Courting Ingrid Ivory (working title)

Chapter 1: Sweet Sacrifice
Characters: Lord Cutler Beckett, Mr Mercer, Frank the butler, Charles, Ingrid and Charlotte Ivory. Mentions: Beckett's father.
Word Count: 4,338
Rating: PG
Warnings: Flirting? This will get violent and sexual in future chapters, just thought I'd say so in advance.
Disclaimer: Pirates of the Caribbean characters such as Lord Beckett and Mercer belong to Disney blah-blah no copyright infringement is intended. Characters such as Frank and the Ivory family are creations of mine.
Chapter Summary: Beckett finds himself collecting a debt from Charles Ivory, as Charles has blown all his money he's made the suggestion that Beckett may take one of his daughter's hands in marriage. Charles doesn't seem to be as loyal as Beckett remembered. To give you an idea of the time frame I'll just say that Beckett is slightly younger and none of that Pirate nonsense (not to say that we don't like it) is mentioned.

Notes: This was fun and I've learnt a lot. I hope you enjoy my OC's. A special thanks to madame_doodle for the edit, advice and interesting history. Also thanking twix for support.

As the carriage bounced along the uneven track Lord Cutler Beckett of the East India Trading Company and his right hand man - Mr Mercer - sat trying to keep still. Beckett sat tall and proud wearing a dark navy blue waistcoat with short white cuffs at the end of his sleeves. Mercer who sat across from him wore all black with a tri corn hat. The carriage slowed and Beckett turned to look out of the small carriage window at the house which he was about to call into.

The house was bricked a pale brown, with a black roof, two stories and no garden, although it did have one delicately shaped bay leaf topiary out front. It was nice, not extremely elegant but enough to please anyone who passed by, and considering its location in Covent Garden, where it was surrounded by and cramped onto a noisy street, it stood out rather nicely. The working class suburb of London was better than the factories at the centre but it surely wasn't better than the outskirts that were well away from the filth that was London.

The man Lord Beckett was visiting was Charles Ivory, and Beckett would be playing the role – if you will – of a debt collector. He would collect a debt which was long overdue.

When the carriage came to a complete halt, one of the waiting footmen opened the door for his lordship. Completely ignoring the footmen, whom he pushed aside with his cane as he stepped down, Lord Beckett looked back into the carriage and said to his manservant, "Mercer I'd prefer if you waited here. I'll send someone if you're needed."

Mercer's dull and dry tone made its way from the inside the carriage to his masters ears. "Aye sir."

His lordship turned around where he unexpectedly met the face of an ugly, old woman with ragged and filthy clothes and a basket of vegetables balancing on her hip. By the smell of things they weren't fresh.

The old woman was invading Lord Beckett's space. She said with a croaky voice "Help an old lady out and buy some lovely vegetables?" She gave him a toothy grin which didn't look at all healthy.

"No, thank you," He said pushing her, along with her stench away from him with his cane. She almost fell backwards - forced to walk back into a small ditch in the road, but he didn't care.

He continued on to the front of the house up to a stoop. He stepped up some steps facing the door where a young butler stood in waiting.

"Sir," The butler said as he held one of the double doors open.

Beckett stepped inside then turned to face the butter. "If it were any cooler this evening I would've frozen to death waiting for you to open the bloody door. Do your job efficiently or don't do it at all." 'At least I'm inside, I'd hate to be seen here in amongst this filth,' he thought.

"My apologies sir, it won't happen again," The now nervous butler replied.

"Good," Beckett said turning back into the house where he was escorted by the same butler to the study where Mr Ivory was waiting.

As his lordship was lead onwards down a dark hallway, Beckett found himself wondering how people could honestly live in such conditions. 'Candles - this hallway could do with more of those and far less paintings ' The hall did have many paintings, they were poorly hung, most of them crooked and they weren't even the paintings of any famous artist. To Beckett they looked more like the work of some desperate amateur who painted in the desperate hope of discovery, but by the looks of things they probably weren't doing so well. The only thing in the hall which did look well placed was a blue porcelain vase, though it did look as if it needed some dusting.

