The Christmas Stranger
by Luvvycat
Author's Note - This is a six-part story I wrote for GeekMama for last year's Black Pearl Sails Secret Santa on LiveJournal (and, due to life circumstances that impeded my ability to devote time to writing, only just completed in time for THIS Christmas)!
This tale is set during young Will and Elizabeth's first Christmas in Port Royal, though there are other familiar characters (both named and incognito) that you will recognise from PotC canon...
As ever, Reviews are highly valued and heartily encouraged!
Ta, and Enjoy!
- Cat
- Part One -
Will watched surreptitiously through the terrace windows of the great house as the guests arrived for the Governor's holiday ball. Elizabeth—as the "lady of the house"—dutifully stood at her father's side to greet each new arrival. She was clad head to toe in holiday finery, as befitted the daughter of the Royal Governor of Jamaica: honey-coloured brocade with velvet trim of chocolate brown and dark gold braid, a creamy froth of ecru lace cascading from each elbow-length sleeve, her hair upswept and held in place with a perfectly matched pair of mother-of-pearl combs, artfully-arranged ringlets tumbling down to frame her pretty face.
He watched and waited until the hall grew crowded, and guests started spilling out onto the terrace, before retreating to the shadows. He well knew Elizabeth's disdain and impatience for such functions—this holiday fete being not a gathering of family and friends, but rather an opportunity to dazzle and impress the cream of Port Royal society—and wagered that it wouldn't be long before she begged off and sought the sanctuary of her own room, eager for the sight of a friendly face and the company of someone her own age.
Will hid in the shadows and waited until he saw the light come up in Elizabeth's room before scaling the trellis. The music from the open terrace doors drifted up to him—a string quartet, from the sound of it—the sound of laughter and holiday gaiety mingling with the lilting strains of a minuet.
As he tapped upon her window, he pondered how strange it was, for it to be Christmas Eve and warm as summer! In England, Decembers were cold and often snowy, the air brittle with frost that tweaked the nose and numbed the fingers and could only be staved off with woollen mufflers, heavy coats (if one was fortunate enough to possess such) and blazing hearth fires. There was, for Will, something quite unnatural about spending the Yuletide—his first in the Caribbean—caressed by balmy breezes heady with the scent of tropical flowers!
His thoughts fractured as the window was yanked open from inside, and he quickly scrambled into the room. With all the awkwardness of a boy on the cusp of fourteen, not yet accustomed to legs that had grown six inches in as many months, he caught his foot on the sill, and landed in a graceless sprawl upon the floor.
"Will!" Elizabeth cried, hurrying to help him to his feet.
She had looked lovely enough from afar, but standing here, so close, she simply took his breath away!
She laughed as he sprang to his feet and dusted himself down. "I'm so glad to see you, Will! I was hoping you'd come up for a visit!"
He felt his cheeks flush pink with pleasure. He found himself doing that a lot lately in her presence, and it mystified him, for he wasn't sure exactly what had changed between them. She was the same Elizabeth Swann who had saved him from the sea—his best friend, since that day—and he was the same Will Turner. An immediate bond had been forged between them; both motherless children, their camaraderie had been borne of shared tragedy and the similarity in their ages. But some subtle, intangible metamorphosis had taken place within him in recent months, along with the gradual deepening of his voice and the lengthening of his limbs.
Suddenly, her smile wasn't just a smile, it was the sun shining upon him, warming him inside and out. The sound of her laughter was like the trilling of silver bells, musical, delightful. And the merest touch of her hand, the sweet regard of her dark amber eyes had the power to make his heart flutter with joy, and tie his tongue into knots.
"How's the party?" he asked.
She winced. "Oh, much the same as it was for my last birthday. No-one near my age, mostly my father's associates and acquaintances, the rest—let's see, what did the Lieutenant call them?" She stood ramrod-straight, hands clasped behind her back, nose in the air and, lowering her voice, affected a very close approximation of Norrington's cool, mellifluous upper-class accent, "—'toad-eating sycophants, seeking to curry the Governor's favour.' "
He laughed, both at her spot-on impersonation of the Lieutenant, and the sentiment expressed. "That bad, eh?"
She sighed deeply, and the look in her eyes threatened to melt his heart. "Oh, Will. It's not like it was, when Mother was alive! Mother and Father had so many good friends back in England. And Christmas was always Mother's favourite holiday! Father said that her parties were the envy of every hostess in London! She was the very Spirit of Christmas!"
Her eyes lost focus as her mind went back to what were, no doubt, happier times. "I can just remember that last Christmas Eve ball, at the London house. I wasn't allowed to attend, of course—I had only just turned five. But I stole away to watch from the top of the stairs as the guests arrived." A gentle, nostalgic smile lit her features. "All the ladies, in the most beautiful gowns—satin and velvet and lace in most every colour imaginable! And not only the ladies, the gentlemen too, looking so handsome and elegant in their perfectly-tailored coats and powdered wigs!" As her expression grew enraptured at the visions in her head, so did Will's at the vision before him. She was, truly, the prettiest creature he'd ever seen.
"And Mother! Holding court like a grand duchess, in a gown of silver and midnight blue, drifting among the guests!" She fingered the jewelled necklace hanging round her throat, the centrepiece of which was a delicate, carved ivory cameo. "The hair-combs, and this necklace … she wore them that night." She sighed, dreamily. "She looked just like an angel, descended from Heaven! Glittering, like moonlight on water. Ethereal…"
She sighed again, and her voice quavered slightly as she continued, "Little did we know then that Heaven would call her back so soon. She died that summer."
