Chapter Twenty-Five
Norrington was recovering remarkably well given the fact that Dr. Hawthorne initially considered amputation. By mid-week, he was moving between rooms with the aid of a crutch, and it gave him enough of a sense of independence that his spirits improved drastically. When Elizabeth and Governor Swann arrived that day, Elizabeth made to cross the foyer and take his other arm to support him, but he told them to stay where they were and surprised them by how well he shuffled to them.
The day before their departure for England, as staff bustled about collecting personal belongings, Norrington tried the cane, gingerly testing what weight his knee could bear. It didn't go as well as the crutch, but he was optimistic that he could make it up a gangplank. Elizabeth promised to keep the crutch at the ready.
Getting into and out of the carriage was altogether a different obstacle; he hadn't even thought about it. He hadn't thought about stairs in the least, living in a single-story residence. Reluctantly, he had to allow two men to bear his weight as he pulled himself up. His abdomen protested fiercely, and he had to dab his brow when he was finally seated. Just as the pain was subsiding, the carriage came to a stop, and he felt exhausted, thinking about having to stand.
Elizabeth saw the weariness pass over his face and squeezed his hand.
"We're almost there."
It was all the encouragement he needed.
She gathered her lilac skirts and exited ahead of him. James took a deep breath, exhaling as he threw his momentum onto the cane to stand. Two pairs of arms reached in, and he gave each of them an elbow to stabilize him. The man with his crutch was standing next to Elizabeth, but the descent wasn't as taxing as the ascent. Cautiously, James straightened with naught but the cane. Elizabeth came to him, and he nodded reassuringly at her unspoken question. She smiled.
James took in the frigate before him. This ship would take him to England, to the life of a lord with Elizabeth as his lady wife. It would be a life of comfort and promise, and this life could be good. He worried that Elizabeth felt obligated to care for him, but when they discussed it at length, she gave him the most peculiar smile, assuring him that while she may feel responsible, guilt was not the "appropriate emotion" for her presence.
Truth be told, while he hobbled and groaned around his residence half-dressed all week, she had never seemed more relaxed in his company — easy quips and an abundance of stories, a colorful comment just out of earshot of her father, a coy smile when he caught her staring at him. There were still guarded moments and mournful silences he would not interrupt, but ever since she had talked with him in the dead of night, he felt he had unlocked another part of her.
Perhaps she had unlocked it herself.
The gangplank lay twenty feet directly ahead. James readied himself for the excursion, but before he lifted his cane, a group of several officers made to cross their path. Elizabeth helped shift his momentum back toward the carriage as they approached, and to their surprise, the officers surrounded Cutler Beckett.
They were escorting him to a different gangplank, delivering him to the Black Pearl.
Wrists and ankles in chains, Beckett's appearance had deteriorated significantly, and being forced out into sunlight for the first time in a week called attention to the fact. The remnants of that night's attire were filthy but not yet ragged; his amber coat was gone, but the waistcoat and shirt remained intact, fraying where they had been sliced down the middle. His hair stuck up in odd places, and he had grown a bit of a beard while forgotten in the bottom of the fort.
Elizabeth found it difficult to reconcile this man with the one she knew two weeks ago.
Beckett found himself trying to plant his feet defiantly as Jack waved from the side of the ship. He bit down on his lip as he snarled into the sun behind Jack, and the soldiers heaved him forward. He tried to shake them off, and Groves shoved him in the back hard enough that he tripped over the shackles.
"Gentlemen, some restraint, if you please," Jack said as they yanked Beckett to his feet. "That is Lord Cutler Beckett."
Some primitive anger ignited in Beckett then, and, met with the bottom edge of the gangplank, he thrashed backwards again, growling through gritted teeth as a swarm of hands took him to the ground to subdue him. Within moments, however, he was being hoisted up again, this time by Pintel, Ragetti, Marty, and Cotton. It was cumbersome, trying to carry him under his arms and knees while he bucked and cursed, but eventually, Gibbs came around and smashed a bottle on Beckett's head, silencing him.
Pintel smiled at Groves. "We'll take him from here."
