WHAT THE PARROT SAW
“I don’t need a useless white boy. Find someone else to take him off your hands.”
“Not a boy, a man. The sort you favor, captain—golden curls, pouty mouth. He’s quite pretty, I know you’ll agree.”
Captain St. Armand stretched out long legs clad in close fitting buckskins, admiring the shine on boots freshly polished. The brothel on St. Martin offered a variety of services to its clients, from excellent meals to boot-blacking, along with the usual amenities one expected from such establishments.
“If I bring a pretty lad aboard ship, everyone will want one. I don’t share my toys.”
“You’ll take him,” the madam said. “I’m calling in my marker for the incident last year.”
“That wasn’t my fault!”
“Your ship, your crew, your fault, St. Armand.”
“Really, that man needed some excitement in his life.”
“That’s not the excitement Mr. Carlson sought at this house. He never expected a goat.”
St. Armand snickered at the memory. “I still say what you’re asking is excessive.”
“I thought you’d turn me down.” Barbara Simpson took a sip of the sherry she’d served herself. Her guest was drinking Jamaican rum, as usual. “You should know though, the young man in question is Bunny Rathbone’s relation.”
“Bunny Rathbone! How is the dear old boy?”
“He’s well, moving up in the world. He wrote me to say his cousin was touring the islands and if he came here I should treat him as an honored guest. Bunny implied Mr. Woodruff needed to experience more of life. To put it bluntly, he called the young man a ‘stuffy, boring stick.’ I invited him to the house, but first he ran into a spot of trouble and I brought him here for safekeeping.”
The doors to the parlor were open to catch the afternoon breezes rustling through the bougainvillea—a restful pause before business commenced for the evening. Comfortably rounded and middle-aged, Mrs. Simpson was a shrewd businesswoman whose motto was to give the clients what they desired—within reason—and to treat her girls as she’d wanted to be treated when she’d worked there. She’d miss Captain St. Armand, a favored customer setting sail for Nassau after a stop to provision and catch up on mail and messages from home. A packed valise waited near the door.
“The two of us have fond memories of Bunny’s visits to this house, but I’m sailing on the tide, so bring your package out here and let me see for myself.”
The madam’s bully boys were summoned and returned a short while later with their “package” struggling between them in a futile attempt at freedom. It was a young man in his mid-twenties, and, as promised, he had bright gold hair and sky-blue eyes. One of those eyes was blackened, and a bruise discolored the left side of his face. He was also gagged with his hands tied in front of him.
“As you see, I need your help taking him away, and you could use a cabin boy. You told me so yourself. Mr. Woodruff has an unfortunate habit of speaking intemperately, and there were people who took exception to what he said.”
“People?”
“Americans. Ah, I thought that would interest you.”
“I am slightly tempted,” the captain said, looking the young man over. “I may have a use for him, other than the obvious one. As always, you have an excellent eye for the goods.”
The captive made a noise muffled by his gag.
“Don’t look so horrified, Sunshine. The work’s not onerous and it comes with special benefits.
