"Why did you tell him all that? Don't you think it's dangerous to be so close to the truth?" Groves mumbled soon after they had left the mansion, the carriage rocking back and forth in time with the trotting horses.
Ashlynne again tugged at the sleeve of her gown, finding it meddlesome at best, despite its beauty. "I'm leaving soon and I'm tired, Theodore, of lying to him. In some ways, despite his dastardly behavior, I believe he deserves to know the truth."
"How do you know you're leaving soon? Do you really think Parlan was so successful tonight then, to risk giving everything up?"
Ashlynne didn't know for certain and so kept silent. She'd come to a point in her life that she didn't give a damn anymore, at least in regards to Norrington. The man had come and made a muck of her emotions a second time around and she'd gone and said things best left unsaid out of a spiteful desire to further torture him. The truth could set some free and it could be the albatross that drowns others, this she knew quite well. Norrington was the type that would drown from the truth and whatever pain he gained from the truth, or what truth she'd managed to relay to him, was good enough for her.
Too long she'd suffered alone in this farce. It was high time he suffer as well. He should know that the woman he'd condemned had not been what he'd assumed; he should know the danger of assumptions. He should condemn himself for a change. Petty frustrations and long buried anger at fate had caused her to act on these impulses and thus risk everything, as Theodore had so aptly pointed out, but at the moment she couldn't bring herself to regret anything she'd said.
"I'll leave you and return to the barracks." Theodore stepped down from the carriage once they arrived at the cottage. "I have a bad feeling about this. Please, Ashlynne, before you do anything else let me know." He helped her down from the carriage and kept hold of her hand for a moment longer. "I was unable to protect you once because of your stubborn insistence upon doing things your way. Please do me the favor of trusting me to help this time around."
Ashlynne smiled and squeezed his hand, "All will work itself out, Theodore. I will hold myself back from doing anything else so rash. Be sure and mention me, inadvertently, to your wife when you write her next."
Theodore frowned, not liking the finality of her words, but returned to the carriage and signaled for the driver to drive on. He knew that whatever Ashlynne and Parlan did next would inevitably go horribly wrong; that discomfort in his gut was never wrong about such matters. He just hoped he could get to the barracks and set things up in time to be of some service for when things went wrong. Though they may have not asked for his help he would give it, and in the only way he knew how.
Ashlynne watched the carriage for a moment before she pushed inside the cottage, calling out for Parlan. She stopped short when she saw the blood trail on the floor, leading from the door and back towards the kitchen. Dropping her fan and hand purse on the settee she rushed through the dark cottage to the kitchen where there burned a single candle on the table. Parlan sat hunched over the table, blood dribbling down his arm and pooling on the ground beneath him.
"What happened?" Ashlynne cried out, moving forward and helping Parlan sit up. She immediately began to inspect his body; a knife wound to the shoulder, jagged and deep.
Parlan coughed and winced at the pain his movements caused, "It seems that the innkeeper was not as inclined towards parting with the dagger as we'd hoped. Instead of taking my offer he decided to use the dagger against me. He said something about it leading him to greater treasures and he'd be damned if he'd let us steal it from him."
Ashlynne listened attentively as she set about cleaning up the wound, working quickly for fear of Parlan losing more blood. She'd been unsure of what otherworldly powers the dagger would have but all along she'd felt certain that it was just as cursed as the pendant she wore. If the pendant granted eternal life of sorts then it made sense that the dagger would grant riches, as those were what people wanted most: unending riches and eternal life. If she never saw another gold coin after this cursed endeavor she could die happy, if she was allowed to die at all. From the looks of things it would be some time before she'd be allowed that peace.
"Is that where ye got this then?" She frowned when Parlan moaned from her ministrations, not enjoying the process any more than he. "Did he stab ye and run with it?"
Parlan chuckled darkly, "This place is cursed Ashlynne. That pendant you wear, you had to take two lives for it and lost your own life in the process. And I," he fished inside his pocket and withdrew the dagger, a small, golden, heavily bejeweled thing that looked only gaudy and not at all menacing, "have taken a life to retrieve this horrible thing."
"What do ye mean? Whose life have ye taken?"
