DISCLAIMER NOTE: Elements of Seas of Justice are woven into A Pirate's Life No More, Misplaced Hearts, and Which Way Lies True for the purposes of foundation, development and continuity. They don't presume to replace PotC's back-story content.
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Summary: EITC Captain Bill Turner makes a promise to an old friend, involving himself in the treacherous struggle of the powerful Beckett family and leaving him with more than one dangerous prize.
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The Seas of Justice Chronicles
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PRICE OF RESURRECTION
Chapter 1 – The Crown's Displeasure
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Nassau Port – 1656
"But I am tellin' you, it's of the utmost urgency that I speak with Lord Bentley Beckett!"
The nonplussed midshipman barred the intruder's entry with a crossed musket. "Sorry, sir. That's not possible. We have orders to escort---"
"Mr. Torrey, is there a problem here?"
Torrey winced, lowering his weapon a fraction as he turned his white-wigged head to meet the crisp, pristine officer in blue stalking him purposefully down the planked walkway. "No, Lieutenant Norrington, sir. This gentleman, he's here to call on Administrator Beckett, sir."
"I see." The young officer frowned in uncertainty, surveying the intruder with mild distaste. Obviously a ship's captain by the look of his worn flared black coat and wide-brimmed boots. He had no time for the East India Trading Company's disgruntled employees today. He had a schedule to keep and no ragged-dressed sailor would be tolerated as an interruption. "As you were, Mr. Torrey."
Impatiently, the older man returned the appraisal, sighing. "Look, lieutenant, I'm Captain William Turner of the Fayre Mistress and I've come at the behest of Lord Bentley Beckett. He's a good friend and is expecting my visit!"
Norrington's frown relaxed slightly as he nodded. "Then I would suggest, captain, that you make your visit brief as Administrator Beckett has been summarily relieved of his duties here by orders of his Royal Majesty, and is to accompany us back to England forthwith."
"It's true, then?" Turner grimaced, shaking his dark head in denial. "Bentley's been falsely charged with treasonous acts against the Crown. You can't know how preposterous that be!"
The officer's frown deepened again and his posture stiffened. "I'm not at liberty, sir, to determine the validity of charges levied against any subject of the Crown." He curtly gestured for Torrey to stand aside and allow the man through the large stone-carved archway. Turner encountered more marines guarding the length of the foyer; each gave him a cursory glance, but otherwise offered no acknowledgement in passing.
The once vibrant-colored tapestries draped along the stone arches now hung in gloom and shadows, the large colorfully painted Beckett coat-of-arms had been removed from the ante chamber wall, replaced with an enormous, yet unimpressive portrait of a frilly-bedecked gold-haired child kneeling attentively at the foot of King George's throne. Although a rough rendering, William shuddered, recognizing the fawning boy as the youngest Beckett sibling, Cutler.
"Move along, sir," one of the marine guards advised him warily and opened the huge wood-studded door wider into Beckett's lavish offices.
No welcoming hearth fire, Turner noticed in dismay. And the intricately designed Egyptian vases and delicately carved statues from the Colonies no longer sat in display on the mantel above. Gazing around in surprise, he found the towering gray stone walls behind the wide desk, the high-bracketed wood shelves and glass-enclosed cabinets all to be bare.
One concession, or perhaps exception, from the new regime, still hung above a low table of tattered rolled maps and charts. An almost life-sized portrait of a beautiful woman, Lady Dominique Lieuxbois-Beckett, gazed imperiously back at him. A haughty, but exquisite young woman, she sat in a flowing white frock amid a healthy garden of soft pink and dainty white roses, the loose ringlets of her black hair swept from her face by sparkling green gemstone beads over her left ear. Far beyond the vine-festooned stone wall, a stately old castle rose like jagged spires from the center of a green hillside, the Beckett pennant flying from the battlements against a cloudless sky.
"Lovely, is she not?" The voice sounded heavy with regret, resigned. "He's wanted father's painting for more years than I can recall. And now it's his."
"Aye, your mother was beautiful," William agreed, turning to warmly clasp his friend's outstretched hand. "Ah, Bentley! Great Heavens, man, how has it come to this? The Crown's always prospered with you and your father here! Blamin' you for recent profit losses makes no sense to me!"
"Family politics, my friend," Bentley sighed, straightening his bright green white-laced jacket over his sturdy bulk. He studied the painting in admiration, smiling ruefully. "No, dear, dear mother, French born, didn't take well to drafty Irish castles, preferring the saucy intrigues of the royal court. I feared no good could have come of it for an impoverished lad from County Claire. They made Cutler into a self-serving, vain and pompous fop, William, a truly vindictive man, one for whom no loyalty remains to his own family, with the exception, of course, of her."
"The new matriarch." Turner nodded in grim, helpless understanding, hearing no fond remembrances in his friend's tone. "Bentley, there must be a way to fight this injustice…"
"William, there is little time left!" Beckett caught his upper arm, his fingers tightening with urgency. "Cutler is most welcome to mother's portrait… and any other trinket left here which he may covet as a symbol of his triumph over our late father's wishes, I care not." His gaze lowered cautiously to the rolled maps and charts below the imposing painting. "Promise me that you will see to Anglia's welfare. Don't let Cutler's bitterness and hunger corrupt our sweet sister, William."
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TBC