Author's Notes: Heartfelt gratitude goes to Alicia Graybill for wonderful beta. The song "Lusty young smith" was published in Thomas D'Urfey's "Wit and Mirth, or Pills to Purge Melancholy" in 1719-1720. A couple of almost direct quotes from a ballroom dancing guide, and one nearly invisible nod to Tolkien. Shakespeare and Mary Sues inspired me. Consider yourself warned.
DISCLAIMER: Disney owns "Pirates of the Caribbean". No copyright infringement intended.
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I noticed her when she was congratulating the newly wedded couple on the terrace. A slender woman, dressed in a chocolate brown dress. White gloves, dark brown hair. There was something that instantly drew my attention to her. The way she moved – vivaciously, unconstrained. Her low, catching laughter as she chuckled at William Turner's shocked expression. She simply stood out. Of course Elizabeth Turner nee Swann was the star of the celebration as a bride should be – she was bright and beautiful and so happy it hurt. The unknown woman was different. It was hard to put a finger on. As Elizabeth inspired admiration, this woman made a man feel uneasy.
But who was she? I had never seen her before, and she obviously knew Mr. Turner very well. She could be a relation to the blacksmith, Master Brown... But her dress was obviously expensive, even if her manners weren't exactly those of a society lady... Did Master Brown have a rich sister? Unlikely. I had seen Master Brown here somewhere, though, slightly less drunk than usual. As Mr. Turner recovered from his bewilderment he seemed to be joyous to see the mysterious lady. He smiled broadly and hugged her. An unduly familiar gesture, but then it wasn't a rare thing for the lad to display a certain indifference to socially approved behaviour.
I was suddenly surrounded by a benevolent and chatty crowd of Marine officers and their wives, daughters and maiden aunts. Major Hughes bellowed in his formidable voice about dogs, horses and hunting, or alternatively about hunting, horses and dogs. His nephew, a freshly commissioned lieutenant, tried to keep up with the conversation, but the wine had made his stammering worse, and the poor boy usually succeeded in uttering only half a sentence before Hughes continued his loud monologue. The females were in the state of that unhealthy excitement that weddings so often bring about in women. Captain Preece's daughter asked an obviously previously planned question about the weather-gage. I wondered if the good Major's talk about "terrifying fierceness of the tigress on the prowl" was meant as a hint.
I made my escape to the dance floor with the elderly but energetic Miss Taylor. We danced one rigadoon, exchanged a few trivialities (quite expected that Governor Swann had put so fine a ball on for his daughter's wedding – dear lord, was that Miss Pugh who just fainted – ridiculous things, corsets – the father really coddled Elizebeth silly - eight violins playing is extravagant), and then Governor Swann came to ask her to dance. For some time I had suspected they were lovers, but there weren't any rumours that I knew of. Miss Taylor was ten years older than the Governor, but quite youthful.
"James!"
That happy voice still made my heart ache.
"Elizabeth," I said, and after a short pause amended, "Mrs. Turner."
"Please – just Elizabeth," she said.
I would have preferred less familiar address, just to establish some proper distance between us. Obviously it was easier for Elizabeth to discern proper and improper intimacy. I had been in the Royal Navy since fourteen – and my skills at close relationships with women were somewhat lacking. Closeness with men I could enjoy - rare friendships and easy cameraderie among the officers - but closeness with respectable women just never was proper. No wonder I had made such a sorry mess of my attempted engagement. I was no less lost now. Elizabeth had expressed her wish to be my friend. Could I play cards and discuss literature with her as I did with Lieutenant Groves?
"Oh, now they've started the country-dances," Elizabeth said, delighted.
So they had. The formal French part of the dancing was now over. The ball had begun with a light-hearted minuet – with William Turner and his newly wedded wife in the lead. Mr. Turner had visibly been on the verge of panic as he almost lost his way in the circling mazes, but he had succeeded. After that the young couple had left the ball-room to the dancingly inclined. I now looked on as people prepared for a good oldtime longways English contredanse. On the other side of the ball-room I saw Miss Preece grin suggestively at Major Hughes's nephew. Elizabeth watched me expectantly. I watched her back.
"Commodore Norrington, would you like to dance?" Elizabeth pronounced very clearly.
Oh.
"Of course," I said, mortified. "I do apologize. I don't know what I was thinking."
Actually I had thought Elizabeth was waiting for her husband to take her to dance. But as we took our place on the floor I saw the mysterious woman in brown dress haul William Turner out to dance. Elizabeth noticed them at almost the same moment as I did. She gasped. I tried not to be suspicious.
"Who is the lady Mr. Turner is dancing with?" I asked. "I don't think I have seen her before."
"Oh, that would be Will's friend Mrs. Jacobs," Elizabeth said, strangely nervous. "A widowed Dutchwoman. They haven't seen each other for a while."
"Indeed," I had a feeling Elizabeth really didn't want to talk about her.
I couldn't help sneaking glances at Mr. Turner and Mrs. Jacobs. They got rather too close to each other while dancing. And they had all too much fun. Laughing, smiling, giggling – touching, whispering in the ear. My smile was getting a bit icy. Was Mrs. Jacobs Mr. Turner's former lover? Would the honourable William Turner insult Elizabeth so gravely at their very wedding?
