She made her way to the lodging she was sharing with her uncle. He too would be pleased with Sparrow's recovery.
Uncle James was already seated in the dining room and his gloomy expression brightened when he saw her smiling.
"I have good news." she said, taking the chair opposite.
"And what could that be?"
"Captain Sparrow is making a good recovery."
"I'm very pleased to hear it my dear."
"Yes," she continued, leaning back, "he is healing up rather nicely."
"Was he coherent?"
She raised an eyebrow at him. "May I ask if he is ever entirely coherent?"
Norrington laughed cheerfully. "No, I suppose not."
The footmen brought in their meal and they ate in companionable silence for a while. Anne felt a warm glow from within as she thought about the stories that Sparrow had told her that day. When dinner was finished they withdrew to the small living room and her uncle poured her out a glass of brandy.
"Tell me, what did you talk of with Sparrow?" he asked.
"He told me many wild tales of his adventures."
"Mostly fabrication I would wager," he said jovially, "anything in particular?"
"Yes," she sat forward and closed her eyes in memory of the tale, "he told me about his ship and how the first crew he had, mutinied and left him on an island to die!"
"Gracious! And did he tell you how he got off the island?"
"He roped together a couple of sea turtles and rode them to safety!"
"I see, how very athletic of him." murmured Norrington, a smile playing on his thin lips. He had gotten to know Sparrow rather well before the Turners left for England and knew the reality to nearly all the man's stories, but that was not to deny that they were good stories. But his niece's face had turned troubled and she edged further forward on her chair.
"Uncle James?"
"Yes Anne, what is troubling you?" She looked around the room with wide eyes, as though searching for the correct words.
" Uncle James, Captain Sparrow made mention that he knew me as a child but..."
"Yes?" he had been waiting for this, waiting nervously for her reaction.
"Well, if it is true then why have I never heard mention of him before, not even from you?" He smiled inwardly at her direct approach, so like her mother, direct and to the point.
"What did he tell you?" he asked.
"He said that he and my father had a falling out and that they never spoke again."
"There you have your answer." he replied, taking a sip from his own glass.
"But what was it all about?" She threw her arms in the air in exasperation, almost knocking over her glass which sat on the table beside her. "What could happen between two people that would so disrupt any relations they may have had?"
"I'm afraid I can't tell you Anne."
"Why not?" she enquired petulantly.
"Because I must confess that I do not know. No one did, not even your dear mother. She heard the two of them arguing one night and then the next day it was announced that you were leaving for England and none of us knew why except your father and he never told anyone, neither did Sparrow when it comes to that but by that time he had disappeared. He turned up again a couple of days later to plead with him not to go but he wouldn't listen. He's barely been seen since."
Anne was sitting with her mouth open, watching him with her dark eyes. When he was finished she swallowed and closed her mouth.
"I'm afraid that if you want to know anything more you shall have to ask Sparrow." he said. She nodded silently. There was silence for a few moments and then she rose.
"I think I shall retire now uncle, it has been a long day and doubtless tomorrow will be no shorter."
"Good night."
"Goodnight." When she reached the door she turned back to face him. "He said I used to call him "uncle Jack" and that it used to annoy you when I got the two of you mixed up."
"I must admit to a certain amount of jealousy. You were never that fond of me as a child and he was everything to you. That, I think, is something else which your father never entirely forgave him for."
She did not reply but slipped out and up to her own room. There she lit the lamp and crossed to the dressing table where sat a little wooden box. She took a small golden key from her pocket and opened it carefully. It contained her most prized treasures which she had collected all her life. There was a sharks tooth that her uncle had given her on a visit to England, a letter opener shaped like a sword that had been a present from her father, an old ring of her grandfather's, a locket which had belonged to her mother, some odd, smooth pebbles that she had grown very attached to at the age of nine and... there it was. She unwrapped the long strand from the soft paper it was twisted in.
It was a string of beads; red ones, blue ones, gold ones, green ones, ones that were wooden and ones that were made of metal and there was a flat golden disc, like a small coin at one end. It had hung over her cot when she was small, she remembered her father trying to throw it away when they left for England but she wouldn't let him and after a while he gave up. At one time it had been a hair braid and she had a faint memory of her mother untwining the beads from the dark dreadlock and rethreading them on the piece of string on which they now hung, jangling softly as they swung from her hand. Hair beads, just like the ones that Jack had.
She set the braid aside and went to bed but she slept little and her dreams were filled with angry waves and sad brown eyes crying for lost friends. She rose before dawn and ate a small breakfast before going to the gaol.
When she got there Jack too was already awake, although the sun had barely taken the chill off the receding night. She crouched down and held out the braid.
"I think this belongs to you," she said quietly. He reached out a brown hand and took it from her. He looked up at her and the glance that passed between them said all that needed to be said by way of reconciliation.
"Thank you," he replied and managed to smile weakly.
"What did you and my father fight about?" she asked. He carefully looped the braid into his silvering hair and looked away.
"It was a long time ago."
"Do you mean you don't remember?"
"I mean I did my damage to your family a long time ago," he looked back at her and smiled kindly, "and I don't fancy bringing it up again." She took this in and nodded.
"Another time then."
"When they put me in my gibbet, that would be a good time." His sarcastic tone faltered slightly as he spoke. She sighed and then moved around beside him on his little mattress. She leaned her head gently against his shoulder.
"Talk to me," she said.
"About what?"
"It doesn't matter," she closed her eyes and shifted to make herself comfortable, "just talk."
So he talked, about anything that came to his head; about his friends, about the Pearl, about the sea. As he spoke he slipped his arm around her shoulders and, after a while she fell into a peaceful sleep.
When the guards came to give Sparrow his breakfast they were both asleep so they left it outside the cell and left them. After all Sparrow wasn't going to get many more peaceful nights.
