A/N: Couple of notes here.
1. This is the chapter we start really using that M rating. A huge trigger warning here. There's a vivid description of abuse, trauma response and death. Obviously abuse has been an ongoing conflict in the story, but this chapter is when it gets very, very ugly. I'm warning you in advance, so please click away if you don't want to read that.
2. Any pictures I post on this story are from various artists online. I will never lay claim to these beautiful pieces. They are what inspire me to write each chapter and I share them with you so you can see where some of this is coming from. ( on Archive of our Own)
3. Five pounds sterling= anywhere between 1k- 120k nowadays. I forgot to add this note into the last chapter.
4. Evelyn has the same personality type (MBTI) as Jack Sparrow, so when you see a phrase he often uses, it is indeed a reference to him. Jackie won't be a major part of the story until just before COTBP timeframe. I'm focusing on her relationship with all the OCS involved and with Hector. THERE WILL BE JACK ROMANCE IN COTBP, SO IF YOU'RE READING FOR THAT REASON PLEASE HANG TIGHT.
Chapter Eight- The Price of a Promise
Weaving through the tamed, glass-littered mess of the tavern was far simpler with the broad and broody Thomas carving a path. She kept both hands fastened to the back of his cotton tunic, not wholly trusting she could walk in a straight line. Moira's eyes trailed the room, spotting Hector at the counter, peering at her hands with interest and a hint of something else. His brows furrowed, the wrinkle between them creasing with displeasure. Hector's eyes met hers, catching her staring at his sour expression, and she instantly flushed a deep red. A sudden halt had her knocking into Thomas with a thump, her cheek bouncing off his upper back.
"Bloody hell, lad. How drunk are ya?" Thomas laughed, turning around and throwing a light punch to her shoulder. Moira stumbled and plopped on her bottom with a snort of a giggle.
"Not drunk enough. Whiskey, please!" Her hands reached for the bottle still in his possession, utterly unashamed of making a spectacle of herself in the tavern. Moira forced her 'male' voice comically- thankfully, most of the patrons were far too drunk or distracted to care.
"Nah, lad. I'm thinkin' you've reached yer limit. Come on, now." The blonde man grabbed one of her arms and hoisted her up, steadying her before her head could droop onto his shoulder.
He ushered her past Evelyn, who was perched next to one of the patrons. The man was a plump, cow-eyed fellow with the remainder of his hair tied loosely at the nape of his neck and a set of teeth that would put anyone off their dinner. Next to him sat a scrawny man, likely only a few years older than Evelyn. He had flighty, sea-green eyes, and his hair fell around his face in sandy-blonde, greasy chunks. Moira could see from afar that the plump fellow overpowered the conversation, hardly letting the blonde boy get a word in edgewise. In response, the boy would stick to watching his companion talk, repeating specific phrases he spoke now and then.
"So I were thinkin' that if Barbossa wants aught to do with the EITC, it'll be profitable to follow 'im, aye?"
"You must think highly of him. Where did you say you met him?"
The two overheard the older, balding man in mid-conversation with Evelyn. The man was apparently interested in Evelyn and all too happy to tell her anything since she gave him the time of day. Moira grinned at her knowingly, entirely aware of the fact that the Blackwood daughter had a knack for coaxing information out of people. Thomas grabbed her wrist and yanked her away from the table with a playful laugh.
"Yer standing about like a damn idiot, can't trust ya to follow me anywhere."
With a quick motion, he threw Moira over his shoulder, and she hung there like a ragdoll, holding her hat atop her head, now lost in a fit of drunken giggles. A few strides later, Moira found herself being deposited onto a seat in the farthest corner of the tavern- her ears catching the quiet voice of Charlotte Blackwood.
"Here ya are, Miss Char."
"Thank you, Tom."
Moira smiled over to Charlotte dreamily as the room slowed to a gentle wave, and the woman came into focus. Her face fell when she saw the stern expression marring Charlotte's visage.
"What are you doing to yourself?" The governess spoke up, shaking her head.
"What?" Moira retorted, taking on a defensive tone.
"Tom, be a good lad and get her some water and bread."
Thomas sent Moira an awkward glance, saluted Charlotte, and headed for the bar counter.
Charlotte had her mangled hand settled atop her working one, fixing Moira with a stare that caused her to sink under the table nearly.
"Sit up."
Moira did as asked, giving Charlotte a sheepish smile and leaning on the table with one arm. Neither spoke until Thomas came back with the refreshments and was quickly sent away, leaving the two completely undisturbed.
"Moira, tonight has shown me a lot about your character."
"Has it?" Moira frowned, holding her cup and swilling the water around inside.
Charlotte reached forward, lifting the ward's chin to look at her. Moira blinked at the woman and smiled nervously, waiting for her to continue.
"I've learned how courageous you are… and just how much pain you're in."
Charlotte offered one of her sympathetic smiles and sighed.
"You can't do this anymore, can you?"
Moira shook her head solemnly, surprised by how much Charlotte's words sobered her up.
"Eat up. I need you to remember what I have to say to you."
"Are you disappointed in me?" Moira slurred, finishing off the last bits of her bread.
"Good heavens, no. I could never be ashamed of you."
"I just want to feel normal."
"I know, my girl. But this?"
Charlotte motioned to the tavern with her good hand, her eyes softening as she watched Moira wrap her arms around herself.
"This is not normal. It's not healthy, and it's not the life I wanted for either of my girls. You both deserve so much more than nursing on whiskey and strange men to stave off a broken heart. You're both still so young."
"I'm not spending time w-" Charlotte lifted her hand to silence Moira.
"No matter what I do, I'll never be able to convince you to leave in a proper way. I'm not even sure there is a proper way to go about all this. There's nothing I can do to keep you untarnished from the evils of this world. I know that… but I'm coming with you. I'll stay by you three, no matter what happens."
