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Chapter Twenty-Eight:
"Leaving?" Anamaria repeated the single word aloud, unintentionally. Leaving? Where in the hell was she going? Leaving. The word sounded so permanent. Bridget had not said going on holiday or that she was taking a sabbatical. She said leaving. She did not say that she was leaving Kingston, or leaving Jamaica. Just leaving. Ana's bottom lip quivered. Bridget had not meant that she was leaving any one particular place. She was leaving Prescott, leaving their marriage. And, she had said nothing about coming back.
Slowly, Bridget picked herself up from the edge of the bed. She sniffled back the tears that were apparently barely being kept at bay, and smoothed her curly hair back from her face.
As the woman lay Prescott's uniform down, Ana realized that this was the only time she had ever seen Bridget at all unkempt. She remembered the first time that she had ever laid eyes on Prescott's future wife had been at a garden party thrown by Admiral Fornin just after the first incident with a certain pirate Captain. Prescott, who had triumphed over evil according to the Gazette, was Fornin's honored guest. Bridget was the only daughter of one of Kingston's most influential couples. She had come forward to congratulate Prescott. Wearing a perfectly tailored lilac hued dress complete with matching hat and gloves, Bridget had been the very picture of propriety. Her light blue eyes had fancied Prescott from the start. They were married only seven months later.
"I suppose you think this wholly inappropriate," Bridget's voice interrupted Ana's memory.
"I haven't the slightest idea what to think," Ana replied honestly. "Where are you going?"
"England."
Ana's eyes popped open without consulting her about the movement. "What! Why?"
Bridget faced Ana, smiling sadly. "I could not stay here," she said softly. "Not with him so close."
Ana shook her head in an effort to clear her thoughts. "Why are you leaving at all?" she asked.
"He doesn't love me."
"Doesn't love you? He married you, didn't he? What other reason could he have had than love?"
Bridget's eyes fluttered and closed. She raised her hand to her stomach and, in a moment of startling clarity, Ana understood.
"You were – "
"Yes," Bridget's eyes reopened meeting Ana's hesitantly.
"But, you never – "
"No, I didn't," Bridget's hand fell from her abdomen. "Apparently, God knew that Prescott and I were not meant to stay together. It – the baby was never born. Prescott stayed with me, but he did not love me then, and he does not love me now. He saw his duty, and he did it, nothing more." Bridget's voice wavered slightly as though she would start to cry again.
"But, you love him, don't you?"
Two crystalline tears hit the floor leaving shining tracks down each of Bridget's cheeks. She nodded wordlessly.
"Then why not stay?" Ana could not believe what she was saying. She and Bridget were never friends. Neither woman much cared for the other. As far as Ana had ever been concerned, Bridget was Prescott's one mistake and burden. She never knew how close to the truth that opinion had been. Any other day, Ana would have jumped for joy at learning that Bridget was no longer going to be a part of her big brother's life, but ,standing in that bedroom watching Bridget declare her unreciprocated love, Ana felt sadness for the woman. She almost wanted Bridget to stay, to let bygones be bygones, and try to be her friend.
Bridget almost laughed. "Stay?" she said. "Annie, I thought that you, of all people, would be glad to hear of my leaving."
"It is no secret that I don't like you very much," Ana admitted. "But, I do not wish you pain."
"I am in pain everyday that I look into Prescott's eyes and see . . . nothing," she paused. "He is never cruel or hurtful. In fact, he treats me better than many loving husbands treat their wives. He plays the part perfectly. We spend time together, go to parties together, and we . . . well, he does every duty required of a husband, but his act cannot fool everyone." Bridget lowered her head. "He does not smile when I enter a room. He does not suffer when I am away, waiting for my return . . . and, he never will."
"But – "
"No, Anamaria," Bridget expression hardened somewhat. She wore the mask of a woman who had made up her mind and was not going to be deterred. "Do not try to stop me. You're right. I do love your brother, very much. I want him to be happy, and, if I leave, maybe he can find a woman to make him so."
