I awoke to a glorious June morning and threw open the balcony doors to
reveal a gorgeous, sunny Port Royale. I was immediately called back,
however, because the servant women informed me that I should not be
standing out in the open in my nightclothes. So the balcony doors were shut
once again, and I was shut away behind the changing screen. There was some
fuss among the servants about what I would be wearing today.
"Ladies," I declared from behind the screen, "It is only a garden party!" They seemed to ignore me however, and there was a knock on the door.
"Special delivery from Colonel Ridges," stated a foreign voice.
"Thank ye sir," one of the servant ladies said, closing the door again. "Mistress! The Colonel has sent a lovely gown for you!" She exclaimed, coming behind the screen and opening the box. "Straight from London!" She nearly squealed. I smiled lightly, trying to act like I was slightly impressed.
Inside, I was angry. The Colonel kept sending me presents as if it were a holiday everyday. The range was infinite: Sometimes, jewelry; sometimes, a new hat; sometimes, a new fan; now, a new gown? This was ridiculous. I was a rich girl, so I suppose he felt it was necessary to impress upon me that he was also very rich.
My father was a wealthy merchant. When I was 13, we had sailed to the Caribbean from London on business and once we had arrived, we decided to stay. My mother continued to live in London, because she was very ill from a certain disease for which there was no cure. We visited her about twice a year: once in the summer, and once around Christmas time. We would have stayed in London, but we were technically not suppose to visit her because her condition was of serious concern and the doctors were worried about infection. Despite the trauma involved with all of it, I was doing well.
So here I was, about to go to the largest Garden Party in Port Royale, and I would be wearing probably one of the most fashionable dresses on the island. I was a woman of adventure; not a woman who attended parties or ceremonies, almost as a decoration. I ended up being fairly satisfied with the appearance of the dress.
It was a lavender silk brocade, trimmed with fine Venice lace. The stomacher was intricately designed with silver threads and pearls. Special attention had also been paid to the petticoat, which was a shade of lavender as well, though light, and lightly embroidered with a silver paisley design. They laced up my corset extra tight today: to the point where breathing was not likely to occur.
"You must be the most delicate waisted at the party!" Declared one of the servant girls, as she yanked at the lacing with her pliers. I gasped.
"I don't care if I have a delicate waist! I want to be the most able to breath!" I answered with some constraint.
"Oh, it's a little tighter than usual, but you'll get used to it," replied one of the maids. Once the rest of my undergarments were on, they slipped the dress over all of it and then laced up the back of that, making certain it was fitted perfectly tight to the corset.
"You look lovely, Isabelle! The men will surely go mad!" Exclaimed one of the servants.
"I can't...breath!" I gasped emphatically, holding to the edge of the wall. They didn't seem to hear me and pulled me out to the mirror. All three servants grabbed several decorative pins and pinned up my golden curls, leaving a few delicate ones hanging over my high cheekbones. They topped the style with a white lace hat, complete with fresh lilac flowers. In a flourish, they rouged my cheeks and glossed my lips, and then raided my jewelry box. They scuffled about finding me matching earrings and necklace. Then, they forced me into the most uncomfortable pair of shoes I owned: The silver brocade ones.
"Can a woman be any more uncomfortable!?" I cried as they handed me my white lace fan.
"Stunning!" They all said amidst themselves. I wanted to rip off the gown, leap into the water, and never return. Upon looking into the mirror, I realized that yes, I was quite attractive in this ensemble, but it was slowly killing me so the beauty vanished instantly. Before I had a chance to protest, they were sending me off down the stairs. "Mind your manners and knock 'em dead!" All of the servants said.
Stiffly, I descended the stairs and saw my father looking out the window. As I came down, he looked up and smiled. He was dressed in his best waistcoat and breeches, and I thought he looked quite handsome for his age. I smiled back at him.
"Need I say you look stunning as always, my daughter?" He smiled, kissing my hand.
"Oh father," I started with a gasp, "Exasperated is more like the correct word!"
"The Colonel will be quite impressed," stated my father. I nodded, trying not to frown too much. "Well, the carriage awaits us," he said, taking my arm and leading me out the door.
"Have a grand time," stated the porter as he shut the door behind us. We entered the carriage and then the ride to the garden party commenced.
The mansion was down near the docks, right on the beach. It was only about a ten minute carriage ride to the premises, but we were to arrive on the back lots where the arch was set. Thus it took approximately fifteen minutes until our arrival. As we drove along the seaside road, I looked out and could have sworn I saw black sails in the distance.