"What do you mean by the 'evils of this world'? Don't you think I know a bit of them already?"
" Of course, but this plan of yours… it's going to lead to a lot of hardship. That man- Barbossa- he's not going to look out for your best interest. I hope you're ready for that. I can only trust that you'll make the right decisions in the end."
"I'm doing my best. I just don't see any other way of getting out of here. Things are finally coming together."
"I know. You better believe I am so proud of you, Moira." Charlotte whispered, and Moira made a choked sound of swallowing back her tears.
"No matter what happens, you remember that."
"Are you proud of Evelyn?"
Moira watched as Charlotte's eyes widened slightly, and she hesitated for a great while before answering:
"I am proud of her fiery spirit and how strong she's become. To say I'm proud of her choice of work? No. I'm not proud of that choice, but I know why she did it. She's trying to fill a hole for me that her father left in our lives."
Moira nodded in understanding, placing both hands on the table and resting her chin on top of them.
"Why did you never speak of her?"
"I didn't want you to feel like I loved you any less because I had my own flesh and blood at home."
Moira let out another strangled squeak, this time a couple of tears spilling down her cheeks.
"You could've told me about her. It would've been nice to hear about someone outside of the manor… outside of Magnus."
"Can you promise me something?"
"What?"
"Promise me you won't blame yourself for what he did to me anymore."
Moira couldn't help slamming her forehead into the table as she fell into quiet sobs in the middle of the inn.
"Do you promise?"
"Y-yes."
Moira wondered how long she could uphold that promise. Watching Charlotte dwindle over the years did leave her drowning in guilt. It was her fault every time Charlotte got hurt because Moira wasn't ready to be married. She wasn't prepared to throw her life away, yet she had been so ignorant to the fact that her choices resulted in pain- until her seventeenth birthday. Her emerald eyes peeked over at the mangled hand resting on the table before Moira buried her face into her arms quickly. She knew now; she was dead certain of the truth. 'It was my fault, Charlotte. We both know that.'
How could she stop hating herself for that?
Charlotte didn't say anything more for a few minutes, content to let Moira express herself in the lull of conversation. Her good hand was on Moira's forearm, rubbing gentle circles over her pale skin. Regret weighed heavy on Moira even still, and she imagined it would be impossible to forgive herself. Yet, knowing that Charlotte didn't hold it against her eased the burden some, if only by a fraction.
Thomas came up swiftly, pulling a chair up next to Moira and draping a heavy arm about her shoulders. Moira took to the comforting gesture and the gentle pats he would give her, although she knew he was more so trying to cover her emotional outburst from prying eyes. Crying in a tavern wasn't unheard of, but it was something that drew unwanted attention to her and, potentially, her gender.
"Are you done yet?"
Evelyn's voice drew Moira's head up, and she rubbed at her eyes with her fist, letting out an embarrassed laugh.
"I'm leaking alcohol." Moira sniffled, jutting out her bottom lip in a pout.
"Good, because I want you sober enough to talk about the ass over at the bar."
Thomas grinned at the brunette, sitting up and letting her slide in next to Moira. He put his back to the ladies, resting his hind-end on the edge of the table, and set to keep an eye out for any nosy patrons.
"What happened outside?" Evelyn asked quickly, hoping to glean some information as usual.
"Well, he is going to help us...and he likely thinks I'm an idiot."
"I mean…." Evelyn trailed off, rolling her eyes before fixing Moira with a playful look.
"Evelyn Mae!" Charlotte scolded, earning a glare from Evelyn.
"I'm only playing, mum."
Moira smiled in good humor and pressed onward, hoping to get the conversation done with so she could have some liquid courage before she returned to the manor:
"Anyway, he said we need to get a few things. Char, you're not going to like this. I need to find a few things to pay for our travels. He said five pounds sterling each is the usual price."
Charlotte spat out the water she'd sipped on, slapping the table repeatedly with a supremely startled look.
"Where- how? What kind of-?" she spluttered, hardly able to conjure up a proper sentence in her shock.
"I can do it, don't worry. It's just the transfer I'll have trouble with. Could any of you help get it outside of the house? I don't think I should carry it in town on my own."
Evelyn looked up at the blonde man next to her and smirked, waggling her brow at him. He peered down at her, his muscular arms still crossed over his chest.
"Aye, I'll help ya. Just meet me by the gates tomorrow night."
"Let's say a couple hours past midnight? I'll need time to gather everything."
"Sure, lass. Just be careful, ey?"
"I can get some decent cash for whatever you bring, I'll hold onto it until we leave." Evelyn chimed in excitedly, clearly eager to get the events underway. Something about sneaky business and money seemed to rile her up more than anything else.
"Where are you going to take it?" Moira questioned, her brows knitted together in suspicion.
"I have a lad."
"What lad?" Thomas snapped his head to her, the green monster of jealousy fighting to center stage.
"Not a lad to worry about, you desirous git."
Moira tilted her head in curiosity, watching the pair and wondering if they were courting. There was an obvious attraction and an unmistakable infatuation on Thomas' side, but did Evelyn feel the same way? She found herself tempted to pry, but decided against it and focused on the topic at hand:
"Char, how often do you tidy his study?" Her eyes flicked to the governess, still a little shy after her heart-melting words.
"Nearly every day. He leaves that room a right mess. Why?"
"I need his signature for a few contracts."
"What kind of contracts?"
"Contracts of employment."
"We're going to… that's illegal!" Charlotte hissed under her breath, thoroughly appalled.
"So is pilfering and selling off stolen items. What mother, did you think we'd be picking daisies to bring to the ass the day we leave?"
"Could you stop calling him that?"
"No. I call it as I see it and he is surely the biggest ass I've ever seen. He's an arrogant prig too." Evelyn spared a glance to Thomas, who was biting his lap to restrain his laughter.
