Author's Notes: Ladies and gentlemen, I fear I must deliver the news you have all been dreading: Law school is upon me! The work's already piling up and this is only the first week. I've already been forced to set aside much of my writing for legal briefs and casebooks, so I'm afraid I will soon be going on a major hiatus to handle this. (Ducks and cringes) I'm so, so sorry, but my school must come first (I've got myself too deep in debt on this place's stinkin' tuition not to take it seriously!) But I promise this story will be finished, and what spare time I have will be devoted to keeping it going (along with my other fics.) Please just be patient.
Chapter Three: Slipped Moorings
The smithy, sometime before dawn…
No matter how exhausted and heartsick he was, the habit of rising before dawn was too deeply ingrained for Will Turner to break. It was a matter of practicality in the smithy during the hot season; the hottest work directly over the forge was best done during the coolest part of the day. This morning, however, although Will woke as always while the stars were still bright, the forge remained cold. Perhaps if he had allowed himself the luxury of sleeping a bit longer, the day would have gone far differently.
At first he was confused, wondering why he had gone to bed fully-clothed—and in his finest clothes at that! Then memory came flooding back in a rush of bitterness, and he buried his face in the pillow with a groan of denial. He had hoped it was all a horrible dream.
Lighting a lantern and walking into the smithy, he wondered about the half-formed plans he had made the night before. All his practical senses railed against simply running away, but his heart cried for escape. There was nothing left for him in Port Royal. Yet…what was there beyond it? When it came to it, as romantic as the idea sometimes seemed, he did not think he would especially like the pirate's life. Jack Sparrow said the pirate was in my blood, but all the same, he had an…indescribable something that made him a good pirate, and I do not think I have that…whatever it is. It was almost enough to make him smile. No, he would not run away to sea and become a pirate. That idea bordered on ludicrous when he thought about it. He had resorted to piracy for…for Elizabeth, and then for Jack, but he could not see himself so brazenly living outside the law for no reason but personal gain. On the other hand, he possessed easily the skills to be taken on as a hand aboard a ship, or even perhaps to start himself another shop somewhere else in the colonies.
Feeling freshly confident about his prospects away from Port Royal, he threw open the smithy doors. The closely-built shops of the town obscured his view of anything beyond this street, but this morning the wind blew fresh air between the buildings, air that was not yet fouled by the odors of the workday. Also on the breeze came the elusive, tempting scent of the sea, and it was this that made up his mind. He flung the doors closed and surveyed the shop. It was hardly possible to take everything with him, but he could at least carry a few tools and what money he had to set himself up somewhere else.
He very nearly succumbed to the temptation to simply disappear, but the frayed remnants of his sense of responsibility halted him even as he made for the door. Looking back again, he sighed and went to the work table. He could not leave all his customers and the woman he still desperately loved without a word. Scratching hastily with his quill, he left a letter of apology to those customers whose orders had been left unfinished—at least he'd managed to get Commodore Norrington's swords done the day before the wedding—and gave directions as to which other smithy in Port Royal might be best equipped to complete them. The letter to Elizabeth took considerably longer. He left it on the table in his room.
The sky was only just beginning to lighten as Will crossed through the smithy one last time. His final action was to nail a simple notice to the outside of the door. He turned and looked around the familiar street. All was still quiet; only the baker's shop showed signs of life this early. Even the fishermen had not arrived yet to open the market. With a quiet sigh, William Turner departed down the street, carrying nothing but a few tools, his life savings, and the clothes on his back, heading for the docks.
***
The governor's mansion, a short time later…
Elizabeth broke with her usual habit of sleeping late and rose when the sun was still low over the sea. She had slept badly; worry about Will and a strange, vague feeling of unease had roused her repeatedly throughout the night. So she surprised her maid when she rang the bell only shortly after seven in the morning to get dressed.
Her first thought was to tell her father straightaway what Sir Reginald had done at the reception. No matter how lowly in society Will Turner might be, she was engaged to him, and civilized men did not make such brazen advances toward another man's fiancée. The very recollection of Hamilton's voice in her ear and the manner in which he had stood so close sent shudders of revulsion down her spine. She had laughed hysterically on making her escape into the parlor, trying to hide her desire to rip the skin off her hands and cheek where Hamilton had touched her. But most of all, she had wanted Will.
And that also made her grimace with memory. She could not imagine what Hamilton and the other peacocks might have contrived in her absence to force Will to flee the house, and it made her angrier still, at them and at him. Why couldn't you have waited, Will? I would gladly have escaped with you.
As her luck would have it, she had not yet finished dressing when George knocked on the door. "Miss Elizabeth? Governor Swann requests that you join him and your houseguests for breakfast in the dining room."
Elizabeth paused from straightening her dress and counted slowly to ten. "Tell him I'll be down presently, George," she replied in a voice not her own.
"Very good, Miss."
Elizabeth listened to the valet's footsteps going back down the stairs. Then she flung her dressing gown onto the bed. "Hellfire and damnation!"
"Miss Elizabeth!" exclaimed Mary in shock.
"I cannot continue simpering and standing ceremony for that importunate lout! All I want is a chance to tell my father about his behavior and have him out of my house!" she railed.
Mary, waiting with the hairbrushes as Elizabeth stormed over to the mirror, squeaked in alarm. "Oh, Miss! I'd no idea—has he done something…" her voice dropped to a scandalized whisper, "improper?"
Elizabeth sighed, sitting down in front of the dressing table and rubbing her forehead. The very thought of eating breakfast with that man watching her was giving her a headache. She really shouldn't be discussing such things with the servants, but…why should she care if gossip got out about Hamilton's boorish ways. "If making brazen overtures to an engaged woman is improper, then yes."
"Oh, Miss! How dreadful! Shall I…" Mary leaned forward hesitantly. "Beggin' your pardon if this is out of place…but shall I tell the Governor you're feelin' poorly?"
Elizabeth stared at her reflection in the mirror and slowly smiled. "I do seem to have a slight headache."
"Yes, Miss." Giggling, Mary went out.
With her alibi established, Elizabeth decided to slip out in search of her wayward fiancé at once. Granted, her father would be less than pleased, but he would understand when she had informed him of Sir Reginald's unwelcome advances. In the mean time, I have a certain blacksmith's ears to box, she thought.
She engaged Mary as her co-conspirator once more to keep a lookout on the dining room while Elizabeth slipped down the stairs and out the front door. "Shall I have Mr. Maddock bring the carriage round, Miss?" Mary asked, coming out behind her.
There was a light fog over the hills above the harbor, and the sun had not yet heated the breezes coming off the sea. An hour later, Elizabeth would have taken the carriage, but now, she took a deep breath, thinking perhaps she should get up this early more often. "No, thank you, Mary. I shall walk and enjoy the cool morning while it lasts. Remember, not a word!"
"No, Miss."
With a satisfied smile, Elizabeth let herself out of the gate and walked down the hill toward the town.
***
Will was relieved when he arrived at the docks to find that most of the ships had not yet left, giving him a better chance of finding one that might accept a passenger or an extra hand. With little real preference in mind, he made for the one that looked nearest to leaving, desiring to be away from Port Royal as swiftly as possible. "Pardon me," he asked one of the crew. "Where is this ship bound?"
"Back to England, lad," said the man cheerfully. "Lookin' for a berth? We can always use an extra sailor."
Will pondered this. The thought of returning to Europe had not really occurred to him before. It would certainly be a clean escape, but on the other hand…he had not considered sailing quite so far away. With a bit of reluctance, he shook his head. "No, thank you."
The sailor too looked a bit disappointed at losing the prospect of a clean, well-spoken, young addition to the crew, and shrugged, "Well, if ye change yer mind, we're shoving off in twenty minutes."
