Thanks so much to Telcontar Rulz, AKA Parfait, Hurricane 1714, and willabeth0906 for the reviews!!
Chapter 10: Rum-Soaked Plans
Jack Sparrow was feeling slightly irked. Well, more than slightly. He was irked. Fuming, in fact.
The port that lay before him was one of his least favorite in the world. Yes, he had indeed sacked all Nassau without firing a single shot but his last trip here hadn't been that pleasant.
A new merchant was in town that fateful day, one with exceedingly fine taste in rum and other alcoholic beverages.
Of course, Jack, being a rum connoisseur, had to…"sample" the stuff to determine whether it was fit for the public to consume. Unfortunately, things had gotten…a bit out of hand…
Grumbling all the while to himself about the bloody stupid whelp and his bloody damsel in distress or distressing damsel, the last two depended on his particular grammatical mood, he ordered Gibbs to lower a longboat.
"Cap'n," the scruffy first mate land a heavy hand on Jack's shoulder, clearly unnerved and twitchy. "I don't mean any disrespect but, uh…do you think it be wise to be landing 'ere? What with the…" he halted, seeing the crew's curious stare.
"What? Spit it out man!"
"What with the…you know…and all that."
"Simple complications, Mr. Gibbs, that will ensue more complications and all will be overcome. After all," He let his signature grin spread over his face, revealing a few golden teeth, "I'm Cap'n Jack Sparrow. I always, always win, savvy?"
"Aye, cap'n."
And so it was that near supper a slim longboat glided into the bay of Nassau guided by a queer looking man. The tiny vessel scraped up against the dock and the man climbed out and began lurching down the docks.
No one even thought to look up. This was the last rush before heading home. Bags, crates, and all other manner of containers were exchanged from man to man, loading them onto ships and taking empty boxes and barrels off.
No one noticed when the same odd man entered the local tavern and sat in the rear of the establishment, slouching in a rickety old chair. After all, in Jack's estimation, if a solution to the problem does not present itself, drink rum and all sorts of ideas will be opened to you.
"What will it be?" A bar maid with smooth brown skin and wide dark eyes asked brusquely.
"Ah, rum."
She sidled off and returned with a full mug, plunked it on the table, not noticing the amber splash of color it had created on her beige dress, took her payment, and vanished behind the counter.
"Company here is bloody overflowin' wif welcome." Jack muttered into his mug and took a long gulp of the wonderful stuff.
Several hours and many, many, many drinks later, Jack staggered from the tavern, head brimming with schemes to find Elizabeth.
Elizabeth gazed at the room given her in a spacious mansion in the richest neighborhood of Nassau. It was massive, bigger than her room back in Port Royal when she lived with her father.
It was a lavishly furnished room. Clean, cool white sheets covered the bed and soft mesh hanging from the bed frame kept the bugs out.
A wardrobe in a corner of the room held a pile of dresses, all cut for a pregnant woman, and a carved chest sat near the balcony leading to a breathtaking view of the sea.
Opposite from the bed a small desk rested with several sheets of clean paper, ink pot, and a sharp quill lying neatly on the smooth wood.
"Is the room sufficient for you, Mrs. Turner?" Charles entered cautiously, Emma at his heels.
"Oh yes!"
"I have started to inquire with the local merchant ships. You should be on the way to your husband within a fortnight." He smiled at her.
"Thank you, both of you. This is really very kind of you and if there is anything I can do to repay it…"
"Oh posh." Emma fluttered a hand. "It is nothing."
"We intend to have you as a guest while I find passage for you." Charles gently interposed.
Elizabeth let a small grin peek out tremulously. "Thank you. From the bottom of my heart, thank you."
Hours later Elaine, Mariel, and Celia returned to the barn to find the young redcoat still sleeping heavily.
"Mariel, help me get this filthy coat off." Elaine reached for the crimson jacket stained with blood, mud, and heaven knows what else.
The two sisters tugged and pulled at the cloth until at last it lay in a heap by the door. "Finally." Celia scooted towards the man with a dish of water and a clean rag handing Elaine the supplies before turning to feed Cassy.
"I wonder what his name is." Mariel pondered as she pulled a wispy piece of straw out of his dark hair. "And who is that Elizabeth he keeps speaking about?" The girl shrugged and helped her younger sister with a small bale of hay for the milk cow.
"Obviously someone special to him. Now," Elaine halted her movements as her eyes fell on splotchy bruises encircling the man's wrists. "What happened here?"
