(Author's Notes – I don't know whether I mentioned in the last chapter, but a spinet is an early piano … thought I should mention that.
This chapter owes a large nod to Mansfield Park! And without further ado, Chapter 2: In which Laura attempts to comfort the Commodore for his loss, and is thanked for her pains by the appearance of gasp Mary Sue!
Please, please, R&R!)
It was another sweltering day in Port Royal, like the day before and before that and so on into an eternity of hellish heat. Laura Bell, though there was to be a great hanging that day, of Captain Jack Sparrow, had opted to stay at home instead of watching the poor man die. Therefore Laura stayed at home and sketched, while Mrs. Bell went to the hanging herself, and thence to her friend, Mrs. Stokesworth's home. It caused not a little pang of regret to Laura that she was of an age where she could be left alone and not worry of a travesty against propriety.
Not only her aversion to watching a man die kept Laura home, but also her unwillingness to see, after all this time, James and Elizabeth together. Laura had never, ever given any public sign of her affection for James or given anyone cause to believe that she objected in the strongest way possible to the impending nuptials. She was always all praise of Elizabeth, and congratulated the couple with a smile that hid a crumbling heart. For Laura had realized, after eighteen years, the terrible truth that she was too plain, too old, too undistinguished and too much of a nobody to attract the attention of the illustrious Commodore James Norrington.
Laura had given her resolve not to cry, and she was not a woman to break her word. James had never been under any obligations to her and, most importantly, he was happy with Miss Swann. If James was happy, then Laura, by merit of her regard for him, must too be happy. The only thing that gave Laura more joy than to see James smile was to see him smile at her or because of her, and, Laura did manage to convince herself that seeing James happily married to Miss Swann would make her happier than if she herself were to become Mrs. Norrington.
Along this train of thought, Laura was absentmindedly sketching James and Elizabeth as she had seen them last, paying, as she was wont to do, more attention to the detail of his person than to hers. The differences between them, she concluded, were striking, but they made a handsome couple. Installed in from of the open window, feeling the sea breeze wash over her, Laura almost forgot her troubles for a precious few seconds.
That is, until, someone pounded the knockers of the front door, and in a rare bout of irritation, Laura almost ordered the butler to send the visitor away. Before she could send a footman down to do so, however, the visitor appeared in the doorway. He was, of course, Commodore James Norrington, returned from the hanging.
Laura Bell had never been able to deny James anything, and this incident proved no exception.
James stood, dominating the entrance with his stature and best uniform, yet what should have been impressive was not so – his shoulders slumped and head hung, as though only his dignity kept him upright; his eyes were dull and his hands trembled, shaking the hat he held in them. Laura did not need to be half as sharp as she was to distinguish that something was very, very wrong.
"James?"
He said nothing, entering silently and proceeded to stare mindlessly out the window behind Laura.
"James!"
"It's over," he said cryptically, with a tragic smile that wrung Laura's already tried heart.
She got to her feet, taking his hat and heavy uniform coat, before maneuvering James onto the couch, and herself sat a respectful distance away.
"James, you are not yourself. What is over?"
He looked at her with what could be regarded as a dead man's stare.
"My engagement to Miss Swann. She has declared her true affection for Mr. Turner, and I have let go of her word. Furthermore, I have let Sparrow escape. Do you too have some terrible news you can load upon me? Have you anything to say that could possibly make my day worse?"
Laura felt as she did when James or anyone else came to her in a great deal of pain – as though bands were tightening around her heart.
"James, I could never wound you intentionally. As your oldest friend, my station lies in comforting you, not bringing you grief."
She rose and tugged the bell sharply. Janet was there in a matter of moments.
"Send up a pot of tea, a pitcher of lemonade, and some pastries. You'd best decant some of Captain Bell's best brandy, too."
Returning to her seat she found James still in shock, still staring.
"I've sent for some refreshments, but I must insist you stay for dinner. I won't have you wandering around like this."
"I don't want to impose, Laura."
Her already tried heart skipped a beat when he said her name.
"It is no imposition on me, I assure you," she managed to say without looking him square in the eyes (it was the kiss of death for her to stare at him there, for then she would be miserably lost and incoherent for the next day at the least), "Mother went to Fort Charles for the … ceremony, and prior to that she intended to sup at Mrs. Stokesworth's, so you do not impose on her either."
