Passage to St. Kitts
Chapter 7
By the time Annamaria reached Dr. Althorpe's house, she had managed to compose herself. She stroked her hand down the smooth leather of the baldric, fingering the gold buckle. She was astonished at her reaction to the gift. She tried to remember the last time she'd cried, but couldn't. She tried to remember the last time someone had given her a gift of this magnitude and couldn't. Probably no one ever had. She shook her head in bewilderment. The amount of money this sword was worth floored her. And Will had given it to her. It must have taken months to make, patiently folding the steel of the blade, time and time again. And Jack, giving Will a good handful of jewels, gems he could have sold. And even Gwen and Elizabeth! As ship's doctor, Gwen received an officer's share of the Pearl's plunder, true, but to spend so much of it on her? It staggered the mind.
As Annamaria walked up to the doctor's house, Gwen stepped out, followed by Dr. Althorpe. "Annamaria! What good timing. I was just about to start back to Will's shop." She spied the new sword belt and sword and smiled. "I see Will has given you the sword." Annamaria swallowed and tried to express her gratitude, but Gwen waved her silent. "Stop. Will wanted to make you a sword because he said yours didn't balance correctly. The rest of us got into the spirit of the thing and it got slightly out of hand! If you're pleased that's all the thanks we need."
Annamaria had drawn the sword to show to Gwen (who didn't let on that Will had already shown it to her), when a voice was heard behind them. "What have we here? Don't tell me that a colored woman could have a jeweled sword? Where did you steal if from?" Annamaria and Gwen looked up in surprise to see John MacLaren standing there with a sneer on his face. "Hand it over, girl, and I won't say anything to the constable."
In the year that Gwen had lived aboard the Black Pearl, she and Annamaria had become close friends. Among the many sterling qualities Gwen had, one of the ones Annamaria found most amusing was her ability to deliver a deadly insult in such a serene gracious tone that the recipient often did not realize he or she had been insulted until much later. Some people never figured it out. Gwen smiled sweetly. "Mr. MacLaren, is it not? I believe we met last time our ship was in port. Where did you get that scar on your face? It isn't from a sword tip, is it? I do hope you weren't badly injured."
John flushed, making the small white scar stand out even more. "Never mind about that. Hand over the sword."
Annamaria spoke calmly. "The sword belongs to me and is not stolen."
MacLaren sneered again. "How could a slave have a sword like that? What is a slave doing with a sword anyway?"
Annamaria clenched her teeth, but stayed calm. "I am not a slave, sir. And whether or not I have a sword is of no concern of yours."
Gwen spoke up again. "Come, Annamaria. I'm sure now that Mr. MacLaren has realized that he is mistaken, he will excuse us. Will you not, sir?"
"I'll not be spoken to in that fashion, not by a colored woman or a pirate's doxy." MacLaren snarled. "Whores, the pair of you. I don't know why you're allowed to walk around in this part of town. You should stay on the waterfront where you belong."
Dr. Althorpe sputtered "Well, I say."
Annamaria's reaction was more dramatic. She hadn't sheathed her sword as yet, so lifting it to MacLaren's throat took only an instant. "I don't believe I care for your words regarding myself or my good friend. Perhaps you'd care to apologize?"
In answer, MacLaren stepped back and drew his own sword. Gwen sighed. "Don't hurt him, Anna. It would be more hassle than it's worth," she said as she moved away to give the two duelists room, drawing the doctor with her.
The clash of steel soon drew a crowd, who watched avidly as the two fought. Annamaria, with an unfamiliar weapon in her hand, had started cautiously, but as she grew more used to the different weight and balance her swordplay grew bolder. It soon became apparent to the spectators that MacLaren was overmatched. Gwen sighed again. "Annamaria, we're going to be late. Please finish your duel and let's go."
"Oh, Gwen, you're such a spoilsport." Annamaria said with a smile as she drove MacLaren back a few paces.
