Chapter 1: A New Forging

Elizabeth Norrington stared up at the ceiling as her husband swayed and jerked above her, making love to her in their grand, four-poster bed. She studied the grand patterns on the flying buttresses peeking through the curtains and marveled at their beauty.

James entered her with another powerful thrust, and she groaned – the sound torn from her lips not entirely pleasurable. Her husband, the good Commodore, was quite the… passionate lover – passionate sometimes synonymous with rough. Yet his ardor for her was quite sincere. There were even times he could be awkward and sweetly shy in displaying for her his affections. It had been a fine match, when they had been betrothed and married; her father, Weatherby Swann had been pleased, and the nuptials had been the finest celebration Port Royal had seen for many months. The new Mrs. Norrington had moved all her possessions to the Commodore's estate, and James had even been gracious enough to set up a guest room for her father when he came to call.

James's thrusts were weakening, his sweat mixing with her own onto her skin. He finally collapsed atop her, spent and wheezing from the exertion. Elizabeth hummed prettily, stirring, squirming as she pleaded to be let up.

Her husband rolled off her, curling into her side and nuzzling his nose against her nipple, the swell of her breast.

"You… are exquisite, my pet," he rasped.

"Hmm," she demurred. "So I've been told." She rose from the four-poster to draw her nightgown and wrap about herself, redressing from a early-morning bout of lovemaking.

"Lord sake's, my love! Is there a point to getting redressed? Call the servants and let them draw you a bath! It is past sunrise!"

Elizabeth turned back to her husband appraisingly. "All right," she agreed. "But only if you draw the bath for me."

James chortled at this drolly. "I'm afraid it simply isn't done, my sweet. Not to worry; I'll send for Carlotta!"

"At this hour?!" Elizabeth had always made a point to be courteous of her servants' time. Many of them had nursed and dressed her since she was a young girl, having been brought over from her father's house once she had wed.

James shrugged, reaching for the pull-rope attached to the bell. "Early to bed, early to rise makes a man healthy, wealthy and wise, as they say. No doubt the same should apply for a man's household."

Elizabeth smirked, placing her hands on her hips. "I would not have taken you, dear husband, to be a reader of Dr. Franklin's."

"Oh, I don't care for the Doctor's politics, heathen rebel that he is," James was quick to dismiss, as he pulled on his sleep trousers and shirt. "But even I can appreciate a cultured, learned gentleman when I read his writings."

He tugged on the pull-rope, and a bell rang in the near distance. Moments later, a servant girl entered and curtsied low.

"You summoned me, my lord?"

"Please draw a bath for Mrs. Norrington and prepare to dress her at once," James ordered. "I shall be adorning myself in uniform for the day. I have pressing duties at the garrison and I shan't be late." He swept impetuously from the room. Carlotta turned to her lady with an expression that was part-smile, part-grimace. Elizabeth stifled a giggle, drawing a hand to her mouth. If her husband had one flaw, it was his tendency towards self-importance.

Carlotta drew Elizabeth her bath and scrubbed her skin until it was practically baby pink. Then she dressed her in her corset and dress, followed by a hoop skirt. Elizabeth listened to the rustling of the fabric, winced at the tightening of the corset around her waist and hips.

"Joy to the day when women will no longer have to asphyxiate by way of the clothes we wear!" she bemoaned to her lady's maid.

Carlotta clucked with amusement. "Aye, milady, but whatever else shall we be dressing ourselves in? A woman's figure mustn't be left unguarded – 'tis too tempting for knaves and scoundrels!"

"Which should concern us more, Carlotta?" Elizabeth riposted. "A lack of virginity or a lack of air? Being asphyxiated or being raped?"

Carlotta twittered out a nervous chuckle. "My lady, you both amuse and frighten me with such a wit!"

"Yes, well," Elizabeth hummed, turning back so as to allow Carlotta to do up her hair, then select a hat for her. "The wife of a Commodore must be a worldly woman, should she not? James escorts me to so many functions that discuss politics as it is! The least I can be is a lady of thought and intelligence!"