The next few vessels he approached were all either heading for Europe, other parts of Jamaica, or not offering additional berths, and he was beginning to grow desperate. At last, Will tried his luck with a rather worn-looking pinnace called the Greymalkin docked on the quietest part of the harbor. "Excuse me, sir, what is your ship's destination?"
"Depends on whose askin'," was the surly replied from the aging sailor, whose gray hair and stubbly face hosted a thick coat of dirt.
"I'm seeking a passage off Jamaica," said Will, his need to get out of port today overcoming his misgivings about the appearances of both ship and crew. He added, "I can pull my weight or pay my way, if you're bound anywhere in the Caribbean other than here."
By now, he'd attracted the attention of the captain, an equally-churlish character with a patch over one eye. "What ye be askin' questions about, boy?"
"I'm looking for a berth or a passage off this godforsaken island," Will snapped crossly. "I don't care where."
"Says 'e can pay 'is way or pull 'is weight," the grizzled sailor grunted.
The captain eyed Will for a moment, then told him gruffly, "We be bound for Hispaniola."
"That's perfect!" Will exclaimed, perhaps more eagerly than he should have. Most of the other sailors on the pinnace were now watching them.
Captain and Grizzled-Beard exchanged looks, then the captain grinned slowly. "And yeh'll be willin' to pay, then?"
"Or I can work," Will said carefully. He would rather work his way to his destination; it would give him less time to think.
The sly looks on the sailors' faces ended any hope of that. "We won't be needin' no more 'ands, boy," said the captain. "If ye be sailin' with us, yeh'll stay in yer berth outta the way. And it'll be five shillins."
"Five?!" Will goggled, half-shocked and half-outraged at such a price. The chuckles of the two men made him grit his teeth. But the sun was climbing higher, and time was running out. "Then I'll expect my own cabin," he countered in a flash of inspiration.
"Ain't much space on our little scow," said the captain.
"It doesn't have to be large, so long as it has a door," Will countered. He'd feel better with a door between himself and this crew.
The captain mulled over the proposal, then slowly nodded. "It's two days to Pearl Point. Meals'll be a shillin' extra."
"Fine," Will growled through clenched teeth.
The captain gave a broad grin, showing disgustingly stained teeth of his own. "We be castin' off in ten minutes, boy. Don't be late."
"I won't be," he answered wearily.
"And I'll be collectin' yer fare now." Taking care not to show his money pouch (which was quite heavy despite the complex of poverty he'd been given by too much contact with the aristocracy) Will slapped two shillings and a sixpence onto the manifest book. The captain's grin faded. "What's this?"
"Half a crown," Will replied, meeting the man's eyes easily. "You shall have the other half when we make Pearl Point."
The captain's eyes narrowed, but Will did not drop his gaze. At length, the man scowled and picked up the coins. "All right then."
"Thank you," said Will sarcastically, walking down the dock to purchase a few extra supplies he suspected he'd need. Hearing the captain's shout to prepare a cabin for the passenger, he was struck by a sense of dry irony: two years ago, he'd have taken these men for pirates. Then again, just because they were not likely pirates did not mean they were honest.
***
Further down the docks…
The English galleon Cardinal was making ready to depart for Europe with a host of goods from the colonies and illustrious passengers. On the dock, Commodore James Norrington was overseeing the stowing of his luggage and the cargo for England, while bidding his farewells to some of his officers. "Kindly bring him back to us in one piece, Mrs. Norrington," his best man was saying to Lucinda.
Laughing, Norrington's young wife replied, "I think after a few weeks in Paris he'll return to you far better off than when he left, Lieutenant Gillette!"
"I certainly hope so," Norrington put in, and it was Gillette's turn to laugh.
"You'll be missed, sir, make no mistake," said the Lieutenant. "Not to mention envied," he added with a smile at Lucinda. "Pardon me; I'll make certain your bags are all stowed."
"Thank you, Gillette," Norrington replied, and watched the younger man walking up to the Cardinal. Gillette was a good officer; all his men were. Contrary to the governor's playful complaint, Port Royal would be in good hands in Norrington's absence. Norrington would never leave otherwise; the prosperity and welfare of the city he'd made his home ten years ago meant to much to him. The Caribbean was his home as England had never been, even though he'd been born there to a good family. Like other daring, restless young men seeking new seas to explore, Norrington had seen its worth, though it was not always apparent to other visitors. Norrington despised wasting anything of good potential.
He was pulled from his reverie by Lucinda's hand suddenly grasping his arm, and her breathy whisper of "James!"
He looked at her and followed her alarmed gaze down to the cheaper docks, where a seedy-looking pinnace was making ready to cast off. Walking resolutely from one of the dock merchants' booths toward the ship with a single bag slung over his shoulder—and a palpable air of defeat—was William Turner.
"Whatever is he doing?" Lucinda whispered in dismay.
Norrington did not answer her. His mind was recalling snatches of conversation he'd heard among servants, wedding guests, and his fellow officers this morning on the way down to the harbor. The Commodore had never had much interest in gossip, but his memory was keen, and it did not take him long to construct a clear picture of what must have transpired the night before after he and his bride had left the reception. However, unlike most of the other observers, Norrington for one did not find the stories at all amusing, and he was also far less inclined to believe that Elizabeth had been induced to change her mind about her chosen husband in a single evening. Especially if, as the tales said, she and Turner had scarcely had a moment in each other's company for the entire night. Norrington had known Elizabeth Swann for just as long as the smith had, and he knew better than to jump to conclusions where she was concerned. The events two years ago had taught him that lesson well. Apparently it was a lesson that the man whom she had chosen had failed to learn.
Rash, Turner, very rash.
Lucinda's grip on his arm tightened, "James, can't we stop him?"
Norrington grimaced to himself. It was unlikely Turner would be especially receptive to him, but… "I'll see what I can do. And I would suggest, darling, that you send a message to Miss Swann at the governor's house at once."
His wife dropped his arm and all but ran to fetch a servant. It brought a slight smile to Norrington's face; to many other men, Lucinda Hamilton had appeared as nothing more than a pretty face and an empty head—not that either quality was considered undesirable by most men of fashion. However, Norrington liked to think of himself as desiring other qualities, better ones, where women, officers, and even friends were concerned. As with his beloved Caribbean, he had seen Lucy's worth. And despite feeling certain that he would die a bachelor after being passed over by the one woman in Port Royal he had thought possessed the qualities he desired in a wife, James Norrington had met a woman who made him better understand the choice Elizabeth Swann had made. Even as he had discovered that there was far more to the young, rather silly Lucy Hamilton than met the eye, he had realized that he was not the only one in Port Royal capable of discerning hidden worth. Elizabeth had found it in Will Turner.
However, from what he and his wife had just seen, another thing of great worth was minutes away from being utterly destroyed. With that in mind, he strode down the docks after the young blacksmith.
***
At the governor's mansion…
The sound of a running horse startled Governor Swann and his guests as they finished their breakfast. A few moments later, the door was opened, so Weatherby got up to see what the urgent visitor was, followed by Sir Reginald. He found one of Commodore Norrington's messengers, holding a small message. "From Mrs. Norrington, sir," said the man, looking slightly out of breath.
"Ah," Sir Reginald took it and opened it.
"Anything urgent?" asked Weatherby.
Hamilton smiled thinly and crumpled the paper in his hand. "No, just a reminder that the Cardinal sets sail in less than two hours. The dear girl doesn't want to leave without saying goodbye to each and every one of us."
Weatherby laughed, and the two men returned to the dining room. Sir Reginald tossed the message into a rubbish bin being carried by one of the maids as he passed.
