A Fair Young Lady, Or: The Sly Snake
At the same time that I think discretion the most useful talent a man can be master of, I look upon cunning to be the accomplishment of little, mean, ungenerous minds. Discretion points out the noblest ends to us, and pursues the most proper and laudable methods of attaining them: cunning has only private selfish aims, and sticks at nothing which may make them succeed.
JOSEPH ADDISON
In eighteen and a half years, Elizabeth Swann hadn't lived a morning so utterly filled with joy. She checked herself – no, it was true; after Barbossa's defeat she had believed to have lost Will, the day of this one's declaration of love had been tinged with regrets for hurting James. This morning had no such drawbacks. James had woken up at last! It was too good to last, but happily, she didn't know that then.
Of course, he was worn-out (amazing, wasn't it, that being unconscious for two weeks should have that effect!) but the worst was over. Dr. Jennings was satisfied with his patient and confident that the head wound had done no lasting damages, which was all Elizabeth needed to hear to make her happiness complete. It was all she could do to let the poor man sleep without haranguing him to affirm that he was indeed alright; as it was, she was sitting on the edge of her armchair next to the bed, closely scrutinizing every breath he took and positively jubilating with each.
This morning had been too blissfully busy to groom him like she had the other days, and thinking somewhat stupidly that he wouldn't notice because he had not noticed before, she tiptoed around to gather the shaving utensils and began to lather his jowls.
His eyes flew open at once, and she was so startled that she congratulated herself on not having tried to apply the razor blade just yet.
"I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to wake you up!"
"What –" He touched his chin and looked at his soapy finger, baffled.
"Oh I am sorry, James! I just – we haven't shaved you today and I thought you should like that."
"Shave me?!"
So she explained her reasoning for having groomed him every morning since his arrival, and was pleased that in all his worn-out pallor, this actually made him smile.
"That was very thoughtful of you. Thank you."
She was particularly pleased by this assertion. No one ever commended her for being thoughtful, because she rarely was, but she had had nothing but good intentions in this case and was gratified that he should have noticed. "You are welcome! Now settle back, please."
"Honestly, Elizabeth, I thank you for your efforts, but I assure you I can shave myself."
"Oh, you'll have to. I don't trust myself with that blade. At first, Scott did that bit, and then Lieutenant Groves when he visited you every morning, but he must have forgotten today... Which is a shame, because I bet there are going to be lots and lots of people just dying to see you, and today of all days he forgot... Or I could call Scott once more –"
"Please, don't. I can really manage that much on my own."
"Excellent. Now lie back, please."
"But –"
But she had already recommenced putting lather on his face and gently spread it around, and he found he had no strength to argue with her. Besides, having her touching his face so gently was the most intimate encounter he'd ever had with her, and while he knew it was entirely improper, he couldn't help it but relish it all the same. It was all he could do not to sigh with feeling, so he opened his eyes again, finding her so deeply concentrated on her task that she had stuck her tongue out a little. It was a sight to warm the most despondent heart.
And it wasn't only for him. Elizabeth was so infinitely glad to be allowed being of service to him, she thought she had never enjoyed a task more. Also, she was rather startled to find him looking back at her for once. She had done the same job for four mornings, but never had she seen his eyes. In fact, she had never seen his eyes at such close distance, and was slightly astonished to find that they were of a verdurous green. How could she have missed that? For some reason or other, she had always automatically assumed he had blue eyes. Most Englishmen had, after all. But no, they were green, deeply and lustrously green. Beautiful, really.
When she had finished, she tilted her head to survey her work, nodded lightly, and handed him the razor.
"Erm... Do you happen to have a mirror, maybe?"
"Oh, of course!" She jumped to her feet, realised she didn't have a handheld mirror in her room (if there was one thing to be said for her, it must be that she was not vain), so instead (ignoring his protests) she unhung a rather large ornamental gilded mirror from the wall, hauled it over to the bed and just so managed to put it on the mattress next to him without squashing his legs.
"Really –"
"Shoo, it is done."
He sighed. "In that case, I have to ask you to straighten it a little more, please, if it's not too heavy."
"It isn't," she puffed and did as she was told. "Is it alright like this?"
"Thank you, yes."
"Honestly, how do you men dare using such a thing! I'd be perpetually fretting to cut my own throat accidentally," she merrily chatted away, following each stroke with her eyes like a charmed snake follows the flute.
"One gets used to it."
"Yes, but until then! Do you just give young boys a blade and hope for the best?"
He suppressed a smirk. "Luckily, young boys hardly need it."
"Oh, but you know what I mean."
"It's not nearly as dangerous as it may look to you. After all, one does not cut, but merely scrape."
"I don't mean to prick myself when I'm doing needlework either, it just happens."
"I didn't know you were doing needlework."
"I don't, I kept on pricking myself, so I gave it up."
They both laughed.
"Alas, that is not an option for men. At least men in His Majesty's service. We have to keep on trying until we get the hang of it."
"Additional to all the perils you face in your profession, you start each day off with a deadly weapon at your throat. Is that wise?"
"One might argue it gives one a foretaste of what is yet to come."
"Or you could all just grow a beard. Yours suited you quite well."
He was finished and turned his face to see if he had missed something. He hadn't. "Thank you once more for taking such good care of me. I can only imagine how I must have looked."
"Wild," she sniggered, and with a loud pant, she heaved the heavy mirror from the bed and leaned it against the wall. "But only at first. Then I took some scissors and cut it short. And that did look very nice. Though I must say I prefer you like this."
"And I would have thought you preferred a pirate's beard."
"Yeah, well... On you I prefer to see your face."
She removed the little hand basin, snatched the towel and began to dab his face with it. He let her. It'd be the last time anyhow to ever have her this close to him.
So he leant back with closed eyes, and found to his own astonishment that he was actually feeling better. A quarter of an hour ago, he had still been utterly devastated. He had thought, before, that losing Elizabeth had been the most terrible thing that could ever have happened to him, only to realise that losing his entire crew felt even worse. He had lost the love of his life, but his integrity and honour had remained intact, and to a man like him, honour was no empty word. Losing the Dauntless on the other hand had lost him his raison d'être, or so it had felt. Had felt, because Groves was right; there was no merit in giving up, he could avenge his men and prevent others from sharing their sad fate. And it had taken nothing more and nothing less but the insouciant prattling of a cheerful girl for him to snap out of his gloom and realise that.
"There you go," she said at last. "Now you're fit to receive visitors."
