A Line In The Sand
Chapter Thirteen
Author's Note: I am attempting here to tread the line between CotBP and DMC James. Hopefully I'm getting it right.
She was sat outside, hugging the bag of treasure in her lap, watching and waiting for James's return. When she finally saw something lumbering up the track towards her, she realised it was three people and pulled out her pistol. Just in case.
Narrowing her eyes against the bright sun, she recognised one of the figures as James. He was stopping every now and again to help one of his companions. With a start she realised who it was and scrambled up to meet them.
"Mary!" she cried.
"Oh, Miss Turner, of all the bloody places to decide to set up home," but the woman stopped huffing and puffing as Victoria grabbed her in a tight hug.
Mary Peglar was a plump woman in her mid-forties, with a round and pretty face, glowing red from all her time over a boiling tub of washing. She had come across Victoria and James sitting in the gutter outside of an alehouse a few nights after their arrival in Tortuga. Mary's swift, searching glance had told Victoria that she had been recognised as a woman and both she and James soon had a place to stay in Mary's small house, which smelt strongly of dirty washing and hot soap.
"Master Kildare," James said, leading the man away from the two women. "I'd like locks on the doors, please. And I would like the work completed by tonight."
"Dinnae 'bout that, lad…"
"You will have my assistance and will be well paid for it."
The man grunted and went to study the door with James at his side. Mary sat on a sunny clump of grass and pulled Victoria down at her side with a soft flump.
"I got that message from the lad on the docks about you two taking up on the Black Pearl," she said. "Oh, but such things I've heard since! They were saying the Pearl was taken by that beast of Davy Jones! But then I heard that the Court was convened and that the Black Pearl was among the ships making for Shipwreck Cove."
"Your sources are as good as ever, Mary."
"It can't all be true."
"Oh, it is and more besides…"
"Well then, you can tell me everything on the way."
"On the way where?"
"You'll be needing bedding and whatnot. You can't sleep on that filthy floor. No, lass, there's lots as get left at a laundry woman's house and I can't carry it all."
"But –"
"No buts. Leave your man to deal with Kildare."
"He's not my man," Victoria retorted huffily, getting up.
It was a few days later, with locks on actual doors and the windows scrubbed bright, that there was a knock on the door.
"Must be Mary," Victoria said. "She said she'd try and call in today."
James opened the door and grabbed hold of the man that tumbled into his arms. Victoria propped her broom against the wall and wiped her hands on her trousers. She stared at the head propped on James's forearm and instantly recognised the bushy whiskers.
"Mister Gibbs?" she said. "What are you doing here? Jack dropped by this morning to say you were off this afternoon. He's got a letter for Elizabeth from me."
"Barbossa's taken the Pearl," Gibbs said, straightening up, using James as support, completely missing the look the two exchanged. "Jack's gone after him. Only room in the boat for one. Don't suppose you'd put me up, eh, Vicky?"
He let go of James and promptly fell over, curling up at the top of the stairs, snoring.
It was a week after Gibbs's arrival that James started to bring her gifts.
Mary and Victoria were taking a well deserved break from the cleaning, sitting outside, enjoying the sunshine.
Victoria was lying back with her eyes closed, comfortable and content and was unwilling to open them when Mary nudged her.
"You'll want to see this, lass."
"… Stupid bloody beast!"
Gibbs's roar was distant, but furious and Victoria sat up to squint down the track. James and Gibbs were struggling up to the house. She could see their backs straining as they pulled on something. The two women went down to meet them and Victoria stared at the thing on the end of the rope.
"You've brought me a donkey?" she asked James.
"You had one in Port Royal," he said, still tugging on the rope. "Don't you need one?"
She looked at him; his was face shining with sweat, damp hair sticking to his forehead. She wondered how on earth he had got it. She glanced at Gibbs, who was tugging furiously on the rope, sporting a rather large bruise that was almost, but not quite, lost in his whiskers. She decided she didn't want to know what they had done to get it. Instead, she grinned at them both.
"Well done! Well, James, it looks like I can finally get to work on that sword of yours."