"Father," I said suddenly, but then the sails seemed to vanish.
"Yes, Isabelle?" Inquired my father.
"Nothing," I replied, narrowing my eyes at the horizon. There were no black sails there. I vaguely recollected stories from the previous year which involved events concerning pirates, but I had been away when the said 'raid' had occurred. Besides, the thought seemed nearly impossible to me. Nothing interesting ever happened at Port Royale.
When we arrived, we were greeted at the arch by a line of high-ranking officers and their wives, and then we entered the garden. It was splendidly set, I must say, with the finest crystal and china. The linens were crisp white with dense embroideries at the edges: very expensive these days. And there was a wide array of finger foods. The company, however, was the same boring company that attended every party you had ever been to. You sighed to yourself and were seated with your father at one of the head tables. Colonel Ridges joined us momentarily, smiling through his young face.
"You look beautiful, Isabelle dear," he stated, kissing my hand. I cringed inside but smiled outside.
The party passed on in dull conversation. Halfway through, I simply needed to go for a walk. I waited for the opportune time of course. My father and the Colonel were engaged in a serious political conversation so deeply, that they didn't notice as I slipped away from the party. Smiling to myself, I took off the painful shoes I was wearing and walked in the sand. The surf lapped gently at the shore and I looked far across the turquoise seas. The wind was picking up so I removed my hat and tossed it over by the tree with my shoes.
Then pulling up my dress, (most unladylike) I walked along the surf, looking for shells or bottles. I happened to find none, which was disappointing. So I sat by the tree, looking out over the ocean and wondering if anyone would ever notice I had been gone. I saw someone coming along the beach, but it was from the other direction. Shielding my eyes, I watched the figure approaching. They disappeared behind the line of trees however so I looked at my feet, knees to my chin. I zoned out, staring at the horizon once more.
"Isabelle!" Called my father from the party. I guess it was time to go back. I got up with a sigh, but stopped short in horror. Blocking my path was a man with heavy kohl-rimmed eyes, long black hair, an interesting design of facial hair, and most specifically, a red bandana with beads. I backed away slowly. He seemed quite relaxed to be standing there, a hand upon his pistol, and barefoot in the sand.
"Afternoon, luv," he said charismatically.
"You're a p—a p...you're a p...a p....p....p—p—p..." I struggled to say. He smiled slightly and made a strange facial expression indicating that I should continue, but I stopped.
"Captain," he finally finished for me. I stared at him wide-eyed. "So I don't suppose ye have a reason to be out 'ere on the beach all by yer lonesome self?" He asked, raising a brow.
"What do you want?" I squeaked, holding up my hands. He laughed slightly and took a swig from his hip flask.
"I don't want a thing, luv, jus' relax," he said, "What I really mean is, I come to warn ye."
"I don't know you," I declared, "How could you warn me of anything?"
"Look," he said seriously, tilting himself so he was standing straight and dropped in the sand a bit, "There's a bit 'o' trouble stirrin' up on the seas. Ye gotta make sure the town is ready to deal with another raid or two. Now, I promise I'll be doin' me best to hold 'em off, but I can't watch Port Royale day and night."
"Our defenses will hold," I said haughtily, "We don't need a ... a pirate's help!"
"Look!" He said forcefully, pinning me to the tree. I screeched slightly, my eyes going wide again. "Take me advice, as an honest gentleman..."
"You are no gentleman!" I spat, struggling against him. He rolled his eyes.
"Look luv. The only reason I be approachin' ye and not yer dad or some'un else is because me offenses might jail me. And ye see, this innit a good thing for Capt'n Jack Sparrow," he explained with an apologetic smile, "So please. Go inform who you must inform. Be ready for a raid. I swear it, be ready. I mean ye no harm, luv. Please." The expression in his eyes was quite earnest, and he had loosened his grip, so I just nodded. He was holding a tri-cornered hat that he was passing between his hands nervously when he released me. He placed it back on his head and tipped it. "Have a good day, luv," he said, as he walked away. He looked a bit unbalanced as he walked but I shook my head, grabbing my things up and running back to the party.
My father was standing at the gate, looking worried when I waved to him and flew up the bank (quite unladylike).
"Isabelle!" He greeted, embracing me, "Thank goodness. Where were you?"
"Father. Expect a raid. There are pirates aloft," I informed immediately. He blinked.
"Pirates? Oh but daughter, where do you hear such things from?" He asked, embracing me again.