***
At the docks…
There was no chance of preventing Turner from being forewarned of his approach. The sight of the Commodore heading toward the more questionable ships and merchants sent tongues wagging and warning flags waving like ripples in a tidepool. The boy became aware of the hissing and ducking and looked over his shoulder while Norrington was still a good fifty yards away. One glimpse of Turner's bleak eyes made the elder man cringe inwardly. And I thought my own grief was great two years ago.
Turner knew the Commodore well enough to be aware that it was useless to try and avoid a confrontation if Norrington wanted one. So he stopped and waited, wearing a sullen expression that Norrington had never seen on the boy's face before. Then again, if half of what Norrington had heard about last night was true, Turner's own sense of worth was undoubtedly badly compromised. And that is why it's always wisest to look to oneself rather than others for honest assessments of one's character.
He came to a halt in front of the boy and said casually, "Good morning, Turner."
"Commodore," was the flat reply.
Where to begin? Might as well be direct, Norrington. He has no cause to consider you a friend. "I wasn't aware we would both be departing Port Royal today."
With a bitter twist of his mouth, Turner replied, "Neither was I."
Norrington searched his mind for some way to continue, for some common ground. He could think of only one thing. "Mr. Turner, does Miss Swann know what you're doing?"
A flurry of intense emotions crossed the younger man's face, but he answered in the same empty voice. "No."
Damn it, boy, your pride will be the death of you! Seeing the Greymalkin about to cast off, he threw in his hat. "You're making a mistake. If you leave now, it will hurt her."
The smith looked slightly puzzled by Norrington's concern. But the stubborn defeat remained. "Sir, I fear you failed to witness certain…developments. Miss Swann is now accompanied by someone more…suitable."
"I heard plenty about it this morning, but she has no use for Reginald Hamilton," Norrington said urgently. A bell clanged aboard the pinnace. There's no honor or answers in running away, you little fool!
But Turner had heard the bell, and if Norrington had been close to shaking his resolve, it had reformed. The boy lifted his chin. "Then it would seem you did not hear much. Did you, by chance, hear of what passed between them alone? I wish her well of him." His stormy eyes suggested just the opposite. "He will be able to provide for her far better than I."
"Damn it, Turner, whatever you think you saw or heard, I doubt if any of it included a conversation with Elizabeth," Norrington snapped. "No amount of gossip or eavesdropping can have told you much of her heart."
"And since when have you become an expert in Elizabeth's heart? When were you ever?" Turner shot back, his eyes flashing. Then they suddenly dropped. "I'm sorry. That was uncalled for." He sighed, glancing over his shoulder at the ship, where the crew was boarding. "I am not wrong, Commodore. She has chosen him, and he will give her a better life than I could have. It will be better for us both if I leave Port Royal." His mouth twisted in a wry half-smile. "And you may tell Lieutenant Gillette that I recommend Mister Bartleby's smithy for future swords. He is old, but his new apprentice is promising."
Disgusted and frustrated, Norrington said precisely what he was thinking. "You're a bloody fool, Turner."
The younger man merely laughed, a bitter, dry laugh. "I know," he said quietly. "Goodbye, Commodore. I wish you and your wife a safe voyage." With that, he turned and walked quickly down the dock onto the waiting ship, ignoring the stares of the crew.
Damn! Where is she? Norrington glanced up at the entrance to the port, hoping fervently to see a fast-moving carriage from the governor's house with Elizabeth leaning out the window. He even contemplated having Gillette delay the pinnace, but could think of no cause. As shifty as the little ship and its crew looked, there was no real reason to hold them as suspect or Norrington's capable men would have done so already. Watching the crew pulling the ropes from the moorings and raising the anchor, Norrington experienced the one emotion he despised above all others: helplessness. I am sorry, Elizabeth.
***
For a few moments, in his astonishment at Norrington's protestations on Elizabeth's behalf, Will had hesitated. But then he had reminded himself that Norrington, though pompous, never had resorted to and was probably unaware of the kind of machinations Will had witnessed between Swann and Hamilton the night before. It was quite a campaign, Commodore. As a lifelong military man, you would have been most interested. There was a great deal of well-timed strategy involved.
There was no use denying it; Will had lost. He'd look far less the fool if he left now and spared Elizabeth embarrassment than if he stayed in some absurd attempt at fighting for her. What have I to fight with? Will Turner, the blacksmith in love against Sir Reginald with all his estates and his ships and his white sword? As if I were not already a grand enough joke in this colony.
He felt a pang of strange regret at leaving Norrington standing there on the dock. He still had no idea of why the Commodore had suddenly seemed swayed to Will's side in the battle for Elizabeth's heart, and even though it had ended badly, Will found that he could not help feeling grateful. When he had boarded the ship and looked back at the docks, he saw that Norrington was still there, silently watching him, when he did not look back up at the entrance to the town.
As the sailors moved around him raising the sails, he found himself looking up at the harbor road, and could not help the small, inkling of doubt and hope that Elizabeth might miraculously appear, calling him back. But he swatted that notion down like a pesky fly. However much he hated Hamilton, it would be better for Elizabeth if she did not come after him. She would have a far more secure existence with a man like Hamilton than Will. He should have seen that from the beginning.
There will be something else out there, Will told himself as the Greymalkin maneuvered its way out of the tightest choke of ships and the crew unfurled the sails. I will build a new life, even if it is not to be with Elizabeth. I will make something of myself.
The pinnace was gathering speed, making for the mouth of the harbor. Will glanced back, seeing Commodore Norrington reduced to a small, blue figure upon the dock, still watching him. He now had a fair view of the entire port, the town with smoke rising from its chimneys as the workday began, and above the town, the houses that belonged to Port Royal's wealthiest inhabitants. Inevitably, his eyes were drawn to the white house nestled upon the hills that he knew to be the governor's mansion. His throat tightened in a surge of new grief, and he clenched the side of the ship until his knuckles turned white. Elizabeth…
Of course, he would neither forget her, nor ever love anyone else. That had been a given. One did not love so fervently more than once in a lifetime. All he could hope to find now beyond Port Royal was a new purpose, if not forgetfulness.
The small ship and the wind blew out of Kingston Harbor, and the last of the smells of Port Royal were chased away by the scent of the sea, as the distance swiftly blurred the white spot above the brown city into nothingness. The Greymalkin tacked around the eastern headland, moving fast in a strong wind, and then Port Royal was gone. Will's breath blew out of him in a shaky sigh, and he turned his face at last from the land to the ocean beyond. Goodbye.
***
Back in Port Royal, same time…
Elizabeth Swann was confused. She had great enjoyed her morning walk down the hill into the busy markets of Port Royal, and the still-cool morning breeze off the sea had done wonders for her raw temper. While she was still rather put out with Will for abandoning her, she could only begin to imagine what viciousness Hamilton and his friends had got up to every moment she had been away from his side. They had probably contrived to humiliate him at every possible turn, and even her strong fiancé had his limits.
All the same, that is not going to spare you from getting dragged about your smithy by the ear, Will Turner!
But as she drew closer to the street where the smithy stood, something was puzzling her, like a nagging buzz in the back of her mind she could not quite identify. And from the looks of things, she was not the only one who had noticed. Instead of waving and greeting her as they usually did, the merchants and townspeople gave her sidelong glances and whispered to each other as though sharing a bit of very interesting-yet-unpleasant gossip. Gracious, have they heard about Will disappearing from the reception already? Word travels fast!
It wasn't until she turned onto Will's street that it struck her, so swiftly in fact that her heart lurched in her chest. The smithy. There was no smoke! Her heart began to pound, and her steps became swifter. Today was a Monday, a workday. No matter what his troubles the night before, Will would never fail to start working on time.
She began walking faster and faster, her breath coming in little gasps as total panic threatened to take hold. There were people outside the smithy; she couldn't see the doors! Why this frightened her she didn't know, but she was about to burst into a full run when a plump figure stepped into her path. She rocked back on her heels. "Mrs. Tapling?"
