VI - Letters from Home

Commodore Norrington stood quietly in his bedroom and gazed out the window, while Matthias relieved him of his jacket.

"Four shillings," he muttered.

Matthias looked at him askance. "Begging you pardon, Sir."

Norrington frowned. "I just paid four shillings for the description of a man, which could not be more fantastical if Elizabeth had though it up." His expression turned even more grim when he realised to whom he had just referred. "Utter lunacy," he added.

"And was this description helpful?" Matthias inquired.

"Not at all. An old man covered in tattoos, with an eye patch and a hideous scar. No one, who is about to commit murder in a public place, would allow himself to be that recognisable."

Matthias nodded thoughtfully. "It was a disguise then?"

"I am certain of it."

"I am sure the murderer will be apprehended, Sir." The valet meticulously placed wig and tricorn on the wardrobe.

Norrington forced a grateful smile. "Thank you, Matthias."

Matthias had been in the Commodore's employ for the last nine years. He had been one of his father's footman for five years before then. When Norrington had brought news of his deployment to the Caribbean home, his father had insisted to give him free choice in the servants he wanted to take with him, so he would have a small reminder of the comforts of home.

Aside from Matthias, who had readily agreed to accompany him, Norrington had chosen, Matthias' wife, Pauline, who was an excellent cook, their daughters Sarah and Mildred who kept the house in order, as well as their son Michael, who served as butler.

Over time, Matthias had become a confidant. It was a relationship of which his father would have never approved. Lord Christopher had always been very distant with his own servants. The Commodore's older brother, Benjamin, used to joke that he treated them as if they were members of the family.

Matthias bowed and asked whether he required anything else.

The Commodore straightened and turned towards his valet. "No, thank you. You may retire for the night."

"A few letters arrived for you earlier today. Sarah placed them on your desk."

Norrington nodded in acknowledgement and Matthias departed.

* * * * * * *

There was a hallway. A think carpet underneath bare feet. And at the end of the corridor… a door… unlocked. The door opened and a shadow entered, barely visible in the darkness. Soft footsteps fell across the room, past the desk, the two chairs that stood in front of it, towards the fireplace. A hand came to rest on the mantelpiece. It ran smoothly along the marble on the underside until it reached a barely perceptible dent in the perfect surface. Light pressure was applied, and with a soft swishing noise a small rectangle, barely big enough to admit the hand of a grown man, opened directly above the mantelpiece.

A chair was quietly moved towards the fire place and small feet climbed upstairs. A hand reached inside the hidden compartment and extracted a velvet satchel which was opened quickly and turned upside down. A heavy signet ring and two jewels, both the size of pigeon eggs, fell into cold hands, which quickly closed around them.

There was a sudden flash and the image changed.

It was raining. Thunder cracked through the night sky and unbearable cold invaded skin and bone as the shadow stood in front of a gate. It was furnished of solid iron, tipped with arrowheads and a crest had been wrought into the middle portion, so skilled that the seam was hardly visible.

Home lay beyond those gates. And a future. A hand reached through the poring sheets of water. There was another flash, this time unmistakably lightning, and the gate disappeared.

"Captain?… Captain?"

The figure on the deck of the Pinaforte turned around.

Bathed in the light of the lamp he held aloft stood a young man with short brown hair. His face expressed worry and concern, as if he had called for his Captain's attention several times before receiving any acknowledgement.

"What is it, Mr. Brown?"

"Miss Geraldine is here to see you"

The young servant girl stood behind the second mate, hooded in a long cloke. She hurriedly stepped forward.

"We have to change our plans," Geraldine said without preamble.

The captain dismissed Mr. Brown with a curt nod. "What happened?"

Geraldine stepped closer and lowered her voice, so no one would overhear their conversation. "Mr. Travers keeps the map with him at all times. And now that his valet was murdered, he has become even more paranoid. He won't leave the house anymore and insists that guards be posted around the estate. The Governor tried to talk some sense into him, but he won't listen. The Commodore is not at all pleased that he had to assign a full score of his men to additional guard duty."

"I heard about the murder."