These visitors arrived much sooner than expected. Not half an hour later, her father returned to the sickroom, accompanied by Marleen and the Lieutenant, and what she had meant to be a party of well-meaning friends turned out to be a gang of heartless scoundrels.
"We've talked about everything," Governor Swann said and cast the Lieutenant a glance. "As soon as Dr. Jennings gives his consent, we shall bring you to the van Dykes, Commodore."
"What?!" Elizabeth stared at her father in nonplussed disbelief.
"Everything is taken care of," Marleen continued unmoved, smiling at the patient and ignoring her appalled friend. "My parents are pleased to welcome you, Commodore –"
"Have you all run mad?!"
"Elizabeth, please calm yourself."
"Calm myself?" she gasped. "How can I calm myself! Take him away from here? But why?"
The Governor's cheeks reddened perceptibly and he adjusted his waistcoat. The two officers exchanged knowing glances. Only Miss van Dyke was absolutely unflappable, put on a smile and elaborated on the convenient guestrooms in her parents' house, but naturally, her friend wouldn't have it. She scolded and yelled with little thought for her patient and wasn't to be moved by her father's attempts to placate her.
Marleen, knowing best how to handle her, finally convinced her to let the Lieutenant have a short word with the Commodore alone and dragged her out of the room. In the hallway – Elizabeth would go no further away than that – she was forced to listen to a quiet, but nonetheless strict lecture from Miss van Dyke. She should be reasonable, she was told, everybody acknowledged what she had done for the Commodore, but she would do him no favour when insisting to make him suffer from her presence – she ought to take care of his feelings, and being nursed by her would certainly only hurt him more –
Like everything that this woman would ever utter, it was nothing but cool reason and common sense, and Elizabeth was disgusted by it. Marleen on the other hand wasn't easily intimidated, least of all by her best friend's fits of temper – she loved her very well, but sometimes, Elizabeth behaved like a child.
"You know I am right, Lizzy," she continued, unabashed. "Sulk as much as you will, it won't make a difference anyway. It is all settled, and if you have the tiniest bit of real concern for the Commodore, you leave him alone."
Scowling at Marleen, she suddenly recollected that one's remark the other day. Oh! Oh! So that was where the wind was blowing! Smart and cunning Miss van Dyke, how well she had arranged all of this! She wanted to be the future Mrs. Commodore and would stop at nothing to achieve it! Did that woman know no shame, preying on a convalescent? Serpent! Nourishing betrayal in her bosom and disguising it as mindfulness!
"Now I see!" she hissed. "Well done, Marleen!"
The accused replied coldly, "I don't think you understand anything at all right now, my dear, but I trust that you will in time, once you have had a good night's sleep."
"No, no, I see right through you!"
"Do you?" Marleen's voice made it unmistakable that she thought her friend was making an ass of herself. "I beseech you nevertheless to consider what's best for the Commodore."
Elizabeth found that she was about the only one around who had nothing but James' best interest at heart, and this was the only reason why she after all surrendered to Miss van Dyke's treacherous cabal. The whole world was conspiring against her; everybody whom she had believed to be her friend was plotting to destroy her happiness! And Marleen was the worst of them all. How terrible all her speeches were ringing in Elizabeth's ears now, how smart a match the good Commodore was. Then there was Will – seeking to make a fortune on the expense of her peace of mind! The Lieutenant detested her anyway, and as for her father – oh well! He never had an opinion of his own, he was always ruled by whoever it was who was speaking!
They would wait for Dr. Jennings, who was to come again in the afternoon, and until that, nothing but the devil himself would have driven the furious Miss Swann out of the sickroom again. She mustered all her strength to give dear James a smile that wouldn't betray her outrage. "How are you?" she asked once they were on their own again.
"I am fine, Elizabeth, thank you."
"No, I mean seriously."
She gave him a very earnest, almost penetrating look, and thinking what great care she had taken of him, he felt that he owed her a sincere answer lest she thought it was his injury making him so miserable.
"To tell you the truth, I am shattered about the death of my men, and I don't think I will..." He swallowed hard. "But I know I have to consider myself unspeakably lucky, and that is something, isn't it?"
"Oh James, I cannot begin to tell you how glad I am. I mean – don't get me wrong, I was deeply dismayed when I heard about your crew, but – but... Well, you have survived, and to me that is all that really matters."
He didn't trust himself to look at her and replied hoarsely, "But that is only natural. You didn't really know any of them, did you? I on the other hand did. I knew each and every one of them. Not very well, perhaps, but I knew them. I knew of their families, of their histories, of their plans... And it is very hard to accept that they are all gone."
"I am so, so sorry, James," she whispered, and startled by her cracking voice, he did look up to her, finding she had tears in her eyes.
He was the sort of man who couldn't handle tears. Not at all. Not only crying women, but tears in general. When confronted with them, he was at a total loss what to do.
"There, there," he murmured apprehensively, patting her hand. "Forgive me, I shouldn't have –"
She shook her head. "No! I'm glad you shared that with me. Makes you so – so human, you know? Forgive me, that wasn't the word I was looking for. Just – you are always so composed, I can never tell what's really going on in your mind. I never knew that you must know all your men. I never even thought about it... There is so much I don't know, and now, when I'd have the chance to learn, you're leaving already –"
"I have overstayed my welcome –"
Perhaps he should have considered himself lucky that he had at least managed to vanquish the threat of tears by tapping her boiling anger.
"Don't say that! Don't you say that! You are welcome anytime! It's got nothing to do with not being welcome here, believe me..." She bit her lip, blushed, and went on just as forcefully, "I want you to know that I had nothing to do with that scheme to bring you to the van Dykes, they plotted that behind my back!"
He chuckled quietly at her fervour and winced due to the sudden headache it gave him, squeezing his eyes shut. This was her cue to jump up, grab a piece of cloth and dab his forehead.
"You mustn't laugh, James. You must by all means avoid anything that could harm you – I prayed to see you smile, but I suppose I had better wait some longer, for now, you must be very careful!"
"I'll forever be indebted to you for showing me such kindness –"
"Nonsense! How can you say that!"
"Because it's true and because I wish to thank you for all you have done for me."
She fiercely shook her head. "No! I am the one who is grateful I could be of help to you, any help at all! Please, James, don't thank me. Just don't!"
At this point in history, no clever clogs had come up with the concept of mixed messages yet, so the Commodore could only be plainly confused by her entreaty to share his thoughts with her on the one hand, but please, oh Lord, don't speak them out loud. He took refuge in commonplaces.