"The innkeeper is dead, though by his own hand. After he stabbed me I managed to grab his other arm and when he whirled around to stab me again I blocked just in time and the momentum of his stabbing motion embedded the dagger in his own belly." Parlan dropped the dagger onto the table and in the lamplight the gold shone and upon it the brightness of blood also glimmered. "His niece saw me and screamed and I only just barely managed to escape before the rest of the tenants of the inn could reach me. I'm uncertain as to whether or not she recognized who I was but I am certain that we only have at least a day before the authorities connect everything together."
Finished with her task Ashlynne stood back up and absent mindedly wiped her hands down the front of her gown, uncaring that she'd stained the front of it red with streaks of Parlan's blood. She moved over to the stove and set about heating a portion of honeyed ale, knowing that the warm liquid would quiet her nerves and ease Parlan's pain.
"I'll talk to Groves in the morning and see if he can help arrange for transportation out of the port." Ashlynne spoke quietly despite the quivering of her innards. "There's not much else we can do tonight. You'd best rest in your room and for now the story of your illness will keep people from talking. Do you think anyone saw you come back here?"
"No," Parlan shook his head, his eyes heavy with fatigue and blood loss, "I'm not sure of anything really. You may want to double check that I didn't leave any blood trails outside. In my rush I could have done anything. I'm sorry Ashlynne." He shook his head again and this time gave into the temptation to close his eyes. "I didn't think clearly."
Ashlynne poured the heated ale into two cups and returned to the table. She quickly pressed one of the cups into Parlan's good hand and helped him sip it.
"You have nothin' to be sorry for Parlan. Ye did what ye felt was necessary and ye got out safely, that's all that matters." She leaned back in her chair and gulped down the ale in one go, relishing the pain of the overly warm liquid as it coursed down her throat. She needed the reminder to set herself into motion again. "I'll help ye back to yer room and there ye will stay until I saw otherwise."
She waited until he finished his own cup before she stood and helped him stand as well. It was rough going, as Parlan was a good deal heavier than she, but eventually she had him situated in his room. Wounded as he was he couldn't undress himself and with deft fingers, surprisingly not shaking despite the shock, she undressed him and did her best to clean him up and redress him in fresh clothes before settling him into bed.
Once he was settled she quickly returned to the kitchen where she heated a kettle of water and pulled out some rags. While she hadn't noticed anything out of the ordinary outside the cottage she knew that the blood trail on the floor had best be cleaned up, and quickly, before it stained the wood. It would be a long night and an equally long day. She would get no sleep.
James arrived at the barracks in just as confused a state as when he'd first realized on the road that Ashlynne was alive. He quickly sought out his lieutenant, figuring if anyone had answers it would be he. He found the man only barely arrived in his own quarters, having just returned from escorting Miss Davenport to her home.
"Lieutenant Groves," James growled out the man's name as he stood in front of his door, his uncertainty coming out as anger, "I demand answers concerning Ashlynne Fitzpatrick.
Groves' face paled and for a moment James thought his lieutenant was about to fall over but the moment passed and instead the man motioned for James to come in. He gestured for James to sit down and when James did not Groves refrained as well and instead both men stood awkwardly facing one another just inside the door.
"What is it that you need to know, Commodore?" Groves' voice was steady and James was surprised that despite his initial shock that the man seemed fairly at ease with James' sudden questioning, as if he'd expected it to come.
"When she returned to the ship, after killing the Foresters, you said that she knocked you unconscious before fleeing." James suddenly did feel like sitting down and without waiting for a further invitation he took up station in the only chair the room had to offer. "Is this wholly true?"
"Yessir, it is true."
James frowned, "Did you exchange any words before she rendered you unconscious?"
Groves hesitated then, "Are you ordering me to answer this question sir?"
"Yes," James growled out, "you are ordered to answer these questions lieutenant."
"She did speak to me sir. She told me that the deaths of the Foresters had been in self-defense; that they had attacked her in their attempts to steal from her an item she'd only recently procured. She told me that she'd disguised herself and come to Port Royal in an effort to save her family. She didn't have time to tell me all the details, sir, but from her telling and from what I had seen and known of her before the incident I was not led to believe that she was lying."
James again felt his world tilt. To have Miss Davenport's story supported by Groves made him doubly question the validity of Ashlynne's possible innocence, and current status of being alive or not.
"Why did you not report this before?" James knew without Groves answering the reasons why he hadn't; it was for the same reason that Miss Davenport had accused him of.