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In the study, seated in a leather chair was a man with short grey hair, small blue eyes, a large long nose and a stomach which probably wouldn't allow him to see his feet when he stood. He wore beige breeches and a brown waistcoat. It was Mr Charles Ivory after at least twenty five years of nothing but Calling Cards whenever he felt like writing them. Beckett took a seat across from him, leaning one hand on his cane, and taking in how much destruction Charles had brought upon himself since the last time they'd seen each other some twenty or so years ago. From what Beckett could recall, Charles had been a tall – although his height was the exact opposite - proud man who was always up for a laugh, but then time did tend to change things.

"My daughters will be down shortly. Perhaps I could offer you some tea to accompany the wait; my girls do like to take their time readying themselves for visitors, and you did make this very short notice," Charles Ivory said proudly with a hoarse voice that he'd probably gained with age and the many times that he'd had bitter throat burning substances like cheap gin or brandy slide down into his stomach. Beckett couldn't recall a time where he hadn't been proud of everything he said. Maybe it was just his appearance that had changed.

Charles was once an officer of the East India Trading Company; he'd helped Beckett's father tutor Beckett for the job, teaching him the ropes when his father was busy - which he was most of the time anyway. But it had been more than twenty five years since the man had worked. The company had fired him. Beckett didn't know why and he didn't care to ask. Charles hadn't even looked for another job or a means of income after he was fired, and he'd spent any savings that he'd had. Beckett's father had loaned him some money - a gesture of their close friendship, but he'd died before he could even get some of the interest back at the very least, even if it was to come from selling Charles's un-needed possessions.

Therefore, Beckett was left with the responsibility of gaining a payment of some sort, which obviously wouldn't be money because Charles had blown it all for next to nothing. So they had arranged that Charles could give up one of his daughters to Beckett in marriage, as his Lordship needed a wife to produce a son.

So as it turned out, an ugly man like Charles could apparently attract a well-mannered wife who was good enough to produce three fine looking daughters. But Beckett had only heard Charles tell him so in the letters he'd sent in which they had arranged to meet and settle the debt, he hadn't yet been able to see them for himself. One of the daughters, if pleasing to Beckett, would become his wife. Charles' wife had passed away two years ago and from what Beckett knew that was probably why Charles was the man that he was today – a pathetic, lethargic, low life who still somehow saw in himself pride to flaunt.

Beckett took a sip of the tea and then placed it on the front of Charles's desk. "Do your daughters know why I'm here?"

"Yes. They both didn't look at all pleased with me afterwards. Though, I only told them that you would take one of them as a wife, I didn't mention anything to them about... the task," Charles answered after a sip of tea.

"Both? You told me you had three daughters and a son. Where is the other daughter?" Beckett felt like Charles was aware that he had just said something that he shouldn't have.

"Oh... err..." Charles stuttered nervously.

"You lied to me Charles. I wanted to inspect all three. Where's the third?" Beckett asked - his voice firm.

"My eldest Clare... I... She's been married for weeks now. It must have slipped my mind, terribly sorry," Charles replied, avoiding eye contact.

"Pathetic. Charles I trusted you to at least get this right. Why is she married when you clearly stated in your letters that I'd see all of your daughters?" Beckett asked. He could see that Charles was far too nervous for the marriage of Clare to have been about money. Something else had been the reason, and Beckett needed to know what.

"Clare… oh, she looked just like her mother you see, so I'd been favouring her since... the death of Louise. I wanted Clare to be happy so-"

"So you thought it would be alright to give her to a man that she fancied even though you promised that I'd see all of your daughters before you let them marry for any other reason? Wrong. People who break promises with me regret it Charles, and you should know that," Beckett watched Charles lower himself down into the chair at his enraged tone - cowardly.

"No, no, it's not like that at all.... err... she was the eldest anyway! Why not take one of the younger two; they'll be more...more... youthful for the task? The younger a woman is when she marries the more clueless she is, maybe take that to your advantage?" Charles was right but it was just sheer luck that he thought of those things on the spot like that.

"I suppose you're right. And for the record, as there are only two, it lowers the chance of me reaping in the rewards of the task that I have set, if I'm pleased with neither of them I'll take the house and all of its possessions and don't you think for a moment that I won't. You have a debt and you shan't get away without paying it," Beckett threatened.

