How My Perfect Life Was Inverted
Chapter Fifty: So Painfully Shy
For a moment, Cate merely stood there, a frozen effigy, undoubtedly rooted to the spot by scandalised shock. I smirked slightly into the kiss as I became somewhat aware of the silence that had fallen across the Pearl, and took advantage of her lacking resistance to pull her closer. This slight action—coupled, perhaps, with my tongue's insistent poking—seemed to bring her back to the furthest fringes of self-awareness; I felt her hands reaching up to grab my shoulders, and groaned as I realised suddenly that she intended to push me away. Now, this wouldn't do at all; how could I successfully stage a lesbian kiss if the kissing partner was an unwilling participant?
So before she could push me back, I shifted immediately to the second part of my hastily concocted plan—for I did, indeed, have a plan—and stumbled backwards, pulling her with me until I felt myself pressed against the railing of the ship. Without a pause, I spun, still clinging tightly to the blonde, and shoved her against the blackened wood instead. My hands tightened their grip as I pressed myself firmly into her body, able to feel the enviably toned muscles of her flat stomach and soft, but (to my smug delight) smaller bosom. I held her in that position for a moment longer, my ears pricked for… Well, something from the crew—or Jack. But all I received was silence.
Peeved that my performance wasn't receiving the standing ovation that it deserved, I pulled away, gasping for air, and looked into Cate's prettily flushed face, noting her dilated eyes and astonished expression. She was a surprisingly good kisser, and it seemed somewhat ironic that my most passionate and intense kiss to date was with another woman—and a woman that I uncompromisingly loathed at that.
We stared into one another's eyes for a long moment, each of us studying the other.
And then, without giving anybody even the slightest indication, I turned slightly, rammed my shoulder forcibly into her torso, heard her gasp at the sudden impact—and then she had fallen, disappearing over the side with the beginnings of a scream—
Only to be most unfortunately cut off by a rather painful-sounding splash.
I laughed—I couldn't help it—my hands coming together, pleased that my scheme had gone so smoothly. Oh, what I would give to relive that moment again—and again, and again…
I heard Jean cry out from below even as several of the Pearl's pirates rushed to lean over the edge, shouting and obnoxiously expressing their concern for Cate's well-being. I drew away from the edge as quickly as I could, standing deliberately in the very centre of the deck, arms wrapped protectively about myself. When Cate returned—and of course, she will return—I wanted to make certain to deprive her of the opportunity of repeating the same attack on me.
"So tell me, Father," I said, turning towards the priest gaping at me in horror. "What have you to say on the marriage now?"
My mocking words elicited a mild explosion from Father Dickinson; with a stamping of feet and a waving of hands, he bellowed in a high, panicked voice that, due to the heinous and unnatural acts that had so recently transpired, he was left with no choice but to declare Jack and Cate's nuptials void in order to ensure the purity of Jack's immortal soul.
I beamed happily at the Protestant, noting out of the corner of my eye that a thoroughly drenched Cate had clambered back onto the ship, before turning to face Jack.
"So…" I murmured whilst Cate hurried to Jack's cabin somewhere in the background, and paused: What could I say to the man whose wife I had just kissed and whose marriage I had helped annul? I looked closely at his surprisingly open, shell-shocked face, and realised suddenly that I could use Jack's bewilderment to my advantage.
"I'll be seeing you later, won't I?" I arranged casually, my swift pulse unusually loud and pronounced in my ears, sill reeling from the kiss. "To retrieve Pearl and discuss her… future?"
Jack's shocked expression never once changed whilst he nodded, and I suspected that he hadn't actually heard a word I'd been saying; as a matter of fact, he was barely looking at me, staring intently at the spot where Cate and I had kissed.
What a useful bargaining chip, I thought to myself, adjusting my slightly rumpled clothing. If this was what happened when I'd simply kissed another woman—Jack's silence and unusually predisposed pliancy, his readiness to grant me whatever request I had without a thought… Why, if I slept with Cate whilst he watched on, I might be able to secure Pearl's custody with relatively little opposition. And I was willing to do that; I was willing to do anything for Pearl.
Good God, what a wonderful role model I'd make for the child.
"Well then," I said aloud, looking up at him. "I suppose this is goodbye."
For now.
Jack could only nod, still wearing that adorably amazed expression, and I inclined my own head in turn before moving back to the where the rope ladder awaited.
"Sierra."
It was just one, brief, simple statement, uninflected by any nuance of emotion, but it froze me in my tracks. Hesitantly, I turned back to look at him. "Yes, Jack?"
He seemed to be at a loss for words for a moment longer, but that soon faded as his smug grin came back to his face. "What about my goodbye kiss?" he challenged good-humouredly, the shock of the Sapphic snog having been somewhat subdued.
