AN: As of now I've upped the rating for the liberal smattering of swear words you can find within. So sorry if this makes anyone mad. To those great people who reviewed my story, I'll thank you all at the end of the chapter. Read on! (If you dare… Mwa ha ha- oh wait. Sorry.)
Elizabeth's eyes swam with sorrow, but her jaw was set very firmly against the flood of tears she felt against her eyes. "Well, Commodore, it would appear you have a ship to find." Her father and the commodore stood stock-still, jaws slackening loosely at the hinges. "Surely, commodore, not every sea battle results in the death of every man on any given side. Men have survived shipwrecks before. Will most certainly has. And, who knows; it may have been mutiny." Though tinged with hysterics, Elizabeth felt her reasoning was sound. What a ridiculous notion, give up on a ship full of men. There could be more long boats, lads stranded on beaches. She felt fevered yet invigorated. She refused to lay down all hope.
"Where, Elizabeth, would we begin to search? We have had no record of their bearings for the last month, and you know this! Moreover, anything could have happened. Any foul weather could have blown them from their course."
"That shouldn't matter!" Breathing out in disgust, Elizabeth was fully past her shock. With the conviction of a raging fire, the like of which snapped from the hearth, she strode boldly towards the commodore. At this moment, she regretted their height difference, for she tilted her head back far too greatly to see his face. "Commodore, you're not even trying. Ask sailors from where they last were- ask them about weather conditions, wind changes! Commodore I understand you dislike Will but there's a ship full of men who could still be alive!"
"Elizabeth, the Voyager's last known locations was within Spanish waters. The most likely scenario is that Spanish soldiers brought her down for fear that she was an English pirate ship, and they are not famous for giving quarter. I hat to-"
"How can you talk about lives that way? How can you talk about some stupid scenario when, oh, you just- you're not fit to be a military man, James Norrington!" In the unbearable silence that ensued, a clock chimed eleven o'clock and a congregation of guests, drawn by Elizabeth's screams, gathered in the parlor doorway. In a way, Elizabeth felt the whole situation was rather surreal. Yelling at the man she had abandoned with a broken heart, in front of a crowd of rather tipsy people in corsets. So stupid! So insufferable! "Oh, for heaven's sake James, I would have thought you of all people had morals, priorities."
Her rather alarmed father had remained silent up until this point, where he chose to put a clean, noble's hand on Elizabeth's shoulder. Opening his mouth rather cautiously to speak, Elizabeth turned away.
"Oh, I'm going to bed."
Held in a strange fascination to the scene that had ensued, the crowd watched as she turned at her heel, extended a pale hand to take up her skirts, and ascended the staircase. The daughter of the governor of Jamaica was in hysterics.
Swann turned to his guests and with white hands fluttering, he made stuttering apologies. "I apologize; my daughter has had a fit. If you would all be so gracious as to excuse her behaviors, the, er, party remains to be enjoyed." Fluttering like eager moths in well-tailored suits to the flame that was the ballroom, the energetic crowd moved on to partake in the annual exchanging of gifts. Elizabeth was walking with increasingly quavering steps to her chambers and the governor and commodore stood in silence.
"Norrington, I am so sorry-"
"Governor, it is not required for you to apologize for another's action. Truth be told, her reaction to the situation was more than justified. I- please give her my condolences. If she will accept them."
"Commodore, Elizabeth… Elizabeth is an excitable girl. That Turner boy, I do not think it was such a 'love' that was as strong as she claimed. An infatuation." The governor saw his chance to make amends with the Commodore and to wrangle him into proposing to Elizabeth. This time their path to matrimony would be free of- weeds.
"Governor, I shall take me leave." A look of grief saddened his features as he made his way towards the door.
Once more the governor made to open his mouth, but was silenced with some vague idea that the commodore was in no mood to trifle away time with conversations.
Outside the steps, the commodore had time to think. He was glad he had made his way to the governor's house by foot. He was in no particular hurry to return to the fort and arrange the burials of the men whom the Creole angler had found. He was certainly uneager to notify their families, bring upon them the same sudden grief he had forced upon Elizabeth.