"Of course your Lordship, please, I don't think that at all...," Charles said, and he knew that there was no escape from the situation. Facing the younger Beckett was significantly better than facing the elder Beckett had he not died; Beckett's father had been renowned for his very short temper.

"Good," Beckett said. He was always pleased to see that people took his threats seriously.

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"Somehow I always knew something like this would happen to us," whispered the young lady dressed in a blue gown that matched her sapphire eyes and enhanced the long dark blonde hair curling softly over her shoulders. She stood with her older sister outside the study door.

"And it's not as if either of us know anything about this Mr Beckett, what if he's a decrepit, aging monster who just wants lots of-" The blonde haired girls older sister whispered back, she was unable to complete the sentence. She was about a half a head taller than her sibling, with soft facial features like her sister but with green eyes instead and chocolate brown hair tied in a ribbon that matched the emerald green dress she wore.

"Ingrid, all men want plenty of... that. Don't you remember how you and Clare were the ones that told me so? Do you want to knock or should I?" The blue eyed girl whispered back.

"How could I have forgotten? I suppose I'll knock," Ingrid sighed, turning to her sister - Charlotte.

"How about we get Frank to announce us?" Charlotte asked but didn't wait for a reply. She turned to see Frank dusting a vase in the corner; he was the same butler who had opened the door for Beckett on his arrival. When Frank came over she asked him to announce them.

Frank opened the study door. "Ingrid and Charlotte Ivory," he said as he let the sisters into the study. Ingrid entered first followed by Charlotte who gave a sideways look to Frank on her way through.

"About time you two!" Charles said with sudden excitement in his voice.

Frank closed the doors as he returned to his other duties.

Ingrid and Charlotte stood beside each other at the back of the study in front of a large, tall bookcase which ran along the length of the back wall. They eagerly watched the elegantly dressed man with his back facing them across the room for any movement.

Charles stood up from his seat and made a slow walk over to his daughters, limping slightly because of his sore left leg and because of his rheumatism.

It was then that Beckett finally turned to take a distant look at the Ivory girls. His thoughts were immediate. 'Perfect.'

Ingrid and Charlotte noted with some relief that Beckett wasn't an old man at all as they watched him make his way over to them.

Charles stopped in front of Charlotte. "Lord Beckett, may I present to you my daughters. This is Charlotte, my youngest daughter, and the youngest of my children. She's turned seventeen just recently."

Beckett gave Charlotte a slight bow when she curtseyed.

Charles moved on to introduce Ingrid. "And this is Ingrid, my second eldest daughter, she's twenty," Beckett observed Ingrid for longer than he had her younger sister. Yes, they were both something to marvel at, but it was Ingrid's eyes that enticed him, he'd never seen eyes of that shade or hue before.

He removed his eyes from Ingrid and turned to Charles. "I'd like to speak with them both privately. I'll begin with Charlotte," he said, turning to meet her sapphire eyes.

"Very well, Ingrid come with me, we will wait outside and leave his Lordship to his work," Charles said after he made his way over to the study door. He opened it for Ingrid.

When Ingrid had walked out of the study Charles shut the door and pulled Ingrid close. "Now you listen to me sweetheart. Be plain and simple with him, I don't want to lose you to him, I'd much rather it be Charlotte."

"Yes father. But what if he chooses me still? What if he chooses neither of us? What will happen?" Ingrid asked.

"Then there isn't much I can do about that. You shouldn't worry yourself, I saw it myself, and he rather liked the look of the both of you. You... you don't want to be his wife, am I right sweet?"

"No I don't... What made you ask?" Ingrid replied she looked confused. 'Where did he pull a question like that from? Though, I wouldn't mind finally getting out of this dump. I should be married by now and I deserve to be living somewhere nice, somewhere where I can leave the house! I should be spoilt, covered in riches,'

"I was just wondering. I only care for your happiness dear," Charles said shaking Ingrid in a playful caring way. The way he shook her was unusual, she was no longer a child and yet he would always treat her like one and the same went for her sisters. Ingrid thought it must have been one of those 'I don't want you to ever leave me' things, which made sense because she did resemble her mother more than Charlotte and he'd lost her mother he didn't want to lose Ingrid too.

