Isabelle sat in the library and picked at the peeling skin on the back of her hand. It had been a week since her return to Port Royal and, as per Cutler's request; she had been rebuffing social calls and invitations. She sighed as she let a large flake of skin drift to the floor.

"I do wish you wouldn't do that Isabelle, dear." Cutler said as he entered the room. Isabelle sighed again and stood. "You must be feeling better if you're down here."

"Yes my lord, thank you." Isabelle had to fight not to scratch at her skin where it was peeling in great sheets. She had noticed the peeling flakes a day or two before when she bathed and in spite of herself she had started to pick at the small patches. The small patches grew larger and larger and then her skin began to slough off in large, dry patches. Even her scalp was peeling. Her face had a great pink patch where the skin had peeled away above her right eyebrow and another area of pink showed on her left cheek where she'd fallen asleep in the small boat and struck it against the gunnels. It had bruised slightly and was only just beginning to fade. She looked like a leper. One of the house servants had promised to bring her the oil of a plant that would help alleviate the itching. Her chest and parts of her shoulders were also peeling. With any hope, she would be able to scrub herself free of the dead skin during her bath this evening. Cutler had resumed speaking and she focused on him instead of the annoying dillema of dead, dry, peeling skin.

"You look a fright. Are you sure you should be up and about?"

"Yes my lord." Isabelle shuddered involuntarily as Mr. Mercer walked in carrying a latched box. The air pulsed as a thunderous drumbeat rent the air around her and she realized what the chest contained. "You can't mean to keep that thing here!" She said stepping away from the chest as if it were a snake.

"Well, Isabelle, where else would I keep it? The safe here is far more secure than any down at the headquarters." Cutler smiled. "We wouldn't want this falling into the wrong hands, would we?"

"But Cutler…Lord Beckett," Isabelle was exasperated at his constant insistence for her use of his title. She quite suddenly realized she didn't know what to say to him.

"Yes Isabelle? You have something to say?"

"I have a request to make of you, though I'm not sure how to appeal to your better nature."

"By all means, speak your mind freely my dear."

"I can't stand being near that thing." Isabelle said pointing an accusatory finger at the chest in Mr. Mercer's hands. "I can't fight it; the heart of Captain Jones is far too strong for me. If you want me to be able to work for you, or assist you, then you must remove it."

"My dear, this is only a temporary arrangement. When I find a permanent solution to your problem, then I will inform you of it. Unfortunately I do require your further assistance in business matters. I'm also your brother, do you think I want to see harm come to you?" Cutler's eyes twinkled mercilessly as he enjoyed seeing her bristle. The heart of Davy Jones was turning out to be a much bigger asset than he ever would have thought. It would allow him control of the sea, control of Jones, and also control of Isabelle. It would keep her weak when he needed her to be submissive and would allow him to bend her to his will. She'd do anything to keep the heart far away from any place she was. And that, Cutler knew, was a valuable debt to hold someone to. "Now why don't you go rest, and do try not to pick at yourself."

Isabelle stared stonily at him as she curtsied. She held an extreme dislike for him at that moment as she realized for the second time in a week that he was using her as a pawn in his strange obsession with controlling the world. She stalked past Mr. Mercer and left the library, and the heart, as fast as she could. She stood in the foyer and felt the oppressive air of the house bear down on her. She needed fresh air; she wanted to feel the sun warm on her skin, even if she was suffering its ill effects. She went to her room and snatched a silk shawl from the chest at the foot of her bed and raced back down the stairs to the front door.

"Miss Isabelle?" Isabelle's hand hovered over the brass handle, the metal cool to her touch. "Where you be going miss?" She turned to face the dark skinned house servant and looked towards the library's heavy oak door.

"I need to go out Marye. I can't stay in any longer. Please don't mention it to Lord Beckett, I just want to go take a stroll about the garden." Isabelle was desperate.

"Alright Miss, but you'd best put a hat on to cover that pretty face of yours. It don't need no more sun than it already got." Isabelle nodded as the woman went to fetch a broad brimmed hat that would shield her face from the sun. She quickly tied the ribbon under her chin and then slipped out the door and into the fresh air and sunlight.

