Twenty-One
Caitlyn stumbled as they departed the wharf, gripping Norrington's arm to steady herself. "These cobblestones are awfully rough."
He looked at her anxiously. "Are you quite well, Miss O'Shea?"
"Ah, yes, I'll be fine. I just felt a bit wobbly for a moment, that's all."
"It was those rough men at the docks, wasn't it?"
"No, of course not. You forget, I shipped with pirates. I heard much worse while I was aboard the Black Pearl."
James frowned slightly, not liking to think of her in that situation. "I had thought to take you on a tour of Fort Charles today, but if you'd rather –"
She smiled up at him. "I should love to see the fort. But you'll need to let Kidder know that you're having guests for dinner." And I need to down a glass of something to steady my nerves. The moment she'd looked into her accursed brother's eyes on the Port Royal docks, her hope that life had finally taken a turn for the better had been utterly shattered. She knew that somehow he would find her, and make her miserable again.
"Quite right. We'll stop at the house, and hire a cart from there. No point in wearing out your feet," he added thoughtfully.
Sarah was abed with a headache, so they hired a small pony-trap to carry them up the promontory to the fort. James paid the driver to wait for them, and gave Caitlyn his arm as they strolled the stone pavements of the exercise yard.
Again she could sense that he was remembering things that weren't entirely pleasant. "You walk the halls of your mighty fortress, Commodore, and yet you are troubled," she said quietly.
Norrington struggled with himself for a moment, his natural reticence warring with the urge he always felt when near her, the urge to pour out his soul. "I'll tell you a story, if you like. Once there was a very dedicated young Captain, who held himself to the highest standards of behavior. He made himself the enemy of pirates everywhere, and he found himself a fair lady that he hoped to love and cherish for the rest of his life."
They climbed to the battlements as he spoke. "But fate decided to play with the Captain's fortunes and beliefs. He became a Commodore," he smiled wryly, "and lost his lady-love to a blacksmith turned amateur buccaneer."
"Fate has an odd sense of humor," Caitlyn noted. "What did you do then?"
Norrington stifled a laugh; she could always see through him. Not that he'd been all that devious in his storytelling. "There was a huge battle here on the day that a pirate captain was to have been hung. Mr. Turner – the gentleman you met at the docks, who is now Elizabeth's husband – decided to rescue the man from the gallows. They created an astonishing amount of havoc before my men surrounded them… right here."
They stopped in a small stone courtyard. "Turner stood up for the pirate even then. And Elizabeth threw in her lot with Turner," he added.
Caitlyn's heart turned painfully. "That must have been horrid for you. And so very public, too."
"It hurt like the devil. But, you know, stiff upper lip and all that. I decided I wanted her to be happy, however that was accomplished."
Generous heart. "And what happened to the pirate fellow?"
Norrington tilted that dry smile to her again. "Got clean away. And later he turned privateer, and captured a ship bound for England with a fair Irish lass aboard it."
Caitlyn's mouth fell open. "Not – Jack Sparrow? Good Lord." She glanced upward to the topmost battlements, and the large campanile arch that stood proudly against the sky. Norrington followed her gaze.
"Miss O'Shea, would you promise me something?"
She turned her full gaze upon him, and it took his breath away. "If it is in my power, Commodore, of course."
Propriety be damned. "Whatever you do, stay the hell away from that bloody ledge," he muttered, and taking her by the shoulders, he kissed her thoroughly.
It was the sweetest thing she'd ever known. She didn't feel at all afraid of him; he was a truly honourable man. Right there, Caitlyn determined that her wretched brother would not come between her and James.
-
His sister was right here in town! Robert O'Shea simply couldn't believe it; even his uncanny luck usually did not extend this far. What she was doing strolling about with a Navy officer, he had no idea; but if his pounding head would only settle down, he was certain he could put this felicitous coincidence to good use.
It had been no trouble discovering which house she was at, town gossip being plentiful and cheap. But he had enough problems without bringing the Navy down on his head. And how had she escaped from pirates, anyway? He toyed with the notion that Captain Patchell might have lied to him about that; people often did. Ah, it was too much; he needed a drink!
O'Shea shoved aside the slatted door that covered the lean-to's open end, and bellowed. "Grimsby! Bring me brandy or I'll have your guts for garters!"
The publican, suffering from a sore head himself, arrived ten minutes later with a small flask and a mug. "That's all for you, O'Shea, till I see some 'ard coin. Go runnin' to the constable, I don't care, see if he believes ya." He scrubbed at his face with one dirty sleeve, and grimaced.
