Thanks for the reviews from the guests as ever! I'm sorry for the delay with this but what with Christmas, my own pile of books that I want to try and get through reading and my general writer's block I couldn't really help it. I'm not struggling for plot as it's all planned out bit as I'm writing the scenes they aren't quite the same as what's in my head and it's throwing me off a bit. I do not like them any less once I get a chapter finished though as what I'm writing fits the characters more which is important.

In this chapter, Fiona's secret is finally divulged to others and she might have a realisation in-store for herself.

Chapter Thirty Seven - What's in Port Royal?

The house on the hill was as silent as the grave. Indeed the inhabitants had not stirred for days. This was not an occurrence to be seen as anything out of the ordinary to someone who'd not been in Port Royal for long. There had been no social engagements to attend and the rainy season was well upon them. It would serve as a satisfactory explanation to any visitor that the servants had been cultivating a well endowed larder and garden to see them through the next few months without much need for replenishment. For one man though, it spoke more of people who had something to hide.

"Mercer," he greeted stoically when the man was still a few strides behind him. From his vantage point at the bottom of the hill he'd been watching the house for quite some time. "What news?"

"What news I have might amount to very little in separation Sir, but I think you shall perhaps draw connections from what others might dismiss."

"Out with it then man," Cutler Beckett ordered monotonously.

Mercer fell into line beside his master and he too turned his gaze upon the house on the hill. "I bring no news at all that relates to Governor Swann's household. There I think I will not have shocked you. There is so little movement nowadays that one might think the residents had removed themselves but for the knowledge that they have not been seen to leave."

Beckett was frowning up at the house. "Yes it is all rather strange, especially if we consider the type of woman we are dealing with. Elizabeth Turner is not someone to be cowed into silence and stagnancy. There is something else afoot. She waits for something...or someone. We must keep a closer eye upon her."

"Sir," Mercer agreed swiftly even though he saw little use in watching the woman. It was her husband they should have followed in his opinion. "There are also ships that were due to dock in Port Elizabeth some days ago that have not yet arrived. They carried troops and were commanded by an Ambrose Beauchamp. It may warrant an investigation that might bring men to the Governor's household. You will want a man present to record all that is said. If the ships are sunk..."

The other man sighed heavily. "I gave no such orders Mercer. If you have caused such a calamity then I should hope you will have successfully covered your tracks. If your name is mentioned in this, mine will be also. Surely you are aware of such consequences?"

"I have no knowledge of what befell that fleet sir. Perhaps they simply docked elsewhere for a time. The matter of importance is Beauchamp. Indeed he has familial ties to Commodore Norrington. They are cousins sir."

"Close?"

Mercer shrugged a little before he recalled that his master would not see such a gesture as his gaze remained trained on the house. "Certainly not as close as brothers, but there are connections."

"What of Norrington? His name is not one I've heard on your lips in some time. Is there news of him?" Beckett finally turned back to his man as the anticipation of hearing news of the one man who might thwart his plans set in.

"Indeed there is sir, just received. Norrington has made port twice in the last lot of weeks. Most recently he made port in at Cayenne and bought only food for the rest of his return journey of a few days to Port Royal; and whiskey."

"And the time before, Mercer?"

Mercer grinned softly. "The whiskey Sir was Irish. That in itself means nothing until you consider what I have next to say. The time before, Commodore Norrington made port at Rio de Janeiro and sources say that he was accompanied by a woman. A woman travelling aboard a navy ship sir will warrant explanation when the Commodore returns to port. It seems his officers were tight-lipped but his midshipmen not so much. The woman is Irish and was sailing with pirates. It seems Norrington made good on his promise to rid the seas of Jack Sparrow. He was captured along with his crew and was passed into the care of the authorities in Rio."

"What of this woman?"

