AN: Please excuse my French since I don't actually speak it, I'm using babel fish. Anyone who wants to correct my grammar please feel free, I would appreciate it!
A few French grammatical errors have been fixed, thanks to Ar-Zimraphel, but it's still being hammered out. Thanks for the help!
Chapter 8
London, England, two years earlier
The little house was not fancy, it had no frills nor finery, it was simply decorated and comfortable. When she rented it, it was defined as 'cozy', and she found herself agreeing. It was certainly a vast improvement over the Isla Del Aburrimiento and the pitiful shack she had inhabited there. She felt an odd sort of guilt in her habitation here, in the house provided by her father's annuity where she kept a maid and cook, and occasionally ventured into society. The pirate in her felt disgraced and frustrated by the coiled ropes of society that bound her to status.
She sat in the parlor, a bit of sewing in her hands, while her children's voices echoed from the play room above. Liam played pirates with as much enthusiasm as his parents ever had, and he frequently dragged his baby sister into his games. She was rarely another pirate herself, she had started as the 'booty' – which he so excitedly shouted whenever the 'other pirates', who were also portrayed by himself, stole her and hid her in some deep, dark cave, such as her cradle. In recent months however, he was beginning to hand her any convenient toy that he could declare a sword, and call her his first mate.
Abby took to the adventures with the same solemn determination she did everything else – she held the sword in both tiny hands and prepared to do battle with the imaginary 'bad pirates' who would inevitably attack. Elizabeth wondered if the child wasn't a changeling, if somewhere out there was a child of dark curls and khol-rimmed eyes plotting to steal the milk from the neighboring child's bed. But then Abigail looked at her, and Elizabeth saw Governor and Lady Swann in her eyes, the ones that she had clearly gotten from Elizabeth's own mother.
The maid knocked on the door softly, and Elizabeth jumped as she stepped inside, interrupting the reverie. "Visitor ma'am," the girl announced tentatively. At her mistress's nod, the girl pulled the door open all the way.
Elizabeth stood, placing her sewing on the cushion beside her to greet the woman standing at the door. She was a stranger, she wore the normal fashions of London but seemed out of place, her strong features and golden skin betrayed her exotic heritage, and the thick knot of shining black hair at the nape of the woman's neck was pinned with jewels that few would wear for such an occasion.
"Madame Turner," the woman nodded her head in a serene greeting, moving further into the room. Elizabeth felt suddenly that this woman owned the room, she commanded it, could bend it to her will if she so chose. Her dark, almond-shaped eyes locked on Elizabeth's, making her feel rather awkward and quite young. "Do you know me?" There was a strange lilt to her voice as she spoke, a tinge of something warm and familiar mixed with a heavy French accent.
She shook her head, feeling as if she'd been struck quite dumb in the face of this creature. "I'm...afraid not," she replied after a few moment's pause. "Should I?"
The woman didn't respond, instead she moved about the room, examining Elizabeth's possessions with a bit more than idle curiosity. "Perhaps, I thought it was possible. There were portraits of me, il était une fois." She looked sharply back at her hostess. "Have you heard the name Vianne de Valois?"
Elizabeth nodded slowly. "Yes, I -" she took in a sharp breath. "Teague!" The name slid from her lips unbidden. "You're Mrs. Teague," she repeated after a moment. "Jack's mother."
"Oui," she stroked a conch shell the decorated the mantle with feigned disinterest. "You heard of me from Jean?" At Elizabeth's confused look she pursed her lips. "Jean Marcel de Valois. Mon petit Acarapi." She waited for recognition and received none. "John Teague," she finally said with a touch of bitterness. "You called him Jack."
Elizabeth started a bit, nodding stupidly. "Jack has all those names?" She imagined him suddenly, answering to Jean and couldn't help but smile a bit. "And...Acarbi?"
"Acarapi," Madame de Valois corrected. "The name my mother gave to him." She smiled suddenly, and Elizabeth was struck by how lovely she really was. "It means 'lucky'," she chuckled a bit. "Ma mère always was a bit more savoir...oh I forget the word...she could tell you things she could not know."
Elizabeth could only continue to nod, she had no precedence for this sort of an interview. 'Yes, I heard some things about you both from the husband you abandoned and your son, my former lover, while I awaited the return of my husband' no she certainly had nothing to add to this conversation. "Ah," she said finally, wishing she could force her mental capacities to find something appropriate to say.
Madame de Valois finally seemed to focus on Elizabeth. "Madame," she said firmly. "Do not think me unaware of your relationship with mon fils. Jean is my only living child, I have lost many to the sea. I wish to know my grandchild."
An earthquake shaking loose the foundations of London could not have shocked Elizabeth more than this statement. "Your...grandchild," she repeated slowly. "Madame, whatever you may have heard about my son, he is the child of my husband, Captain Turner."
"Oui, je sais. I of course meant la fille, Abigail Turner."
"Sparrow," Elizabeth corrected softly. "I keep her legally as Abigail Turner, for her own sake, but she is a Sparrow." She met the eyes of Madame de Valois, as if searching for something. She supposed she should feel a kinship with this woman, she would had experienced things so similar to Elizabeth's own life, but felt nothing similar to her own nature in the woman's dark, slanting eyes. "You truly want to see Abby?"
