"Daddy!" squealed Elizabeth and leaped onto his bed.
"Elizabeth!" Weatherby Swann gasped. He was not wearing his wig or any fancy clothes, just his pantaloons and shifts.
"Daddy, I´m getting married!" Elizabeth sighed and snuggled against him. Governor Swann grudgingly patted his daughter´s head.
"I know, dear. May I get dressed?"
"Of course," Elizabeth said and sprinted down the stairs. Lily, her maid, was sitting near the fire, poking at it with a stick.
"Lily, my sweet darling, will you kindly hand me a banana and pour me a glass of milk?" Elizabeth said. She sat down on Lily´s stool and drummed her fingernails on her thigh, too excited to sit still.
"´Ere ya go, miss," Lily said, handing her the fruit and milk.
"Lily?" Elizabeth said as she peeled her banana.
"Yes, Miss Elizabeth?"
"This is going to be the best day of my life," Elizabeth informed her servant.
"I´m sure of it, miss."
The same time Elizabeth was shakily enjoying her breakfast, Annamaria had stolen a small boat and was currently sailing to Isla Vache, a small island southwest of Hispaniola. She would get there in about three days. She knew the days ahead would yield no thunderstorms or hurricanes, she could feel it. Her mother was a pirate captain, the ability to foresee the subsequent days´ weathers ran in her blood. She would be alone, but that´s how she liked it. She was not what one would call a genial character.
The reason she was doing it? She barely knew herself. All she knew was that she grew up on Isla Vache until she was eighteen (three years after Marcella abandoned her) and met the handsome buccaneer Jack Sparrow. She had known many interesting characters and one in particular was the man who ran the island: Antonio Rafael. A corrupt pig who kept several wives and slave girls to do his bidding, Rafael practically defined the word bastard.
This all related back to Elizabeth in a very strange way. Annamaria was sure Victoria Swann was one of Antonio Rafael´s slave girls.
The wedding was to occur at three o´ clock, and Jack had all his crew sprucing up the Black Pearl to obsessive perfection. He had six men swabbing and scrubbing the deck until it shone as much as possible. He put the rest in charge of various odd jobs like trying to alleviate the scent of man-stink or dust the wheel. Mick Carothers and Gibbs got the unfortunate job of taking inventory of all supplies on board.
Jack and Will were in Will´s room. Jack on Will´s bed, Will in his chair. "You appear to be having cold feet," Will said unhelpfully.
"Blimey, I never would´ve guessed," Jack said, snapping up. He looked at the floor. "I love ´er, but. . ."
"Oh, tais-toi," said Layla, appearing by Will´s doorjamb; a vision of curls, velvet, and lace. This was just a regular outfit, too. Her husband Mick always outfitted her fabulously.
She swished over and sat down and put her hand on Jack´s leg. "Cher, tu aimes Lees. Maintenant, epouses-lui."
"All right," Jack sighed. He smiled devilishly at Layla and took her hand. He led her out and Will followed.
To Jack´s amazement, the Black Pearl was cleaner than it had any right to be. "You lot are relieved of yer positions!" Jack shouted to his crew, proud of them.
They all cheered and went to their bunks for a stiff drink.
Jack saw Marcella coming up the stairs after the rest of the crew departed. "Morning, m´dear co-cap´n."
Then he noticed Marcella was pale and her eyes were glassy. "What´s wrong, Marcie?"
"Is Annamaria on deck?" Marcella asked. She seemed frantic.
"I haven´ seen ´er," Jack said, his heart filling with dread.
"Oh my God," Marcella gasped. "She´s dead!"