The old shopkeeper's eyes ran over Elizabeth as though looking for something. Seeing the young woman's pale face, she nodded to herself and said softly, "I'm so sorry, Miss. I knew it couldn' be your doin'."
"What?" Elizabeth gasped desperately. "What do you mean?"
Mrs. Tapling motioned to the smithy, and Elizabeth rushed past the milling bystanders to read the message nailed to the door.
NOTICE: The establishment of William Turner is hereby permanently closed.
Patrons are advised to seek service from other places of business in Port Royal, listed below.
There followed a list of various blacksmiths in the area that Will considered at least somewhat competent, but Elizabeth's eyes did not linger on it. In disbelief, she whispered, "What does he mean?"
"'E's gone, Miss," said Mrs. Tapling quietly. "They're sayin' he locked up the shop and left at first light--"
Oblivious to the stares and whispers of the people on the street, Elizabeth Swann, the governor's daughter, raised her fist and began beating the smithy door furiously. "WILL TURNER!" she screamed, hammering the wood with all her might until splinters drew blood from her hand. "Open this door! Come out here at once!" What did he mean by this?! How dare he frighten her like this! "Will! Come out here this instant!"
"Ain't no one there, Miss!" someone said, and with a hiss of denial, Elizabeth grabbed the door handle and yanked. "Locked, Miss!"
"The devil it is," she snapped, and like the most careless ruffian, she grasped the handle with both hands, braced one leg against the door, and yanked for all she was worth. But the lock refused to budge and she growled in fury, neither knowing nor caring what anyone thought of her.
A hand touched her shoulder and she swung around, ready to lash out, but found old Mr. Tapling cringing behind her. He had an iron bar in his hand. "Miss…if ye likes…I can try an' get it open. Jus' to see if Mr. Turner's left anythin' behind that might explain…" he lowered his eyes at Elizabeth's horrified face.
She stared mutely at him as he went quietly past her and with a few deft pulls had wrenched the lock open. At the sound of the pop, she flew to the handle, yanked the door open, and tore inside. "Will!"
The smithy was dark, empty, and cold. This couldn't be. The smithy was never cold. She stood in the middle of the shop, her breath coming faster and faster, her chest heaving in panic. There was something on the worktable. She pounced on it: a letter to his patrons apologizing for the unfinished orders—she dropped the letter and dashed for the back rooms. "Will!"
There was no one there, but if he had gone he had not taken much with him. His formal clothes that he had been wearing at the wedding were draped carelessly over a chair. Even his hat and cloak that she liked so much were still there. But there was no food in the larder, and the bag he always kept under his bed to use when he went to perform work outside the smithy was gone…Elizabeth began to shake. Then her eyes fell upon a neatly folded piece of paper upon the small table.
Elizabeth, it read. She snatched it up and tore it open, her hands shaking so hard that she could scarcely read it in the dim light. Gasping raggedly, her breath catching and hitching in her throat, she read, only the first few lines: My dearest Elizabeth, by the time that you receive this, I shall be sailing away from Port Royal—balling the letter in her fist, she spun around and ran.
Practically falling out of the smithy door, she blurted to the crowd in general, "Anyone who enters this building shall have the governor to answer to." That was more than enough to cause curious gossips to step back, and then Elizabeth took off in a frenzied dash down the street as fast as her legs could carry her.
All sense of propriety, modesty, and dignity had deserted her in her desperation. In fact, she had practically no senses left, for her entire mind and being was taken over by a single, soul-shattering thought: Will is leaving. She lost her hat somewhere along the fish market, but didn't stop to pick it up, and soon her hair had come loose and was streaming behind her like a banner. She tripped and fell right to her hands and knees in full view of a group of gentlemen leaving one of the finer clubs in town, but noticed neither the pain from her scraped palms nor the startled men attempting to come to her aid as she pushed herself back to her feet and began running again. She managed to avoid falling again by hitching up her skirts in one hand and kept running, still clutching the letter in the other like a compass for her sanity as she sprinted with all her might for the docks, ignoring the shortness of breath, the pain stabbing into her side and throbbing in her legs. Her mind and heart were consumed with one thought: Find Will! Stop him!
She was a sight, tearing down the street as if all the minions of hell were chasing her, and if she had been thinking of anything else, she might have seen the appalled expressions on the face of members of Port Royal aristocracy whom she passed by—those who were able to recognize her in such a state, anyway. But she did not see them and would not have cared if she had. Men and women of quality exclaimed in shock as she raced past, merchants and workers scrambled to get out of her way, and Elizabeth Swann kept running.
***
At the docks, a short time later…
"Civilian vessels are simply incapable of casting off on time," Commodore Norrington muttered to Lieutenant Gillette.
"They're still waiting for Lord Henry," Gillette replied.
Norrington shook his head. He had a fetish for punctuality that was constantly irritated by too many brushes with civilian life. "Perhaps when I return I will implement a change requiring all vessels entering and leaving Port Royal to keep to the pirate code."
"What?!" exclaimed the lieutenant in astonishment.
Norrington smiled dryly. "Anyone who falls behind is left behind." His ships and his law enforcement were just as harsh towards pirates as ever, but in the past two years he had developed a slight sense of humor about them. Gillette's attitudes, on the other hand, had not been altered in the slightest by their encounters with the Black Pearl, Jack Sparrow, or William Turner in his pirate guise.
Governor Swann caught his slight pacing and laughed. "Patience, my dear Commodore! We poor civilians can never hope to live up to your standards of timeliness. You cannot be that eager to be off with Mrs. Norrington!"
The Commodore smiled, as did his wife, who was making her farewells to her father. Norrington had taken care to prevent Lucinda from learning what had happened at the reception last night from any other lips. He would tell her himself once they were traveling, in a manner which, unlike their society friends, did not find humor at Will Turner's expense. Unfortunately, this meant keeping a very close eye on Lucy's father. Once all the wedding guests had arrived at the docks to see the bride and groom off, word had quickly spread that "that ragamuffin blacksmith" as one crass woman had put it, had left Port Royal early this morning. Norrington had felt his hackles rise when he saw the smug look exchanged by Sir Reginald and Governor Swann. Of course, he had not harbored any doubts that Hamilton was involved, but Weatherby Swann? Surely he would not be involved in any scheme so guaranteed to deeply hurt Elizabeth.
The governor and the remaining guests had arrived saying that Elizabeth was ill with a headache, to Norrington's disappointment. He had hoped to break the news to her himself, for he suspected he was likely to be the only person present who would understand her true feelings when she found out. Now he wondered if she already knew, and if not, where she was.
Multiple gasps of shock answered the question, followed soon by the sound of pounding feet and ragged breathing. Lucinda exclaimed aloud as Elizabeth burst into the docks at a dead run, her hair unkempt and her dress torn, wearing a look of total, fixed desperation. Norrington sprang to her aid, but her father intercepted her first. "Elizabeth! By God, what is the matter with you?!"
She barely heard him, her eyes flitting wildly from ship to ship, from face to face through the docks. Norrington's heart twisted with pity as she gasped out, "Where is he?"
Predictably, Weatherby Swann entirely overlooked her fear and desperation for the embarrassment of the fact that she was behaving so in public. From the looks of them, not a one of the other civilized folk on the docks were moved to any sort of compassion either. "Elizabeth, what in God's name do you mean, raising such a spectacle--"
She grabbed his arms, her eyes wild. "Where is he?!"
Pink silk brushed past Norrington's hand as his wife suddenly left his side, hurrying toward the governor and his hysterical daughter. Taking Elizabeth's hands firmly, she said softly, "Lizzie, we tried to stop him. But he left on a ship bound for Hispaniola. James tried to dissuade him." She shook her head sadly, and Norrington quietly amended the count of persons on the dock feeling any sympathy to two. But he was not surprised. Two years ago, when sheltered, privileged, but suddenly-motherless Lucy Hamilton arrived in Port Royal to live with her aunt and uncle, she had been the one person whom Elizabeth had ever permitted to call her by that much-abhorred pet name. "He's gone, Lizzie. I tried to get word to you, but the ship left over an hour ago."
