Disclaimer- I do not own any of the Pirates of the Caribbean characters I refer to in this story. If I did, I can assure you that Elizabeth would have been killed off way early in the beginning of the movie. I do own Charlotte, Sarah, and anyone else whom you don't recognize.
Author's Note- Yes, just to clear something up, I haven't died or anything…or at least, I don't think I have. I'm still around but have had very little time to write. Anyway, I was reading over my old Pirates of the Caribbean story and was appalled. I thought it was beyond saving and decided to write a new fiction. Hopefully, I can avoid the major Mary Sue problems. I am open to suggestions to correct the most common mistake made by writers who insert their own characters into the story.
The Story Begins,
A soft mist settled over London England. The morning sun shone though the light layer of clouds. It was sure to be a typical cool, crisp day.
A gorgeous melody drifted through the air of one of the city's most affluent areas. If one listened, they would be able to trace the song back to its origin; a huge mansion at the end of the street.
It was through an open window that the notes wafted, enticing all who heard to look up and admire the young woman's voice.
Charlotte Andrews finished her song at the exact moment she finished her hundredth stroke through her long, curly, chocolate brown hair. She gazed with satisfaction at the reflection the large, ornate mirror offered.
The twenty-year-old closed her liquid brown eyes and shivered. The large bedroom was quite cold in the morning.
"Sarah," she called in her smooth, pleasant voice. It was time to get ready for the day's activities.
"Abigail."
The last word was said with an edge of impatience.
Charlotte listened for her two lady's maids. The sound of shoes clicking on the hallway's floor soon came into hearing range.
The oak wood doors opened and two women the same age as Charlotte walked in: Sarah and Abigail.
Neither of the two maids came even close to Ms. Andrews' beauty. Abigail, or Abby, was a tall, Irish girl. Her red hair was swept back into a loose but effective ponytail and her green eyes were typical of her culture. A light sprinkling of freckles gave the maid a determined and somewhat brawny look.
Sarah was average in height with dark blonde hair that hung loose to her upper back. Her blue eyes held the longing and determination for something else. The British woman knew her job and worked quickly to complete it.
Charlotte looked on as the servants worked to warm her room up by placing large pans filled with coal in the corners of the enclosure. She was eager to get dressed and see her father.
Abigail and Sarah approached their mistress, clothing articles in hand. This was something they did every morning as a part of their chores. They knew what needed to be done and they knew they needed to make their higher up look perfect.
Charlotte allowed her trusted helpers to remove her cream white nightgown and replace it with the customary white undergarments. She grimaced as Abigail came towards her with the stiff corset she wore every day.
Ms. Andrews had come to the decision long ago that whoever had invented the stomach-squeezing item must have had a grudge against women in general. She had to admit, though, it did do wonders on showing off her figure.
Sarah stood ready behind the young woman to tighten the corset's strings. She pitied her more affluent peer for having to wear it day after day.
Several short gasps later, the pain of having the strings tightened was over. A little bit of breathing regulation was needed, but Charlotte was used to that.
Abigail handed Sarah the low cut, dark green dress that their mistress was to wear. It was simple to put on and the task was done in minutes.
Charlotte stepped back to admire herself in the mirror. She had a tendency to be vain at times and was now certain she was the most beautiful woman in all of England. A smile spread across her face at this thought.
The maids had other jobs to do and quickly gathered up the clothes and sheets from the bed. They left without a word, leaving Ms. Andrews to herself.
Charlotte picked up a fan and strode out of her bedroom for her morning walk.
Sarah shifted the mountainous pile of sheets and clothes in her arms. The hardest part of her morning was over and for that she was glad.
After finishing with her mistress's rituals, Abby and Sarah had gone their separate ways to finish their chores.
Like most employees in the Andrews mansion, the twenty-year-old maid did not use her last name. She knew it was Fox, but never mentioned it when asked.
She'd been born into poverty with a father who walked out on the family when she was two years old and a mother who had worked hard to provide for her and her younger sister. They had done all right for a few years. Then, a mysterious fever swept through their area, killing mercilessly and leaving few survivors. Her mother had been one of those victims.