"If you say so, ma'am," Carlotta softly patted her cheek. Elizabeth took her hand and squeezed it with a smile of thanks. Then she swept from her rooms and descended the stair.

In the parlor, she found her husband and her father (who had stayed in his guest quarters for the night), holding a sword between them and discussing animatedly.

"Take it to Brown's!" Elizabeth's father was insisting.

"No, dear sir, not I!" James almost twittered, as though the very suggestion offended him. "I have pressing duties at the garrison!"

Elizabeth floated to her husband's side. "Dear husband, what's wrong?"

"Oh, it's this blasted sword!" James growled, showing it to his wife. "The handle's been bent, dash it all! And what's worse, your father here says it has unbalanced the blade! I'll need this sword for the commissioning of the new officers next Friday week, once they arrive at port!"

"James, my boy, if you are busy, then let me take the sword to the blacksmith!" Weatherby pleaded.

"And inconvenience a gentleman such as yourself? Certainly not!" James sniffed.

Elizabeth bit her lip thoughtfully. "I will take it to the blacksmith, then."

Both her father and her husband burst into laughter. "Oh, my Elizabeth, you are such a tease!" James chortled. "A lady running an errand? I'm afraid it simply isn't done! I will summon one of the slaves – Moses, I should think; he understands smithing and such things…"

"Moses is busy in the stables!" Elizabeth blurted quickly. "Carlotta informed me as she was dressing me! Why not ready the coach and footman for me? I can take the sword down to this Brown fellow, deposit it and come right back!"

James glanced anxiously at the clock; time was of the essence if he was to make the garrison. "Oh, very well, then! Platt!" he called to one of the servants. "Please bring Mrs. Norrington a carriage, if you please, and send for it round out front!"

"Right away, Commodore!"

Several minutes later, a coach, team of horses and footmen were ready. Weatherby handed the driver a slip of parchment.

"Here is the address, my good man. Don't tarry – Mrs. Norrington should not trouble herself needlessly." With his cane in one hand, he tipped his hat to his daughter with the other. "Safe travels, my girl."

"Thank you, Father! Do be careful!" Elizabeth called, as her father walked at a brisk step out the estate's front gate. The gentleman Swann headed in one direction while the coachman clicked the reins and sent the carriage off at a trot away from the Commodore's mansion and down the other side of the street.

The carriage clacked to a halt in front of a humble shopfront in the bustling village settled along the wharves of Port Royal. Elizabeth graciously accepted the dutiful hand the footman held out to her and descended the carriage step.

A heavy wooden door greeted her, above which there was a sign that simply read: BROWN, BLACKSMITH. Gingerly, Mrs. Norrington pushed the door to.

All was quiet, minus the sound of clanging coming from the back. A large wooden wheel rotated off to one side, its movement propelled by a tethered nanny goat and donkey, clopping about in a circle.

Elizabeth drew the encased sword close to her bosom. "Hello?" she called.

No answer for a moment.

"My… my name is Elizabeth Norrington! I'm here on behalf of the Commodore. He…. requires a sword repaired."

As her voice echoed away through the space, the clanging coming from the back came to an abrupt halt a moment later. Elizabeth glanced about, still seeing no one. She was just about to exit and call for her manservant to ready the horses when:

"Good morning, madam. You say you have a sword in need of repairing?"

Elizabeth spun about and yelped, startled in spite of herself. A slightly dirty man stood before her, fair-skinned and with dark hair tied off in a ponytail. Her eyes performing a quick appraisal, finding him decently dressed in a waistcoat and pantaloons. Were it not for the setting, and the apron now peeking out from behind the curtains of his lapels, she might have mistook him for a middle-class gentleman.

But really struck Elizabeth about the man were his eyes. They were deep, pools of hazel. His face also appeared quite smooth and gentle – not sharp and angular, as she might have expected or imagined of a blacksmith. The beginnings of a mustache completed the look – on the whole, she had to declare him quite handsome.