Jack watched them haul the unconscious lout up the gangplank with a smirk. This was one of those perfect things in life, where everything settled even keel on one plane for one moment and it all sang. His crewmen scuttled aboard with Beckett's dead weight, adjusting him in their arms as they passed.
When Jack turned back around to dismiss the officers with a salute, his face twisted upon seeing Margaret trudging up the gangplank with a large canvas sack over her shoulder.
"What are you doing here?"
"I thought I might stay in your employ," she said once she was before him, "until another opportunity better suits me."
Jack leveled his brow, glancing from her to his crew, all of them grunting as they tried to reposition Beckett to fit down the stairs together. There was a warning clear and present in his eyes.
Margaret was undaunted by whatever he was insinuating, preferring to pretend that she wasn't there to make sure Beckett didn't die before he could be exiled, whether by festering wounds or Jack's crew. No, she preferred, always, to pretend that Lord Beckett was oceans away.
"You'll be as spit-spot and clean-pressed as the Royal Navy when I'm through," she lilted airily.
Jack slowly allowed an obliging smile, an understanding passing between them. He motioned towards the stairs still clogged with crewmen.
"When they get that sorted, I'd make certain Barbossa hasn't claimed your cabin."
Margaret smiled, easily dropping into an exaggerated curtsy under the weight of her sack.
"Thank you, Captain."
Jack shooed her to the side of the gangplank, making way for incoming crates of cargo. Looking up, he caught sight of the carriages before the Valor and all the color that surrounded them – the many red Marine uniforms, the valiant navy of the officers and the Commodore, and the singularity of the hushed wisteria at his side.
From this distance, he could make out her eyes trained on him. He suddenly felt like he was trespassing, having stayed in port for a week after leaving things the way he did. But she hadn't sought him out, either, and from the looks of it, it was because she had taken his advice.
Suddenly, an animalistic scream came from below decks.
Jack grimaced; Beckett was awake.
Elizabeth really needed to practice not saying things aloud until she thought through the consequences of doing so.
"I don't want to go back to England."
She looked up at James, anticipating his face to be deeply carved by outrage, but he was still looking toward the Black Pearl. She followed his stoic gaze, eyelashes fluttering to find them on Margaret. She confirmed his line of sight twice as they watched Margaret remove the canvas bag from her back. Something in her heart lifted for him, and a warmth poured into her at the thought of his happiness beyond her.
She could live with this consequence.
"Can you make it a bit farther?"
James stared another moment before dropping his eyes. He swallowed. Feeling Elizabeth's eyes on him, he inclined his head back to her, still looking at the ground.
"I will need the crutch."
Elizabeth and James paused at the bottom of the gangplank, looking up at Jack. Jack begrudged a greeting.
"Good of you to see us off, Commodore; Miss Swann." He nodded to the bustle of activity at the frigate, further creasing his brow as Elizabeth assisted Norrington up the gradual slope.
"I imagine you're off soon."
Elizabeth glanced up between the swings of James's crutch.
"That depends on when you intend to weigh anchor, Captain."
Jack blinked at her, wondering why they were continuing up his gangplank. They were minutes from shoving off. By the time Elizabeth and Norrington were on deck, his confusion had morphed into a strange sort of hope he did not want to want. They straightened before him all proper-like, her skirts whirling and his jaw strong. Just then, the oddest thought spiked his eyes wide open.
"Are the happy couple foregoing the frivolity of a wedding to be married in secret by their favorite pirate?"
He felt a little swell of pride toward the Commodore; gentleman enough to wait for marriage but understandably impatient. England was so far away. Jack had been stuck on a ship with Elizabeth before and introduced a similar idea.
James looked over at Elizabeth's peeking grin. It was light, it was mischievous – it was contagious. This harmony they had found was beautiful, and he cherished it beyond words.
After all they had been through, it was time.
"The happy couple are foregoing the marriage," he said.
Jack scowled dubiously.
"We're here to join your crew," Elizabeth said. "About a week past you made the offer."
Jack humored her. "I made that offer when the Commodore wasn't an invalid."
"Captain, for shame," Margaret reprimanded, coming from behind James and Elizabeth. "Everyone is of use on a fine vessel such as this. You already have one man with a bum leg who is also missing an arm, and yet he holds a spyglass in your crow's nest."
