How My Perfect Life Was Inverted II

Chapter Twenty: Fiery Hair

Later that evening, whilst I was dining with my adopted family, a footman entered the dining room to politely announce that the Houghtons had arrived on the doorstep. Christophe had been shooting me suspicious looks ever since the governor casually remarked that I had adopted an English boy, so I was eager for a subject that would distract us all.

"What are you doing here?" I queried as the couple waddled in, the husband weighed down by various boxes. I took in Mrs Houghton's weary appearance, her worn fingers and bloodshot eyes. Before she could speak, the governor interjected, in plain simple English, that earlier in the day he had sent a manservant to the pair with the full sum due so as to encourage them to quicken their pace and finish his niece's gowns. When they had explained that dressmaking was an art, and as such required patience and, above all, time, that the most they could do was let out some of Flavio's old gowns for me, the governor's clerk had returned to his master to explain the matter to him. Hale had then suggested that the clerk invite the couple to reside in his mansion until the commission was completed (the better to intimidate them into finishing the dresses, I suspected).

"After all," he said in French with a wink in my direction, "we cannot let our Nicolette be upstaged by Miss Swann at the balls now, must she? Particularly since the Englishwoman is all but betrothed." Governor Hale had asked me earlier in his office to charm a certain high-ranking officer in the Royal Navy when he arrived tomorrow, even going so far as to get him to propose to me; and although Nicolette was already engaged, and therefore I ought to have questioned his motives, I had been too stunned by Daniel's tactless truth-telling to do anything but nod submissively.

"Oh," Lady Hale grunted, throwing her fork down on her plate with a clatter that made the rest of us stare. "George," she said, happily ignoring her nieces and nephew, "George, I cannot believe you would even consider inviting that—whore—into our home! Think of the effect her influence will have upon our nieces—and I also fear what… deviancy she might talk Christophe into."

She was speaking in clear, rapid English, so I didn't pay much attention to Geneviève and Christophe's bemused faces. The governor spared a glance at the Houghtons, who seemed both surprised and intrigued by this unladylike outburst, and with a lazy wave of his hand, gestured to a footman to lead them away.

"Lou," he said, reaching out to place an affectionate hand over hers, but Lady Hale flinched and pulled away, still in a huff.

"How can you be so selfish?" she snapped at her husband. "I've always hated that girl, George, you know I have, and yet you insist we invite her, even in light of all the scandals—"

"Louise, Miss Swann did not ask to be abducted by—"

"You know as well as I that she was seen walking through Port Royal to the Black Pearl of her own accord!"

"I have her father's word that she simply wished to negotiate, um, 'the cessation of hostilities' against her home."

"Or so she claims; at any rate, it was rather convenient, was it not, that the negotiations resulted in her being carted away on the ship to serve as the crew's… Oh, I can't even speak the word."

"You said it just now," Governor Hale muttered under his breath.

"Excuse me," I interrupted in French, "But perhaps you would wish to explain to the rest of us exactly what is happening? In a language that we can all understand." I glanced covertly at Christophe, but quickly looked away when I saw him staring at me, that frown still hovering on the edge of his mouth. "Why is Miss Swann considered by my aunt to be a whore, simply because she was captured by Jack Sparrow?"

"Jack Sparrow?" the governor repeated with a frown. "What does he have to do with any of this?"

I wrinkled my nose in a frown, and was just about to answer when a sudden thought that made my heart freeze descended upon me.

"…I… I am sorry," I stumbled, measuring each syllable out in my ever-changing accent. "It is just… It is just that I have heard his name, and that he was the captain of the Black Pearl… Is that not correct?"

The governor exchanged a glance with his wife, and I felt myself shrink back into my seat at my mistake.

"I've always thought the Black Pearl to be a ghost ship," Lady Hale murmured, tapping her chin thoughtfully. "Obviously the attack on Port Royal changed my mind, but…"

"Wasn't he sentenced to hang in Port Royal, four months ago?" the governor queried, and his wife nodded. "Yes; I seem to remember declining an invitation from Warren to visit; he mentioned something in his letter…"

"Oh, the invitation?" Lady Hale butted, anger flashing in her arrogant eyes.

"Yes, the invitation."

"The one from your old school friend?"

"Yes."

"Who is now the Governor of Port Royal?"

"…Yes," the governor replied hesitantly, clearly wondering where all this was going.

"Whose hospitable generosity you coldly declined?"

The governor looked uncomfortable. "Er, yes."

"On account of the fact that his daughter's a whore?"

