Usual disclaimers

Thanks to A Depp Girl, Roxula's Bride, Ally Eileen, SectorLutter, darigan-sparrow, beatlechicksteph, RandomGal, SummerRain and opi666. Come on you affnet-er's, you're letting the side down.

This chapter is for Hilary – she knows why…

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Chapter eight: 'Nah mate, I'm a pirate of the Caribbean.'

Jenny curled up, hugging her broken body for comfort. Day after day, night after night he had abused her and battered her, slowly breaking down her spirit and she was not sure how much longer she could hold on. She crawled across the floor to the bed and felt underneath for the leather lace, crying as she fingered the beads and heart, aching for the warmth of Jack's touch. But she would never feel him again, she knew that now. Never see his face or make love or laugh with him. Jenny scurried away from the bed as she heard voices approach and glared at the maids who came to clean the room. As far as she was concerned, everyone in the house was an enemy and she fantasised about killing them all one by one, leaving Roger until last. She had a very nasty and slow death in mind for him. But in reality, it was herself she was seriously considering killing for she saw no way out of her situation, no escape from the torture. She had hoped one of her brothers would visit and see what was happening to her and take her away, but no one came.

… … … …

The Black Pearl dropped anchor in the small bay at Kinsale, a short distance around the coast from Cork some five weeks after leaving San Juan. Jack had been all for going to the more neutral Holland or Belguim until Ben Watson approached him, suggesting that it would be quicker to reach Worcestershire from Bristol than London. The captain of The Pearl had been surprised to learn one of his crew had worked as a coachman before turning to bad ways.

'Cotton, my cabin,' he called, ducking as the man's macaw swooped in a race to beat him down the steps. 'Bloody bird,' he cursed, shaking a fist at it.

He sat in his chair and looked pensively as Ned Cotton fetched a razor from a small trunk he carried his tools in then fetch the pitcher of water from the side cabin and damped down Jack's beard before leaning over, grinning at his captain's discomfort.

…

The crew tried hard not to gawp, but it was extremely difficult. Jack squirmed beneath their scrutiny, feeling naked without his beard and with his hair chopped to barely shoulder length, bereft of its ornaments. Joshamee Gibbs had dug out from the hold a pair of buckled knee breeches with stockings underneath, a good quality linen shirt and a knee length heavy coat. But Jack had insisted on wearing his boots. He knew there would be a lot of walking once he got to England and he wanted comfort. He took a lingering look around the deck of his ship, then picked up his knapsack containing a change of clothes and pouches of coins, grateful for the plentiful supply of guineas and crowns amongst the stash at Isla de Muerta, then he climbed over the side of the ship and down the rope to a waiting boat where John Williams and Pete Symmonds were waiting to row him around the coast to Cork.

The short journey was made unpleasant by the cold January seas, swelling and lapping against the boat, sometimes making it over the side and soon the bottom was sloshing with a few inches of water, making all three men colder than they could remember, even colder than when they had been in Argentina.

Jack sighed, remembering back to happier times with Jenny but pushed the thoughts from his mind, or at least tried to. He wanted to focus on just getting to England and once there, on getting to Droitwich.

…

Pete and John had stayed with him whilst he found a tavern to stay at until he could get a passage across the Irish Sea. They left with his orders still ringing in their ears.

'Stay out of trouble. Don't hit anything unless you think it's going to hit you and come back to Kinsale every Friday, savvy?'

Jack sat by the bar, keeping a watchful eye on the patrons but no-one seemed to notice him and he relaxed a little more as he drank a tot of whiskey, grimacing at the taste but downing it nonetheless. He motioned to the bar-keep and held out his beaker. 'I don't suppose you know if there is a ship going to Bristol do you?' he enquired, nodding his thanks as the man brought him another drink over.

'Aye Sir, there's always trade making fer Brissol. Some o'the navy ships will take ye to Portsmouth too if that's where yer be heading.'

