The Sighted

Chapter 3

The Browning Household

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"Mabel Constance Browning! Where on earth have you been!"

The incensed greeting the blind woman received upon entering the garden leading to the back doors of the house wasn't pleasant, or unexpected.

Mabel's brother, Thomas, was most often the one to catch her just before she managed to open the doors fully. Or he noticed the dirt tracks left on the carpet by her shoes, or even surprised her as she entered the house, always with an angered but even greeting to his sister's antics.

Mabel, who had returned to the house in a sort of shocked daze,the cool night air urging her quicker, had been about to ascend the staircase to the back doors when Thomas had begun shouting. She jolted violently at his sudden presence stumbling. Nonetheless, she fixed upon her face a stiff smile and pressed hand to her chest in a feeble attempt to steady her hearbeat.

"Thomas! I was hoping I wouldn't be late for supper, but by the sounds of…" she trailed off as her brother went off into hysterics.

"Good heavens, Mabel, where have you been? Mother's been near ready to send out the bloody entire regiment in search of you! She was near ready to march down to the Fort herself!" her brother's voice, most often pleasant with a smooth undertone of confidence, now betrayed his evident worry and anger over his sister's disappearance.

"My apologies, Thomas, but Royce had me sidetracked—"

She was cut off rather abruptly.

"Dear lord, Mabel! You're as pale as a ghost! And you're shaking! What in the world is wrong?" Thomas demanded, voice suddenly tinged with concern. He stepped forward to lay a hand on his sister's shoulder. She jumped slightly at the contact.

For a brief moment, Mabel considered opening her mouth and telling her brother everything. From the moment Royce pulled his leash from her grasp up until she was left alone(andsafe, thank god!)on the beach after herencountering the band of ruffians. Something, however, stopped her. Her tongue seemed to grow thick in her mouth even as she thought about it.

She swallowed thickly. "I told you, Royce had me sidetracked. He ran off, after a bird I believe. It took a while to find him again," Mabel explained.

He snorted. "Don't think for a moment you're off the hook, or that you can act the martyr, Mabel!" he scolded, and before anything more could be said, the back doors burst open, emitting a newcomer to the garden.

Mabel, who had jumped—again—at the sudden noise, listened to the familiar swish of heavy skirts on the ground, and the soft yet determined step of shoes that belonged to only one woman…

"So my unruly daughter has finally decided to mosey on back home?" huffed a voice Mabel knew as her mother's, Eleanor Browning. Widowed for twenty-five years and giving just as much time to pestering her three children. She, of course, received the brunt of the coddling, and although it had been rather nice when she had been small, as a grown woman it was rather tiresome.

"Oh dear! The farmhand's been wandering about for ages now! Someone better tell him you're back," exclaimed another voice, but not nearly as loud as Eleanor did.

Sybil, Mabel thought. Her brother's dainty, well-to-do wife who often came over for dinner parties with her husband. A pleasant woman, but much too soft spoken for her brother. Thomas needed a sturdy hand to whack him upside the head when he often got too full of himself, which was exactly what Mabel had done in their younger years. Since he had been married, however…

"Well, dear girl, speak up before I send you to your room! If you insist on acting as a child you will be treated as one!" Eleanor said, walking quickly to her daughter and the dog at her side. Immediately, Royce's tail began to wag tenfold, and he launched himself at the elderly woman (and would have succeeded if not for the leash around his neck).

Eleanor made a distinct sound of distaste. "And for heaven's sakes, tell that mutt to sit!"

Before Mabel could get a word of defence in edgewise, she felt her arm being taken by Sybil, who she knew by her soft hands and pleasant, flowery perfume.

"Oh, Mabel, why must you upset your mother so?" Sybil asked softly.

Eleanor cut in. "Because she enjoys it, that's why! Turning her old mum's hair grey! This is the last time, my dear, I tell you! Wallace will have my head if he's made to keep another plate ready for you when you return from these…these—"

"Dangerous expeditions!" Thomas piped in loudly.

"Thank you, Tom," Eleanor paused, "You're a full grown woman, for goodness sakes! And you still insist on sneaking around like some little girl with a secret. I as said, this is the last time! It's past sunset! It's dark! Who knows what's lurking about outside this time of night!"