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Sighing, Prescott leaned against the window frame and gazed out at the harbor. From his office at Fort Arthur, his former office, he could see all of the ships bobbing at anchor. Farthest out, the Dauntless. Eighty-four guns, perfectly white washed decks, and a spacious cabin extravagant enough for an Admiral. Nearly eight hundred souls slept in the 'tween decks, resting up for the activity of making the ship ready for sea tomorrow. Prescott's eyes wandered to the Loyalty. Far fewer men were housed in the smaller ship, and none of those men were storing up energy to perform their duties to King and Country. The men sleeping on Loyalty had no King and Country. They were pirates.
Prescott ran his hand over his face. Lack of sleep was causing each of his injuries to make themselves known as well as making his eyes droop every time he halted his fevered activity for even a moment. Immediately after reading in on the Dauntless, he had located Mr. Daniels, who was still masquerading as Lieutenant Daniels. The young pirate had been beside himself worrying about his captain, who was scheduled to hang as soon as the executioner could be summoned to the town square.
"Go to Loyalty," Prescott had told him. "Tell your shipmates that if they continue to lay low and don't cause any trouble, then their Captain will be restored to them."
A knock at the door brought Prescott back to the present. "Admiral Tarret," the marine saluted upon entering the office.
Prescott returned the salute with a smile. He would never forget hearing his name after that title. "Yes?"
"The retiring Admiral has consented to your request," the marine reported. "Sparrow's execution will be postponed till the morrow, making it the first action of your new promotion."
Prescott nodded. "Very good," he said with mock pleasure in his voice. "Will you do one thing more for me, Sergeant?"
"Of course, Sir," the marine responded. Of course, Sir was the only response the man could give when faced with a request from an Admiral.
"Find a priest and ask him to please come to my office. The prisoner has asked for last rites."
"A pirate wants last rites?"
"Sergeant, I ask for your action not your opinion," Prescott reprimanded the younger man.
"Right away, Sir," the marine nodded, leaving to fulfill this new task.
Slumping down into his chair, Prescott leaned his elbows on his desk and held his pounding head in his hands. His office was warm, made warmer by the fact that he still wore his new uniform jacket. Normally, he would have taken the coat off, but that would happen soon enough anyway. Pounding his fist down on the desktop, Prescott watched as all manner of papers fluttered down to the floor. He knew what he was doing was right. He knew what he was doing was the only course of action left to take.
"Damn it," he swore out loud as he rose from his chair and commence pacing back and forth. He finally stopped in front of the window in the small bed chamber off one side of his office. Staring at the heavily guarded building below, he remembered a time when his little sister had climbed out of this very window to help a pirate escape from that hold. He almost wished she was here to do the same thing again.
He could just go to the governor and demand a pardon for the pirate. Kingston's governor was not a weak man, but Prescott, through his unique relationship with the former Admiral, knew things about the man that would make the governor see things his way. That's it. He could just pardon Sparrow.
Prescott almost laughed at that thought. Sure, he could, and then the first action of the new Admiral would be letting a dangerous criminal free. He would be allowing Sparrow to pray on the people he was supposed to protect. Besides that, if there was one way to get a commission revoked, it would certainly be to condone piracy. Prescott let his eyes wander from the hold below, to the gold brocade on his jacket. The sun reflected off of that gold and probably blinded anyone who happened to be looking towards the window. Tracing the pattern with his fingers, Prescott sighed. As much as he wanted to, he could not pardon Jack Sparrow. An Admiral did have the power to do such a thing, but that same power, in a way, also prevented him from taking such an action.
A commotion outside his door brought Prescott back to the present.
"I don't want to see the Admiral," a woman's voice was explaining. "I just want to see my brother!"
Throwing open the door, Prescott stepped into the hallway. "Sentry! What's going on here?" he bellowed.
"S-Someone to see you, Sir," the man stammered.
Yes. He would have been very good at this.
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For the second time this day, Anamaria's eyes nearly popped out of her head as she took in the uniform that her brother wore. Shining epaulettes gleamed on his shoulders, a brand new ornate sword hung at his hip, a blue sash peaked out beneath his coat and gold trim lined nearly every inch of fabric. Fornin's retirement and the fort's guns sounding all of a sudden made perfect sense. "Prescott?" her voice squeaked. "You've been . . . " Her hands involuntarily covered her mouth.
