Chapter 7: Confrontation

It was after supper, and Harry was finishing up her packing, in preparation for the voyage back to St. Claire Island on the morrow, when there came a knock on the door of her room.

"Yes! Come in!" she called absently, debating whether she should risk Weatherby's wrath and wear her male attire, which would keep her far more comfortable in the drizzling weather they expected, or if she should wear the green dress and heavy cloak to please him, and get buried under ells and ells of rain-soaked fabric until she could change aboard the Bonny Lass.

The door opened, and the footman, Geoffrey, peeked in, with a worried look on his face. Harry glanced at him.

"Yes? What is it Geoffrey? There's no need to look like that. I won't eat you!"

Geoffrey opened the door further and straightened. "No, ma'am, but…"

"What?" Harry demanded. The man still looked worried. "What's happened?"

"If you please, ma'am. Your brother…I mean…Governor Swann requests that you join him in the library."

"Oh," said Harry, and gave a little sigh. She might have known her brother would not let her escape Port Royal without a final harangue about her situation. They had barely spoken all week, making Harry's visit exceedingly awkward for all parties. Elizabeth seemed particularly distressed by the rift that had come between her Father and her Aunt, and Will was hardly less so.

Harry said to Geoffrey, "Tell him I shall be down in five minutes, then," thinking it was better to have it over quickly, rather than give herself a chance to worry all evening. "I'm just finishing up here."

"Very well, ma'am," said Geoffrey, then added hesitantly, "but…well, it'd likely be best if you hurried."
Harry stared in concern as he closed the door behind him.

Five minutes later, she was descending the stairs, inwardly steeling herself for another unpleasant confrontation. As she reached the foyer, there was no sign of the footman, but the butler, Beck, was there, his naturally morose expression growing even more so as he nodded to her from near the front doors.

"What an old sobersides you are, Beck!" she exclaimed, lightly, and smiled, determined to present a lighthearted front. Lord, it would be good to be gone from here on the morrow! She crossed the foyer and headed down the hall to the library doors. She tilted her chin up, and smiled a little as she opened the door and slipped in.

But her brother was not alone. As she closed the door behind her, her heart gave a sickening thud as she recognized Norrington, and, standing beside him, Jack. Her love.

There were several branches of candles lit, and his face was all planes and shadows in their light, his dark eyes filled with pain and anger. He was very much the worse for wear, bruised and unkempt, and he wore a pair of heavy iron manacles that had already made his wrists raw.

She felt the blood drain from her face, and a wave of nausea, and light flickered at the edges of her vision. She stiffened. No! She could not faint! She would not!

"What is the meaning of this?" she said, her voice not sounding like her own. She pulled herself together, her expression growing hard, her eyes beginning to blaze.

"So it is true!" her brother snapped. "This…criminal! This is the father of your child! I can see it written in your face!"

She looked at Weatherby and began to speak, her voice gaining strength as she went on. "You have done this…brought him here…because of that? To play Abelard to my Heloise perhaps? Well, by God, I am no Heloise, and you will not find me taking myself off to any nunnery! And I tell you, if you do not release him immediately…if the least harm comes to him…oh! I shall go mad! Take those things off him now, or I swear by Heaven and all the saints there ever were, I will make it my life's work to ruin you both! I know things about each of you that would destroy your careers as surely as night follows day, and do not doubt that they would be heard in ears that matter! And if the truth is not enough, I'll tell them lies! Now let him go!"

Her brother, who had foolishly expected tears and pleading from his errant sister, gaped for a long moment, then looked at Norrington, then at Harry again.

"Henrietta Swann!" he tried to bluster, but she cut him off, almost shrieking in her fury.

"I am not Henrietta Swann! I am Harry Fanshawe, the bloody Dowager Duchess of Wyndham, having sold myself for George's debts and YOUR ADVANCEMENT! As well be a common whore! God's life, he was SIXTY! And now you have the unmitigated gall to tell me I am doing wrong to grab happiness with both hands when it comes to me? Release him! NOW!"

There was not a tear to be seen, only pure rage, and her brother was beginning to be afraid she'd do herself, and perhaps the babe, an injury with the indulgence of such vehemence. For all the qualities that put her constantly at odds with him, and his anger at her present predicament, Weatherby still loved her, the little sister whom he'd virtually raised himself after their parents had died. The Governor opened and closed his mouth once or twice, then grimaced and looked at Norrington and nodded briefly.

Norrington, a sardonic smile twisting his lips, withdrew the key from his pocket. "Raise your wrists, please, Sparrow," he said, his voice reflecting nothing save a slight boredom.

Jack did so, his eyes on Harry and Swann, until the manacles came away. Then he glanced down and absently rubbed his sore wrists.

Harry, watching him, set her teeth, and took a deep breath, and managed to keep from wincing when he looked up at her again. She was surprised at how steady her voice was as she said, "I am sorry you had to find out this way. But it will make no difference. I do not ask anything of you. The gift of the child is enough."

"Ask anything of him!" exclaimed her brother. "I should think not, indeed! What should you ask of this blackguard? Marriage?"

"There is no question of that," said Harry, as miserable as she'd ever been in her life, but equally determined not to show it. "I told you before: I will not marry again."

Swann said, "Harry, if you will not think of your family—of what will be said!—then think of the child! You show great naiveté if you think society will accept your bastard offspring without a blink! And there are men here on Jamaica, fine men, who would be only too happy to take you to wife, in spite of your situation."

Harry looked over at her brother, dislike writ large on her face. "I doubt it not. My wealth would be an irresistible inducement to anyone. But wealth is a great conveyor of respectability as well, brother. There will be no difficulty. I will not marry!"

And then, at last, Jack spoke for the first time, his voice harsh and cold. "You would do well to heed your brother's advice, Lady Fanshawe. Wealth cannot compensate for the lack of a father in a child's life, and well I know it, being the by-blow of a profligate myself."

The other three stared at him.

Harry felt his words like a knife to her heart. As though she could ever look at another man!

But Swann, thinking back to the wedding, and studying Jack's face closely now, said sharply, "Wainfleet?"

Jack looked at Swann, hesitating briefly. But then he said, "Aye. You guessed it at the wedding, didn't you? I'm held to have the look of him a bit. But I favor my mother more, so much that he couldn't bear the sight of me after her death. Put me on a ship as Cabin Boy for a year, then tucked me away as apprentice to a cartographer in Portsmouth, on a pittance for wages. No way to go home, and he never once visited, or even sent word. So I ran off to sea again at seventeen, and never looked back."

"He's still alive," Swann said, slowly, stunned at the pirate's words.

Jack laughed shortly. "Is he, then? Maybe I should pay him a visit. Pick up old threads an' all."

"Jack!" Harry said softly, pain in her voice at the bitterness in his.

But he said harshly, "Don't waste pity on me. I chose my life at seventeen, and I've no regrets. But think about someone other than your precious self for once, Lady Fanshawe: it's time to leave off actin' the spoiled jeune fille." He smiled grimly at her expression. "I'll take my leave now, if these fine gentlemen'll give me leave. But I'll be back in the morning—unless you think it's no concern of mine?" She said nothing, but a slow flush crept up her pale cheeks. He nodded. "G'night to you then."

He strode from the room, and the three made no move to stop him. Harry winced as the sound of the front door slamming behind him assaulted her ears.

"Well," said Weatherby. He looked at his sister. "You will delay your departure from this house, sister, and we will meet in the morning to continue this discussion."

Harry thought to herself, By Heaven we will not! But she only directed a parting glance of pain and dislike at the two men before she, too, turned on her heel and left the room.