Got angry.”

“Where did you stab him?” Evelyn asks.

Mary places her hand over the spot between her ribs. Evelyn lays her own hand on top of Mary’s, and they’re quiet as they feel Mary’s chest rise up and down as she breathes.

“Will he live?” Eveyln asks softly.

Mary nods.

“What a pity,” Evelyn says. Her hand is warm on Mary’s chest. “Poor Israel.”

“Such a shame,” Mary agrees.

“It’s a good thing we’ll be leaving him behind,” Evelyn says. “And going back to Barbados.”

Mary looks up at Evelyn.

“Even though I’ll be staying in my own house,” Mary says slowly. “I would still like to come stay with you.”

“I’m fine with that,” Evelyn says. “I’d like it a lot in fact.”

“Good,” Mary says. “I want to spend more time with you.”

“Oh really?” Evelyn asks.

“I want to see what the light is like for painting in your study,” Mary says. “And your living room. And your bedroom.”

Evelyn places her fingers underneath Mary’s chin and tilts her face upwards. “You’re a very good painter. Very thorough.”

“You’re a good subject,” Mary says, pushing herself up onto her tiptoes. “Very pretty.”

Evelyn kisses her softly on the mouth, tasting of sea salt. Mary kisses back, her eyes closing shut in pleasure. Now she understands why people like being kissed, why someone’s mouth on your own feels so good.

Evelyn sets Mary back down on her feet, and smirks. “Good?”

Mary nods. She wants to press herself against Evelyn like a limpet and not let go.

“When we go back to Barbados, you can paint me in every room of the house,” Evelyn says, tucking a loose strand of Mary’s hair behind her ear. “I promise you that.”

“I’m looking forward to it,” Mary says, and kisses Evelyn again for good measure.

When Mary and Evelyn get up to the top deck, Stede’s pirate crew are mingling with her own. Inga is talking very quickly in Swedish to a blonde pirate who looks very confused but excited to be part of the conversation, and Margaret is discussing her outfit with a large pirate in a pock-marked vest.

It’s very normal, and yet very strange all at once.

“Hey!” a bald pirate with a lisp calls to her. “What’s going on down there?”

“Uh,” Mary says. “Israel was stabbed.”

The moment the words leave her lips, a cheer goes up amongst the pirate crew. Mary steps back a little, feeling out of her depth, and Evelyn slips her hand into hers.

“Who stabbed him?” a pirate with a lute asks.

“I did,” Mary says, and the pirates cheer again.

“You stabbed Israel?” Margaret says, looking vaguely alarmed.

“He was trying to kill me,” Mary says. “Which one of you is Roach?”

A pirate in a striped shirt raises his arm. “That’s me!”

“Mr Blackbeard wants you,” Mary says. “To help. With the stabbing.”

“Ah, then I shall take my time,” Roach says, to the amusement of the crew. “Izzy will have to wait.”

“Don’t let them throw away my knife,” Mary adds. “Once you remove it from his ribs.”

“I shall deliver it to you unscatched,” Roach promises, and slowly makes his way downstairs. “Oh Izzy!”

Mary lets Evelyn tug her over to the other Widows to sit down, feeling that everyone’s eyes are on her. She is very aware that there is dried blood on her hands, from both Israel and Chauncey. It’s been a very bloodthirsty day.

“You look like shit,” Inga says kindly. “You need a nap.”

“I need to lay down and not move for a good five hours,” Mary says, slumping against Evelyn. 

“There’s a spare bunk downstairs,” Margaret’s new friend says. “Relatively clean.”

“Mm,” Mary says. “We might have to go back to our ship for a nap.”

“Big fan of naps,” says lute pirate. “Love a nap. I’m Frenchie by the way. That’s John Feeney.”

“Mary,” Mary says.

Frenchie strums a chord on his lute. “That big wheel keep on turning, Proud Mary keep on burning… It’s a good name.”

“Thank you,” Mary says. “My mother chose it for me.”

Wee John snort-laughs. “She’s funny! Can we have her instead of Izzy?”

“Mary needs to go home,” Eveyln says firmly. “To her family.”

Mary looks across at Stede’s gang of pirates, and thinks of her children at home in their costumes, wreaking havoc across their house. She wonders if Stede has replaced the children with his crew.

“I can’t wait to go home,” she says, and sits back to listen to Frenchie sing.

*o*

Here are three things that Mary Bonnet knows for certain:

1)She doesn’t want her husband dead, but neither does she forgive him.

2)She would do anything for her children, including sail across the ocean with five widows and a stolen pirate.

3)She loves her simple life.