I could do nothing but stare at him, looking him evenly in the eye. And then I smiled at his credulity, and that smiled soon turned into a laugh as I shook my head, murmuring his name.
"That was your goodbye kiss," I said at last, and had dashed down the rope ladder as fast as I dared. What Cate would do to me when the initial shocked revulsion wore off didn't bear thinking about.
Jean was, of course, less than amused upon witnessing his beloved Cate splashing most indignantly in the water; I saw the darkened marks and small puddles that had gathered in the rowboat as she had clambered in, and when I'd climbed down the ladder, I felt the dampened hemp her own hands had brushed as she'd shimmied up. The Frenchman continued to sing the sea-woman's praises even as he rowed, whilst I merely adjusted my hair and clothes, silently wondering if the aristocrat Jean would take me to would be able to see right through me.
Not once did I tell my companion I'd kissed Cate. Judging from how obviously smitten with her he was, imparting such knowledge would result in my imminent downfall.
Christophe d'Évignon: the name bounced about my head as I silently mouthed the words like a prayer, determined to have the syllables roll of my tongue as though I had grown up with this man who would soon hold my life in his hands. Christophe, Christophe, Christophe; mon frère Christophe… Mon frère Christophe… Mon frère, mon frère, mon frère…
My own brother's face, which had inherited my mother's dark, sensuous beauty, flashed before me, and I shuddered, closing my eyes. I never could look at my brother for very long; there was something about his face, that flawless, symmetrical mask of gold, which frightened me. It was an unnameable, eerie trait that my mother had bestowed upon her firstborn, something which I couldn't place, but which had always screamed at some deep, feral instinct deep within me to flee—and to feel as though you ought to run from your own immediate family was not a pleasant experience.
Shaking my head, I forced my thoughts to return to the current situation at hand, and closed my eyes as I attempted to picture the gentleman. When I'd asked Jean, he had helpfully described the nobleman as "sombre et beau," an obscure, universal description which immediately made me think of Jack. Dark and handsome: how many men in the world could such a description be applied to? When I questioned Jean further, he had snapped at me to stop worrying myself about Christophe's appearance and look in a mirror instead. I had hit him and then proceeded to sulk, glancing back out at the ocean where the Black Pearl waited—for what, I don't know. But I knew it wasn't waiting for me.
Jean helpfully offered me a hand out of the small boat when we'd reached the shallows, after partly pulling the wooden structure onto the slightly rocky beach. I hesitated for a moment, and he made a noise of impatience. Sighing, I accepted the gesture, and stepped onto the uneven ground, the sea chasing at my ankles.
"How did you find me?" I asked aloud as he rather uncaringly threw my belongings to rest beside me, glad that I didn't have anything of any value. "I mean, how did you come across—How did you meet…" I paused to sigh in exasperation. "I don't think your Christophe will be very pleased to hear that his sister spent a considerable amount of time as the unwanted guest of an English pirate," I concluded meaningfully.
"I was a merchant sailor on your ship," Jean said, and I tightened my jaw as I watched him carelessly leave the boat, untied, unmoored, just begging to be stolen. "We were shipwrecked together and rescued by passing Englishmen. Sound plausible to you?"
"Not really," I said, and didn't do him the courtesy of elaborating. We walked in silence, and between repeating Nicolette's name in my head over and over and over, I had the satisfaction of watching Jean carrying my few belongings like a serf.
"Will you be returning to the Black Pearl" I asked suddenly as the man dodged a renegade horse, panicked and unsaddled.
"Pourquoi?" he queried suspiciously.
"I want you to give a message to Jack Sparrow," I said to him. "I want you to tell—remind him that I'm meeting him later at the docks this evening." Jean shook his head and proclaimed that he considered the arrangement a bad one, and his damnation of the entire affair was not lifted when I told him that it was only about little Pearl Sparrow. Apparently, French countesses rarely fraternise with English pirates.
"Well tell him, anyway," I said firmly. "Or I'll just come marching back onto the ship, and then you'll never be rid of me."
"I'm not staying onboard," Jean said to me. "Unlike Cate, I've not signed any articles."
I straightened at this. "Pardon?" I asked. "Cate's staying on? With Jack?"
Jean merely shrugged in reply, and I scowled, lifting my skirts and quickening my pace, even though I'd not a single idea where we were going.
Jean had guided me in a circular direction so that we had arrived at the docks, at which he had dragged me, with my few and therefore portable belongings, pass the crates, barrels, animals, sailors and even a few slaves and into a clean, respectable-looking inn—but not tavern, I realised suddenly as a familiar scent invaded my nostrils, making my stomach growl with yearning, but a coffeehouse—inhabited by a few select gentlemen in immaculately powdered wigs and clothes ranging from the sombre to the fashionable.
