Author's Note: Hello and welcome to my second chapter! I would like to my two reviewers, childofGod-4ever and just visiting for their kind reviews. And also thank you to anyone who has read. Now as a warning the subject of love is brought up between Lady Belham and the Commodore in this chapter but I assure you this story is strictly about friendship. Please tell me what you think. I hope you enjoy!
Disclaimer: I do not own the Pirates of the Caribbean or its characters. Lady Belham alone is mine.
Chapter Two Gillette's Advice
Norrington awoke the next morning to a certain marching sensation on his chest. Sitting up slowly he dislodged the house-keeper's ratty looking cat from his torso. The creature leapt to the carpeted floor and hissed, her back arching for a moment before she scampered away. He groaned and flopped back onto his feather bed for a moment, the bedclothes smelling faintly musty. Hmm I must remind the maid to clean the sheets, he thought with a trace of disgust. As a naturally clean man he liked his house to be kept well even though he rarely had company. No, company was troublesome. He liked to think of them more as invaders of privacy than anything else. But he wouldn't have minded sharing his home with Elizabeth….
Company, the thought disturbed him oddly. Norrington sighed and swung his long legs over the side of the bed and drew back the curtains. Fine rays of sunlight crawled across the floor, sneaking through the half-closed slats in the shuttered windows. Suddenly he remembered that Lady Belham rested only two doors down from him. He groaned, his shoulders sagging at the very thought. No, he did have company.
Muttering a curse, the Commodore stood, the bed creaking softly as his weight was lifted off. When he had returned to his home the previous night dreading the woman's presence his prayers appeared answered. The stern lady was nowhere in sight. Perhaps she had found residence with some other unfortunate soul and had neglected to tell him. But as he strolled peacefully towards a small balcony that led out into the gardens his hopes were dashed. There sat the woman, mumbling darkly of how the smell of sea made her dizzy.
God had decided to be merciful however, as the lady announced she had dined already and fully intended to take to her bed early that night. Norrington was relieved knowing he would not be forced to endure her austere company for the rest of the evening. He ate hurriedly himself and ran up to bed to sit by the open windows with a good book. The sea air did not bother him in the least, quite the opposite. A single swift breeze could intoxicate him thoroughly, spinning his senses like a whirlpool. Trying not to think on his troubles, the Commodore enjoyed that evening, watching the stars scattered throughout the silky heavens.
But soon the tramping of the servants below disturbed his serenity. They trod up and down the stairs with many a grunt and groan. It appeared that her ladyship had ordered a bath and water must be boiled for her to wash thoroughly. And even though her luxuries came at the price of his peace, he found he could not blame her. After all she really did stink.
Norrington dressed a bit more slowly than usual that morning, taking his time in arranging his stock and pulling on his boots with more care than necessary. By the time he finished the barber was already waiting impatiently outside to fix his hair. Childishly, the officer shifted in his chair while the powder was applied and caused the barber to spill it all over his shoulders.
"Hold still now sir," the barber scolded, brushing the white residue off his blue coat. Norrington followed his advice more closely when shaved, for it was one thing to go out with a little powder dusting your clothes and quite another to have your throat slit by accident. After a short time (too short in his mind) the barber pronounced his work done. He now could go down to breakfast.
You are being ridiculous James, he told himself as he strolled carefully down the stairs, minding the creaking floorboards. He did not want to wake her if she still slept. But as he neared the dining room and heard that well groomed voice asking for more tea he cringed. It seemed like God's mercy had fallen short or perhaps his luck simply ran out, whatever the reason Commodore Norrington would be forced to breakfast with Lady Belham.
Norrington stopped just outside the door and drew himself up. I am making it much worse than it actually is, he thought. She is just a woman. And she does have the right to be angry with me. The fault is truly mine.
But why did the blame always fall on him? He shook his head vigorously. Sometimes he fancied he would rather be a lowly soldier instead of a commodore, the pressure was much less. Now though, did not seem like the time to debate his choices in life. The Commodore fixed a polite, unassuming smile on his face and headed into the dining room.
Lady Belham sat on one side of the long table while an empty place appeared just across from her. The woman's posture displayed her station as she perched stiffly in her chair, back so straight that her shoulder blades touched. She wore a green silk gown that didn't seem to fit properly and her hair arranged simply. But unfortunately her dresser had been overzealous with the use of facial powder and had dabbed it on so thickly to cover the sunburn that it caked unevenly on her face. And now instead of smelling like rotting fish the scent of rosewater became overwhelming. The bath obviously did little to erase the stench of hundreds of fish so the perfumed water had been used, though at this moment Norrington did not know which smelled worse.