"Do you think…"

The captain shrugged. "I don't know. It would be too much of a coincidence if the Bulldog didn't have something to do with it. On the other hand, why would he risk the attention?"

"Because no one knows that he is here."

"But they will suspect that it has something to do with the map. Travers had the Commodore take a look at it. The man is no fool, he identified the markings of the Moon Tide. I'm sure that his curiosity was roused as well."

Geraldine looked puzzled. "How do you know that?"

A wry smile appeared on the Captain's lips. "Mr. Brown was spying at the window."

Before Geraldine, whose eyes had grown round as saucers, could grow more agitated, the Captain added. "No one saw him. Don't worry."

The statement didn't seem to calm Geraldine at all, but she didn't say anything on the subject. Instead she brought the conversation back to the map and their plan to steal it.

"Some good has come of all this, though. The Governor insisted that Mr. Travers leave the map in his safe during the ball. He said that with so many people around, no one would dare to break in and steal it."

"So the map will be in the library after all."

"Yes, but only for that one evening. Mrs. Travers was most reluctant to agree. But Governor Swann was firm. I think he had quiet enough of Mr. Travers secrecy. "

"Then I will steal it, Geraldine. You have already done enough. I will not endanger you. Though it would still be helpful to know where exactly the safe was hidden and how I can access it. I won't have much time once I'm inside the mansion."

Geraldine looked positively smug. "Oh, I already know that."

A bemused gaze from underneath raised eyebrows fell on her.

"I asked Miranda."

The was a short bark of laughter. "And she simply told you?"

"We servants must stick together." Geraldine said not without pride then she smiled mischievously. "And she can't really keep a secret to save her life. Not if you know how to play her."

There was a moment of silence, until Geraldine finally conceded. "I got her drunk. And I was rather surprised to learn just how much she knows about that library."

"Well, you've certainly turned into quiet the savy spy." The Captain sounded amused, but there was respect underlying the statement.

* * * * * * *

It was an hour later when Geraldine left the Pinaforte and hurried back to the mansion. She did not pause to look left or right. Her gaze was turned towards the lights of Fort Charles as she hurried over the cobblestones. But even if she had paid closer attention to her surroundings she would not have seen the figure which crouched not far from the landing pier.

Water was dripping from soaked clothes as a shadow moved quietly away from the docks, his gaze still on the servant girl. "Interesting," Jack Sparrow said. "Very interesting."

* * * * * * *

Finally free of the constrains of uniform and wig, Norrington untied his hair and let it fall to his shoulders.

He walked across his study and poured himself a glass of wine before he settled in the comfortable armchair near the fireplace. He had taken the letters from his desk and placed them on the small serving table which stood next to him. The first was from his sister, Bethany, the other one was from Nigel, a long-time friend he had known since his first days at the academy.

With a content sigh, Norrington leaned backwards and sipped his drink. His fingers wandered over the envelopes until he finally decided to read Nigel's letter first.

Dear James,

News of your promotion have finally reached England. Allow me to congratulate you and to offer my best wishes. I confess that I am not surprised at your achievements. Your reputation has spread back to your homeland and hardly a week passes when I am not asked how you fare.

I am proud to tell you, that we have not been idle over here either. Just last week we apprehended one of Africa's most notorious pirates. Captain Gareth himself ran into our nets. He was badly wounded when we found him and his ship adrift in the canal. At first we thought he had finally taken on the wrong merchant vessel, but no reports of a scrimmage were brought to us from the shipping companies. Admiral Townsend believes another pirate got the better of him, though strangely enough we have not had any pirate activity for over a week. It appears that we finally scared them away.

As always, Father and Magaret send their regards. She recently talked him into attending an auction in London. He bought her a locket to which the auctioneer swears that it originated in the Caribbean. Father doubts it, but you know Margaret. She is still as willful as ever. Just last week she….


And so he went on for some time, describing his daughter's antics, the latest news from home, the political situation, and facts about friends and family.

As always, Nigel's letter greatly improved the Commodore's mood, and by the time he had finished reading it, he found himself relaxed, his mind occupied with fond memories. His glass was empty and although he rarely followed up on the wine with a second drink, after today's events, he permitted himself another two finger's breath of the warming beverage. He let the liquid linger on his tongue, savouring the fruity taste, before he swallowed it.