"Irish Sir," Mercer supplied as if that should be enough of a description for any man. When Beckett made no confirmation of understanding he recalled that Beckett was not the type of man that Mercer often met with in dark and dingy pubs, who would label someone so freely and make a swift judge of them. His discussions in an inn or tavern with the local drunks were certainly simple enough but of course a man like Cutler Beckett would expect much more, for he himself was more calculating. Despite his belief that being 'Irish' was certainly a more than substantial description of the woman he'd been told of, he acquiesced to elaborate. "Red hair, smart mouth. Seems to be wrapping Norrington around her little finger. She was no longer with them when The Surgence made port in Cayenne though."

"She's still alive," Beckett mused under his breath.

Mercer frowned. "You know of her sir?"

"I believe I do Mercer. That woman sailed with Captain O'Malley."

"You said you left none alive that day, Sir?"

Beckett's disdain could be seen clearly all over his face. "I left her for dead. How on earth could she have survived such a storm? Perhaps that is what as piqued the resilient Commodore's interest. No matter. If she is absent from his ship then we shall find her. I require you to seek her out Mercer. James Norrington has a predilection in regards to forthright women which may just turn out to be his downfall. That she is Irish will not have repelled him. Indeed he is too fair for such notions. Find her and bring her to me, Mercer."

"Sir you must allow for some time. As she is no longer sailing with Norrington, she could be anywhere."

Beckett grinned again. "No indeed Mercer. Norrington is close at hand. He will be welcomed back to Port Royal within days I should say. Perhaps those loose-lipped midshipmen could be enticed to provide you with more information. Once Norrington is returned he will seek to oust my control. He and Governor Swann have built up a rapport over the years. He will not wish to see his mentor of sorts miring in the mud. We must act quickly once he is returned and we will use either this Irish woman or Mrs. Turner to do so."

"What of the other matter you bade me look into sir? You must know there is still no news."

Beckett delved into his waistcoat pocket and from it he pulled a spent musket ball. Mercer could tell by the indents and scratches that it had been fired already. Beckett was rolling it between his fore-finger and thumb as he observed the dull grey lead. "Indeed Mercer I think you have also given me news on that front. That the Irish woman is alive might just be a blessing in disguise. I thought perhaps it was just her blood I would need to be successful but it appears there is much more to all of this than I first anticipated. If I want to find The Crown of Immortality then I shall have to broaden my horizons. I shall have to use the woman. It appears she may be more useful than any of us first thought. Perhaps she will lead us to it in the end. If that in itself is not enough to bring about the downfall of the revered James Norrington, then I shall pit them against one another. What of Sidney?"

"At the last count he wrote of being a few weeks away from docking in Port Elizabeth Sir. Whilst he is no friend of yours I believe he thought it wise to remain detached from whatever scheme you are conducting here. His last letter was some time ago so I should expect he will arrive in Port Elizabeth soon if he has not already. He will make camp as it were and conduct his business from there."

Beckett's eyes left the musket ball and his grin widened. "I am grateful for all of this news you bring me, Mercer. Within it all you have perhaps provided me with the information I need to bring Norrington to task. It is a shame really, to be settled on disposing such a man. He could have made a great leader if he had not grown a heart where his mind should reside. Sidney was right to commission him when he did. The loss of The Dauntless affected Norrington gravely; so much so that for a time I really did believe he would become as ruthless as I. Nevertheless, he would have eventually stood in my path. His weakening has allowed us to make sense of that which might destroy him. A man with a heart is so easily torn down. This Irishwoman is the key but if all else fails we have Mrs. Turner in reserve. Find that Irishwoman Mercer. Find her and you need never worry for gold again."

I stared down at the sketch I'd made from memory as everyone began to approach the table. It felt bittersweet to know that James and I weren't the only ones in possession of such a thing. It had been James's idea to make another sketch and hand it over to Mr. Hawkins to try and placate him. I was in no position to argue. I'd spent the morning sketching the coastline for the second time and trying to work out how I might alter the sketch I was to give to Mr. Hawkins just slightly so that not even James might notice. I was not about to hand over an entirely correct sketch to a man who'd likely sell you the eyeballs out of your own head. Instead I had altered the jagged coastline in my sketch just slightly before I hid the original from view. I was right to think that James would not even notice as he returned in the early afternoon with the news that he was to hold a meeting in his cabin with Hawkins and his officers. I had thought I'd be able to slip away but he'd bade me stay.

