Author's Note: Welcome to chapter six of "My Friendliest". I'd like to thank those who read and reviewed the last chapter, Loony Lemur, Astraeas Dreams, sudoku and Mystress of the Dark. Thanks so much for commenting! 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.

July 10, 1730

Lord Beckett,

I know you must find it rather peculiar to receive a letter composed by your sister-in-law, but I fear it is the only letter you should receive for now. Two weeks ago I arrived from London to attend to Anne on her sick bed. She had your letter tucked between the bedclothes against her breast and whenever she could, she begged me to write to you. I know she wished she could have attended to the matter herself, but any exertion of the mind or body might cause her to descend further into illness. I assured Anne that I would write to you and inform you of all that has happened in your absence. My own knowledge of the incident is rather scattered, I am afraid. The servants tell me one tale and the doctor spins another. Therefore, I shall be as direct as possible.

As you know, Anne has indulged herself in long walks to the stables and often spends time amongst the horses. After one such sojourn, shortly after she composed her last letter to you, Anne did not return from the stables for quite some time. Worrying after her mistress, the maid Agnes Dean went in search from her. She told me she found your wife seated near the stall of the gray mare with her head bent upon her breast. When Agnes tried to rouse her, Anne looked up with eyes that did not know her own maid. A fever had taken hold of her senses.

After seeing her mistress to the house, Agnes rushed to find the midwife. The foolish old woman was convinced that Anne was simply tired and chilled. She refused to come see her until she knew for certain that Anne would have the child. Agnes returned to the house only to find Anne in great pain. She said she wheezed and coughed until blood spilled forth from her lips. The fever ravaged her mind and she often called your name aloud as though you stood right beside her.

There was no time for the midwife. And as it was, your son was brought into the world in the arms of the kitchen maid. I still thank the Lord that dear Agnes had such a skill, having seven siblings of her own.

The moment the babe was laid into Anne's arms she wept and said the child much resembled his father and she was happy for it. She wanted the boy to bear your name.

Yet after the birth, Anne's condition did not approve. She still coughed and cried and trembled. I am told the old midwife came hobbling up to the house sometime the following morning. Agnes sent her back to her cottage for she said her breath reeked of rum. Instead, the physician was sent for.

Soon after, I received word in London that my sister was ill and I departed for your home as soon as I could. When I arrived, I meet the physician in the corridor. In nervous whispers he told me that he had been with Anne for many a night. Several times he even feared her death was imminent. But soon her condition began to slowly improve, though the doctor remains unconvinced that she is well. He says she bears the marks of consumption.

I tremble at the very mention of the word. I have sat with my sister for a long time now and though she is pale and coughs often I do not think she has the dreaded consumption. I expect and pray that she shall recover in time. It is my opinion (however uneducated in medicine) that the trauma of childbirth caused her to take such a bad turn. She is young and fragile and heavily burdened by your absence.

It might be bold of me to say, but I would press for your return to England. Or perhaps Anne should join you in the Caribbean. The doctor did recommend the warm breezes of the tropics to quell her disorder, though Anne has mentioned that you implore her to avoid sea travel.

Is there such evil in it? I do not know if she would be able to withstand the harsh winds of the sea now, but in time.

But perhaps you keep her at a distance for a separate reason. Forgive me of my suspicion is false. My mind is not charitable at the present moment.

Your son fairs well, though most perceive him to have a most forceful nature. Whenever the servants or I are unable to attend to him at once, he cries and flails about in his cradle. He likes to be fussed over and I know Anne often asks for him though we've taken to keeping him at distance for fear he should fall ill.

I am afraid I have little more to say. Anne wishes you to know of her undying affection for you which she professes daily to me. I shall remain with her as long as need be, so you need not fear that she be left alone. As it is, I am the only one in the family that will attend to her sick bed. Anne also begs you not to be vexed. She maintains that she is well.

I, however, still press you to return home. The choice is yours, I suppose. I remain, sir

Mrs. Harriet Collins