Then, with a familiar feeling of trepidation, he reached for his sister's letter.

He had never had a close relationship with Bethany. Just as Governor Swann, she displayed an irritating obliviousness to ill-will around her, but unlike the Governor it was not a façade. She was cheerful to a default and tried so hard to please everyone around her, that she usually ended up alienating them. She dismissed gentle criticism and well meant advise with equal ignorance and was altogether impractical. She was, however, of a kind nature, helpful and intelligent, which had saved her from social disgrace. Norrington had not seen her since he had been assigned to Port Royal, nine years ago. She wrote him usually once a month and filled her letters with the same inane subjects that had dominated her conversations at home.

Sitting up straight, Norrington pulled the letter from the envelope and unfolded it.

Dearest Brother,

So much has happened in the last few days that I hardly know where to begin. Your brother is quiet busy keeping matters in order and so the sad duty to inform you of these tragic events falls upon me.

You have always proven yourself to prefer the truth spoken straightforward instead of hidden behind meaningless platitudes. Therefore I hope you will not mistake my frankness for unkindness.

Our beloved father is dead.

He died two nights ago after a riding accident. Triton refused at the fence, down by the old mill, and father fell into the riverbed. He hit his head quiet severely at the sharp rocks. He was unconscious when Benjamin and the riding party brought him home. Of course, we summoned a physician immediately, but even our capable Dr. Milrow could not prevent this tragedy.

I am so sorry, James. By the time this letter reaches you, we will have laid him to rest. As was his last wish he shall be buried beside our dear mother in London. Benjamin has prepared everything and we will leave for the funeral tomorrow morning.

I am certain that Benjamin will discuss any further developments with you once all arrangements have been taken care of. We are all overcome with grief and you are dearly missed.

Notifications of the funeral have to be send out and thus I must be brief. And even though this is hardly the appropriate time I do wish to congratulate you on your promotion. It brings our family much needed joy in these dark days.

Yours,
Bethany


Norrington sat in shocked silence for several minutes. The letter slipped from his suddenly numb fingers and drifted unnoticed to the floor. Abruptly, he stood, only to realise that there was nowhere for him to go. A strange kind of apathy had overcome him, leaving no room for grief, anger or sadness.

James picked up the letter and read it again while he paced in front of the fireplace. Then his fist curled around the paper and he fell back into his chair. The air felt hot on his face and he opened the upper buttons of his shirt.

Once the initial shock had passed, Norrington came back to his senses. Yet, the sense of loss he felt was not as painful as he had expected it to be.

He had respected his father, had tried to live up to the standards he had sat, and believed to have succeeded in this endeavour. Christopher Norrington had been a distant man, regal and just. A man who always cared about his family and friends first. He had not been very approachable, but always unimpeachable in his unwavering loyalty and dignity.

James had admired these qualities and had aspired to become just as respected and righteous as his father. He felt it was an affront to his memory that he could not summon the emotions to feel grief for his death. Guilt dispelled the indifference, and he tried to convince himself that he was simply numb because of the unexpected passing.

A knock at the door pulled Norrington from his musings. Michael, Matthias' son, entered.

"Please forgive the late intrusion, Sir. Lieutenant Gillette is here to see you."

The Commodore needed a moment to collect himself. "Yes, of course. Send him in."

Lieutenant Gillette entered, his hands fumbling with his hat, a sure sign that the young officer was nervous. "Commodore." He greeted Norrington. "Please forgive the lateness of my visit but I…" he stopped talking and narrowed his eyes. "Sir, are you all right?"

It took a moment until the words registered in Norrington's mind. For some reason it was difficult to concentrate.

"I'm exceedingly well. Thank you," he said, but the words sounded hollow, even to him. Then he realised that he did not cut the most composed figure, with his hair falling loosely over his back, with the top two buttons of his shirt undone and a piece of paper twisted in his fist.

One look at the disbelieving expression on Gillette's face confirmed his assessment.