"I swear by it, father. Alert the guards. Make sure Port Royale is armed," I reinformed.
"Who have you been talking to?" He asked, looking at me.
I paused, looking at him seriously. "A pirate," I finally said.
"Ladies," I declared from behind the screen, "It is only a garden party!" They seemed to ignore me however, and there was a knock on the door.
"Special delivery from Colonel Ridges," stated a foreign voice.
"Thank ye sir," one of the servant ladies said, closing the door again. "Mistress! The Colonel has sent a lovely gown for you!" She exclaimed, coming behind the screen and opening the box. "Straight from London!" She nearly squealed. I smiled lightly, trying to act like I was slightly impressed.
Inside, I was angry. The Colonel kept sending me presents as if it were a holiday everyday. The range was infinite: Sometimes, jewelry; sometimes, a new hat; sometimes, a new fan; now, a new gown? This was ridiculous. I was a rich girl, so I suppose he felt it was necessary to impress upon me that he was also very rich.
My father was a wealthy merchant. When I was 13, we had sailed to the Caribbean from London on business and once we had arrived, we decided to stay. My mother continued to live in London, because she was very ill from a certain disease for which there was no cure. We visited her about twice a year: once in the summer, and once around Christmas time. We would have stayed in London, but we were technically not suppose to visit her because her condition was of serious concern and the doctors were worried about infection. Despite the trauma involved with all of it, I was doing well.
So here I was, about to go to the largest Garden Party in Port Royale, and I would be wearing probably one of the most fashionable dresses on the island. I was a woman of adventure; not a woman who attended parties or ceremonies, almost as a decoration. I ended up being fairly satisfied with the appearance of the dress.
It was a lavender silk brocade, trimmed with fine Venice lace. The stomacher was intricately designed with silver threads and pearls. Special attention had also been paid to the petticoat, which was a shade of lavender as well, though light, and lightly embroidered with a silver paisley design. They laced up my corset extra tight today: to the point where breathing was not likely to occur.
"You must be the most delicate waisted at the party!" Declared one of the servant girls, as she yanked at the lacing with her pliers. I gasped.
"I don't care if I have a delicate waist! I want to be the most able to breath!" I answered with some constraint.
"Oh, it's a little tighter than usual, but you'll get used to it," replied one of the maids. Once the rest of my undergarments were on, they slipped the dress over all of it and then laced up the back of that, making certain it was fitted perfectly tight to the corset.
"You look lovely, Isabelle! The men will surely go mad!" Exclaimed one of the servants.
"I can't...breath!" I gasped emphatically, holding to the edge of the wall. They didn't seem to hear me and pulled me out to the mirror. All three servants grabbed several decorative pins and pinned up my golden curls, leaving a few delicate ones hanging over my high cheekbones. They topped the style with a white lace hat, complete with fresh lilac flowers. In a flourish, they rouged my cheeks and glossed my lips, and then raided my jewelry box. They scuffled about finding me matching earrings and necklace. Then, they forced me into the most uncomfortable pair of shoes I owned: The silver brocade ones.
"Can a woman be any more uncomfortable!?" I cried as they handed me my white lace fan.
"Stunning!" They all said amidst themselves. I wanted to rip off the gown, leap into the water, and never return. Upon looking into the mirror, I realized that yes, I was quite attractive in this ensemble, but it was slowly killing me so the beauty vanished instantly. Before I had a chance to protest, they were sending me off down the stairs. "Mind your manners and knock 'em dead!" All of the servants said.
Stiffly, I descended the stairs and saw my father looking out the window. As I came down, he looked up and smiled. He was dressed in his best waistcoat and breeches, and I thought he looked quite handsome for his age. I smiled back at him.
"Need I say you look stunning as always, my daughter?" He smiled, kissing my hand.
"Oh father," I started with a gasp, "Exasperated is more like the correct word!"
"The Colonel will be quite impressed," stated my father. I nodded, trying not to frown too much. "Well, the carriage awaits us," he said, taking my arm and leading me out the door.
"Have a grand time," stated the porter as he shut the door behind us. We entered the carriage and then the ride to the garden party commenced.
The mansion was down near the docks, right on the beach. It was only about a ten minute carriage ride to the premises, but we were to arrive on the back lots where the arch was set. Thus it took approximately fifteen minutes until our arrival. As we drove along the seaside road, I looked out and could have sworn I saw black sails in the distance.
"Father," I said suddenly, but then the sails seemed to vanish.
"Yes, Isabelle?" Inquired my father.