"It sounds as if you already have a duty in mind for him, Miss Black."
Margaret looked from James to Elizabeth, curious at the knowing stretch of smile she received from her. Elizabeth's eyes darted to and from Norrington quickly. Refocusing on James, Margaret surveyed his smart uniform and stiff lip. Poor thing was trying so hard to mask his pain, standing with that crutch under his arm as straight as he could. She smiled.
"He can hand me buttons."
Jack raised an eyebrow. "Hand you buttons?"
"Until he is more able-bodied," she placated. "It would do well to keep a learned eye on his recovery as well."
She stepped up to Norrington, emboldened by the reciprocated twinkle in his eye. Accepting a wordless promise from her, Elizabeth passed James into Margaret's care, biting back her smile as Margaret helped him to lean against the side of the ship.
Jack gestured to Margaret and Norrington when Elizabeth looked at him. "Are you going to thread sewing needles?"
"I thought I might find a place in navigation," she said breezily, strolling forward in her absurdly fine silk.
"You'd be working closely with Barbossa," Jack warned, eyeing her thoroughly as she bent his arm and looped hers around it, drawing close. "He is Chart Man."
"Elizabeth?"
All heads turned to the dock where Governor Swann was hesitantly smiling up at them.
"What are doing up there? The time for goodbyes is over; we must board the ship."
Elizabeth let out a stuttery sigh. "The time for goodbyes is now, Father."
Swann blinked, glancing between his daughter and the Commodore. They stood on opposite sides of the gangway, she with Sparrow and he with a woman he did not recognize. Governor Swann shut his eyes, lowering his head momentarily. He forced a chuckle.
"This is a part of the story you chose to omit."
Elizabeth held his gaze. "Yes."
Swann sighed. "And you, Commodore?"
"Too late," Jack interjected. "He's already turned pirate."
Governor Swann huffed his amusement. "'Turned pirate'?"
James glared over at Jack. No, no, he was not "turning pirate". He was not raiding or pillaging or plundering, though he would imbibe. Medicinally, for his leg. He would be the most upstanding gentleman on this ship and hold the others to his ridiculous standards and get hell for it because this wasn't the "bloody Royal Navy". And for the time being, that sounded fine.
He could think of worse fates than relinquishing a lordship to hand Margaret buttons.
"It was once said to me that, on rare occasion, piracy itself can be the right course," James said, relieved to see the corner of the Governor's mouth pulling upward. "I will consider it my last duty as Commodore to ensure that Lord Beckett's sentence is carried out in accordance to the judge's order."
Then, he lowered his voice. "After that," – he looked at Margaret – "I'm not sure what will happen."
Margaret appraised the aspirations in his eyes, deciding she rather liked the budding desire she saw.
"I believe it's high time you learned the art of sewing, Commodore."
James suspected he would soon be press-ganged into making a new blue dress and found this just as agreeable as handing her buttons. He shifted his eyes back to Governor Swann.
There was no sight more welcome than the sincere smile on his face.
"When your travels bring you to London, you will be well-received."
Lamps doused above deck, Gibbs fell into step with Jack en route to the wheel.
Jack saw Elizabeth at the helm in all her finery with the only lit light on deck, studying the lines of the ship and horizon against the night sky. Last he saw her, she was shoulder-to-shoulder with Norrington in the galley, long after the meal was over. It annoyed him despite the very plain denouncement of their arrangement that morning, and he was annoyed that it annoyed him. He tilted his head toward Gibbs.
"Where's the former Commodore?"
"Repairing sailcloth with Margaret," Gibbs replied, taking a healthy swig from his flask.
"Is that what they're calling it now?" Jack asked.
Gibbs smirked, the growl of a laugh in the back of his throat.
"Miss Black calls it maintaining the mizzen."
Jack and Gibbs jumped around. Norrington, now dressed down and free of his wig, pinned them with a calm glare that was every inch the commanding naval officer. When his gaze lingered on Gibbs, the first mate wisely made his excuses and scurried off. Jack frowned as Norrington then looked at Elizabeth and slowly came to stand beside him.
