Charlotte sat eagerly on the edge of her seat as she and Gillette rather fervently explained their new predicament. The Governor sat there, listening but still unmoved. It had been an especially trying day and he simply wanted to be done with it.
He smiled sympathetically and began. "I understand what you two are saying, but do you two understand? What you're saying is that James Norrington is still alive, but if that were the case then where has he been? Why hasn't he identified himself yet?"
Weatherby watched Mrs. Norrington with interest. She had certainly proved everyone in Port Royale wrong. Many of the aristocracy, if they indeed could be called that, were struck by her actions since the death of James. While the rest of the women fought over who was the most fashionably dressed mourner, Mrs. Norrington wore a simple black dress. She took no pains in her appearance, and seemed to favor necessity for fashion. Port Royale had been scandalized by her lack of "social grace," but Weatherby could not agree. He was normally as socially conscious as could be without be without being classified as obsessive, but this was different. It was a close subject for Weatherby, and he thought back to his own Jemima.
As a younger man, he had been ambitious much in the same way James had been and had reveled in the glory of Parliament. Weatherby had been adept at the politicking and the back room channels but he had lost sight. He dedicated himself to his work, determined to be one of the most powerful men in the country. Unfortunately his family fell to the wayside, and it was not until Jemima's death that he was able to see. She had been taken so quickly, in the throngs of childbirth, and left him in the care of an infant Elizabeth. Gone were his ambitions of glory and power, as well as his male heir. Hastily blinking away approaching tears he turned his focus back to the impatient duo.
Charlotte looked at Gillette and he shrugged. "Perhaps he is worried that the people looking for him will come again."
Weatherby sighed wearily and frowned. "I'm sorry but all you've shown me is that Lieutenant Gillette has poor eye color recall. How am I to explain a man hunt for a man whom we just buried? Do you know what the implications are?"
"That James was somehow involved with Groves as well." Gillette finished, stunned at the weight of his own words. Weatherby looked after the Lieutenant and the corners of his mouth quirked with distaste. Lieutenant Gillette had always left a bad aftertaste in the Governor's mouth, one that he couldn't quite explain. He was brash without any conviction behind it, speaking his mind too frequently for Weatherby's taste. Not like James at all. With James, you always knew where he stood and furthermore why.
He suppressed the mounting irritation at the young Lieutenant and leaned back in his chair. "Indeed. Which is why, unless if you have something more substantive to offer, I would suggest you let it lie for now."
Gillette pondered this for a moment, and furrowed his brow deep in concentration. He flexed his jaw and nodded slightly. Charlotte sat next to him in bewilderment, her laudable composure from earlier in the day slowly eroding.
"I cannot believe that that would be the case, Sir." She said finally, straightening up just slightly at the pronunciation.
He stared down at his hands, considering Mrs. Norrington's words. James had become something of a surrogate son to Swann over the years that he had known the young man. Weatherby remembered how impatient James was in the beginning, always ready to fight. What had struck him most about the man, however, was the talent that lurked beneath the surface. Swann had glimpsed from the beginning that this young man was different from the rest, always thinking ahead. Weatherby had latched on that and helped smooth out some of James's sharper frays.
Weatherby looked at Charlotte, wishing he had some answer other than the one he could give. "A ship of the King's Navy was taken with force and all of her crew, save for Lieutenant Gillette, were killed. As Governor of Jamaica, I must find these people out and dispense with them. We are already looking for Lieutenant Groves for this attack, and if we were to question the death of James Norrington, that would lead people to assume that he too was a …traitor. I would then have to issue an arrest warrant for his capture and arrest as well."
Gillette's gaze sharpened and his brows furrowed further still. "Do you believe in redemption, Sir?"
He inwardly sighed, wishing desperately to dispense with formalities. "I beg your pardon?"
Nathaniel ignored the pointed glances from the two, and licking his lips he continued. "What you're saying is that my two closest friends hatched a plan to betray us all. What, exactly, would be the point of such an action?"
Something at that moment snapped with Weatherby Swann. Normally a man infrequently inclined to anger, he found none of his legendary patience or affability at the present. "Well now, that would be the duty of the King's Navy to determine, wouldn't it?"
Gillette stood, breathing heavily. "I disagree, Sir. There is no mystery here, just a bunch of pirates. We must hunt them down and acquaint them with Gallows Point."
"And how do you explain that gash on your head, Lieutenant?"
Nathaniel ducked his head, flushed with the emotion of the argument. "Groves and I disagreed, and perhaps he did have something to do with the attack, but I could never imagine that he wished to see harm to everyone he cared about- his country, his family, his friends."
Swann angrily snatched up a document and slammed it down on the desk. "This, Sir, is from James Norrington, written just days before his death. It outlines his suspicion of foul dealings on the part of someone within."
Gillette looked dumbstruck at the document. "Perhaps you should check your own men. They seem well equipped at the art of deception."
Weatherby rose as well and growled, "I fail to see how our conversation relates to redemption of the men."
The Lieutenant had already made a few paces for the door, but he deigned to pause and over his shoulder he softly replied, "I wasn't talking about them, Sir."