Still he bowed genteelly to the woman who nodded coldly back.
"Good morning to you my lady, I trust you are well rested?" he asked smoothly as he slid into the seat opposite her.
"Well enough, Commodore." She smiled briefly. "And you?"
"Yes, my lady, I slept quite well."
Lady Belham wrapped her thin fingers around a tea cup. "I could not escape the sound of lapping waves."
"Ah of course." Norrington unfolded a linen napkin and tucked it carefully over his uniform jacket. "The echo of the Caribbean. I find it soothing."
"I don't," her voice sounded muffled as she lifted the cup to her lips.
"You will become accustomed to it in time, Lady Belham," he replied calmly. "I find that I am unable to sleep without that sound."
"Well, that is assuming I will remain in the Caribbean."
"Oh?" He tried to sound indifferent but a trickle of hope worked its way into his tone. "You mean to say this may not be your fixed residence from now on?"
"One never knows," she muttered distractedly.
Norrington fought the urge to question her. Now that his anger and grief had subsided he began to wonder. Why would such a young woman leave England for the Caribbean? She was not even accompanied by family. But the thought of dragging her into an unwanted conversation stayed his curiosities for the time being. He decided to change the subject.
"Have you heard any news regarding your own household my lady?" he questioned lightly as a servant dished slices of fresh fish onto his and his guest's plate. The Commodore could not help but grin sympathetically as he noticed her nose wrinkle at the smell.
"Yes, I managed to speak with my housekeeper yesterday afternoon," she replied picking up her fork. "It appears that the furniture I ordered has not yet been delivered by the craftsman so I will need to take advantage of your courtesy a little longer, sir."
Take advantage is right, he thought sourly but kept his features soft. "How much longer, my lady?"
"A week."
"A week?" He tried to say it nonchalantly but instead his voice came out high and thin.
Lady Belham raised her eyebrows. "Yes Commodore, is that a problem?"
"No," Norrington said though every fiber of his being screamed otherwise. A week? Even if she acted pleasant it felt like a burden. He was a private man, preferring to keep society where it belonged, outside. Having to keep up appearances while he relaxed in his own home made him feel ill.
He shifted quietly in his chair and fiddled tensely with his knife. "Have you consulted with the dressmaker yet, my lady?"
"Yes, a most agreeable woman," she said, spreading some fresh preserves on a thin piece of bread. "We discussed my wardrobe for quite some time. How fortunate for me that a new shipment of fabrics arrived from England just last week. I shall be able to outfit myself nicely."
Norrington stared at the white tablecloth beneath his fingertips. Lord only knew how much this whole proposition would cost him. He decided not to ask after the jeweler; right now he didn't have the stomach for it.
Silence stretched between them, taut and tense like a sail caught in a strong wind. They continued their meal, interrupted only by servants who kept their tea cups brimming with the golden brew. The scent of the exotic flowers that grew outside in the garden soon overpowered the rosewater. As Norrington settled himself in his chair he began to think that he might just make it through the meal unscathed. Then he could hurry off to the Fort on the pretext of urgent business that would take him away from her all day. But Lady Belham was not satisfied with the lapse in conversation. She studied the man closely, letting her eyes linger on his every feature as though she were trying to dissect him visually.
"Are you a good dancer, Commodore?" she asked at length.
"Pardon me, my lady?" He looked up at her quickly.
"Are you a good dancer?" she repeated slowly, tapping her fingers along the gilded edge of the tea cup.
"I can follow the dances at balls well enough," Norrington allowed. He didn't want to appear boastful but he had been told many a time that he was accomplished in that particular art. Even Elizabeth had said it once….
Lady Belham laughed quietly. "Is that so? I myself am a terrible dancer."
"Is that so," Norrington responded indifferently, unsure of what she meant by bringing up such a subject.
"You see." She leaned forward a bit her eyes narrowed in thought. "I equate dancing to love, sir."
"Love?" The word lodged uncomfortably in his throat.
"Love," she spoke calmly, letting the phrase hang from her lips. "Dancing is a curious act. It intends to bring people together as much as keep them apart. For a moment a couple dancing might pull together and then another step will push them away. Love is the same way, moments of closeness and moments of separation, but still shared between two people."
"I see." Norrington felt his throat go dry.
"When I dance I always look for a partner worse off than me," Lady Belham continued straightforwardly. "So I am not the one looked down upon, I shall be considered the better dancer. But still my dancing suffers, perhaps if I was wiser and chose better partners…." She trailed off with a knowing grin. "I have heard your engagement to one Miss Elizabeth Swann was broken off only a few days past."