Thus I was finally and formally introduced to the man I'd seen on board the merchant ship the day before and also the previous evening aboard The Surgence. With the knowledge of a simple name I understood that I was looking upon the face of the same man that James considered to have ruined his life. I mean I know that's a harsh judgement on James's part but I can understand how he felt. Of course he wanted so much to hate Will Turner for he'd married the woman that James thought he loved. He was conflicted though for he knew Elizabeth was not just content but truly happy with Will. James was coming to understand that he could never have given Elizabeth the life of adventure that she so hankered for.

My observations of Will Turner were not so much tainted by previous strife. Indeed I was looking upon him with as open a mind as I could. His dark curls were remarkably like Mick's and Patrick's and his tanned skin told of a life far from the England in which I was sure his accent had been honed. He'd traded as a blacksmith in his years in Port Royal, but I think it's safe to say he did not strike me as one. Yes, on close inspection his hands might have appeared rough but there was something in his eyes that spoke of ambition and a hunger the like of which I doubt any other blacksmith has ever felt. I could understand then what Elizabeth saw in such a man. He was handsome certainly, and that excitement I saw within him would no doubt be almost like a drug to someone who'd lived quite a sheltered life. Was that why Elizabeth had fallen so hard for the blacksmith turned pirate? I suppose we will never really know the truth of that. All I will say is I could understand the attraction. I could see why Elizabeth's head had been turned.

As someone who'd already had her fair share of adventure by that point though, I was not so attracted to Will. Elizabeth and I are very different people but I still found myself glancing to my right to where James sat. It was a thought I struggled with for a while. How had Elizabeth chosen Will over James? The way Jack Sparrow had told it, Elizabeth might be adventurous and spirited but she was still no doubt a product of her own upbringing. Her father was Governor of Port Royal. She'd led a privileged life so surely there must be things she'd always wanted from a husband. A man with an elevated position in society would be able to offer a woman like Elizabeth certain securities. There was also money. Will Turner could be as cunning and as reckless as he liked either as a blacksmith or a pirate but as his wife Elizabeth was sure to see very little money at all for the rest of her life. Neither vocation was very enterprising. It took a certain type of attitude for piracy. It's one Jack Sparrow has in spades. Wanting to be rich as a pirate will no doubt get you killed a lot quicker. No, it's more about that sense of adventure and freedom. It also takes a great love for the sea. In essence it's more about the quest itself than the potential treasure to be found at the end of it.

Just look at what I came to learn aboard The Surgence with James before we found the sword. Granted, we did find the treasure in the end but it's not really the important part is it? It's just a footnote in comparison to the compromises we made and the trust we placed in one another. We'd both overcome the first pangs of grief together although we didn't quite know it at the time. I still had most of the gold in my pocket that I'd been owed by Jack Sparrow. It did not burn a hole. Indeed it was not something I gave much thought to at all. It was not important. Of course I knew I'd need it one day when I eventually parted with James and had to make my own way in the world but I was beginning to believe that even without it, I'd still get by. I had realised that I had more resourcefulness within me than I'd ever given myself credit for. James had seen all of that almost immediately. He'd seen me for what I really am. It's strange isn't it; how others can recognise the best parts of us when we are entirely oblivious to them ourselves. James believed in me, so much so that he was risking his own career, perhaps even his life in lying for me.

I realised then that Elizabeth really did love Will. Nothing from her previous way of life really mattered because she believed in him. She was so sure of him even when he was out at sea and she was back on dry land. A notion of certainty. I vividly remember turning my head sharply to look at James then as I recalled his earlier words to me. He'd openly admitted he was sure of me. I didn't dare to hope that what he'd said might actually mean he shared my feelings. Even if he happened to, we were so far removed from what was seen to be right for one another that we were doomed. I found myself hoping he did not care for me as I cared for him. Life would be so much easier for him if he could just walk away without a worry. I think I knew he regarded me well, so I was forcing myself to be content enough that he'd remember me fondly. I'd helped him find the sword after all which might just be the making of his career if he used it well enough. It was all I could hope for really, that we'd eventually part as friends who wished each other well.

