Disclaimer: I don't own it. Everything you recognise belongs to Disney.
No infringement
is intended and I'm certainly not making any money from this story.
Summary: Weatherby Swann disapproves of his young daughter's fascination
with pirates.
A Difference of Opinion
by Hereswith
"Papa," she said, standing on tiptoe and leaning against the window
glass so that she could
catch a glimpse of the carriages arriving, "why couldn't I be a
pirate?"
Weatherby Swann's hand stilled above the delicate snuff-box and he sighed,
wishing, not
for the first time and, he suspected, not for the last, that his wife still
was alive. A mother's
guidance would, perhaps, have inspired his wayward child to pursue interests
more suited
to her sex. He took a pinch of snuff, closed the box and put it in his pocket
before replying,
"You are a young lady, Elizabeth, and young ladies should not dream of
piracy."
"Why not?"
"Why not?" He shook his head. "That is a question you should
not even have to ask. The
very notion is preposterous."
She turned to him, then, looking thoughtful. "Would you say so if I was
a boy, papa?
Anne's brother went to sea when he was—"
"Anne's brother," Weatherby sternly interrupted, "should
not set an example for my
daughter. Furthermore, while being an officer in the King's Navy is an
honest profession,
being a pirate is certainly not. There is no truth to those stories, Elizabeth,"
he continued,
in a gentler tone. "Even this John Sparrow—"
"Jack," she corrected. "Captain Jack Sparrow."
Weatherby's brows rose a fraction, but he said merely, "Very well.
Even he is nothing
more than a simple criminal. And a dangerous one, no doubt."
"But—"
"Elizabeth!" he admonished and she fell silent, but her expression
turned distinctly mulish.
"Come now, my dear, it is my birthday, is it not? And you are mistress
of the house. It
won't do to keep the guests waiting."
He smiled, hoping to coax a smile from her too, and though she did not smile
back, after
a brief moment, during which she seemed to struggle with herself, she approached
and
tucked her arm through his. "No, papa."
He knew her well enough to recognise the stubborn tilt of her chin. The battle
was far from
won, but he had, at least, and quite to his relief, gained a reprieve, and he
squeezed her
arm lightly, as they made for the stairs. Captain Jack Sparrow, indeed. Evident
proof that
he needed to do something about her reading habits.