This is my first fic, so please be constructive and nice, si l'vous plait.
I don't own Jack. Unfortunately for both of us.
Natalia Maria Satkowiak. She went through alternating periods of love and hate for that name. It was so foreign, so different from the boring British names that surrounded her constantly on St. Thomas. It was not uncommon for her to hear, "Dirty pollock," several times a day, spat in that biting English accent that most Smiths and Bakers were the proud owners of. As if she were a rat that was somehow shipped across the sea, unwanted and disgusting, instead the daughter of the wealthiest family on the island. It was her name that led to this current predicament.
Natalia arrived in St. Thomas ten years ago, when she was only five, the result of her father, Ivan's, promotion in the East India Trading Company. It didn't take a lot to prompt him to take the job; a life in the Caribbean sun was infinitely preferable than war-torn Poland to raise a family in. He was a smart, honest, and above all, frugal man, which is an excellent combination for advancement in a company that only looks at the bottom line. Within 3 years, he was running the St. Thomas division of the company, had built his wife and only child a beautiful house, and developed an over-fondness for opium.
Natalia and her mother spoke absolutely no English when they arrived, relying on sign language to get them through the day. After a few months, however, Natalia was practically fluent, while her mother struggled with simple sentences. Natalia would have to translate constantly, drawing curses continually from servants and shopkeepers alike. By the end of her first year on St. Thomas, she knew every curse in the English language and some in Spanish, making her a queen amongst children.
Apparently, the ability to cuss is valued by kids in every corner of the world.
In fact, it was her filthy tongue that led her to Matthew.
Natalia remembered it very clearly; it was one of those life-changing events that imprints itself on your brain. She was twelve, and it was a humid April night. She remembered the temperature because she had to run outside to escape one of her father's intoxicated ramblings about the glory of capitalism, the greatness of Britain, and so on. It was always this way, until he had finished his next opium-cigar, and turned into a storm of anger against the underlying racist remark that so-and-so had said to him earlier in the day. His wife had the scars to remind her to just leave him be when he headed toward his study, and had already retired to her room.
She had run into the garden, her wide blue eyes searching for some shadow or bush to hide in before her father turned violent. She saw an overly ornate bench toward the back, near a fence, and dove for it, catching the hem of her dress on a bush next to it. She landed face first on grass, and let out an oath that would have made the staunchest man hide his head.
"Got a tongue in our head, do we miss?" said a voice behind Natalia. She whipped around swearing again,
"Who the hell is that?"
A boy of about her age emerged from the shadows with a hoe, clicking his tongue.
"Name's Matthew, Matt for short. You must be Miss Natalia," he said with an awkward mixture of awe and disdain.
"And may I ask how you know that?"
"I'm your governess's son. And even if I wasn't it wouldn't be hard to figure," he replied smoothly.
"And how's that?" she asked, keeping her ears cocked for any approaching footsteps. She was well aware that this boy was below her station, but honestly, she didn't care. Everyone outside this house treated Natalia like well-born garbage, and even most of the servants inside it treated her with barely concealed impudence. The combination of being the daughter of an addict father, wealthy, and foreign did not make for loving servants. She was beginning to realize that stations didn't matter so much, even though her mother was always whispering in Polish, "My jestesmy lepzy niz one."
Plus, this boy was being nice to her.
"Well, the accent for one. That's the oddest mixture of Ruskie and Brit. Not ugly though. The fact that you swear like a sailor and your dress is of the highest quality cloth. And your eyes."
That threw her. "My eyes?"
"No way a British girl has such clear blue eyes."
Internally flattered, she replied, "And you know this because of your vast familiarity with British girls, eh? How old are you anyways?"
"Sarcasm and a fiery tongue? Me ma wasn't lying. I'm twelve and a half." He looked at her and asked, "May I ask what a lady like yourself is doing out here so la-", he stopped short when Natalia threw herself face down on the grass and huddled behind the bush. Seconds later, her father came out of the double glass doors calling, "Nat! Nat-tal, Natalia! Where are you my mały dziewczyna?"
Matt looked down quickly and Natalia shook her head violently.
He pretended to be working with the hoe and said nonchalantly, "I think I saw her head to the west end of the house, guv. Better hurry, she was movin' quite fast."
He yelled something incoherent, saluted, and stumbled off in that direction.
"He's gone, miss. And if you don't mind, why're you hiding from him?" he said, crouching down to her eye level.
"He's already had two opi-, I mean, he's not feeling well. I don't want him to get me sick," she replied, conscious of the fact that her father's opium addiction could squander what little reputation they had.
" 'Couse he is, miss, 'course he is," he said knowingly, and helped her up.
"Thanks for that," she said smiling, "and can I ask what you're doing in the garden so late?"
"Had to sneak out to get the news. A merchant ship just docked, and I wanted to see if my father was on it," speaking like sneaking out was an everyday matter, which instantly made Natalia like him more.
"Your father's a sailor? Wouldn't you know what boat he's on, then?" Natalia said; glad to have something slightly in common with him.
His eyes darkened but he said, normally as ever, "His ship's over a month late. But it's okay, he had to go all the way to England and back. I'm sure he just got delayed." He didn't seem convinced.
"I'm sorry," Natalia said, very uncomfortable. It was hard to say the right thing in situations like this, and she didn't want to offend Matt, who was speaking civilly, even friendly, to her.
An uncomfortable silence followed, and when Matt started to say his good-byes, the question that she had been holding in burst out,
"Will you take me with you when you sneak out again?"
That caught him off-guard, and he looked at Natalia like he was seeing her for the first time. "Take you with me, eh? And why should I do that?"
Natalia was ecstatic that he was even considering it, and she launched into a rant that had been building inside her for some time,
"I have got to escape this house. I dress in eighteen different layers to just have tea, and then strip it all off and put on a different eighteen layers for dinner. I have to walk, curtsy, and speak in a certain way, until I want to lie in bed and scream as loud as I possibly can. I'm tired of being treated as second class for being Polish, and I've pricked my finger with that damn sewing needle about seven hundred times, and-," He stopped me before I could get any further.
"All right, all right. I'll take you. You'll need different clothes though. I think I have some old stuff that might fit you…."