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

Thanks as always to my beta, Pendragginink.

Chapter 9 – The Attack

Jack cursed that there was no convenient bay near the Willoughby estate deep enough to conceal the Black Pearl, not liking leaving his ship under-manned in such open water. But there was no avoiding it – they had to hit the mansion and find the woman if he wanted the troupe to play in Tortuga for his birthday. Indeed, his birthday would have passed by the time The Tarantara returned to the Caribbean, but they could still play for him, belated or not. But to get them to play meant finding the entertainer's daughter – wherever she was. The crew had crept with shielded lanterns as close as they dared to the great house until Jack ordered the lights shuttered, not wanting to spoil the surprise for those within.

"I don't like this," Joshamee muttered somewhere to his right in the sudden darkness, as he allowed his eyes to become accustomed to the gloom. The portly man could just make out the lights of the house a short distance away through the trees.

"I told yer, we hit th' mansion an' find th' woman – and take what we can t' increase our profit… savvy?" Jack sighed, wishing his quartermaster was not such a worrier.

"And if she's not there?" Joshamee pressed, wondering if he would ever like one of Jack's plans.

"Well, we'll have upset Willoughby! That should be enough t' bring a smile to most of yer miserable faces!" Jack snapped, irritated by Gibbs' continued griping. Murmurs of assent echoed in the night. George Willoughby's signature as magistrate had sealed the fate of many a pirate and there were more than a few on board that would have struck back at the man without the added intrigue of the missing singer. "Remember – search everywhere! She has to be here!"

"Aye, Captain," the quartermaster sighed, nodding before catching himself as he realised that there was no way that his gesture could be seen.

Ignoring him, Jack led his men on through the darkness across the fine lawns and gardens, the lights drawing them like a beacon towards their target. As had been decided before they came ashore, the pirates split up, some heading around to the front of the house, some remaining outside to prevent any unpleasant surprises as they departed. Most, Jack included, ploughed in through the open French windows which had been left ajar in the tropical heat.

A scream, and then others, shrilled through the house as the servants suddenly found themselves under attack. Most fled through the house, a few were cornered in the scullery, but the guards tried to defend themselves and fought determinedly until they were finally killed. Jack was disappointed though to discover that George Willoughby was not at home.

"Where is he?" he demanded, turning to the captured servants. "Where's bloody Willoughby?"

The cowering maids hugged each other, frightened of what the pirates would do. "He's not h… here," a terrified woman whispered as she finally found the courage to speak.

"I can see that," Jack said dryly. "So if his lordship ain't here, where is he?"

"H… he is dining at th.. the Trelawny's h… house," she stuttered. "We are not expec... expecting him b… back until the m… morning…"

Jack looked to his helmsman, Archie Swain, and shrugged disappointedly. "Keep 'em here," he ordered, turning and prowling through the mansion in search of items to steal. He searched the magistrate's private rooms, taking a fine silver dressing table set and a heavy pouch of money that he found in a drawer - but wherever he searched, there was no sign of the woman.

He returned to the kitchen where a few of the pirates had gathered, waiting for him to return. From the disheveled state of the maids, he suspected that some of the men had tried to molest the women, although they were clearly not touching them now. He shrugged, reckoning that some of the stiff little madams could do with a good kissing. He knew that his men would have gone no further than a kiss and perhaps a quick grope for he would not permit anything more. Women – as far as possible – were always treated with a degree of respect by the Black Pearl. He shook his head at Archie's quizzical glance, not wanting to speak before the servants of the true reason for their raid. "Let's go," he ordered, then fired a shot into the ceiling, calling the rest of the crew to him. Toting sacks and pillowcases bulging with a varied assortment of plundered items and not bothering to shield the light from their lanterns, they fled into the night.

Jack pondered as he ran, still sure that the woman was here, somewhere, but he had to admit that he did not know where. Perhaps she was hidden in an outbuilding somewhere – there were enough on the large estate to make searching an impossibility – and such a search would alert the magistrate to their true reason for the attack. Now that they knew she was not being held at the main house, they would return when things had calmed down and set a watch, hoping to catch some clue as to her whereabouts.

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George Willoughby was awoken by an urgent knocking on the door of the guest room, reaching immediately for his sword. Years of paranoia ensured he never slept without it being within arm's reach even when he employed guards to protect him. "What?" he called, surprised to hear his driver's voice as he clambered out of the bed.

"It's the estate, Master," Brian Gibson replied. "Pirates! He claims it was the Black Pearl!"

"Who claims?" George demanded, already dressing.

"A slave sent by the cook," he replied, risking opening the door so that he did not have to speak so loudly. "All the guards are dead… there was nobody else to send!"

George hurriedly pulled his frock coat on, buckling his sword belt as he passed his man on the way out of the door. "Has the carriage been readied?" he asked.

"Yes, Master. The slaves are hitching the horses as we speak," Brian assured him, hurrying after the magistrate.

"And the Commodore?" he pressed.

