A/N - my thanks once again to everyone that's reviewed - I love to hear your comments, good or bad - they always inspire me.
I also want to thank Sarah for reading this before I posted it, giving me some great pointers, and for being the inspiration for a little cameo that pops up in this chapter...
Guess I should warn you that it all gets a bit deep and dark. The more time Catherine spends away from her stifled home life, the more her mind wakes up, and ergo the more we learn about what she see's and how she feels. Hope you like it :)
I snorted, blowing the smell out of my nose.
"And one man in his life plays many parts." I muttered under my breath.
"Couldn't have put it better myself love." Sparrow, I swear, had materialized out of the gloom beside me. "But hush now, and take a seat – the show's about to begin."
We sat at a table, several were arranged around a makeshift stage area. A grubby velvet curtain hung over a door.
A man sat on a tall stool off to one side. He began to strum a fiddle, and sing a ballad about an Eastern Princess.
I entertained myself by looking around at the other customers. They looked like any dock workers of sailors, I found it hard to believe every last one of them were pirates.
Suddenly a collective gasp escaped the audience, and my attention was drawn back to the stage.
I stared transfixed.
There was a woman dancing. I assumed it was dancing, though it was not like any dance I knew. The Woman's body moved like a snake, she looked like she had no bones. Slowly, slowly her hips tipped and rolled, her arms out slightly at her sides, rippling like waves, ending in delicate twitches if her wrists.
She was dressed in layer upon layer of sheer, gauzy material, which gave the illusion of revealing while keeping her covered, and made her shimmer like a jewel.
Her hair was what my hair dreamed of being; dark, thick and gently wavy. It fell about her shoulders like tendrils of smoke. As she rolled her shoulders her hair writhed and tumbled like the rest of her, falling in her eyes as she looked about the room, holding some of the men's gaze for a beat, then moving on.
In my mind, I compared her straight, supple serpentine body to my own rounded one. I could feel the bulges of stomach pressing against my stays – a pressure that had become so normal I barely noticed it. I watched her legs flex as she rose on the balls of her feet and back again, knowing under my dress my own legs sat, stumpy in ripped stockings. I watched the layers of her clothes shift over her, and ate up her elegance and poise, thinking despairingly of my struggling gait in heavy taffeta.
In short, I was agog.
She wore no stays, no wig, certainly no panniers, her clothes followed the line of nature. I had never seen such a powerful and perfect image of all that being a woman meant to me.
As the ballad reached its finale, the dancer began to move about the room. For a second she stood in front of our table, her kohl-lined eyes met mine with a slight raise of delicate eyebrows, then moved on.
I felt the hairs on my arm rise.
"Her make-up looks like yours." I commented jokingly to Sparrow, to cover my embarrassment. He laughed and snaked his arm around my shoulders, pulling me in to whisper in a confidential tone;
"I'm not looking at her eyes, love."
All at once, I was disgusted. Could no one see what I saw? This incredible form, at once delicate and powerful – better and purer than all of them? Truly, as my mother once said – men only think with what fills their britches!
I shrugged off Sparrow's grip, and left the tavern all in a rush.
Outside, it was like coming up from underwater. The fresh night air breathed away all trace of the cloying cinnabar, and the thick sent of unwashed men, smoking and drinking.
I took deep draughts of the clean dark air, and when I felt the flush drain from my cheeks, I contrived to find somewhere to sit.
Around the side of the tavern was an area sheltered by the overhanging balcony of its neighbor, strewn with abandoned barrels and cargo boxes.
A small, scruffy dog was roused as I settled down amongst the boxes, and scurried off into the night.
Leaning back, I could see patches of starlight between trailings of Spanish creeper that poured over the balcony.
All around me was the muffled sound of revelers, occasionally spilling out into the street when a door or window was opened.
I closed my eyes and let it wash over me. It had been such a long day….
"You alright, love?"