The peace offering of my sketch seemed at first to mean nothing at all to Mr. Hawkins who still stared daggers at me across the table. It appeared he wanted much more than the potential promise of treasure of some sort. James and I had agreed that it was best if I did not speak. I'd likely have said something untoward that would have thrown our negotiations off kilter. Men like Jack Sparrow I can pander to because it's easy enough to appeal to their sense of pride and to that within them that still strives to be decent in some way. Hawkins did not have any of that. He no longer cared what people thought of him. Gold lining his pockets was all that he cared for. Someone like James is therefore more suited to such negotiations. He has things to offer a man like Hawkins.

Not that day though. The map and the promise of a decent reference were all that James would put forward. I'd expected him to try a little harder to win Hawkins round but it seemed even James had a limit. It was evident to me in those moments that he did not like Hawkins but he placed his offer in a polite and genial way that amazingly began to work. I think Hawkins knew that he could not hope to fool a man like James who had suspected him of being somewhat of a swindler from the beginning. Thus Hawkins agreed to take the reference and the sketch and be on his way once he reached Port Royal. He also consented to have the crew step down from their argument too. None of this really reassured me. The truth of the matter was that once Hawkins was no longer a member of James's crew he would be free to speak as he pleased. He could tell anyone who I really was. He could go right back to London and to my uncle to tell him the news. The same could be said of the crew once James made port on London once again. I could only hope that by then I would be in some far off place and well hidden. Those thoughts rattled around my head as the meeting bore on and eventually Mr. Hawkins and the elected crew members ambled back out onto deck.

James moved swiftly then to observe the empty corridor and then he locked the cabin door. Lieutenants Gillette and Thompson still sat at the table with me along with Will Turner. Will was the only one who did not appear entirely confused by the conversation that had just passed. Of course James's officers had maintained an entirely focused demeanour throughout discussions but as son as Mr. Hawkins had left it became apparent to me that James had failed to inform them of the secret we had both been keeping for some time.

"Forgive me sir," Gillette began, "But all this talk of secrets... Excepting that glorious sword I do not recall that we are keeping any from Mr. Hawkins."

"That is where you are wrong Gillette. Perhaps you might think that I owe you somewhat of an apology when you hear the truth. You will have to consider though that it was not my secret to tell. You will recall the miniature portrait that Mr. Hawkins so diligently carries upon his person of Sir Malcolm Sidney's niece..." James had returned to reclaim his seat a the table and he hesitated as he glanced at me. "However I do believe this is not my secret to tell. I am afraid Miss O'Connell must consent to the telling of this tale...or perhaps she should in fact tell it herself."

He turned towards me again and his stare lingered this time. He was inviting me to speak and I had little choice in the matter. I knew deep down that he was right. His officers at least deserved to know the truth after they'd stood against the rest of the crew in defence of me. More so, they'd been immeasurably kind to me during my stay aboard The Surgence. In the earlier days when I was still so angry and grief-stricken they had humoured my resentment of James. They had become almost friends to me, I realised swiftly. I nodded to James, happy for him to continue with my tale for I was sure he'd tell it far more succinctly than I ever could.

He reached into the pocket of the new coat he wore and I saw a glint of gold as he placed something in the middle of the table before us all. As his arm pulled away swiftly I was met with the sight of the miniature he'd spoken of just a few seconds before. I had no idea how he'd managed to somehow take it from Hawkins without his knowing. The officers and Will leaned forward in their seats to gaze at it. "With the exception of Mr. Turner here who sees this portrait for the first time, I implore you gentlemen to take a much closer look than you might have done before."

The seconds dragged by and I held my breath as I waited to see which one of them would make the connection first. James and I eventually shared an apprehensive glance when no one appeared to have realised just what was before them. I shrugged at James and then sucked in a long breath before I spoke. "I sat for that portrait before you when I was fourteen years old. I'm Sidney's niece." Of all three of them, Will Turner appeared the least surprised. I did not know at the time though that he was privy to the knowledge that I at the very least was not all I appeared to be. Gillette and Thompson however turned to stare at me as if they'd never seen me before. I might have laughed if I had not felt so apprehensive. "I've not got ten heads you know. You can pick your jaws back up off the table."