"I…" he cleared his throat. "I received a letter from my sister today," Norrington started hesitantly. He expected Gillette to inquire after his family, but the young man merely waited patiently for him to continue. "My father… died… It was a riding accident."

As always, Gillette wore his feelings on his sleeves and Norrington could see surprise, compassion, and concern wash over the Lieutenant's face in quick succession. "I am very sorry to hear that, Sir," he said politely.

Norrington had the distinct impression that Gillette wanted to say more, but restrained himself, for which the Commodore was grateful.

He finally put the letter back on the table and smoothed it down. Then he straightened and faced his Lieutenant again. "What brings you here, then?"

Gillette pulled an envelope from his uniform jacket and handed it to the Commodore. "As you requested, I brought those maps to the Governor's house today. He was about to have the invitations for tomorrow's ball send out. He told me that you had already received yours when you met Mrs. Travers and her daughters. But it must have slipped from your pockets because the Governor's butler found it on the floor by the entrance. I took the liberty to return it to you."

Norrington stared at the invitation for a long moment. He was not sure whether he should be amused or angry.

"You might be a fine officer Gillette, but you are a rotten liar."

The lieutenant flushed guiltily.

"Why are you really here?"

Gillette shifted from one foot to the other. The Commodore observed with interest that the young man in front of him appeared unsure of himself. It was a side of the Lieutenant that he had never seen before.

Finally, Gillette seemed to come to a decision. "It is no matter of importance, Sir. I feel, given the tragic news that you received today, that it would be impudent of me to address it."

"Nonsense." Norrington dismissed the Lieutenants concerns with a wave of his hand.

Gillette twisted his hat, though he never broke eye contact. It was obvious that he wished to leave, which roused the Commodore's curiosity.

"Speak up, man," he demanded.

Startled at the Commodore's tone, Gillette stood a little straighter.

"I came here…" he started, then rephrased. "I was concerned."

"Concerned?" Norrington repeated, trying not to show his displeasure.

"Yes, Sir." Lieutenant Gillette had found his confidence again. "I know that you do not wish that anyone intrude upon your privacy, Sir. But, ever since the Miss Swann's wedding, you seem withdrawn and somewhat melancholy, if you permit me to say so. And I was merely wondering if there is anything I could…"

"Lieutenant Gillette!"

Norrington had not even raised his voice, yet the Lieutenant stood immediately at attention.

"I believed that I had made myself quiet clear that my personal affairs, as well as my well-being, are of absolutely no concern to you."

"Yes, Sir."

"I will ask you one last time to stay out of matters that are none of your business or I will be forced to take actions. Is that understood, Lieutenant?"

"Aye, aye, Sir." Gillette stood rigid, his gaze cast straight ahead.

Trying to restrain the sudden burst of anger he felt at the younger man's impertinence, he approached the Lieutenant and stared him down.

"You are dismissed," he finally ground out.

Gillette snapped his heals together, barked on last 'Aye, aye, Sir.' and retreated.

Norrington suddenly felt drained. He closed his eyes as a wave of dizziness swept over him.

*Too harsh, James. He was only trying to express his concern.* he thought. Then the anger was back. *He should have respected my wishes and left me alone.*

*Yes, but do I really want to be alone?* he suddenly wondered. He sank back into the armchair and stared at the flames in the fireplace.

The navy was his life. His duties consumed all of his time and energy, but until today that had never bothered him. He loved the sea, loved to stand on the Dauntless' quarter deck and see nothing but a carpet of endless blue stretching out before him. Protecting Port Royale gave his life purpose and meaning. He had achieved so much, had see so many wonders, both terrible and beautiful.

He had built himself a life here. But it was an empty life without friendship or love. His men respected him but he had never allowed anyone to breach that invisible barrier of command that surrounded his position. Not even when he had been a Lieutenant. As Commodore he was responsible for the men under his command and he had seen too many of them die. Blown to pieces by canon balls, shot by muskets or cut down by sabres.

They were his responsibility, and it was no use forming friendships when one more pirate attack could end his or their lives. Though he had to admit, that, even if they weren't his subordinates, it would make little difference. Allowing people to get too close to him was just not in his nature.

* * * * * * *