"Exactly!" Thomas broke in. "It would be another matter entirely if it were daytime…"

Eleanor snorted, quite unladylike, and continued. "There's no difference! Not to our Mabel at least." She gave her daughter a hard look. "Good heavens! You're trembling, girl!"

Mabel opened her mouth to explain, but it was shut firmly as her brother beat her to it.

"From a run in with a bird, I hear," Thomas slipped in dryly.

"Royce ran off," Mabel tried to explain. "I had to go find him."

Eleanor made a noise of disgust. "And I thought that animal was supposed to help you find your way, not lead you on wild chases!"

"He was doing what all dogs do, mother…" Mabel began.

"He swims in the well! He chews on my carpets! He runs off! He attacks all the guests that come to my house—"

"Only the men," the blind woman interrupted.

"He growls and barks and threatens to chase them! He scrounges around the kitchen—eats from the larder!"

"Someone left that open!" Mabel protested, her nerves grated. Thoughts from the beach began to leave her quite quickly as the argument raged on.

Eleanor huffed. "Did you know he scratches at the doors! There happens to be claw marks all over yours!"

Mabel sputtered. "Well, that's certainly not my fault!"

"Good heaven's the dog even leaves his—his…!"

"Oh, dear…" Sybilmurmured softly beside her.

Mabel sighed. "I admit he hasn't been properly trained…"

"He does it in the corners! And on my oriental rung from India! Your father bought me that while he was in the Navy!"

Mabel assumed a look of offence. "Then perhaps you shouldn't leave them in such well-used places! I can't hang over the dog every second of the day!"

"Then he will stay outside, where he should be! And you will stay inside, where you should be! Not gallivanting about the property!"

"Don't order me, or my dog, for that matter! He'll go wherever he pleases, as will I!" Mabel fumed.

"You will not!" Eleanor rebutted.

"I certainly will!" Mabel argued, offensive. "Honestly! I'm no invalid and I'm no child!"

The lady of the house paused, sputtering and gargling with anger. "But you are blind!" she exclaimed finally. "And the blind simply don't wander the countryside with nothing but a dog as their company!"

Immediately, Mabel was stiff as a board, and Sybil ventured to touch her shoulder slightly with comfort. The dog at her side whined slightly, and Mabel didn't see the way even Thomas seemed to shy away from the disagreement quite suddenly.

Mabel slipped from Sybil's grasp, jaw set firmly. "What a-a horrendous thing to say,even if it isyour...your opinion on the matter!" she snapped, and tugged Royce's leash. "If you'll all excuse me, I'd like to ready myself for bed. I'll be in my chambers if anyone wishesa civil word with me. Come along, Royce."

And, with a flurry of ragged skirts and a tug on the dog's leash, Mabel effortlessly climbed the stairs and entered the house. Thomas, Sybil and Eleanor were left midst the sweet scent of the summer roses growing in the garden.

٭

The better part of the night would be spent in silent solitude for Mabel, in which she would pace her bedroom, occasionally speaking to Royce, who lay lazily at the foot of her bed.

"You're not really untrained, you know…nor a nuisance," she would tell the dog with assurance, and he would whine tiredly in response.

Mabel often found that she paced to calm herself own, or to rid herself of nervousness. Or fear. She supposed it was a bit of both. It wasn't until she had closed her bedroom door firmly behind her that she realized she hadn't spoken a word of her frightening experience on the beach. But, even as she thought of it now, her palms would begin to sweat and she remembered the threat that hang over her head if she told a soul about them.

And the man she had spoken to…there was something about him.

Almost as if he had known she was blind!

And Mabel had become quite experienced at hiding that fact. Her mother had helped, of course, and sternly discouraged all spinning, rocking and bouncing behaviour that Mabel had gone through as a child. She had always been reminded to keep her eyes open when speaking to someone, and focus on them, not up, down, left or right.

So had he known? She heard the stranger's smooth, slurred words in her thoughts.

"You're dog won't be much use against four armed men, lady, or haven't you noticed we're all carrying guns?"

She cast that thought aside and wondered why on earth she hadn't told anyone.

