As it turned out, Fate clearly did not intend to allow Elizabeth Turner a prolonged tête-à-tête with her father the Governor that morning. It was barely half an hour later that a series of tumultuous knocks on the door heralded the irruption of Norrington into the study, clearly in a state of some haste.

"I have the whole story -- and the address of the man who has the silver." He had barely spared a moment in the usual courtesies. "Sir, I believe you are acquainted with the situation; when I tell you that the news of the wretched woman's apprehension has undoubtedly spread by this time into the most unsavoury quarters of the town, you will understand the need to act with celerity."

The name and address he gave meant nothing to Elizabeth, but brought Weatherby Swann to his feet in a condition of some indignation. "That usurious scoundrel! But how did a decent woman like our Bessie ever let herself get into his clutches? What has he got over her that could induce her to such an act?"

"It would seem her husband is a gambling man," Norrington said drily, "though I was able to extract the admission from her only with the greatest of difficulty, and, I fear, with the pledge of your word that it would not cost the wretch his employment. A run of ill-luck had left him deeply in this creature's debt; but Amos being too stubborn to consent to his creditor's demands for payment at the cost of his employer's trust, the villain conceived of putting pressure upon the woman Bessie in his stead. It was to him she was to deliver her gains -- and I make no doubt that his hold over her would ere long have led to her forced compliance in the admission into this house of thieves with an eye to more than silver spoons. For the sake of her future safety as well as for yours, sir, I would advise immediate action before the rascals can disperse--"

"Outrageous!" The Governor's feelings had finally got the better of him. For a moment, Elizabeth, forgotten in the corner, feared he might be struck down with an apoplexy. "Peter! Jessop! Have the horses put-to -- send down to the fort -- fetch my overcoat, man; no, not that one, the blue -- where's that rascal Amos?"

In the growing hubbub of the household, as the soldiers formed up outside in the drive and the carriage was brought round from the stables, and a constantly changing crowd of satellite servants rotated around her father's figure as he made his way downstairs, sending first one then another off to fetch some forgotten article or deliver some newly-recalled order, they were almost at the hall door before the Governor remembered her presence. "Elizabeth, my dear, I do apologise. Your visit -- such disturbance this morning--"

She smiled, and reached up to kiss him a perfunctory goodbye. "It's quite all right, Father. Of course I understand. We can arrange for me to come again some other time -- next week perhaps?"

The last words were called across the gravel in his wake as the Governor swung his bulk into the coach, setting it swooping on its springs, and she wasn't sure he'd even heard her. But the next minute his head appeared at the window. "Ah, Norrington --" his eye sought out the one stationary figure amid the crowd of domestics -- "you have business on the waterfront, I believe. Would you do me the honour of escorting my daughter safely back to her home? If you would be so kind -- it would be a great weight off my mind. Until next week, Elizabeth -- coachman, spring 'em!"

In a rattle of stones the equipage disappeared at a smart trot, with the half-company of soldiers swinging along at a quick march behind it. Elizabeth let out a breath she hadn't even realised she was holding. "Well..."

It was like being back in childhood again, she recognised ruefully, back in the first hectic years of her father's appointment, when constant last-minute business affairs and duties had seemed to snatch him out of her experience and away from the narrow circles of the world she had known. She glanced up at Norrington, standing beside her on the steps, who was gazing in the direction of the vanished carriage with an expression that suggested he, at least, considered he should have had a right to be included 'in at the kill'. It was a forbidding cast of countenance. She almost thought better of her question; then frowned, determined not to be thrust back into irrelevance.

"Where is that place 'Slitbelly Alley'?"

Norrington looked round with a start that betrayed that he had almost forgotten her presence. The renewed realisation was evidently not a welcome one. His nostrils narrowed. "A vile place with which I trust you are unacquainted. And to forestall your next question: Obadiah Crake is an equally unpleasant personage whom I have long suspected of trading with the worst class of pirates and rogues... and with whom I sincerely hope the whole of Port Royal will shortly be acquainted -- at the end of a rope."

He turned on his heel, clearly unwilling to discuss the matter any further. "And now, if you will be so good as to acquaint me with your direction, Mistress Elizabeth, I shall escort you to your door."

Elizabeth glared after his unresponsive back, stung by the allusion to Will's past. "My father's prejudices to the contrary, I assure you I have no need of an escort!"

Even to her own ears the words sounded childish. Already some yards distant, Norrington paused to look back at her, his weary tone suggesting that he had expected nothing less. "And I have no desire to accommodate my pace to female company. But since, unlike those of your tender sex, I am not in the position of being able to flout at my pleasure a direct order from my superiors, I suggest that you swallow your pride and endeavour to cooperate with your father's instructions -- unless you wish to experience the humiliation known as the frog-march."

"Oh!" The syllable escaped her before she could bite it back, and she clamped her jaws together, determined not to descend into a public tirade. Instead, she set off after her unwilling escort, who had already lengthened his stride to an extent that forced her to resort to an undignified trot to catch up.

It was ridiculous of Father to insist on sending her back home every time in the carriage, when she had been running errands down into town since she was twelve years old -- with her maids, naturally, but then she and Will could afford no lady's-maid, and she could hardly bring old Mother Strangways up from peeling her roots in the kitchen to dance attendance in the servants' hall while she spent the morning with her father, simply in order to trail home after her again. But it was even more ridiculous, Elizabeth thought indignantly, for Father to take the carriage and then subject her to this. He had to know perfectly well that she went about the town every day as Will Turner's wife without any escort --

Norrington was deliberately walking too fast for her, she was certain of it. Well, she was not going to give him the satisfaction of complaining. She set her teeth and hurried forward to catch up.