"Promoted," he finished her thought and ushered her into his office. "What can I do for you, Annie?"
Watching as Prescott perched on the edge of his desk, she noticed something different about her brother's demeanor. His attitude should have been different. He should act dignified, authoritative, and beam with the pride his rank afforded. He had lived his whole life serving in the King's Navy. Attaining the position of Admiral, especially at his age, should have been the best news he could have ever received. He should be jumping up and down and proclaiming his good fortune from the rooftops, but he wasn't. Instead, of happiness and pride in his eyes she saw weariness and . . . sadness?
"I, uh, I just came down to see," Ana paused, disconcerted by the look in her brother's face. "Actually, I came to see why the fort had been firing."
Prescott's eyebrows rose. He stood up from the desk and bowed in front of her. "Have I answered your question?" he asked sardonically.
Ana smiled nervously. "I suppose you have."
"Anything else?" he sighed.
Ana did not exactly know what to say. She had come to the fort to tell Prescott what was going on in his house. To tell him to treat Bridget better because she actually appeared to be a decent human being, but, for some reason, she could not bring herself to say the words. Prescott had never confided in her his true motivations for marrying Bridget. He had never mentioned the child that he could have had, or the family that might have been his. He had never disclosed the fact that he was not in love with his wife.
A loveless marriage was not uncommon in Jamaica. Most of the time, two people were wed simply because their parents thought the couple made a fine match. Marrying someone that one loved with heart and soul was far less common, in some cases it was even frowned upon. Her own parents, for instance. Her father had fled his life in England, and found the woman of his dreams in Jamaica. Her father's union with one of the natives had produced a child, Anamaria. A child who had roots in two cultures and truly belonged in neither. No, much better to marry someone who would provide a decent home, stability, and true English heirs. Love was inconsequential. Besides, she had married Christopher because she loved him and look how well that turned out.
Still, she did not want an unhappy marriage for her brother. Prescott deserved better. Maybe Bridget really was doing the right thing in leaving. Maybe her brother could find a woman to be truly happy with. Ana shrugged inwardly. She bit her tongue and decided to let him find out about Bridget on his own. Maybe, by then, his wife would be long gone on her way to England, and Prescott could be free.
"I don't suppose there's any chance I could see Jack," she said, almost before she realized that the words were out of her mouth. Casting her eyes to the ground, she realized that thinking about love had immediately brought her to thinking about Jack. Thank the good Lord that Prescott had not been privy to those thoughts.
"Well, your brother is the Admiral," Prescott said. "For now," he added so softly that Ana was not sure she had heard him. One corner of Prescott's mouth lifted into a smile. "Your wish is my command," he said. "Sentry!"
A marine stumbled in the door, "Yes, Sir."
"Take my sister to the hold."
The sentry's mouth fell open.
Ana heard Prescott sigh. "Not to lock her up. To see the prisoner." Ana thought she could hear her brother's eyes roll.
The marine's face colored slightly. "Of course, Sir."
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The door closed. Prescott watched the marine lead Annie to the hold. He had not told her.
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Ana held her breath nearly the whole time that the sentry was unlocking the door to the hold. She had not spoken to Jack since she had asked what happened on Intrepid, between him and Christopher. He had been so angry.
After finding her husband's . . . After finding her husband in their cabin, Ana had gone immediately to James Norrington's cabin. She told him what Chris really was. She told him that her presumed dead husband had kidnapped her, that Lucky Laffley was her husband and that man was Captain of the little redwood pirate ship. She cried. Ana had not wanted to cry, but she could not stop the tears. She told James about Doyle Matthews, the young pirate who had been fiercely loyal to a Captain who was not worthy of that trust. She told James how valiantly the crew fought the losing battle against the Interceptor. She admitted to James that Chris had fooled her and told him how thankful they both needed to be that Chris had not been able to fool Prescott. James had nodded sadly and handed her a handkerchief. He said that Prescott had indeed saved both of their lives, along with every man on his ship.
