Author's Note: Hello again folks! I'm having trouble keeping track – I want to try and keep these updates pretty regular, but just because it's summertime right now I usually have no idea what day of the week it is. But thanks for sticking with me! In any case, here's the next chapter. It's longer than the others, but I think you'll really enjoy this one!
Chapter 7: Covington
I passed the journey back to England in a muddled daze. Covington refused to believe that I hadn't been captured, or indeed that I had left home of my own free will. He seemed aghast at the idea that I was capable of setting out on my own. I suppose it was because he was a very old-fashioned sort of man in his thinking; in other words, he was of the mind that women were unable to think for themselves. At my best I ignored him and at my worst I imagined how he would look tied by his ankles to the rigging just below the crow's nest. I couldn't find it in myself to say anything to him; I was still too stunned by Captain Sparrow's betrayal to even plan another escape attempt. I wondered once or twice whether Covington was really thick enough not to notice how frustrated I was at being "rescued," but the more I thought about it, the more I realized that he cared little what I was feeling, if he cared at all. He seemed to view this rescue mission as another mark of character for himself, and if he managed to get a bride out of the deal, well then so much the better. And he did intend to make me his bride, regardless of how many times I turned him down. He never left me to myself on the ship, especially during the day. He would speak to me about our future life together, and paint picture after idealistic picture of the magnificent places we would see and the home we would make. He even described in eerie detail all the trinkets and decorations he intended to shower me with. I allowed him to ramble on, because he it seemed to amuse him, and I stopped him only when he went so far as to hypothesize about the children we would have together.
"That's quite enough, sir," I told him one day, "Please don't be so presumptuous – you think too highly of yourself, and I for one have no intention of letting you father any of my children."
He simply stared at me for a moment, horrified at being spoken to so boldly by a woman, and then he struck me. The blow was glancing, and hardly even hurt, but it left a mark across my cheek where his fingernails had grazed my flesh. It caught me off-guard, but I didn't flinch. He didn't say another word about "our children" after that though.
The only moments I had to myself were in the dead of night, while the rest of the crew was sleeping. I crept outside in the small hours before dawn came, staring up at the starlit sky. I lost a lot of sleep that way, but my mind wouldn't let me rest while I lay in my cabin anyway. The first few days that I spent aboard I kept a watch on the horizon, searching for any sign of life or land outside my sea-bound prison. I don't know what I was watching for all that time, but at night my thoughts inevitably came to rest on the Pearl, and more specifically its pirate captain. I did my best to convince myself that I was simply angry and baffled at being handed over to Covington so easily, but the longer I tried to shield myself from the truth the more certain it became. Anamaria was right: I had fallen for Jack Sparrow, and every night I gazed up at the stars and wondered if the view looked the same to him, wherever he was at that moment. Some nights I allowed myself to wonder if he ever thought of me, and those nights my heart clung desperately to the idea that he would come after me eventually, that this betrayal was just a ruse to keep Covington off his guard while the Captain bided his time, devising some fantastically heroic plan to come and rescue me. But my rational mind told me that this couldn't be the case; Sparrow was a pirate, and pirates always acted only out of their own best interest. But I would have given anything to be back on that ship again.
As we neared England and our journey's end drew closer, I began cautiously devising my own plan of escape. It was undoubtedly clear to me at that point that if I wanted to rid myself of Covington and my old life forever, I would have to do it by myself. But there could be no mistakes this time: I would have to be more careful, to really make a plan that would take me somewhere instead of leaving in the middle of the night with nothing more than a stubborn determination to start my life over. I recalled Sparrow's plan to make for the Caribbean after the New Year, and after many sleepless nights on-deck and many days deep in thought while Covington's blabbering lulled me, my plan was in place. It was now only a matter of putting it into action. Timing was of the essence.
When we came ashore the real courting began. Covington threw torrents of lavish gifts at me, relentlessly trying to win me over. He never came right out and asked me to marry him; probably because he already knew what the answer would be, and didn't want to give me the satisfaction of turning him down again. But I wondered what he expected to happen when the time came for the actual wedding. He had already told me that he planned to have the glorious event held at Westminster Abbey in London; only the best for the future Mrs. Covington, as he put it. The thought made me sick to my stomach. The date for the wedding was January twelfth, so I still had time. Everyday Covington took me out somewhere to spend more money on me and fill me in on his most recent visions of our future together. I let him blather on and used the time to study the streets around us, planning my escape route more carefully than before. I felt more confident about my success with every passing day, and as the New Year crept closer and closer I became all the more anxious to make my move. But then we went to see Uncle Roland.