"I, uh…. Er….." she stuttered for a moment, and it was totally unbecoming of a lady to be unable to find words, but she was quite struck by the handsome looks of this dashing stranger. "I am Commodore Norrington's wife. He wishes to have this sword repaired by next Friday week, in time for the new sailors' commissions!" She held the boxed sword aloft and presented it to him.

The stranger accepted the box gingerly, removed the lid, and lifted the sword by its handle. What little sunlight reached in here glinted off the blade. The reflection of the light made the stranger's face sparkle as well as the blade. Elizabeth averted her eyes almost shyly.

Inspecting the blade, the stranger was mumbling to himself. "Blade is unbalanced. Nearly the full width of it, too!" He tssked. He seemed to be diagnosing the problem in seconds. "And the handle…. Who does the metallurgy in your household?"

He seemed to speak this mostly to himself, yet Elizabeth answered him anyway. "One of our man-slaves, Moses."

"Hmm. He would do well to find an apprenticeship," the stranger mused.

"Indeed? I'll gladly inform my husband you said so! Perhaps you would be so kind as to take our slave on as an apprentice?" When he looked at her bemusedly, she faltered. "You… you are the master blacksmith, Mr. Brown, are you not?"

"Blacksmith, I am, madam, but I'm not the master. If you are looking for the master Brown, there he lies, in your eye." He pointed to the corner just off of the turning wooden wheel. A scream lodged in Elizabeth's throat, as for a moment, she feared the man sprawled in the corner dead. But no, he was simply unconscious. A half-empty bottle of spirits lay just off the fellow's boot.

Elizabeth side-eyed the stranger leerily.

"Poor chap. 'Tis drunk. He loves his liquid fire far more than the fire in our forgeries these days." The stranger shrugged. "Shame. He wasn't always like this. When I was first brought on…."

"Wait. So…. you're the apprentice?" Elizabeth marveled.

"Yes. I have been apprenticed to Mr. Brown these eight years, since I was 13."

Elizabeth smiled. He was her age, then. "Seems to me you are now the master, if yours has…. abdicated." She glanced down in Brown's direction with disdain.

"Don't judge him too harshly, madam. He has his vices, as do we all."

Elizabeth was taken aback by his eloquence. "And what are your vices, Mr. …. Mr. …?"

"Turner," he smiled at her. "William Turner. Jr.," he amended.

Elizabeth's smile grew. "William. A fine name for a gentleman."

"Nay, milady. Just for a blacksmith. And a fine enough name for the profession, at that." He suddenly tossed the commissioning sword into the air, and Elizabeth marveled at how, when it came down, it landed on his finger, the man attempting to balance it. The blade almost immediately teetered and clattered to the ground.

Elizabeth, however, was even more fascinated by William's hands. His were such large, massive hands…. calloused and strong. She figured he could wield a smithing hammer quite easily.

"By next Friday week, did you say, Mrs. Norrington?"

Jerking out of her thoughts at his voice, Elizabeth nodded slowly. William smiled at her, and she was struck dumb by how much she rather liked his smile. His was a tousled, easy grin. Confident. She had to admire such confidence, in a man. Her husband carried himself in much the same way, even if it was with a grander air.

"That will be plenty of time, then. Shall you be the one collecting it, or will your husband, the Commodore?"

"I shall!" Elizabeth stated, far too quickly. "My…. my husband has pressing duties at the garrison. He needn't be bothered with this errand."

"Very well, madam."

Elizabeth gulped. "Elizabeth," she almost whispered. "My… my name is Elizabeth."

William nodded to her. "As you say."

She nodded back. "Good day, Mr. Turner." She swept from the smithing shop, accepting her manservant's proffered hand as he helped her into the carriage. As the coach clattered away, William hastened to the door, watching her go.

"Good day….. Elizabeth."