And even if there wasn't any history between them – didn't Mr. Turner realize how damaging just the rumours could be? Only yesterday I had accidentally heard a group of maids talking about the Governor's daughter. They all seemed to agree that Elizabeth Swann was "spoiled goods" after the pirates had kidnapped her, and that was the reason why "a real gentleman like Commodore Norrington" could not marry her and she had to hurriedly marry a blacksmith's journeyman. I had been enraged, disgusted – and powerless to do anything to prevent this kind of talk. I could hardly inform the servant girls that I still loved Elizabeth Swann with all my heart and would marry her in a heart beat - if only she loved me back. The rumours were hard to fight.
The dance ended. Turner led his partner away, again to the garden terrace. I tried not to stare. It was dark there, they would be hidden from inquiring gazes. This really was too much. I looked at Elizabeth. She was looking after her husband, worried – very worried. When Miss Taylor emerged from the crowd and started to chat with Elizabeth, I made my excuses and moved closer to the terrace. I would not allow Mr. Turner to make a fool of Elizabeth.
Mrs. Jacobs and Mr. Turner talked together in the darkness, all too close to each other as far as I could see. As they moved farther into the garden I couldn't stand aside anymore. I followed them. They spoke softly to each other in the shadow of a big manioc, heads closely together. I couldn't hear the words, but the tone was now serious. I saw her give Mr. Turner something golden. A ring, I realized. Did she return an earlier engagement ring? Now? Here? Anger and indignation burned my stomach. Turner took the trinket, and held it reverently. He took her hands in his own and after a short hesitation embraced her again. How did he dare? This was obscene.
"Excuse me," I said loudly, walking straight to the pair.
They jumped apart, and they both stared at me, terrified and guilty, confirming my suspicions. I grabbed Turner's arm and wrenched him aside.
"Commodore..."
"How dare you coo with your strumpet at your own wedding? If you don't care for your own reputation, think of Elizabeth!"
William just looked at me, his mouth open. The strumpet wasn't so slow. I heard the steps, felt the slap and then I was on my knees seeing flashing lights.
"I don't really care if you think I am a hoer," Mrs. Jacobs said poisonously – in a low, husky voice. "But to suggest that William Turner would do anything like you suggested is... preposterous. This young man very obviously has eyes only for his wife there. Not to mention that he's the truest kind of gentleman I have ever met."
Mr. Turner was staring at Miss Jacobs. He looked as stupid as I felt.
"Mrs. Jacobs certainly isn't... a strumpet," William Turner said and blushed deeply.
"Oh, do stand up, man!" Mrs. Jacobs sighed, gave me her arm and helped me back on my feet.
A strong woman. She observed me carefully, as if looking for signs of illness or aggression. I was still too shocked to react. Now as I saw her close by she was very... startling. She wasn't young or pretty. Sunburnt face, rough skin, big hands. High cheekbones, expressive dark brown eyes. She was beautiful in some strange, unconventional way that made me... stare?
"Commodore James Norrington, Mrs. Margareta Jacobs," Mr. Turner was completely lost, trying to act like a gentleman even when I did not.
"I was a friend of young Mr. Turner's father," the Dutchwoman said calmly. "That's why I have formed a vriendschap with young William here."
"His father!" I exclaimed, while I really meant 'his pirate father'.
"William Turner was a good man, as is his son," Mrs. Jacobs said coldly. "If you insinuate anything else, I'd say young Mr. Turner would be quite within his rights to call you out."
I almost stopped breathing. A duel? That would be a scandal. No matter why we'd duel, it would always look like a fight over Elizabeth. Oh God. I met Mr. Turner's gaze.
"Commodore, I appreciate your concern for Elizabeth," William said softly. "If I ever hurt or shamed her like... you suspected, you'd do right by running me through."
So honest. Turner's eyes shone with sincerity. I felt sick. Elizabeth chose that moment to run to us. She seemed frightened.
"Will? Mrs. Jacobs?" she asked. "James?"
"A little misunderstanding," I said.
"Don't worry, Elizabeth," Turner smiled a bit uncertainly. "We are not going to duel."
Elizabeth seemed alarmed. I wished the earth would swallow me.
"But he did deserve to get slapped!" Mrs. Jacobs suddenly said almost gleefully. "To start accusing me of immorality, when I am here as an invited guest and bringing young William his father's ring."
"A ring?" Elizabeth repeated warily. "It isn't cursed, is it?"
"Cursed? Good heavens, no. A little trinket Bill once gave me," Mrs. Jacobs said. "I thought it would be a nice wedding gift for Will."
William Turner was gazing at the ring, pleased. Elizabeth smiled at his joy, but glanced uncertainly at me. I felt wretched. William Turner was fundamentally a good and honest man. And totally in love with Elizabeth. My suspicions were those of jealous, petty man. I tried to decide which was a worse insult in the current situation – to stay after my monstrous faux pas or to leave noticeably too early, causing rumours.
"Mr. Turner," I said. "I do apologize. And Mrs. Jacobs, I did deserve the slap."
Both Elizabeth and her husband were about to say something, but Mrs. Jacobs was faster.
"Ehh, young ones, mayhaps you should to return to dancing and frolicing," she suggested. "So that they won't suspect anything untoward."
Mr. Turner and Elizabeth shared a long look. Then Elizabeth looked at me and Mr. Turner looked at Mrs. Jacobs and I just couldn't fathom the meaning of those looks. The young couple somewhat reluctantly left us in the garden and went to dance.