"Twice now our engagement has been ended so that she may be happy with someone else."
Jack stared at the deck. "Technically –"
"It felt like it." James patiently waited for Jack to meet his eye, to see the trials he endured, the hope he suffered, and the peace he found. "It felt like it should have the first time."
Fair enough.
"I will always care for her, in some way. It is beyond my control."
"Meaning –?"
"Meaning if you hurt her," he murmured, "you will answer to me."
Jack's voice deepened defensively as a warm wind passed over. "Is that so?"
Norrington chose not to engage. He didn't come here looking for a fight. He had reservations in trusting her heart to William Turner, so he obviously had them now. He took a deep breath, looking down at his crutch.
"Be a good man," he said quietly. "Be the man she knows you can be; the man I know you are."
Jack poked the inside of his cheek with his tongue, not expecting the weight of the former Commodore's words to rest so soundly within him.
"I don't know if I –"
"Maybe you should try."
Jack looked over at him sharply, and while James's expression was even, there was a knowing glint in his eye. Jack suddenly felt like Norrington knew every private thought he'd had in the last two weeks. He shot an accusatory glare at the helm, but Elizabeth was coming down the stairs before them, lips pointed in a smirk as she glanced from Jack and James.
She told him? She told him? About the carriage and the —
Jack rounded Norrington again, staring dumbfounded as the former Commodore turned his crutch around, stone face and stern eyes unyielding.
"Goodnight, Elizabeth."
"Goodnight."
Jack jerked a thumb over his shoulder once Norrington was two steps gone, and Elizabeth's smile grew. He felt mildly panicked but tried to project indignation.
"What have you been telling that man?"
"More than I ever thought I would," she admitted with an apologetic crease in her brow. She tugged his sleeve so he would follow her back to the wheel.
"So, what is it then? Are you two starting over a third time?" he asked, despite the conversation he'd just had with Norrington. "See how it goes without society's etiquettes lording over you? Or— and I don't want to suggest anything indecent —"
"Then don't," she deadpanned, consulting a map.
"The joy radiating off your person is blasphemous."
Elizabeth bit her lip, laid down the map, and turned to Jack, resting her elbow between two spokes of the wheel. Why he fretted over her dirtying the sleeve of her lovely gown, he'd never know. He could see the color of her cheeks despite the low light, and he waited for the forthcoming confession, but he hadn't expected to get it.
"We did plan to go through with the marriage, Jack," she said, a reluctant smile touching her lips.
"Excuse me?"
"I took your advice, and I tried to love him. The more I tried, the more effortless it became, and, you must understand, he is so terribly handsome out of uniform."
Jack's heart slammed to a severe halt, and she frowned in consternation, gazing into the middle distance as she mused.
"Though his leg did present a bit of a challenge."
Jack wasn't breathing. Part of his eye twitched. A breath of wind could have knocked him over when her teasing grin tethered him to the deck. His face fell, and that grin of hers turned triumphant.
"You harlot."
"Really, Jack, it's one thing to so readily call my honor into question," she chided playfully, lowering her arm from the wheel, "but to suggest such behavior of James—"
Jack put his foot down. "Stop calling him that," he demanded, stepping closer.
"It's his name."
"And you've become very comfortable saying it."
Then, she felt Jack drag his finger under her chin and turn her head to look at him. The lamplight made the edges of him glow, and his black eyes scoured all humor from her face.
"Tell me true, Miss Swann," he murmured, "do you love him?"
"Not the way I do you."
His thumb slid down her chin as he took this in, reverent and still in her eyes. When his fingers slipped away, she found his hand and laced their fingers. Elizabeth faced the wheel, pulling him to stand behind her as she guided his hand to the handle. She wrapped her hand over his until he grasped it.
Jack frowned at the loss of her touch only to have his body light up as she leaned back into him. The perfume lingering in her hair mixed with the salt on the wind as an exquisite aphrodisiac, the length of her neck begging to be befouled.
"Where are we going, Jack?"
Jack cleared his throat. "Do you mean figuratively? Or —?"
She held up his compass. "Literally."
Jack smiled slyly.