Elizabeth stared at Lucinda, her eyes wide and uncomprehending, and slowly shook her head. Lucy pulled the older woman into a fierce embrace. "I'm so sorry, Elizabeth. So very sorry! He didn't realize what he was doing!"
Pulling slowly out of Lucinda's arms, Elizabeth walked aimlessly down the docks, staring accusingly at each of them as if wondering which had held the ship that had borne her fiancé away from her. Seeing Swann about to approach his daughter again, Norrington spurred himself into action. Quietly holding up a hand to forestall the governor, he said quietly, "Perhaps I might speak to her, sir. There are times when the advice of friends is more welcome than family."
Shaking his head in dismay, Weatherby whispered, "Talk some sense into her, Norrington! She must be brought back to her senses before she disgraces us anymore!"
Norrington nodded gravely, even though he had not the least intention of worrying about Weatherby Swann's social reputation. Walking gravely to Elizabeth, he drew her, trembling and shocked, away from the others. "Hispaniola?" she asked him numbly.
The Commodore nodded, trying to read her thoughts. He already had a fair idea of what would happen when Elizabeth did come back to her senses. She would do the same thing she had done before when Will Turner was separated from her. "I checked with the harbor master, Elizabeth. The Greymalkin was bound for Pearl Point."
Elizabeth blinked, shaking her head wearily. "I've never heard of it."
Norrington hesitated, aware of what he could set in motion by telling her this. But he had seen the lengths she went to two years ago for Will Turner's sake (including an offer of marriage to him whom she did not love) and in the end, he had admired it. Most men in his circle failed to see the worth of a strong and capable woman. With a deep breath, he stepped over the edge. "It is a front."
"What?" her eyes narrowed, the usual understanding and intelligence returning to them already, despite her grief. "A front of what sort?"
"The ship left from one of the cheap docks, Elizabeth. We've known for some time that there are a large number of supposed merchant ships who actually run cargo for pirates." Comprehension flashed into her brown eyes, and he wondered again at the wisdom of telling her. But she knew half the tale now, and would not let him falter from telling her the rest. "These ships do not engage in actual piracy, but carry supplies to pirate ports and ships. Pearl Point is one false destination logged by many captains of these ships, as a front for a destination further along the coast of Hispaniola."
She had always been quick, even as a girl. Her eyes went wide, and her voice was a whisper. "Tortuga." Norrington nodded. "He's gone to join pirates?"
Norrington had considered the possibility, then had decided it was unlikely. "I doubt if he realizes that is where he is bound. They would not tell a strange passenger no matter how much he was offering them. More likely, they'll either leave him at Pearl Point or take him all the way to Tortuga."
"Or they'll take him for whatever items of value he has and make certain that wherever they land, he doesn't live to tell about it," she finished. He winced, wishing she were not so perceptive. Elizabeth looked away. "Dear God, why did he do this?"
The task of telling her that unpleasant tale would have to fall to sterner hearts than his. Norrington could not do it. But she failed to notice his silence and instead wandered back down the docks toward the road to town, slipping a piece of paper into her skirt pocket that Norrington suspected was a note from Turner. He trailed after her, offended by the titters of a few of the observers, but failed to see Sir Reginald Hamilton moving toward Elizabeth in time to stop him.
"I'm so very sorry to hear that your beloved proved to be less than faithful," said Sir Reginald, his voice oily and amused. Elizabeth's eyes snapped up to him, and flashed with a hatred that made Norrington's wife gasp. "My dear girl," said Hamilton gravely, "you look dreadful!" He made a show of taking off his cloak and moving to where Elizabeth stood stock-still, staring at him as if he were the most hideous thing she had ever beheld. He made to slip the cloak around her shoulders, and began, "I do hope you'll allow me to escort you back to your father's hou--"
The reaction of the governor of Jamaica's daughter to the suit of one Sir Reginald Hamilton, former member of Parliament, would be the stuff of Caribbean legend for years to come. Elizabeth Swann, in full view of the harbormaster, dockworkers, sailors, and half of Caribbean society, savagely wrenched herself away from Reginald Hamilton's grip, whirled on him with eyes flashing in utter fury, and roared, "Take your filthy hands off me, you disgusting lout!"
"Elizabeth!" gasped Weatherby Swann in despair, undoubtedly envisioning his destroyed reputation after this day.
But Elizabeth was not done. "How dare you continue to importune me in this fashion, you cad! I am engaged to be married and now twice you have made these disgusting advances!"
Gasps rang out from every direction. Norrington's wife raised her hands to her face, staring at her father in astonishment. No matter how hysterical the woman was, an accusation of this sort could not be taken lightly by a man who comported himself as a gentleman. Hamilton did not take it lightly, and as he drew back to defend himself, with one hand upon the white sword at his hip, Norrington caught Governor Swann's look of total panic in the background, and put two and two together with a mental cringe. This would be ugly.
Fingering the white sword as if it somehow lent credence to his words, Hamilton spoke in a cold, cruel voice, "I made no unsanctioned solicitations, Miss Swann. I was told that yours was not a legitimate engagement."
Elizabeth's tone was low and dangerous, "What?"
Lucinda closed her eyes, beginning to understand what had driven her friend's fiancé from Port Royal. Norrington sighed to himself. Being as young as she was, and having lost her mother, Lucy thought the world of Sir Reginald. Her husband had hoped learning the truth about her one remaining parent's character would be a less harsh experience, but Norrington had had his misgivings about Reginald Hamilton almost from the moment they had met.
And Lucinda received an all-too-clear lesson about what her father was capable of, for the man spared no feelings in explaining the situation to Elizabeth. "My dear Miss Swann, I broke with your father and obtained his good will last night to step forward as your suitor. In fact, I obtained not merely his good will, but his blessing and encouragement. He seemed to find my suit quite welcome." There was obscene amusement in the man's eyes. Elizabeth's gaze slowly moved from Reginald Hamilton to fall upon her father, and stripped all pretensions away with a single look. "He cannot deny it, my dear. He was under the impression that since your devoted young blacksmith had yet to even present you with an engagement ring, you might still be considered available for courtship."
"Father!" gasped Lucy, her face appalled.
Elizabeth no longer heard either of them. She was staring fixedly at her own father. As much as society frowned upon the courtship of a gentlewoman by a blacksmith, there were certain customs to be observed, and one was that while a father might deny a man permission to court his daughter, he did not give permission for her to enter into an engagement with one man, and then go back on his word by declaring her free to be courted by someone else. The English aristocracy was nothing if not fickle, and the same broken uppercrust rules that had been sniggered at behind closed doors last night were now whispered about and exclaimed over in horror. The same convention that Reginald Hamilton and Weatherby Swann had brushed aside had now returned to haunt them. Both their reputations would suffer for it.
However, now it looked as if at last, Weatherby Swann was not thinking of his reputation. "Elizabeth," he pleaded.
Hers was as flat as Turner's had been earlier that morning, at having discovered the bitter truth. "You did this."
"I only wanted you to be--"
"You allowed this unprincipled rake to pursue me? Another man's fiancée?" She gave him no quarter.
Weatherby Swann had never possessed half of the courage that his daughter did. And so when it came to it, the near out-and-out battle that was launched between them over the untimely departure of Will Turner, Governor Swann did not stand a chance. "Elizabeth, darling, please--"
"—We have nothing more to say, Father," Elizabeth spat, striding stiffly back up toward the town.
