Disclaimer: I don't own POTC

Chapter 47: Maximilian the Tyrant

When they got back to the house it was nearly evening, and they quickly made their way upstairs so that they could change before dinner. But Gretchen had been in the drawing room, and came out just in time to see Camille wearing her dress.

The look on her face was appalling. She glared at the two of them before saying anything. Gabriel seemed very unfazed by this drama and bowed to his sister. "Gretchen, I would like you to meet Camille," he introduced them politely.

But Gretchen just looked at Camille. "How DARE you!" she sneered. "That's my dress! And my hat!" she cried.

"It's lovely to meet you, as well," Camille said sarcastically.

"And that necklace!" Gretchen said, pointing the big blue diamonds around Camille's neck. "They're probably stolen!"

"Gretchen, lower your voice," Gabriel scolded. "That's no way to talk to a guest."

"Guest?" Gretchen shrieked. "She's no guest, she's a thief! A bloody thief!" she ranted until Maximilian appeared.

"Gretchen darling, what is all this commotion about?" he asked, looking from his daughter to Gabriel to Camille. "And what are you doing in my daughter's dress?"

"Father, please," Gabriel said. "This is the daughter of Morgan Sullivan. Remember the story I told you? This is Miss Camille Quartermaine, the heir to the treasure along with the Thatchers," he explained.

Maximilian looked at him fiercely. "How many times have I told you to forget that rubbish?" he hissed. "There is no such thing as a Diablo's Gate, and you're going to get a brain fever from making up these pirate stories!" he roared. "Now get upstairs and change for dinner, you good for nothing lazy boy!"

Camille's eyes widened as Gabriel shrank back a little. She could see he was quite used to these remarks, because he shook his head sadly and slumped his shoulders a bit, turning to make his way upstairs. She began following him, but Maximilian grabbed her roughly by the arm.

"Ouch!" she cried out, trying to loosen herself from his steel grip.

"And you," he said, getting close to her face. "If you ever touch my dear Gretchen's belongings again there's going to be another murder for the police to deal with, you wretched tramp," he threatened before releasing her.

She stood there. Another murder? Had the missing maid been murdered by someone? Her blood ran cold all of a sudden. Staying in this house no longer seemed like a good idea. She rushed to change, noticing that it had begun to rain outside.

When she made her way back downstairs she could still hear Gretchen going on about how Camille had had the gall to wear her beautiful things, and how she had probably tainted them. "I mean, who the hell does that bloody whore think she is, breaking into my room and taking my things?" she demanded.

"Oh please, Gretchen, the clothes were lying in the middle of the hallway like they do every morning when you throw your daily tantrums. Besides, I told her to take one," Gabriel said calmly.

"What? You did? How could you!" An appliance could be heard hitting the floor.

"Oh, come off it, Gretchen. You're just jealous because she looks better in it than you do."

Camille laughed out loud, causing a few heads to turn in the kitchen. That comment had shut Gretchen right up.

The next day she was to go into town and buy material, because Priscilla wanted a new dress to wear to her the dinner party that week and none of the ones in the stores were petite enough for her small figure. Camille gratefully accepted this assignment, once again thankful that she had not yet had to deal with Gretchen's morning tantrums (as opposed to dealing with her midmorning, early afternoon, midafternoon, early evening, etc.)

She shopped as slowly as she could, taking her time perusing through the lovely and delicate fabrics like she had never had the chance to do before. She was just leaving the tailor's shop when she felt a slight brush against her backside.

Whipping around, she could see a man running past her. "Hey!" she called, taking her shoes off and hiking her skirts up. "Get back here, you little thief!" she shouted, running after him.

This surprised the man. He had not been expecting a woman laden down with material to be so fast, but she remained right on his tail until she was able to tackle him and wrestle her change purse back from him. Then she smacked him upside the head.

"You should know better than to take money from a lady," she scolded, getting back up and brushing herself off. She had attracted quite a crowd with her stunt, and she picked up her things. "What are you all looking at?" she demanded. Everyone turned back to minding their own business as Camille walked home barefoot.

"I'm so sorry I'm late, Master Thatcher," Camille apologized profusely as she made it in the door. "Some man decided to rob me in the marketplace, and I had to chase him down to get back the pounds you gave me," she explained, wiping off her feet and taking off her bonnet.

"Camille, what happened to your shoes?" Maximilian asked, focusing on her feet instead of her story.

But she didn't notice. She took the basket, and began making her way to the sewing room. "I took them off in order to catch the thief. A woman can't run with heels on, you know," she said, dropping the basket into the arms of the women who were sewing.

She turned around and almost ran into Maximilian. He was glaring down at her. "Do you have any idea how expensive shoes are to buy, Camille?" he asked in a threatening tone.

"Yes I do, but it's not like you don't have the money to buy another pair. Excuse me," she said, brushing past him. He followed her, huffing, and so did some of the maids. "Besides, I could probably just wear a pair of Gretchen's I'm sure she's got hundreds she doesn't wear," Camille continued on, not noticing that all of the servants were looking at her.

Maximilian got closer to her, grabbed her, and smacked her squarely in the face as soon as she turned around. Camille fell right to the ground from the force of the slap, crying out.

"You will NEVER hold that tone of voice with me again, young lady!" Maximilian thundered, pulling her back up to her feet. "Do I make myself clear?" he demanded. His grip around her was so tight, she felt as if her wrists would crumble.

"Stop that, you're hurting me!" she pleaded, trying to wriggle free from his powerful grip. "Let me go!" she cried, kicking at him. But this only made his grip tighter. She began crying, begging him to stop.

The rest of the servants made absolutely no movement whatsoever. They were all either watching or listening, afraid that their own movements might attract the master's attention.

"Penelope, get me a switch!" he hollered, and the girl ran out the door as fast as she could, nearly tripping on the way. Maximilian had Camille pinned to the ground now, and as Penelope returned Gabriel followed her in.

"Father, what are you doing?" he asked as he came into the room where Camille was being held down. Maximilian took the switch from the girl as she retreated. Gabriel ran to him. "Let her go!" he cried. "Father!"

Maximilian just gave an angry cry, and threw his son off him with insurmountable strength. Gabriel flew straight back into a cupboard full of china, shattering all of the contents of it and landing on his face among the glass.

Maximilian began to beat Camille until she stopped screaming and kicking. He straightened up, adjusting his wig and throwing the stick on the ground. "The next time, Miss Quartermaine, that you wish to undermine my rules, I implore you to reconsider," he said with a deadly calmness to his voice before walking out. The servants went back to their business as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. After all, each and every one of them had been through the same thing. The new girl would learn her lesson quickly now.

Camille lay there, trying to summon the strength to get up. It hurt to cry, and so she simply let the tears stream down her face without any sobbing at all. Her body felt broken, and when she finally was able to sit up she looked over at Gabriel. He was on his hands and knees, staring into the pieces of glass. Blood was all over his hands and face, but that didn't seem to bother him. He looked back at her, and without a word she could see that there was a mutual understanding between the both of them. They were trapped.