I started, the voice stopped my decent into sleep and for a moment I felt like I was falling. The words were Sparrow's, but the voice wasn't and when I opened my eyes, it was not him standing there.
"Inara?" It was the dancing girl, I called her by the name of the girl in the ballad. She laughed, her intonation was strange, I had left England so long ago, I had never heard a Scotts accent.
"It's Sarah, love." She replied with a grunt, as she hoisted herself onto a barrel. Once again I stared unashamedly at her. She was wearing a simple dress of course linen, her tumultuous hair hastily piled back. With one leg bent, she let the other dangle free, showing a sturdy boot, and a flash of white calf.
"Nice night, ain't it?" She leaned back against the wall as she spoke, idly swinging her free leg. If she had been sitting on a street in Bridgetown I wouldn't have given her a second glace.
The feeling was a similar to the one I had as a child, when I was allowed to see a magic lantern show at the harbor. The dragons and serpents had looked so real, but even so disappointment mixed with relief when I saw the old conjurer packing up his sheet and coloured lenses.
She shifted her weight with another grunt, and procured a pipe from somewhere about her person.
"You smoke?"
I shook my head.
"Good." She said between clenched teeth as she lit the pipe. "Nasty habit." She let out a long, slow sigh with a round of smoke rings. She grinned at me as they floated away. It was a friendly, reassuring sort of grin. Quite different from her beautiful, dark, cold face in the tavern. I was suddenly emboldened.
"Where did you learn to dance like that?" She shrugged.
"My mother, aunts, cousins, grandmothers." A sudden flash in her eyes, a glimpse of Inara. "They were gypsies."
"It was," I paused "Lovely. I only know boring dances." I began to reel off a list of the ballroom formations every girl back on Barbados knew.
"You can do all of them?" She asked in a squeal of excitement, suddenly looking more alive. I blushed to have this incredible woman in awe of me.
"But who can't?"
"Me! You must teach me!" In an instant she was off the barrel and tugging at my arms. "Come on!"
I couldn't take in the breath to argue.
"Strike you up something fancy, Keep." Sarah called out to the man on the fiddle, his eyes rested with some surprise on me, but drew out the opening bars of a lively tune I had often heard echoing round grand halls and salons.
At first I was terrible. Sarah stood so close I could hardly get my words out, and the knowledge that Sparrow was still sitting at our table in the dark of the tavern didn't help.
But slowly, I felt the words and phrases of my dancing teacher take over. After a while we were whirling about the makeshift stage, touching hands, and wheeling in and out of imaginary dancing partners. When the dance was over Sarah collapsed, laughing breathlessly, against my chest.
"Oh! I think I'll keep to my kind of dancing – this knocks the wind out of you! Come on, you've earnt yourself a drink."
Sarah knocked back her tot of rum as soon as it slammed down on the table, and I did the same. It warmed my throat, sliding down to my stomach. Truth be told I was more used to wine, and this rum was better quality than the stuff we got on the Pearl.
The more we drank, the easier the dancing became. Sarah was a natural talent, and picked up the steps easily. And truth be known, I had much more fun dancing with her lithe frame, holding her strong, small, warm hand, than any number of stiff young navy officers.
We attracted attention, and soon Sarah had recruited other members of the traveling theatre to join us. Six was still a small number for these dances. But, surprisingly, it was easier to dodge a real partner than an imagined one.
After a while, I could here a sharp noise, over and above the increasing rabble of the late-night tavern. It was one pair of hands, slowly clapping.
"A pleasure to watch, Missy."
"Come on Sparrow – I'll teach you to dance like a gentleman!" I held out my hand magnanimously, determined not to be drawn by his taunts.
"Bugger that love." The Captain stepped onto the low stage, and gripped me about my waist, an unexpected thrill went through me. "I'll teach you to dance like a pirate."
