A New Life
Part 5
Years of living life on the edge of the map had taught Jack caution. At times he actually paid attention to what he'd learned.
As his mind floated lazily up from the black pit of oblivion, Jack knew two things: He was not safe. He must not speak. He did not know why he wasn't safe, or why he should not speak, but the knowing of both imbedded itself firmly in his mind.
He kept his eyes shut, listening. There was only a brief moment spent in this blissful state of wakefulness without pain, then as the pain reasserted its presence it was all Jack could do not to hiss, clamp his mouth shut, and give away the fact that he was awake.
He did manage it. His face remained placid, but he could feel his heart racing and he knew he was breathing more quickly than normal. At least his heart was beating, he congratulated himself. He wasn't lying dead somewhere. That thought drew his mind further into the waking world. Just where was he? Had he been in a drunken brawl again?
He could hear the sounds of a ship at sea, its timbers giving off a rhythmic gentle moan, water lapping at her sides. Jack knew well he did not lay in his bed on the Pearl. So where was he and why did he hurt?
Slowly memory began to filter back to him. The battle. The fall overboard and the hopeless swim after his departing ship. Then there were flashes of men's faces, pain and more pain. Groves. That was it. He had been miraculously rescued by Lieutenant...no, correction, Captain Theodore Groves. He'd been in his chart room. This was not the chart room. The mattress felt more comfortable.
Norrington had been there! The thought almost sent Jack's eyes open, but he resisted the urge and continued to take in his surroundings using touch, smell and sound. He could smell lamp oil and hear the sound of a burning flame. He also felt something warm and alive touching his arm. What the on God's green earth was this now?
Concentrating his attention on the warmth nestled against his right arm, Jack realized he still wore his shirt. That was a good thing, he decided. Norrington might have a question or two about Mr. Thomas Wells having tattoos up and down both arms. The warmth came from a creature with fur. He could fell that through the linen of his shirt. Interesting. Not a rat. He couldn't smell rat. It smelled like a dog. How extraordinary. How did he come to be with a dog? Had he forgotten something?
Actually, yes, he reasoned. He must have forgotten a lot, or else he'd been asleep while it happened. They'd moved him. Perhaps the dog belonged to one of the crew. Sailors often snuck pets aboard the Black Pearl. But this was a Royal Navy ship, wasn't it? Did they allow that sort of thing? Highly unlikely.
He could hear the rustle of cloths and besides the dog, someone else breathed in the room with him.
Beyond the room, Jack heard footsteps approaching. A door opened, and the sounds beyond what must have been a small room came in. Men talking. Feet moving over wooden floors.
"Lady Catherine," came a cultured male British voice, "how are you fairing?"
Something like silk rustled close by Jack. "He's still unresponsive, Mr. Gillette."
"The doctor said he'd lost a lot of blood, m'lady." Gillette almost sounded happy about it.
"He will revive," the Lady Catherine said with assurance.
"Very well, m'lady." The door closed.
Lady Catherine, Jack mused. He had no idea who she was and why she would be sitting at his bedside. The dog, he theorized, was hers. Good. She loved dogs. She trusted her instinct. She had a big heart, to sit with a total stranger. How could he use this information to his advantage?
Before Jack could think it through, the dog stirred and moved. He could feel and hear it sniffing his face, then it began to lick him.
"Oh, Sugar," Lady Catherine said softly.
Jack's curiosity got the best of him. He cracked open his eyes and saw a small white dog with fluffy fur being drawn back by a pair of slender hands. Following the hands upwards, he saw flowing lace hanging down from the woman's sleeves, a gown of soft pink and cream white, that encased a very fair and generous decolletage,. The lady's complexion was very fair and her almost angelically fair face was lit with sparkling blue eyes. Light brown hair that seemed to be fighting to escape from its confinement atop her head fell into long curling tendrils, drawing Jack's attention down her slender neck to the tops of round full breasts. She does look like an angel, he thought, holding on to his first impression of her. He attempted to make his eyes focus more clearly.