"Elizabeth, please! Elizabeth!" Swann actually ran after her and caught her arm, but she shocked polite society once more that morning when she spun around and dealt him a solid, ringing slap.
Backing away from her stunned father, Elizabeth told him curtly, "Kindly keep your hands to yourself, sir. I'll not be touched by either of the men who have so grossly impugned my honor." With that, she turned on her heel and stalked up the road, her head high and leaving two British noblemen thoroughly and publicly set down in her wake.
A rather shaken sailor aboard the Cardinal belatedly remembered that they were supposed to be casting off, and rang the bell. More than one person jumped. "We must be on our way, my dear," Norrington said quietly to his wife. "Do you wish to say…anything to your father?"
Turning toward him, there was a dark look in Lucy's formerly-innocent eyes. Norrington was rather sad to see it appear so soon. "No, James. I think I've had quite enough of my father's words today. Let's be going." And so, taking his wife's arm, Commodore James Norrington boarded the Cardinal for his honeymoon in Paris—half wondering if Port Royal would still be standing by the time he returned.
***
Once she was back in the city streets above the harbor, walking slowly now because she no longer felt she had anywhere to go, Elizabeth pulled Will's crumpled letter from her pocket and read it.
My dearest Elizabeth,
By the time you receive this, I shall be sailing away from Port Royal. I can think of no way to say this that does not break my heart and will not grieve you, so I shall come straight out with it. I saw you and Sir Reginald in the foyer last night. What you may not have known at the time, but most likely are aware of now, is that your father does not consider our engagement legitimate due to my situation in life, and has given Sir Reginald full permission to seek your hand in marriage. So you see, there are no real obstacles to your future with Sir Reginald, save one: my selfish love for you.
I am fully aware that Sir Reginald is capable of giving you all the things in live that you deserve, and that my own situation could never afford for you. It was foolish to think that such a deprivation would be easy for you, and I am only sorry that I was not more understanding. Please believe that I bear you no malice for your choice, and wish you all the best for your happiness. However, I feel that ending our engagement will be a cause of great pain for you after all we have been through, and therefore I thought it best that I should remove myself from Port Royal where I will not be cause for embarrassment or worry. Please do not concern yourself on my behalf. While I cannot deny that I will think of you and cherish my memories of that time that you loved me, know that I shall find a life beyond Jamaica, and wish only for your happiness. I have no regrets over the past two years, except that I was not born to be a man who could properly love you.
Farewell,
William Turner
She wove unconsciously through the crowds of people now packing the markets and shops, oblivious to the whispered gossiping of people who had already heard the news of what had happened at the docks, not even noticing how her skin burned under the noonday sun. She did nothing but read Will's letter, over and over and over. He had believed it. He had seen Hamilton importuning her and believed that she welcomed it. The thought raised such a violent combination of anguish and fury that she very nearly fell to her knees and screamed on the spot. Will had deserted her because he thought she had chosen the unprincipled, vulgar Reginald Hamilton.
She was suddenly standing outside the smithy again, with its lock still broken. Even so, it looked as if everyone had believed her threat and had left the place alone. She stared in confusion at the door, wondering what she was going to do. Mrs. Tapling came out of the shop then. "Ain't no one gone in, Miss. We've kept a good lookout on it." If she was offended by Elizabeth's lack of an answer, she did not show it, but just watched as Elizabeth silently pulled open the door and went back in.
How dark this place still was. Smithies had to be dark, Will had explained to her once, so that the smith could see what he was doing with red-hot iron. Its color and brightness were one way of telling how hot and soft the metal was. She had once tried to watch him at his work, both out of a desire to let him know it did not discourage her and out of sheer curiosity. But Will had been too self-conscious with her present as he labored, and had made so many mistakes that she had finally realized her presence was too great a distraction and left, laughingly brushing off his embarrassed apologies.
She passed the unpolished worktable, her eyes falling idly to the letter of apology he had written to his customers—even going so far as to recommend specific smithies to each of them that would be best for their particular order. Conscientious to the end. Looking ahead at the door to his room, she went to it and opened it again.
Dear God, the room smelled like him! She'd never noticed it before! Will! All at once, all the fear, shock, confusion, betrayal, and loss that had built up within her throughout the morning came exploding out. With an almost-wail of despair, she threw herself across the room, seizing his cloak off the hook where it hung, and fell onto his bed, clutching it to her and sobbing so hard she could barely breathe. The cloak felt warm to her, and its scent and softness against her skin were like Will's ghost, holding her in its arms, and she clung to it, like a raft that would keep her from drowning in despair.
"Damn you, Will Turner! Damn you!" she railed into the fabric through her sobs. How could he have believed her capable of such a shallow, cruel turn? How could he have left without so much as attempting to have the truth from her lips?
Elizabeth normally did not think much of swearing, unless she was in (as Will liked to put it) a "pirate" mood. But now, she cursed Will Turner with all her might, and unrepentantly consigned Reginald Hamilton and her father to hell for all they had done in this past day. Not a one of them trusted her. She laughed bitterly at it, rolling onto her back on Will's bed. There was one thing they all had in common. The irony of it tore at her until she was laughing just as hard as she had been sobbing, with tears rolling down her face. The emptiness of the room cut her, tearing her with its loneliness, and she buried her face in the pillow, catching in its scent the memory of Will's dark hair. Oh Will! Oh God!
She could not stand it. She was going mad. She needed him! How could he have left her?! "Damn you, Will! When I find you again, so help me, I will kill you for this!"
When I find you…
She slowly sat up, the violent, storm-tossed sea of hysteria calming again, as her mind latched onto those simple words. When I find you… That seedy boat Commodore Norrington had mentioned was probably taking Will to Tortuga, unless they chose to rob and kill him before they got there. The thought made her moan and clutch the cloak to her again. She wrapped it around her, shivering, and feeling fresh tears spilling from her eyes at the memory of how heroic it had looked, sweeping around him the day he and Jack Sparrow had fought the entire Port Royal militia—
Jack. When I find you… Jack Sparrow. I will find you. Captain Jack Sparrow and the Black Pearl. I must find you!
After quite some time, Elizabeth stumbled to her feet, dizzy from how long she had been crying, and wrapped Will's cloak around her shoulders, heading for the door. She was not exactly certain how she would begin what she intended to do, but her anguish had been replaced by determination. Whether you are a pirate or a blacksmith, I am yours and you shall never be rid of me, she had told him before James and Lucy's wedding. She still knew it was true. Be it Tortuga or Isla de la Muerta or the very gates of hell, Will Turner could not go anywhere that she would not follow. And when I find you, Will Turner…so help me, I will tear your bloody ear off!
She was walking back toward the smithy door when it suddenly opened, and in walked her maid. "Mary? What on earth are you doing here?"
"Beggin' your pardon, Miss, but the Governor sent me. You've been gone for hours, and he's sent half the servants in the house out lookin' fer you. I thought you might be here."
Elizabeth sighed. "Well, you thought correctly, it seems. And what exactly did my father plan to have you do when you found me?"
Mary cleared her throat, looking away. "He said we were to tell you from him that you're to come home at once. That it's an order, Miss."
Elizabeth had always had the utmost respect for her father and his wishes. But now, after all that she had heard today, well…she was distinctly unimpressed. "I see. And I could care less for his orders."
Mary looked slightly terrified. "You want me to back and tell him that, Miss?"
Elizabeth sighed and shook her head. "No need, Mary. My silence will speak well enough for me. In fact, I need your help. Will's left Port Royal on a ship that will likely take him to Tortuga. I intend to go after him."
Mary let out a little squeak of horror. "Tortuga, Miss? That's pirate territory!"