"Now Lou—"

"Yes or no, George?" the wife demanded.

In desperation, the governor turned to look earnestly at me, his face falling upon seeing my perplexed expression. Christophe and Geneviève were no help, unable as they were to understand English, and the gentleman couldn't really beseech his footman for advice.

"Th-There was a scandal!" he half-defended, half-whined. "Everybody snubbed Miss Swann, and by extension, her father; it would have been most outrageous if I hadn't followed suit…"

"And you would have continued to snub him," Lady Hale's menacingly cold voice cut through, "had it not been for the chandelier…"

"It—was—stolen!" The governor exploded, at which point Christophe stood and, grabbing his wife, made a half-hearted attempt at an excuse, and promptly left the room, a confused Geneviève looking wildly over her shoulder. I would have been tempted to join them, but considering the first of the two tasks Governor Hale had abruptly thrust upon me involved, namely charming Governor Swann's daughter well enough so that my uncle might keep the chandelier the Swanns were bringing for the gala, forced myself to stay put.

If Lady Hale had been any angrier, steam would have been puffing out of her nostrils; but her husband was furious too, and this fact somehow evened the odds.

"Louise," he hissed, slowly rising from out of his seat and glowering down at her. "It was eight years ago; she was twelve."

"How can you possibly expect me to forget, George?" the lady snarled; although she remained seated, I couldn't help but flinch at the way her hands twisted the napkin. "I have never been more humiliated in my life."

"She was only a child," the Governor stressed, at which point Lady Hale got dramatically to her feet and flounced out of the room. After a moment of silence, broken by the clack-clack-clack of Lady Hale's tapping shoes, there came the sound of a door slamming shut.

"…Oh dear," I said after a stupefied pause. "Um, Uncle?"

The governor grunted to indicate he was listening, still staring at the doorway his wife had so recently left through.

"Uncle," I repeated, more firmly than before, "I confess to being a little… fearful."

"Oh?" he knitted his eyebrows. Somewhat discouraged, I ploughed on.

"Yes; considering my dear aunt's… feelings towards Miss Swann, I somehow doubt… Well, I don't think…"

"Spit it out, Nicolette," my uncle ordered, and I swallowed nervously before continuing, switching swiftly to French for effect.

"I fear what others will think of me if I am publicly seen consorting with a harlot," I bluntly blurted out. "Uncle, please do not tell me that your love of chandeliers is such that you would willingly cast your own niece's character into doubt in pursuit of one." The Swanns, I had been informed earlier, had a magnificent crystal chandelier stashed in a hidden room in the cellar for safety, and it was because of this that Governor Hale was so anxious to have them intend his round of parties.

Hale visibly hesitated before answering. "Of course not, Nicolette; how could you even think such a malicious thing of me?"

"I did not mean to accuse you, sir… It's just that, now that I know of my aunt's opinion…"

"Now you listen to me, Nicolette," Governor Hale said, pulling out an empty chair beside me and sitting down, his hands seizing my own, "I confess to not having seen Miss Swann after the attack on Port Royal, and as such, cannot comment on her current character; I can, however, explain the vindictive loathing towards her by my wife…"

The Swanns, I was told, have lived in the Caribbean for no longer than eight years; the Hales were already halfway through their first decade when the Governor of the newly-restored Port Royal arrived with his motherless daughter, who was then but twelve years of age, a mere year older than their own Paul. Although Lady Hale would much rather her son was wed to a Frenchwoman, she certainly had no objection to setting about convincing Governor Swann that an early betrothal between their two children would prove beneficial to both families, and promptly began arranging three days' worth of balls and other entertainments, rounded off with a magnificent feast, so as to make him feel welcome. ("My wife misses the social whirl of Paris," the governor added somewhat exasperatedly, confirming my suspicion that the governor's wife would welcome any excuse to throw a party. "And the social scene in the Islands, as you will soon discover, my dear, is rather… subdued.") The Governor Swann, who my uncle rather fondly referred to as 'Warren' (although I would later discover that this wasn't actually his real name), was rather attached to his daughter, insisting that she accompany him to all of the festivities Lady Hale had so carefully prepared, which was quite unusual as she had yet to make her debut; but this breach of social convention was carefully overlooked by the locals.

