Pirates of the Caribbean: The Rum Isle Affair
It may be quite true that every young girl has secret dreams of being something she isn't. A princess may dream of hefting the sword, a peasant girl may dream of a prince appearing suddenly to free her from toil. More oft than not these dreams fail to come true—but that won't stop young girls from dreaming...
"To bed with you now, Miss. We've an early start tomorrow," the old nursemaid's kind voice rang true, but her charge paid them little heed.
"Is it really true Mrs. James? Are we really going to live in a castle?" the excited eight-year old pushed off the light sheets, meant to protect her from the slight chill of early spring, and sat up, leaning eagerly toward her elderly keeper.
The old woman let out an overly exasperated sigh in jest. "How many times must I tell you, child?" she asked, raising a hand to rub her forehead. The girl giggled wildly, her bright, blue eyes sparkling.
"We'll not be moving into a castle, Miss, but a great old manor house. You father acquired it nearly two months ago and now it's all ready to be lived in. We've got just one more day on the road before we arrive," she said, reaching down to ruffle the child's dark brown curls.
"And is there a stable?" the girl asked, grinning up at the woman who was grandmother, mother and best friend to her.
"Well, I'd assume so. And lots of horses for you to look at," the nursemaid told her. For years, she'd listened to her charge's professions of love for the beasts and been a kind critic to her drawings of them.
"And ride! I'm going to race around the grounds and maybe Daddy will even let me have my own little mare—that's a girl!" the girl was grinning now, her eyes far away.
"Maybe so, Miss, but for now it's bedtime. Tomorrow you'll get to see your new home and everything that goes with it," Mrs. James told her quietly as the girl obediently lay down and pulled her sheets up to her chin.
"Goodnight, Mrs. James," she said, closing her eyes.
"Goodnight, little Grace," the old nursemaid replied, blowing out the candle on the bedside stand. She lay down on the floor beside the girl's bed, contemplating the morrow. The girl was still of the notion that her father would let her do anything, but the nursemaid knew that the child's antics had long ago ceased to be amusing to the man. He's got a head for business and nothing else, that man. Mr. Edward Allister wanted a son, but his wife had died eight years ago, while giving birth to their first child. He hadn't remarried—he'd probably been too lost in his business dealings, mused the old woman. At first, the grief-stricken man had given in to his child's every whim, but lately he was quick to anger, forbidding the child any "unwomanly" activity. Mrs. James had a feeling these restrictions would soon include horseback riding. Her mind continued to wander for a time, imaging little Grace racing all over the English countryside on a new pony, until she drifted into sleep.
Young Grace, on the other hand, could hardly sleep a wink. Excitement bubbled in her stomach and she felt as though a thousand butterflies were tickling her innards. She set her mind to the horses she'd have. She wanted a little bay mare more than anything—or maybe a grey. Her mind spun through a rainbow of shimmering equine coats. She saw herself riding, working with them, raising her own colt. It was very early in the morning when Grace finally drifted into slumber and scant hours before she was awakened once more by Mrs. James. Dressing herself drowsily, she stumbled down the inn's stairs with her nursemaid to her father and the carriage that would take her to her new home.
Grace was delighted to find a stable when they reached the manor, and several horses as well. After that initial spark of happiness, however, she seldom felt any delight at the new house. He father forbade her from setting foot inside the stable and hired a tutor to improve her manners and impress upon her the importance of proper womanly behavior. It wasn't long before Grace began to despise these lessons and her father for imposing them upon her. Disobeying his wishes, she claimed her own horse in the stable—a small red mare who quickly grew to enjoy Grace's company and no one else's. Most of the help knew of her mare, but her father did not. She found as many little ways to defy him as she could—indeed, it became a bit of a game to her. She quietly helped the stable master break a new colt, learned sword work from the gardener, who had once been a soldier, and she also read. Not cookbooks or books on etiquette (though she was forced to pour over them in her lessons), but books of history and adventure. There had been a few close calls—the worst of which involved hiding behind a pile of old bedding for nearly an hour while her father discussed breeding with the stable master—but her busy father remained blind to her actions.