Suddenly the crowd parted, and two men in faultless military uniform appeared at the edge of the fray. Taking in the situation at a glance, Commodore Norrington spotted Gwen and moved over to her. "Miss Tracy," he said, kissing her hand. "What a pleasure to see you again."
Gwen curtsied gracefully. "The pleasure is mine, Commodore."
Markson followed Norrington to Gwen's side. "Your servant, Miss Tracy," he said with a precise military bow. "Annamaria!" he called. "How do you like the sword?"
Annamaria's grin flashed white in her dark face. "I love it! The balance is marvelous!" Effortlessly she parried another one of MacLaren's not particularly well aimed thrusts. "Is the scar on the left cheek Will's calling card?" she asked.
"Why yes!" said Markson with a grin. "I believe it is."
Commodore Norrington raised his voice, "Mr. MacLaren, Miss Simone, were you not aware that swordplay is not permitted in the streets of Port Royal?"
"I beg your pardon, Commodore," said Annamaria, disengaging and stepping back slightly, sword still at guard.
MacLaren was not so calm. "This bitch insulted me!" he shouted. "She's nothing but a thief. Haul her off to jail, Commodore!"
"To jail?" asked Norrington mildly. "What on earth for?"
"Look at that sword," snarled MacLaren. "She must have stolen it."
Markson started to speak, but Norrington silenced him with a raised hand. "Miss Simone, might I examine your sword?" Annamaria offered it hilt first. "Hmmm," Said Norrington reflexively, examining the sword. "Very nice. A bit light for my taste, but you no doubt find it suits you very well." He handed it back to her. "A lovely weapon, Miss Simone. You are to be congratulated." Annamaria took the sword back, but didn't sheath it.
MacLaren stared incredulously "You're giving it back to her? She's a thief!"
"Mr. MacLaren," said the Commodore with a hint of impatience in his voice. "Miss Simone is a privateer. It is her job to be a thief. Not against Englishmen, of course. However, William Turner, if I am not mistaken, made that sword. Is that not correct, Miss Simone?"
"Yes, sir," Annamaria answered. "He gave it to me earlier today."
"A princely gift," said Norrington, eyebrows raised. "You are indeed fortunate in your friends."
"Indeed I am sir."
"You're just going to let this bitch and her whore friend off scot free?" asked MacLaren.
Annamaria's sword was up instantly and flicked across MacLaren's cheek. A thin red line appeared, bisecting the old scar neatly to form an X just below his cheekbone. "You will speak of Miss Tracy with respect," Annamaria said quietly.
MacLaren pulled out a handkerchief and dabbed at the blood on his face. "Did you see what she did!" he said accusingly to Norrington.
"I did indeed," said Norrington mildly.
"What are you going to do about it?"
"I'm going to suggest you speak of Miss Tracy with respect in the future," said Norrington in a slightly bored voice. "I will also suggest you refrain from picking quarrels with swordsmen who are clearly superior to you. Haven't you got somewhere else you should be, Mr. MacLaren?"
Furiously, MacLaren slammed his sword into his scabbard and whirled around. Just as he started to stalk away, Markson twitched the handkerchief out of his hand. With a bow, he handed the bloodstained square of cloth to Annamaria. She took it with a smile and carefully wiped her blade before sheathing it.
"Miss Simone, Miss Tracy," said the Commodore. "May we offer you our escort?"
Gwen curtsied again and took Norrington's arm. "Thank you, sir. We were on our way back to Will Turner's shop."
Markson offered his arm to Annamaria with a broad wink. She inclined her head with the air of a queen accepting homage from a supplicant and took his arm, following the Commodore and Gwen down the street.
--
Elizabeth sat at her dressing table while her maid arranged her hair. Moodily she stared at her reflection in the mirror. Her marriage wasn't working out the way she'd hoped it would. It wasn't that she and Will didn't love each other, they did. The differences in their backgrounds, however, was causing some strain. Living with her father wasn't helping. Governor Swann was fond enough of Will, but he kept trying to make him over into the aristocrat that he'd hoped Elizabeth would marry. Will was determined to remain true to himself. Unfortunately, the goals of both men were unrealistic.