Charlotte scoffed and rolled her eyes in a very Evelyn way. Moira smiled at the resemblance, looking away once Charlotte's sweet-but-extraordinarily-annoyed doe brown gaze caught her staring.
"Will you do it, mum?" Evelyn pressed, offering her mother a wholesome smile that did not seem natural on her mouth, especially for the request to commit treason.
"Yes, yes, I will. Once we leave, I want none of this, you hear! None of it." Charlotte wagged her finger and the other three, shaking her head.
" 'Course. Anything else, Mister Ward?"
"We've got a week till they leave for Falmouth. I want to get most of this settled before then. We will have to find our own way to Falmouth as well."
"I can handle that part." Thomas spoke quickly, grinning deviously as he observed the room dotted with drunks- some of which were now snoring. Moira's mouth dropped open and she quirked one brow at Thomas.
"And just how would you be able to manage that by yourself?"
"You act like it's the first time I've stolen a-." Smack! "What? Nothin'."
Charlotte looked rather crossly at Thomas and Moira blinked owlishly in his direction. Evelyn had a dangerous glare, her brows furrowed furiously.
"Listen, I'll just hit the guy over the head before he sees me and I take the damn thing. I've done it before, bu' for good reason! I'll blend in the background, no one'll notice me."
"You do realize you're twenty feet tall, right?" Moira chimed in just as Charlotte asked:
"Why did you take it the first time?"
Thomas paused, his arms still crossed. He answered with a shrug.
"Needed it for an import of alcohol. Didn't want to bring all the way to the inn from Smeaton Pier, crate by crate."
"Ah, and how far is that?"
"Three blocks."
Charlotte shook her head but said nothing in return, clearly too appalled to respond.
"The last thing is something I can do. He wants us to get rid of his contract."
"Just his? What about Captain Belroy's?"
"Just his." Moira repeated, giving Evelyn a worried glance.
The table went silent for a long moment, all four of them mulling over the tasks that lay ahead of them. Moira kept cycling over the promise she untruthfully made with Charlotte, feeling her stomach tie into knots at the thought of the danger. She wanted her governess as far away from all of these plans as possible, but she knew that she'd be the only one to retrieve what they needed from the study, without a chaperone.
"Oh, that clever bastard." Evelyn simpered, shaking her head and crossing her arms over her chest.
"What is it?" Moira asked, taking a sip of water and shamefully wishing it was more drink. Her head started to ache from analyzing the logistics of the entire plan.
"Well, it turns out that Hector does a little more than map-charting aboard that ship."
"What do you mean?"
"The men respect him a fair bit- some enough to follow him blindly."
"That matters why?"
Evelyn crossed her arms and scoffed in annoyance.
"What happens when the crew respects a pirate more than the naval captain?"
"He's not a pirate!" Charlotte insisted.
"He sailed with a privateer. He might not be a pirate yet, but he's well on his way to becoming one. Look at what he's willing to do for us." Moira added, finally catching on to what Evelyn was saying.
Moira sat back, trying to fit the pieces together. Slowly but surely, the puzzle began to fall into place in her mind. She recalled their very first conversation, when Hector admitted something that now seemed very damning:
"When we first talked, he told me he was going to captain a ship of his own soon."
"And now he wants only his contract taken from the manor." Evelyn added, both girls exchanging a foreboding look.
"He's going to lead a mutiny."
" How'd ya jump to that conclusion?"
Evelyn grinned wickedly at Thomas' question, a coy smirk pulling up the corner of her mouth.
"Those two idiots I just talked to basically told me as much. They know he wants to be captain, he's been going on and on to them about how incompetent Belroy is. They trust him. They trust his judgment implicitly."
Moira turned around, searching the crowd once more to find the subjects of their conversation. Barbossa, Belroy, and the two crewmates Evelyn chatted up now sat together a few tables away. The captain spoke exuberantly to the blonde barmaid, who looked entirely too bored with the man, while Hector polished off the entire fifth of whiskey in his possession. Before his last swig, his sharp gaze honed in on the raven-haired ward. He lifted his bottle towards her with a smirk and swallowed the remainder of the fire liquid, turning to interrupt Belroy's sonnet.
"Don't go telling him yet. Let him think he has us under his thumb. We'll use it as leverage at the opportune moment."
"I don't like any of this." Charlotte whispered shakily, taking another drink of water to try to calm her nerves.
The four of them peered at the map-charter across the way, all with many questions rolling through their minds. Could they do this? Would they help a man who had one foot in the door of piracy? Better yet, would they even survive it?
The hour was late, and their conversation dwindled to tired prattlings. Charlotte had long since been escorted home by Thomas, while Evelyn and Moira were busy chatting about what they'd do when they finally left St. Ives between the barmaid's rounds. Evelyn was convinced Thomas and her would sail together for a few years before settling down, while Moira had very little idea of what she'd do afterward. It was hard to imagine a life away from St. Ives- the only one she'd known for so long. She liked to think that one day she could return to The Isle of Skye, but the likelihood of that after breaking the law and betraying Magnus was very slim. Once Thomas returned, he offered Moira an escort home, to which she obliged after having a drink too many with the young Blackwood.
She slumped over his large back, arms wrapped around his neck and her chin resting on his left shoulder. His hands were on her shins, sure to not hold onto anything as improper as her thighs. In her drunkenness, her curiosity about Thomas Bligh and his relation to the Blackwoods got the better of her.
"Thomas, how did you meet Evelyn?"
A deep rumble of a chuckle erupted from his throat as he carried her along the dark alleyway, ignoring the odd looks from the common strumpets and drunk sailors.
"I knew of 'er long before I met 'er personally. Evie was the pretty lass who lived down the street from me, but I was busy takin' care of my sick sister to try anythin' anyway."
"I didn't know you have a sister."