Of course, when she was called into his study the day after her fifteenth birthday she feared the worst. That father had somehow found out about Sundance—the mare—or the lessons in swordplay or her constant help in the stable. Indeed, he heart usually skipped a few beats whenever she was summoned to his chamber. Such meetings never went well and usually involved some screaming on his part. She had driven away more than one tutor with her irksome behavior under their care (she was on her fifth) and her father's irritation at each woman's departure had grown steadily worse—last time he had threatened to fire old Mrs. James and she had vowed to herself to be good. The old woman had gone from nursemaid to maid—though Grace hardly needed a maid for anything besides tightening a corset—and was far too old to find good employment elsewhere.
On this day, her father's stony blue eyes displayed no anger—in fact, he seemed almost pleased. Grace's stomach sank. If her father was pleased, it did not bode well for her.
"Good afternoon, Father," she said with a slight nod of her head. I'll be damned if I bow to him. "You wished to see me?" The man's smile was broadening.
"Yes, my dear. I've a wonderful surprise for you. Do you remember Master Fenton?" he asked, glancing down to the papers on his desk.
Oh, I remember him all right. That boorish son of a goat nearly ate our dinner all by himself last time he visited.
"Why, yes, Father, I remember him," she replied quietly, keeping her thoughts to herself.
"Wonderful! He has a son nearly your age. I've arranged for you to marry him."
"What?" she slipped, her voice going from light and airy to laced with venom. Her father gave her a stern look as she began to pale. She'd met Master Fenton's son. Brody Fenton was not what she'd consider a 'catch' and was five years her senior. While he wasn't on his way to matching his father in girth, he had a reputation in London that had reached the manor. He'd had a number of mistresses, all of whom had ended up dead on the street or hidden away by friends and relatives—one woman, they said, he'd beaten to death with his own two hands.
"You heard me," the smile had disappeared. "You'll be wed in three years. In one year's time we'll be traveling to the West Indies, where young Fenton is beginning a shipping company. Now get out, I've got to make some more arrangements," he gaze returned to the papers on his desk as she spun to leave. "And Grace?" she paused at his words. "I wouldn't use that tone again, you'll sorely regret it," his words held an ill-willed humor that filled her with cold fear. The door slammed resoundingly behind her.
It was nearly a month after Grace's sixteenth birthday when her father made good on his word to travel to the West Indies and promptly uprooted his daughter from the place she'd called home for the latter half of her life. The girl was, to say the least, unhappy about the voyage and vowed to hate whatever port where they finally put in. She said her goodbyes to Sundance, the stable master, the gardener, and the cook (who had recently begun to teach her herb-lore) quietly, avoiding her father's suddenly scrutinous eye. Only her father's assistant and old Mrs. James would join them in the Caribbean—after her marriage, Mr. Allister planned to return to the manor and continue his life as a business man (hopefully with a little new business from the West Indies). Their passage was on a well-respected merchant ship, something Grace, at first, thought to be a bore. It wasn't long, however, before she began to enjoy herself. The salt in the breeze added a refreshing quality to the air and the constant rolling of the waves created a soothing sound. Day and oftentimes night she studied the crew as they worked and befriended several of them before the journey's end. She had found a new passion—the sea.
They docked in Port Royale, Jamaica, where Brody Fenton was awaiting their arrival. It was then, picking her way carefully down the gangplank, that Grace got her first good look at him in years. He was, she supposed as she crossed the dock to greet him, rather handsome. A tall man, he towered over her, his figure was not thin or broad, but sinewy muscular, and his skin a working-man's tan. He was finely dressed in blue and gold and smiled down at her. The smile seemed genuine enough, but it did not reach his eyes, which were dark and cruel.
"Ah, my dear Grace," he lifted her hand, his grip light, to his lips. "A pleasure to see you again."
"Indeed, young Master Fenton," she replied, trying to keep the ice from her voice and her eyes from narrowing.
"The young master and I have things to discuss, Grace," her father cut in. "The carriage will take you to the house," her father waved a hand toward the waiting affair, pulled by a pair of grey horses.
"Of course, Father," she said without sparing a glance at him. She picked up her skirts—her father had insisted on one of her nicer dresses for the day (and she was roasting for it)—and walked to the carriage. Not without noticing the gaze of Brody Fenton, however, and she had a bad feeling it wasn't her pretty face he was staring at appreciatively. She climbed into the carriage without waiting for help, Mrs. James right behind her.
The house, while not as large as the manor and lacking any real grounds, was pleasant enough. She even caught herself rather liking the view from her room, which afforded a sight of the harbor and the blue ocean beyond. She changed into a simple, light dress and her most comfortable pair of shoes (outside of the riding boots the stable master had given her four Christmases ago). Grace found her old friend in the maid's quarters.