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"Lord Beckett," Ingrid said with a curtsy when she came into the study for her private conversation with him.

"Ingrid Ivory. I've never heard the name 'Ingrid' before; it sounds rather intriguing, I wonder, what is its meaning?" Beckett asked inviting her to sit opposite him near the fireplace.

Ingrid sat down and not for a split second did she take her eyes off of him. "My name was inspired by what my mother saw in one of her mythology books. She read them but she never really believed half of what they mentioned. She always said they made good stories. My name means… well, in my understanding, it's an old Nordic word for 'beautiful.' That's what mother always told me anyway, and something about the God of the earth's fertility - I can't really remember," she answered with the memory of her mother in the back of her mind.

"Beautiful – that, you very well are," Beckett said admiring her eyes, lips the curve of her breasts and that milky white complexion. 'And fertile like the earth you very well may be.'

"Why thank you," Ingrid said, begrudgingly accepting the complement – a complement that she had to have heard at least a dozen times. With a dose of his voice and a closer look, her mind already began to transmit what she'd seen. 'He's arrogant, and how desperate could you possibly you be to make a flirtatious remark such as that?'

Her thoughts stopped when she heard his voice again. "There isn't much you need to know about me, other than the fact that I work for the East India Trading Company and that I'd like to take a wife. So, tell me about your interests," he said and intensely waited for her reply.

"I enjoy reading, poetry… I have a love for music but I can't dance to save my life. Music, I suppose I find it fascinating to hear the capability of an instrument, all the pieces that it can play. I play the harpsichord, as father insisted that I learnt it for his entertainment," she said, only she wondered if she'd said too much, been too alluring, considering what her father had told her outside. 'I've said too much... I'll just have to give him a wrong impression, that I'm insolent perhaps...or sightly absent minded," she thought. Ingrid really was just like her mother in that way, her thoughts were very quick but many of those inner thoughts rarely slipped past her lips.

"Music, poetry, reading and you can't dance very well. That sounds very much like myself, except for the poetry," he said plainly.

"Hmm, I suppose I like art too," she said staring out the window. It was snowing. 'Insolent it is…'

Beckett turned to see what Ingrid was so intrigued by, he thought it might have been a painting on the wall due to the fact that she'd mentioned art but he was surprised to see that she was in fact gazing out the window at the snow fall. He turned back to her and asked "Do you like the winter snow?"

"Yes, I find it rather pretty. I can watch it fall for hours, and the first fall for winter is always particularly beautiful, just like this," Ingrid said slowly turning her attention back to Beckett.

"Ah, I can't agree with you completely. It's horrible to be taken through in a carriage, or have you never experienced that?"

"It hasn't been bad when I've been. I don't leave the house often enough I suppose. It's not safe..." she said gazing out the window again.

"I see..." he said observing her unusual behaviour while also watching her face from the side, her profile, where he could still see her eyes and all her other features.

She turned her attention back to Beckett once again. "Sorry. How rude of me to-" she said as if she'd not intended to be insolent.

"No, it's alright. I think we're done here," he said standing up and holding his cane just above the ground.

Ingrid stood too; she went and opened the door to inform her father and sister that they could come in.

"Well, which of my daughters takes your fancy most, your Lordship? Who gets to be Lady Beckett?" Charles asked, anxious to know what fate he would have for himself and his daughters.

Beckett moved his attention over to Charlotte who stood next to her father. "Charlotte, you're a wonderful young lady-"

"Wonderful! You won't be disappointed with her!" Charles said excitedly, jumping to the conclusion he wanted the most.

Beckett scolded Charles with his words and eyes. "As I was saying," He said, and then turned back to Charlotte "But it would be most unfair that the youngest were to marry before the eldest. Ingrid was also the most pleasing," he said turning to Charles with a smirk.

"Ingrid... but you don't want her! Charlotte is much more suitable, she's younger and far better mannered," Charles raced his words, nervously trying to convince Beckett to take Charlotte instead.

Ingrid looked on the scene. 'Me? But I was so rude and improper. No, he can't have seen what I was trying to do... or maybe Charlotte really wasn't enough to please him at all…?'