"Had. Anabel passed away a long while ago now. We were orphaned when we were young. Only had each other to depend on."
"I'm sorry."
"It's a'right. Anabel's not sufferin' anymore; that's all I can ask fer."
Thomas and Moira shared a moment of silence, her head bobbing with his long strides.
" I first met little Evie in the forest while I was cutting wood fer a few of the homes nearby. Wood-cuttin' and crate-haulin' paid me well enough to keep the doctor comin' and a roof over Ana's head. Evelyn was muckin' about in a freshwater stream there, filling up two buckets to carry on her own. I thought it'd not be right to let her walk home alone, with all that water to carry. Usually, a lass like that has their father or someone with 'er, but Evie was all alone. Not that she minded, anyhow. She was prattlin' on and on to herself 'bout some wild notion of becomin' a pirate captain. She was an odd one, still is if ya ask me. I were 'round 'bouts thirteen at that time, makin' her eleven?"
Moira smiled, envisioning the brunette up to her knees in a mucky stream, trying to gather water whilst narrating her wild ideas for the future.
"I followed 'er home, bit too shy to offer my presence directly. Well, she'd noticed me tailin' her. One second, she was a good distance in fron' of me, and the next, she was gone. I panicked, thought a wild animal or someone took 'er clean under my nose. I was lookin' round fer her, unable to spot 'er till she whirled a whole bloody bucket o' water at my head. She whapped me a good once or twice with the damned thing too afore takin' off. I stood there, drenched to the bone and sore as hell, just watchin' her run off. That was when I knew."
"Knew what?"
"I was mad fer 'er."
Moira scrunched her nose and brows up, letting out a small laugh.
"You fell in love with her because she beat you?"
"Nay. T'were her fiery spirit that made me fall hard fer her. There's somethin' to say about a wee lass like that, takin' on a big oaf like me. After tha', I made a point to follow her to and from the forest- I got a few good bruises from it too. I didn't care. I'd just do it again the next time and the next. I started leaving a pile of wood at her doorstep to keep 'er hearth goin' too. I think that's when she realized I weren't a danger to 'er. I remember the day we first talked because she gave me a real fierce look and said: 'Are ye ever gonna grow a pair and talk to me or you just gonna creep behind me like that my whole life?' "
Moira snorted another laugh, shaking her head at the idea of an eleven-year-old Evelyn, as smart as a whip and just as fierce as she'd be as an adult.
"So you've known her for a long time. Are you two…?" Moira trailed off, and Thomas grinned wolfishly, knowing where the next question was heading.
"Asked 'er mum when I was sixteen if I could court her. She gave me permission, and I've been by Evie's side ever since."
"You must really love her."
"Oh yeah, I'd die fer 'er."
Moira smiled softly and placed an affectionate hand on his pale hair, roughing it up a bit.
"I hope I find a man who loves me that much one day."
"Ye will just don't be too stubborn to see it. Well, this is it, lass."
He shuffled up to the gates, staying just out of sight of the manor while he bent down to let her slip off his back.
"Do ye need me to help you to the door?"
"No, I'll be alright. Thank you for sharing your little love story with me, Thomas Bligh."
He gave her a crooked smirk and watched her as she flopped over the gates to Magnus Manor rather ungracefully.
The sound of waves crashing against rock. The comforting scent of brine and aquatic weeds, the tickle of the sea breeze. Grains of sand stuck in her hair, in her clothes, and between her toes. It's chilly, but she can't find a reason to care. She's home.
She opens her eyes, blinking at the gray sky and the rolling hills. In front of her stands a woman. Beautiful and dark, her hair falls in thick dreads over her shoulders. With each gliding step, her hips sway, and the heart-shaped pendant clinks against strands of beads hanging from her neck. Her lamp-like eyes beckon Moira forward, like the beacon-beam of a lighthouse to a sailor in a vicious storm. The sky broods heavy, growing darker the closer the young woman gets to the stranger. Thunder roars above them, and lightning strikes the distant waters. A long forsaken lullaby laments from the locket hanging from the dark woman's neck. Moira's gaze flutters to it and back to the woman's face, watching her painted mouth crack into a smile.
"Who are you?"
"I am all you want and what you've never known. I am what calls you to the deep and dark waters."
Her voice is low and coaxing, her accent thick with a tribal dialect Moira is not familiar with. The soft tune lulls Moira into a tranquil, hypnotic state.
"I don't understand."
"Not yet, you don't."
"Will I ever?" The dark beauty's face fell, replaced by a more severe visage.
"You need to hear her, leanabh mara. Follow her whispers and she will set you free. Turn away from her and you'll become her."
"Who? Who do I follow? I don't understand."
A heavy frown pulls at the woman's mouth. The sky grows darker with each passing second, and a soft spatter of rain trickle over the pair.
"He's coming for you, leanabh mara. Find her, and you will know."
"Who's coming?"
The face begins to morph before her eyes. What was once black diamonds turn to muted hazel irises. Her hair shrinks back and softens into gentle waves of pale gold. Slowly but surely, the woman in front of her is encapsulated by the rumbles of a storm and ravaging waters. She can't turn away. Moira walks forward, meeting the waves head-on. It tugs at her, calling her to its fathomless depths- to the peace that only comes with death.
It's dark now- too dark to be Skye and too quiet to be a storm. Echoes of tears reverberate all around Moira.
"Where am I?" She whispers as she scans the near pitch-black of space. The wails of a woman continue, growing louder with each passing moment.
"Hello?" She calls again, and the woman lets out a scream of a cry. Moira jumps and curls her arms around her torso. She walks forward without knowing where she may end up.
One.
Two.
Three paces and she can see it—a silhouette, barely visible in the inky dark of their surroundings. One more step forward, and Moira finds what she was searching for. A specter of a woman, so frail and gaunt she seemed more a skeleton than a living being. She's standing there, shoulders hunched and shaking with tears. Dread piles in her guts and up her throat, nearly choking the breath from her.
