The Sighted

Chapter 4

Simplicity

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The birds woke Mabel the next morning, with their incessant chirping outside her window. She fell into a curious, sombre mood quickly, her thoughts in a jumble. Royce had been tied up outside last night for causing the catastrophe at the dinner table, and she felt his absence as she waited for Lettice.

The lively maid arrived with another, Annie. Mabel allowed the two to aid in dressing her before they bid her good day and disappeared with a rustling of skirts.

Mabel then rummaged about for her best walking shoes before she left her room, padding as silently as she could down the large hallway. Approximately twenty-five footsteps from her door was another, Joyce's. Her thoughts seemed to be pulling her in two different directions. Taking a deep breath, she touched her fingers to the wood and knocked twice very lightly with her knuckles.

The door swung open violently a moment later.

"What's your business about at the crack of dawn? What is it that you want?" Joyce grumbled sleepily, and Mabel imagined that she looked quite dishevelled.

"Shhh!" she hissed. "I've simply come to tell you I'll be out with Royce this morning."

"Again?" Joyce demanded, but in a softer tone.

"Of course. Now, if I'm not back within a few hours and mother starts to fuss, feel free to alert the whole household. Otherwise, I forbid you to speak a word to anyone!" Mabel directed firmly.

Sighing, her sister agreed.

"Thank you." Mabel gave the younger woman a quick peck on the cheek. "Don't worry. Royce will be with me," she assured her sister, but wondered if she wasn't trying to assure herself.

Many in the household didn't know why Mabel was such a stubborn woman, taking walks by herself in the company of her dog when her mother repeatedly attempted to deter such activities. She rarely took visitors and preferred her own company most days. The truth was that the blind woman considered Royce a friend more than a pet. Someone to share the outdoors with. It seemed that people no longer had the time to appreciate the simpler things—the smell of morning dew and the velvety skin of leaves beneath fingertips.

If Mabel didn't have the freedom to see the world, she would have the freedom to explore it with her fingertips and ears.

Royce seemed to share her inane joy for the simplistic.

Mabel took the stairs slowly, all twenty-four of them, her hand clutched tight onto the banister. As she had thought, the only sound from downstairs was from the kitchen where Wallace was preparing breakfast for the servants before Eleanor awoke. It would be a simple getaway, and Mabel calmly walked down the hallway leading to the back door and exited the house into the gardens.

Immediately, a sort of overjoyed whining filled the air. It was Royce, of course, tied securely to a post set into the ground in the garden. His claws scratched insistently upon the stone path as he strained to get closer to her.

She hushed him firmly and ran her fingers through his thick fur as she untied the knot securing him to the post. Then, making sure the rope stayed tied tightly to his collar, she wrapped it around her hand twice and urged him forward, patting his rump lightly.

"Come along, Royce. We're going for another walk," she told the animal, and upon recognizing the familiar 'w' word, he set off through the gardens at a quick pace, leading Mabel out the back gate and into the grass fields.

For all intents and purposes, Mabel only wished to take a peaceful stroll around the outskirts of the fields surrounding the Browning manor. Originally, she had began slipping from the house only to avoid the clutches of her overbearing mother, who—bless her soul—still firmly believed that Mabel was a helpless child and needed watching over like a hawk.

All three of Eleanor's children had grown quickly and taken on their own responsibilities early on in life. When Henry, Mabel's deceased father, had been killed at sea while in the navy when she was nearing her thirteenth year, the three Browning siblings had banded together to help around the house as much as they could.

As a result, Eleanor hadn't had very long to baby and pamper her three children.

Mabel believed her mother was making up for lost time, and usually put up with such treatment with a fixed smile. Though her mother may have had a point about her being helpless as a blind woman, Mabel was quite able to take care of herself. And when she couldn't, she was quite confident that Royce would. She had spent the latter part of her younger years training him as a guide, friend, and protector.

So, as it was, Mabel, who was on the verge of slipping into her thirtieth year, was quite confident that she was old enough to both stand up to her mother's constant admonishments and take care of herself quite fine without any aide (at least from human hands).