"I'm going to have a look around, Mrs. James," she said, grinning in spite of herself. The elderly woman scrutinized her for a few moments.
"If you're careful, Miss," she said, smiling.
"Yes ma'am," she smiled and turned with a twirl of skirts. Exploring a little just to find them, she trampled down the servants' stairs. It took a little looking, but she quickly found her way out of the house.
Not quite sure where to start, she simply wandered the streets. Perhaps I'll end up liking this place, anyway. Dammit. The hot summer breeze carried the sea air to her and she closed her eyes, smiling. A sudden blow to her right shoulder jerked her awake and out of her relaxed state. A pretty young woman was rubbing her arm and giving Grace an annoyed look. Suddenly feeling very clumsy and very stupid, she immediately began apologizing.
"I'm sorry, Miss, I didn't mean to. I wasn't paying any attention to where I was walking. If there's anything I can do—"
"Calm down, lass. No harm done," the voice belonged the young man standing beside the woman, whose expression had loosened into a smile.
"Oh," her voice was filled with more than a little surprise. "Well, I...I am sorry."
"My name is Elizabeth Swann and this is my fiancée, Will Turner," the woman said with a nod of greeting.
"I'm Grace. Grace Allister. My father and I just arrived in the port this morning," she put a slight spin on the word 'father' as her embarrassment melted into relaxation. The pair had immediately put her at ease, though she wasn't quite sure why.
"Pleased to meet you. How was your voyage—and where do you hail from?" Elizabeth asked, curiosity taking over.
"I'm from Hertford shire, north of London. And the voyage was wonderful—I was a little disappointed when we saw no pirate ships, however. The crew told tale upon tale of pirates." At the words 'pirate ships', Will and Elizabeth had grinned and locked eyes. Grace blinked, a little confused.
"What did I say?"
Will turned to her, humor sparkling in his eyes. "Elizabeth and I recently had a..." he glanced at his wife-to-be, a wry smile gracing his lips, then looked back to Grace. "A run-in with pirates."
"Really?" Grace's eyes lit up as she studied the two carefully. Elizabeth's long brown hair was fashionably up, her pretty brown eyes shaded by long lashes. She wore a yellow and white floral-print dress, the under-dress providing ruffles at the elbow, bosom and bottom of the skirt. She wore no necklace and her ears were unpierced, in fact, the only piece of jewelry that adorned her was a slim golden band on her ring finger. She was pretty enough to make Grace feel horribly inadequate, but she had kind eyes that made Grace forget about looks. Will was a handsome young man. He wore dark pants, brown leather boots, and a loose white shirt under a dark green-gold vest. He kept a cleanly trimmed goatee and his long hair spilled past his shoulders. His eyes, too, were brown, with a spark for life. A large feather seemed to sprout from the grey hat that sat atop his head. Elizabeth certainly didn't look the type to be mixing with pirates, but her future husband fit the part.
"I'd be happy to tell you all about it, if you'd like," Elizabeth told her.
"Well, I'd certainly love to hear it, if you really don't mind," Grace grinned—she'd come across plenty on pirates in her father's books, but there really was nothing like hearing about something firsthand.
"We were just on our way the smithy, if you'd care to join us," Will said with a smile, gesturing down the road. Up for anything, Grace grinned broadly.
"I'd love to," she said and fell into line beside Elizabeth, who quickly began to spin her tale.
"It all really started years ago—with cursed Aztec gold. A chest of it was hidden on the Isla de Muerta, an island that cannot be found unless you know where it is. A pirate by the name of Jack Sparrow learned the location of the isle and he and his crew set out to plunder the gold. Of course, there was a mutiny that ended with Sparrow marooned on an island and his first mate, Barbosa, at the helm of Sparrow's ship, the Black Pearl. It wasn't until Barbosa and the crew had frittered away most of the cursed gold that they realized the magnitude of what they had done—"
"And it wasn't until Sparrow showed up that our trouble really started," Will cut in.
"I'm quite aware of that," she replied dryly before continuing. "The crew of the Black Pearl were cursed men—not yet dead, but nor were they living. Piece by piece they sought out each gold coin until they had but one piece yet to find. They pillaged the waters of the Caribbean for ten years before they found it…"
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters from the Pirates of the Caribbean, including, but not necessarily limited to, Will Turner, Elizabeth Swan and (Captain!) Jack Sparrow.