Usual disclaimers: If you recognise anything, it belongs to Disney. Anything else is mine.

Thanks as always to my beta, Pendragginink.

Chapter 2 – Arrival

Port Royal – 25 years later

The fresh, westerly breeze played in her shoulder-length, dark brown hair as Mab Allerton looked eagerly over the ship's rail at the town of Port Royal. She wondered which of the grand houses ringing the hillside above the harbour it was where their troupe had been booked to play; they were all large and clearly opulent. She had not understood her father's initial reluctance to bring The Tarantara south to Jamaica, for the fee offered by the plantation owner, Mister Peter Trelawny, had been more than generous and there was opportunity for making contacts amongst the other gentry here that could keep them in work for months, if not years. She smiled contentedly, enjoying the hot sun on her back, thinking the climate much improved on that of the Americas, wishing they could stay, even if the strong sun was already turning her olive-hued skin an unfashionable shade of brown.

"Is that it?" Pericles, her youngest brother, came to stand next to her at the ship's rail. He was a simple child but, despite being only nine years old, was already a gifted musician with a keen ear for music – if he could keep his concentration. Their mother had died during his birth and it fell to Mab, only thirteen herself at the time, to raise him, she being the only daughter amidst four brothers. Now twenty-two, Mab was like a mother to him, and she loved him as dearly as if he were her own child.

"Cor!" he gasped, pointing excitedly towards the shore, his grey eyes wide beneath his scruffy fringe. "Look at all them soldiers!"

Mab looked to where he pointed. There were indeed a number of red-coated marines patrolling the busy docks. She assumed that the troops were there because of what she had heard about the pirates in the region. Her father had spoken vehemently against them, even though to many people travelling players were often considered only one step above pirates, if at all.

"Lower the anchors!" her father, Jacoby Allerton, called as those aloft furled the sails. The ship slowed to a graceful stop and he descended the steps from the small quarter deck where he had overseen their arrival. "Are my best boots ready, Mab?" he demanded, looking towards his daughter.

"Yes, Papà," she replied distractedly, barely able to tear her eyes from the strange town. "I left them by your bunk…" A flock of small, brightly coloured birds flew across the rooftops of the town and she wondered what they were, never having seen such vivid creatures before; she thought the town looked exotic and exciting, and could not wait to get ashore.

Jacoby nodded, striding briskly to his cabin. He smiled on seeing his clean clothes already laid out and waiting for him as he expected. Although he allowed his daughter freedoms that would shock some, he had until recently not paid her a penny for her labour, nor for her performing. He had always insisted that he provide all she need, but, if the truth be told, he was reluctant to pay her for fear that she might one day leave. And if she left, who would cook and keep his cabin clean? Her poverty kept her biddable and, if that meant overlooking when she shamed herself, so be it; it was not as if anyone would ever marry her.

He emerged a short time later, having changed into clean clothes, still pulling on his best coat and large, flamboyantly plumed, purple hat. "Daniel, you and Matthew can row me ashore. Mister Trelawny assured me that we would be able to make berth here, but clearly the port is very busy. I will go ashore and see what can be arranged – everyone is to stay on board until I return."

"Yes, Papà," Mab and her brothers dutifully chorused, echoed by "Yes, Captain," from those that were not family. Although there was no formal ranking on the ship, Jacoby, as befitted him being the owner, was usually addressed as the captain.

Daniel Collins and Matthew Rose lowered the ship's boat whilst he spoke, a gentle splash announcing it's readiness. He followed them over the ship's rail and down to it.

"Clean the ship," he instructed as his two men picked up the oars. "Mister Trelawny may wish to come aboard… my cabin, especially, is to be spotless!" He looked up at his eldest son peering over the rail. "You have command until I return, Seb," he nodded.

"Yes, Papà," Sebastian acknowledged before hurrying with the others to clean the ship. Jacoby Allerton was not a man to accept excuses – even from his own family.

Mab glanced wryly at her brother as he looked towards her apologetically, for he knew she had already worked hard that day with the other women, ensuring that their performing clothes were all clean and repaired in preparation for the performance. He hauled a bucket of water from the sea for her, knowing she would not have to look far for her pile of cleaning rags and godstone – she never did. "Spotless," she muttered as she took the bucket from him and entered her father's cabin, wondering – not for the first time – how it managed to get so messy in such a short span of time.

Sighing heavily, she knelt down, starting to scrub the floor of the cabin, picking up various forgotten items as she worked. She had given her father's cabin a thorough cleaning a only few days before, but already the floor was stained with spilled drink and dropped food.

"What a beautiful view," a voice smirked behind her. "I could watch you wriggle your arse all day…"

"Piss off, Brett," she snapped, not even bothering to turn around to face the baritone.