And as she continued on at her leisurely pace, shoes finding the familiar rocks and bumps in the worn path around the fields, Mabel wondered if it wouldn't hurt to pay a small visit to the beach. The same beach that she had encountered a group of rowdy yet compliant men two days before.

No matter how she tried to ignore it, the thought had been niggling at the back of her mind since the moment she woke. And, she supposed curiosity had once again gotten the better of her.

Royce found the stairs easily, and scampered down the first few stones quickly, eager to get to the sea. The sky was particularly bright that morning, not that she would know, but it had a peculiar effect on the large dog. Mabel, however, stood where she was. She might be stubborn but she certainly wasn't stupid. She hadn't the faintest clue even now why she had even come this far. A simple well-aimed shot could do her in for good…

"Foolishness," she cursed herself lightly under her breath. She had a mind to stomp back to the house and tell her mother everything, but what felt like a lead weight settled in her stomach as she thought about it.

"Oh, honestly!" she huffed, and tugged on her dog's leash, pulling him from the stairs where he so readily waited.

"I've decided not. Come along," she beckoned him.

She was jarred suddenly as large dog tugged the leash back and stopped to sniff the air. She could almost sense the animal's hair standing on end.

Mabel turned, her heart suddenly in her throat.

"Royce?" she questioned softly, as if expecting him to have a comforting reply.

He jerked forward suddenly, swiftly, and taking Mabel with him. The dog ripped the leash forcefully from her grasp, and Mabel tumbled face-first into the grass and ground, landing with an audible "oomph!" as the air was knocked from her lungs.

She lay still for a moment, gasping, stunned by what had occurred in so little time, before she noticed Royce's thundering barks were receding with the sound of cracking underbrush and

She forced herself up from the dirt with a groan, no doubt tearing a few spots in her dress. She listened frantically for the dog.

The beach. His barks were echoing off the surrounding trees below, but rapidly fading.

Horrified and hardly believing that it had happened once again, Mabel rushed forward, one hand outstretched before her while the other hiked up her skirts. Her hand felt for the large sandalwood tree by the stairs, and she shielded her face from the branches as she descended the stone steps quickly.

"Royce!" she shouted in a panic, shoes sinking into the familiar texture of the sand. "Come back!" she shouted, freezing a moment while waging an internal battle with herself. Sensible and reckless.

With a strangled cry of wordless, anxious anger, Mabel entered the surrounding forest with only the thought of finding the silly dog on her mind.

The foliage wasn't too thick around her feet, thank goodness, and her skirts didn't snag too much. The trees weren't thick, but spaced far apart. She still had to stop herself from running headfirst into one, however, and her hands groped passing trees as she crashed through the forest, calling her dog's name. Royce's barks were fading fast, and her throat was hoarse within a few minutes.

Honestly, you can do better than this! she scolded herself, and followed resiliently while tripping over roots and stubbing her toes through the worn leather of her shoes.

Soon, though, there was no sound save for the ferns crushing under her feet and the whipping of scraggly branches as she fought her way through them.

Mabel slowed to a stop, panting heavily with the feel of sticky sweat on her spine. She let her skirts drop to the ground, uncaring about whether they became dirtied. She breathed heavily, reaching out to steady herself on a large tree. High above in the canopy of leaves, birds chirped at twittered excitedly, watching her with their beady eyes.

And, as if suddenly realizing what she had gotten herself into, Mabel—uncharacteristically—cursed loudly.

She was lost. There was no sound of Royce. He had outrun her, but that was no surprise.

Vainly, she called out for the dog a few times, but when she received no answer or motion, she resigned herself to silence, wondering her predicament.

Fool, she told herself. She was a fool for running about the woods! Blind!

She smacked the tree in a spur of anger and earned another few scrapes in the process. Then she cursed once more before falling silent.

She listened. Her ears were now her only form of defence, but even that wouldn't do her much good now.