"And you really should follow them," she said to me - scoffingly. "Your reputation may be tarnished were you seen with me alone."
Just then I realized something odd in my earlier altercation with Mr. Turner.
"Mr. Turner did not defend your honour," I said quietly. "You defended his."
"Perhaps he thinks I have no honour," Mrs. Jacobs looked at me keenly. "Or perhaps he knows I don't need defenders."
"Was that slap a challenge, then?" I asked. "I insulted you grievously, and I am not sure what I can do to make amends."
Mrs. Jacobs was taken aback. She now considered me seriously.
"You could be my escort to the ball," she finally said. "That would protect the honour of us all. You introduce me to one or two old lady as William's family friend, and your presence gives me respectability, also presenting Will's family in good light. You would also be seen as being on good terms with William."
"How Machiavellian."
"One must be a fox to recognise traps, and a lion to frighten wolves."
Was that a direct quote from "The Prince"? I was intrigued.
"Shall we, then?" I offered my arm to her, and she smiled.
"I love weddings," she said as we walked towards the ball-room. "Happy people, sweet treats, music and wine."
"Bitter former fiancees, jealous fools, evil gossip-mongers," I added to her list, perhaps more honestly than I had meant.
"You need to lighten up," she laughed and I felt her slightly sway in the rhythm of the music played in the ball-room.
"Mrs. Jacobs, would you like to dance?" I asked.
"I'd be honoured," she said.
Elizabeth and William Turner were surprised at our appearance on the dance-floor. We smiled at their politely risen eyebrows, and concentrated on dancing. Contredanses had a fair amount of kissing choreographed in them, and I soon found myself chastely brushing my lips against Mrs. Jacobs's mouth. She wasn't shy in her turn, but she seemed to enjoy the dance for the sake of dancing. I got the impression she could with equal pleasure dance with a wooden chair. Not very flattering for the partner, but her obvious delight in the music as she danced, wild and free, fascinated me. It reminded me of the enjoyment I often felt when I practiced fencing.
As we danced, talked with each other, and met the essential two or three old ladies, I learnt more of Mrs. Jacobs. She had inherited a small fortune and a flourishing business – the rum trade - in Willemstad from her late husband. Her father had been an English clergyman and a natural scientist. She was witty and relaxed, had really a shocking sense of humour. I suspected her quirky nature had fully bloomed after her husband's death, and her assured amount of property gave her the freedom to be eccentric. She had a healthy appetite, an interest in hydrography, and a girlish manner in laughing with her hand covering her mouth.
Late that night I also found out she had bad taste in inns. The one where she was staying and I escorted her to was a vile place near the docks. I refused to let her go in alone – I would make sure she had a proper room and that the place would be safe enough. It certainly did not seem too peaceful in there. There was a full carouse going on in the inn. A mixed company of bawdy-mouthed barmaids and shabby looking men was happily howling a lewd ballad.
-- A lusty young smith at his vice stood a-filing./ His hammer laid by but his forge still a-glow./ When to him a buxom young damsel came smiling,/ And asked if to work in her forge he would go./ With a jingle bang jingle bang jingle bang jingle./ With a jingle bang jingle bang jingle high ho." --
Mrs. Jacobs squeezed my hand unintentionally. Oh Lord. I saw the three people in the middle of the floor: a man with a hammer and a leather apron, a woman in a white dress, another man with a sword and a blue coat of the Navy. One didn't need to ponder overmuch who they were supposed to represent. The Blue Coat looked away as the woman fondled the Leather Apron's hammer.
-- "I will," said the smith, and they went off together,/ Along to the young damsel's forge they did go./ They stripped to go to it, 'twas hot work and hot weather./ They kindled a fire and she soon made him blow./ With a jingle bang jingle bang jingle bang jingle./ With a jingle bang jingle bang jingle high ho. --
Every "jingle bang" of the chorus wrenched my nerves. Wasn't it enough that I had lost the woman I loved? Did I have to tolerate indecent mockery? The woman and the Leather Apron were kissing ardently. The Blue Coat tried to make them stop. Finally the woman took notice of him, grabbed his sword, inspected it closely - and dropped it in contempt. At this point I realized Mrs. Jacobs wasn't at my side anymore. I was about to go and find her, but the infernal song caught my attention again.
-- Her husband, she said, no good work could afford her./ His strength and his tools were worn out long ago./ The smith said "Well mine are in very good order,/ And I am now ready my skill for to show." --
I turned and left. If I hadn't gone, I would have killed or maimed someone - and that would have been too much for a poor jest. I stopped running at the docks, realizing I had left Mrs. Jacobs in the inn. I had begun our acquaintance by calling her a whore and in the end I left her in the vile nest of depravity without a word. I was disgusted at myself. The wind was blowing from the west, and it was rising. The sea looked bleak and unkind, and I closed my eyes. I don't know how long I stood like that.
"You are not going to drown yourself, are you, Commodore?"
I felt a gloved hand on my arm. Again Mrs. Jacobs was there beside me, looking serious. I was about to say something, but she shook her head. She offered me a bottle.
"It's rum. They sell my rum at that inn. A filthy place, but as an important trading partner I am well treated there," she said. "Take a drink."
I did. The strong alcohol burned my throat, but the taste was strangely sweet, rich and refined.
