And she wonders where these dreams go
cause the world got in her way
What's the point ever trying
Nothings changing anyway

They press their lips against you
And you love the lies they say
And I tried so hard to reach you
But you're falling anyway

And you know I see right through you
When the world gets in your way
What's the point in all the screaming
You're not listening anyway

The Goo Goo Dolls, Acoustic #3


Chapter 6

A strange state of existence fell upon the residents of the Norrington household.

Or at least its two main residents.

With only three days until she became Mrs. James Norrington, Evelyn walked around like a ghost, half existing, half fading away into the fog of her own thoughts. Cutler called on her frequently, albeit briefly. As soon as she told him that there was nothing to report on James's behavior he was on his way once more.

As for James…

She would catch him staring at her, strange looks from those piercing eyes of his that made her feel as if he were stripping away the flesh from her bones. They had said precious little to each other since that day on the beach, and the silence was beginning to grow oppressive. Since news of his commission, James had been acting—more civil? Perhaps "less angry" was the better way to describe it.

But there was also a melancholy to him. And why wouldn't there be? All signs pointed to Elizabeth Swann being dead.

Evelyn walked along the corridors, the ends of her beaded pale green gown trailing against the cool hardwood floors. Marie had pinned her hair up earlier, and now stray curls fell in wisps down the back of her neck.

Three days.

Evelyn paused before a guilt mirror hanging in the hallway beside James's study.

"Good evening," she said to her reflection. "I'm Lady Evelyn Beckett." She curtseyed with all the grace and beauty of a proper London debutant. The night before the wedding, she and James would be attending an honorary dinner at the admiralty. There he would officially receive his new rank, and a ball would be given afterward. "It's my pleasure," she said into the mirror. "Why yes, I am Lady Evelyn Beckett, of the London Becketts. You know my brother of course" She ran her fingers gingerly up her neck, sliding them into the warm mass of her dark hair. "Good day," she said quietly. "I am—I am—I am Mrs. James Norrington. I am Mrs. Evelyn Norrington." She smiled in spite of the thousand butterflies that were flitting about in her stomach. "Hello. I'm Evie Norrington."

A great cry and a loud banging noise ripped Evelyn's attention from her own world and back into reality.

Her head snapped in the direction of the entrance to the servant's wing.

"You absolute filth! God take you Marie!" A male voice bellowed, the timbre ricocheting off the white wood walls.

With a gasp, Evelyn picked up the edge of her skirt and began to run in the direction of the shouting, her silk slippers tapping lightly against the floor, her small feet and short legs moving much like a fairy's.

"I'll have none of that in my household do you hear me? I'll not suffer whores!" The screaming voice belonged to Thomas Morris, the head of the household and in charge of all of the servants. Sitting on the floor in front of him was Marie, the young servant girl who had been attending Evelyn. The girls' face was bright red and covered in tears and mucus. Morris kept shoving a bag of something in her face.

"These are yours, aren't they?" He cried. "Aren't they?" He pressed the bag closer. Marie seemed to nod and shake her head at the same time. "I'd be within my right mind to throw you into the streets where you belong, you dirty slut. Spreading your legs for every piece of shit that wonders into this port"

Fresh sobs broke from Marie anew. "No, please."

Outraged silence from Evelyn immediately turned into enraged shrieking. "What is going on here?"

Evelyn's voice caught both Marie and Morris's attention. "Pardon my Lady," he said coolly, as if he were simply bidding her good afternoon. "Just some issues with the staff that I was taking care of. You needn't concern yourself."

You needn't concern yourself. Evelyn knew that tone of voice well. It was code for "don't get involved where you don't have the sense to be useful…woman."

"Indeed?" She replied, her voice taking on a haughty, noble air. "Well I think I shall concern myself, after all, this is soon to be my staff." She looked her nose down at Morris, and never had she felt so good about something that she would normally have thought so wrong. "What seems to be the matter?"