Mabel attempted to consol herself, repeating mentally that Joyce would eventually tell mother that she had gone for another walk, if she didn't know already. She wouldn't be lost forever, she told herself. Royce would come bounding back eventually, sniffing her out.

She pressed her back firmly to the tree and pressed her palms to her forehead to ward off her incoming headache. What a day this was turning out to be!

There was a sudden flapping of wings overhead accompanied by the faint rustling of the bushes.

Mabel's heart jumped as she whirled to face the noise, ears straining to hear something that would give her visitor away.

There was a snap of a twig behind her, and before Mabel could react, a strong arm wrapped firmly about her waist and the point of a pistol had been jammed none-too-gently into the soft skin beneath her jaw. Mabel let loose a choked cry, stiffening at the sudden contact. She heard the sound of a gun being cocked. It was quite familiar to her now.

"Now, and correct me if I'm mistaken, I believe I told you very politely not to come back here," a deep voice growled none-to-pleasantly into her ear.

Oh dear…she thought to herself, frozen in place. In vain, she attempted to crane her head away from the pistol, but it pressed more firmly into the soft flesh of her neck. Swallowing, she told herself she recognized this man's voice. He had spoken to her on the beach, and such a distinctly slurred accent wasn't easily forgotten.

She felt a warm puff of breath on the exposed skin of her neck, and swallowed uneasily. Never had a man handled her so roughly. She was quite used to the playful pushing of her brother and the light swats from her sister, but the society gentlemen never snatched her about the waist and breathed down her neck like brazen rogues! Such things never happened!

The arm tightened about her waist, and she stiffened further, almost to the point of pain.

"C'mon, lass. As I recall, you're blind, not mute," the nameless man spoke, and she could hear the grin in his voice.

Goodness, she thought to herself. She'd had an odd feeling about this man the other day, and now she knew that he knew her secret. Well, it wasn't much of a secret, as most of Port Royal knew the eldest Browning daughter was blind. But to strangers she could have appeared normal. Clearly, this stranger was a very observant one. And, at any other moment, she might have been outraged by his words. But, while restrained by a male who happened to have a pistol (and goodness knows what other weapons!), coherent speech was quite lost to her, as was any semblance of temper. She wasn't foolish enough to snap back at him.

"My dog…" she spoke breathlessly, mortified by her inability to form an explanation. But what was her excuse?

The man, as if knowing the reason for her stuttering speech, lessened the pressure on her jaw with his pistol. It was a simple relief, but the cool metal stayed upon her skin, which was suddenly hot as her heart pounded in her ribcage.

"You're dog what, m'lady…?" he taunted her, voice humorous.

Mabel had a strong feeling that he already knew the reason for her being her and was just playing mind games with her. Nonetheless, she attempted to speak again, trying to ignore the gun at her neck and the presence of him pressed up against her back. Her insides were trembling with fear.

"M-my dog...I was—w-we…a walk. And he-he ran off. I was trying to find him; b-but he lost me in the woods," she stammered, swallowing thickly. Dear lord, she hoped this man was satisfied with her answer. It was the truth, wasn't it?

There was silence for a moment. It seemed to last for an eternity in which Mabel was held in agonizing suspense.

"Ahh…" he spoke, seemingly contemplating something. "You are a blind woman who is attempting to find her faithful dog…in the woods? Forgive me if this sounds presumptuous, but I find that highly unlikely," he replied lowly, and the pistol once again pressed into the sensitive spot underneath her jaw. "Pray, tell me. What were you doing walking a dog in the wilderness alone? I recall telling you not to return lest you be looking for trouble, love."

She felt her stomach drop, her throat closing. Tears of fear pricked at her eyes, and she shut them tight while forcing a ragged breath of air into her lungs.

He prodded her insistently with the pistol. "Answer, or there'll be a whole lot more trouble," he warned her, a dangerous edge to his voice.

Somehow, Mabel managed to find the strength to speak while fighting off tears and fear. "I told you! My dog has run off and I am simply trying to find him!" She prayed she hadn't upset the man too much. She had no wish to die.