"You know, they don't really mean insult with that song," she said. "Actually they are quite proud of the fearsome Commodore of Port Royal."
"I couldn't care less what they meant to hint about me or... my sword," I said vehemently. "But I don't like how they make Elizabeth look like a some lascivious fool!"
"Don't be prudish, Commodore," Mrs. Jacobs sniffed. "Lust is a very wholesome feature of marriage."
I stared at her, offended at the thought of Elizabeth lusting after anyone. I know I was being a jealous idiot, but if Elizabeth didn't desire me, she shouldn't desire anyone else, either.
"You must really love her," Mrs. Jacobs said softly. "You would never approach her now when you know she loves another, but you can't help loving her."
I didn't know if I wanted to walk away from her and never face her again, or perhaps kiss her for her understanding. She had a keen eye for this pain - as if she had felt the same? I thought of Mrs. Jacobs and her manner with the young Turner.
"You are not interested in the young Mr. Turner," I observed. "You were in love with his father."
"Yes," Mrs. Jacobs confessed easily. "I loved him madly. But there never was anything real between us. Bill loved another."
I saw something in her eyes, something very familiar. The pain of letting go. A very strong sense of connection with her surprised me.
"And it still hurts," I said.
"You should know," her reply was sharp but not vicious.
"Not that it hurts still after so many years," I said mildly. "I kind of hoped one could... get over it."
"One does. In a manner of speaking," she said, and as an afterthought she added. "I married. Meester Johannes Jacobs."
We glanced each other, cautiously, probably we were both uncomfortable about what we had admitted to a total stranger. She smiled nervously.
"Are you staying long in Port Royal?" I asked realizing I wasn't in any hurry to part with her.
"No," she said. "I will be gone in the morning."
Some part of me – the one with rum in it, I'd say – wasn't too cautious. I kissed her. It was a shy and tender kiss, and I could tell Mrs. Jacobs was surprised. Her lips were warm and enticing, even if her skin felt rough. Encouraged, I moved to draw her closer. She wasn't pliable at all and she stepped away from me.
"No," she said angrily. "I won't be your Elizabeth."
"I didn't mean it like-"
"Yes, I know I am nothing like Elizabeth. But I am a convenient substitute. You don't mind treating me like a whore."
I would never treat her like a whore! I thought indignantly. I treated her like I would have treated my male friends, not worrying overmuch about anything. If I had lusted after my male friends, that is. Of course, from her point of view I was just ungentlemanly and rough. Perhaps I was. Perhaps I cared less about honour of a rum trader's widow than that of a governor's daughter. I felt reproached.
"I am very sorry, Mrs. Jacobs", I said. "I can't seem to do anything right tonight. I shouldn't have been so free with my advances."
"It's not the intimacy I find wrong. You don't know me enough. You don't see me," she said slowly and deliberately. "If you would approach me as I truly am, I would be tempted. Regardless of people's talk and ladies's frowns. I would not care if it was proper or not."
My heart was beating fast and my blood got sweetly warm.
"Shall I ever get the pleasure of getting to know you?" I asked.
Mrs Jacobs smiled, and I think I saw a flash of gold in the moonlight.
"I'll remember you fondly, and if we ever meet again, I'll give you a fair chance," she said. "Good night, Commodore."
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Joshamee Gibbs knew the Captain was roaring drunk when he saw him approach. Jack didn't sway, he stumbled. Well, that was to be expected. There usually was liquor at weddings.
"Here, Jack," Gibbs yelped when it seemed that Jack was about to lose his way entirely. "A merry wedding, eh?"
Jack Sparrow collapsed at Gibbs's feet.
"I'm so unhappy!" he wailed.
Uh-oh, Gibbs thought. Sometimes this happened. Not often and only after heavy drinking. Gibbs had had to deal with an overemotional Jack Sparrow only twice before. He had heard about a couple of other times from Giselle, though. He helped Jack to his feet again, and tried to get the Captain in the jolly boat. Jack refused. Instead he sat on the beach and sighed mournfully. Gibbs noticed the state of the beautiful brown dress that the crew had chosen for Jack a week before, joking and sniggering a lot. Jack had obviously crawled in thorny bushes on his way back. Gibbs sat beside his Captain.
"Will and Elizabeth are well, I hope?" the pirate quartermaster queried.
"In perfect health and in cheerful mood, happily married," the sorrowful Jack said. "Very nice wedding. Music. Shiny jewellery. Sweet cocoa things. Fruits in rum. Dancing! I danced a lot."
"So, why are you unhappy?" Gibbs asked fearing the answer.
"I feel so bad for the Commodore," Jack said in a small voice.
"Commodore Norrington?" Gibbs asked, aghast. "He was at the wedding? What did you do to him?"
"Mostly we danced."
"You danced with Commodore bloody Norrington?"
"We also kissed," Jack thought back. "You see, he loves Elizabeth, and 'Lizbeth was such a bitch to him, and he doesn't care, he's so noble and hurting inside. I wanted to make him feel better, but now I feel like a right bastard."
"What did you do to him?" Gibbs didn't dare to guess.
"Nothing! But you see, he likes me – he likes Margareta Jacobs and she's me, and then he dislikes Jack Sparrow and he's me, too. It's not fair. He likes her."
Oh. Gibbs was still digesting the information, when he suddenly had an armful of unhappy Jack Sparrow in his lap.