"Do I..." Jack tried to speak, but his throat was so dry, his words were cut off.
"Oh, you're awake. I would apologize for Sugar, but I think it's time you woke, Mr. Wells." She smiled at him, a smile that brightened the entire room and sent Jack's heart to racing even faster. "I know you must be thirsty. Here." She put the dog on the foot of the bed. Reaching for a tall cup with one hand, she used her free hand to support his head. "Now, don't gulp." She brought the cup to his parched lips.
The water was cool and Jack wanted to gulp, but his mouth and throat wouldn't cooperate. Just lifting his head caused the pain in his shoulder to assert its burning grasp more firmly. He exhaled slowly.
"I'm Catherine Palmer," she introduced herself. "I've told the cook to have something ready for you. Let me get the cabin boy to fetch it."
In a blur of pink and cream, Lady Catherine stood and went to the door. Little white Sugar took advantage of her movement to rush up to Jack's face again.
Jack closed his eyes. Maybe if he just rested for a moment, the pain would ease. It seemed worse now than it had when he met Norrington. Had he re- injured himself? He sighed and his thoughts began to wander aimlessly.
Half in dreams, Jack heard the sound of the door opening again. He raised heavy lids, but his sight remained a little bleary. "Lady Catherine?" he asked, remembering to speak in his Thomas-voice.
"I'm back." She set something that smelled of potatoes and beef on a table or shelf behind his head.
"I don't understand," Jack managed. Putting his right arm to his left shoulder, he held his injured arm immobile, hoping that would ease the pain.
"Understand?" She lifted him and stuffed something soft yet firm behind his head. His pain flashed anew. Jack hissed as he sucked in air between clenched teeth.
"I do apologize if I hurt you," she said, her voice soft and comforting. "You need to build your blood. The doctor says you must eat as soon as possible."
Jack nodded. He could follow the logic, but he'd rather have something strong to take the pain away.
"How about a little rum?" he asked hopefully.
"Food." She put a spoon filled with stew to his lips with one hand, and held Sugar back with the other. "Taste."
He did taste. It was very warm, but not too hot. "Good," he said. Another spoonful of stew appeared before him.
"It's good old fashion stew. Have you ever lived in England, Mr. Thomas?"
Jack tried to remember if he'd said anything about it to Norrington. "I've visited. Did some education there."
Stew interrupted his lies.
"I have lived in the Colonies briefly," she told him. "I'm on my way to Charlottesville now. I have a cousin there. We grew up together. James said it was part of his ship's route and my father insisted it was safer."
Safer than what, Jack didn't follow her line of reasoning. "I'm afraid I don't understand," Jack said quickly, before another spoonful of stew was put to his lips.
"Oh, I'm sorry. I am the sister of Commodore Norrington. You met him aboard the Resolute. Do you remember? He said you were quite spent at the time."
Jack's heart seemed to clench a bit. "The Commodore's sister?"
"Yes. You do remember him? His ships protect the Caribbean waters from our enemies and," she lowered her voice dramatically, "from pirates. I hear the Caribbean is crawling with them."
"And you're his sister?" He was stuck on that fact. What sort of luck did Jack Sparrow have, he mused.
"Yes." She sighed. "My husband, Lord Palmer, died four years ago. A hunting accident. I decided I wanted to see more of the world. James asked me to come to Port Royal and complete my journey to Charlottesville with him. Of course, my father, Admiral Norrington, was the one to bring me to Port Royal. We had a bit of a family reunion." She fed Jack more stew. "I'm talking too much."
"No," Jack said quickly. Now that he was feeling a little more alive, he could study her better. She looked younger than James Norrington, her features delicate and feminine and she had a mouth he would love to explore more intimately. Her enthusiasm for life reminded him a little of Elizabeth Turner, but her figure was rounded and soft looking in all the right places.
"I've been cooped up in cabins for weeks getting this far. At least I had Sugar." She patted the dog, which had settled for staring at Jack as he ate.