"Yet you could not wish your afternoon's peace to be interrupted by a miserable soul."
"I would not want a dear," she nearly choked on the words as she looked up at him, "friend to suffer if I could be of any use at all!"
Laura flushed and studied her hands, feeling his gaze on her heated cheeks. James was thankfully oblivious, noting her discomfort to seeing him so put out.
"You were always too good to me, Laura," he smiled sadly, "But there is nothing you can do for me. Can you mend a broken heart?"
"I can do anything that will be of service to anyone," she affirmed.
Before the moment got too intense, Janet bustled in, oblivious to the sequence within – the Commodore sitting broken-hearted next to her mistress, whom the entire household knew to be desperately in love with him. Carefully avoiding contact with the two, she deposited the heavy tray and left.
"What will you have?"
"Tea," was the monotone response.
Laura poured his cup halfway, and dashed in the rest with her Father's brandy, allotting herself a small glass of lemonade. With practiced but not exactly natural grace, she balanced the teacup, the glass and the platter of pastries, bearing the lot over to the couch.
"Can I get you anything else?"
"No, no. Nothing."
"James, tell me something else I can do!"
"There is nothing. You have been kind and gracious, Laura. That is all I can ask of you with a clear conscience."
"Nevertheless, I am determined to succeed in raising your spirits, James," Laura managed to declare, as he looked down at his hands, giving her an idea, "My spinet is frightfully out of practice, but I will play if you will sing. If I recall correctly, it was a favorite pastime of yours."
He did not look up, or even acknowledge her suggestion. In a reckless instant, Laura tapped his hand hesitantly with her own.
"James," she whispered.
He looked up, at her, everything gone from his eyes, something which frightened Laura even more than the pain she had seen in them before.
"If you are so determined, Laura, I shall, of course, comply."
And so the two of them processed across the hall to the music room, his posture stiff and hers more saddened. As Laura thought desperately to herself what songs she knew which would not remind James of Elizabeth, the man himself began flipping through her music.
So she did what any woman of sense would do in the situation: sat on the bench and launched into a lively folk tune. James, however distracted by heartbreak and the sunset slanting through the west windows, could discern her intentions, but jumped in on the second verse gamely. To him, at least as she had been for as long as he had known her, Laura was his nearest confidant and as dear to him as the sisters he had lost eighteen years ago. Seeing Laura do something he knew to be a distasteful exercise for her, all for the sake of comforting and distracting him, touched him in a way that few things could; yet it was not the love that Laura wanted.
Some time later, James had apparently had enough, until he declared that he had sung enough, now it was Laura's turn. This could do nothing but humiliate Laura; she knew how poorly her girlish soprano compared to Elizabeth's commanding alto, but if James wished her to do it …
Laura found it hard to breathe, and even harder to sing well, watching him play, which he did, very elegantly. Mercifully he picked an easy sea-shanty he had taught her years before, and with a little trouble, Laura managed the piece without disgracing herself. He gave her an encouraging smile, thinking her nervousness was all due to her lack of practice, and played a few harmonies before the next. Things went on in this manner for a little, and Laura was blessed with seeing him smile at her a few more times, before the sun teetered on the edge of the horizon, and Laura had to light the candles around the room. By the time she had finished, James had started to tinker absentmindedly on the spinet, and before long Laura recognized a familiar tune.
"Play it for me, Laura, will you? Play The Water is Wide?"
As was stated before, Laura could not deny James anything, even when she feared it would not help him at all. Reluctantly, she sat, positioning her skirts and mentally preparing herself for the ordeal. Hesitantly, she began, playing the familiar air with a soft grace which is found only in tragedy. James began, almost as quietly as she, but his baritone inevitably swelled with the ebb and flow of the song.
"The
water is wide, I cannot get o'er
And
neither have I wings to fly.
O
go and get me some little boat,
To
carry o'er my true love and I.
Must
I be bound, O and she go free!
Must
I love one thing that does not love me!
Why
should I act such a childish part,
And
love a girl that will break my heart.