Now that he thought of it, why had he been in such a hurry to come here, to bring the news of Turner's death? He would not think of it. He had never truly been a man to question his actions. Until this summer in fact, his lot in life had seemed a very neat one, with things laid out just so. Now the lot had grown rather weedy and confused. In addition, he had strayed from the path far too much for comfort.
With the perplexing thoughts churning through his mind, he started along the dusty walkway never lifting his eyes from the walk.
* * *
Elizabeth was watching the ocean. It had seemed to her in her past years, a cradle that held danger and wonderment, and a promise of excitement. Now it was a dead thing, full of dead things, which was only set to bring upon more death. Casting her glance away, she saw the slim figure of her maid in the doorway. "Miss, are you hungry?"
'I'm tired, I want to sleep." This was a rather ridiculous thing to say, as she sat sprawled in a chair, crisp and pristine gown crumpled in folds about her legs. The maid seemed to watch her for a moment, let out a vaguely audible sigh, and gave her a terse little smile.
"Yes, very well, Miss." She spun on her dainty heel and was gone, as servants are, like a wisp of cloud trying to spread from horizon to horizon and then vanishing to nothing. The cold curtness of her voice, however, was something Elizabeth was not used to, and that was what it took to bring tears washing down her face, pouring like raining onto her pillow where she had stumbled to, down her face, and slowly, slowly cold against her neck. Her body was wracked with sobs but she scarce noticed.
* * *
At the end of the walk, the commodore had begun to sense he was not alone. He turned to find his intuition well proved. There she was, the opposite of grace and poise, stumbling over to him. A fine sheen of sweat was illuminated on her face in the moonlight. Theodora Lawrence.
"Wait, wait!" She caught up to him and braced herself on him with a light hand that he found himself comparing with disdain to Elizabeth's.
"Commodore, what is going on? Don't tell me 'nothing', for I'd know that to be a lie. I'd know it anywhere." She stared into his face, eyes uncharacteristically somber.
"Miss Lawrence, I thought you had informed me that the end of the walk would be blissfully free of inquisitive young women."
"Neigh, I said it should be from free of talkative young ladies. Either way it hardly matters. I'm to be your family in less than a year, and you have been naught but cold to me. You and your ilk. And I'm dreadfully sick of being shut in the dark about everything!"
"This, Miss, is of no concern to you."
"I don't care. Elizabeth is a friend of mine and I wish to know what you have done to cause her such dreadful grief."
"It is not of my doing. The ship her swain was on was fired upon in Spanish waters and has gone down. Elizabeth simply refuses to believe that Turner and his shipmates are dead."
Theodora's breathing slowed but she kept a firm grip on the commodore's collar. She exhaled deeply, still watching him. With a softened expression that was caught and fully glorified by the steady moonlight, she spoke quite softly.
"If you can answer me that question, James, then perhaps you might answer another. What terrible quality do I possess that causes you so to dislike me? What have I done?"
Norrington liked to think of himself as a man who was prepared with a witty barb or solemn reply to each comment. Yet he was caught so off guard he drew away from her sister-in-law-to-be and stared at her.
"Miss Lawrence. You- you are not worthy of the title 'Lady'. If you would but whine a little less and keep your mouth shut on a more frequent occasion, I would think of you rather better. As it is-"
"As it is you are a disgrace and not worthy of the title 'man'. I take that back. You are just like any other man. Selfish, narrow-minded, and a rather brutish idiot. I'm in a mood with you James and I have half the mind to let your brother know what a disgrace you are."
"Come now, Theodora, don't credit yourself with that much cerebral ability." What had seemed, at the moment he thought of it, a witty and stinging maneuver in their verbal sparring, turned out otherwise. Close to tears and frustrated to the point of screaming, Theodora slapped the commodore very squarely across the face. He stumbled backwards and she strode angrily back towards the manor, her own face as red as the handprint she had left. Damn the commodore, and damn everyone. This evening was getting better and better. Suddenly the gears of her mind turned and she did as well.