The melancholy look on her face called to a similar sadness in him, and he took her hand, squeezing it in sympathy. She sniffed, and returned the squeeze before looking back up at him. "Tell me about your mother."
"Well, as I've told you, my father was absent for most of my life, which is not at all uncommon, I understand, for those who make their life and livelihood at sea. His visits were few and far between, but sometimes he would send money back home to Mum, which she tried to make stretch as long as possible. Even then, we never had very much. Barely enough to get by, I suppose. But I never wanted for anything—except for a full-time father, of course—though I suspect Mum often went without, to make sure I had what I needed.
"Naturally, our annual Christmas celebration was a bit more … humble," he said, dropping his gaze, for some reason embarrassed to admit such to her. He did not want her to think that he was taking her to task, for the accident of birth that made her rich, and he poor. "Mum would save all year … set aside pennies from the sewing she took in, whatever she could afford to put aside, once our daily needs were met." He smiled in fond remembrance. "And each year, there would be a Christmas goose—a small one, but a goose nevertheless!—and plum pudding, and mince pie." He laughed with a small hint of bitterness, thinking of the elegant, truly bacchanalic spread below. "Lord, we thought it the most lavish feast imaginable!"
When he looked back up, Elizabeth's expression had softened, eyes suspiciously bright and liquid in the glow of her bedside candle. She came and slipped her small hands into his. "Oh, Will …" she near-whispered. "How terrible of me … nattering on about our Christmas riches, and wonderful parties, and the bounty of our own table, when you've had to go without. What must you think of me?"
He tilted her face up to his, his eyes staring earnestly into hers. "Please don't feel sorry for me, Elizabeth. It was not an unhappy life. And I couldn't have had a better mother than I had, whether pauper or aristocrat."
She said, gently, "And this is your first Christmas without her."
His smile held a trace of sadness. "Yes."
"And you miss her, terribly."
He had to force the word out past the sudden lump in his throat. "Yes."
Her arms stole around his waist, and she lay her head upon his chest with a deep, trembling sigh. "Me, too. I don't think you ever stop missing people you love, no matter how long has passed. It's been near eight years since I lost my mother, and I still miss her."
His hand hovered above her head, but he couldn't bring himself to touch her hair. It seemed too … forward. Too intimate a gesture for him to make, despite their close friendship. So he waited until she pulled away, and, clearing his voice, went on.
"There's one other small tradition Mum insisted on, every Christmas. To celebrate another year of our good fortune, Mum said it was only proper and charitable to share such bounty with one even less fortunate than ourselves. She would find someone alone and in need—someone with no home, no family, no friends with which to spend Christmas, and invite him or her to our house to share our Christmas Eve dinner." At her widened eyes, Will laughed. "Oh, never fear. Mum, as it turned out, was quite an excellent judge of character. We never had a lick of trouble with anyone she chose, and each stranger she brought home left with much more than they had when they arrived. A full belly, the gift of pleasant company … and, perhaps most valuably, a heart full of hope."
Elizabeth's eyes were shining. "Oh, Will! What a lovely thing for her to do!" Then her face lit up with inspiration. "Will? Why don't we do the same? Carry on your mother's tradition?"
He was stunned. "What?"
Her face became even more animated as enthusiasm for her idea gripped her. "We could go into town, find someone lost, and alone, and in need!"
"Elizabeth, don't be daft! Your father would never permit—"
"We don't have to tell Father! We'll just steal away… The party is likely to go on for hours yet, and Father will be busy with his guests. Why, we'd be back before anyone even noticed that we're gone! We could prepare a basket … there's plenty downstairs, no one would miss, say, a few bottles of wine, some food and sweets."
Will still balked. "I don't know, Elizabeth… How would you be able to keep it from him? What if someone recognises you? Word is bound to get back to him…"
"Then I'll go in disguise. I'll wear a cloak. The hood will hide my face. And we can even use assumed names!" She smiled mischievously at him. "You can be 'Walter', and I shall be 'Bess'!"
Will couldn't help grinning at Elizabeth's reference to one of their favourite games of make-believe, inspired by the books of history she was fond of reading, in which he took the role of the gallant Sir Walter Raleigh, and she his liege and lady, the good Queen Bess…
She grasped his arm, and looked up into his face, positively glowing with excitement. "Oh, Will! Please! I really, really want to do this! Consider it a tribute to your mother … and to mine!"
Of course, when she was looking at him like that, how could he refuse?
"All right …" he said, with great reluctance. "But you're to stay close to me, understand? It's after dark, and not safe for a young lady to be out walking alone. And we both have to agree upon the person we choose…" Sheltered as she was, he was keenly aware of the danger she might be putting herself into. And he liked to believe he had inherited his mum's uncanny judge of character. He wouldn't let Elizabeth select anyone … inappropriate.
"Of course!" she practically squealed in delight, threw her arms around his neck in a brief but enthusiastic hug, and spun toward the door. "I'll go fetch a hamper, and my cloak! Meet me downstairs!" She gave a rather wicked smile. "Then we'll mount a raid on the kitchens and the banquet table!"
A/N - Please remember to give the gift of feedback this holiday season by leaving a Review! It's on every fan writer's wish list! :-)