My head seemed to turn wildly of its own accord as I gaped at all of the men, taking in the uniform cut of their clothing, their hats, which, besides a few embellishments here and there, were all identical; their hands, some lined, some young, all manicured—but most of all, I couldn't help but observe their cleanliness. I'd been surrounded by the unwashed dregs of society for so long that I had forgotten my initial revulsion for their lacking sanitation, but walking amongst these and being able to discern the actual colour of their skin at first glance made me uncomfortably aware of my own indubitably grimy appearance. I noticed that some of the men were glancing at me, and immediately looked away, wrapping my arms about myself in something akin to embarrassment.
But too late, I noticed that they were all staring at me, watching me with their keen eyes. Why? I thought to myself, chancing another glance around. Was I really so palpably, so ethereally beautiful? Or did I appear to them a pitiful wretched beggar? And then it hit me: besides the serving wenches, there were no women. This coffeehouse was exclusively for men. I paused at this revelation, scowling at the sexism of it all before remembering my place and hurrying after Jean with my head meekly bowed.
Seated at the back of this informal gentlemen's club was a young man who was the very epitome of fop; his face, I saw immediately, was powdered, and there was an actual beauty spot hovering beneath his nose. It was impossible for me to distinguish the colour of his hair, for his head was covered by a white periwig, and his eyebrows were all but indiscernible beneath all of the powder.
I wrinkled my nose in disgust as the unmistakable scent of an overpowering perfume invaded my nostrils, but did my best not to sneeze. But I was barely six feet away when the odour became too much to bare, and began to rather disrespectfully cough.
"Nicolette?"
For a moment, I wondered who he was referring to before wincing and snapping my head back up to look at him once more. The man's eyes were grey, a dull watery blue that looked up at me in undisguised fascination and something akin to recognition. Slowly, he stood, and despite myself I shrank back.
Was this the man my life was now entrusted to? This sunshine-yellow-clad, beauty-spotted, possibly homosexual gentleman who clearly hadn't heard of the saying "less is more?" The urge to turn tail and run back to Jack overpowered me, and I'd taken a step back before suddenly stopping and reasserting my balance.
The gentleman stalked closer, and I actually did sneeze as his fingers came up to rest beneath my chin, forcing me to look up at him so that he could study my face closely.
"It really is you," he breathed, and I smiled weakly.
"Mon Dieu, you've put on a lot of weight," he commented, and my smile effectively vanished; I fell back at his words, clutching tightly to my bodice in a defensive gesture. I saw him scowl as his eyes roamed over my body, his lips curling into a sneer as he took in my bedraggled appearance; his hands snatched up mine, and he made a noise of disdain as he studied the dry, callused skin.
"Oh, Nicolette!" he exclaimed, shaking his head in despair. "What has happened to you? What would your brother think?"
My eyes widened at this, but I kept my silence and ducked my head once more, having long since decided to play the part of a timid damsel; surely the trauma of living amongst the masses would have radically changed the aristocrat's personality anyway. And if she was already quiet, shy and insecure, then no one would be any the wiser.
But if this man wasn't Nicolette's brother… I looked back at Jean in uncertainty, my eyes pleading with him, but his own gaze was cold, piercing right through me. I felt myself fading into obscurity as he stepped forward, felt myself being pushed back into the background as he bent his head closer to the fop, evidently discussing terms of payment.
Nervously, I looked around to find that several, not all, of the male patrons were gazing back: some were leering, but that was fine, I knew how to handle lechers; some regarded me simply as a curiosity, a woman standing before a humorously fashionable dandy; others still looked upon me with the same condescending sneers I had only been so recently subjected to.
I bit my lip, feeling a blush creeping up my cheeks, and dropped my eyes before slowly raising my head.
The door was open, swaying mockingly on its hinges as another man entered, disinterestedly scanning the area before his eyes fell upon a table. The door was still open, sunlight streaming in a blinding stripe that slowly dwindling, and as I stared at the light, I couldn't help but think of how easy, how quick it would be to just dart out of that door and back to…
To where? To Jack? I shook my head imperceptibly and glanced back over my shoulder, my eyebrows rising as I realised that neither Frenchman were paying much attention to me. If I wanted to, I could have run away. But I had nowhere to run to, and they both knew that. I shuddered, feeling my skin prickle from an invisible chill, and wrapped my arms about myself. Now I'm not the sort to place much stock by feelings of premonition, but I couldn't deny how my stomach writhed and twisted in discomfort whilst I simply stood there, waiting to be told what to do next.
Oh, I wanted so desperately to gather little Pearl up in my arms! My body, my heart, my very being felt oddly cold and empty without her there to bury her face into my shoulder; each passing second away from her charming company deadened my very soul, and I soon felt as though if I didn't see her sparkling blue eyes tonight, my spirit would wither away altogether.
Jack, I prayed silently even as I heard someone call out Nicolette's name, Jack, please keep your promise. Please don't weigh anchor and sail away tonight. I have to see Pearl again. You have to take me to her.