"What's wrong? What's happened to you?"
"Find my son."
"Your son?"
"Leave this place."
Suddenly, the woman is close- so close Moira feels her breath on her face. A putrid, heavy smell is in the air, up her nose, down her throat, and all around her. Moira lets out a choked gag and tries to back away. The woman stays just as close, barely breathing. Moira peers at the woman with her brows knitted in concentration. She wants to see her, wants to know her.
"Who are you?"
The face hones in on her now, alighting with the flicker of a flame. Her eyes are glassy and dull. Her cheeks are hollow, and her mouth is withered and stuck agape. Moira can feel her heartbeat- she can hear its thrum pounding in her ears. Her eyes trail down, falling upon a blossom of purple, black and blue over the woman's throat.
Fingerprints.
The shape of a large hand clasped over her airways.
The woman tries to speak, but all that comes out is a dry groan. Moira's eyes travel lower, catching the glint of a gold chain hanging from her bruised neck. She reaches for the necklace, and she finds its smooth, oval pendant hanging over the woman's sternum.
The metal is burning hot.
Suddenly, the woman pulls away, and the whole world begins to spin. She hears metal scraping metal before clicking into place.
When Moira opened her eyes next, the cavernous ceiling of her bed-chamber greeted her. Her heart thudded against her ribcage over and over, and she pressed a hand over it, panting heavily. The morning peeked through closed curtains, a thin stream of light filtering into the bed-chamber. She threw the covers off and curled up against the headboard, scanning the room for any foreign presence. The room remained quiet and undisturbed.
"What the bloody hell was that?" She asked no one in particular, playing with the chain around her neck. 'The chain.' Her eyes trailed down to her chest, to the oval pendant staring right back at her. Moira could've sworn she threw the damn thing between her mattress and the bedframe after stumbling home from the inn. How did it end up around her neck in the middle of the night? An icy prickle of fear slithered up her spine and over her tight throat. 'What if something is here?' Moving cautious and slow, Moira got to her knees, leaned over the edge of the bed, and peered under it. Her hair swept over the ground as she hung upside down, seeing nothing but the floor and the space on the other side of the bed. The sound of the door opening caused her to lose her balance and melt onto the floor headfirst with a startled yelp.
"Well, good morning, Miss Moira." Charlotte's voice greeted her as her legs flopped over her head and thumped onto the ground, her nightdress ruffled up to her hips.
"Good morning." Moira deadpanned, staring up at the ceiling and refusing to move from her position on the floor.
"The Lord wants to spend the day with you and Lady Cardy."
Moira let out a plaintive groan, throwing an arm over her eyes.
"Tell him I died."
"Somehow, I don't think he'd believe that."
"No, probably not."
"Come on then. Let's get you up and dressed."
Moira let out another whine and shifted to her side, slowly making her way up to standing. She shuffled to the corner of the room, preparing herself for the grueling process of tightening her stays and pulling knots out of her hair. It was going to be a long day.
After a quick but otherwise surprisingly pleasant breakfast with Magnus and Lady Alice, they all decided to retire to the dusty parlor. Charlotte took a wet rag to the surfaces before they entered, wiping clean the signs of an untouched room. It was one of the brightest rooms in the house, with pale-painted wood-panel walls and three east-facing windows that allowed the late morning sun to beam in. A deep crimson, ornately designed rug created an elegant air about the space, and Moira found herself wondering why they didn't spend more time in there. Lady Alice suggested Moira practice her hand on the pianoforte sitting by the window. The ward was hesitant and a bit shy at first but found herself perched on the stool in front of the set of ivory keys nonetheless.
"I'm not fond of the situation, Walter." Lady Alice began, scrutinizing Moira from her position on the settee across from her. Moira tripped up on a few keys, nervous under the judgment of such a blatant woman. "You took in a girl who lived like a sea-urchin, only to dress her up and groom her to be your wife?"
"It's not unheard of."
"Of course, it's not unheard of. I just didn't want to hear of it happening in our family. It's not right, mixing the blood of a noble with a peasant."
Moira's pinky finger slipped once more, although this time it was due to irritation rather than nerves.
"Plus, she hardly seems to have a mind of her own. I thought you liked women who spoke their minds. I thought you'd find some maybe more like…"
"Like who? Like Elsie?" Magnus spat, his arms crossed as he stared out the window from his plush, high-backed chair. "You see where that got me. Ran off with another man."
Magnus' voice rose a few octaves at the end and cracked, causing Moira to knit her brows together in suspicion. Something was off.
"Well, maybe if you didn't hold her hostage in her own home-"
Moira's eyes widened, and she froze in place at Lady Alice's words.
'He's done this before.'
"I hardly say I held her hostage. I was merely protecting her from the-"
"Protecting her? From what? The swarms of seagulls flying over this city of rats?!"
"We live in a port town, Alice! Sailors aren't against taking what they haven't been offered."
"Ohhh, no. No, no! Don't you feed me that line, Walter Magnus. You wanted her all to herself. Didn't trust her before she ever had a chance to prove she was faithful."
"Well, she wasn't!"
"And you think this one will be with how you've locked her up too?!"
Their voices were growing louder and louder, and Moira's pulse ramped up. She spared a glance at Charlotte, who stood silently in the corner, hands clasped together. She gave Moira a warning look before flicking her eyes to the door and back. Moira shook her head, to which Charlotte sighed softly and shifted in her spot, refusing to leave without Moira.
"Well, continue playing, girl!" Alice hissed, giving the ward a severely contemptuous glare.
Moira did as instructed with a sneer on her face, continuing where she left off. Her fingers moved mechanically, her ears hardly picking up the keys she hit. Something was off about his voice when he said Elsie ran off with another man. She drowned out the sound of their bickering, becoming entranced with her own thoughts about what he just unknowingly revealed.