There
is a ship sailing on the sea,
She's
loaded deep as deep can be,
But
not so deep as in love I am;
I
care not if I sink or swim.
O
love is handsome and love is fine,
And
love is charming when it is true;
As
it grows older it groweth colder
And
fades away like the morning dew."
Laura had heard him sing louder, sing truer, and sing more beautifully, but this hit home in a way that nothing he had ever sung before had. It was the emotion in his voice, and the look in his eyes, his beaten posture – if it were not for propriety she would have leapt from the bench and put her arms around him. As it was, she had only her words to try and heal him.
"You did a noble thing, James," was the best thing she could say.
"What I did I did to save my dignity. Do not accuse me of being a good person, Laura, I am not, else I should not be in this predicament. Bad things don't happen to good people."
"James," Laura said, standing up before him, and doing her best to catch his evasive gaze, no matter how paralyzing it was to her, "Listen to me. Bad things happen to good people. My father is lost, yet he was praised as a decent man. You, James, I have known all my life and I know you to be a good man."
"Laura … "
"It was a noble thing you did, James. You had her word, and you could have held her to it. But you did not. You loved her truly enough that her happiness meant more than your own. I'm not saying that this is an easy decision, or one that you will never regret, but it was a noble one."
"I can't live up to it."
"You can, James, because I know you. I know it hurts, to love someone so deeply you feel as though you cannot exist without them, without their voice and their smile, and then losing them. You feel lost and worthless, having spent so much of your life on them, and then realizing that the future you imagined is no longer there. When darkness falls you wish the sun never to rise, when it rains you wish it never to stop, when you bleed you never want the wound to heal. We are human, James. We suffer, we ache, we cry salty tears and we bleed crimson blood. But because we are human, though we are fragile, we are strong if we will ourselves to. When it is dark, there will always be a light for you; when it rains, there will always be shelter; when you bleed a bandage will always be to hand. When we fall, we rise again, James."
Laura finally locked gazes with him, willing herself to stay strong for James, knowing now he had nowhere else to go, and no one else to confide in. The Commodore was above every man on the station, save Governor Swann, and to visit him would be the acutest sort of agony possible. The moment was tense, Laura feared left she give away her decades-kept secret and James again realizing, unconsciously and gradually to be sure, what he had seen in her eight years ago. Time was slow to both parties; Laura heard the clock strike distinctly each second as if eons apart, hoping desperately that she had said the right things.
Suddenly, in defiance of propriety, Laura found herself pressed against him through no will of her own. In utter shock she felt his hands around her shoulders, his chin atop her head, and realized the clock she heard was his heart, and realized that the greatest joy in life was no longer simply to be smiled at, but to be wanted.
"You're worth your weight in gold, Laura," she heard him whisper, and was on the verge of fainting with happiness.
A knock from nowhere parted them, Janet walked in on a scene that would have caused no suspicions of the events prior.
"There's a lady in the hall calling for the Commodore," she said with a curtsey, "Says it's urgent."
For once in her life, Laura could have cursed an innocent stranger, but had to play the gracious hostess. She left to fetch James's hat and coat, and then led him downstairs to the mysterious lady.
She stood with her back to them, hidden in a costly velvet cloak. Before she could have even heard the footsteps, however, she turned to face them. Laura's breath caught in her throat.
The lady was tall, much taller than her, and her stature was that of a noblewoman – proud and elegant. Perfect ivory skin, like the reflection of the moon on a still sea, caught the warm glow of the candlelight, giving it an unearthly tone. Her face was clear of all blemishes; she had no freckles like those that dotted Laura's face and nose. She had a dainty nose, neatly nestled in her porcelain face above rose-red lips, and her entire countenance was dominated by her eyes. They were like nothing Laura had ever seen before – blue like calm, tropical skies, lit with a glow that put the sun to shame. Flowing brown hair cascaded down her swan-like neck, half covering a buxom bosom clothed in the finest gown Port-Royal had ever seen – A confection of midnight-blue satin set off against stark white decorations, bring out the perfection of her beauty.
"Good evening, Commodore Norrington," the lady said in a voice that outshone the heavenliest choirs of angels, "I am Belle St. Croix."