"I've been in pirate territory before, Mary." She laughed dryly. "Plenty of Port Royal is still pirate territory. I have no intention of letting my fiancé run away from me without the courtesy of saying farewell to my face—no, the truth is, I have no intention of letting him run away from me at all. Not for the machinations of two pompous old men." Mary's eyes were wide. Elizabeth elaborated, "It was my father and Sir Reginald Hamilton who contrived what happened last night."
Hesitantly, the maid said, "I…I know, Miss." Seeing the sharp look her mistress gave her, she hastily reached into her pocket. "I didn't know until after you'd gone, but I realized…a message came. Real fast like, from Miss Lucinda—I mean, Mrs. Norrington. But Sir Reginald opened it and threw it in the rubbish bin." She brought out a crumpled message written on Lucy's stationary. "I didn't notice until I was emptyin' it out that the message was for you, not for Sir Reginald."
Elizabeth was written quite clearly on the outside of the message, yet the note was opened. Elizabeth felt her blood boil at the insult. Opening it, she found the message she knew she would, written hastily in Lucinda's hand:
Dear Lizzie,
Come quick.
Will Turner is at the docks about to board a ship leaving Port Royal. James will try to stall him. Please hurry.
Lucy.
After a few minutes, she remembered Mary was there. "Did my father know the message was for me?"
"I can't say, Miss. I wasn't in the room right when it came, though he and Sir Reginald did go to the door together," said Mary apologetically. Then her eyes grew round and fearful. "Are you…really wantin' me to help you run away to Tortuga?"
Elizabeth sighed. She had asked a great deal of Mary today, and there were things to be done if she intended to escape from under her father's searchers' noses, but… "No, Mary. I want you to stay here. Keep out of sight and wait for me. I must slip back into the mansion for a few things, but I shall return soon."
"Y-yes, Miss!" With an encouraging smile to hide the cold apprehension in her stomach, Elizabeth started toward the door, then stopped, frowning to herself. She glanced at her gown; though ruined, it was still obviously a lady's, and her father (and probably the militia) were looking for a lady. Then her eyes fell on Will's cloak, and his hat, a perfectly ordinary merchant's hat, only special to her because it was his, still hanging on its hook. Elizabeth drew Will's cloak around her and slipped his hat onto her head. Then she tucked as much of her hair up under it as she could. Fortunately, Will's slightly greater height made the cloak long enough to hide the hem of her dress.
Opening the door cautiously to make certain no one was about, she was startled to see that it was dark outside. No wonder her father had sent men out looking for her. At least the markets were empty. Slipping out and shutting the door behind her, Elizabeth drew the cloak around her and hurried down the quiet street.
It felt like ages climbing up the hill to the governor's mansion, and all the while she was certain that anyone who glanced at her would see her face under the hat and end the charade with a shout. Her fears were only silenced by the bitterness in her heart when she slipped around behind her father's house, rather than entering through the gate, to avoid being seen. It was strange how easy it was to feel that this was no longer her home, but a stranger's, or even hostile territory. After what I learned of his scheming today, I will feel more at home in Tortuga!
It rather amused her that she was able to slip inside unnoticed through the servants' entrance. From what Mary had said, most of the servants were out looking for Elizabeth, so Elizabeth herself managed to get into the house and up the stairs to her bedroom without a single soul noticing her. Closing her bedroom door, she listened for a moment. The mansion was silent. Everyone must still be out hunting for her. Like a wayward child, she thought crossly, and headed for her dressing table.
It irritated her to discover just how little pocket money she actually had. If ever she wanted something, she had only to ask her father for it. Now, looking at the measly collection of coins and notes in her pouch, Will seemed rather wealthy by comparison. She knew where her father kept his strongbox, which contained his store of money, but she had no idea where the key was, and the idea of breaking into the thing and stealing from it gave her a qualm, despite all that had happened. She eyed the small handful of money again in exasperation; she'd never had to consider something like this before. She would need to buy herself a passage to Tortuga (which would undoubtedly mean dealing with less-than-scrupulous sailors), she would also need to eat, find shelter, and how long would it take to track down the Black Pearl?
If Tortuga was where Will found himself, no matter what his original intent had been, then he too would probably go searching for Jack. Elizabeth sighed; Tortuga was where she would have to start, if she had any hope of finding Will. If Will was not at Tortuga, but she were able to find Jack Sparrow, then she would at least be among friends…somewhat. At the moment, the crew of the Black Pearl seemed infinitely better company than anyone left in Port Royal.
But how am I to survive until I find them? She pondered miserably, counting her money. Less than two pounds. That would not last her long, where she was headed. In frustration, she leaned her chin on her hand, resting her elbow on the dressing table, and her gaze fell suddenly upon her jewelry box.
Of course! She seized the box and upended it, examining the gold, silver, and jewels for the first time for their value for sale rather than as trinkets from doting friends and family. Stuffing the ones that appeared to be worth the most money while the least sentimental to her into her pouch along with the coins, she put the rest of the things back and rearranged the table as she'd left it. She didn't want to give any hints of her intentions before she was well away.
Going to the closet, she found another obstacle: she did not appear to own a single simple garment. All her dresses were works of satin and lace artifice that would be totally unsuitable for where she was going and what she planned to do. In frustration, she threw Will's hat and cloak back on and slipped back down the stairs. Perhaps she'd appropriate a few of his things and masquerade as a man. It might be more practical in the end.
Just as she was hurrying back down the stairs for the servants' exit, the front door flew open. Elizabeth lurched to stop, choking on an oath, but it was Mary. "I told you to wait!"
"Sorry, Miss, but some o' the soldiers thought maybe you'd come back here, and the Governor's on his way right now!"
"Damn," Elizabeth growled. Cursing was beginning to come more easily to her; apparently it just took practice. She looked around. Will's hat and cloak wouldn't keep her hidden long. A merchant with his cloak wrapped around him on a warm night with his hat pulled down over his face would be suspect if looked at twice. She had to get out of this gown!
"What do you want to do, Miss?" asked Mary anxiously. "They'll be here in a few minutes!"
With a frustrated sigh, Elizabeth looked at Mary—and her eyes fell upon the plain gray dress under the maid's apron. "Mary…where do you get your dresses?"
"My dresses, Miss?"
"I can't very well go sneaking out to the harbor in this," Elizabeth said hurriedly, coming down the stairs and taking Mary's arm, leading her toward the servant's quarters. "Do you have another you could spare?"
"Well, no, Miss," Mary said awkwardly. "I mean, I've two spare dresses, but…well…they wouldn't fit you, Miss. They'd be far too big." She blushed.
Elizabeth felt herself blushing too. "Oh." She pursed her lips. "But where do you get them?" She doubted very much that her own elite seamstress sewed maid's clothing, and Mrs. Finnegan wouldn't exactly be counted upon to aid her in running away to Tortuga either.
"I don't rightly know, Miss," Mary replied. "They're given a maid by the cook or the head servant when she's hired. However," she hesitated, blushing again, and cocked her head at Elizabeth. "I seem to recall that Lily Higgins in Mrs. Norrington's house is about your size."
And so away they went, rushing to the safety of the Norringtons' house, closed up for their absence, just as the governor's carriage came through the gate of the mansion. Elizabeth hid in the shrubbery like a cat burglar while Mary went inside, and by some guise, managed to procure two ordinary gray stuff dresses and a white linen bonnet. "You'd best be puttin' these on now, Miss. Lily says the whole militia's fixin' to be called out!"
"Keep a lookout, Mary!" Elizabeth whispered, and ducking into the deepest of the bushes, changed from her lady's gown into the maid's dress. Mary was right; it was almost a perfect fit.
As she emerged from the shrubs, hiding the gown away, Mary hissed, "Your hair, Miss!"
"What?"
"Your hair!" Mary snatched up the bonnet, hastily twisted Elizabeth's hair into two rude plaits, pinned them close to her head and plunked the bonnet over them. "There. Now you look ordinary." Elizabeth hoped she was right. "Where'll you be wantin' us to go now, Miss?"