"But how are you, Elizabeth?" he asked, not merely politely but out of genuine concern. "You appear weary."
Marleen's warnings ringing in her ears, she knew she must not tell him what was on her mind and shrugged vaguely "I'm only a little tired. It'll pass."
"See? And therefore it is a good thing that I am leaving and you can get some rest. Let someone else do the worrying for a while, hm?"
Her eyes sparkled and she opened her mouth for a spirited reply, he could tell, but then she only murmured, "I can come and visit you, can't I?"
"I'm sure you can. Or do you think the van Dykes would mind?"
She scowled. "They well might, but what do I care about their endorsement!"
He looked awkward when answering, "Well – I am their guest and I wouldn't want to trespass on their hospitality."
"Don't worry. They wouldn't be angry with you."
"I do not wish them to be angry with you either."
She put on a slightly forced smile. "Really, James, do not concern yourself. Marleen and I... Well, you'll have noticed we had a bit of a row, but it's going to be alright."
But no matter how plucky she tried to appear, she dreaded Dr. Jennings' return. Surely, he was part of the conspiracy and would give his permission to bring poor James away, into the arms of that woman that Elizabeth had thought to be her friend for many years now, but who was in fact nothing but a conniving fortune seeker! He deserved someone better than that! He deserved a woman feeling true affection for him! And Marleen, ever-so-cool Marleen certainly wasn't that woman!
All the same the 'calculating gold digger' won the day. Ignominiously Dr. Jennings complied with the others, so Commodore Norrington was taken to the van Dykes' house early in the next morning, and although his former nurse's fury had been softened a little by a very long and healthy sleep, she was still outraged with everybody, venting it all on the only person in her reach, who happened to be her beleaguered father.
"But my dearest child," he tried to defend himself, thoroughly uncomprehending why she was so unsatisfied with him. "I thought I had understood that you have the Commodore's best interest at heart? So why do you inflict your presence upon him?"
If he had wished to deliberately hurt his daughter (and nothing could have been further from his intentions) he had chosen exactly the right words. Inflicting her presence upon him?! It was awful, simply awful!
"What a horrible thing to say, Papa!" she exclaimed in sheer indignation. "What a terrible thing to impute on him, too! Do you honestly believe he still cares for me – in that way – after all I've done to him?! Isn't his entire conduct sure proof? Nobody could behave more gentlemanly, more proper!"
But the old man recalled Lieutenant Gillette's assertions to the contrary which out of delicacy no one had forwarded to Elizabeth, so he could merely mumble, "Yes, the Commodore's conduct is beyond reproach, and to keep it that way, it is best that he doesn't stay in the same house like his former fiancé."
She scoffed with great bitterness. "Ah, yes, so it is much more proper to have him stay in a house with a nubile and what is more unattached woman, yes?!"
He was puzzled. "I'm sorry?"
"Good Lord, Papa!" she snarled through gritted teeth. "Can it be that you really don't see what all of this is supposed to lead to? Marleen is after marrying the Commodore!"
He raised his brows. "Is that so? I didn't know that, my dear. But that's wonderful, isn't it?"
"No, it is not!"
"But she is a very worthy young lady, and your best friend – she's very pretty, and well-bred, and clever after all I've heard –"
"Clever! That's a word! She's cunning, she's plotting, she's – he deserves more than that!"
"He deserves more than a pretty smart woman of virtue? I don't understand."
"He deserves a woman who loves him with all her heart, Papa! He deserves no less than that!"
"But my dear girl, only because you don't – erm – have feelings of this nature for the Commodore, it doesn't follow that she hasn't either."
She cast her eyes to the ceiling and forced herself not to shout at him. "Let us just say that I know her, alright? I know she doesn't love him."
He tilted his head. "She doesn't love him like you – hm – love young Mr. Turner?"
"Exactly."
"But Elizabeth – most people don't. I mean... It is all very nice when people marry for passion, but... It is much rarer than you seem to think."
"And yet he deserves it!" she snapped, incapable to lower her voice.
"Yes, of course..."
She knew her father well enough to know that he was far from convinced, and only seemed to give in because he hated to quarrel with her.
She did her father very wrong with her presumptions; Governor Swann understood very well what she had said and would have agreed instantly. His confusion rooted elsewhere. He had known Miss van Dyke for six years, ever since her father had seized the chance to establish his business in the just blossoming town of Port Royal. In a manner of speaking, he had seen the young lady grow up, had taken delight in his daughter befriending her, and was very much inclined to think only the best of her. The van Dykes were decent people, and he had always found that their daughter had a very healthy influence over his own, sometimes very inconsiderate child. He had always admired the young lady's guarded temper and therefore wasn't ignorant of the fact that she was very unlikely to fall for any man like his dear Elizabeth had fallen for her young blacksmith, but he failed to see the fault in this. Of course the good Commodore deserved an equally good wife who was honestly attached to him; what he couldn't see was why Elizabeth would so absolutely reject this possibility in her friend. Honest affection needn't spring from violent fancy only. Remembering his dearest Mary, he found that she had certainly never fancied himself like Elizabeth fancied her Mr. Turner, but he had also no doubt that she had truly loved him all the same. Perhaps it was his daughter's youth and lack in experience that made her so unjust against her friend, but he did not dare to tell her that.
It had never come to his mind that Miss van Dyke could attach herself to the Commodore; he had been too preoccupied observing the young man's budding feelings for Elizabeth and rejoicing in the idea that this most excellent man should take over from himself to care for her. In fact, he had believed that Commodore Norrington would make a far better job of it than he, Weatherby Swann, had. Instead she had thrown herself into the arms of a boy who resembled her so much in youth and impetuosity, with the additional defect of having no influence over her whatsoever. Well, the Governor hadn't given up hope yet that perhaps Captain Stansfield would fare better.
Briefly, to be precise: before the Captain's arrival, he had intended to alleviate his daughter's heart and assist his future son-in-law's career by buying him a commission to join the higher ranks of His Majesty's Navy, therefore promoting Elizabeth's sooner happiness. He wouldn't endure to see his dearest child fade away with time and weariness. But right now, he intended to wait a little longer. As long as Captain Stansfield was around, he wouldn't give up hope that Elizabeth could fall for him, and until that, he'd do nothing that could increase her optimism.