Apparently, he was satisfied with her answer. The pistol was un-cocked and removed. In but a moment, she was freed, and she clutched at the rough bark of the tree to keep her steady. Just then, she noticed that her legs were shaking terribly.

"I suppose that's truth enough…as long as you've kept that pretty little mouth of your quiet and not spoken a word of me to anyone. Really, I'd hate to have to shoot you," he spoke lightly, jaunting at her cheerfully. Still, though, there was an underlying threat to his words that she didn't like the slightest.

Clutching her throat with her free hand, Mabel wiped any telltale tears from her eyes before turning to face him. She folded her hands and held her head high, staring where she expected him to be.

"That would be quite unnecessary, Mr…" she waited for a name.

He ignored the request. "Good, then we'll keep it that way, eh? You do no harm to me and I'll do no harm to you."

Mabel wondered if what had just occurred was included on his list of 'harmful activities,' but spoke nothing aloud.

"Now that we've gotten past any hostilities, sir, I would like to continue my search for my dog," she told him firmly, but her shaken state was evident by the tiny waver in her voice.

When he spoke next, he was to her right. The sudden movement started her, but she masked it well.

"Ah yes…the animal," he murmured. "The beast came crashing through here not but a few minutes before you." He spoke the words carelessly, as if he was faced with a tiresome conversation.

Mabel gave him what she imagined to be a sharp look, brow furrowed. "You…" she began heatedly, but thought better of it. She'd been about to accuse him of trickery when she realized she wasn't the armed one out of the two of them.

"I trust you saw which way he ran?" she questioned instead, ignoring her irritation.

"West, I believe," was the prompt, nonchalant answer.

And only if she knew where west was! Silent, she guessed his location and glared.

There was a moment of hesitation, as if he was unsure whether to say more. "Ahhh…west towards my camp, actually. Your…dog must have caught onto the scent of my men."

Mabel didn't know whether to praise her good fortune or feel uneasy about this sudden revelation. Certainly, when she had met the man two days before he hadn't been alone, but now he had a camp? Whatever for? Was he a robber, a highwayman?

Stifling her fears, she replied. "Well then, if you'd be so kind, I'd like to visit this camp of yours and retrieve my dog. Then we can go our separate ways with no harm done." Her words sounded too hopeful, and she doubted that this man trusted her enough to lead her to his camp.

But then again, she was blind, both an advantage and a disadvantage. Who knew this man wouldn't lead her on a wild goose chase?

It was a matter of trust, she told herself. Not all men were scoundrels.

It was a moment longer before he answered. "Well, I suppose my men wouldn't greatly miss the company of your animal, and I have the distinct feeling you won't stop pursuing me until he's back in your care." It was as close to a yes as she was going to get.

"Your men?" Mabel echoed curiously.

The man grabbed hold of her wrist and pulled her forward. "Aye, and you're mutt didn't take a liking to them," he spoke lowly. "Might I suggest you keep a tighter reign on the beast?"

Mabel pulled back, freeing her wrist. "You're men? How many are there of you?" she all but demanded.

She could have sworn she heard a growl of anger. "What'd I say? No harm to me, no harm to you. You need not know more'n that." He tugged her forward again, and she tripped clumsily, stumbling into him with a yelp. Caught off guard, the man caught her by the arms and pulled her to his chest, stumbling backwards himself.

Mabel could feel the warm, bare skin of his chest against her cheek. Her cheeks flared up instantly with red colour, she pushed herself roughly away from him.

Ignoring the incident, she retaliated. "My questions are harmless, sir! By now you should have realised I'd not risk my life to have you arrested!" she snapped, trying to hide her blush with anger. Flustered, she set her chin and crossed her arms resiliently. "And I don't you lay your—your violent hands on me once more! I can walk quite well on my own, thank you!"

"Violent hands?" Jack exclaimed, feeling his patience wane. "I'll show ye violent hands if you don't tame your temper!"

Mabel gasped. "You-you—" she stuttered. "You sottish ruffian!"