A tear came to the young adult's eyes as the memory of holding her younger sister by two years, sobs racking their bodies as they gazed at their mother's lifeless figure. It had been a short time after that that the older sister had landed a job in the large household, working to support herself and her sibling. Recently, though, her sister was nowhere to be found.
Sarah pushed the thoughts out of her head as she reached the laundry room.
The air inside the small cubical was hot and sticky. Water lay in standing puddles on the floor. About ten women hunched over the large buckets of water, picking clothes and other fabric from a pile that bared a resemblance to a mountain.
Sarah dropped her articles onto the heap of soiled laundry. One of the plump washerwomen gave her a weary look.
The maid turned and left, knowing very well that there was no time to talk.
Her next destination was the kitchen to help prepare the family's breakfast.
A wave of heat and exotic, delicious smells assaulted the young adult as she stepped into the well-stocked kitchen.
Everyone knew their job and was hurrying to complete the meal by nine o'clock sharp, the family's breakfast time. Sometimes, the whole crew cut it close to getting done on time but they always managed.
Sarah scanned the room and smiled when she saw Abby bent over her cutting board. The kitchen was the one place where, if work was being done, two people could talk.
The Irish woman looked up and exchanged her friend's smile. She grabbed a spare knife and tossed it to her side, indicating that she would like assistance with the cutting.
Sarah picked up the sharp object and began to massacre an apple.
"Did you hear the news?" Abigail asked, leaning close to the other maid to avoid being heard by the other scullery girls.
"What?"
"Mr. Andrews is opening up a trade route in the Caribbean. He's transporting the whole family there next week."
Their employer, Mr. Andrews, was in the trading business and had made a very successful living out of it. He was always opening new routes, but never one so important as to the Caribbean.
Sarah frowned.
"What does that have to do with us."
"How will Miss Charlotte get on in the morning without help?" Abby figured she'd let her companion fill in the blanks.
Sarah said nothing. She knew that meant that they probably would get dragged along. Not that she was complaining, it would probably be an adventure of sorts.
"Bloody Hell!" the British maid cried, cutting her finger on the knife. Abigail snickered, her emerald eyes reflecting her amusement.
Charlotte gracefully lowered herself into the cushioned dining room chair that had just been pulled out for her.
She had just returned from her long stroll and was quite ravenous.
The double doors towards the front of the elegant room opened and a slightly portly man strolled through. His plum colored coat and stylish powdered wig identified him as the master of the household.
Mr. Andrews was not the pompous, stuck up snob that generally came with such wealth. He cared about his business but was aware of others around him and their ideas (though he did not always approve of them).
"Good morning father," Charlotte greeted pleasantly, tipping her chin in a slightly arrogant manner.
"Charlotte, you grow more beautiful by the day. Any man would be honored to have you as his bride."
Ms. Andrews blushed at her father's typical joke. She feared that it would soon be a joke no longer.
The master of the house sat down across from his daughter and the servants began to bring the food to the table.
"How goes the new trade route father?" Charlotte asked, dabbing her lips gently with a cotton napkin. She kept herself aware of what her parent accomplished in his business.
"Ah yes, I was meaning to discuss that with you. All has gone well. In fact, we shall be moving soon."
Charlotte glanced up.
"Moving? Where?"
Her father's smile broadened.
"To the Caribbean."
William Turner smiled lovingly at his soon to be bride.
Elizabeth Swann looked simply gorgeous in her white and silver wedding gown. Her eyes shone with happiness. She was about to marry her true love.
The young blacksmith took the Governor's daughter's hand in his own when the chapel doors opened.
The wedding had begun.
The engaged couple strode down the aisle, hand in hand. Focusing only on their destination, not those around them.
"Elizabeth Swann."
Elizabeth glanced up, realizing that she hadn't even heard the first part of the wedding vows. Her attention had been on the dashing young man whom she was about to be wed to.
"Do you take William Turner as your husband? To love and honor in good times and bad?" the priest continued.
"I do."
"And William Turner, do you take Elizabeth Turner to be your bride? To love and honor in good times and bad, through sickness and health?"
"I…"
Before he could finish, cannon fire sounded from outside and the church shook from impact.
Author's Note- Whew! That's the longest first chapter I've ever written. I greatly care about your (the readers') opinion, so please review. Questions, comments, concerns, criticism? I'll try to update once every two weeks, so please be patient.