Morris hesitated, but Evelyn Beckett's eyes were on fire, bright and alert and going absolutely nowhere. "I found a batch of Queen Anne's Lace among her private things." He finally admitted. "It's used for…well, primarily women will, Madame, actually—"

"I know very well what is does." Evelyn snapped. Queen Anne's lace. A flower whose seed could be crushed and mixed easily with any drink to prevent one of the more difficult obstacles met by women who were kept as mistresses…

…namely pregnancy.

Evelyn turned to the girl, still crouched upon the floor. "Tell me Marie, you aren't operating a brothel out of the Captain's home are you?" Evelyn's face was stern, but her voice was light and easy.

"God no my Lady, please," the young girl begged. "My fiancé and I, we can't get married until he has enough money and it will be so very long and I, I know we shouldn't but—"

"How old are you Marie?"

"Nineteen my Lady."

"And how long have you known your fiancé?"

"Forever it seems, Madame. I've loved him since I was a child. Please, you mustn't let the Captain throw me out."

Evelyn crossed her arms. "Well now, Mr. Morris, those certainly don't sound like the sentiments of a common whore."

"My Lady please—"

"And how was it that you came by these seeds ayway?" She asked, raising an eyebrow. "If they were with the girl's personal things, as you claim?"

He blushed red with embarrassment and indignation.

"In the future you will do well to remember that the ladies of this household are exactly that, ladies, and you will treat them accordingly. Your behavior is appalling. Any private grievance that you might have goes either to my ears or the Captain's and no one elses, and let me clarify, while we are on the topic. The personal business of my maids is none of yours. Are we clear?"

Morris said nothing.

"Are we clear Mr. Morris? Or shall I have Captain Norrington explain it to you? And you would do well to remember that he is soon to be Admiral Norrington."

"Yes," Morris grumbled.

"Yes, what?" Evelyn asked.

"Yes, Lady Beckett."

She flashed him a dazzling smile, and sent Morris on his way. After a series of profuse thank yous and more tears, Marie left as well, pledging herself to Evelyn always.

Alone in the hall, Evelyn smiled, conscious of the adrenaline that was still coursing through her blood. She would never admit that speaking to men terrified her, but it did, and always had. Her attitude had developed as a defense mechanism, a way of surviving, when surviving had been an actual issue.

But that had been back when she was still little more than a child, only sixteen and caught up with—

Evelyn shook the memory from her head. There was no sense in rehashing her days in George's Court. They were long gone now.

A few more deep breaths and she was steady on her feet once more, her heart rate slowing to normal. Satisfied, she turned around and was set to pick up exploring the house right where she had left off…

Only to smack right into the wall of James Norrington's chest.


"James!" She cried out, startled by his appearance, seemingly from thin air. He raised an eyebrow at her, and for a moment, Evelyn just stared back at him, confused as to why he looked so—

Oh God in Heaven. Had she just called him James? When in God's name had she started to think of him as James!

Luckily, he ignored her faux pas, clearing his throat and looking down at her, his arms crossed against his chest. "Is it the latest rage in London to keep whores for servants?"

Had Evelyn's jaw fallen farther it would have broken. Not that she was surprised, no of course not. James Norrington—damn it—Captain Norrington was just the sort of man from whom she would expect such coldness. "Check your language, Captain." She muttered. Evelyn looked up at him. "You heard the entire conversation?"

"You barely know that girl."

"I barely know most people of my acquaintance. Very few are worth more than 'barely knowing.'"

"You intervened on her behalf. Now you've probably earned Morris's anger and when Morris gets angry, he usually takes the staff to his side."

"Well then Sir, I suggest you get a new staff."

James remained silent, his eyes concentrated upon the figure of Evelyn Beckett before him. He had been in his chambers dressing when he had heard yelling, and fearful that something might truly be wrong, he had dashed from the room without a second thought. When he happened upon Evelyn yelling at Morris, he had hidden away, curious to see how she would conduct herself in a situation that was all too common in household's with a staff such as his.