Elizabeth sighed quietly. "I will be going to find a ship bound for Tortuga, Mary. You will go back and join the search as if that's what you've been doing all along. I don't want my father punishing you."
"Oh, Miss, but will you be all right?"
"I'll be fine. I've been in worse situations than this," she replied, hoping she was right. "Now go, and if you can, keep them away from the harbor and the beaches."
"Yes, Miss. An'…good luck, Miss. Findin' your Mr. Turner, I mean. He's a good man, even if he made a dreadful mistake."
With a sigh, Elizabeth smiled. "Thank you, Mary." She wrapped the second dress in Will's cloak, bundled them under her arm, and started off down the hill.
Passing through the town, she managed to procure one more thing she suspected she would need. She also took the risk of stopping to return Will's hat to the smithy. It was a silly decision, but she couldn't bear to abandon it on the side of a road. The cloak she kept, with her other dress, some food, and her money pouch wrapped in it. Despite how exposed she felt with her face bare and all these people rushing about searching for the governor's missing daughter, not a soul questioned the slim woman in the plain gray dress and maid's bonnet walking with her shoulders slumped and head lowered through the streets. Elizabeth did worry about kicking her feet too far, for she was wearing far too fine a pair of shoes and stockings for a maid to own. A shame she and Mary had not thought of that back at the house.
As Mary had said, the search was now heading back up the hills, seeking Elizabeth among the houses of the aristocracy, while she in fact was slipping back down to the docks. It felt very strange to her that she could become practically invisible just by wearing the proper clothing. She slipped from the road to the docks right under the noses of watchful guards, a simple working woman with a bundle under her arm headed for one of the docked ships, without a soul the wiser.
Elizabeth knew instinctively that she would not find the kind of boat she was looking for moored at the main docks closest to town. Instead, she followed the piers and walkways farther and farther from the frequented road, passing over those whose crews were obviously asleep at one of Port Royal's many sailors' inns. At last, separated from the harbor docks entirely, she found what she wanted.
After a very long walk, nearly four coves away from the main docks, Elizabeth came upon a beach full of heavy, albeit quiet, activity. No less than four small ships were anchored there, with men passing to and from them in longboats, carrying barrels of liquor and boxes of cargo. Obviously the four ships were not all from the same fleet, judging by the way the crews supervising the loading and unloading kept wary eyes on one another as they worked. More shadowy figures were coming down the hill onto the beach carrying more supplies, and worrying about whatever to-do was going on in the town. They all had weapons. Lots and lots of weapons.
Obviously piracy was not nearly so close to extinction in the Caribbean as Lieutenant Gillette liked to boast. It was unlikely that even Commodore Norrington realized just how active the privateer trade still was in the Caribbean.
Elizabeth took a deep breath, surveying the unsavory rabble. They reminded her far too much of the crew of Captain Barbossa, and it was only by reminding herself that the moon was full and that any one of these men might also draw to mind thoughts of Jack Sparrow that she was able to keep up her courage. Even still, this was going to be harder than she had thought. The things I am willing to do for you, Will Turner, she thought angrily. You shall definitely be parting company with an ear when I get my hands on you. With that thought, she straightened her shoulders and started to march onto the beach, then thought better of it and let them slump a bit.
Her appearance raised an immediate hue and cry, and had the effect of uniting the uneasy portmates through a sense of shared peril. All work ceased, weapons were brought to bear in her direction, then almost immediately lowered, and hard, cold gazes were leveled at her in suspicion. The nearest man who was obviously some sort of officer aboard one of the ships stepped towards her. "What ye think ye be doin' 'ere, Missy?"
Elizabeth swallowed hard. This was going to be much harder than she had thought. "I'm looking for a ship bound for Tortuga."
An incredulous mutter went up through the ranks. Looking at the men staring back at her, Elizabeth saw more than one visible pirate brand. She swallowed again. Yes, Jack Sparrow was a pirate and a good man…but none of these men was Jack Sparrow. The man in the lead exchanged glances with several of the others, then grinned slyly at her, "And business 'as a little lady like yerself in Tortuga?"
"My own business," Elizabeth replied coldly.
The next mutter that went up from the group might have been approving, or at least amused. The lead man sneered at her. "'Tis bad luck to bring a woman aboard a ship, Missy. Ain't many ways ye could repay us." His eyes wandered over her in a way that made her want to shudder, but she managed to stave it off by pinching the flesh of her arm.
Carefully, Elizabeth reached into her bundle for her pouch and fumbled for the first piece of jewelry she could find. Feeling the smoothness of the pearls on the string, she pulled it out and held it up, to the predictable exclamations from the pirates. "I can pay for a passage." She split the string, sliding the pearls off into her hand. "And I won't see a thing," she added, noticing the way the men were covering some of their cargo.
Now a good number of the pirates were muttering amongst themselves. She was just beginning to relax when the lead man gave her an even broader grin that alarmed her at once. "A little maid like you oughtn't to be wavin' around pretty things like that, Missy. Might invite robbers!"
Then Elizabeth heard the ill-concealed sound of footsteps behind her, and thanked God she had made that last stop in town. Whirling around, she reached into her bundle and yanked out the pistol she had lifted from a drunk's belt outside one of the inns. The pirates who'd been attempting to sneak up on her froze in their tracks, and she heard several startled curses from the beach. "The militia is on alert up in the town," she said loudly, so they all could hear. "The sound of a gun going off here will draw every soldier in Port Royal. I hardly think you want that."
Grumbling, her would-be robbers edged down the path and joined their compatriots on the beach. She took careful note of which crew they joined—all four. She fought the urge to sigh. It was unlikely she'd get much chance to sleep on this trip. Assuming she even managed to get aboard a ship.
With a reluctantly respectful grimace, the lead man muttered, "I reckon all four o' these ships be bound for Tortuga, Missy. Take yer pick."
Here goes nothing… Elizabeth looked from one ragtag crew to another, then glanced back in the direction of Port Royal. Knowing her father and the militia, with no sign of her by now, they were spreading out beyond town and would soon be prowling the other beaches. "Which of your ships is casting off the soonest?"
"We be waitin' on another delivery," said one crewman.
"Us too," said another.
To her dismay, it was the lead man who smiled and said, "We're just about to be headin' back. Plenty a space on our boat for a lady. Ye can even 'ave yer own cabin, if ye ain't too particular—though I suspect yer not." He grinned toothily at her.
Elizabeth took a deep breath. "Very well." She stepped forward and dropped half of the pearls into the pirate's hand. "For a safe passage to Tortuga." Then in a flash of inspiration, she added, "You will receive the other half when we arrive, if I'm delivered safely."
"Sounds like a fair price, then," chuckled the pirate, and made a great show of handing her into the longboat. She gave up on subtlety and kept the gun firmly in her lap where all the pirates could see it as they climbed in. "Shove off!" the man ordered. He grinned at her again as the pirates began rowing. "Oh, bless me, where are my manners? I'm Captain Porter, of the ship Mad Molly. And whom do I 'ave the honor of ferryin'?"
As the pirates rowed their longboat out to what she was now certain was the darkest and meanest-looking of the ships in that cove, Elizabeth hesitated for a moment before answering. "Turner," she said bitterly. "Elizabeth Turner."
To Be Continued…
Coming Up Next: We shall learn the fates of the Greymalkin and the Mad Molly…one will reach Tortuga, and the other will be lost to Davey Jones' locker, under decidedly creepy circumstances. But what of the fates of our two star-crossed lovers, you ask? Let's just say that before long, both of them will need rescuing. But even Jack Sparrow can't be in two places at once!
Don't Forget to Review! Responses in the following chapter, as always!