"Quite a mouth for such a small maid," Jack quipped snidely. He watched the blind woman through narrowed eyes, taking in her harried appearance: wet sand upon her skirts, twigs and leaves in her hair (yet again!) and a miserably reddened face. Then, snorting, he turned and began to march off.

"And since you're so able, feel free to follow behind me then, m'lady!" he called back mockingly over his shoulder, setting a quick pace west. Ungrateful wench…he huffed to himself. Ungrateful, prying wench!

Despite any resentment he may have had, though, Jack made quite sure to walk as noisily as possible lest the woman become lost. And, he listened intently for her cautious footsteps behind him, just in case. He certainly didn't want her dog to stay at his camp forever! Especially when it was so, well, mean. And having a lost woman in the forest so near his men and ship was definitely not a good thing. The whole of Fort Charles could be on the look out for her by now!

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Mabel was somewhat surprised that after what only seemed like a few minutes, they arrived at their destination. It was a clearing by the sea, that much she could tell. The smell of smoke and unwashed bodies assaulted her nose, as well as the harsher scent of tar. There seemed to be a sudden collective murmur as they entered the clearing, and she could almost feel the eyes of many men upon her, sizing her up as though she was some sort of prey.

She vaguely wished she could see where she was, but the urge stamped itself out quickly as a familiar bark greeted her ears.

The stranger, a few steps ahead of her the whole time, called out suddenly. "Let the beast be, ye scoundrels! The lady's come to retrieve him."

Mabel was elated when Royce crashed into her legs; tail wagging gleefully as he nearly bowled her over. She crouched down to ruffle his fur, allowing him to lick her hands.

Immediately, shouts rang about the camp.

"Where'd ye find her, mate?"

"Aye, she's too pretty to go a wandering about the woods!"

"Does she want to stay for a spot o' brekkist? She be more than welcome about my fire!"

A chorus of laughter rowdy laughter broke out in the camp, and Mabel's ears were overwhelmed. There had to be more than thirty!

"Keep yer gobs shut, ladies! Back to work!" The stranger hollered over the din.

The men dispersed, but clung about the woman nonetheless, more pretending to do 'work' than anything. Mabel's grip on Royce had unconsciously tightened, and the dog, blissful, was thumping his tail happily.

"You gave me a right scare, old fool," she told the animal fondly.

Jack slipped away discreetly, keeping his eyes on her the entire time. He found Gibbs not far away, standing near a fire over which roasted a few fish. He looked both flabbergasted and peeved. With a silencing glare, Jack spoke in low tones.

"There will be no calling me Captain or by my name. The lass may be blind by she's got the hearing of that damn dog o' hers." His gaze travelled to the Pearl's broken formnot a hundred yards from the blind woman, her torn sails flapping pitifully in the breeze.

Gibbs's eyebrows shot up as he stared at the newcomer. "That her?" he asked, watching as she continued to shower her dog with attention. Naturally, Jack had told the tale of the blind woman on the beach to his whole crew, with a few embellishments of course. He'd imagined her to look a bit more, well, helpless.

Jack nodded once, quickly, noticing his men slowly seemed to be crowding around her. "Aye, now spread the word," he said, and sauntered across the beach, back to the woman and the animal. He sent his crew warning looks as he did so.

He stopped in front of her, looking down his nose at her while propping his hands on his hips. "As you can tell, your beast is none the worse for wear. As for my men, however…" He recalled the dog latching on to Moises as soon as it the camp. Apparently, the man smelled appealing, for the dog hadn't let go until several men had forcefully pried it off.

He assumed a stormy expression, even though he knew it wouldn't affect the woman. She merely tilted her head up in acknowledgement, and for a moment, he could have sworn that her hazel eyes saw as clear as day.

"I thank you, then. Considering the circumstances, you've been most kind," she stated slowly.

Jack opened his mouth to reply, but was distracted as Gibbs pushed his way through the ring of men. "Stop dawdling, you ninnies!" he told them firmly before facing the blind woman with a frown.