Thoughts of the strange apparition she felt near the locked room riddled her mind. Why did the locket keep appearing to her? Why did it grow hot when near the locked room?
A vision of her dream pulled her deeper into a trance, so much so that she stopped playing altogether.
"What's wrong? What's happened to you?"
"Find my son."
"Your son?"
"Leave this place."
Fingerprints on her throat.
Moira peered over her shoulder at Magnus, sitting there waving his finger in Alice's direction as he yelled. 'Just how far did you go to keep what you had?' She thought, her eyes narrowing a fraction. Within seconds, his steel, serpentine eyes pierced through her, and Moira wondered if he could see the unanswered question in her eyes.
After a time, the Lord and his aunt miraculously calmed down- primarily because Magnus escaped into his study once he grew tired of the lady's constant yammering. Moira found it to be the perfect time to question Lady Alice about his wife and her whereabouts.
"How long has she been gone?" She found herself settled in the chair Magnus once sat in, holding a cup of tea that Charlotte brought the two women mere minutes ago. Lady Alice peered at her with her dark, sharp eyes, and Moira fought not to shrink under her stare visibly.
"A little over a decade now. Why do you ask?"
Moira busied herself with stirring her tea, watching as the milky substance swirled with the motion of her spoon.
"I came here twelve years ago. The Lord never once mentioned her to me."
"He didn't talk much about her after she left him for another man. He made a point not to. I can't blame him, I suppose."
Lady Alice shifted in her seat, crossing her ankles while her gaze trailed out the window.
"Did he act possessive with her?"
"He wouldn't let her go anywhere without him. So she started sneaking out during his meetings."
Moira's eyes widened, and she blanched at the parallels between her and his past wife.
"What was her name?"
"Elsie Magnus. They had a son together. His name was Oliver Magnus."
Moira flicked her eyes directly to Lady Alice's, her next question on the tip of her tongue. She warred with herself, trying to discern whether asking about him would cross the line she so delicately toed. The wish to know of the strange little boy with the sad face and the eyes of Magnus won out.
"What happened to him? Where is he now?"
Lady Alice's eyes softened uncharacteristically, and she shook her head.
"Well, he disappeared along with his mother."
The next question she dared not ask:
'Did Magnus kill his wife and only child?'
Moira waited till the moon met its apex in the sky to begin her night of gathering her belongings together. She picked out the easiest items to sell off, piling the majority of her dresses onto her bed. Next, Moira took as much jewelry as she could from what Magnus gifted her over the years, only leaving behind pieces she could circulate for the next few days. A strange feeling settled in her chest, like her heart was being simultaneously squeezed up her throat and pulled down into her stomach. This was the beginning of the end, only now she could see the end she craved in sight. Somehow, that very idea evoked a sense of deep sorrow for leaving a piece of her past behind. Numbly, she held up a set of amethyst and gold earrings she hardly wore, the vague memory of Magnus gifting them to her sitting on the edge of her mind. 'If he could only see how much he drives people away.' She thought, shaking her head while recalling the vulnerable moment Magnus had with her the night before. It was strange, feeling empathy and insurmountable hate for someone who she once believed would be a father to her. How could she see a sliver of goodness in him while hoping he'd rot in hell for his sins?
At one point in life, she would've considered herself lucky to live in Magnus Manor. She would've counted herself blessed to have someone who cared about her after being abandoned by her mother. Now, Moira felt torn between wanting to leave immediately and wishing things had been different so she could stay. There was a difference between satisfying her rebellious nature by visiting a tavern in the dead of night and travelling halfway across the world to get away from a place she grew up in. Moira wondered where it all went wrong in Magnus' life to turn him into such a monster and why he chose to inflict it all on her and Charlotte. The young ward sat heavily on her bed, staring at the pouch of jewelry and the numerous gowns. She hoped that this would be enough.
Creeping down the corridor to the servants entrance was difficult with a bag full of jewelry and a pile of dresses in her arms. She tripped up a few times, nearly falling flat on her face. Once she inched closer to the locked room, Moira took to sliding her back against the opposing wall, staring wide-eyed and petrified at the space the door occupied. Her fear got the best of her when she stepped a little too close to the room and goosebumps rose over her entire body. In an instant, Moira spun on her heel and high-tailed it to the winding staircase leading to her exit. 'Get Thomas, just get to Thomas.' She repeated over and over, abandoning the dresses and trinket on top of one the crates by the door. Moira burst through the West Wing servants entrance, taking the deepest breath of fresh air she'd taken all day.
"Ack! Bloody hell, woman, what is it?"
Thomas spluttered, nearly jumping out of his skin when Moira leapt over the gates and nearly tackled him to the ground in her panicked flurry.
"Where is everything ye needed help with?"
"Come with me, I need help packing it and carrying it out."
"Woah, woah, woah. Into the manor? Me?"
Moira had him by both arms, trying to tug him towards the gates and making very little progress.
"Please, Thomas. I'm scared of being alone in there. Everything is right by the door. We just need to pack it into a crate and leave."
Thomas gave her a quizzical look, let out a defeated growl and let her pull him toward the gate.
"If we get caught, lass-"
"We're not going to get caught. Everyone is asleep and no one stays in the West Wing with me. Just stay quiet and keep your head down. We'll be out before you know it."
"Whatever ye say."
Walking along the path to Magnus Manor, Thomas seemed to shrink the closer he got.
"I don't like the feeling of this bloody place." He whispered to the small woman beside him, who had wound both her arms around his forearm.
"I don't like the feeling of living in this bloody place." Moira retorted, smirking at him softly.
" Yeah, I wouldn't like that much neither."