With his easy-going manners, the young man was already a favourite with many of the town's eminent figures – Governor Swann was not alone in hoping to catch him as a son-in-law. There was a certain irony to that preference in so far that none of these people so enamoured of the Captain would have traded him for their own head of fort – living under the Commodore's protection was so much more reassuring than any other man's could ever be – but would happily have given him their daughters' hands in marriage. Then again, they'd all have given their daughters to Commodore Norrington as well, really, any of the two of them was welcome to any of their girls.
Still, neither showed any particular inclination in that quarter. Among his men, the Captain's had been known to say, "Why should I chase a girl when I can have a dozen girls chase me?"
"Sportsmanship?" his cousin had once suggested as an answer.
"I'm no sportsman, Henry. Never took an interest. Give me a game of cards any day. Love, like cards, is no question of persistence but of luck."
Still, he seemed quite persistent these days, visiting the Commodore almost every day even though they had never been closely acquainted, and making a point of seeing the daughter of the house as well when he did so. Then again, this might be a mere token of courtesy, a sugar-coating of the pill so to speak, because he would have to come and report to his superior officer anyway, and being him, he didn't enjoy the stuffy technicality of the business, or the Commodore's utter lack of anything like humour.
Really, he wouldn't have begrudged his cousin to be made the acting head of the fort, as Henry had so dearly wished – and argued – for. But the question of precedence had been resolved at once when the Commodore had woken up. Of course, he knew these things, and in hindsight Stansfield was ready to acknowledge that the answer had been quite obvious to begin with. As the highest-ranking officer in situ after Commodore Norrington, he was to remain his deputy for the time being, until the arrival of Admiral Thompson anyway.
This one had announced himself to arrive within the next week, spelling 'trouble' in capital letters. The Commodore would have to explain how it was possible to lose two ships in only three months, why Jack Sparrow had pulled his head out of the literal noose twice directly under the eyes of a whole Navy squad and his own, and finally, how come that said Captain Sparrow of all people had been the one to ship him back home.
The Commodore knew enough of the Admiral to foresee his only possible reaction. In a few days, James Norrington would no longer be the lord and master of all troops stationed between Grenada and Montserrat – alas, he hadn't held that post long enough to grow accustomed to it anyway – and possibly be demoted as the head of the fort of Port Royal as well. Captain Stansfield would replace him as the Commodore of the South Eastern Caribbean, but was likely to remain stationed in Kingstown, Lieutenant Gillette would see his dearest wishes fulfilled and become both a captain and head of the fort at last, and James would be called to his service. Still, this prospect left him strangely unmoved. So he'd be a simple Captain again, and although he should have minded strongly, he did not.
He had other worries. For a start, he would have to hold his hand over Elizabeth's fiancé, though he scarcely knew how he should accomplish this. It had all been very well as long as his own and the Governor's authority had been the only ones in charge of the matter. The Admiral however wasn't likely to be lenient with any young man commandeering Navy vessels and springing wanted pirates from prison or cutting them off the gallows or otherwise assisting in their escape. He would simply brand young Mr. Turner a pirate, thus removing him from the civil arm of the law and turning him over to the naval, and then depending on Thompson's goodwill (which was bound to have been sapped by the loss of two excellent ships), he'd either be thrown into jail for a long, long time, or taken to the scaffold straightaway.
Then there was, if only temporary, the matter of his concussion, which would probably tie him to bed for another fortnight, gave him blinding headaches at times, and sometimes even let him question his own perceptions. Maybe it was only because he wasn't accustomed to so much leisure but he couldn't shake off the feeling that since he was back, things seemed somewhat strange and so where the people around him.
There were his hosts to begin with, the van Dykes. Mr. and Mrs. van Dyke had always been civil, but now they treated him with a kind of reverence he couldn't quite place. Then there was their daughter. He had never really noticed her even though she had been Elizabeth's friend and they had often met before. Miss van Dyke was exceedingly attentive and friendly, she was a pleasant person to talk to, and he appreciated her tact and good manners. Yet there seemed to be something about her, as everybody and their uncle – her parents, the servants, why even Lieutenant Groves – kept on talking about her in a strange manner that was somewhat incongruous with James' own perception of the lady.
He was also confused by Captain Stansfield's attentiveness, calling almost every day and forwarding news that scarcely needed forwarding, and solicitously inquiring after his state of health and mind. He knew the Captain of old when he had been an ensign still, and he had never struck him as the overly concerned type. Sometimes it was all he could do to stop the younger man from shaking up his pillows.
As for Elizabeth – she was behaving as weird as – in fact, he failed a proper comparison for her behaviour. She was just everything she had never been, at least in his presence ever since she had grown up; she was caring – alarmingly caring sometimes, one day for example, she had actually advised him not to smile in order not to worsen his headaches – she was amiability personified without losing any of her wont spiritedness, she was easy-going and playful, yet serious-minded when the topic warranted earnestness. If these were the effects of being engaged to the Turner boy, he should perhaps stop being unhappy about it. Perhaps.
They talked for hours on end about every possible kind of subject, and he noticed that he, too, was quite changed in his ways towards her. Since courting her was out of the question and he no longer needed to impress her, he felt quite at ease even when letting his guard down, for example when confiding in her his despair over losing his crew, or his conflicting sentiments about avenging them. On the one hand, he felt the dire urge to do exactly that and as soon as possible – on the other he had some serious reservations about the concept of revenge, which at first though sweet, bitter ere long back on itself recoils.
"It might do that in the hands of a lesser man than you are," she once answered to his scruples, "but in yours it would not be revenge but justice. A small mind would only seek to restore his pride, yet you only think of vindicating their lives which were so unjustly ended. What is more – you could not even choose not to pursue these villains, you'd have to do so anyway, but in doing so, I trust that, as always, you'll be guided by nothing if not humanity and common sense."
Her words soothed his soul, allowing him to trade the unprecedented hatred he felt for these pirates for more profitable thoughts, for example how he was to catch them in the first place. At present, the only ship around that was capable of such a mission was Captain Stansfield's Fortuna. Admiral Thompson was bound to bring one or two new ships with him, and James could only pray that he'd still be allowed to captain one of them.
Above all he couldn't but feel that there was something distinctly fishy about the entire business. Three ships sailing under Dutch colours and disguising themselves as merchants – alright. Clever enough. The Dutch were no power in this part of the world, divided under British, Spanish and French rule as it was, and no patrolling ships of any of these nations was likely to interfere with a small merchant fleet of a nation posing no threat to them. So far, so good. But...
"It was as if they had been waiting for us," he mused aloud one afternoon. Elizabeth had come to visit as always around that time, and they had talked about the subject a little. He found it very pleasant to share his thoughts on this head with her; she knew about his grief, shared it to a certain degree and yet her vivacity never allowed him to give himself up to his gloom.