"Would it have changed the situation, sir? The Foresters were considered gentry of the region and Miss Fitzpatrick a duplicitous murderess." Groves sighed and leaned against his writing desk, drawing his arms across his chest. "I had hoped that Miss Fitzpatrick would be apprehended and brought back to Port Royal so that I could offer myself up as a character witness in her defense."
"So you believed her story then?" Groves nodded and James sighed. "When she was reported as dead why did you not then report your theories, if only to clear her name?"
"Again I ask, sir, would it have mattered? Would anyone beyond myself and perhaps you have cared whether or not Miss Fitzpatrick really was a pirate or a victim of circumstance?"
James frowned, as much angry with himself as he was with the truth of the matter, "Do you believe she is dead, lieutenant?"
"What do you mean sir?" James watched the lines of Groves' face tense and release, as if the man were attempting to hold something in.
"In a conversation with Miss Davenport this evening she relayed to me a story much like Miss Fitzpatrick's own, and indeed she even told me that the family name of these individuals was Fitzpatrick. Could it be possible then, in your mind, that Miss Fitzpatrick survived and later reunited with the remnants of her family?"
Again James watched as Groves' face betrayed little but just enough to show the man's discomfort. It was obvious that he was weighing his answer, calculating the ways and hows of what he should answer. James wanted to order the man to just spit it out but he knew that then he would be requiring the man to betray a friend, and despite his dedication to the Royal Navy, James was not about to catch a good man in his own lie. Groves was a good seaman, an honorable man, and worth his weight in gold. James knew that and that was partially why he'd sought him out so quickly. He didn't want to condemn he man, nor did he want to lead the man to condemn himself.
"I believe sir, that her survival is likely." Groves finally breathed out, his jaw tensing and releasing after he spoke. "She proved herself a tenacious and innovative woman during her time here and to think that a mere accident at sea would kill her does not seem likely, at least not to me. I have long held out hope that she did survive, that she was successful in her endeavor to save her family. I too heard snippets of Miss Davenport's story this evening, sir, and I believe it is likely that Miss Fitzpatrick was able to reunite with her family in the Tortugas after all."
"Why do you think the family, or Miss Fitzpatrick herself, would have disclosed all this to Miss Davenport?" this question had nagged at his mind for some time and though he had not meant to ask it, James now did.
Groves tipped his head to the side in thought, "Miss Davenport's brother has a reputation for being quite a charming gentleman and indeed I have witnessed more than a few young women near throw themselves at him. If I'm not mistaken I remember hearing of a tragic romance occurring back at their old plantation. It seems that he fell in love with a penniless woman, connected with less than desirable characters. His father was still alive at the time and forbade him from pursuing the woman. Soon after the affair became known the woman disappeared and the Mister Davenport was left heartbroken. It is entirely possible that this woman was Miss Fitzpatrick herself or mayhaps her sister."
James felt no comfort in that every detail seemed to be fitting together so neatly, how everything seemed connected. While much had been explained away that still left him with the distasteful truth that Ashlynne had not been a pirate, that in many ways her actions had been justified, and also that she was alive now, or at least very well could be. Until he had conclusive proof that the Foresters truly had been attempting to take her life or take from her whatever item it was she'd sought after, he could not know for certain that that portion of her story was indeed true. But to have everything else confirmed by Miss Davenport and Groves now, well James was left with little else to believe in.
"Is there anything else, then, lieutenant, regarding Miss Fitzpatrick that you believe I should now know?"
Groves paused for a moment before he spoke again, "I don't believe she deserved to die sir. Whatever she did she did it for her family."
"I am well aware of the justifications for her actions, lieutenant. However, should she ever turn up alive, she would still be prosecuted for the murders of the Foresters and would have to explain in clear detail how she ended up with such notorious pirates before her death."
"Yessir," Groves nodded, "I have nothing else to say sir."
James studied his lieutenant for a moment longer before he nodded and stood. Whatever opinions Groves had on the matter the man felt it would be best to keep silent, that much was obvious. He understood that James was bound by the law and that it would be futile to appeal to his more human side. James bid the man a goodnight before he retired to his own quarters. He was just about to undress when his door shuddered with a hasty knock.
"Come." He ordered despite the fatigue he felt creeping in on his mind.
One of his men, on duty for the evening, hurried inside, his face pale. "Sir, there's been a murder."