The hulking male and his petite, dark-haired counterpart stared at the feeble wooden door leading into the West Wing. Moira took in a sharp inhale and grit her teeth, letting go of Thomas' arm and stepping over to it. The door opened with a quiet creak and Moira snuck in, peering up the narrow staircase. The silhouette of the very same woman from the night prior stood at the top of the steps, causing Moira's stomach to drop. 'Thomas is right here. Just get what you need and get out.' She thought, biting her trembling lip to stave off a panicked reaction. She knew he couldn't see her from his position outside and the last thing she wanted was to frighten Thomas into abandoning her. Not to mention, Moira had an inkling this woman was Magnus' wife, in whatever degree of existence she'd be in. Never taking her eyes off the gaunt body watching her, Moira reached for the bag and the clothing, handing each to Thomas. He took them while Moira dragged out an open-top crate from the bottom of the steps. Thomas piled the items in and hoisted the crate with ease, starting down the pathway. Moira quietly closed the door on the gaunt woman, letting out a quaking breath when she turned the key to lock it.
"What were ye starin' at, Moira?" Thomas whispered, giving her a concerned glance from the corner of his eye. The two made their way down the stone-adorned dirt pathway and Moira scanned the perimeter of the courtyard, lingering on the greenery dotting the green grass.
" They never found his wife, did they, Thomas?"
"No… why?"
Moira bit her lip, her brows turning up in the center. She toyed with the hat in her hand and she blew a curl flopping in front of her face.
"I have an inkling that you may have been right after all. I think Magnus did something to her."
Thomas visibly shivered and peered over his shoulder at the intimidating manor. The full moon cast an eerie glow over the abode and the shadows of Magnus Manor stretched out towards them, threatening to drag them back inside. What Thomas did not see was one set of eyes staring down at their retreating forms from the East Wing.
Thomas left her at the stoop of The Sloop Inn, telling her to go grab a drink to calm her nerves while he took the items to the Blackwood's home. Moira found herself torn between wanting some time alone and truly, desperately wanting the relief of a buzz. Listening to the call for the sting of whiskey, Moira found herself sliding through the door, eyes wandering over the packed room. She bee-lined to the bar where Evelyn stood, chatting up one of the patrons who'd taken a liking to her. With both bandaged hands tucked into her pockets, Moira tipped her chin down and strode up to the bar.
"A bit of whiskey, miss, if you have it."
Her voice dropped a few octaves in a semi-convincing boyish tone. Evelyn glanced over at her with a vaguely bored look, although the humor of knowing something others don't danced in her eyes.
"Comin' right up, love."
Evelyn set out a snifter and poured the fire-liquid from a glass bottle, her doe brown orbs on Moira.
"Did Thomas get things sorted?" She asked, the liquid tapering off as she lifted it away from the cup.
Moira simply nodded, sliding the drink off the bar top and lifting it in a semi-toast.
"I'm going to get some fresh air."
The young woman donned in a lad's garb stood on the wharf, letting the ocean breeze brush over her skin. Her thoughts were restless, cycling over their impending departure and all she had learned about Magnus' in such a short amount of time. It felt as if she were living a horrible fever dream and she wished she could finally wake up from it. Soon, she imagined she would wake, once they successfully escaped and she could claim her life as her own. Taking in a deep breath, Moira set her drink down and stretched her arms overhead with a soft groan. Her eyes traveled to the merchant schooner anchored nearby, a small smile on her face. She imagined Barbossa was resting in his cabins for the night, completely unaware of her presence. She wondered, with mounting hope, just what lay in store for her once she boarded that ship. For the first time in twelve years, Moira felt thankful for being completely and utterly alone to watch the ocean.
It wasn't till the sun was an hour from rising that the ward returned home. She spent much of the night in her own company, allowing herself the simple pleasure of being lost in thought whilst staring at the waves. She snuck down the corridor, completely unaware of what was to come. Moira hurried into her room, clicking the door shut behind her. When she turned, her stomach dropped and her breath hitched in her throat. Standing at the hearth was the shadow of Walter Magnus and when he turned to face her, his silvery eyes had the look of murder in them.
"Nice to see you've made it back."
The ward said nothing, her words stuck in utter shock as primal fear took its hold. Her whole body buzzed and an icy feeling in her throat left her completely frozen. All she could hear was the sound of her heart thumping rapidly against her chest. His expression was one she had never seen before, not even in his angriest moments. He seemed utterly devoid of any trace of human, with his pupils dilated wide and jaw set stony. Her vision blurred as she took a step back, finally remembering to heave a loud breath. In seconds, he was on her, pinning her against the door with his large fingers wrapped around her throat.
"Oh, you don't get away that easily, Moira."
His eyes were stone-cold but his nostrils flared and his brows knitted harshly together.
"Who was he?"
Moira wheezed, her hands clawing at his to try to find a breath. There would be no way to form words with him bearing down on her airways.
"Was he a lover, perhaps? One you didn't want me to know about?" He shook her a bit, causing her to let out another strangled gasp.
She tried to shake her head but his grip was too strong. A few tears rolled down her cheeks as her mouth set agape, waiting, pleading for but a single breath.
"Oh, I may have hit my mark." He brushed a tear off her cheek, his thin mouth lilting into a mocking grin.
"How long, Moira? How long have you been sneaking out?!" He spat, a flicker of wild rage passing over him as he bared down even harder. Black spots formed in her vision, dancing threateningly close to unconsciousness and death. She mouthed the word ' please' over and over, her knees buckling beneath her. Her mind was a blank slate, her thoughts set solely on the fact that this indeed would be her final moments. Mere inches away from her freedom, Moira would die under the crushing weight of Magnus' possession. Just as the sounds around her dulled and her face teetered on the edge of purple, he let her go. Moira collapsed immediately and inhaled as much oxygen as she could, coughing and choking while she rubbed at her throat. Her mind was a whirlwind and Moira hardly had a chance to come to grips with what was happening. Her relief was short-lived when he took a fistful of her hair in his hand, bursting through the door and dragging her down the hall. She could hardly scream at first while she tried to recover from the lack of breath. One cry successfully ripped through her as soon as they turned the corner, heading in the direction of the locked room.