"Fool, fool, fool!" she then repeated to herself, and imagined that Royce was giving her a rather odd look.

She had to say something!

Tomorrow, she resolved solemnly. First thing tomorrow.

And then, when she finally became too tired, she fell into her bed in a tumble of skirts and limp limbs, somehow knowing that no utterance of her adventuresthat day would pass her lips anytime soon.

٭

In the early morning, when tempers had cooled somewhat from the night before, Eleanor had knocked upon her daughter's door.

Mabel had been curled up on the chaise by the open window with Royce by her side, and waited until her mother knocked again before dignifying an answer.

"Come in!"

Eleanor did so, and Mabel listened to the click as the door was opened and then closed firmly behind her.

There was another moment of silence, and then her mother spoke. "I'm going into Port Royal for the day. Lady Bradshaw has gathered up a few of the Ladies and we're set to have tea. So, I'll be out of your hair for the day," she informed her daughter, speaking lightly. "Thomas won't be back until tonight for dinner. He's aiding the Commodore in the hunt for a dangerous fugitive, I heard," she stated proudly.

Mabel didn't show the least bit of interest.

"If you'll be going for a walk, please tell the maids at least. And be sure to take the dog with you."

Mabel suppressed a smile. "Of course. And I'll be sure to keep a better eye on him in the future, if it so pleases you."

Eleanor chuckled at her daughter's words, and nearly sagged with relief. "Thank you," she said graciously. "Joyce will be home around noon from the market, so you won't be alone."

Mabel didn't answer. Little did her mother know that Joyce was not at the market, but at the docks. Several times a week she would feign going to town for a day of shopping and return home with nothing. It hadn't taken long for Mabel to realize she was meeting someone, someone of the male variety…

Her mother retreated to the door, glancing back solemnly at her blind daughter. What a picture she made, lounging peacefully by the open window, sunlight cascading upon her brown curls and turning them to liquid gold. The hem of her violet dress just barely brushed the floor, and Eleanor ruefully realised that Mabel was bare-foot, her toes peeking out from under the fabric. Despite the day, however, she looked sullen and grave.

Resting her fingers on the open door, Eleanor bit her rouged lip the slightest. "Mabel," she called lightly, and her daughter turned her head in response. "I expect you to be ready for supper tonight. Thomas and Sybil will be over again, and I want you dressed for the occasion."

Mabel had listened as the door closed quietly and her mother was gone.

٭

Mabel supposed it was later afternoon when she received her second visitor. She had long since shooed Royce outside, a twinge of guilt nipping incessantly at her insides that wouldn't be satisfied until she did so. Lettice and the other maids had called her down for luncheon and tea, of course, and she spent those two occasions in the kitchen with the head maid Ruth and the cook Wallace. Her conversations with them were half-hearted and it wasn't long before she returned to the silence of her room.

There was a knock at her door.

Before she had the slightest chance to answer, someone flounced in and closed the door loudly behind them.

It was Joyce, Mabel's younger sister.

"Will you ever learn to knock?" Mabel asked, turning her head to listen to Joyce's footsteps.

The reply was flippant. "We're sisters, for goodness sakes! We don't need to knock when entering one another's rooms. Thomas, however…"

"I heard you were at the market today," Mabel interrupted.

Joyce settled herself on the other end of the chaise. "Mother told you?"

"Of course. You left rather early. Gone to visit your sweetheart, I presume?" Mabel asked slyly, and could imagine her sister's blush.

"And if I did?" her sister challenged.

"You better hope mother didn't see you," she replied simply.

"Actually, I rather think she would think us a fine match," Joyce chuckled.

"Then why did you leave so early?"

"I left early because I wanted to beat the crowds. You know how busy Port Royal gets in the afternoon. All those elegant ladies and their flocks of handmaids to do their every bidding. They take up the whole street! I haven't a clue how mother can stand them," she sighed in exasperation.

Mabel nodded in agreement. Their mother didn't employ many maids in their large house, but there were a fair fewwomen keepingup with the cleaning and cooking.There were enough to keep her satisfied and her reputation high, but with no income, Eleanor preferred to save rather than to spend. Except when it came to special occasions, at which point she would throw out money on dresses and drinks and food and decorations. She only wanted to attract the richest of the rich, of course, to spy out a suitor for her two daughters.

