Disclaimer: I don't own it. Everything you recognise
belongs to Disney. No infringement
is intended and I'm certainly
not making any money from this story.
Summary: An
unexpected meeting sends Jack and Elizabeth into a headlong flight.
Part
of my J/E storyline, it takes place sometime after "White Squall". If you haven't read the
other fics, you should know that this is set several years after the movie and Elizabeth is
a widow.
Author's note: A Christmas gift for my dear friend Geek
Mama.
Turnabout
by Hereswith
Chapter 2
the tumult at the front of the tavern. "Wait here," he instructed, and when Elizabeth made as if to
protest, he swiftly continued, "If she's favourably disposed to the suggestion, I'll fetch you. Savvy?"
Before she could demand a proper
explanation, he was gone, having slipped through the door
and into the
building. Elizabeth stared after him, somewhat at a loss, then heaved a
frustrated sigh.
Far too restless to remain rooted to the spot
where he had, so unceremoniously, left her, she took
to pacing instead.
Even if it was tempting to blame Jack, entirely and for everything, she
couldn't,
not when she had wished to go with him. But she was tired,
bruised, the graze on her arm stung,
and she sincerely hoped that he
indeed had a plan. Madcap or not.
A whistle, interspersed with
bursts of song, caused her to jerk around. Some raggedy stranger
was
wobbling down the alley towards her and though Elizabeth tensed, she
wasn't quite as
apprehensive as she would have been, had she worn long
flowing skirts, and had her hair not
been concealed. Since he was
soused, it was unlikely he belonged to Lynch's crew, but even so,
she
would prefer not to have to deal with him.
Just then, as if in
answer to her thoughts, Jack stuck his head out the door. "There you
are," he
said, jovially, like he had not told her to wait, and she
barely refrained from pointing that out, before
she hurried inside.
The
din and clamour grew louder as he led her through a passage and to a
steep staircase. A woman,
past the first blush of youth, was standing
at the foot of it, her features were striking rather than
beautiful,
and she carried herself with an air of authority.
"Sarah." Jack gestured sweepingly at Elizabeth. "This is Turner, topman on the Pearl."
"That so, Jack?" she queried.
"Aye,"
Jack replied. "Lad's mute, but he's up the ratlines like he was born to
it. Excellent dancer,
too," he added, as if upon reflection. "Pity he
can't speak."
Elizabeth opened her mouth, and promptly snapped
it shut. Jack's lips twitched, almost imperceptibly,
and she would have
glared at him, if not for the other woman's keen scrutiny. As it was,
she settled
for dipping her head in greeting.
"A mere boy," Sarah said, thoughtfully, "a terrible misfortune, ain't it?"
"Terrible," Jack agreed, as grave as if he'd uttered no falsehood, then leaned in on Sarah. "What
of our accord, love?"
Sarah snorted, but with amusement, not derision. "One of the rooms upstairs is empty," she
confirmed. "Come with me."
Much
to Elizabeth's embarrassment there could be no doubt about what went
on, on the upper
floor. The muffled noises were evident proof of it, as
was the presence of the girl who passed
them in the corridor, her face
painted and her bosom provocatively displayed.
Sarah took them
to a room with a small, curtained window, at the back of the house. It
was sparsely
furnished, but there was a large bed, which appeared to
have been recently occupied—Elizabeth's
cheeks heated at the images
that came unbidden in her mind—and a vanity against the opposite wall.
Sarah, pausing at the threshold, addressed Jack, "Kate's about yer height, I reckon. I'll talk to her."
She
closed the door behind her with a thud and Elizabeth turned immediately
to Jack, who raised
his hands in mock surrender, or as if to fend her
off. "You wanted me to be inconspicuous," he
reminded her. "Besides,
you've seen me trussed up all ladylike before."
Which she had,
of course, during one of his whirlwind visits to Port Royal, but it had
been a mourning
dress on that particular occasion and she had not known
it was he, until he had lifted the veil. "You're
enjoying this, aren't
you?" she accused. "These masquerades?"
And he, the scoundrel, completely unfazed, winked at her and said, "Peas in a pod, eh, Mrs. Turner?"
It
brought her up short, as must have been his purpose, and she gritted
her teeth, acutely aware of
the fact that she could not make a
convincing argument while she was in a disguise as outlandish,
and as
inappropriate for her sex, as the one he contemplated. "Bloody pirate!"
she scowled, but it
was more habit than biting insult, and he smirked,
acknowledging it as such.
Avoiding the disarranged bed,
Elizabeth seated herself by the vanity and pinched the bridge of her
nose. "So, is she an old friend, or an old enemy you've blandished into
a truce?"
"Sarah? She's been both," Jack replied, "depending on
circumstance and, I dare say, inclination.
Wasn't rightly sure she
wouldn't do worse than slap me."
"She slapped you?" she asked, curious. "Did you deserve it?"
