A/N: Characters belong to… someone else. Huh.
My first Pirate fic… be nice. :)
Thanks to Lisa for a wonderful betaing job, as usually.
Our Beautiful Life (Or I Want To Be A Pirate)
By ceridwenamyed
Elizabeth doesn't like the taste of rum, but sometimes she sneaks downstairs in the middle of the night, dressed in silk and lace. She never bothers with a glass; rum is too coarse a drink for crystal. The drink burns its way down her throat and she knows that Will knows her secret but never mentions it.
Will, who was always so good with his hands (she thinks this with a smile), now makes tiny ships, magnificent in their detail in glass bottles. In the evenings she sits reading (sometimes she can't read- she wants to feel the back of her throat burn, the blood singing in her veins) and watches Will work. He paints tiny flags, seals every splinter of wood with varnish, uses fine thread he borrows from her sewing kit to make the rigging. Once the ship is glued to the inside of the bottle, he places it in Elizabeth's hands. She holds the bottle carefully, feeling the fragility of the ship within the thickness of its glass walls, as Will pulls the little string that hangs out of the bottle's neck and the sails raise. He burns off the string quickly and there the ship is. Perfect and frozen in a tiny prison. As they sit admiring the trinket, Elizabeth feels a little twist in her stomach.
A ship is freedom.
However, the smile on Will's face as he completes each little model before it enters the bottle convinces her that she is still falling deeper and deeper in love with him. The twist in her stomach goes away.
We are happy, they tell each other. Look at this wonderful house, our loyal servants, our fine possessions. We have a beautiful life.
And then once a year a letter arrives that changes everything. It is written on smudged parchment and sealed with black wax.
"I've received a letter today, Elizabeth," says Will over breakfast.
"Oh?" says Elizabeth, pouring sweet tea into a china cup and not noticing the sparkle that has suddenly come into her husband's eyes.
"We need to be at the harbour by eight o'clock tomorrow morning," Will continues. Elizabeth drops her silver spoon into her cup and stares at him. Then they both laugh.
The day is busy; trunks need to be packed and provisions made; loaves of bread, water biscuits that will keep in the hottest weather; a sack full of oranges and some expensive wine. Letters are sent out, cancelling appointments and declining invitations (Elizabeth's father always heartily disapproves of this lack of courtesy, as he sees it). The house is in uproar but the servants do not complain because they know what will come next.
The next day a carriage takes Will, Elizabeth and her oldest maid Melissa, who always accompanies them, down to the harbour where an old grizzled man waits in a large rowing boat. He grumbles when he sees the trunks and sacks to be taken but is usually placated with the wine. And then he and Will take the oars and row. Melissa stands at the shore and waves until they disappear out the mouth of the bay and out of sight. Then she gets back into the carriage and goes back to the mansion where the other servants are already covering the furniture with dust covers. They stay with the house but come and go more freely; inevitably somebody raids the drinks cabinet, but other than that nothing in the house is touched until the Master and Lady return.
The mansion waits patiently, for the time of their return differs every time: it is anything from two weeks to nearly two months. But they always return. And what a difference those weeks away make! They return smiling and even more tanned than usual, cheerful and sometimes thoughtful. Elizabeth is often bruised and Will cut. Their clothes are all cleaned and pressed except for one outfit each, which is dirty and damp, torn and then repaired with hasty stitches with thick wool, as if they have worn no other clothes but these.
This is strange, but not as strange as the presents they return bring home. Caskets of spices with which Cook has fun concocting dishes ; oriental looking furniture and unusual little trinkets and toys; masks that look amusing during the day and gruesome at night; necklaces and rings; beautifully embroidered tapestries. And always Elizabeth discreetly gives the butler two bottles of rum to lock away in the drinks cabinet.
The servants burn with questions but Melissa, who rules the household with an iron thumb , tells them to hold their tongues or feel the sharp edge of hers. However, she cannot prevent them from overhearing, and Will and Elizabeth are somewhat careless with their talk. They speak of adventure, of sailing underneath a dark sky on an equally black ship. They whisper of treasure and curses, blood and death. They say the name "Jack" with a kind of exasperated fondness. They never reveal the specifics; exact places are never mentioned and apart from Jack, no names are spoken.
They often hold a party when they've been back a week or so; a not so modest display of what they have gained from their latest trip (although in truth, the guests notice the vitality of their hosts than they notice the possessions). Many people mutter to each other that dreaded word: piracy. The Commodore himself usually attends but he delicately evades the questions and demands the gossips have on the subject.
And then, when all the guests have left, whilst the servants clear away the remnant of the gathering, Will and Elizabeth dance beneath the clear night sky, singing an old song to each other. This is the most perfect time of their year. Tomorrow, the boring trivialities of real life will begin to intrude and the spark in their eyes will dim slightly. Elizabeth will remember that she is getting older and worries that her husband will find her less beautiful. In a few months, the drinks cabinet will be unlocked.
But for now everything is just right. Elizabeth smiles at Will, knowing that he will always find her beautiful, and that he is perfect, even when he is being stupid and stubborn. They have a wonderful house, loyal servants, fine possessions and each other. But they also have the sea; breaking and unifying, dark and light, always holding another adventure in its depths. It waits for them patiently every year and all it takes to return is a letter sealed with black wax and signed by Captain Jack Sparrow.