Will could never become an aristocrat, no matter how many fine suits of clothing he had, no matter how carefully he was taught the manners of elite society. The aristocrats of Jamaica kept careful track of how blue the blood was that ran in everyone's veins. Casual gossip over teacups acquainted every man, woman and child with everyone else's pedigree. Only wealth could sweeten the 'taint' of common blood, and Will was not wealthy.
What Will was, was honorable, honest and hard working. Unfortunately for him, these traits didn't compare with spotless bloodlines in the eyes of most of Jamaica's elite. Elizabeth was aware that many of her acquaintances considered that she had debased herself to marry a tradesman who didn't even have the saving grace of money. She'd known that going in; she'd married Will with her eyes open. What she hadn't realized is that Will hadn't known it. He hadn't been able to ignore the snide comments and veiled insults that came his way as the 'interloper' who'd muscled his was into their presence. Especially, Elizabeth was sure, since many of the insults were about her. She'd hoped that the comments would eventually die down, but it had been a year now and they hadn't. Will's frequent morning duels only helped fuel the gossip mills.
She smiled vaguely at the maid who'd finished with her hair, and absently fastened earrings to the lobes of her ears. What she needed to do was get the two of them out of her father's house and into a home of their own. The trouble was, while Elizabeth didn't mind living in a more modest way, she also didn't want to live in a loft over a blacksmith's shop. Elizabeth had money of her own - an income inherited from her mother. She'd talked to Will about using it to purchase a house for them, but he wouldn't hear of it. He was too proud to live off her money. Living in her father's house was the biggest concession he'd been able to make. She smiled ruefully. That was another difference between him and many aristocrats. For many of them, the size of a girl's dowry was the sole attraction when choosing a bride. She respected Will's opinion, but it did make things more difficult.
Chapter 7
By the time Annamaria reached Dr. Althorpe's house, she had managed to compose herself. She stroked her hand down the smooth leather of the baldric, fingering the gold buckle. She was astonished at her reaction to the gift. She tried to remember the last time she'd cried, but couldn't. She tried to remember the last time someone had given her a gift of this magnitude and couldn't. Probably no one ever had. She shook her head in bewilderment. The amount of money this sword was worth floored her. And Will had given it to her. It must have taken months to make, patiently folding the steel of the blade, time and time again. And Jack, giving Will a good handful of jewels, gems he could have sold. And even Gwen and Elizabeth! As ship's doctor, Gwen received an officer's share of the Pearl's plunder, true, but to spend so much of it on her? It staggered the mind.
As Annamaria walked up to the doctor's house, Gwen stepped out, followed by Dr. Althorpe. "Annamaria! What good timing. I was just about to start back to Will's shop." She spied the new sword belt and sword and smiled. "I see Will has given you the sword." Annamaria swallowed and tried to express her gratitude, but Gwen waved her silent. "Stop. Will wanted to make you a sword because he said yours didn't balance correctly. The rest of us got into the spirit of the thing and it got slightly out of hand! If you're pleased that's all the thanks we need."
Annamaria had drawn the sword to show to Gwen (who didn't let on that Will had already shown it to her), when a voice was heard behind them. "What have we here? Don't tell me that a colored woman could have a jeweled sword? Where did you steal if from?" Annamaria and Gwen looked up in surprise to see John MacLaren standing there with a sneer on his face. "Hand it over, girl, and I won't say anything to the constable."
In the year that Gwen had lived aboard the Black Pearl, she and Annamaria had become close friends. Among the many sterling qualities Gwen had, one of the ones Annamaria found most amusing was her ability to deliver a deadly insult in such a serene gracious tone that the recipient often did not realize he or she had been insulted until much later. Some people never figured it out. Gwen smiled sweetly. "Mr. MacLaren, is it not? I believe we met last time our ship was in port. Where did you get that scar on your face? It isn't from a sword tip, is it? I do hope you weren't badly injured."