Jack blanched and nearly choked on his drink, shaking his head vigorously. 'No, no, no. Bristol will do me just fine,' he assured, smiling a charming smile but managing to keep his gold teeth under wraps.

'I will find out fer ye an' let ye know later, how about that?'

'That would be most appreciated.' Jack smiled once more and brought the man a drink, letting his mind wander as he droned on and on, delighting in a patron that he could chat to.

…

Jack sailed for Bristol two days later aboard a large fishing boat, taking Conger eels, Dabs and Whiting across to England. He had been grateful that there was only a small naval presence at the English run town and he had managed to avoid trouble easily with the pretence of being a well-educated gentleman of limited means.

…

'Land ho!'

Jack looked up wistfully at the call, missing his ship already. He made his way to the deck and leaned on the rail, watching as the country of his birth grew ever closer. Jack was no stranger to Bristol. It had been where Bill Turner settled down with his wife, Kathrin, and where Will was born. A place in happier times he had done good business. But business was the last thing on his mind. After asking directions a few times, Jack found himself on the road to Worcester and the start of his long trek.

…

Just after dawn on the third day, and after stealing some food and milk from a farm, something which made Jack laugh to himself for it had been that very accusation that had led to him taking to the sea in the first place, he pricked his ears up and inched his hand to the hilt of his short sword, slowly easing it from the sheath. In a flash he spun on his heel and knocked away the dagger his assailant had been holding and thrust his blade forward, pressing the tip against the man's throat.

'It ain't a good idea ter cross me,' he drawled, moving forward as his attacker moved back, his hands raised above his head.

'I'm sorry,' came a broad Irish brogue. 'Have a mercy on me, would ye please?' He peered closely at the strange looking man and then at his sword, noting that it looked well used.

'An' why would I want ter do that? Ya tried ter rob me.' Jack narrowed his eyes and looked the younger man up and down, taking in the dirty clothes and threadbare coat.

'Aye, well by th'look o'ye, yer know all abouts robbin' folk.'

He quirked an eyebrow at the young Irishman and frowned. 'What makes ya think I rob people?'

'It takes one ter know one,' came the reply, which had Jack stumped.

'So ya think I'm a footpad, eh? Well I'm not, I'm something much worse than that.'

'Not a magistrate?' His eyes widened in horror which made Jack laugh in spite of himself.

'Nah mate, I'm a pirate of the Caribbean.'

It was the young man's turn to laugh which was not the reaction Jack was expecting and he jabbed the sword a little harder against his throat. 'S-sorry,' he gulped, raising his hands a little higher into the air. 'What are ye doin' in the back of beyond?'

'Matters of a personal nature and you are wastin' me time.' He lowered the sword and picked up the dagger which the Irishman had threatened him with, pushing it into his belt, then went on his way, leaving the younger man standing by the wayside staring after him before following him down the lane.

'So where is it ye be goin?' He fell into step beside the so-called pirate and shoved his hands in his pockets in the chill morning air.

'None o'yer business, now sod off.'

'Well can I have me blade back. It's the best one I've had in a long time.'

Jack stopped and looked at him before fishing the dagger from his belt. 'Now will ya leave me in peace?'

'If ye tell me where ye be goin' I can perhaps tell ye a shortcut there.'

The older man sighed with exasperation, rolling his eyes for good measure. 'Worcester, well a town just outside Worcester. There, ya happy now?'

'Ah well, ye be on the right track then. It's been a while since I was around that way, they may have forgotten me face by now. I think I'll be joinin' ye.'

'I don't bloody think so,' came the reply and Jack glared at him, wondering whether to draw his sword once more.

'But it's safer travelling in pairs, especially at night. An' I promise not ter slit yer throat while ye sleep.'

'Son,' Jack drawled menecingly. 'It's you who wants ter worry about havin' yer own throat slit.'

'Yes well,' he shrugged, nonechalantly. 'Whichever way, we'd still be safer travelling together.'