They both continued to stare. "You do not have to disclose certain details if you do not wish to," James intervened. "What you have said is more than enough." James turned to his officers again. "As we all know, Sir Sidney is quite the commanding and domineering character. Suffice it to say that Miss O'Connell here left his household under fractious circumstances and faced a great risk to her own person. After some time she found herself under the care and protection of Captain O'Malley. Her uncle would have her returned to him in London. As Miss O'Connell does not wish to return her uncle's household, I thought it only logical that I keep her identity to myself during our journey."

Gillette had picked up the miniature and was turning it around in his hand. He held it up then, aligning it with my own face across the table from him as if to compare the two. "Perhaps Sidney needs to employ a better painter of miniatures, for this looks nothing like you Miss O'Connell."

I smiled ruefully. "It does if you look closely enough. My eyes haven't changed even if the rest of me has. When I found out Hawkins was carrying that thing around with him and showing it to everyone I was worried someone might look too closely and dot the proverbial i. It helped of course that everyone seemed to think that Sidney had lost the perfect little lady who minded her p's and q's. That portrait could be of a little duchess with the fine dress and the delicate artwork; but it's me. I'm none of those things. Perhaps my speech or my personality doesn't quite fit with what the world thought Sidney's niece should be. My own self therefore became my saving grace. It became my disguise. It was rather easy to hide behind my own self. There was very little pretence."

"So your name is not O'Connell then?" Thompson asked hesitantly.

I wanted to laugh. After all that I'd said, his mind had snagged on the fact that I'd likely been known by a different name back in Ireland. "I was born Niamh Lefroy," I supplied thinly, "But my name is Fiona O'Connell. I've been more myself under a made up name than I ever would have been if I'd stayed in London. I have not really seen myself as Niamh for a very long time!"

James leaned forward then to take command of the conversation again. "I believe I can trust every man in this room to keep what he has just been told to himself. Miss O'Connell has no desire for anyone to find out her secrets or to return to life with her uncle in London. Therefore there is no need for discussion. As far as you are aware, she is simply the member of Captain O'Malley's crew that we met with on our voyage. Is that clear?"

When all were in agreement, James dismissed them. There was an awkward sort of silence. Neither one of us really knew what to say to one another. I was feeling rather overwhelmed by everything that had passed over the course of the last day and I was still shocked by how eager James was to help me. He's never told me what he felt in those moments but I thought I sensed some conflict there behind his eyes. There was something he wanted to say and yet he could not bring himself to. Instead he busied himself with ordering luncheon. It was not until food arrived some time later that I was reminded of how long ago it had been that I'd sat down to a meal. My stomach made no pangs of longing for the salted meats that were set down before us because I was still a bundle of nerves. In such a situation, Mick would have been almost force feeding me. There's something about food and drink for people though, isn't there? When all else fails, just eat something and have some tea. Of course in Ireland one would need to replace tea with alcohol of some form for the most part.

It had been my mother's way of resolving tension or nerves and I suppose Mick was rather like a clucking hen in that way. Granted, he was keen that I ate so that I could build up my strength. It was something I'd need to become a resilient sailor. Mick had a better understanding of what food meant though. Food was something that brought people together and gave them common ground. It settled arguments and fought off illness. It offered comfort and reassurance when needed. It created us all equal. There was nothing more collective than a group of people sitting down at one table with the same meal. It ironed out any notions of superiority very quickly. It created a family. Mick had known how to keep his crew happy and had striven to continue to do so. It had warmed my heart each time I'd shared a meal with my friends in such a way.

Things were different of course for a navy ship. There were decided distinctions between the men aboard. Of course all this would keep order for navy men were disciplined and when under a good and fair captain they might thrive on such decorum. I was glad in those moments that James was not like Mick. I could not bare the thought of food as my stomach still churned and to have someone openly criticise me for not eating would have made me feel even worse. I thought I caught the odd glance from James as I sat with him as he ate, but he said nothing at all. I think perhaps he thought I'd have snapped at him if he'd made a comment about my lack of appetite. Indeed I might have done so as to disguise my nerves.