"What do you mean?"
"Well, look at it. No ship, not even three of that size, would ever have dared to tangle with the Dauntless. They wouldn't have stood a chance. Had it not been for the hurricane, we would have bombed them out of the water as soon as they had fired their first shot. Yet there they were – they must have been so close, just out of sight, before the storm broke, and they seized the first chance they got – the only chance they'd ever get – to attack us."
"Perhaps they really were waiting for you."
"But that's not possible, is it?"
"You tell me. Isn't it?"
"In the first four weeks already we carried off our planned course by six hundred miles. The change in weather made me assume that Sparrow – I am sorry, Captain Sparrow –" He winked at her and was awarded a hearty giggle in return. "– would shun the North. The Black Pearl isn't heavy enough to brave rough seas for more than a few days at a time. And when we took in provisions in Sandy Bay I was informed that the Spanish had just doubled the bounty on his head, giving me the idea he'd stay off the Spanish Main as well. So even if they had somehow got wind of our initial plans, we simply weren't where we were supposed to be."
"But you were, weren't you? My father was terribly worried because he knew the Dauntless was cruising in the area that was worst affected by that storm."
"Yes, but he only got that from our own people, because we regularly reported back about our plans. It would have been impossible to guess for anybody else."
"They could have followed you all along."
He shook his head. "We would have noticed them sooner or later."
"Yes, but would you have paid them any attention? A little merchant fleet..."
"All ships sighted are registered in the log."
As he said it, he realised that yes, these records had existed on board, and he had personally pored over them every day. Yet in the dozens and dozens of ships on these lists, there might comfortably have been a mention of one or two or three Dutch vessels without raising his suspicion.
He had been silent for a minute following this train of thought, and now exclaimed, "That is a very good idea, Miss Swann! It's a pity the log is lost so I have no possibility to check once more. What I can do though is inquiring elsewhere if other ships recorded three ships under Dutch colours."
She was pleased with his praise, so pleased in fact that she plucked up enough courage to bring up a subject she hadn't dared to touch before. As soon as having been installed as the van Dykes' guest, he had returned to addressing her as 'Miss Swann', which of course forced her to call him 'Commodore Norrington' again. After half a lifetime, calling him anything but James felt wrong and stilted.
Without looking straight at him, she murmured, "Please, I meant to ask you – can't you just call me Elizabeth, like you used to?"
He didn't answer at once, and she couldn't but steal a glance at him. He was staring at his hands, clearly embarrassed, and replied very quietly, "I think your fiancé would dislike that –"
"Oh no, not at all!"
He chuckled, still averting his eyes. "Are you sure?"
"Absolutely! He – er, he's very fond of you!"
He laughed flat out. "Is he? That's nice, even though I don't understand why he should be."
'You saved his life twice!' was on her lips and she could barely swallow the words before uttering them. Better not go into a debate on why he had done it the second time round. So she said instead, "You've always been his hero, you know?"
"I'm sorry?"
"I'm serious! Ever since you fished him out of the Atlantic, he wanted to be like you. He only learnt sword-fighting because of you."
"Now that's – a little bewildering, actually. Are there any two men on this island more unlike him and me?"
'At one point in time, you had had something in common,' she thought, and cursed herself for having brought it up. But perhaps she could change direction a little.
"Come on, there is no boy on the entire island who doesn't idolise you, the famous Commodore Norrington, hero of the French Indian War, Knight Companion of the Order of the Bath and the Scourge of Piracy in the whole Caribbean."
He shook his head at hear, laughing. "Nonsensical girl! What do I keep on telling you?"
She laughed, too. "Worldly fame is but a breath of wind that blows now this way, and now that, and changes name because it changes quarter."
"You actually remember!"
"Of course I do! I do listen sometimes, you know? I only wish you had told Will the same. He even tried to join the Navy."
He still chuckled. "Oh, I've heard of that. Lieutenant Groves told me that he wanted to join up one day, but had changed his mind the next."
"He didn't – I did that for him. I had to expressly forbid him, in fact."
"Forbid him! But why?"
"Too bloody dangerous!"
He laughed again and nodded. "Can't argue with that, can I?"
In this moment, they were interrupted by a knock on the door, and Miss van Dyke stuck her head in to announce Lieutenant Chandler.
"Dear me, is that the time!" Elizabeth cried and got up, pointedly not deigning to look at the other woman.
"Thank you for your visit, Miss Swann. Good night," he said and gave her a last smile, which she returned with a suppressed sigh. 'Miss Swann' indeed! Or did he just think he had to keep form in front of Marleen and the Lieutenant?
"Good night, Commodore," she replied equally well-behaved, and upon meeting the Lieutenant, "Good evening and good night to you, Lieutenant Groves."
The young man merely beckoned. "Miss Swann."
Like her, he maintained his habit to see his Commodore twice a day, bringing news, chatting about all that was going on in the fort and elsewhere, and to James' perpetual astonishment, also about the lovely Miss van Dyke.
"She is a worthy young lady, sir," the young man said with emphasis.
"Undoubtedly."
His friend blushed somewhat and unsuccessfully tried to give himself an inconspicuous air. "Have you talked to her parents...?"
"They're my hosts, of course I have talked to them."
"And didn't you – notice something?"
The Commodore frowned wondering what Groves was getting at. Obviously he had something on his mind, but what should that be?
Doggedly the lieutenant tried anew, "Sir, I do not mean to impose myself. But – well – I've heard some things, and I wonder…"
"Speak as plainly as you always do, Groves, that's one of the things I rate you most highly for."
"Oh very well… As I heard, Mr. van Dyke and his wife – they'd be very pleased if you – sir, have you any intentions of proposing to Miss van Dyke?"
The Commodore's jaw dropped and he gaped at his friend without any of his customary dignity. "I beg your pardon?"
The young man's colouring could have shamed any proud tomato. "Forgive me for intruding in your personal affairs, sir, I was just wondering. After all, she is a fair lady…"
James hadn't yet recovered from his speechlessness when said fair lady knocked and looked in once again. He gathered his wits enough to smile at her, but he was still utterly perplexed. The Lieutenant instantly got up, equally embarrassed and announced that he had to go.
"Let me accompany you, sir." She smiled friendlily, and in the next moment, they were both gone, leaving the Commodore alone with his confusion. Propose to Miss van Dyke? He hadn't thought of anything like that; as a matter of fact, he hadn't recovered from his last proposal and had no intention to make another!