He hurled Moira into the abyssal room, sending her rolling across the floor with a whimper.
"Get in there!"
He growled before slamming the door shut, completely enveloping her in darkness. A putrid, sickeningly sweet odor overwhelmed her nostrils. Bile rose in her throat and she wretched, spilling the contents of her stomach onto the floor. She looked around in the darkness, panic striking her like a viper as reality set in. Moira was in the locked room, the place where she saw the strange specter, the place she feared most. Magnus was beyond the point of rage and well into the depths of deadly violence. A gasp of a sob ripped from her throat and she crumpled to the floor.
She waited.
Hours ticked by and Moira could do nothing but cry and shake.
'Please don't let this be the end.' She thought, the memories of the past few days flooding in. Where did it go wrong? She was nearly out. Over the span of three minutes, Magnus had her in his deadliest trap of all. He had chewed up her hope and spit it out, leaving her nothing but ruins. Her swollen eyes scanned fervently over the room, searching for any small semblance of movement. When she couldn't take it anymore, she stood and held her hands out, searching for the door. Her hand trailed the wall and she started leaning heavily onto it, on the verge of hyperventilating. Once she reached the corner of the room, her hands found something unlike the cold stone wall. Soft strands brushed her finger tips and her heart suddenly stopped, before thudding against her ribcage again in quick succession. Her hands continued their path until she felt a tight, flesh-like texture. A few more inches and she quickly realized it was someone's face. Moira let out a blood curdling scream and turned, ramming against the wall as she searched frantically for the locked door.
"Let me out of here!" she screamed, finally finding the wooden, shifting door.
"Let me out!" Her fist slammed as hard as strength would let her into the door and she turned every so often, praying she would not see a face inches from hers. After what felt like hours but was likely on thirty minutes, the door opened and Moira tried to push her way through the door. A hand reached in and shoved her hard, knocking her down onto the floor.
The hulking form advanced on his ward with murder in his steps until a familiar, shuttering voice cut in:
"Get away from her!"
Magnus whirled around, his predatory, crazed gaze honing in on the source of the voice. The silhouette stood at the door, one mangled hand held close to her face. His face contorted into an evil, vehement fury at the sight of her.
"You! This is your fault!" He bellowed, spit flying in his rage.
In two strides, he had her.
With his powerful grip, she dangled in the air by her dress.
Moira watched her feet kick about, aimless and desperate.
A strangled scream ripped from the throat of the governess. The brush of metal reverberated through the room. A squelching, cracking sound muted her cries instantly. Two more squelches, two more gasps and the same dull thud was all Moira could hear. Gurgling rasps of breath escaped the suspended woman. With one final, guttural growl, Magnus let go of her. She crumpled to the ground with a thump, unmoving. The room grew darker in the shadow of the door. Metal ground against metal before clicking into place. She was trapped and the beast had left, for now.
Moira staggered to stand, willing herself not to throw up and the room spun around her. She couldn't think, couldn't speak, but her body willed her forward. She toppled in front of Charlotte and waited. Waited for her to move.
Waited for her to breathe.
Seconds felt like hours and the room still spun.
Finally, a breath told Moira she was still with her.
"C-charlotte." Moira whispered in desperation, her hands suddenly all over the governess.
She felt her tense, sweaty arms and her tear-streaked face. No words, only choked, wet breaths came from Charlotte.
"Charlotte, please." Moira's voice wavered and rose, her heart pounding so hard she could feel it in her throat. The only woman who could come close to replacing her mother lay in her arms, struggling for every single breath.
Her hands trailed to the woman's abdomen and she felt the wet holes of her dress. Charlotte let out a gurgling cough. Sticky, thick liquid dribbled from the corner of her small mouth.
"Can you promise me something?"
"No. No, no, no. God damn it, no!"
Her hands were covered in red-hot liquid and she grappled Charlotte's shoulders, spreading it on her pale maid's dress.
"We were almost there, please! You can't… you can't-"
"Promise me you won't blame yourself for what he did to me anymore."
"Charlotte, you can't die here!"
Another breath and a shudder.
"Char-? Charlotte? Charlotte?!" Moira began shaking her shoulders, trying to rattle out another breath. 'Just one more. Just one more breath, please.' Moira begged, trying with all her might to ignore the memory of their conversation two nights prior. Tears streamed down her face, blurring her vision of her governess. She wiped at them wildly, petrified that if she lost sight of the woman for even a second she'd disappear completely.
"Charlotte, say something. Help me! I don't know what to do!"
"Do you promise?"
"I don't know what to do without you!"
"Do you promise?"
'No.'
"I-I can't. Not without you."
The room grew quiet as Charlotte bled out on the dirty, cold floor. Moira hugged tightly to her, burrowing her face into her chest and waited for another beat of her heart.
Nothing came.
The ward rasped a sob, curling into a tiny ball next to Charlotte. She clutched her torso with both arms, certain that if she were to let go she would tear apart at the seams.
"Please, don't leave me. I'm so sorry. Please, don't leave me."
One shaking hand reached for the governess.
Metal on metal, the door swung open.
Vague, dim light illuminated the locked room.
Her eyes trailed up to Charlotte's empty, cloudy brown eyes. Blood was smeared on her face, trickling from her mouth and pooling around her.
"Charlotte, please! I'm sorry!" She wrapped her arm over Charlotte's corpse, pulling her in close.
"I love you, I love you. Please, stay with me. I can't do this alone." She whispered over and over, smoothing one hand over the sticky, soaked hair.
His heavy boots stormed through the threshold of the door.
"Get up, you snivelling bitch."