Deception

Mary stared at her reflection in the looking glass with dismay. “But Ma,” she whined, “why do I have to dress in boy’s clothes?” She pulled at the unfamiliar tug of the breeches between her legs.

“Because you are a boy, Mark.”

Mary didn’t see the desperation etched in her mother’s face. “No, I’m not; I’m a girl,” she giggled, convinced her mother was playing some strange game. She received a resounding slap to the face that made her skin sting and tingle, bringing tears to her eyes.

“Not any more!” shrieked her mother. “The only money I have is what your grandmother sends for Mark every month.” Mark had died in infancy, just before Mary was born. “She’s never heard of Mary Read.”

Mary was stunned into silence; the only sound in their parlour was that of the birds twittering in the bushes. “Why not?” 

“Never mind that. Mary Read doesn’t exist anymore. We’re moving to London. You have to convince your grandmother that you are Mark, or there’ll be no more money. We’ll be on the streets.”

Mary didn’t really understand and didn’t want to leave the countryside with its fresh, clean air and fragrant meadows. She hated Wapping and the London docklands from the moment they stepped out of the carriage. The sheer volume of noise, from the hawkers to the bustling crowd, was overwhelming. The stench of rotting fish and gutter filth made Mary wrinkle her nose, and for the first time, she was grateful that she wore breeches rather than skirts that would drag through the muck.

“Grandmother is an old woman; soon she’ll die, and we’ll inherit her estate,” Ma insisted. But grandmother lingered for years, and Mary had to fool everyone that she was Mark. One wrong word, and their game would be up.

Eventually, even Mary began to believe the lie. Her mother was a cruel and vindictive woman. Once her grandmother died, she could no longer bear living at home. 

At the age of thirteen, she ran away and sought employment on a ship.

And from there, her legend grew.