"I hope you're proud of yourself, young lady," said Roland as we had tea in the living room, "You almost got yourself killed, do you realize that?"
"I was never in any danger," I said coolly, "You needn't have worried about me. I know how to look after meself."
"What's that? Have you even picked up that filthy brigand's jargon?"
"The poor girl isn't entirely to blame," said Covington, "After all, she was aboard that ship for nearly two months. One can only expect her to pick up some of that rabble's ways after such a long voyage. Don't worry though, it won't last."
I scowled at Covington; I resented his overprotective attitude and his way of constantly making excuses for me. It made me feel like a child. But I couldn't let on how much it bothered me, at least not yet. I didn't want the rat to become too suspicious before I had a chance to get away again.
"All the same," said Roland, "Those pirates might be wondering what's become of her. We wouldn't want another incident now, would we?"
"What do you mean, sir?" asked Covington.
"I mean we should be extra careful to make sure the girl is well-protected. And I believe it would be prudent to send mercenaries after that pirate ship."
"Just to be sure, you mean?"
"Naturally. I realize you promised not to reveal the ship's whereabouts, but would it be breaking your promise to search for it now that its position has shifted? You could merely arrange for the Captain and crew to be brought ashore, and the law would carry out the rest."
"Do you really believe the rogue would come after Abigail again? She means little to him, surely."
"Stop talking about me like I'm not here!" I yelled.
Roland glared at me satisfactorily over his teacup. The bastard had actually seen through me; he wasn't as thick as Covington. He knew me too well. He knew I had been hoping to return to the Black Pearl, and he was now taking action to prevent that from happening. This disguise of looking after my welfare would fool Covington faultlessly, and of course it would be Covington who carried out his request; the illusion would be seamless. They were going to hunt Jack. And now I had tipped my hand; I had had an outburst and revealed my displeasure at the plan, however slightly. Covington wouldn't be able to guess my motives from that, but Roland would. He had tricked me. Suddenly I had very little time left.
"Don't be upset, my dear," said Covington, patting my hand, "We're only trying to ensure your safety. I doubt you have another pirate kidnapping in your future, but I must be sure. We don't want any accidents, do we?"
Roland grinned snidely.
Just before we left I took Roland aside under the guise of finding one of my mother's old things that had been left in the house. Then I confronted him.
"What do you expect to gain from this?" I asked him coldly, "I thought you wanted me gone."
"Regardless of what you may think, I want you safe."
"At the expense of my own happiness, of course."
"Abigail, I realize I've been a horrid caretaker all these years, but I want to make it up to you. You've taken it into your head to go after that ship yourself, and I won't have it. Whatever they led you to believe, pirates are not decent folk, and I can't allow you to follow them. Understand me?"
"Make it up to me? For God's sake, Roland, I'm twenty years old! I'm not a child, I can –"
"Don't you raise your voice to me, you ungrateful wench! I've done the best I can, and that's all I can do for you. Now, kindly go along with this marriage and don't let me hear another word about your taking refuge with pirates. Not one! Covington's a good man; he'll take care of you."
"You haven't answered my question; what do you expect to gain from all this?"
"I want to ease the guilt I've felt all these years for not ensuring you had the very best. And I don't want my own reputation soiled by a rebellious brat who craves some sort of foolish adventure."
I left the old house with mixed feelings. So, Roland was concerned for my welfare after all; that much was clear. But it was only to settle his conscience, and he also didn't want to grant me happiness if it cost him his standing in the community. Even though I wasn't his niece by blood, I knew that my running off with pirates would tarnish his reputation greatly. In fact, that was the only thing I had considered before boarding the Pearl in the first place. What concerned me most was Roland's idea of hunting down the crew, and more specifically Jack Sparrow. I remembered Covington telling the pirates that he'd seen me aboard with his own eyes the night before I was taken. That had, of course, been the night Jack had kissed me. No doubt Covington had seen that, and now he might try to kill the Captain himself out of pure jealousy. So much had happened recently that I hadn't counted on, and now that I'd confessed to myself that I loved Jack I began to panic. What could I do? Set my plan in motion, that's what.
I waited for New Year's Day, just to keep Roland and Covington off their guards, and I packed my things that very night. I had been keeping the ivory knife under my pillow; I took it out to gaze at it one last time before I set out on my journey. Moonlight flooded the room through a French window that led out to a balcony. The balcony was my means of escape; no one guarded the garden just outside, and I could climb down easily and make for the front gate undetected. But for the moment I turned the knife over in my hands, watching the ivory glow in the soft moonlight, thinking back on the complications my life had taken on since my first attempt at freedom. Suddenly the door swung open. Quick as lightening I unsheathed the knife and brandished it, turning to face the unexpected intruder. It was Covington.