"And I like him," Jack said brokenly.
"Well, that's unexpected," Gibbs said.
Jack snuggled close to the quartermaster and then promptly passed out.
THE END.
DISCLAIMER: Disney owns "Pirates of the Caribbean". No copyright infringement intended.
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I noticed her when she was congratulating the newly wedded couple on the terrace. A slender woman, dressed in a chocolate brown dress. White gloves, dark brown hair. There was something that instantly drew my attention to her. The way she moved – vivaciously, unconstrained. Her low, catching laughter as she chuckled at William Turner's shocked expression. She simply stood out. Of course Elizabeth Turner nee Swann was the star of the celebration as a bride should be – she was bright and beautiful and so happy it hurt. The unknown woman was different. It was hard to put a finger on. As Elizabeth inspired admiration, this woman made a man feel uneasy.
But who was she? I had never seen her before, and she obviously knew Mr. Turner very well. She could be a relation to the blacksmith, Master Brown... But her dress was obviously expensive, even if her manners weren't exactly those of a society lady... Did Master Brown have a rich sister? Unlikely. I had seen Master Brown here somewhere, though, slightly less drunk than usual. As Mr. Turner recovered from his bewilderment he seemed to be joyous to see the mysterious lady. He smiled broadly and hugged her. An unduly familiar gesture, but then it wasn't a rare thing for the lad to display a certain indifference to socially approved behaviour.
I was suddenly surrounded by a benevolent and chatty crowd of Marine officers and their wives, daughters and maiden aunts. Major Hughes bellowed in his formidable voice about dogs, horses and hunting, or alternatively about hunting, horses and dogs. His nephew, a freshly commissioned lieutenant, tried to keep up with the conversation, but the wine had made his stammering worse, and the poor boy usually succeeded in uttering only half a sentence before Hughes continued his loud monologue. The females were in the state of that unhealthy excitement that weddings so often bring about in women. Captain Preece's daughter asked an obviously previously planned question about the weather-gage. I wondered if the good Major's talk about "terrifying fierceness of the tigress on the prowl" was meant as a hint.
I made my escape to the dance floor with the elderly but energetic Miss Taylor. We danced one rigadoon, exchanged a few trivialities (quite expected that Governor Swann had put so fine a ball on for his daughter's wedding – dear lord, was that Miss Pugh who just fainted – ridiculous things, corsets – the father really coddled Elizebeth silly - eight violins playing is extravagant), and then Governor Swann came to ask her to dance. For some time I had suspected they were lovers, but there weren't any rumours that I knew of. Miss Taylor was ten years older than the Governor, but quite youthful.
"James!"
That happy voice still made my heart ache.
"Elizabeth," I said, and after a short pause amended, "Mrs. Turner."
"Please – just Elizabeth," she said.
I would have preferred less familiar address, just to establish some proper distance between us. Obviously it was easier for Elizabeth to discern proper and improper intimacy. I had been in the Royal Navy since fourteen – and my skills at close relationships with women were somewhat lacking. Closeness with men I could enjoy - rare friendships and easy cameraderie among the officers - but closeness with respectable women just never was proper. No wonder I had made such a sorry mess of my attempted engagement. I was no less lost now. Elizabeth had expressed her wish to be my friend. Could I play cards and discuss literature with her as I did with Lieutenant Groves?
"Oh, now they've started the country-dances," Elizabeth said, delighted.
So they had. The formal French part of the dancing was now over. The ball had begun with a light-hearted minuet – with William Turner and his newly wedded wife in the lead. Mr. Turner had visibly been on the verge of panic as he almost lost his way in the circling mazes, but he had succeeded. After that the young couple had left the ball-room to the dancingly inclined. I now looked on as people prepared for a good oldtime longways English contredanse. On the other side of the ball-room I saw Miss Preece grin suggestively at Major Hughes's nephew. Elizabeth watched me expectantly. I watched her back.
"Commodore Norrington, would you like to dance?" Elizabeth pronounced very clearly.
Oh.
"Of course," I said, mortified. "I do apologize. I don't know what I was thinking."
Actually I had thought Elizabeth was waiting for her husband to take her to dance. But as we took our place on the floor I saw the mysterious woman in brown dress haul William Turner out to dance. Elizabeth noticed them at almost the same moment as I did. She gasped. I tried not to be suspicious.
"Who is the lady Mr. Turner is dancing with?" I asked. "I don't think I have seen her before."
"Oh, that would be Will's friend Mrs. Jacobs," Elizabeth said, strangely nervous. "A widowed Dutchwoman. They haven't seen each other for a while."
"Indeed," I had a feeling Elizabeth really didn't want to talk about her.
I couldn't help sneaking glances at Mr. Turner and Mrs. Jacobs. They got rather too close to each other while dancing. And they had all too much fun. Laughing, smiling, giggling – touching, whispering in the ear. My smile was getting a bit icy. Was Mrs. Jacobs Mr. Turner's former lover? Would the honourable William Turner insult Elizabeth so gravely at their very wedding?