"One last thing, James dear, merry Christmas!"
* * *
How wonderfully simple things were now that she had resolved things in her mind. Had she had the notion to second guess them, things would have gone horribly wrong and the plan would have died rather pathetically.
A soft hand caressed the ring Will had given her. She thought that, surely, he had forged it himself. It was a sort of crude piece of work. This was justified if her theory was correct, for blacksmith tools were rather designed for less delicate projects. Yet it was still lovely. It seemed to be made of a matte black metal, which shone very faintly if polished well enough. No other trinket or fancy decoration adorned it, but the love and sheer care that went into the piece brought his face clear and bright into her mind. A look at the ring and the last few lines Will had written her was enough to set her mind straight.
Standing with uneasy legs, she went to the maid's primly kept sewing basket and rummaged impatiently, until she found what she searched for. They seemed plain and poorly made, but they were about to do her a great service. Stepping with little more confidence then before she stood before her vanity and sat. The white cushions were so prim and perfect like everything else, and she realized she was wild and feverish to change it all. So, while doing her best impersonation of a determined person she could muster at the time Elizabeth stared into the mirror and picked up the scissors.
* * *
Weatherby Swann had retired for the evening. He sat in his reception room that was neatly adjacent to his bedchamber, and slumped. A strange thing to do, if you were a man of his position and occupation. However, his mood was in a slump. He had done some soul-searching. He had pondered the matter for two hours. He could not understand why it was, however, that this Will lad came to bring such total misery to his daughter. She was a gentle child, yet with her maturation had also come the maturation of the childhood rebellious streak. If only she had earnestly accepted Norrington's proposal.
Ah, and Norrington. That man had walked out this evening, just as he had brought round the subject of a new opportunity. As if he did not care for Elizabeth anymore, as if he had come past his desire for her. The man was young, not past thirty-three and he was making himself miserable.
Blast! The two should be wed. If they didn't know it themselves than at least he did. Strumming his fingers upon the oaken desk with a murderous glint in his eye, he raised his hands in a steeple, closed his eyes, and leaned his chin against his fingertips. A pair of even footsteps raised his eyelids and caused him to jump slightly. His nursing of discontentments had been interrupted.
The butler stood at the door, damask coat strangely still immaculate after a long evening's work. "Sir you have a visitor."
"At this bloody hour! It's one o'clock in the morning. I might be asleep for all this vagabond knows."
"Forgiving myself sir, I'd hardly call myself a vagabond." Both butler and governor stood in a surprise as James Norrington pushed through the doors. The butler looked affronted that he had been deprived of his solemn duty.
"Have a pleasant evening sir." It appeared Elizabeth would not be the only Swann walked out on by a ruffled servant that evening.
"I, oh, beg pardon James."
"Oh no, no, please." Gesturing in a flustered manner the commodore waved his hands and took a few steps forward. "I'd truly like to speak with Elizabeth. If she's still awake. I'm very sorry." With a creased brow and a melancholic look crossing his face, the commodore shamefully apologized and spoke, "I was walking and the two hours slipped from me like sand in a sieve."
"Of course, don't apologize. My daughter may be asleep but I shall check. You, your more than welcome to stay in the guest suite should she be, and ah, well, make yourself at home." Slightly nervous, the governor left the room.
James Norrington had guessed that the governor was jumping to conclusions. He felt his reputation had been discredited if Weatherby had thought he would pounce as soon as Will was gone. James was considering the possibility of having a rather large glass of liquor when his host dashed in a mad frenzy into the room.
"Commodore, she, Elizabeth is gone!"
AN: Yes, another cliffhanger. Sorry, I couldn't think of a better place to end the chapter. It so fit. Anyways, a thanks to all those really nice people who've taken the time (and sanity) to read my little story.
To Elven Kitten: Glad you likey. J
To Wherewolf-Luva: Really sorry I left you with another cliffhanger! J Couldn't resist mate!
To DaydreamBeliever14: Thanks a lot. I had no idea if the plot was any good but you're review was very encouraging.
Thank you all!