Author's Note: Welcome to chapter two of "My Friendliest". I'd like to thank those who read and reviewed the first chapter, Rachel Sparrow and Loony Lemur. Your feedback is highly appreciated. Again, I do not have a beta for this chapter so any spelling or grammatical errors that appear in this fic are my fault and my fault alone. Enjoy!
Disclaimer: I do not own Pirates of the Caribbean or its characters.
November 15, 1729
My fairest,
I was most grievously delayed in composing this letter. Fearfully delayed, I might add. If you fancy the singing scullery maid a bother, I invite you to the Caribbean to view a grand assortment of wenches, whoresons and bloody awful pirates. (That invitation is purely figurative, you know. In fact, I do not want you here. Much too dangerous. Also, pardon my language. If I didn't know that you were already accustomed to it I might haven chosen my words more carefully.)
Now as to the said wenches. Recall my previous mention of the Governor's daughter. Elizabeth Swann is her name, betrothed to a blacksmith. Yes, a blacksmith. He's a skinny, lad of a blacksmith too. Poor as a wandering oaf. Fortunately, he is not stupid. I was able to bargain with him regarding the capture of Jack Sparrow's compass. (You must remember him as well. I regaled you with certain tales of our earlier days together before I left England.) The blacksmith, Will Turner is his name, agreed to the proposed bargain like an honorable man. Can you imagine blacksmiths being honorable? They remind me of executioners almost, darkened by soot and grim faced.
But it was Turner's fiancée, that delicate, wilting bride as you would think of her, who gave me the most trouble. Last night I stood upon the balcony just off my office, reading your letter by the light of a lantern. As I proceeded inside, for the nightly breezes chill whilst the day's sun bakes, I was confronted by the vicious hellcat.
Pistol in hand, still garbed in her wedding attire, Miss Swann demanded the release of the Letters of Marque. Oh the impudence and insolence. You would think that most women would resort to some form of trickery, implying feminine wiles and seduction. (Rest assured, my lovely. I am a strong man yet.) But Miss Swann requested, no demanded, that I deliver unto her a way of securing her blacksmith's freedom. I refused until she pressed her pistol to my throat and reminded me that I robbed her of her wedding night.
I am afraid I have no understanding of the female mind. Miss Swann is only a year or two younger than you, why should she be so hotheaded? I recall now our wedding day or elopement rather.
I remember standing under the sill of your casement and calling to you in whispers. I remember us dashing through the blackened countryside on Marcus to the church, to be wed during the uncharacteristically warm dawn. I believe it was your sister Harriet who kept your uncle and mother delayed for so long.
And recall the following Christmas, with your uncle threatening to take me outside and "color the snow red with my blood." Throughout such pressing trials you remained calm, composed and well-spoken. Why, then, should Miss Swann be driven to rage?
Yet Anne, you reprove my lack of sensitivity towards Miss Swann. I would ask you then, what would you do? I disrupted the wedding with little fuss. I had the warrants at the ready. Both bride and groom were arrested on the spot. The entire affair concluded within a matter of minutes and if the other party suffered any embarrassment, then it is their fault for associating with pirates. Again I ask, what would you have done?
As to the unfortunate situation with the maid, I am not angered. Best to get rid of her as you did. I warn you though, be mindful and careful as to choosing a replacement. Shy, quiet girls are hard to come by. Be strict and firm if you must. A saucy girl might be frightened into complacency by the threat of a lashing.
Abigail Harkins? I heard of her engagement to a Lieutenant of the 23rd Foot, but no Captain. The woman gives herself airs, darling. Dull aspirations for social success. You were right to treat her so. The girl must learn her place.
If you should meet with her again and be forced to share the space of a room with her, remind the insolent fool of this. If Miss Harkins intended is indeed a military man in the 23rd regiment, there is a good possibility that he might find himself under my command sometime in the future. Then I should not hesitate to send him off on my weakest ship in the greatest storm and let the sharks deal with him.
You ask me now if I think you are a shrew. This query I have given substantial thought to, for you know I would not give you a foolhardy answer. After much musing I have come to a conclusion. Shrews, I regard as wicked old women, a step below the
misanthropic and above the commonly rude. They remark on all forms of society, yet disregard their own failings. If you should question yourself, wondering if you are a shrew then that shows you are aware of your susceptibility to flaws. A shrew would never do such. After all, you are not a wicked old hag, but an exquisite, charming woman who shall always have my affection. Does that settle the matter?
Ah Marcus! What a good old fellow he is. The gray mare is likewise a noble beast, well-tempered and well-bred. I am certain she will produce a strong, healthy foal fit for the races or the hunt. Of course, I expect a missive alerting me of the birth. Tell Mr. Collins, the coachman, to keep a careful eye on her. Provide her with the softest straw for bedding and for Marcus, pluck an apple from the orchard for him. I think he deserves it.
As to the last news in your letter, I am afraid I have very little to say myself. I hope you will accept a quote from Cicero instead.
"Of all nature's gifts to the human race, what is sweeter to a man than his children?"
Your dearest husband,
Lord Cutler Beckett.