"It's a shame you know. I would've enjoyed my inheritance had there have been more of it, you took that away from me Charles. So now, I'll take something that matters to you. It'll be Ingrid or the house. Which do you choose?" Beckett said. After a rather awkward silence he spoke again. "Do you want to sacrifice Ingrid to save the three of you? Or are you pathetic enough to let me take the house?"

Charles thought for a moment before giving a reply, what Beckett had said really sunk in to his mind. He could give Ingrid away and write to her or even visit her maybe, but not giving her away would mean he would lose the house and Ingrid would perish into prostitution with her sister in order to make ends meet for their father. It was a sweet sacrifice and it had to be made.

"You... you may have Ingrid. Take her... leave this evening, I can't trust myself to keep her here until you are wed," Charles said slowly bringing out the truth. He knew that he would try and hide her if she stayed because just knowing that she'd become Beckett's wife was enough to make him want to do that. And it was better to tell the truth, than hide Ingrid away and get caught and face the consequences. It would also salvage what was left of Charles's reputation.

"I see you have some honesty left in you after all... Ingrid, I want you to go up stairs and fetch your necessities. I can easily arrange for the rest of her belongings and that vase in the hall to be brought to my home at a later date," Beckett said. He was rather proud to be taking the one thing Charles had left to care about besides himself; the vase was simply something else he liked the look of. He was also glad that he wouldn't be having Charles escape without payment – his father would be proud.

Ingrid did as she was asked, and headed out the study and up the stairs with her sister following behind her. Frank followed and waited outside Ingrid's bed chamber in ready to carry her things down stairs.

"You're taking the vase from the hall?" Charles asked. He seemed confused; he never said anything about the vase before just now.

"I rather fancied it; it rather makes a nice package with Ingrid," Beckett spoke plainly.

"But it was Louise's..." Charles said miserably.

"And that money was my fathers," Beckett retorted.

"Take it, it was filled more with memories of Louise than flowers anyway," Charles had always seen his wife's possessions as filled with memories, it upset him sometimes, but there were also those times that reminded him of her in a way that made him happy – the times when she was happy. The vase had been one of her many wedding gifts and it was the last he had of them and now like Ingrid it would be gone.

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"My dearest sister... I feel terrible, but if I was the one to leave you'd feel like this too wouldn't you?" Charlotte asked her sister whilst shoving some of Ingrid's clothes into a chest. She perched on the edge of her sister's bed.

"Of course I would. This had to happen to one of us and I've accepted that it's me. If I didn't go just imagine what would become of us," Ingrid said heavily, just as the London sky - grey and sagging with snow.

When the family had started to go through hard times and when the girl's father began to drink and waste most of the money gambling on card games, they had to cut back on many things. These included set backs on the girls clothing, staff and furniture.

"Maybe you could run away?" Charlotte suggested.

"Charlotte. How bad could Lord Beckett be? He seemed rather nice when I spoke with him. The only thing that I didn't like was the way he spoke so plainly, it was so dry and dull, with no life in it at all."

"Maybe he wants a wife because he's lonely?" Charlotte suggested, still packing things into her sister's chest. Ingrid folded them as she placed them inside.

"I hope that's the reason," Ingrid spoke down into her lap as she folded her nightdress. "And if he turns out to be horrible I can run when that time comes. I believe in giving people a chance, you mustn't be prejudice towards people," Ingrid said as she passed the nightdress to her sister. Ingrid was also like her mother in this way - she gave advice where she thought it would be needed.

"Well... that's the last of it... all that can fit..." Charlotte slowly placed the open lid of the chest down and locked it. Her eyes were beginning to water. "What if I never see you...what if I never see you again?" she asked before she began to sob lightly. She then suddenly wrapped her arms around her sister.

Ingrid stroked her younger sister in an attempt to comfort her. "Come now, you mustn't say things like that. It's best for us this way, I mean Charlotte we're both innocent and young and with fathers spending habits we'll end up on the street if I don't go and quite possibly we'd lose our innocence in a brutal way. This needs to be done and I suppose I can write to you and father when ever possible. Don't cry, I'll be fine... you need to remember I'm not married to him... yet…"