Celia and Mariel looked up from feeding Cassy. In a minute they sat by Elaine. "Oh, that's horrible!" Celia lightly fingered the red abrasions.
"Where do you think he got them?" Mariel settled herself next to the man.
"Who knows…"
Mariel watched as Elaine checked the bandage. "Is he going to be alright?"
"Yes." Elaine sighed gratefully. Redcoat or no. A life was saved. "With rest, he will recover."
"You know…he is not bad looking…for a redcoat." Mariel murmured after a pause. A light crimson hue fell over her cheeks.
"Mariel! He's married!" Celia held up the man's left hand, letting the sun beams fall on a simple gold band on his fourth finger.
"I didn't mean that! Only that he has a pleasant face."
"Remind you of someone?" Celia grinned almost wickedly. "A certain farmer's son, perhaps?"
" Celia Marcia Wood!" Mariel yelped and dove for the youngest sister, who shrieked in mock fear and scrambled out of reach.
"Mariel! Celia!" Elaine tried to intervene and somehow found herself in the middle of scuffle.
Celia was giggling so hard she could barely breathe. Clambering to stay our of her riled sister's grasp was difficult but not impossible as she was not restrained by a corset.
Elaine finally pried the two apart couldn't help grinning at their gleeful and annoyed expressions. "You will wake him." She nodded at the quiescent soldier. "Celia, don't talk about your sister like that. Mariel, I don't want to ever here those foul words out of your mouth again. Agreed?"
Mariel nodded a bit sullenly and straightened her attire. "But you must concur that he is handsome." She added after a moment's thought.
And while neither of the other sisters acquiesced, they did not protest or say anything to change that conclusion.
Life, it seemed, would never stop sending Elizabeth surprises. Nor would it let her be free of the formal dinners she'd attended under her father's roof.
An incredible sense of déjà vu filled her as the maid fussed over her hair and the dress, ensuring that every golden curl, every satin fold was in perfect order.
Charles and Emma had insisted that she join them and a few friends for a small dinner party later that evening. Elizabeth would have declined but Emma was so excited to have her there that Elizabeth couldn't find it in her heart to crush her hostess' hopes.
Now as she felt the firm stays of the dress hugging her expectant figure, she began to doubt the wisdom of her decision.
"There." the maid gave the honeyed tresses piled on Elizabeth's head a gentle pat. "You look as pretty as a picture." She presented her with a sweet smile.
"All because of your handiwork." Elizabeth returned the smile, even if it was a bit forced. There was no reason to take her frustrations out on the poor maid.
The maid blushed prettily, bobbed a curtsy and took her leave.
Elizabeth sat back in her chair before the mirror, lacking the strength to move. She watched listlessly as the door clicked shut. Her reflection now stared back at her.
The maid had indeed done her work well. Soft curls framed the porcelain skin of her face, while two stray curls tumbled over her slim shoulders. Elizabeth also had to admit that Emma had very fine taste in gowns. Fine lace trimmed the neck and sleeves of the resplendent blue fabric.
However, they did nothing to raise her spirits. The prospect of several hours spent pushing food around her plate and pretending to be perfectly alright drained her of any energy she might have had.
Her only consolation when she attended such functions in Port Royal lay solely on the shoulders of Will. But not even that comfort was afforded to her now. She would be entirely alone today.
Her eyes flicked to the window at the dismal expectations for the evening. And suddenly she could picture an evening much like this, when the perils of a dinner party lay before her. Yet that time, he was with her.
"I was thinking of investing in the Americas. Cotton perhaps. Or tobacco." A dry voice commented as a pair of jeweled hands twirled a silver spoon.
"The Americas?" Another gentleman leaned forward, a half amused, half incredulous expression on his face. "Why, that's preposterous! They'll never amount to anything! Mark my words, good man, and save yourself the trouble."
Elizabeth looked from person to person as the tedious conversation dragged on and on. She would not have minded it so much had it been the first time she'd heard it. As it was, the good Lord Dewbaker and the honorable Kinler had already worked and reworked this topic enough that Elizabeth could practically quote it.
Her eyes fell on Will and she couldn't help but smile. He looked like he, too, had completely lost all interest in the discussion and was in search of something, anything to occupy his mind.
He, oblivious to her attention, tried to surreptitiously tug at the linen collar of his suit while still trying to maintain an air of interest. And he succeeded for the most part.