Nevertheless, he gave it a thought or two. Frankly, he thought the greatest part of the evening about it since he had nothing much else to do.
Marry Miss van Dyke? What an outlandish idea! But why was it outlandish? She was in every respect a most excellent young woman, intelligent, erudite, accomplished, and very, very pretty if one came to think about it. Other men wouldn't have taken years to notice her beauty as it was quite eye-catching. James Norrington on the other hand had never looked at another woman but his erstwhile fiancée and therefore been proverbially blind to Miss van Dyke's (or any other woman's) graces.
He quite earnestly tried to visualise his nurse these days, her pale porcelain complexion, the little heart-shaped face, the light blue eyes, her strawberry-blonde curls, her short petite figure. Yes, she was a joy to look at, and what was more, he truly liked her. She had a most amiable temper, calm, thoughtful, modest, and rather guarded. In fact, she resembled him in many ways as far as her reserve was concerned.
Could it be enough of a foundation for a marriage to like somebody? He had a high regard for the young Miss, so perhaps… Would his heart mend faster if he tried to bestow all those feelings he had for Elizabeth on another woman? Wasn't it perhaps better to base a marriage on regard and sense than such excessive emotions as were tearing him apart now?
He remembered his parents – he hadn't seen them for twelve years and did not think of them very often. His parents hadn't married for love, no. They had married because it was a proper match, a smart match. Had they been happy? He found that he couldn't answer this question. Neither of them had ever shown signs of great affection for their spouse, but this didn't necessarily mean that they had been unhappy, did it?
He needn't examine his feelings for too long though. He wasn't in love with Miss van Dyke, not at all. He did love Elizabeth, he loved her not a jot less than on the day he had proposed to her, more perhaps, if that was even possible. But she was engaged to another man that she was madly in love with, so he must put her out of his heart and mind.
And that was just it, wasn't it? Just like Elizabeth could never be his wife because she loved somebody else, he ought not to contemplate marrying any girl as long as having such deep feelings for another. It just wasn't proper.
At any rate, had anyone made the effort to ask the young lady in question what she thought of all this? Her parents' wishes – oh well, had it been for Governor Swann's wishes only, he'd be the Commodore's father-in-law by now!
What if he had known that Miss van Dyke would indeed have been inclined to accept an offer of marriage from him? It was true after all, but Elizabeth was wrong in believing that it was mere calculation driving her friend, whose very name had all of a sudden become anathema to her. True, Marleen's heart wouldn't beat faster when she was in the same room with the Commodore, but then she did not expect any such thing anyhow. She was, however, acutely aware of all his merits; she esteemed him most highly, and this was all she would ask for in a man. Nevertheless, her plan to bring him to her father's house hadn't originated in any hidden agenda as Elizabeth imputed on her, but from her genuine concern to relieve him of her friend's sight. She was certain that the girl couldn't fail to realise this, too, once she had calmed down her overstrained nerves.
Some 'good nights' sleep' weren't doing the job as she had expected though. Since the Commodore had been brought to the van Dykes' mansion, Elizabeth called twice a day like clockwork to see after the patient, and she was well-mannered politeness itself in his presence. To her friend Marleen however, she spoke not a word outside of 'Good day' and 'Goodbye'.
This line of behaviour, though not entirely uncharacteristic, annoyed Marleen. Why did Elizabeth always have to make such a terrible fuss? Why couldn't she simply admit she had been wrong, or at least acknowledge that nobody had offended her? Why was she so unable to see that the whole plan had been designed to gratify her own feelings as much as the Commodore's? Because that constant feeling of guilt that the man's presence seemed to instil in her could hardly be pleasant for her either, could it?
Well, at least Marleen had soon found some relief for the absence of her best friend, because both Lieutenant Groves and Captain Stansfield regularly called to visit the Commodore, and always found time for a cup of tea or a game of cards afterwards.
The Captain was everything his appearance promised to be, hearty, cheerful and gallant in a tongue-in-cheek manner. She was quite surprised at the Lieutenant though. They had of course known each other by face and sight (Port Royal wasn't that big after all, and also as Elizabeth's friend Marleen had often been invited when the officers from the fort were guests in the Governor's house), but she couldn't remember to have ever really talked to the man. As it turned out, he was sensible, unaffected, spirited, confident and possessed a sharp sense of humour. They spent a good deal of time together, and with great interest, she listened to his story-telling about his family, his time in the Navy, and not at last, the Commodore.
Robert Groves, twenty-six and in His Majesty's service for ten years, had been the youngest of four sons to a farmer, but was entirely without wistful memories of that part of his life, which had been determined by hard labour, bad weather, and hunger very often. So he had sought his luck in joining the Navy, and he had found it, speaking with great delight of the voyages, the battles, his Commander and declaring with a grin, "I'd trade Northern England's rain and soil for the Caribbean sun anytime again, Miss."
"But isn't it terrible to be away from home, Port Royal I mean, for so long? And all the dangers –"
"Being on board is far more pleasant than staying in the fort, Miss van Dyke, believe me, at least once one is an officer. What has happened to the Dauntless has been incredibly bad luck, she would have mastered the storm, and certainly have put every enemy to flight, but such evils combined – it's very unlikely that I shall see another battle like this, and having survived it, I see to the future with nothing but confidence."
She nodded, yet doubtful, but the more she heard from him, the more she believed. Perhaps a sailor's life wasn't as bad as she had always imagined it, at least when one had left the lower ranks behind. According to his First Lieutenant, Commodore Norrington was a good superior, and this she believed most readily.
"You mustn't make the mistake to judge him from appearance, Miss. I know, he seems to be very – well, reserved, and he is in a way. But I've never heard him scold one of his men unfairly, he's always been caring and fair. I owe all my luck to him. You must know, it doesn't happen too often that a man like me gains such a position. But the Commodore isn't conceited; he will promote anyone who can sail well, no matter of what stock they are. With another commander but him, Lieutenant Gillette would surely be in my place, he is a baronet's son."
"I've always been suspicious of making one's living on board of a ship, sir, but after all you tell me, I shall eat my words."
"You don't like sailing?"
"Dear me, no. I cannot stand it. I've had to endure two long voyages, one when moving here, and one this year when my father thought it would be nice for us all to accompany him to Willemstad, and both times I thought I should die of seasickness."
"Nah, almost everybody gets seasick at first. It gets better with time."
"But it's not very tempting to try again when one has suffered so badly."