"I am surprised that you took a kind interest in a stranger," Jack said carefully. He wondered if she spoon fed the dog and if it was now jealous. The little creature looked more like a toy than a real dog.
"Well, the Good Samaritan and all," she said smiling. "Are we not to help one another as good Christians, Mr. Wells?"
"You seem to know a great deal about me." He shook his head as she tried to give him more stew.
"James is all hush-hush about you, which is enough to make me curious, Mr. Wells. I have been told, no ordered, to ask no questions." She shared a conspiratorial smile with him and leaned in closer. "He did not say I couldn't talk to you. I decided to be your nurse."
"Does he know?" Jack bet James Norrington didn't know. Her closeness also brought into sharper focus the scent of her light lavender cologne. Jack liked lavender.
"He knows I've taken an interest in your health," she admitted. "Tell me, Mr. Wells, how did you get such an awful wound." She pouted prettily.
Jack could not help but bring his hand up more closely to his wound in a gesture of protectivness, not quite touching it. "Wood."
She raised a brow. "Wood?"
"Flying wood."
"All right, if you don't wish to discuss it." She sat back in her chair.
"No, it's the truth. I was in a battle. A cannon ball hit the mast, knocking off a splinter."
"A splinter? Your idea of a splinter and mind appear to differ greatly, Mr. Wells," she told him. "I have been told by Dr. Calvin that you are lucky to be alive."
"So I've been told also, m'lady." Jack sighed. He was very tired. Must remember the accent, he reminded himself. He could feel his eyes growing heavy. He blinked several times, then closed them. There was the rustle of her silk dress, then he felt her cool touch upon his forehead.
"You still have a fever," she said softly. "Rest, Mr. Wells. I'll let Dr. Calvin know you've eaten."
Yes, he would rest, Jack thought, and remember not to speak unless he was fully in control of his faculties. It would not do for the sister of the Commodore to hear the voice of an old salt coming from the supposed spy.
Part 5
Years of living life on the edge of the map had taught Jack caution. At times he actually paid attention to what he'd learned.
As his mind floated lazily up from the black pit of oblivion, Jack knew two things: He was not safe. He must not speak. He did not know why he wasn't safe, or why he should not speak, but the knowing of both imbedded itself firmly in his mind.
He kept his eyes shut, listening. There was only a brief moment spent in this blissful state of wakefulness without pain, then as the pain reasserted its presence it was all Jack could do not to hiss, clamp his mouth shut, and give away the fact that he was awake.
He did manage it. His face remained placid, but he could feel his heart racing and he knew he was breathing more quickly than normal. At least his heart was beating, he congratulated himself. He wasn't lying dead somewhere. That thought drew his mind further into the waking world. Just where was he? Had he been in a drunken brawl again?
He could hear the sounds of a ship at sea, its timbers giving off a rhythmic gentle moan, water lapping at her sides. Jack knew well he did not lay in his bed on the Pearl. So where was he and why did he hurt?
Slowly memory began to filter back to him. The battle. The fall overboard and the hopeless swim after his departing ship. Then there were flashes of men's faces, pain and more pain. Groves. That was it. He had been miraculously rescued by Lieutenant...no, correction, Captain Theodore Groves. He'd been in his chart room. This was not the chart room. The mattress felt more comfortable.
Norrington had been there! The thought almost sent Jack's eyes open, but he resisted the urge and continued to take in his surroundings using touch, smell and sound. He could smell lamp oil and hear the sound of a burning flame. He also felt something warm and alive touching his arm. What the on God's green earth was this now?
Concentrating his attention on the warmth nestled against his right arm, Jack realized he still wore his shirt. That was a good thing, he decided. Norrington might have a question or two about Mr. Thomas Wells having tattoos up and down both arms. The warmth came from a creature with fur. He could fell that through the linen of his shirt. Interesting. Not a rat. He couldn't smell rat. It smelled like a dog. How extraordinary. How did he come to be with a dog? Had he forgotten something?