Apparently, Lady Hale's plan was going swimmingly, and by the end of the third night, Governor Swann was already subtly pushing his daughter towards Paul Hale, who apparently spent the majority of his childhood with his finger up his nose, and thus did not at first glance appear to be the type of man Miss Swann could see herself as happily married to. But alas it appeared as though fate had grander plans for Miss Swann than wedding an English aristocrat's son, and the third evening just happened to play unexpected host to a most unfortunate accident that would forever change Lady Hale's opinion of the matter:

Late that evening, when the majority of Kingston's upper class had made for home, the Hales and Swanns, accompanied by a handful of Royal Navy officers and one or two plantation owners, took several carriages out to Kingston's medium-sized harbour; Miss Swann apparently harboured an "unnatural fascination" with ships and sailors and other maritime matters, but most (worryingly) of all, she carried a particular torch for pirates. A Naval ship, due to make berth in Kingston Harbour that very night, was said to have in its brig two captured pirate crews, due to be tried and hanged the moment the Queen Anne made port, and so Lady Hale had suggested that they all go down to the docks to watch the ship come in and unload its criminal cargo. Miss Swann, who apparently had wondered around the Hales' home looking politely bored the past three days, immediately perked up at this, which had of course been the conspiring Lady Hale's intention.

Because there was obviously little light, and a noticeable absence of servants, several of the party had no choice but to carry three or four torches between them; Miss Swann hung impatiently off of her father's arm, bouncing on the balls of her feet, clearly eager for the ship to come in so that she could catch her first proper glimpse of real pirates; Governor Swann, who was one of the torchbearers, gently prised her little fingers off of his forearm, and told her that if she couldn't keep calm, she ought to go and play with Paul.

Miss Swann immediately fell silent, clasping her hands and demurely lowering her dark head, and remained utterly still as the adults around her laughed and chatted over glasses of sherry and port, toasting one another's health whilst a sullen Paul was left to guard the half-empty liquor bottles he had been forced to carry out of the carriage.

After about forty minutes of waiting, Miss Swann, who was the only member of the group to keep her eyes fixed firmly on what she believed was the horizon (as far as she could gather in the near-total darkness), spotted a glimmer of something that she at first thought was simply a twinkling star; however, after several minutes of intense staring, the girl soon realised that it was in fact an approaching ship, and the light she saw possibly the captain's illuminated cabin.

"Papa!" she cried in delight, accidentally startling all the adults around her. "Papa, look!" Excitedly, she raised her hand to point at the steadily growing light, knocking her father's arm—

"…and accidentally set your aunt's hair on fire," the Governor Hale completed solemnly, his fingers primly interlaced on the tabletop before him as he looked at me out of the corner of his eye.

Five ticks of the grandfather clock went by before I was able to respond to this anecdote.

"…Oh my," I said dumbly, and although I logically knew that this was a very horrible, humiliating, and life-threatening event, I still had to fight down the bark of laughter that threatened to escape my throat. "Oh Uncle, that's… terrible."

"Isn't it?" he agreed, motioning to a servant to pour out another glass of port. "Louise refused to leave our home for months afterwards, even going so far as to turn down various callers. But her scalp was not badly burnt, and her hair grew back after a year, so all was well in the end. Oddly enough, we have Miss Swann's sharp mind to thank for this blessing; I fear half of Louise's face would have been burned off had it not been for her quick actions."

"Why, what did Miss Swann do?"

"She pushed Lady Hale off of the dock."

"What?" Half of the exclamation came out of my nose in a snort of laughter which I quickly smothered with my hands.

Governor Hale shrugged nonchalantly at this revelation. "All we had were two bottles and seven glasses of sherry and port; submerging my wife into the ocean was thus the quickest and perhaps surest way of extinguishing the flames. Of course, Louise's favourite dress was ruined, and to this day she is certain that the girl had acted out of malice."

"Oh, I see," I replied, still fighting down my giggles. "Oh, how utterly dreadful."

"You could at least attempt to feel more sympathy towards your aunt's embarrassment," Governor Hale instructed; he did not need to feign the protection he felt towards his wife, it was clear that he loved her dearly. My hovering smile was instantly wiped off my face.

"I… I am… sor-ree," I apologised in my overdone accent. "Je suis desolée…"

The governor waved my confusing Anglo-Franco stuttering away, sipping absentmindedly at his glass.

"No need to apologise to me, Nicolette. You may leave now; I wish to be alone with my thoughts."

Frowning at my abrupt dismissal, I turned in my chair and glanced at the time; quarter to nine. Too early to be going to bed, I felt (unless it was with Christophe). Nevertheless, I chose to obey him, and after a perfunctory curtsey and a "Bonsoir," left the dining-room, closing the door gently on his contemplative figure.

"It's funny, you know," a male voice drawled from somewhere to my left, causing me to jump and clutch at my bodice in fear. Even as I thought it, Christophe's dark silhouette materialised out of the darkness, his bare feet moving almost soundlessly against the marbled floor.