And even if there wasn't any history between them – didn't Mr. Turner realize how damaging just the rumours could be? Only yesterday I had accidentally heard a group of maids talking about the Governor's daughter. They all seemed to agree that Elizabeth Swann was "spoiled goods" after the pirates had kidnapped her, and that was the reason why "a real gentleman like Commodore Norrington" could not marry her and she had to hurriedly marry a blacksmith's journeyman. I had been enraged, disgusted – and powerless to do anything to prevent this kind of talk. I could hardly inform the servant girls that I still loved Elizabeth Swann with all my heart and would marry her in a heart beat - if only she loved me back. The rumours were hard to fight.
The dance ended. Turner led his partner away, again to the garden terrace. I tried not to stare. It was dark there, they would be hidden from inquiring gazes. This really was too much. I looked at Elizabeth. She was looking after her husband, worried – very worried. When Miss Taylor emerged from the crowd and started to chat with Elizabeth, I made my excuses and moved closer to the terrace. I would not allow Mr. Turner to make a fool of Elizabeth.
Mrs. Jacobs and Mr. Turner talked together in the darkness, all too close to each other as far as I could see. As they moved farther into the garden I couldn't stand aside anymore. I followed them. They spoke softly to each other in the shadow of a big manioc, heads closely together. I couldn't hear the words, but the tone was now serious. I saw her give Mr. Turner something golden. A ring, I realized. Did she return an earlier engagement ring? Now? Here? Anger and indignation burned my stomach. Turner took the trinket, and held it reverently. He took her hands in his own and after a short hesitation embraced her again. How did he dare? This was obscene.
"Excuse me," I said loudly, walking straight to the pair.
They jumped apart, and they both stared at me, terrified and guilty, confirming my suspicions. I grabbed Turner's arm and wrenched him aside.
"Commodore..."
"How dare you coo with your strumpet at your own wedding? If you don't care for your own reputation, think of Elizabeth!"
William just looked at me, his mouth open. The strumpet wasn't so slow. I heard the steps, felt the slap and then I was on my knees seeing flashing lights.
"I don't really care if you think I am a hoer," Mrs. Jacobs said poisonously – in a low, husky voice. "But to suggest that William Turner would do anything like you suggested is... preposterous. This young man very obviously has eyes only for his wife there. Not to mention that he's the truest kind of gentleman I have ever met."
Mr. Turner was staring at Miss Jacobs. He looked as stupid as I felt.
"Mrs. Jacobs certainly isn't... a strumpet," William Turner said and blushed deeply.
"Oh, do stand up, man!" Mrs. Jacobs sighed, gave me her arm and helped me back on my feet.
A strong woman. She observed me carefully, as if looking for signs of illness or aggression. I was still too shocked to react. Now as I saw her close by she was very... startling. She wasn't young or pretty. Sunburnt face, rough skin, big hands. High cheekbones, expressive dark brown eyes. She was beautiful in some strange, unconventional way that made me... stare?
"Commodore James Norrington, Mrs. Margareta Jacobs," Mr. Turner was completely lost, trying to act like a gentleman even when I did not.
"I was a friend of young Mr. Turner's father," the Dutchwoman said calmly. "That's why I have formed a vriendschap with young William here."
"His father!" I exclaimed, while I really meant 'his pirate father'.
"William Turner was a good man, as is his son," Mrs. Jacobs said coldly. "If you insinuate anything else, I'd say young Mr. Turner would be quite within his rights to call you out."
I almost stopped breathing. A duel? That would be a scandal. No matter why we'd duel, it would always look like a fight over Elizabeth. Oh God. I met Mr. Turner's gaze.
"Commodore, I appreciate your concern for Elizabeth," William said softly. "If I ever hurt or shamed her like... you suspected, you'd do right by running me through."
So honest. Turner's eyes shone with sincerity. I felt sick. Elizabeth chose that moment to run to us. She seemed frightened.
"Will? Mrs. Jacobs?" she asked. "James?"
"A little misunderstanding," I said.
"Don't worry, Elizabeth," Turner smiled a bit uncertainly. "We are not going to duel."
Elizabeth seemed alarmed. I wished the earth would swallow me.
"But he did deserve to get slapped!" Mrs. Jacobs suddenly said almost gleefully. "To start accusing me of immorality, when I am here as an invited guest and bringing young William his father's ring."
"A ring?" Elizabeth repeated warily. "It isn't cursed, is it?"
"Cursed? Good heavens, no. A little trinket Bill once gave me," Mrs. Jacobs said. "I thought it would be a nice wedding gift for Will."
William Turner was gazing at the ring, pleased. Elizabeth smiled at his joy, but glanced uncertainly at me. I felt wretched. William Turner was fundamentally a good and honest man. And totally in love with Elizabeth. My suspicions were those of jealous, petty man. I tried to decide which was a worse insult in the current situation – to stay after my monstrous faux pas or to leave noticeably too early, causing rumours.
"Mr. Turner," I said. "I do apologize. And Mrs. Jacobs, I did deserve the slap."
Both Elizabeth and her husband were about to say something, but Mrs. Jacobs was faster.
"Ehh, young ones, mayhaps you should to return to dancing and frolicing," she suggested. "So that they won't suspect anything untoward."
Mr. Turner and Elizabeth shared a long look. Then Elizabeth looked at me and Mr. Turner looked at Mrs. Jacobs and I just couldn't fathom the meaning of those looks. The young couple somewhat reluctantly left us in the garden and went to dance.
"And you really should follow them," she said to me - scoffingly. "Your reputation may be tarnished were you seen with me alone."
Just then I realized something odd in my earlier altercation with Mr. Turner.