Actually, yes, he reasoned. He must have forgotten a lot, or else he'd been asleep while it happened. They'd moved him. Perhaps the dog belonged to one of the crew. Sailors often snuck pets aboard the Black Pearl. But this was a Royal Navy ship, wasn't it? Did they allow that sort of thing? Highly unlikely.
He could hear the rustle of cloths and besides the dog, someone else breathed in the room with him.
Beyond the room, Jack heard footsteps approaching. A door opened, and the sounds beyond what must have been a small room came in. Men talking. Feet moving over wooden floors.
"Lady Catherine," came a cultured male British voice, "how are you fairing?"
Something like silk rustled close by Jack. "He's still unresponsive, Mr. Gillette."
"The doctor said he'd lost a lot of blood, m'lady." Gillette almost sounded happy about it.
"He will revive," the Lady Catherine said with assurance.
"Very well, m'lady." The door closed.
Lady Catherine, Jack mused. He had no idea who she was and why she would be sitting at his bedside. The dog, he theorized, was hers. Good. She loved dogs. She trusted her instinct. She had a big heart, to sit with a total stranger. How could he use this information to his advantage?
Before Jack could think it through, the dog stirred and moved. He could feel and hear it sniffing his face, then it began to lick him.
"Oh, Sugar," Lady Catherine said softly.
Jack's curiosity got the best of him. He cracked open his eyes and saw a small white dog with fluffy fur being drawn back by a pair of slender hands. Following the hands upwards, he saw flowing lace hanging down from the woman's sleeves, a gown of soft pink and cream white, that encased a very fair and generous decolletage,. The lady's complexion was very fair and her almost angelically fair face was lit with sparkling blue eyes. Light brown hair that seemed to be fighting to escape from its confinement atop her head fell into long curling tendrils, drawing Jack's attention down her slender neck to the tops of round full breasts. She does look like an angel, he thought, holding on to his first impression of her. He attempted to make his eyes focus more clearly.
"Do I..." Jack tried to speak, but his throat was so dry, his words were cut off.
"Oh, you're awake. I would apologize for Sugar, but I think it's time you woke, Mr. Wells." She smiled at him, a smile that brightened the entire room and sent Jack's heart to racing even faster. "I know you must be thirsty. Here." She put the dog on the foot of the bed. Reaching for a tall cup with one hand, she used her free hand to support his head. "Now, don't gulp." She brought the cup to his parched lips.
The water was cool and Jack wanted to gulp, but his mouth and throat wouldn't cooperate. Just lifting his head caused the pain in his shoulder to assert its burning grasp more firmly. He exhaled slowly.
"I'm Catherine Palmer," she introduced herself. "I've told the cook to have something ready for you. Let me get the cabin boy to fetch it."
In a blur of pink and cream, Lady Catherine stood and went to the door. Little white Sugar took advantage of her movement to rush up to Jack's face again.
Jack closed his eyes. Maybe if he just rested for a moment, the pain would ease. It seemed worse now than it had when he met Norrington. Had he re- injured himself? He sighed and his thoughts began to wander aimlessly.
Half in dreams, Jack heard the sound of the door opening again. He raised heavy lids, but his sight remained a little bleary. "Lady Catherine?" he asked, remembering to speak in his Thomas-voice.
"I'm back." She set something that smelled of potatoes and beef on a table or shelf behind his head.
"I don't understand," Jack managed. Putting his right arm to his left shoulder, he held his injured arm immobile, hoping that would ease the pain.
"Understand?" She lifted him and stuffed something soft yet firm behind his head. His pain flashed anew. Jack hissed as he sucked in air between clenched teeth.
"I do apologize if I hurt you," she said, her voice soft and comforting. "You need to build your blood. The doctor says you must eat as soon as possible."
Jack nodded. He could follow the logic, but he'd rather have something strong to take the pain away.
"How about a little rum?" he asked hopefully.