*o*

Mary meets Blackbeard properly on the second week aboard the Revenge. They’ve abandoned Jackie’s boat (i.e, sold it for gold that Mary has hidden inside Margaret’s skirts), and are sailing back to pick up Ellen and Alice. Mary can’t wait to see Alice’s face when she spies a ship full of sailors willing to play cards with her. She’s missed both women so much.

She’s sitting alone on one of the bunks below decks when Lucius appears in the doorway, rapping on the jamb with his wooden finger to make Mary aware of his presence.

“Hello,” Mary says. “Are you alright?”

“Aw,” Lucius places his hand over his heart. “You’re like, the first person to ask me that all day. I’m grand, by the way. Having a lovely time in a floating bathtub with a bunch of lunatics.”

“Buttons is sunbathing naked again?” Mary asks.

“Don’t,” Lucius says. “One day, Olivia the seagull is going to mistake his prick for a worm and bite it off. Anyway-”

He swings himself into the room, dropping down next to Mary.

“The word is, is that you’re, like, a really good artist.,” Lucius says. “And I was wondering if you’d like to come teach an art class with me for the crew.”

“You hold art classes?” Mary asks, raising her eyebrow.

“Don’t be so judgy, Mary Bonnet,” Lucius says. “I am a highly skilled individual.”

“I’m not doubting that,” Mary says. “It’s just, art classes? On a pirate ship?”

“It’s Stede’s idea,” Lucius says, rolling his eyes. “It’s to better ourselves. Roach has been teaching cooking, and Jim has been teaching how to stab people.”

“I like the idea of stabbing lessons.”

“Yes I know you would, Little Miss Knife,” Lucius says. “Izzy won’t stop complaining.”

“In my defence, he tried to stab me first.”

“Oh, I literally couldn’t give a shit about the fate of Izzy,” Lucius says. “I think you’ve done the world a service.”

“Thank you.”

“Well, come along then,” Lucius offers Mary his hand. “Let’s go teach the great unwashed how to draw.”

Mary lets him tug her to her feet, and follows him out the room.

She finds the pirates arranged on the top deck, with paper and ink surrounding them. It reminds her of the schools that Luis sets up with his toys, teddy bears as the pupils and himself as the school master. Inga and Margaret are amongst them, their feet touching, which is a development.

“Hello,” she says.

“Mary!” Frenchie says, delighted. “I’ve written you another song-”

“She doesn’t need to hear it,” Lucius says quickly, pushing Mary to the front. “She’s here to teach you how to draw.”

Ivan holds up his sheet of paper. “I’ve drawn my own original character,” he announces. “It’s a bloke who does stand up comedy about his experiences as a Muslim in Birmingam.”

“The fuck is Birmingham?” Jim asks.

“Quiet everyone!” Lucius claps his hands. “Mary, take it away.”

“Um?” Mary says. “I didn’t really plan a lesson…”

The crew looks at her expectantly. Oluwande gives her a thumbs up from the back.

Mary takes a deep breath and pretends that they’re a group of unruly children, rather than pirates.

“Right then,” she says. “Let’s do a lesson on portraits. If you could all get into pairs, Lucius you can be mine-”

She grabs his jacket from where he was trying to escape.

“Now really look at your partner’s face,” Mary says, “Turn their features into shapes. For example, Lucius’ nose is very triangular-”

“Taking that as a compliment, thank you,” Lucius says.

Mary grins. “And his face is shaped like a squash-”

“Not a compliment, still taking it as one.”

“So I’m going to mark those shapes on my paper, and work from there,” Mary says. “Everyone got it?”

The crew nod, splitting off into pairs. Mary sits down and starts working on her portrait of Lucius, who starts performing extremely elaborate poses.

“You’re worse than Alma,” Mary laughs.

“Who?” Lucius says, laying across the ship deck propped up one elbow.

“Nevermind,” Mary says, and continues sketching.

Stede and Blackbeard appear at some point, and also begin drawing each other. Mary ignores them for the most part, despite their giggling and flirting. She had presumed that Evelyn was with them, but the other woman doesn’t seem to have appeared.

The art session finishes about half an hour later, and Mary is pleased to see that everyone is proud of their portraits. They might not be the most accurate - Oluwande’s drawing of Jim looks a lot like a cucumber wearing a hat - but the crew seems to have enjoyed their lesson.

“That was fun!” Stede says. “Look at my portrait of Ed.”

He passes her a sheet of paper, to show a picture of Blackbeard that draws him in a very flattering light. Mary looks up at the man himself, and then down at the portrait.

“Good,” she says. “It looks like one of the children could have drawn it.”

Stede’s face falls slightly, and Mary takes pleasure in it.