John flushed, making the small white scar stand out even more. "Never mind about that. Hand over the sword."
Annamaria spoke calmly. "The sword belongs to me and is not stolen."
MacLaren sneered again. "How could a slave have a sword like that? What is a slave doing with a sword anyway?"
Annamaria clenched her teeth, but stayed calm. "I am not a slave, sir. And whether or not I have a sword is of no concern of yours."
Gwen spoke up again. "Come, Annamaria. I'm sure now that Mr. MacLaren has realized that he is mistaken, he will excuse us. Will you not, sir?"
"I'll not be spoken to in that fashion, not by a colored woman or a pirate's doxy." MacLaren snarled. "Whores, the pair of you. I don't know why you're allowed to walk around in this part of town. You should stay on the waterfront where you belong."
Dr. Althorpe sputtered "Well, I say."
Annamaria's reaction was more dramatic. She hadn't sheathed her sword as yet, so lifting it to MacLaren's throat took only an instant. "I don't believe I care for your words regarding myself or my good friend. Perhaps you'd care to apologize?"
In answer, MacLaren stepped back and drew his own sword. Gwen sighed. "Don't hurt him, Anna. It would be more hassle than it's worth," she said as she moved away to give the two duelists room, drawing the doctor with her.
The clash of steel soon drew a crowd, who watched avidly as the two fought. Annamaria, with an unfamiliar weapon in her hand, had started cautiously, but as she grew more used to the different weight and balance her swordplay grew bolder. It soon became apparent to the spectators that MacLaren was overmatched. Gwen sighed again. "Annamaria, we're going to be late. Please finish your duel and let's go."
"Oh, Gwen, you're such a spoilsport." Annamaria said with a smile as she drove MacLaren back a few paces.
Suddenly the crowd parted, and two men in faultless military uniform appeared at the edge of the fray. Taking in the situation at a glance, Commodore Norrington spotted Gwen and moved over to her. "Miss Tracy," he said, kissing her hand. "What a pleasure to see you again."
Gwen curtsied gracefully. "The pleasure is mine, Commodore."
Markson followed Norrington to Gwen's side. "Your servant, Miss Tracy," he said with a precise military bow. "Annamaria!" he called. "How do you like the sword?"
Annamaria's grin flashed white in her dark face. "I love it! The balance is marvelous!" Effortlessly she parried another one of MacLaren's not particularly well aimed thrusts. "Is the scar on the left cheek Will's calling card?" she asked.
"Why yes!" said Markson with a grin. "I believe it is."
Commodore Norrington raised his voice, "Mr. MacLaren, Miss Simone, were you not aware that swordplay is not permitted in the streets of Port Royal?"
"I beg your pardon, Commodore," said Annamaria, disengaging and stepping back slightly, sword still at guard.
MacLaren was not so calm. "This bitch insulted me!" he shouted. "She's nothing but a thief. Haul her off to jail, Commodore!"
"To jail?" asked Norrington mildly. "What on earth for?"
"Look at that sword," snarled MacLaren. "She must have stolen it."
Markson started to speak, but Norrington silenced him with a raised hand. "Miss Simone, might I examine your sword?" Annamaria offered it hilt first. "Hmmm," Said Norrington reflexively, examining the sword. "Very nice. A bit light for my taste, but you no doubt find it suits you very well." He handed it back to her. "A lovely weapon, Miss Simone. You are to be congratulated." Annamaria took the sword back, but didn't sheath it.
MacLaren stared incredulously "You're giving it back to her? She's a thief!"
"Mr. MacLaren," said the Commodore with a hint of impatience in his voice. "Miss Simone is a privateer. It is her job to be a thief. Not against Englishmen, of course. However, William Turner, if I am not mistaken, made that sword. Is that not correct, Miss Simone?"