"All you have to overcome is your dislike, Miss, and besides – even the Commodore claims he'd been awfully seasick on his first journey. But then, perhaps he only said so because I was hanging above the railing at the time, ready to jump overboard only to make it stop."
He grinned cheerfully and received some hearty laughter in return.
"He does appear to be a very good superior."
"The best!" he answered earnestly, adding more sombrely, "I wish everybody would think as you do."
"But who could say anything else about him?"
"Oh, there are people! Admiral Thompson has sent a dispatch – he is most unsatisfied with Captain Sparrow's repeated escape, and wait what he'll make of the loss of the Dauntless. You should have heard him after the Interceptor was stolen!"
"But none of this was the Commodore's mistake."
"Apparently, that's a matter of perspective. Do you think Admiral Thompson cares about some Governor's daughter? If she's in league with a pirate – put her in jail! That's what he would have done. Same with the Governor's future son-in-law, no, him, they would have hanged right away for commandeering the Interceptor first and facilitating Sparrow's escape then."
She shuddered involuntarily. "Please sir, don't be too strict with them for that. Mr. Turner acted on Elizabeth's behalf, and she intervened for Mr. Sparrow's sake because he had saved her life."
"I owe Captain Sparrow my own life, too, and my Captain's. I begrudge nobody for helping Captain Sparrow, that would be very ungrateful of me indeed."
"Yet you dislike Miss Swann –"
He bit his lips, "I don't like her as well as everybody else does, that's true. In my opinion, she has used the Commodore very ill, and I've seen him suffer for it. You should have seen him, and all because of some spoilt little Miss!"
Marleen sighed and smiled. "I cannot deny that Miss Swann can sometimes appear a little spoilt, very well. But she is a good person, and everybody has their faults. Should she truly have married one man when loving another?"
"Absolutely not, Miss, but she shouldn't have got engaged to him either!"
"Now, now, Lieutenant. The Commodore would have seen her marry somebody else and suffered, with or without a prior engagement. I don't mean to justify her conduct, but do you really think it would have made such a difference?"
"Forgive me for appearing unfair, Miss van Dyke. I don't mean to offend you. But I don't possess the Commodore's goodwill, or the Governor's indulgence. It annoys me to see the little Miss collecting faults and flaws and mistakes in abundance, and everybody excusing her still. 'She shouldn't have done this but' and 'She shouldn't have done that though' – everybody else is held to the same standards, only for Miss Swann, the whole world hastens to make one exception after the other! It's as the Commodore says, Miss. There is but one law for all, the law of humanity, justice, equity."
"I may be mistaken, but the Commodore himself does not seem to hold a grudge against her, does he?"
"That's because he is just too good."
She smiled. "Yes. I was just wondering why you seemed to be so much more upset than he is with Miss Swann."
"Well, someone's got to be! He is too much of a gentleman, but I am just a farmer's son, I went to no great school and not to Mariner's College, so I can speak my mind as I please."
"The poor man!"
"He'll get over her soon enough," the Lieutenant growled.
She grinned. "I rather meant the bit about not being able to speak his mind."
His cheeks reddened. "Please, Miss, I didn't express myself very well there, don't get me wrong. The Commodore does speak his mind like any good man ought to. It's rather – he is just so very well educated, he doesn't call a spade a spade, but looks at the spade – and wonders what the spade is made of – and if it would still be the same spade if you had replaced its handle last year and were going to replace the blade tomorrow. You know what I mean?"
She shook with laughter. "I know exactly what you mean, Lieutenant!"
That night, the young man lay in bed unable to find any sleep at all. He was pretty astonished with himself, but not the firmest will could conquer his insomnia.
A lot of things were circling around in his mind. Admiral Thompson's up-coming inspection, for example – just like the Commodore, Lieutenant Groves wasn't fooled what this one would bring. It infuriated him to think that his friend was to carry the can that little Miss Swann and her suitor had filled for him, that a buffoon like Gillette should be his superior soon, if not in rank then at least in situation. Gillette was no match for Commodore Norrington, but without a doubt the little wretch would delude himself to be even better, and Groves couldn't imagine a worse head for the fort than this man. His arrogance, his vanity, his silliness – these were no traits enabling a man to make the right decisions; he lacked the Commodore's upright sense of justice and reason as well as his courage and fortitude of mind.
The only time the Commodore's unerring understanding had clearly failed him was in his choice of a wife. It was unintelligible to Groves how the man he admired so much could have set his heart so completely on such a stupid little girl like the governor's daughter.
Robert Groves was in his twenties, and his profession had never brought him near lovely young ladies, therefore he never had felt any sentiment comparable to the Commodore's delicate feelings for his former fiancée. Only recently, and under the most unpleasant circumstances, he had encountered a woman which had got his imagination going.
The lady in question was loveliness itself, so virtuous, so modest, so very lady-like... In short, she was as high above himself as the heavens. Lieutenant or not, he was nothing but a poor farmer's son after all, while Miss van Dyke was a rich gentleman's daughter.
Such a woman was far out of his league, and what was more, and much more important too – she was quite likely to be the future Mrs. Norrington. Not only did Mr. and Mrs. van Dyke favour the match, the lady herself wasn't averse to it either (he had overheard her saying so herself). Of course she wasn't! Who but the Governor's foolish daughter could be oblivious of the Commodore's merits? And who, if not a lady of her grace and perfection, would be able to tend the poor man's wounded heart? Already she was nursing his physical well-being, so it could only be a matter of time until the man would realise what a treasure was carrying his breakfast-tray each morning, it was impossible that he should miss it.
Lieutenant Groves loved his superior very well, and even now, he felt no jealousy. The Commodore deserved a worthy woman more than anyone, and even if the incomparable Miss van Dyke had not loved him, she would still never fall for a man like the Lieutenant anyway. If the Commodore wanted her, his friend would not begrudge him, and he hoped that the satisfaction to see two so decent people united should overcome his own grief. With wry amusement he remembered his own words of comfort he had once directed at the Commodore – that there were too many deserving young ladies in the world to wreck oneself because of one who did not return this admiration. He did not miss the irony, but was still convinced that he had spoken the truth. Just that some deserving lady was even more deserving than her fellows could ever be.
But while the Lieutenant didn't have it in him to envy his Commodore, he had noticed, and resented, another man's attentions to the lady. Captain Stansfield showed up almost daily in the van Dykes' house, ostensibly to call on the Commodore, but Groves saw right through him.