Crushed white shells shifted beneath her feet as she walked around the house and into the manicured gardens. Roses were in various stages of blooming all along the path and added a riot of color to the green and white world of the garden. There were white, red, yellow, and various shades of pink. They were tangled together in a mass of heavy heads that nodded in the breeze that came off the sea. There was something about the combination of the scents of roses and salt that made her head spin in a giddy way. It was a good, clean smell; it made her happy and calm. She wandered down the path farther and stepped through a gap in a short hedge and into a fragrant quadrant of the garden filled with fruit trees. She reached up and plucked a pear from a heavy branch and bit into the fruit. It was still tart for not being completely ripened, but it was juicy and sweet at the same time and refreshing. She strolled further through the trees and munched on the pear as she went. Something was bothering her but she wasn't sure what it was. She thought at first it was Cutler's reaction to her feelings about the heart. Then she thought it might have been her confinement to the big house that had been aggravating her. But even after spending time in the gardens, she still felt anxious about something, and she was far enough from the heart, and stronger now, that it was not having an effect on her. She shook her head and tossed the remainder of the pear into the grass before walking quickly back to the house.

Late that evening Isabelle stood on the balcony of her room. It had dawned on her at dinner why she had been so aggravated. Of all the people that had called on her, of all the people that had asked after her well being after her ordeal at sea, the only person she had not heard from was James Norrington, and he was the only one that she truly wanted to see. But she was torn at the same time. The part of her that was angry that he hadn't called on her was only half of her dilemma; her other half was thankful he was staying away. She was angry that he had kept the secret of the heart from her and she was hesitant to know what he thought after her little episode at the headquarters upon her return. Why had she told him she'd spent a part of her youth at Bedlam asylum? He knew too much…she had told him too much. He was avoiding her; he was afraid of her.


Isabelle swept down the stairs and held her arms out slightly to the sides and turned. Cutler stood with his hands behind his back and inspected her.

"Lovely. You would almost never be able to tell that you were lost at sea for a month."

"I'm glad you think so m'Lord." Isabelle said as she put on her gloves and picked up her fan. She smiled at his exaggeration for her time being gone. He picked up his cane and walked out the door and into the drive where the big coach, emblazoned with the company logo awaited them. It was Sunday, and they were going to church. She was not usually one for churches, considering what some practitioners would do to her if they found out about her visions, but considering how many weeks she had missed, and at Cutler's insistence, she would go, if only to make good appearances. She was actually quite fond of church, but had some problems with a few of the teachings. The small brick building was not far from their estate but Cutler would not be seen walking down the dusty street. The elite rode in carriages, the poor walked. Isabelle and Cutler strolled into the church and sat in their high-walled, private pew. She could hear people whispering and occasionally let her mind wander on an errant thought.

"Look at her, she's so dark."

"I wonder where she's been the past few weeks."

"I thought her maid said she was ill. She's taken too much sun that's for sure. I wonder if the new fashion is to be as dark as a Native?"

Isabelle stood and followed Cutler out of the church when the mass had ended. As they walked back towards the carriage she could feel everyone's eyes upon her. Standing beside Cutler she certainly did look as dark as a Native. She met a few of the curious gazes from the Port Royal rich and held her head a little higher. What did she care? She'd not let them back her down or make her feel ashamed. She continued to follow Cutler and cast her gaze about the gossiping colonists when her eyes met those of James Norrington lurking behind the elite, his eyes focused on her alone. Isabelle glanced his way but did not focus on him for long. She narrowed her eyes before averting them. Snapping her fan open she made as if she hadn't even seen him and allowed the footman to hand her up into the coach. She chanced a glance out of the window and saw him bow his head in her direction. She sat back and ignored him.

"Well Isabelle my dear. How did you enjoy church this morning?"

"Even when they are supposed to be worshipping God, they are gossip mongers." She said.

"Anything of interest?"

"Mostly about me." Isabelle said with a smile. "Surprised to see me about for the most part."

"Hmm, that's a pity. I was hoping there'd be more information to glean from them…who was cheating who, who could be used as a tool…"

"What they say in church is between them and God unless it's directed at me." Isabelle glared at Cutler. "I'll not spy on people's prayers and confessions."

"Of course not. What sort of man do you take me for?"

A cold hearted one who would do, say and use anyone and anything to get the ends to his means…even if it meant harming them.

Isabelle looked away from Cutler's icy stare as a shiver ran up her spine. She knew it was true, but how could she think about her own brother that way?