As Mabel recalled, that was how Thomas and Sybil had met.

Thankfully, those days had seemed to dwindle which each passing year as both daughters turned down man after man after man.

"I'll accompany you in the gardens if you like," Joyce offered suddenly, breaking through Mabel's thoughts.

"I suppose..Royce must be lonely all by himself."

Joyce nodded in approval and sprung up from her seat. Grabbing hold of her sister's hand, she tugged the woman up. "Oh yes, I'm sure he's positively dying without your company."

٭

Eleanor was back before four o'clock, cheery and wistful as she so often was after one of the Ladies' gatherings. Upon her arrival, she immediately ushered her two daughters to their rooms and sent the maids up to work on them. Thomas and Sybil were coming for dinner again, after all, and after Mabel's display the night before, she was most determined to make up for it.

Mabel was washed, primped, and plucked, all by the maid's hands, who all seemed most eager to see their Mistress in a fine dress for once. She never made it a habit of hers to wear corsets when she didn't need one, and had many 'ordinary dresses,' as her mother called them.

Mabel, not being able to see them, was quite inclined to disagree. They were comfortable and practical, especially for one who owned a large, active dog.

Thomas and Sybil arrived promptly, and they sat down for dinner immediately. Eleanor preferred talk over food than over drinks.

Despite her blindness, it was of essence for Mabel to have learned proper table manners. Her mother made it so. She knew which fork and knife to use first, and could serve her own food without a mess. She could use a napkin and find her glass without spilling her drink. One couldn't mistake her manners for anything but perfect.

As an infant, however, she had been horrendous, or so she had heard. So much so, that she had scared off her nursemaid several times.

She had refused to eat with forks. She had refused to sit up straight, instead rocking back in forth in her chair like a deranged child, picking at the food on her plate with her bare fingers. She had grabbed with her hands and slurped at her soup, holding the bowl to her lips instead of using a spoon. She had spilled her drinks constantly, and knocked over her chair in anger when her parents had scolded her. She simply didn't understand.

A blind child, Mabel knew, was not an easy one to raise. And having a mother as strict as her own was not easy on a blind child.

She turned out quite all right, though, and there was little trace of that devil child she had been. Dinner was a breeze.

Mabel listened to the conversations around her more than she contributed to them. Joyce was the outspoken one, Mabel was a thoughtful speaker. Sybil was quiet. Thomas was…well, Thomas. He was rigid and stern, his manners tedious. He stayed firm to his ideas, and once one got him talking on a subject he enjoyed, there was no stopping him.

As a result, the four women at the table were subjected an hour of naval stories Thomas had collected over the years. He wasa newlypromotedlieutenant at Fort Charles, and was eager to impress anyone.

"How is the search for that awful pirate ship going, Thomas?" Eleanor asked idly, sipping from her goblet. She had skilfully diverted the conversation from the various parts of a ship to the current news in Port Royal.

Thomas's knife scraped loudly on his plate as his grip slipped, making the whole table flinch. Mabel wondered if it had anything to do with the mention of this 'pirate ship.' Stilling her own motions, she set her fork down and listened. The table had suddenly grown silent.

Thomas cleared his throat loudly, a telltale sign of embarrassment. "Well, actually, we haven't yet caught onto her trail again…" he spoke awkwardly. Mabel had an idea that Sybil was sitting quietly at her brother's side, obedient and apart from the conversation. She hadn't heard but a few words from the woman the whole evening.

Joyce piped up. "Oh! I heard all about this at the market today. The locals have been on about it for a couple of days now, Thomas. I didn't catch the whole story, though. What was the ship's name again?"

Thomas seemed hesitant to answer. "Well, I'm not sure this is appropriate dinner conversation..." he protested feebly.

"Don't be a prat, Tom!" Joyce protested.

Eleanor coughed slightly. "Watch your language!" she warned absently. She still needed answers to her questions. Eleanor was an extremely nosy woman, a trait that didn't seem to carry onto her children too much. "This ship, Thomas?" she prompted, leaving no room for argument.