"Mr. Turner did not defend your honour," I said quietly. "You defended his."
"Perhaps he thinks I have no honour," Mrs. Jacobs looked at me keenly. "Or perhaps he knows I don't need defenders."
"Was that slap a challenge, then?" I asked. "I insulted you grievously, and I am not sure what I can do to make amends."
Mrs. Jacobs was taken aback. She now considered me seriously.
"You could be my escort to the ball," she finally said. "That would protect the honour of us all. You introduce me to one or two old lady as William's family friend, and your presence gives me respectability, also presenting Will's family in good light. You would also be seen as being on good terms with William."
"How Machiavellian."
"One must be a fox to recognise traps, and a lion to frighten wolves."
Was that a direct quote from "The Prince"? I was intrigued.
"Shall we, then?" I offered my arm to her, and she smiled.
"I love weddings," she said as we walked towards the ball-room. "Happy people, sweet treats, music and wine."
"Bitter former fiancees, jealous fools, evil gossip-mongers," I added to her list, perhaps more honestly than I had meant.
"You need to lighten up," she laughed and I felt her slightly sway in the rhythm of the music played in the ball-room.
"Mrs. Jacobs, would you like to dance?" I asked.
"I'd be honoured," she said.
Elizabeth and William Turner were surprised at our appearance on the dance-floor. We smiled at their politely risen eyebrows, and concentrated on dancing. Contredanses had a fair amount of kissing choreographed in them, and I soon found myself chastely brushing my lips against Mrs. Jacobs's mouth. She wasn't shy in her turn, but she seemed to enjoy the dance for the sake of dancing. I got the impression she could with equal pleasure dance with a wooden chair. Not very flattering for the partner, but her obvious delight in the music as she danced, wild and free, fascinated me. It reminded me of the enjoyment I often felt when I practiced fencing.
As we danced, talked with each other, and met the essential two or three old ladies, I learnt more of Mrs. Jacobs. She had inherited a small fortune and a flourishing business – the rum trade - in Willemstad from her late husband. Her father had been an English clergyman and a natural scientist. She was witty and relaxed, had really a shocking sense of humour. I suspected her quirky nature had fully bloomed after her husband's death, and her assured amount of property gave her the freedom to be eccentric. She had a healthy appetite, an interest in hydrography, and a girlish manner in laughing with her hand covering her mouth.
Late that night I also found out she had bad taste in inns. The one where she was staying and I escorted her to was a vile place near the docks. I refused to let her go in alone – I would make sure she had a proper room and that the place would be safe enough. It certainly did not seem too peaceful in there. There was a full carouse going on in the inn. A mixed company of bawdy-mouthed barmaids and shabby looking men was happily howling a lewd ballad.
-- A lusty young smith at his vice stood a-filing./ His hammer laid by but his forge still a-glow./ When to him a buxom young damsel came smiling,/ And asked if to work in her forge he would go./ With a jingle bang jingle bang jingle bang jingle./ With a jingle bang jingle bang jingle high ho." --
Mrs. Jacobs squeezed my hand unintentionally. Oh Lord. I saw the three people in the middle of the floor: a man with a hammer and a leather apron, a woman in a white dress, another man with a sword and a blue coat of the Navy. One didn't need to ponder overmuch who they were supposed to represent. The Blue Coat looked away as the woman fondled the Leather Apron's hammer.
-- "I will," said the smith, and they went off together,/ Along to the young damsel's forge they did go./ They stripped to go to it, 'twas hot work and hot weather./ They kindled a fire and she soon made him blow./ With a jingle bang jingle bang jingle bang jingle./ With a jingle bang jingle bang jingle high ho. --
Every "jingle bang" of the chorus wrenched my nerves. Wasn't it enough that I had lost the woman I loved? Did I have to tolerate indecent mockery? The woman and the Leather Apron were kissing ardently. The Blue Coat tried to make them stop. Finally the woman took notice of him, grabbed his sword, inspected it closely - and dropped it in contempt. At this point I realized Mrs. Jacobs wasn't at my side anymore. I was about to go and find her, but the infernal song caught my attention again.
-- Her husband, she said, no good work could afford her./ His strength and his tools were worn out long ago./ The smith said "Well mine are in very good order,/ And I am now ready my skill for to show." --
I turned and left. If I hadn't gone, I would have killed or maimed someone - and that would have been too much for a poor jest. I stopped running at the docks, realizing I had left Mrs. Jacobs in the inn. I had begun our acquaintance by calling her a whore and in the end I left her in the vile nest of depravity without a word. I was disgusted at myself. The wind was blowing from the west, and it was rising. The sea looked bleak and unkind, and I closed my eyes. I don't know how long I stood like that.
"You are not going to drown yourself, are you, Commodore?"
I felt a gloved hand on my arm. Again Mrs. Jacobs was there beside me, looking serious. I was about to say something, but she shook her head. She offered me a bottle.
"It's rum. They sell my rum at that inn. A filthy place, but as an important trading partner I am well treated there," she said. "Take a drink."
I did. The strong alcohol burned my throat, but the taste was strangely sweet, rich and refined.
"You know, they don't really mean insult with that song," she said. "Actually they are quite proud of the fearsome Commodore of Port Royal."
"I couldn't care less what they meant to hint about me or... my sword," I said vehemently. "But I don't like how they make Elizabeth look like a some lascivious fool!"