"Probably did," he admitted and then, teasingly, "You're devilish verbose for a mute, darling."
"Bah!" said Elizabeth.
xx
Sarah
returned with some assorted pieces of clothing—among them a blue
dress—and deposited them
on the bed. "Ye don't need me to stay, I take
it?" She cast a gaze at Elizabeth.
It could have been an
innocuous question, but it was abundantly clear that it was not, and
Elizabeth was
struck speechless, in truth, because whatever else this
woman might be, she had not been deceived.
"Yer a fine lad,
pet. I've an eye for it, is all," Sarah explained, noting Elizabeth's
bewilderment. "And
'tis in how he looks at ye." She arched a wry brow
at Jack. "I'll leave ye to it, shall I?"
"You've done more than enough as it is, love," Jack said smoothly and bent to kiss her hand. "I'm in
your debt."
"Good,"
Sarah smiled. "Gives me leverage, when next we meet." Before departing,
she nodded at
Elizabeth and said, with no discernible hint of sarcasm
in her tone, "Mr. Turner."
Only when she and Jack were alone again, did Elizabeth find her voice. "Oh, no."
"Sharp
as a tack, that one," Jack commented, tugging his shirt out of his
breeches. "But she's not prone
to meddling, Lizzie, or tattling."
Elizabeth,
still uneasy, mulled that over for a little while, but as Jack began
rifling through the items on
the bed, she got up. "Well," she said,
rather grudgingly, "I suppose I shall have to help you."
He chuckled. "If you would be so kind."
xx
It
was not as difficult or time-consuming a task to get him into the
garments as it could have been, all
things considered, he was familiar
with such intricate trappings, though Elizabeth suspected the
experience
lay more in removing them, than putting them on.
The
dress was of silken cloth, and it fit him tolerably well, after some
adjusting and additional padding.
When she had fastened the lacing,
Jack sat down, and she gathered the tangles of his hair and tied them
back as best she could, since it would take too long to attempt to pry
the numerous adornments loose.
She had meant to pull away, after
she had finished, but the line of his neck was bared down to the
shoulders and his skin would be soft, it would be warm beneath her
fingers. The leap from thought to
action was made almost unconsciously,
and when he shivered, she shivered in response.
"Lizzie," he
said, very low, and she froze, glancing up and into the mirror. The
image in the glass
disconcerted her even as it thrilled her, it was
like a painted scene of a seduction: their poses, the ruffles
and lace,
and the hand placed so firmly upon naked flesh—positively shameless.
And it was she, not
Jack, who acted the rake. She flushed to the tips
of her ears and took a step backward, so as to
prevent herself from
stepping forward.
Jack rose, with an incongruous rustle of fabric. "Do I make as fine as woman, then, as you a lad?"
Elizabeth swallowed. "There's the beard."
"Ah, yes," he mused, rubbing at the same. "Mayhap I should shave it off?"
"No," she blurted out, and regretted it at once.
"Like it that much, do you?" he said, annoyingly smug.
"I cannot imagine you without it," Elizabeth hedged. "And the hood of the mantle will hide it, if you're
careful, will it not?"
A
hard rap on the door interrupted them. It wasn't Sarah, Elizabeth
discovered, but another woman,
her red curls pinned up and coiled. "Ye
have to go, sir," she insisted. "There's trouble below." And,
having
delivered that message, she rushed off.
Fear rolled over
Elizabeth, like a wave, and she had to brace herself against it before
being able to
go back into the room. Jack had already donned mantle and
gloves, and Elizabeth picked up his rings,
pocketing them, then hefted
the bag with the rest of his effects, breaking the strained quiet with
an
unsteady, "Jack?"
"Drop's too high from the window," he answered, his eyes holding hers. "We'll chance the stairs, aye?"
She hesitated. "Aye."
They
quit the room and proceeded down the corridor with caution. The
stairway was mercifully
devoid of people, as was the passage, and they
could get outside without any unpleasant encounters.
But they would be
plainly visible from the tavern's main entrance, from the end of the
alley on, and
Jack went ahead to determine the danger. He presently
beckoned her to him.
"Saunter," he said, "pretend it's naught but an evening stroll."
Elizabeth
kept near him, feeling skittish and certain that everyone around was
observing them.
Gradually, though, she saw that this was not the case,
some lurched drunkenly about and seemed
oblivious to their
surroundings. But there was, by the double doors, a man more alert than
most
others were, and he had three pistols strapped to a belt across
his chest.
The faint wisp of a breeze was no comfort, it did
not smell of the sea, and as the pirate suddenly
swivelled his head,
Elizabeth's breath hitched. But Jack, from a distance, was slender and
straight,
the dress gave a fair illusion of flaring hips, and he did
not move like a man, or like the infamous
Jack Sparrow; he was as
graceful as any woman had ever learned to be. And the pirate's gaze
did
not linger.
They rounded a corner and were, not safe, but out of sight.