Silence reigned at the table.

Mabel located her goblet and took a careful sip of the wine. "Come on, Thomas. This will most likely be the most exciting thing I'll be privy to for a long while," she said blatantly, prompting him to continue.

Across the table, Eleanor hummed a note of warning and Thomas cleared his throat again. The whole table waited.

"Well, she was the Black Pearl. You know her, of course. Commodore Norrington has been after her captain since he escaped the noose some months back," he stated, and that seemed to be the end of it.

But Joyce, being young still, was a deal more curious than the rest of them. "And…?" she pressed expectantly, and Mabel imagined that she was waving a fork about for emphasis. Her sister had been known for food flying from her forks.

"And we haven't found him," Thomas replied sternly.

"A disappearing act, Thomas?"Mable questioned wryly.

Thomas glared at his sister, although he knew she couldn't see it, he had a feeling she could feel it. "Indeed," he told her firmly.

Sybil spoke up then, coming to her husband's aide. "Now, now, Tom has had a hard few days. The Commodore is determined to capture the Black Pearl, and he's sending most his marines, the Dauntless and the Intrepid out to search for it."

Eleanor broke in, "Yes, but what's the man's name, again? I recall it being terribly outlandish."

All the women nodded fervently, curious.

Thomas took a deep breath. "Jack Sparrow, mother. His name is Jack Sparrow. A black hearted and evil man who—"

"—Saved the Governor's kidnapped daughter from the clutches of evil pirates and single-handedly escaped from the gallows on the day of his execution!" Joyce completed excitedly. "Port Royal was up in tuff for weeks afterward! I remember it quite clearly."

Mabel mentally agreed with her sister. The Black Pearl had sounded familiar, and so did the name Jack Sparrow. And to think, her brother had encountered that ship just a few days ago, before it had disappeared without a trace. How odd…

"And you say you haven't a clue where he is?" Mabel asked suddenly, her interest piqued.

"Well, no…" Thomas began, "But she was in battle with another ship when we encountered her."

The table gasped.

"Truly?" Mabel questioned, lips pursed. "So the ship was damaged when she slipped out from under you nose? What of the other one?"

"They both escaped. It was foggy," Thomas defended himself.

"You don't suppose this Jack Sparrow took shelter on the island, do you?" Mabel asked quickly, her mind racing.

Her brother seemed hesitant to answer."Many of his men were injured, I believe. It's a possibility…"

Eleanor cut in loudly. "And one to be discussed at a time more convenient! Now, dinner is for eating, not to discuss the Commodore's war tactics," she scolded. Clearly, the discussion had turned too gruesome for her liking.

So, the table fell into polite conversation once more, and all the while Mabel sat quiet, her thoughts in a jumble.

Jack Sparrow and the legendary Black Pearl she marvelled to herself. Hiding on this island? It seemed mad, with Commodore Norrington and Fort Charles stationed to watch the ocean…

Mabel suddenly felt something press against her skirts under the tablecloth, and then, the familiar thumping of a tail.

Oh no, she mentally cringed. Royce had somehow escaped his confinement outside and had snuck into the dining room, no doubt because of the smell of food. It wasn't the first time, for sure, and she clearly remembered how every other time had turned out.

Royce, completely oblivious to his precarious situation, commenced with sniffing loudly about the carpet. He was on the prowl for table scraps.

The dog wandered off and Mabel forced herself to keep a straight face, taking a sip from her wine goblet. It was only a matter of time.

Sybil suddenly split into a piercing shriek, and the deafening clatter of cutlery accompanied by the sound of a chair being turned over was heard. Thomas sprang up seconds later, curses spilling from his mouth, and Royce, thinking it was all a game, barked loudly.

Eleanor's angry voice was heard over the noise, and Mabel faintly heard Joyce laughing to herself.

"You abominable mutt! You disgusting animal! Get out! OUT!" Eleanor shouted angrily.

Something fell, shattering loudly, and Mabel could only guess what it was. She winced at the sudden chaos.

"No! NO! Get off the table now! I'll have you skewered, you horrid beast! Those are Wallace's best rolls!"