Mabel could hear him breathing, as well as his footsteps. "And you might be…?" she inquired politely, trying her hardest to remain politely oblivious while trying to extract information. There was something about these men…

The man didn't answer her question. He seemed content to insult her, "Blindness be an act of the devil himself." He crossed himself solemnly.

To Mabel, it seemed somewhat of a challenge. She frowned slightly, feeling a sudden irritation. "If that's true, then why aren't you afraid, sir?" she asked, a bit mulishly, stroking Royce's head to calm both him and her.

Jack grinned as Gibbs sputtered. "She's got you there, mate," he said dryly. "Might I commend you lady. He's so full of codswallop one day I'm afraid he may just burst."

Mabel's only response was a weak smile, well aware of the many eyes still locked upon the three (four) of them. She knew, however, that it was time for her to go before she was missed.

"My thanks again, for retaining my dog. I'm afraid I may be missed at my Lady's," she said formally. "But, before I leave, I think it would be only polite to know your name, sir."

Jack lofted an eyebrow in surprise at her prim request. "Ladies first," he replied swiftly.

She raised her chin, amused. "Very well. My name is Mabel. I work as a maid for the Lady Browning. Perhaps you've heard of her?" she prompted.

"Me name's John Smith, and I can't say I have," he told her, and it was the truth. Jack didn't often keep track of the high society in Port Royal, much less their names.

Gibbs snorted suddenly. "And what kind o' work does a blind woman do for a Lady?" he asked suspiciously.

Mabel opened her mouth to reply, hesitating only a moment. "My Mistress has been kind enough to employ me in her kitchens. And, I walk her dog, of course. The Lady Browning has become rather frail in her older years," she lied cleverly, attempting to keep it simple.

"Ah, sensible work, I suppose…" the portly man said, at a loss.

Mabel made a small noise, relieved. "Well, then, good day to you, Mr Smith," she nodded briefly in 'John's' direction and attempting to sound sincere. "I hope I haven't inconvenienced you too much."

"Nay, that would have been the dog."

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Mabel had made it perfectly clear that she could make it back to the beach quite fine by herself, but John Smith had insisted on leading her back. "To make sure you don't lose your way," he had told her, but she rather thought that he was nervous that she was going to tell someone of him and his 'men.' Or get lost, which would result in an uproar at the house—and Fort Charles if her mother had anything to do with it.

She gave him neither gratitude nor grievances, preferring to stay quiet about the whole affair. They spent their short walk to the beach in silence until she felt the familiar sand beneath her shoes once more.

He had stopped walking, standing at the edge of the small clearing.

"Might I be able to persuade you not to come around here again?" he asked her reproachfully.

"Me? Perhaps," she smiled. "My dog? Not likely."

He sighed. "Perhaps? Would a simply please do?" he questioned.

Mabel's brow furrowed. "Please? As I recall, the last time you had to threaten me!"

"Well, look where it's got me!" he said, exasperated. "Although I suppose I should warn you that the next time you happen to stumble upon me I won't be nearly so hospitable. Keep a close eye on that mutt of yours, too."

"I can't exactly keep an eye on him, as you say, so I can't make any promises," she stated swiftly.

He made a noise of annoyance. "Sticks and stones, lady. You keep your mouth shut and you ne'er fear a thing from me."

How pleasant, she thought mentally. "Very well."

"I'm glad we've finally come to an agreement." He said wryly. "Now I must leave your company, which I'm sure would have been much more pleasant without that beast of yours," he told her sweetly.

Mabel had the distinct feeling that he didn't care much for Royce. She didn't bother to dip him a curtsey.

"Good day, Mister Smith."

There was no parting answer, and she assumed he had left. Sighing to herself, she took a good grip on Royce's leash and together they ascended the steps leading to the field above. From the intensity of the sun on the back of her neck, Mabel guessed it was mid-morning already. She could still smell the faint traces of dew on in the long grass.

As she plodded tiredly into the garden, closing the gate behind her, a terrible shriek rose from the back door of the house.

"Mabel! Where on earth have you been? And what have you done to that dress?"