"Perhaps you could wriggle it for me later," he suggested.

"In your dreams," she retorted. "Don't you have your own chores?"

"My cabin is already tidy," he shrugged. "Although you could always help me mess the bunk?" He watched her backside as she scrubbed, the fabric of her breeches taut across her buttocks. Mentally he undressed her, imagining himself thrusting within her. He did not see why she continually refused him when she whored herself ashore at most ports where they stopped. As befitted his status as prime singer within the troupe, he enjoyed one of the better single cabins on the lower deck and, unlike her tiny cabin in the hold, it had the luxury of a porthole.

Brett frowned as he realised she was ignoring him. "Shall I go and wait for you?" he offered. "Don't bother to wash, you'll soon be hot and sweaty with me inside of you!" He chuckled as his taunt got the reaction he wanted. Slamming her rag into the bucket, Mab rose, turning to face him.

"I told you to piss off," she snarled angrily. "I wouldn't sleep with you if you were the only man in the world!"

"Ah, Mab," he sighed, catching her wrist and pulling her into his embrace. "One day…" He leaned down to kiss her, ignoring her struggles. Despite his slim frame, he was far stronger than he looked.

"Let her go!" Sebastian's angry voice interrupted, causing Brett to relax his grip.

Mab took advantage of his distraction, bringing her knee up sharply to his groin. "Cacchio!" she hissed, pushing him away from her as he half-fell, groaning, clutching his manhood. (Trans: prick)

"Bitch!" he croaked.

"Do you have nothing to do, Brett?" Sebastian demanded. "If you don't, I can always find you some chores to keep your hands better occupied?" Brett glared at him and staggered towards the hatch, disappearing as quickly as he was able down the stairs. "Obviously he did," Sebastian shrugged, turning towards his sister. "You all right, Mab?" he asked gently.

"One of these days, I'll bloody geld him!" she retorted, shuddering as she remembered his lips on hers.

"He'd sing a lovely alto," Sebastian teased, wondering what Brett would sound like as a castrato, relieved to hear her slowly chuckle as she met his eyes. They both knew it was pointless to complain to their father about the blonde baritone's actions; their earlier protests had fallen on deaf ears. The troupe needed the singer and, despite his lecherous nature, they both knew they could not afford to lose him.

"Papà would not approve," she smiled.

"Bugger Papà," he grinned, hugging her to him and squeezing her tightly.

"Sì, bugger him!" Mab replied, grateful of his hug. "Although I'd better get my chores finished before he returns…" Although often dismissive of her father's authority when he was absent, she knew better than to openly disobey him; on The Tarantara Jacoby Allerton's word was law.

"Me too," Sebastian sighed. "I'll check back when I can."

"Grazie," she nodded, turning and crouching down to continue her work. Hopefully she had deterred Brett's attentions for a while. She knew, despite everything, he would not cross Sebastian and she felt safer for her brother's care. He was there for her, as he had always been and, she suspected, always would be. (Trans: Thank you)

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"Ah, Allerton! How good of you to bring your troupe…" Peter Trelawny rose to greet him, pushing aside the ledger he had been studying. "This is the man I was telling you about, Maud," he said to his grey-haired wife who sat sewing beside large windows that framed the garden. Lush foliage and brightly coloured flowers could be seen beyond the flimsy drapes and the sound of children playing drifted through the open windows. "The players that I booked for Enid's wedding." She sniffed, having recalled the name before his prompting, but still a bit riled at his arranging entertainers for the festivities without speaking about it with her beforehand. It had been bad enough his insistence that their neighbours, the objectionable Stone family, had to be invited despite the on-going dispute over ownership of the lower meadow, but this? She had planned everything with her daughter, even down to the colour of the fresh blooms for the house, and was not sure that this middle-aged man in his extravagant clothes fitted with what she had wanted at all.

"You're offered purse was more than generous," Jacoby acknowledged, removing his hat and bowing politely to the older woman, his balding head glistening in the heat.

"And you shall receive the money at the end of the festivities, as agreed," the landowner confirmed, a little irritated that such a coarse matter as payment had already been mentioned. He did not want his wife to discover how much he had offered in order to bring the troupe south, but thought they would be quite worth the expense. Their performances in Charles Town had caused a stir and he was eager to see the reactions of his friends and neighbours to them. He was sure that his daughter's marriage to the naval lieutenant would be remembered for a long time – it was costing him enough.

"Thank you," he replied. "I understood we would be able to tie up at the docks," Jacoby pressed. "Our equipment is very awkward to bring ashore by boat…"

"Of course, of course," Peter breezed, waving his hand airily, his crisp lace cuff flapping, not wishing to be bothered with such minor details. "I shall send one of my men back with you to the harbour master's office and see that it is arranged." He looked at the performer. "You made good time on the trip," he nodded. "As you know, the wedding is not for another ten days. Perhaps you could see your way to a small performance for my family tonight during dinner, so that my dear Maud can see what your players can do. Perhaps just your musicians and some singers – especially those two pretty women you have, yes?"