The look on his face was an odd one of relief and delight, mixed with something else. For a moment she thought maybe he didn't want her to start work on the sword, but she brushed it off and started to coax the donkey up the track, taking Gibbs's dropped rope as Mary fussed over his bruised face.
Another gift was a rather oddly shaped thing that James carted up the track alone, on his head. The door of the forge creaked open and Gibbs poked his head in, cackling.
"The lad's brought you a present, Vicky."
"Oh, Joshamee, I'm busy. If he wants this sword finished before Christmas, I really can't come in and out every time he brings something up here. I'll see it when I'm finished here."
She was harsher than she intended to be and Gibbs's smile faltered.
"I'll go and help him then."
She was alone in the forge for a long time, the clanging of her hammer falling into a steady rhythm that soothed the unnecessary flash of temper.
James had already dragged an iron bedstead up the track the day before and Mary had shrieked with alarm and laughter as she watched the two men struggle with getting it into the house. Victoria had to admit however, that once Mary had done it up with unclaimed bedding from her laundry, it was the best sleep she had had in a long time.
She studied the blade she had produced and was satisfied. It was fine to be going on with the next day. She wiped her hand on her apron, pulled it off and hung it up by the door that led into the house. Mary was hovering by the kitchen door at the bottom of the stairs.
"Mind you'll be pleased, won't you, dear?" she said and Victoria realised that Gibbs must have mentioned her earlier sharpness. "For he did go to a lot of trouble for you. And 'tis very thoughtful of him."
Victoria didn't answer, just ran up the stairs to her room, shoving the door open to stare in shock at James. He was putting a towel on her bed and between them stood a large zinc bath. She could tell from its gleam that it had been scrubbed clean and the water in it steamed and glittered welcomingly in the candlelight.
"Victoria, I – I was just… Mary had towels, you see, and I brought one so you… would have one. She's made a stew for dinner and she found a dress your size in the laundry. I'll… leave you to your…"
He was going pink; Victoria noticed and continued to stare at him.
"A bathtub?" she said foolishly.
"Yes. You – uh – you were saying to Mary last night that your work made you… So I thought you'd like it."
She was suddenly aware that she looked, as always at the end of the day, a sight. She was wearing Will's old cast-offs, the same ones she had being wearing for what felt like years. She was sweating all over, her hair a tangled, damp mess and she was sure she had smudged dirt across her face. She realised that the smell of scorched metal and donkey was coming from her.
A smile was hovering about his lips, as though waiting for her approval and suddenly she didn't care that she looked a mess, all she cared about was that hot steaming water and the new, clean dress laid out for her.
"Thank you," she said softly and the smile on his lips grew as he left her to it.
The day she gave him his sword she did so with a new sense of pride because she was able to take the credit for it. She had done the best she could with the materials available and had rather recklessly melted down some of the last of their gold to add the filigree to the handle.
He took it from her reverentially and studied it. He balanced it on the side of his hand, then tossed it up in the air. She felt a thrill at seeing it in such use, seeing how well balanced it was, how light.
But the bubble of pride was pricked as she realised that the debt was paid and then some. He had helped her start her business, as promised, and her home was comfortable thanks to his efforts, as well as Gibbs' and Mary's. There was now no reason for him to stay with her.
And yet she wondered where he could go. He stood before her, some odd concoction of the Commodore he had been and the pirate he so nearly was. No wig, but his hair was tied back neatly, with a day's stubble on his face. His clothes, donated by the ever kind Mary, were clean and as neat as they could be. His stance, as always, was upright and somehow, with that sword in his hand, proud.
"Aye," Gibbs said, nodding sagely. "'Tis sure a thing of rare beauty."
"It is a pity I'll have no reason to put it into practice," James sighed, sheathing it at his side and letting his hand rest on the hilt.
"What do you mean?" Victoria asked quickly.
"Well, there's no ship for me to sail on. I wonder if you would let me stay? At least until the Pearl returns."
"You'd sail on the Pearl?"
"I don't know," he said simply, but the way he met her eyes was not simple at all.