"You scared me, Christophe; I thought you'd gone to bed."

"Oh I will, soon; Geneviève is still disrobing, and that tends to take a while; although those laces, you see."

"Yes," I agreed, uncertain of what to make of his word frank words and flat tone. "Well, I am awfully tired, so I thought it best to retire—"

"When did you learn to speak English so fluently?"

His words made my heart freeze in my chest, and I felt my hands involuntarily clench into fists.

"…Pardon?"

With maddening calm, he repeated his question verbatim.

"You know when; with Beauclerk. And besides, I am hardly fluent—"

"That does not seem to be the case; just a minute ago, I heard you speak—"

"You were listening behind the door?" I was appalled at this utter disregard for my privacy, and this, coupled with my overpowering fear, made my voice rise with righteous indignation.

"Yes," he answered without missing a beat, "and although I do not possess a command of the English tongue, I can detect a fellow countrywoman's lilt when I hear it. Your voice had no such inflection."

"So I possess some linguistic dexterity that you do not; so my knowledge of the English tongue developed whilst I was away; I fail to see how these two facts alone can form a substantial basis for your accusations."

The moment he quirked his eyebrow, I knew I'd made a mistake.

"And exactly what am I accusing you of, Nicolette?"

Hurriedly, I tried to think of a defence, but my mind was blank.

"…I… I do not know… But you are accusing me of something."

"And there's another thing," he continued, as though I hadn't spoken at all; "Your unwillingness to discuss your life these past six months: Where have you been? Who had you? What did do to you? …You might not even be a virgin," he added slowly after these quick-fire questions; "perhaps I ought to check, hmm? How does that sound to you, Nicolette?"

It was the no-bars come-on I had been dreaming of from the moment I'd laid eyes on him, yet I found myself shrinking away; in one quick stride, Christophe had closed the distance between us, his hands wrapped tightly about my wrists, preventing me from running.

"Christophe, let me go!" But my plea went unheeded.

"One more question," he said, smiling coldly down at me; the flickering lamplight cast his face into half-shadow, making him seem sinister and menacing. "Since when did you ever like children? If I recall correctly, my sister refused to have one within eight feet of her; and now I hear she's gone and adopted an English weed. It's all very perplexing, don't you agree?"

For what seemed like an eternity, I simply stared up at him, my mouth opening and closing wordlessly, my vision blurring with unshed tears. He knew; he knew.

After minutes of silent torment, I slowly lowered my head in defeat.

"…I'll be gone in the morning," I whispered quietly to him. "Please don't have me, or the boys—boy, arrested; I swear I'll be gone…"

Christophe laughed softly, cruelly, triumphantly, his fingers reaching up to my brush my cheek. "There, there," he mock-comforted, "None of that, Nicolette; here," and he pulled a handkerchief from out of his sleeve and offered it to me. My hands were too heavy to lift, so he graciously wiped my eyes for me. "Oh be quiet! I'll not force you out just yet."

I sniffled and grabbed the handkerchief from him, covering my face under the pretext of wiping my eyes. "Th-Thank you," I whispered, and it wasn't until much later, when I had discussed my encounter with Flavio, did I begin to wonder at his cold kindness.

There was a pause between us, and after some calculating staring on his part, Christophe promptly told me to trot off to bed.

"Wait one moment," his voice rang out, just as my foot touched the first step. Rooted to the spot, I remained staring at my foot as I heard him move languidly towards me. He stopped walking when he was level with me, and at his firm prompting, I turned, limp as a rag doll, to face him.

His fingers were warm and cruel as he grasped my chin, forcing me to look up and into his overshadowed eyes; his lips bruised my own as he kissed me; I, for my part, was stiff and unresponsive.

At length, he drew away, his eyes still shrouded in shadowed, and in a cold, detached voice that I had never heard him use until that very moment, said, "Continue."

Still unable to fully appreciate what had happened, I stayed frozen in my position for a moment longer; then, somehow sensing his displeasure, picked up my skirts and clumsily continued on my way.

"Nicolette."

It was not my name; he and I both knew that it was not my real name, and yet I stopped halfway up the staircase, half-turning, waiting.

He was looking up at me, his cold, hard eyes glittering in the gentle candlelight.

"You don't kiss half as well as my sister does."

For a moment I stared at him, my bewilderment such that not even my jaw dropped open. Then, rigidly, I returned my attention to my ascent.

There was nothing left to say.

-x!x-