"How did you know?" he asked, his voice sounding dull and desperate in his own ears. He did not want to discuss Elizabeth with her, or anyone for that matter.
"The talk of the town," she replied. "If you want my opinion, Commodore…"
"No," he said quickly and a bit more harshly than he intended.
The woman gazed back at him for a moment, obviously offended. "Very well then." She stood, her skirts swishing against the legs of the chair. He stood as well, pure instinct for a gentleman. "You must excuse me Commodore Norrington," she said. "I have affairs I must intend to."
"Of course my lady." He bowed once more, wishing he had held his tongue and not angered her. "Good day to you."
She did not answer but instead left the room.
"Tell me Lieutenant, did the real fishwife ever arrive yesterday?"
Gillette smiled widely. "No sir, I am afraid not. She sent a message along with her son stating that she would have to put off her meeting with you until the end of the week."
"Indeed." Norrington dropped his eyes from the smirking Lieutenant and gazed out the window of his office. The sky was a soft blue, wispy clouds skirting the horizon as ships bobbed pleasantly in the harbor below, by all accounts a beautiful day for early summer. The heat had not become as oppressive and humid as it tended to do, the air instead remaining fresh. The Commodore enjoyed the scenic beauty of home, a place he never thought he could love. After all the contrast with England could not be greater, he used to miss the green moors and the moody sky, the wind thick with the scent of moss and rain. But soon he came to love his tropical home, the warm sun and balmy nights.
Gillette sniffed loudly from where he stood, eager to be done with his daily report. "Might I enquire as to Lady Belham, sir? How does she fare?"
"Fine," Norrington replied tersely, not taking his eyes from the waves huddled about the rocks below.
"Have you given any thought to Governor Swann's celebration, sir?" Gillette dared, watching his commander cringe.
"Why would I, Lieutenant?"
Gillette shrugged, casting the man an innocent smile. "No reason sir, I just wondered if you had found anyone to accompany you as of yet."
"What?" Norrington whipped around, abandoning his sweet Caribbean reverie.
"Well, seeing as Miss Swann is…"Gillette instantly knew he had gone too far. The Commodore's face darkened, a scowl forming on his lips.
"What exactly are you suggesting, Lieutenant?" Norrington growled, as his subordinate took a cautious step back.
"Nothing sir," Gillette replied quickly, dropping his eyes to the scuff marks on the floor.
"If you must know I will ask Miss Martha Bartley to accompany me for the evening," he said, trying to prove that he was not bothered by Elizabeth's engagement. Though truth be told, he wasn't sure himself.
"Forgive me for saying so sir," Gillette answered, regaining some of his confidence. "But Miss Bartley is being escorted by Captain Marshal."
"Ah, so I see," Norrington mumbled nonchalantly. "Well then I am sure Miss Isabelle Wickham."
"Lieutenant Groves, sir," Gillette said sharply.
"Then Miss Sara Birch."
"Ensign Randolph, sir."
"Ensign?" Norrington sat back in his chair feeling defeated. He searched his mind frantically for any woman that could possibly be suitable for him to escort. Gillette surveyed him smugly. Of course anyone stationed at the Fort knew he could always be counted on to repeat any news heard. Though he much preferred the term "news" to "gossip" for gossip was old wives work. The Commodore leaned heavily on his hands. Asking Gillette for help would be like hoisting the white flag in front of all of his enemies. But it would be even more embarrassing to show up at the event lacking a partner.
"Gillette?"
"Yes sir?" The Lieutenant replied cheerfully.
Norrington sighed. "Do you know of any young lady who would be free to accompany me to Governor Swann's for the evening?"
"Well sir," Gillette frowned slightly as if deep in thought. "That is a tricky problem you pose, for I do know of a fine woman in need of an escort."
"What is her name?" Norrington said slowly. He did not much care for his subordinate's tone.
"Lady Belham sir," Gillette pronounced gleefully. "She received an invitation from Governor Swann upon her arrival in Port Royal."
Norrington was speechless.
"After all sir," Gillette continued, "it is only proper to escort her ladyship, due to your certain predicament." Upon seeing the Commodore's lack of enthusiasm he added quickly, "But I should be happy to escort her if you wish. I am sure we would have a grand time."
Briefly, Norrington pictured Lady Belham and Gillette in the midst of the gossiping crowds. No, he could not allow that.
"There is nothing for it then," he said dully. "I will escort Lady Belham." To his surprise Gillette appeared disappointed.
"Yes sir that will do nicely, but I believe there is one thing you are forgetting."
"What's that Lieutenant?"
"You haven't asked her is she will accompany you yet."