"Nothing," I replied, narrowing my eyes at the horizon. There were no black sails there. I vaguely recollected stories from the previous year which involved events concerning pirates, but I had been away when the said 'raid' had occurred. Besides, the thought seemed nearly impossible to me. Nothing interesting ever happened at Port Royale.
When we arrived, we were greeted at the arch by a line of high-ranking officers and their wives, and then we entered the garden. It was splendidly set, I must say, with the finest crystal and china. The linens were crisp white with dense embroideries at the edges: very expensive these days. And there was a wide array of finger foods. The company, however, was the same boring company that attended every party you had ever been to. You sighed to yourself and were seated with your father at one of the head tables. Colonel Ridges joined us momentarily, smiling through his young face.
"You look beautiful, Isabelle dear," he stated, kissing my hand. I cringed inside but smiled outside.
The party passed on in dull conversation. Halfway through, I simply needed to go for a walk. I waited for the opportune time of course. My father and the Colonel were engaged in a serious political conversation so deeply, that they didn't notice as I slipped away from the party. Smiling to myself, I took off the painful shoes I was wearing and walked in the sand. The surf lapped gently at the shore and I looked far across the turquoise seas. The wind was picking up so I removed my hat and tossed it over by the tree with my shoes.
Then pulling up my dress, (most unladylike) I walked along the surf, looking for shells or bottles. I happened to find none, which was disappointing. So I sat by the tree, looking out over the ocean and wondering if anyone would ever notice I had been gone. I saw someone coming along the beach, but it was from the other direction. Shielding my eyes, I watched the figure approaching. They disappeared behind the line of trees however so I looked at my feet, knees to my chin. I zoned out, staring at the horizon once more.
"Isabelle!" Called my father from the party. I guess it was time to go back. I got up with a sigh, but stopped short in horror. Blocking my path was a man with heavy kohl-rimmed eyes, long black hair, an interesting design of facial hair, and most specifically, a red bandana with beads. I backed away slowly. He seemed quite relaxed to be standing there, a hand upon his pistol, and barefoot in the sand.
"Afternoon, luv," he said charismatically.
"You're a p—a p...you're a p...a p....p....p—p—p..." I struggled to say. He smiled slightly and made a strange facial expression indicating that I should continue, but I stopped.
"Captain," he finally finished for me. I stared at him wide-eyed. "So I don't suppose ye have a reason to be out 'ere on the beach all by yer lonesome self?" He asked, raising a brow.
"What do you want?" I squeaked, holding up my hands. He laughed slightly and took a swig from his hip flask.
"I don't want a thing, luv, jus' relax," he said, "What I really mean is, I come to warn ye."
"I don't know you," I declared, "How could you warn me of anything?"
"Look," he said seriously, tilting himself so he was standing straight and dropped in the sand a bit, "There's a bit 'o' trouble stirrin' up on the seas. Ye gotta make sure the town is ready to deal with another raid or two. Now, I promise I'll be doin' me best to hold 'em off, but I can't watch Port Royale day and night."
"Our defenses will hold," I said haughtily, "We don't need a ... a pirate's help!"
"Look!" He said forcefully, pinning me to the tree. I screeched slightly, my eyes going wide again. "Take me advice, as an honest gentleman..."
"You are no gentleman!" I spat, struggling against him. He rolled his eyes.
"Look luv. The only reason I be approachin' ye and not yer dad or some'un else is because me offenses might jail me. And ye see, this innit a good thing for Capt'n Jack Sparrow," he explained with an apologetic smile, "So please. Go inform who you must inform. Be ready for a raid. I swear it, be ready. I mean ye no harm, luv. Please." The expression in his eyes was quite earnest, and he had loosened his grip, so I just nodded. He was holding a tri-cornered hat that he was passing between his hands nervously when he released me. He placed it back on his head and tipped it. "Have a good day, luv," he said, as he walked away. He looked a bit unbalanced as he walked but I shook my head, grabbing my things up and running back to the party.
My father was standing at the gate, looking worried when I waved to him and flew up the bank (quite unladylike).
"Isabelle!" He greeted, embracing me, "Thank goodness. Where were you?"
"Father. Expect a raid. There are pirates aloft," I informed immediately. He blinked.
"Pirates? Oh but daughter, where do you hear such things from?" He asked, embracing me again.
"I swear by it, father. Alert the guards. Make sure Port Royale is armed," I reinformed.
"Who have you been talking to?" He asked, looking at me.
I paused, looking at him seriously. "A pirate," I finally said.