Jacoby knew his words for an order, despite the politeness of the request. He hated giving free performances, but reasoned that the money offered for the booking had been more than generous. "I will do so," he demurred. "At what time do you wish us to attend?"

"Oh, say at seven o'clock… sharp?" At Jacoby's nod of assent, he clapped his hands twice in rapid succession. The noise brought a liveried servant scurrying to do his bidding. "Show Allerton here out," he ordered. "And send Willis with him to arrange a berth for their ship with the harbour master."

"Yes, Sir." The man nodded to Jacoby and backed towards the door, indicating for the performer to follow him. He shut the door quietly behind them. "This way," he intoned, walking briskly down the long, echoing corridor, barely pausing to see if he was being followed.

"Out of the way!" a small voice screamed behind them, closely followed by a loud rattling noise soon identified as the wild clattering of dog paws on the wooden parquet floor. The servant dived to one side, but Jacoby turned and stood, momentarily frozen by the sight approaching him. A young boy raced past them, closely pursued by an indiscriminate number of various sized hounds and an even younger boy. At the last moment, Jacoby threw himself against the wall of the corridor, narrowly missing being run down by the canine throng.

"Give that back, Henry!" the second boy shouted, ignoring both the servant and the unknown man as he too barrelled past.

"Come and get it, George," Henry taunted, waving a small, tattered chap book in his hand as he disappeared through a door at the far end of the corridor, dogs and brother in close pursuit.

"I'll tell Mother!" George protested, following his older brother through the open door. But whatever Henry might have replied was lost as the door slammed shut behind the arguing children.

The servant nodded to Jacoby and continued down the corridor towards the rear entrance hall as if nothing untoward had occurred. Jacoby sighed, adjusting his coat before following once more. Not only was he being forced to give a free performance tonight, but the troupe would be sitting idle for over a week. The fair winds had not been to his advantage, for once. He knew that it would not be acceptable for the townsfolk to see them perform before the landowners at the wedding ceremony and no performances meant no money. But he reasoned it was better to have been so early than too late, for that would have earned them no fee at all. He was, however, grateful that he had stopped off at St Augustine on the journey south for he would be able to feed the troupe whilst they were not working.

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Mab fidgeted, fussing over her fine, red silk skirt and checking that everything was all in order. Her hair was pinned up, giving the impression of elegance to it, despite it's length, and dainty carved shell earrings adorned her ears. She, Isabella and Brett stood slightly before the musicians, pausing their singing of a few warm-up scales as the Trelawny family entered the dining room with a fair-haired naval officer. She assumed him to be the bridegroom, for one of the two daughters was on his arm, and he seated her courteously before sitting himself next to her. Two younger boys followed the main party, dutifully trailing their three older siblings. Mab's brother, Sebastian, picked up his tabor (drum) when Peter Trelawny nodded to him and began beating the introduction to their first song. Lucius, another of her brothers, picked up his flute and Nathaniel his shaum (oboe). Annis, smoothed her skirts once more before she joined in on her lute.

Softly, Mab began to sing, her voice blending with those of Isabella and Brett, content to let them take centre stage as usual. She smiled to herself at the surprise on the older woman's face, unable to catch her words as she turned to speak with her husband. Much as Mab disliked Brett, she was forced to admit the baritone had a good voice. The two youngest boys started bickering at the end of the table, but a sharp frown from their mother ensured that she could once more listen in peace. Clearly they were not what she had expected and the surprise had been a pleasant one for her.

Mab had been initially puzzled that her father had not attended with them, but reasoned that the occasion did not require his fiddle, for neither Simon nor her brother Ben who also played fiddles were performing. Indeed, all that the Trelawny family seemed to require was some soft music to eat by and some pretty faces to look at and from the glances that Isabella and Brett were receiving from the older son and daughters of the family, it was enough. She presumed that was why Thomas was not singing with them, his round, pitted face belied his wonderful bass voice. She knew that many men considered Isabella beautiful, with her blonde hair and blue eyes and fine mezzo-soprano voice, but Mab was not jealous. Isabella never encouraged their attentions, she was too sweet for that. Mab doubted that much of their interest would continue if they knew Isabella had two young sons and a husband back on The Tarantara – and that Gavin was more than handy with his sword.