"Good heavens," he said, his startled eyes falling first on the knife, then on the nearly full knapsack at the foot of the bed, "Are you going somewhere, my dear?"
"Yes," I said, unable to think of any excuses, "Now, get out of the way – I'm not wasting another minute in this house."
"Don't be ridiculous; we are going to married in less than two weeks time. How do you expect to be back in time if you take a pleasure trip now?"
"I'm not coming back, you insufferable moron! I never wanted to marry you. I told you three years ago."
"Put down the knife, Abigail."
"No! I've been listening to you for longer than I can stand as it is – I'm not about to start taking orders from you."
Covington's expression grew dark, and he pulled out the pistol he kept at his side at all times. He pointed it straight at my heart.
"Put down the knife," he repeated, "I didn't want it to come to this, darling. But you've given me no choice. You are going to be my wife in eleven days' time, there's no question about that. It's a good match: your family's old money and my new money. It will be perfect. And I never take no for an answer."
I sheathed the knife silently. I felt absurdly unafraid, and I had no idea why.
"You'll learn," I said simply, "My answer hasn't changed: I wouldn't marry you if you were the last man alive on this Earth."
He cocked the pistol.
"Please don't make me hurt you," he said, "Come now, unpack your things and tell me you'll stay here."
"You're not going to pull that trigger."
"Oh no?"
"No, you're not. And I'll tell you why: if you kill me, your bride-to-be, just eleven days before the wedding people will become suspicious. You see, unlike myself you're acting out of rage and disbelief. I've been planning this escape since the day you took me off that ship."
I moved closer all the while I was talking until the barrel of the gun was set flat against my chest, just below the throat.
"Even if you manage to make this murder look like suicide, all the gossips will figure out I wasn't happy with this situation. And then both your reputation and my Uncle's will be completely destroyed."
Covington began to falter; uncertain fear showed plainly on his gaunt, stupid face.
"So go ahead," I continued, "Just pull that trigger and see what happens."
There was complete silence for a long moment. Then Covington lowered the pistol, defeated. I shook my head.
"You're a coward," I muttered.
I snatched the gun out of his grasp and stashed it in the knapsack along with the ivory knife. Then I breezed past him and walked boldly out the front door of the Covington estate, taking the path I'd chosen back to the tavern by the docks. This was much better; not only was I leaving my old life behind me for sure and certain, I now felt a brazen satisfaction at having finally told that rat off to his face. I reached the tavern faster than I thought I would, empowered by my own act of daring, and wasted no time. I immediately shoved the other patrons aside and climbed on top of the bar. I drew myself up to my full height and looked down at the slovenly crowd. Most of them were looking up at me curiously, but one table kept up a particularly loud game of poker, taking no notice of me. I calmly produced the ivory knife from my knapsack and flung it toward the card players; it landed with a resounding thunk in the very center of the table. The card players immediately quieted and looked up.
"Your attention please, gentlemen," I said loudly, producing a small bag full of change, "I have twenty gold pieces for the sailor who can take me to the Caribbean."
I tipped the coins into my hand to let them see that the gold was real. An uncertain murmur rumbled through the crowd.
"Ten more," I continued, "If the journey can begin tonight. What say you?"
And then I heard laughter. The scoundrels weren't buying my story; this was not good. Some of them began catcalling and making rude remarks about my dress, which was uncharacteristically low-cut. I repeated the request, undaunted.
"Thirty gold pieces in all," I said, "Now, which of you is man enough to sail under a woman?"
That shut them up. A timid-looking man approached the bar cautiously.
"I cen take ye, miss," he said quietly, "Heaven knows I need the money."
"Have you a fast ship?"
"Aye, fast enough: The Jubilee. She en't what she used to be, but she'll get ye to the Caribbean all righ'."
"And can we start tonight?"
"Aye, miss, if that's yer wish."
"Perfect."
I hopped down from the bar and strode over to the poker table to retrieve my knife. I followed the slight sailor out of the tavern to the docks and boarded his small ship, The Jubilee. The crew was small as well, but sufficient. Jonathan Burke, the sailor and Captain, explained the situation as briefly and completely as he could, and in less than half an hour we were underway, sailing back to the open ocean under the stars. And for the first time in a little less than month, I was happy.