Eventually the silence grew too much to bear. I plucked at a topic of conversation from thin air and though I already knew the answer, I asked my question. "What's in Port Royal?"

James lowered his glass and observed me over the rim of it for a second or two. I think he too heard the double meaning in such a question. He chose to answer it as I had wanted him to though. "I have a residence there. You will know by now that my title of Commodore pertains to that particular port and the land and seas surrounding it. A base on land for a time is needed I think. I would think of going nowhere else. It can provide us with the shelter to report what has happened and to deal with any repercussions. It will also afford you with a time to consider your options Miss O'Connell."

He'd brought my nerves to a crescendo. I did not even consider that I had many options available to me. I had nowhere to go and no one I held connections with. My life ahead appeared to be an empty void. My mind refused to work; caught on the realisation that I was to be entirely alone in the world once I left The Surgence. It was so simple a thought and yet so very painful. It was grief of a different kind and yet it affected me keenly. My chest constricted, stopping me from breathing as I normally would. It was as if a weight had pressed against my ribs to force me to panic. I clamped my jaw shut even as I felt my lips begin to tremble and I forced down the sob that climbed up my throat. I could not stop the panicked tears that escaped my eyes though. I think you'll have learnt by now that I'm not the kind to loose control in such a way. I'm prone to fits of anger if you like, and my mouth might run away with me but I don't often let others see my sadness and despair. I was trying to turn away from him even as he pulled a meticulously folded handkerchief from his pocket and reached across the table to hand it to me. It took it without thanks as I did not trust myself to speak. I dabbed at my eyes and looked anywhere but James as my cheeks heated in shame.

He had no idea what to do. He was a man of society. He was well accustomed to batting off coquettish ladies and their fans simpering in his ear and trying to win his affections. He was more than likely well accustomed to catching ladies in the throws of a fainting fit before an overly warm fire. Grief and sadness was not something that was ever spoken of or readily identified within the confines of a drawing room soiree or a card game between gentlemen, let alone a society ball. The world he'd grown up in and the London ton that he knew so well were all about celebration and frivolity. He'd never seen real despair and he was lucky for it. With both parents still alive I can readily understand that real despair is not something he had ever really faced. Yes, he'd lost the woman that he loved to another man and that was pain enough to have suffered. Loosing his crew had also been a blow. He had not lost his life though. He still had occupation and purpose. He had a title and a reputation. He says that moment was the first time he realised how truly an unsettling thought it would be to have no life. It was my despair that gave him the first inclination of how destitute I really was. Perhaps it was because he'd always seen me channel any upset I might have faced into anger or determination. I'd never simply lost control of my emotions completely before him.

I'd managed to calm myself enough after a few minutes that I finally trusted myself to speak. "Might I get some air?"

He observed me for a second or two even as I would not meet his eyes before he nodded. "I'll escort you."

The cabin and his presence were so stifling that I wanted nothing more to be free of him and to be in the open air. I followed him out onto deck and towards the bow of the ship, praying all the while that he would not see fit to remain with me. My prayers were answered in the form of Gillette and Thompson who he bade stay with me should any of the crew cause any trouble. When he finally turned his back upon me and made his way to the helm I felt like I could finally breathe again. How I ask you, was I to sit across from him and force down all of my feelings and emotions regarding my future? How was I to maintain a sense of indifference where he was concerned? I already knew how I felt about James and part of me wished I did not know my own heart. Things would have been so much easier that way. I did not know what awaited me in Port Royal and there was the smallest part of me that wished to distance myself from James. It seemed to my confused mind to be a rather raw but effective solution to my problems. To be forced to part with him would hopefully enable me to put those feelings I harboured to one side and begin to think of life without him, to think of how I might move on. I don't really know who I thought I was kidding; certainly not myself.

In the next chapter we finally see land, and what will Fiona think when she finally meets Elizabeth?