"Yes, sir," Annamaria answered. "He gave it to me earlier today."
"A princely gift," said Norrington, eyebrows raised. "You are indeed fortunate in your friends."
"Indeed I am sir."
"You're just going to let this bitch and her whore friend off scot free?" asked MacLaren.
Annamaria's sword was up instantly and flicked across MacLaren's cheek. A thin red line appeared, bisecting the old scar neatly to form an X just below his cheekbone. "You will speak of Miss Tracy with respect," Annamaria said quietly.
MacLaren pulled out a handkerchief and dabbed at the blood on his face. "Did you see what she did!" he said accusingly to Norrington.
"I did indeed," said Norrington mildly.
"What are you going to do about it?"
"I'm going to suggest you speak of Miss Tracy with respect in the future," said Norrington in a slightly bored voice. "I will also suggest you refrain from picking quarrels with swordsmen who are clearly superior to you. Haven't you got somewhere else you should be, Mr. MacLaren?"
Furiously, MacLaren slammed his sword into his scabbard and whirled around. Just as he started to stalk away, Markson twitched the handkerchief out of his hand. With a bow, he handed the bloodstained square of cloth to Annamaria. She took it with a smile and carefully wiped her blade before sheathing it.
"Miss Simone, Miss Tracy," said the Commodore. "May we offer you our escort?"
Gwen curtsied again and took Norrington's arm. "Thank you, sir. We were on our way back to Will Turner's shop."
Markson offered his arm to Annamaria with a broad wink. She inclined her head with the air of a queen accepting homage from a supplicant and took his arm, following the Commodore and Gwen down the street.
--
Elizabeth sat at her dressing table while her maid arranged her hair. Moodily she stared at her reflection in the mirror. Her marriage wasn't working out the way she'd hoped it would. It wasn't that she and Will didn't love each other, they did. The differences in their backgrounds, however, was causing some strain. Living with her father wasn't helping. Governor Swann was fond enough of Will, but he kept trying to make him over into the aristocrat that he'd hoped Elizabeth would marry. Will was determined to remain true to himself. Unfortunately, the goals of both men were unrealistic.
Will could never become an aristocrat, no matter how many fine suits of clothing he had, no matter how carefully he was taught the manners of elite society. The aristocrats of Jamaica kept careful track of how blue the blood was that ran in everyone's veins. Casual gossip over teacups acquainted every man, woman and child with everyone else's pedigree. Only wealth could sweeten the 'taint' of common blood, and Will was not wealthy.
What Will was, was honorable, honest and hard working. Unfortunately for him, these traits didn't compare with spotless bloodlines in the eyes of most of Jamaica's elite. Elizabeth was aware that many of her acquaintances considered that she had debased herself to marry a tradesman who didn't even have the saving grace of money. She'd known that going in; she'd married Will with her eyes open. What she hadn't realized is that Will hadn't known it. He hadn't been able to ignore the snide comments and veiled insults that came his way as the 'interloper' who'd muscled his was into their presence. Especially, Elizabeth was sure, since many of the insults were about her. She'd hoped that the comments would eventually die down, but it had been a year now and they hadn't. Will's frequent morning duels only helped fuel the gossip mills.
She smiled vaguely at the maid who'd finished with her hair, and absently fastened earrings to the lobes of her ears. What she needed to do was get the two of them out of her father's house and into a home of their own. The trouble was, while Elizabeth didn't mind living in a more modest way, she also didn't want to live in a loft over a blacksmith's shop. Elizabeth had money of her own - an income inherited from her mother. She'd talked to Will about using it to purchase a house for them, but he wouldn't hear of it. He was too proud to live off her money. Living in her father's house was the biggest concession he'd been able to make. She smiled ruefully. That was another difference between him and many aristocrats. For many of them, the size of a girl's dowry was the sole attraction when choosing a bride. She respected Will's opinion, but it did make things more difficult.