She had not told James that she had betrayed Jack Sparrow's trust. James would not have understood her sense of loss over the pirate. So, she had retreated to her cabin, thankfully not the one she had shared with Chris, and told God instead. Exhausted, she had cried nearly the whole way home. She did not take a meal, nor did she go on deck for her husband's funeral.
"Here you are, Miss," the marine said, holding open the door expectantly.
Ana let go of the breath that she had been keeping inside. Jack was occupying the same cell that he had been in the last time he was a "guest" at Fort Arthur, a fact that she doubted went unnoticed by the pirate. He was sitting with his back against the wall and his long legs stretched out in front of him, crossed at the ankles. His shirt hung open revealing the bandage that was wrapped around his torso, a memory of what her husband had tried to do. The leather hat she had given to him was on the bench to his right, next to a tray of food that had not been touched.
The pirate's black eyes were fixed on her as she entered the dark hold and the door slammed shut behind her. Again, the warmth she used to see in those eyes was gone. The tiger's eye necklace that he had given to her seemed to burn her skin with the memory of the way things used to be. She would never forget the way his hands had felt against her skin as he fastened the clasp, or the way he had purred in her ear when he asked her if she liked his gift. Wetting her lips, Ana wrapped her fingers around the iron bars of the cell.
Evidently, the pirate was not going to speak first, and she had no idea what to say. So, they simply stared at each other in long moments of silence.
Ana searched Jack's face in hopes of finding some semblance of emotion. She saw nothing. The man was due to hang in the morning. She had no scheme to break him out of prison. Prescott was bound by his new promotion not to interfere. This could be the last time she ever saw Jack Sparrow. Still, there was nothing in his eyes. No fear. No hope. No sadness. Nothing.
"I want to apologize," Ana was the first to break the heavy silence. "But, every time I go over the words in my head they seem so inadequate." Jack did not reply. "I'm sorry," she said. "I'm sorry a hundred times for the rest of my life." Jack's eyes lowered but he still remained quiet. "All that you did for me," Ana continued. "All that you gave up, and there's nothing that I can do to repay you, nothing I can do to help you."
"S' not necessary," the pirate said, finally.
"But, Jack," Ana gripped the bars tighter. "Tomorrow they're going to –" Jack's eyes rose to meet hers and she found herself unable to finish her sentence.
"Tomorrow the gentle townspeople of Kingston are going t' assemble around a gallows in eager anticipation of seeing a detestable pirate's execution, and those gentle townsfolk are going t' be sorely disappointed," he said, in the sing song, devil may care manner that he customarily employed.
Ana was about to gasp out loud, stomp her foot, rattle the bars, and say something along the lines of "Are you mad!" However, she was stopped from performing any of these somewhat childish behaviors by the opening of the heavy door that sealed the hold off from the rest of the fort. The same marine who had escorted Ana down to see Jack, stepped inside.
"Fraid you'll have to leave now, Miss," he said, tipping his had to her, then turning to Sparrow, "Come on, you. Priest is here for last rites."
Jack's eyebrow rose as the guard placed the key in the cell door, opened it, and walked up to the pirate, who remained seated on the ground. The marine held out a set of irons, "Up with you, Sparrow," he said, shaking the manacles so that they clinked together ominously.
Reaching up to grip the bars, Jack pulled himself to his feet, unable to hide the pain that the movement caused. He affixed the worn leather tri corner to the top of his head. Holding out his wrists to be shackled, Ana and the guard caught sight of the bandages still encircling the injured man's hands. Sparrow clicked his tongue against his teeth, smirked, and silently dared the man to place him in irons. Scowling the marine threw the shackles to the floor and grabbed the pirate's arm. "Hope you said all you need to, Miss," he said as he pushed Jack through the outer door. "That was your last chance."
TBC
Okay, I lied. I didn't get to who killed Chris yet. Dreadfully sorry. At least you all have a reason to come back next chappy! Also, I happened to notice that I'm almost at 200 reviews. I have never gotten so many before, and it would be oh so wonderful if I could break the 200 mark. So, give this feedback craving author an ego boost and review before you go!