O'Shea grunted and poured a drink. "I need quill and ink, whatever you can scrounge. Take that for the expense." He threw a single shilling into the dust at Grimsby's feet.
The man moaned in pain as he bent down to pick it up, causing the blood to rush to his head. "Bugger. I'll bring it, but don't expect me to come runnin' for ya again, y'can bloody well shift yer carcass to the main room like everyone else."
Half an hour later, O'Shea laid a single sheet of rough paper upon a wooden board and began his letter.
"My Dearest Sister…"
Twenty-Two
That night's dinner party started out awkwardly, Geoffrey Bainbridge being the only one present without a history or a troubled mind. By the end of the evening, however, the very real regard between Elizabeth and Norrington had eased things considerably, and Bainbridge's natural courtesy had smoothed the conversation through its inevitable bumps.
By the time the Turners were ready to depart, the little group felt almost comfortable with each other, Sarah Norrington even smiling as she had before Gillette's death. Norrington inwardly rejoiced to see her improved, and credited Caitlyn's companionship. They all agreed there must be another dinner, at the very least, before the Turners left to take up residence at the Swann plantation.
Two weeks passed before all six could be present for an entire evening, and Caitlyn spent the time in almost constant fear that her brother would show up on the doorstep. His note had been bad enough; pretending to inquire after her health, then insulting her by implying a clandestine relationship between her and James. Then, of course, the slyly-worded threats.
It was driving her mad, and she couldn't tell anyone; not even Sarah. It was simply not possible to admit to her new friends that she was sister to such a murdering, traitorous devil.
"Honestly, Caitlyn, you're no fun anymore at all. Do tell me what's wrong!" Sarah insisted, as she fussed with her gown.
Caitlyn turned from gazing out the window; she did that far too much lately. "I'm just a bit blue, I suppose."
"Well, I can see that. I hope Geoffrey likes this color," she murmured, and then blushed. "Um, did I say that out loud?"
Caitlyn stifled a snicker. "I'm afraid so. Don't worry, your secret is safe with me."
"Oh, God, is it that obvious? Do you think he feels –" she stopped and swallowed.
"I'd say if he doesn't already, it's only a matter of time. Have you not noticed how he watched over you when you were, ah, under the weather?" She didn't want to say any more.
"Didn't notice much of anything really. It's odd, those weeks just seem all dark and sort of foggy. But now you're all down in the dumps and I want to know why! It's not like you." Sarah flung the gown onto her bed and stood before Caitlyn, arms crossed.
Caitlyn chewed her lip for a moment. She'd never had a close friend; perhaps Sarah would not draw back in disgust if she told her secret. And what a relief it would be to finally get it out! "All right, I'll tell you about it tonight before we retire. If I start now you'll never be ready, and I am pretty sure that was the Turner's carriage pulling up. Come on, I'll help you with your hair."
-
Gibbs squinted into the dipping sun as they prepared to dock in Port Royal's harbor. He slugged back a hefty dose of rum – medicinal, of course – and turned to eye his captain.
Jack stood on the quarterdeck, his hair whipping in the freshening wind. He had that look again; the look Gibbs was coming to dread. The look of a pirate who'd forgotten the search for gold and lived for revenge.
"Wish Gallardo had kept his mouth shut about O'Shea's connections in town. All I can say is, I hope we find the bastard this time, or I'm afeared for Jack's mind," he muttered to Cotton.
"Wind in yer sails!" Cotton pulled a grubby bandanna from his pocket and wiped his face, his gaze fixed on Jack.
"Aye. Man's half-mad as it is. But," he added, cheering up considerably, "that last batch of cargo we pinched from the Froggies should sell nicely 'ere in town, and then we'll be sittin' pretty no matter what."
Jack couldn't help but grin as the Black Pearl dropped anchor, the Union Jack fluttering proudly at her topmainmast. It was a most gratifying improvement over the last time he'd sailed into Port Royal. This privateering was indeed quite profitable; but he had a job to finish.
Jack clambered down to the main deck as the ramps began to be laid. "Mr. Gibbs, I'm going ashore. Set a watch, and then every man may have till midnight in town. But please tell them not to do anything stupid. This isn't a pleasure-cruise, eh?"
"Aye, Captain. I don't expect the Commodore would care too much to have us tearin' up the town, even if we are all respectable-like now," Gibbs added, trying not to laugh out loud at the thought. "But what'll I tell the men if they ask how long we'll be docked?"