Yes, half of the unmarried young women under thirty and their parents might well rave over the Captain, but Lieutenant Groves was not among his admirers, and curiously, neither was the Commodore.
Stansfield had come to visit him and reported of the Admiral's last dispatch, which he had sent from the journey while making berth in Tortola. If all went well and the weather remained what it was, he would arrive in less than a week, and bring with him three brand-new ships, two substitutes for the Dauntless and the Interceptor (and as far as was apparent from the note, to be entirely at the Commodore's disposal), and one for Captain Stansfield himself to replace his battered Fortuna.
James wondered whether he would be as fond of his new ship as he had been of the Dauntless (he had never loved the Interceptor the same way, even though she had, technically, been his first own ship to command; she had been reliable and fast, and he had been proud of her, but nothing more) but could only come to one conclusion: Like Elizabeth was incomparable and impossible to be replaced in his heart, he could never forget the Dauntless.
Naturally, he uttered only half of that sentiment out loud. The unsentimental Captain Stansfield couldn't even sympathise with the censured version, but guffawed, "I wouldn't fret if I was you, Commodore. You'll soon get over your Dauntless when you've set eyes on your new ship! Me, I'm looking forward to my new one – the Fortuna is only fit for scrap."
Something must be wrong with a man who would so easily replace one ship for another. Or was it because the Captain acted as head of Fort Charles – a position James had held for five years now and been very proud of indeed – that he could not help himself but feel a certain dislike for the man? Or were they just too different in their disposition? Or – as Groves had grimly suggested – could it after all be true that perhaps he was experiencing a certain kind of jealousy for a man courting Miss van Dyke?
Incidentally, Lieutenant Gillette wasn't very satisfied with his cousin either. He hadn't really hoped to become the acting head of the fort once Norrington had recovered consciousness, all the same he resented to be passed over once again, and he made no secret of his discontent. Now he set all his hopes in the Admiral's arrival, yet Richard only mocked him.
"Don't hang your hopes too high, Henry," he cried and slapped his cousin's back with gusto. "The way I see it, Thompson would promote that Groves chap over you any day."
Gillette was scandalised with the mere suggestion. "Surely not!"
"Had it been you carrying your Commander on your back through half of the Caribbean, you might have a fighting chance. But knowing you, you wouldn't have done so in the first place. Anyway, don't worry. It'll turn out fine."
"Easy for you to say," Gillette grumbled. "You're all set, after all!"
"As I keep on telling you, a man makes his own fortune. We'll see you right eventually."
But Gillette felt ill-used as always and his grudge wasn't to be placated, and neither was Elizabeth Swann's. She was disgusted that Marleen didn't even try to make amends. Elizabeth paid her back by ignoring her, but Marleen seemed oblivious to this anyway. Instead, she was ingratiating herself with the Commodore's confidante Lieutenant Groves to secure her victory from all sides. Despicable behaviour! How could she have overlooked Marleen's deceitfulness in all the years she'd known her? To exploit a man's injuries and sneak through the back door of his heart like a thief at night! And how slyly she did all of this, all the time holding up the mask of alleged virtue. But finally Elizabeth had seen her for what she was. She'd talked to Will about it, too, but he simply refused to see the problem.
"I'd have thought you were gratified when your two friends are attracted to each other?" he had asked, his big brown eyes making him look like a puppy, and she had wished to slap him for his ignorance.
"They are not attracted to each other, how often do I have to tell you? She only wants him because he is such a 'smart match'!" she spat out the words in contempt.
"But I thought she is very rich herself, isn't she?"
"What's that got to do with anything?! Money, pah!"
"Easy for you to say," he mumbled a trifle rebelliously. Her disregard for money, simply because she'd never lacked it, put his nose out of joint now and then.
She glared at him, well noticing the undertone but unwilling to give way and if it was merely for an inch. "If he didn't posses a penny, he'd be a smart match still, he's successful, he's brilliant, and too good at heart to even understand that she's only nice and careful to make him marry her!"
"Well, that's what people normally do when they want somebody to marry them, isn't it?"
There it was again, a hint of revolt, for which she punished him with a look of disdain and no further answer. It was useless to argue with him, he didn't understand, and what was more, she didn't want to argue; they'd only just made up after their last row. He had begged her forgiveness, and she had graciously granted it; still, she was not content. After forbidding him to join the Navy, their wedding seemed to have become an event of the very distant future and she was at a loss what else could be done.
Her fiancé had no readymade idea at hand either and could only hope that with the Commodore's gradual recovery, she'd change her mind after all. He could think of no other honourable profession to make his fortune and he thought he'd be quite good at it, as his adventures with Jack had proven.
Jack – wasn't it the strangest thing he had ever heard of, that Jack of all people had saved the Commodore and his men? Jack and Norrington? How lucky that the latter had been unconscious during the journey; he couldn't imagine how these two would otherwise have gotten along! Jack, drunk, irreverent and criminal, was everything that the Commodore was not, and must hate in another. Jack on the other hand had always mocked Norrington's 'Holier than thou' attitude and regarded it as his personal masterstroke to steal the Interceptor from under his nose.
Of course Elizabeth had been similarly amazed when she had heard about it at first, but by now, she claimed it to be the most natural thing in the world.
"Come on, Will – what else should he have done? Leave them all to die? He owes it to the Commodore."
"Your lovely Commodore wanted to hang him, Elizabeth," he retorted scornfully.
She shook her head at him. "No, he didn't. I know for a fact that James felt very uneasy about executing Jack, but it is his job after all."
"James?"
"Besides – he let him go, didn't he? Could there possibly be any other officer in the entire Royal Navy who would have allowed him to escape?"
"You call him 'James'?"
She took umbrage to his reproachful tone, and snapped, "No, actually I don't. I did call him James for half my life though and might be excused for slipping back into the habit now and then!"
"So how does he call you?"
"Miss Swann, if you must know!" she spat, recalling her assertions that Will wouldn't mind if he called her Elizabeth, and her own upset that he continued to refrain from doing so. Unfairly, poor Will was to reap the consequences of her anger now. "That's an impertinent thing to ask me! Even if he said 'Elizabeth' – so what? He has known me since I was a child!"
"So have I, nevertheless I never said anything else but 'Miss Swann' –"
"That's not true for a start, and then you have clearly forgotten how strongly I disliked it!"
He looked like a beaten puppy again, and though she usually found that very sweet, she was too angry still and would rather have scratched his beautiful brown eyes out than get lost in them. What exactly was he insinuating there? That he was jealous of that man that she had left for him?!