"Master Trelawny has sent one of his servants to the fort. I expect that the Commodore will arrive shortly…" the driver reasoned.

"Good," he nodded, taking the stairs two at a time in his haste. He passed Peter Trelawny half-way down.

"Oh my goodness!" Peter cried. "It is terrible! If there is anything we can do for you, George?"

"See to your own house, Peter," the magistrate cautioned. "If pirates are bold enough to strike my home then nowhere on the island is truly safe!"

"Pirates?" Maud Trelawny gasped, emerging sleepily from her bedroom on hearing all the commotion, her rag-tied hair concealed by a creamy mop cap. "Where?"

"At George's house, my dear. Go back to bed – do not concern yourself," he assured his wife.

"But…" she protested, wrapping her dressing robe tightly about her.

"They will be long gone by now," George assured her, wishing she would do as her husband bid and leave such matters to them. "And I doubt that even they will be foolish enough to attack Port Royal."

The click of booted feet on the stone lobby floor announced the arrival of the Commodore. "Peter?" he called. "George?"

"Thank goodness you've come, James," Peter flustered, hurrying down the stairs to meet him as his wife returned to her room. "George's estate has been attacked by pirates – the Black Pearl!"

"Sparrow?" James Norrington frowned, puzzled by the information. "That is not his usual style…"

"Well, that is what the staff are saying," George interrupted crossly. "What are you going to do about it?" he demanded.

"I have already given orders for the HMS Dauntless to be sent to the area," the Commodore assured him soothingly. "And I have a troop of men outside ready to escort you… and to search for the pirates."

"That will not be necessary," the magistrate assured him. "I need no escort and we both know that Sparrow – if it was him – will be at sea by now!"

"I shall send the HMS Dauntless to the area, regardless. If he has gone, then he has gone – but at least we can ensure that he has," James Norrington replied. "Are you certain that you do not wish an escort?"

"I am sure," George answered. The last thing he wanted was troops trampling around his estate, especially near the summerhouse. He knew that Mab's presence, and condition, was not something he could easily explain. He hurried from the house, one of his slaves opening the carriage door. No, he corrected as he spotted Lieutenant Groves at the head of the column of troops, he would not be able to explain it at all.

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Brian Gibson hurried the horses as fast as he dared along the narrow, rutted track, knowing that George Willoughby would be most anxious to return to his estate. He slowed at a sharp corner before cracking the whip, urging the horses to greater speed as the track's condition improved. Soon the overhanging bushes and scrub gave way to flowering trees and manicured lawns. He pulled gently on the reins, easing the horses' pace until they drew up with a flourish on the gravel driveway outside of the mansion.

George threw the carriage door open as soon as the carriage stopped, not waiting for his staff or slaves to do so for him. He paused, looking up to Brian. "Check her," he ordered, before turning and disappearing into the house, wondering which of his treasured possessions the pirates had taken.

Brian handed control of the carriage and horses over to the slaves that hurried to assist him. If the pirates had come along the narrow cliff path then they would likely have passed very close to the summerhouse and, although remote, there was a likely chance that the girl could have been discovered and been taken for sport.

Stopping only to collect a pitcher of water from the kitchens, he strode quickly down the narrow path that led towards summerhouse and the coast. He would take her some food later, when George had finished with her for the day. He enjoyed making her beg for her food, forcing her to touch him or kiss him for the smallest morsel. He knew that the magistrate would be angry if he found out, but Brian was certain the woman would not tell him. Having not eaten for a number of days, as nobody had been instructed to feed her, she had been piteously grateful for whatever food and water he brought. Indeed, if not for the meagre crumbs and sips he allowed her, she would likely be dead by now in the suffocating heat of the locked summerhouse.

He approached the run-down building carefully, checking that nobody was about before pushing the overhanging foliage aside and unbolting the door. He smiled to himself on seeing her still chained, eyes wide as she looked up at him cautiously, aware that it was not the normal time for his visit.

"I trust you heard the commotion in the night?" he said conversationally, putting the pitcher on the floor and smirking to himself as she scurried towards it on her knees, gulping the liquid. As she put it down, she nodded, knowing better than to talk even to him in case the magistrate was nearby, fearful of another beating. Apart from the first night, George had not struck her face, and she had no intention of giving him cause to do so again now that the bruises were fading, and she was beginning to be able to see out of her swollen eyes. "Pirates," he explained, laughing at the gasp that escaped her lips. "So it was a good job you kept quiet, for who knows what such foul creatures would have done had they discovered you, eh?"

His eyes raked her bruised body, momentarily considering what it would be like to have her, to rape her himself, but he knew it was too risky. The magistrate knew too much about him knowledge that would see him hang if it came to light, and Brian Gibson was not ready to hang. "I'll bring your food later," he said, emptying the small, chipped chamber pot that she was forced to use, throwing the contents beneath some bushes nearby. "After your other visit…" He laughed at her frightened face, picking up the emptied pitcher and left, bolting the door again behind him.

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