“This is Edward, by the way,” Stede pushes Blackbeard towards her. “You didn’t get a chance to talk earlier, what with the stabbing.”

“How is Israel?” Mary asks.

“He’ll live,” Blackbeard says. “Sorry, y’know. For the whole Izzy trying to stab you first thing.”

“It’s okay,” Mary says cooly. “It’s only because he cares about you.”

Stede and Blackbeard exchange glances.

“I think I hear Lucius calling me,” Stede says. “Ed, why don’t you talk to Mary about things?”

Mary glances at Lucius who is flirting with Black Pete. She turns back to Stede, but the man is already escaping the conversation, leaving Blackbeard and herself alone.

Blackbeard scrapes the toe of his boot across the floor. “Well,” he says.

“Did you know Stede before he ran off to be a pirate?” Mary asks bluntly.

Blackbeard looks up at her, eyebrows knitting together. “No?” he says. “Wish I had though.”

Mary doesn’t say anything.

“He’s a good bloke,” Blackbeard says. “He’s a lunatic, and I like him for it.”

“I don’t have time for a lunatic,” Mary says. “I have time for someone who knows how to pay household bills and ensure the children receive an education.”

“That’s boring though, isn’t it?” Blackbeard says, not sounding entirely certain. “A house, and a fence, and a dog?”

“It’s safe,” Mary says. “I like safe.”

She shoves her hands into her skirt pockets.

“I know you won’t understand,” she says. “But some people like waking up in their beds, not worrying if their first mate is about to stab them.”

“Izzy is difficult-“

“Izzy is in love with you,” Mary says.

“Izzy?” Blackbeard scoffs. “Nah. Respects me. Doesn’t love me.”

“I suppose you’re an expert in love then,” Mary says.

Blackbeard blinks at that.

“I know what love is,” he says defensively.  “It’s wanting to be with someone all the time, and hating when they’re gone.”

Mary doesn’t say anything.

“Ah fuck me,” Blackbeard rubs the back of his neck. “He’s in love with me.”

“You need to talk to him,” Mary tells him. “Like a grown up.”

“I don’t want to be a grown up,” Blackbeard says, and he sounds like Luis. “Piracy is more fun.”

“You can’t be both,” Mary says. “You can’t be Edward with Stede and Blackbeard with your crew. It’s hard enough being one person, let alone two.”

“This version of Edward is new,” Blackbeard admits. “Stede… changed something. In here.”

He smacks his hand across his chest, then winces.

“Stede seems to have that effect on people,” Mary says dryly.

“Why don’t you like him?” Blackbeard asks. “If you want us to be truthful and grown ups.”

“He abandoned me,” Mary says. “And before that, he was a terrible husband. I was a widow long before he left to be a pirate.”

Blackbeard blinks slow like a cat.

“He seems to care about you more than he ever cared for me,” Mary says. “But I’m warning you. If he can leave someone once, he can do it again.”

She looks over her shoulder at Stede with his crew, a jolly expression on his face.

“Be careful,” she says again. “Don’t let him break your heart.”

“I won’t,” Blackbeard says. “Promise.”

She nods sharply, and goes back to the crew to listen to a lecture from Black Pete about whittling.

Mary visits Israel in his sick bed a few days later. He’s dozing, hopped up on alcoholic marmalade that Roach left to ferment, and Mary sits on the end of his bed and waits for him to wake up.

He stirs slightly when the ship rocks, and blinks at her. “Edward?”

“The other person you know with dark hair and a funny accent,” Mary says. “It’s me.”

“Mary.” Israel opens his eyes fully. “You stabbed me-”

“You deserved it,” Mary says. “Don’t argue about it.”

“You’re a fucking maniac,” Israel says, but it’s begruding. “But fair is fair. You beat me.”

Mary swings her legs over the bed and lays down beside Israel. He seems slightly alarmed by this, and wiggles away from her.

“What are you playing at?” he asks. “Don’t think that just because you’re not shagging Stede Bonnet, you can shag me.”

“Oh my god,” Mary says. “Just let me talk to you like a normal human being. There’s no ulterior motive here.”

“I don’t trust you,” Israel grumbles, but he’s not trying to stab her so Mary takes it as a win.

“I spoke to Blackbeard,” Mary says. “About Stede. Warning him.”

“You don’t trust Stede not to walk out again?”

Mary sighs. “I think he’s happy here.” she says. “Happier than he ever was with me. But still… I could never trust him again.”

Mary reaches out and touches Israel’s hand. Whoever bandaged his chest has also taken off his gloves, and Mary can see the scarring underneath.

“I have something for you,” Mary says and reaches into her pocket. “Your ring.”