"Madame Turner," Vianne's eyes darkened. "I would not remain in a room with you, were it not for ma petite-fille. I have not sent word to Jean only because I know it will come in time, and you will suffer the consequences of your betrayals. I wish to meet my granddaughter. She must know the history of her family."
Elizabeth felt taken aback, but supposed she shouldn't. This woman had known of Abby when there was no way she could have, naturally she knew of the many ways in which Elizabeth had betrayed her son. She felt an odd pain in her chest as she wondered if the woman who was almost her mother-in-law was aware of the ultimate betrayal – that day at the mast of the Pearl. She nodded, resignedly. "Yes, of course."
By the time they reached the nursery, Vianne de Valois had changed drastically. Her eyes lit with an inner spark as she laid eyes on the wreckage that Elizabeth's children had wrought on their playroom. She stepped in, her intense stare matched perfectly by the pale eyes of her grandchild. Abby dropped the stick which was currently serving as cutlass, and approached the tall woman. Vianne knelt, holding her hands out. Words which Elizabeth could not quite hear, nor understand if she had, spilled from the Frenchwoman's lips.
Abby tilted her head and chewed her bottom lip. She looked up at her mother, and pulled on one of her long curls. At Elizabeth's faint nod, she moved toward the older woman. She allowed Madame de Valois to pull her into a gentle embrace, and didn't fuss when she was picked up. Her mother was rather shocked, the little girl tended to fear anyone unknown, and rarely allowed unexpected caresses. Whispered words were exchanged, and for several minutes they seemed lost in quiet conversation. She sat in a corner chair, holding Abby tight in her arms and turning her eyes to both Liam and Elizabeth in turn. Liam bounded over, feeling instantly the preparation for 'story time'. Elizabeth followed at a slower pace, eventually settling into a nearby rocking chair and pulling her son into her lap. Then all three pairs of eyes focused on the older woman.
"Mon père was Prince of France," she started slowly, allowing her words to pull her listeners closer. "Mon grandpère was the second son, his brother would become King. Mon père was his eldest son, le Duc de Valois, grandson of King Louis XIII." Liam let out a gasp, leaning closer to her with widening eyes. She stroked Abigail's hair softly, not taking her gaze from her granddaughter. "When he was still quite young, Père wished for adventure. He left the comfort of Paris for the wilderness of the Americas. It was there he found ma mere, Talise, an orphan they called the Mayan Princess. She had no friends nor family, but she had the spirits of the ancients within her, as all her family had before her, and she could not be lonely. However, when Père approached her, she fell in love with him and they were married. A year later, they had just one daughter," a small smile appeared on her face.
"You!" Liam exclaimed happily. Vianne lowered her eyes to his flushed face and nodded, an odd expression crossing her countenance.
"Oui, it was me. Ma mere raised me in the ways of her people, as best she could, in France. I was taught the ways of the priestesses and I learned to divine the future. In time I came to resent my life, I wished for freedom. When mon père's ship was attacked by pirates, I fell in love with the pirate captain, and he with me. We married, and I traveled the world with him. My son grew to be the Pirate Lord of the Caribbean, and eventually found himself a pirate woman he could bring with him on his ship."
Suddenly, Vianne set her granddaughter back to the floor and turned to Elizabeth. Her eyes were hard again, and she informed the younger woman in no uncertain terms that she would be remaining in her house for two weeks, and could she see to arranging the rooms, thank you.
Madame de Valois was as good as her word, exactly two weeks later Elizabeth was summoned to the spare room she had arranged for the visitor, wherein Abby was curled up against her grandmother with tears in her large eyes. In her arms she clutched a worn cotton rabbit that had previously made its home in Vianne's valise, she referred to it only as Miurne and could not explain the name when pressed.
And so Vianne de Valois was buried in the local cemetery the next day, attended by the small Turner family and – inexplicably – Captain Teague.
There was no mystical bond between John Teague and the little girl who called him 'Granda', but he did seem to instinctively know how to approach her. When she hid behind her mother's skirts, he accepted the rebuff and proceeded to completely ignore her existence until she approached him.
That evening he returned to the little house Elizabeth loved and joined them for supper. If he grieved for his wife, he did not say such. He was the same calmly amused man he had been in Shipwreck Cove, and it warmed her heart to have such a dear companion about her home. He told stories of the sea, and shared exciting adventure tales with her impressionable young children that she wasn't entirely happy about, however, she realized as she stared at the man, cleaned up with his hair tied respectfully under a small black hat, that she was seeing what Jack Sparrow might become someday. He could never pass for a gentleman, but he looked the part of the worn sailor. He could pass for the respectable, elderly grandfather and she could almost imagine Jack beside him, playing the happy son and father. Her heart ached for a life unlived, and she was not sorry when Teague left them. She would miss him, but he had no more part in this world than his son had.
She knew somehow she would not see him again.
AN2: Philippe Charles, Duke of Valois was a real person, but in reality he died when he was still a baby. So this is in an imaginary world where he grew up and married a Mayan princess...