If one missed his hand and the slight grimace, no one would ever have guessed that William Turner was madly uncomfortable.
The moment passed and Will's face became inscrutable. But his eyes wandered. The dark orbs finally ceased their roving when he caught sight of the candelabra in the center of the table. They narrowed and his face seemed to tighten with an indescribable impression of concentration.
Elizabeth immediately recognized the look. It was the one he adopted when scrutinizing his latest piece of blacksmithing, the sheen of a radiant blade, or the edge on a sculpted candelabra such as this. She had unofficially named it his 'work face'. For when that man started to work with that face almost nothing would deter him.
Amused, she waited to see if he could find any flaws in the elaborate light stand because when that he did find a fatal fault with any of his work, his head would tilt two degrees to the right. If the work was considered perfect, therefore finished, he would lean back and the lines in his face would ease.
Elizabeth never found her answer to whether the candelabra was fit or not for the conversation took a new turn, one that pointed it directly towards Will.
Will who, at the moment, was entirely tuned out from the world.
"Mr. Turner." Kinler repeated, looking on the blacksmith rather darkly.
The young man started as though a bucket of ice water had been dumped down his shirt. "Yes?"
"I said, what is your opinion of the Americas?"
"Um, well," Will cleared his throat uneasily and gave his collar another tug. "I hadn't really given the matter much thought."
"Indeed?"
"Though it does seem to me that they have reason for what they ask of the King."
"Indeed?" Kinler's tone became profoundly shocked.
"They merely ask for a chance to govern themselves. Considering the distance from England to the Americas that does not seem overly outrageous."
The poor older man couldn't find any words to express his astonishment. He settled for a loud blustering myriad of syllables.
Elizabeth laughed a little at the memory. Will had spent the rest of the evening being badgered by older men trying to change his mind. When they finally resigned themselves to Will's view on the matter, they dismissed to the study for some brandy.
She still remembered the warmth of his arms around hers as they tried to plunk out the melody of a random song on the pianoforte after the older company had left.
"Miss?"
Elizabeth turned to see the little maid standing in the doorway. "Mrs. Blanchard would like you to know that dinner will be served shortly."
"Thank you."
The maid smiled and left.
Elizabeth sighed and slowly strode from the room. The stair case lay just ahead and beyond that was the grand entry and the dining room.
The child within her stirred and Elizabeth placed a hand on her swollen stomach. "I agree, little one. This will be a dull evening, indeed." She said in a low tone.
A minute later she was standing in the dining room with several wealthy couples introducing themselves to her.
"My husband has invested in the sugar cane business and we just bought our fifth plantation in the West Indies." Mrs. Woolburn swelled slightly and reminded Elizabeth uncannily of a peacock fluffing its gaudy feathers. "He has such a mind for business."
"Indeed." Elizabeth remarked dryly.
Mrs. Woolburn didn't seem to know what to make of that statement. She changed the subject instead. "Do you live in the area?"
"No, my husband and I live in Port Royal."
"Port Royal? Oh, how lovely, I have a friend there. Sweet gentleman. What estate does your husband own?"
"We have no estate. My husband is a blacksmith." Elizabeth informed her.
"No estate?" Mrs. Woolburn looked like she'd swallowed a bad egg.
"Yes."
"I see." And then she gathered her skirts, as if they might be contaminated if Elizabeth touched them, and muttered an excuse before swishing over to the main group of ladies.
Elizabeth felt a touch of ire fill her at that woman's snooty reaction to Will's profession. Personally, she believed that blacksmithing was a good, honest living, one that no one should be ashamed to have.
But before she could stand alone in the corner for long Emma came up, her silken skirts rustling with each step. "Elizabeth, darling, don't stand over there all alone. I shan't stand for it. Come now, I'll introduce you to Prudence. She's a dear sweet girl."
Elizabeth couldn't help thinking of how long a night this would prove to be. She was right in that respect for Prudence was exactly what her name eluded.
She barely said two words together, instead sitting quietly in the corner and smiling serenely at anything that twitched.
Hence, Elizabeth had to listen to the older gentlemen argue and banter over the latest business prospect. Most disgustingly, their business seemed to center around the slave trade and that sent the food churning in her stomach.
She tried not to think long on it but Prudence left her little choice. Noting Emma's quiet disapproval of the topic, she firmly set her mind to happier things and struck up a conversation with her petite host.
Yet the things she heard that night would stay with her for many months to come.
TBC...