"Food." She put a spoon filled with stew to his lips with one hand, and held Sugar back with the other. "Taste."
He did taste. It was very warm, but not too hot. "Good," he said. Another spoonful of stew appeared before him.
"It's good old fashion stew. Have you ever lived in England, Mr. Thomas?"
Jack tried to remember if he'd said anything about it to Norrington. "I've visited. Did some education there."
Stew interrupted his lies.
"I have lived in the Colonies briefly," she told him. "I'm on my way to Charlottesville now. I have a cousin there. We grew up together. James said it was part of his ship's route and my father insisted it was safer."
Safer than what, Jack didn't follow her line of reasoning. "I'm afraid I don't understand," Jack said quickly, before another spoonful of stew was put to his lips.
"Oh, I'm sorry. I am the sister of Commodore Norrington. You met him aboard the Resolute. Do you remember? He said you were quite spent at the time."
Jack's heart seemed to clench a bit. "The Commodore's sister?"
"Yes. You do remember him? His ships protect the Caribbean waters from our enemies and," she lowered her voice dramatically, "from pirates. I hear the Caribbean is crawling with them."
"And you're his sister?" He was stuck on that fact. What sort of luck did Jack Sparrow have, he mused.
"Yes." She sighed. "My husband, Lord Palmer, died four years ago. A hunting accident. I decided I wanted to see more of the world. James asked me to come to Port Royal and complete my journey to Charlottesville with him. Of course, my father, Admiral Norrington, was the one to bring me to Port Royal. We had a bit of a family reunion." She fed Jack more stew. "I'm talking too much."
"No," Jack said quickly. Now that he was feeling a little more alive, he could study her better. She looked younger than James Norrington, her features delicate and feminine and she had a mouth he would love to explore more intimately. Her enthusiasm for life reminded him a little of Elizabeth Turner, but her figure was rounded and soft looking in all the right places.
"I've been cooped up in cabins for weeks getting this far. At least I had Sugar." She patted the dog, which had settled for staring at Jack as he ate.
"I am surprised that you took a kind interest in a stranger," Jack said carefully. He wondered if she spoon fed the dog and if it was now jealous. The little creature looked more like a toy than a real dog.
"Well, the Good Samaritan and all," she said smiling. "Are we not to help one another as good Christians, Mr. Wells?"
"You seem to know a great deal about me." He shook his head as she tried to give him more stew.
"James is all hush-hush about you, which is enough to make me curious, Mr. Wells. I have been told, no ordered, to ask no questions." She shared a conspiratorial smile with him and leaned in closer. "He did not say I couldn't talk to you. I decided to be your nurse."
"Does he know?" Jack bet James Norrington didn't know. Her closeness also brought into sharper focus the scent of her light lavender cologne. Jack liked lavender.
"He knows I've taken an interest in your health," she admitted. "Tell me, Mr. Wells, how did you get such an awful wound." She pouted prettily.
Jack could not help but bring his hand up more closely to his wound in a gesture of protectivness, not quite touching it. "Wood."
She raised a brow. "Wood?"
"Flying wood."
"All right, if you don't wish to discuss it." She sat back in her chair.
"No, it's the truth. I was in a battle. A cannon ball hit the mast, knocking off a splinter."
"A splinter? Your idea of a splinter and mind appear to differ greatly, Mr. Wells," she told him. "I have been told by Dr. Calvin that you are lucky to be alive."
"So I've been told also, m'lady." Jack sighed. He was very tired. Must remember the accent, he reminded himself. He could feel his eyes growing heavy. He blinked several times, then closed them. There was the rustle of her silk dress, then he felt her cool touch upon his forehead.
"You still have a fever," she said softly. "Rest, Mr. Wells. I'll let Dr. Calvin know you've eaten."
Yes, he would rest, Jack thought, and remember not to speak unless he was fully in control of his faculties. It would not do for the sister of the Commodore to hear the voice of an old salt coming from the supposed spy.