“I’d been missing that,” Israel says and holds out his hand. “Do the honours.”

Mary spits down onto the ring to lubricate it and then slips it onto Israel’s finger.

“I’m sorry about Edward,” Mary says. “If you want… You could always stay with me for a little while. God knows I’ve got enough rooms in my house.”

“I’d miss the sea too much,” Israel says. “You know that, Bonnet.”

”You can call me Mary you know,” Mary says. “It’s my name afterall.”

“Mary,” Israel says, and then shakes his head. “Nah. I’ll stick with Bonnet. You deserve the fucking family name more than he does.”

Mary laughs. “What are you going to do then?”

“Stick with Blackbeard,” Israel says. “Sail the seven seas. All that bullshit.”

“If you stick with Blackbeard you’re going to have to suffer Stede,” Mary points out. “I have a feeling they're going to be co-captains from now on.”

“Christ,” Israel says, looking up at the ceiling. “Maybe I’ll stay with you afterall. I like… farms…. And children…”

Mary laughs and laughs until Israel pushes her out of bed and onto the floor.

***

The Queen Anne’s Revenge, nee The Revenge drops the Widows off at Spanish Jackie’s. Mary stands on the deck, dressed in a gown that Wee John procured from her somewhere, and breathes in the heat and the salt of the sea.

“Beautiful isn’t it?” Stede says, standing beside her. He’s wearing another ridiculous outfit and Mary resists the urge to push him into the sea.

“I’m never going to step foot on a boat again once I get home,” Mary says. “I’ve done enough sailing to last me a lifetime.”

“So that’s it then?” Stede says. “Just back to your life? No stories of the famed pirate Mary Bonnet who rode the waves and killed several important men?”

“No stories like that,” Mary says. “Only the story of Widow Bonnet, who painted, and raised her children, and was happy.”

“It does sound like a good story,” Stede says, almost shyly. “I’ll enjoy telling it to people.”

“Land ahead!” Buttons calls, and Stede and Mary look at each other.

“I suppose this is the end then,” Stede says. “Of our marriage. And everything else.”

“It was a terrible marriage,” Mary says. “I hated every moment.”

“What about our St Lucia trip?” Stede asks. “When the children were babies?”

“The trip we took to the beach?” Mary asks. “Where you played in the sea and Alma was sick over my dress and Luis tried to eat the seaweed?”

She can’t admit to him that she’d enjoyed that trip. Stede had left her alone to chat with some fisherman, and Mary had drawn portraits of the children playing together. They’d both been fat babies, and she can remember the gurgle of Luis’ laugh as his sister tried to bury him in the sand.

“I didn’t know you were this unhappy,” Stede says. His voice has changed slightly, and Mary looks over at him.

He looks sad. Like he’s just discovered the tooth fairy doesn’t exist, or that pirates are actually murdered by the Royal Navy when they don’t have their wives to save them.

“I wish you’d told me,” he says, looking out at the ocean. “I could have – I would have…”

“But now we can live our own lives,” Mary says. “You can be a pirate, and I can be a widow. We’ll both be happy.”

Stede sighs. “I suppose so.”

“And when the children are older, and can understand,” Mary takes a deep breath. “You may visit them.”

Stede’s face lights up. “You promise?”

“But only when Alma is 16-“ She’s cut off by Stede pulling her into a tight hug.

It’s the first time they’ve touched each other in years. Stede is warm, and smells of lavender. Mary probably smells of sweat and blood.

Stede pats her arm and lets her go. “Thank you,” he says.

“It’s okay,” Mary replies.

Ellen and Alice are waiting for them at the port. Ellen spots them first, jumping up and down and waving her good arm enthusiastically as the Widows disembark from the ship. Alice is wearing four scarves, a shawl, and a woolly hat, so Ellen’s clearly been hard at work.

“You’re safe!” Alice says, once they come within hearing distance.

“We are!” Mary flings her arms around Alice, squeezing her tightly. “Nice woollens.”

“I’m very toasty,” Alice says, giving her a kiss on the cheek. “So glad that you’re not dead.”

“I wouldn’t leave you,” Mary says.

“How was Spanish Jackie’s?” Margaret asks, one arm around Alice, the other around Inga.

“So much happened!” Ellen says excitedly, “There were pirates, and Spanish sailors, and I knitted Jackie some mittens.”

“Geraldo was murdered too,” Alice interjects, and Mary blinks.

“You could have started with that piece of information,” she says, as Evelyn cackles.

“How’s Izzy?” Ellen asks.

“I stabbed him,” Mary says.

Ellen looks crestfallen. “To death?”