I almost had to laugh at myself for how I allowed my emotions to rule me; here I stood, with two men I neither knew nor trusted, two men who held my life in their hands, and all I could think about was the safety of a child who wasn't even mine! How I'd so drastically changed from that irresponsible malingerer who, out of sheer idleness, was unable to hold down a job. What would my father say now? Would he be proud of me for the shadow of responsibility I now possessed, or would he still be upset that I'd turned into what he'd dreaded most?
I could still recall his words after my brother had fetched me, the long-winded speech in which he explained to me that he didn't want his children—morphing into socialites like his own flighty mother was. He wanted us to be responsible, to make something of ourselves, not rely on our spouses or inheritance. My father's values had always amused me; he was a gentleman born into a dynasty of wealth and breeding, had travelled in the highest of circles his entire life, and yet had somehow emerged from the dizzying wilderness of champagne, cigars and caviar with bourgeois ideals. He was a modern liberal with Victorian values, and I had always found the contradiction amusing in light of my friends' families' more traditional views.
I was being shaken now, and had no choice but to pull myself from out of my silent contemplations. Looking around, I saw immediately that Jean had gone, and it was this strange, perfumed man that was addressing me, that had sighed in frustration and was now pulling me to the door, pass the stares and discomforting whispers that made me fidget with nervousness.
And then, to my utter surprise, he said aloud in crisp, unaccented English, "Where the devil is that bastard? 'Tis not the place of a governor's son to fetch and carry like a common bondsman."
I gaped at him, uncertain of what to make of this sudden revelation. The governor's son? The governor of Kingston, of course. But his French, his accent—it was flawless. More than that, there was a slight regional twang to it that reminded of the natives of Nice and Monaco. I had honestly believed that French had been his first language, that he had travelled from France to Jamaica recently, but hearing him speak English—not to mention his familiarity with common aphorisms—completely shattered my initial assessment. Now I merely gaped at him as he led me to a waiting carriage guarded by a liveried footman, opening the door and carefully helping me clamber in before following suit.
He sat opposite me once more, his hands resting on his knees as he peered at me once more.
"You've grown more beautiful since I last saw you," he said to me, switching back to his flawless French. "Do you remember that? Six years ago, at cousin Adélaïde's wedding?"
I smiled weakly at him, uncertain of how to respond to his familiarity, and dropped my eyes, studying my chafed hands.
"I assume your mother and father didn't take up my suggestion of providing both you and your charming brother English lessons, did they?" he quizzed, and I hesitated before shaking my head, my eyes studying my fingernails.
"Pity," he said in English once more. "I'm getting sick of speaking French with all of my mother's relatives, but no matter." He was silent for a moment, and I felt his grey eyes studying me with an intensity that made me redden.
The governor's son laughed softly.
"Still as painfully shy as ever, my sweet?" he said friendlily, and I felt myself warming to him ever so slightly. So my unwarranted judgment of Nicolette's personality was right, after all. I looked up at him and smiled slightly, and he grinned back, the white powder making the stretching of his mouth all the more darker. "I thought as much," he laughed, leaning forward and catching my hand in his, gently instructing me to look at him.
"You've grown so much," he said to me, still in the English which I supposedly was unable to understand. "There's something different about you, but I like it." His grin widened as I stiffened at his words, fear digging its claws into my heart like a knife.
"You really are… indescribable," he continued. "Even as you are, dirty and unkempt, dressed in peasant's garments, there's something about you… Your eyes, your lips, your face…"
He leaned back and sighed in contentment whilst I suppressed another cough at the strength of his perfume, looking at me from under heavy lids.
"Christ, if we weren't cousins, I'd fuck you, here and now."
My jaw dropped open at his words even as the carriage jolted, and I immediately attempted to compose myself whilst ignoring this vaguely incestuous comment. Instead, I shifted on my seat to gaze out of the window, silently attempting to memorise the route we had taken. Wherever it was this man, this "cousin," (who, due in no small part to his last comment, I now regarded with grave suspicion) was taking me, I wanted to make sure that I was able to retrace our path back to the docks. I had to see Jack one more time, to convince him to entrust his daughter into my safekeeping: I didn't know what I would do in this world of perfumed cousins and unreliable brothers without Pearl's customary bouncy energy. The very core of my being yearned for her precocious wit with a silent, suffocating desperation; my eyes seemed to burn with an inner fire, a flame I knew would only be quelled when I saw for myself that she was safe.
Was this overwhelming concern for her well-being normal? I wondered as the carriage continued its creaking. But the answer didn't matter to me: Out of all of my worries (and I had more than my fair share), my greatest fear was that Jack would have left Kingston before nightfall, and I would never lay eyes on her perfect cherubic face again.
-x!x-