And he did, he whirled me around the narrow space, with wild steps both unlike Sarah's slow, rolling movements and my stiff ceremonial ones. Keep, the fiddle player, had left off music I could recognize some time ago, and was now playing a lively jig. I clung to Sparrow's strong, firm body – marveling at the differences between his form and Sarah's.
But soon it seemed like the room, as well as me, was spinning, and I held fast to Sparrow, not out of fun, but for fear I would be dragged away in that blurred whirlwind of faces and noise.
"Jack." I whispered in his ear. "Jack, I don't feel very good." He slowed down, and touched my brow, like a physician. I couldn't tell if I saw a note of concern in his eyes, before he freed his other hand from my waist and guided me through the crowd of laughing sailors, to a small stairwell. And from there, a balcony.
The balmy night had turned chill since I had last been outside, and the prick of it against my hot cheeks did something to revive me. Ignoring Sparrow, I held fast to the rail and hung my head over the edge, letting the midnight breeze catch my hair.
"There love, is that better? How do ye feel?" It took me a moment to realize the soft voice and gentle stroking of my back was coming from Jack, but when I did, I turned immediately, and found myself standing far to close to him.
I was suddenly aware that my ears were ringing from the loud music. I saw, through his dark eyes, the hair plastered to my brow, my flushed cheeks, lips parted slightly as I regained my breath. Under his eyes I became aware of myself.
I no longer felt ill, though my knees shook and my head seemed lighter than air. I could feel the rum, warm and rich in my stomach and all the while was the pull of those dark, deep eyes.
"Jack…" Was all I had time to say before his mouth came down hard on mine.
I will not pretend that as a girl of seventeen I had never kissed a man before. But this was wholly different. The idea of putting your tongue in another person's mouth would never have occurred to me, but when he did it, it seemed natural. And then, how can I explain? My body took over the situation – responding to it in a way my mind had not instructed it to. I leaned forward, and opening my mouth wider, tentatively let my tongue explore his mouth. His breath was slightly sour, but there was also a musky taint to it that seemed to addle my senses.
His arms were about my waist, and mine around his neck, it was as if the two of us were one person, our bodies clinging together under the crisp, sparkling stars. His breath and skin were deliciously warm against the chill of the night, and I felt every scratch of stubble, every brush of his tongue against mine, every touch of our noses with a sensitivity I could not have imagined.
Presently Jack pulled away and again I looked up into his eyes.
"Come on love'. He spoke huskily and led me inside. I followed, with a needle of fear piercing my giddy warmth, into narrow hallway, and on to a room, Jack's hat hung on one corner of the bedstead.
As he laid me wordlessly down on the bed and began to kiss my neck, and loosen my hair from its coils the needle of fear grew – many needles pricking away at me. My mouth felt dry and sour and it was with shaking hands I reached for Jack's belt. His knees pinned my legs together and I felt muggy, as if under the pressure of a brooding storm.
"Jack, I want you to know I..." I stopped, unnerved by having the man's whole attention, hands frozen "I've never, I'll try and... You mustn't mind if." I struggled on, my words coming out fast and slurred in my befuddled state. "I know you must be used to girls who... I'm not sure how... please don't be," I gripped is half-undone belt, and stared at up him, struggling to explain something I had no words for.
"Does it hurt?" I stammered. I so badly did not want to disappoint him, but oh! I was so scared!
Jack looked down at me, a frown suddenly creasing his face. He took my hands in his and firmly pushed them way from his breeches.
"Oh no Cath, it don't hurt." He muttered in a husky voice, as he clambered off the bed and reached for his hat. Before he closed the door he turned and said "Get some sleep."
I awoke the next morning with a thumping pain in my head. I felt strange, and it took me a moment to realize it was because there was no gentle rocking of a ship at sea. I was in a bed, not in a narrow bunk, and there was no reassuring warmth of Anamaria at my side.
I looked about me and remembered where I was. I froze and let out a groan as last nights event trickled back to me.
Oh no, surely I hadn't?
Did I really try to?
Had I truly said those things to Jack?