"Don't be prudish, Commodore," Mrs. Jacobs sniffed. "Lust is a very wholesome feature of marriage."
I stared at her, offended at the thought of Elizabeth lusting after anyone. I know I was being a jealous idiot, but if Elizabeth didn't desire me, she shouldn't desire anyone else, either.
"You must really love her," Mrs. Jacobs said softly. "You would never approach her now when you know she loves another, but you can't help loving her."
I didn't know if I wanted to walk away from her and never face her again, or perhaps kiss her for her understanding. She had a keen eye for this pain - as if she had felt the same? I thought of Mrs. Jacobs and her manner with the young Turner.
"You are not interested in the young Mr. Turner," I observed. "You were in love with his father."
"Yes," Mrs. Jacobs confessed easily. "I loved him madly. But there never was anything real between us. Bill loved another."
I saw something in her eyes, something very familiar. The pain of letting go. A very strong sense of connection with her surprised me.
"And it still hurts," I said.
"You should know," her reply was sharp but not vicious.
"Not that it hurts still after so many years," I said mildly. "I kind of hoped one could... get over it."
"One does. In a manner of speaking," she said, and as an afterthought she added. "I married. Meester Johannes Jacobs."
We glanced each other, cautiously, probably we were both uncomfortable about what we had admitted to a total stranger. She smiled nervously.
"Are you staying long in Port Royal?" I asked realizing I wasn't in any hurry to part with her.
"No," she said. "I will be gone in the morning."
Some part of me – the one with rum in it, I'd say – wasn't too cautious. I kissed her. It was a shy and tender kiss, and I could tell Mrs. Jacobs was surprised. Her lips were warm and enticing, even if her skin felt rough. Encouraged, I moved to draw her closer. She wasn't pliable at all and she stepped away from me.
"No," she said angrily. "I won't be your Elizabeth."
"I didn't mean it like-"
"Yes, I know I am nothing like Elizabeth. But I am a convenient substitute. You don't mind treating me like a whore."
I would never treat her like a whore! I thought indignantly. I treated her like I would have treated my male friends, not worrying overmuch about anything. If I had lusted after my male friends, that is. Of course, from her point of view I was just ungentlemanly and rough. Perhaps I was. Perhaps I cared less about honour of a rum trader's widow than that of a governor's daughter. I felt reproached.
"I am very sorry, Mrs. Jacobs", I said. "I can't seem to do anything right tonight. I shouldn't have been so free with my advances."
"It's not the intimacy I find wrong. You don't know me enough. You don't see me," she said slowly and deliberately. "If you would approach me as I truly am, I would be tempted. Regardless of people's talk and ladies's frowns. I would not care if it was proper or not."
My heart was beating fast and my blood got sweetly warm.
"Shall I ever get the pleasure of getting to know you?" I asked.
Mrs Jacobs smiled, and I think I saw a flash of gold in the moonlight.
"I'll remember you fondly, and if we ever meet again, I'll give you a fair chance," she said. "Good night, Commodore."
ooooooo ooooooo ooooooo
Joshamee Gibbs knew the Captain was roaring drunk when he saw him approach. Jack didn't sway, he stumbled. Well, that was to be expected. There usually was liquor at weddings.
"Here, Jack," Gibbs yelped when it seemed that Jack was about to lose his way entirely. "A merry wedding, eh?"
Jack Sparrow collapsed at Gibbs's feet.
"I'm so unhappy!" he wailed.
Uh-oh, Gibbs thought. Sometimes this happened. Not often and only after heavy drinking. Gibbs had had to deal with an overemotional Jack Sparrow only twice before. He had heard about a couple of other times from Giselle, though. He helped Jack to his feet again, and tried to get the Captain in the jolly boat. Jack refused. Instead he sat on the beach and sighed mournfully. Gibbs noticed the state of the beautiful brown dress that the crew had chosen for Jack a week before, joking and sniggering a lot. Jack had obviously crawled in thorny bushes on his way back. Gibbs sat beside his Captain.
"Will and Elizabeth are well, I hope?" the pirate quartermaster queried.
"In perfect health and in cheerful mood, happily married," the sorrowful Jack said. "Very nice wedding. Music. Shiny jewellery. Sweet cocoa things. Fruits in rum. Dancing! I danced a lot."
"So, why are you unhappy?" Gibbs asked fearing the answer.
"I feel so bad for the Commodore," Jack said in a small voice.
"Commodore Norrington?" Gibbs asked, aghast. "He was at the wedding? What did you do to him?"
"Mostly we danced."
"You danced with Commodore bloody Norrington?"
"We also kissed," Jack thought back. "You see, he loves Elizabeth, and 'Lizbeth was such a bitch to him, and he doesn't care, he's so noble and hurting inside. I wanted to make him feel better, but now I feel like a right bastard."
"What did you do to him?" Gibbs didn't dare to guess.
"Nothing! But you see, he likes me – he likes Margareta Jacobs and she's me, and then he dislikes Jack Sparrow and he's me, too. It's not fair. He likes her."
Oh. Gibbs was still digesting the information, when he suddenly had an armful of unhappy Jack Sparrow in his lap.
"And I like him," Jack said brokenly.
"Well, that's unexpected," Gibbs said.
Jack snuggled close to the quartermaster and then promptly passed out.
THE END.