Jack leaned very close to his mate and spoke fiercely. "As long as it takes. O'Shea's here, I know it. And we're going to watch every ship, every road, and every rathole in Port Royal."
"Captain… Jack." Gibbs spoke low as well, his eyes fixed on Sparrow's face. "You can't go on chasin' him forever, it's not healthy. If we don't find him 'ere, will you give up this madness? Leave the bastard to the justice of the good Lord, it'll come soon enough for the likes of him."
Jack straightened, one emotion after another crossing his face; then he squinted into the setting sun. He raised his voice and addressed the crew. "All right, mates. We'll set sail in seven days, O'Shea found or not. But in that time I want every man who wants to remain with me, to put his heart's blood into the search!" Then he whirled and pointed his drawn sword towards the town. "And we start tonight – with the taverns!"
A roar of approval was his response, and Jack Sparrow led the charge onto the wharves of the unsuspecting town.
-
The ladies had excused themselves from the dining table and were retiring to the front parlor when Kidder stopped Caitlyn in the hall. "Begging your pardon, miss, but a rather disreputable-looking boy left this for you at the door some half an hour ago. He said it was urgent." Kidder barely managed to stifle his look of disgust as he handed her a soiled envelope.
Caitlyn paled when she saw the handwriting; but controlled herself. "Thank you, Kidder," she replied quietly; then tucked it into her pocket, and followed Sarah and Elizabeth into the parlor. The manservant pressed his lips together tightly and returned to the dining room to pour the port, convinced that he would soon have to inform his master of Miss O'Shea's strange behavior.
Elizabeth turned her brilliant smile on Sarah as soon as the tea was poured. "I can't tell you how grateful I am to your brother for being so kind to us, Sarah. He is truly a gentleman."
Sarah grinned back. "Well, I could have told you that. And while I am as loyal to my brother as any sister could be, I can see that Will suits you very well indeed for a husband. I think James would have been a bit too stuffy for you; although he's improving lately." She tilted her head to Caitlyn.
Elizabeth smiled merrily. "I won't tease you too much, Caitlyn, but we can all see how distracted you are. So there is not much point in pretending you haven't noticed James' interest," she added. "He's quite a good man, if you can get past the Navy formality."
Caitlyn shook herself and concentrated on joining the conversation. "He has not been so stiff as you seem to think him, at least not since we met." She smiled wryly. "Of course, I looked like a street-urchin when he first saw me, so perhaps that is not too surprising."
Elizabeth sighed. "Sarah told me a bit about it. It's not a bed of roses, is it, sailing with Jack Sparrow? But somehow, you can never stay mad at him."
Caitlyn smiled slightly. "I'm not sure how I managed to get through those days without clubbing him with a belaying-pin. But I regard him as a friend now. At least, as much of a friend as he can be."
"He is a pirate, after all!" Elizabeth laughed. "Sarah, if you ever meet the man, have a care for your heart. He is quite the devil with the ladies."
"I can't imagine being swept off my feet by a pirate," Sarah noted fastidiously.
"Ah, she sounds just like her brother. 'Vile and dissolute creatures, the lot of them,' was what he said to me long ago. But you must imagine Jack Sparrow if you can; wild black hair, a wicked smile, lovely brown eyes with the devil in them. And a dab hand with sword and pistol as well." Elizabeth's smile changed to thoughtfulness. "Pretends to have a black heart, but he's a good man to have around when you need him."
"Come, Elizabeth, you make him sound like Sir Walter Raleigh. I wouldn't care to be on the wrong end of his sword, if he were truly angry with you," Caitlyn added, thinking of her brother. Her head was beginning to throb, the horrid letter seeming to burn in her pocket. "Do you know, I don't feel very well; I'd better go lie down."
"Here are the gentlemen. I'll be back in just a moment, Elizabeth," Sarah said anxiously. They made their excuses to the others and went upstairs, Caitlyn gripping the railing to steady herself.
As soon as they reached Caitlyn's room, Sarah shut the door and took a firm stance. "Right my lass, you'll be telling me what's up this minute, and no mistake."
Caitlyn sighed and pulled the letter from her pocket. "I received this today. I dread opening it, for it cannot contain anything but evil and heartbreak."
"Oh, very dramatic. I cannot see what can be so bad about a letter. Hold on a minute; who would be writing to you? And there's no postmark." Sarah's confidence fell away as she worked through that idea.
Caitlyn gritted her teeth. "It's from my brother. He's here in Port Royal. Damn him to hell."