She had surprised him.

"A new staff?' He questioned. "Is that so Lady Beckett?"

"Don't be fresh," she scolded, and James nearly had to stop himself from grinning. The last woman to say such a thing to him had been his mother.

"If you think that a girl such as Marie should be turned out just because she is—" Evelyn's face turned a bright shade of pink as she tried to search for the correct words. "Just because she is—intimate—with her fiancé is not only ridiculous, it's naïve. More than likely Morris was just upset that the poor girl actually wasn't a whore. Had she been of loose virtue, I doubt Morris would have minded."

Evelyn's cheeks were still pink, and for the moment, James was caught in their loveliness—er, childishness, his mind corrected.

"So," he asked, taking a step towards her. "You believe that it is acceptable for one to be, how did you put it? Intimate, with one's fiancé?"

"Of course," Evelyn exclaimed defensively, arching her neck back as Norrington drew closer. It was the only way to keep eye contact with him. "They are to be married anyway, and who are any of us to condemn such a thing!"

"Indeed," James murmured taking another step closer. Evelyn's blush had spread to her neck, as well as the soft skin of her décolletage. She was becoming more and more defensive, her words more and more flustered…

…James found he rather enjoyed it.

"Look what I have here," he whispered, his lips dangerously close to her ear. "Such a progressive creature, you are."

"No," Evelyn whispered, drunk on the scent of him—clean linen and the sea—filling her nostrils. "No not at all, just practical. Yes…yes practical."

Something began to unravel within James. Something began to fall apart. Something was clawing at him from the inside out. Perhaps it was the way she had defended a young woman simply on the impulse of what was right, the hell with what anybody else in the household thought. Or perhaps it was the way that she was trying to maintain her bravery in his presence (and failing). Or perhaps it was the color of her lips when she was nervous—pale, the way that sand was under a full moon.

Or perhaps it was because she smelt like ginger.

Evelyn looked up at James towering over her, his face only inches from her own, the fingers of his right hand playing with the curls that brushed against the nape of her neck.

"Please," Evelyn began. "Don't send Marie away."

His throat went dry as he felt something that felt dangerously like desire rip through him. Something about the way she had said "please."

"For me,' she murmured, "as a wedding gift."

James felt his heart shatter as a thousand memories shred through him

"Commodore I beg you please do this," Elizabeth cried, her hair blowing about her beautiful face on deck. "For me, as a wedding gift."

He was drowning in memories, choking on regret, and lost in the abyss of his own indecision. Elizabeth…Elizabeth and Turner, Elizabeth Turner…

What good was any of this?

James had to say something, anything at all to get Evelyn Beckett out of his sight for the moment. He couldn't think, couldn't even contemplate…

He backed off suddenly, looking her up and down with a sneer. "How does a proper lady know of Queen Anne's lace?"

Evelyn felt her heart turn to ice, and then watched as it fell and hit the ground, shattering into a thousand pieces. In that singular instant she knew hatred, hatred at James Norrington and of all he represented. Hated how in the same moment he had made her forget—and then remember—all that she had once been…

…all that she was.

"Perhaps a little birdie told me," she whispered, venom dripping from her lips. "Or perhaps it was a swan."

James froze, possessed by something far beyond anger. "And now you mock the dead," he whispered quietly, the gentle control of his voice far more terrifying than any scream.

"Well there you have it, James." Evelyn's eyes were hollow. "I'm allowed to mock, for perhaps I'm of the dead as well." She shook her head. "A woman can only be treated like an object for so long until she starts to believe that she is one."

She turned from him and walked away.

"Perhaps one day I really shall wake up a porcelain doll," she called over her shoulder. "And perhaps my manners shall be improved by then."

Something began to unravel within James.

Something began to fall apart.

Something was clawing at him from the inside out.

"Evelyn," he whispered.

But she was gone.