'I don't need protecting. Now I really have ter get ter me destination in a hurry an' you are holdin' me up and startin' ter annoy th'hell out of me.'

'Shay Connelly,' he held out his grimy hand, shrugging once more when Jack pointedly ignored it. 'An' ye'd be?'

Jack stopped for a third time, his eyes glinting dangerously and his fingers itching to grab his sword.

'Look me friend, I'll walk behind if ye prefer, but being as I'm headin' this way meself…' he grinned, trying to find a way of getting the stranger to open up to him.

'Jack Sparrow,' he sighed resignedly. 'Captain Jack Sparrow.' He started on his way once more, trying to block out Shay's continual stream of chatter but not really suceeding.

'How come yer in England?' he asked during a short pause for breath.

'I was in servatude in Ireland to an Englishman. He moved back over here, takin' most o'his servant wi'him,' he explained.

'And…?'

'Well… I was caught in the Miss's bedchamber, even though she had been all 'Oh Shay, do come and visit me tonight,' he mimicked in a falsetto voice. The poor bastard didn't know his daughter was the biggest whore in th'whole of Herefordshire.' Shay grinned at the memory. 'I managed ter escape and have been workin' the roads ever since.'

'How far ter Droitwich?' Jack enquired, hoping to shake his unwanted, talkative companion off before he reached it.

'Droitwich? Ah, I know a quicker route ter Droitwich.' The Irishman quickened his pace without looking to see if he was being followed then cut across a field, finally looking over his shoulder as he was halfway across. 'C'mon, we should be there by nightfall,' he called to Jack who was trying to catch up.

They went across many fields and through small hamlets until they came a well used road which Shay assured would take them straight to the town. Jack hoped he was telling the truth, but, for all his chatter, he did not appear a liar.

'There ye go,' he beamed , spreading his arms wide as a small town appeared in the valley below them, glowing golden as the setting sun's rays illuminated the buildings made from local buff coloured stone.

Jack's grin echoed his companion's and he clasped his hands together and bowed his head. 'Much obliged ter ya.'

'What is it ye be wantin'? Maybe I can help.'

Jack regarded the young man for long moments as they walked down the hill towards the village, trying to decide whether to trust a man he had only known a few hours, although with Shay's incessant chatter he felt he had known him forever. 'But,' he told himself, 'It never hurts ter have back-up.' 'Aye, all right lad, I've come ter get me woman back after her father kidnapped her. He frowned as Shay snorted and tried not to laugh.

'An' there was me thinkin' ye really were an fearsome pirate of the Spanish Main,' he chortled, his merriment being somewhat tempered by the look in Jack's eyes. 'All right, where d'they live?'

'I have no idea,' Jack frowned, before spying a clergyman tending the small graveyard of his church on the outskirts of the village. 'But I know a man who will…' He strode over with a charming smile plastered on his face and grasped the hapless man by the hand, shaking it vigorously. 'Good evening to you, Sir. I was wondering if you could give me the directions to Henry Marston's house. I have business with him.'

'I-I… erm,' the vicar hesitated before reluctantly pointing out the way, watching as the two strange men carried on their way, hoping he had done the right thing.

The men climbed over the waist high wall and hid in some bushes, looking at the large house and watching the various signs of life moving about inside. One of the maids came from the back of the house and started walking towards them, much to Jack's delight. She gasped and tried to scream as a hand grabbed her into some bushes, while another hand clamped over her mouth.

'Don't worry young missy, I won't hurt ya. I just want ter know where Mistress Samuels is? Now if I take me hand off, ya ain't goin' ter scream are ya?' Jack released his grip on the girls mouth at her vigorous nod and turned her round to face him, taking in the wide terror filled eyes and pinched look on her face.

'S-s-she's dead,' she whispered, giving a small shriek as Jack gripped her arms forceably.

'Dead?'

…

Come on, you know you love cliffhangers really…!

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