Brett, however, was another matter. He sang to the two older daughters as if they were the only ones in the room – and to him, they were. The baritone, in her mind, was all too handsome for his own good and it irritated her no end that he knew it. She did not like the man; his suave assurance that every woman should fall at his feet, her included, infuriated her. She hoped that he would keep his wenching interests to the dockside whores having failed, once more, in his efforts to tempt her to his bunk her earlier that day. She was not that foolish and hoped that by kneeing him, she had persuaded him to leave her alone for a while. On such occasions when she did take a brief lover, she made sure it was nobody within the troupe. Love them, leave them, forget them, that was her motto, having sworn to live life on her own terms following the death of Paolo whom she had once hoped to marry. Her father controlled much of her life and although she knew he sometimes despaired of her scandalous behaviour, she believed that his complicity in her own near-death had, so far, forced him to hold his tongue.

Mab glanced at the baritone and then towards the two girls sitting beside each other, giggling to themselves. Somehow she did not think that the deflowering of one, if not both, of his daughters would go down too well with Mister Trelawny, nor the prospective bridegroom. Luckily neither Peter Trelawny nor the naval officer seemed to have noticed the glances between his two daughters and the singer. There were good prospects for touring in the region and she hoped Brett would not ruin them. Sebastian caught her eye, winking. Clearly his thoughts had been the same and she breathed easier knowing that her father would most likely be having words with the flirtatious baritone before the night was out.

She sighed, waiting patiently whilst Isabella and Brett sang a duet together; the next song would be her solo. She smiled in anticipation of wiping the rapt attention from the older son's face as he leered at the blonde mezzo-soprano. Not many formal songs suited her soft, contralto voice, and she was more often called to sing shanties and folk songs at less formal affairs. But there were a few pieces, and when she sang them all stopped to listen. Isabella and Brett acknowledged the polite applause as they finished and then she stepped forward, Annis' lute to be the only accompaniment to her singing, allowing the other musicians to rest which, she suspected, was the prime reason for her father including her that evening.

Just as she was preparing to begin, a soft knock sounded at the door and one of the servants entered with a second naval officer, a lieutenant she judged from his uniform. Peter Trelawny held up his hand to the players, signalling them to be silent.

"My apologies, Mister Trelawny," the tall officer apologised, nodding to the man and his wife. "If I may have a moment with Charles…"

"Of course, Lieutenant Groves," he replied, bidding the naval man to enter the room properly.

"Is there a problem?" the bridegroom worried, starting to rise, dabbing his mouth with his linen napkin.

"A small matter of discipline to be distributed amongst some men caught brawling," Theodore Groves admitted. "The Commodore wishes you to attend to it, but there is time to finish your dessert," he smiled, eyeing the fancy sweet.

"Will you not join us, Lieutenant?" Maud Trelawny asked, for she liked the man and had hopes her younger daughter would manage to attract his eye. Although the Groves family was not titled, Theodore was the only son of a successful banker in London which she considered might be fortuitous in an often uncertain future. There was no such thing, in her eyes, as having too much money.

"Alas, no," he sighed regretfully, having eaten only recently at his own home with his other housemates. "But perhaps I may share your company and listen to your entertainment whilst I wait?"

"Pull up a chair," Charles Gillette urged. Although he had paid them little notice, his attention being held by his wife-to-be, he had to admit that the singers were good.

Pulling up a chair from the edge of the room, Theodore Groves sat at the far end of the table, looking towards the entertainers. Peter Trelawny nodded to Mab and, once she was sure she had their full attention, she began.

"Alas, my love, you do me wrong,

To cast me off discourteously.

For I have loved you well and long,

Delighting in your company…"

Mab nearly laughed out loud: the stunned expression on the oldest son's face at her voice amusing her, as if he had only just realised she was there. Most thought her too tall and lanky to be considered beautiful, too… too Italian for their tastes, but she knew she was pretty nonetheless and, in her best dress, singing Greensleeves, she knew she could attract any man – if she wanted them. Not one piece of food reached his thin lips as he stared throughout her song, trying to catch her eye, but she ignored him, her gaze drawn to the young lieutenant at the end of the table as she sang the final verse.

"Ah, Greensleeves, now farewell, adieu,

To God I pray to prosper thee.

For I am still thy lover true,

Come once again and love me."

Her voice trailed off, a brief, teasing smile on her lips as she looked at the officer, before she stepped back, allowing Brett to sing his own solo. She caught the lieutenant staring at her, a thoughtful expression on his face as he clearly wondered to himself if her words were an invitation. Some thought entertainers such as themselves little better than pirates and whores and she knew that in the past she had often done little which enhanced that reputation, sleeping with anyone who would have her after her lover's murder. But over the past few years, she had learned more discretion and had become far more choosy in those she slept with, now only picking ones to whom she felt a genuine attraction. The eldest Trelawny son was one that she would most definitely not sleep with, too foppish and pimply even for her once dubious tastes, but the lieutenant was a different prospect entirely. A very different prospect.

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