“No, not to death you limpet,” Mary smacks Ellen on her good arm. “Just disarmed him.”

“Poor Izzy,” Ellen says, and Inga coos.

“You like him.”

“I don’t like him!”

“You do!” Inga flutters her eyelashes. “You want him to be your boyfriend.”

Ellen shrieks and chases after Inga, who high tails it across the port, cackling. Mary watches them chase each other, shaking her head, and leans against Evelyn.

“Oh?” Alice says. “You two are friendly?”

“We’re more than friendly,” Evelyn says and presses a kiss to the crown of Mary’s head.

Alice and Margaret exchange glances.

“What?” Mary says.

“Nothing,” Alice says, “Glad you finally realised.”

Evelyn smiles, burying her face in Mary’s hair. “Someone finally realised. I always knew.”

“You are all horrible to me,” Mary protests, but she can’t hide the silly grin that spreads across her face. “To the plank with ye.”

“She’s been around Mr Hands too long,” Margaret tells Alice. “Her brain is scrambled.”

“Did you really stab him?” Alice says.

Mary nods. “Followed your advice.”

“Good girl,” Alice says. “Listen to your elders. We know a lot about stabbing.”

Inga jogs up towards them, Ellen still hot on her heels.

“Inga…” Margaret starts, then stops herself and sighs. “Inga.”

“Margaret,” Inga says seriously.

Everyone waits with bated breath.

“I was planning to travel to St Lucy to meet my cousins next month,” Margaret says. “I was wondering if you’d like to join me.”

Inga considers this for a moment. “I have no plans. I will think about it.”

“Good,” Margaret says, with a sharp nod, and walks off to nowhere in particular.

Mary widens her eyes at Ellen. Ellen replies with an equally shocked expression.

“I think the world has gone topsy turvy,” Alice says. “Are you sure we didn’t sail off the edge of the map?”

“I’m sure,” Mary says, as the breeze picks up. “Let’s turn the world right again.”

***

Mary Bonnet arrives back home with a shorn haircut, a healthy tan, and a man’s finger in a glass jar.

There’s probably some trauma in there too, but she decides not to dwell on that.

Mary climbs in through the parlour window, the same way she broke into her own house to trick Israel. The parlour is coated with a thick layer of dust, and Mary runs her finger along the desk, wiping the mess between her fingers.

She walks up the stairs quietly, as not to disturb anyone. She can hear noises in the distance, and carefully edges her way towards the children’s quarters of the house.

The children are playing in their bedroom when she peeks through the door, both of them dressed as pirates, hitting each other with wooden sticks. The nanny is asleep in her chair, dressed in one of Mary’s old dresses.

Mary pushes open the door quietly and watches the children until they notice her. Luis spots her first and drops his sword, causing his sister to smack him on the back with her own sword.

“You lost!” she cheers triumphantly, and Luis screams.

“Mama!” he cries and races towards her.

Mary and the children collide into each other, causing Mary’s treasures to spill from her skirt pockets. Mary collects her children up in her arms and squeezes them so tightly that Alma complains she can’t breathe. Mary can feel hot tears spilling down her cheeks, and she kisses both of her babies over and over.

In the distance she can hear her staff running up the stairs, and indeed the family nanny rushing back to the servants quarters to change out of Mary’s clothes. Mary can’t help but laugh at the ridiculousness of it all, and thinks of all the pomp and circumstance she’s going to change. What her and Evelyn might change, together.

“I missed you,” Luis says between tears, and Mary holds him close.

“I missed you both so so much,” she says.

“Did you find father?” Alma asks, and Mary nods.

“Yes. He misses you both very much too.”

She shuts her eyes tight, breathing in the scent of their washed clothes and the soap they use on their hair.

“Why are you crying?” Alma asks, smacking her mother in the face with her palm.

“Because I’m so happy,” Mary says. “Is that allowed Alma?”

“No,” Alma says, snuggling up to her. “Are you going to leave again?”

“Never,” Mary promises. “I’ll never leave you again.”

“Mama…” Luis says slowly.

“Yes?” Mary asks.

“Why do you have a finger in a jar?” he asks, looking down at Lucius’s finger that’s bobbing about sadly in embalming fluid.

“Well,” Mary says, and pulls them onto her lap. “Let me tell you a story about pirates…”

*o*

Dear Edward Bonnet,

Please find enclosed my husband’s finger, complete with signet ring. Unfortunately, this was the only body part I could recover after his unfortunate death at sea.

I hope you consider this satisfactory. If you do not, the Widows Evelyn Higgins, Ellen, Inga, Alice, Margaret and myself would be happy to discuss.

Your obedient servant,

Mary Allamby-Bonnet

*o*