DISCLAIMER: I don't own Black Sails. It is not my intellectual property. There is no financial gain made from this nor will any be sought. This is for entertainment purposes only.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: I'd just like to toss out a quick thank you to all the lovely people who've been commenting and sticking with this story. I really appreciate all the feedback you guys have left on both AO3 & , and I'm so glad that so many of you have enjoyed it thus far. All the encouragement helps to stave off writer's block and is much appreciated. Thanks everyone!:)
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Impatient and unnerved, Eleanor sat poised before her chamber's open window. Her gaze cast out across the terrain beyond the window. But lost in vigorous thought, her eyes saw nothing in particular. A prepared embroidery hoop lay untouched in her lap, the crewel needle resting loosely in her fingers. It was a ridiculous pastime Mrs. Hudson had insisted she learn, claiming it to be a skill every proper lady should know.
As Eleanor knew very well that Mrs. Hudson thought her no proper lady at all, she suspected this foolishness to be little more than an attempt to drive her mad. Surely this was not an activity women actually enjoyed. There were far better uses for one's time than spending hours stitching patterns in cloth.
The only reason she was participating in this nonsensical waste of time, was because Woodes had been present when Mrs. Hudson had suggested Eleanor learn the skill. And before Eleanor had had a chance to object, Woodes had enthusiastically encouraged the trivial undertaking. Which left her with little choice but to begrudgingly accept, reluctantly allowing herself to temporarily assume the maidenly role she was certain they expected her to adopt.
She could no longer afford to be seen as anything but cooperative.
Eleanor cast a glance, wrought with barely restrained bitterness, at her smug keeper. Sitting across from her in a chair facing hers, Mrs. Hudson returned the look with a self-satisfied smirk and nodded toward the untouched hoop in Eleanor's lap. It was clear she wished for Eleanor to return to the task at hand.
Sanctimonious bitch...
Barely resisting the urge to roll her eyes, Eleanor lifted the foreign objects and set about stitching. The thought of granting that pompous twat any dominion over her actions left Eleanor feeling chafed and resentful.
And that chaffing resentment gave way to the consideration that perhaps she could afford to be just a little uncooperative. Only a touch recalcitrant.
Being forever of an insolent and obstinate nature, Eleanor diligently began an attempt to embroider the perfect design. A design from which she was certain Mrs. Hudson's delicate sensibilities would be adequately offended.
With any luck, Mrs. Hudson's offense would be followed closely by an end to this senseless lesson.
As she worked, her mind wandered back to more immediate problems. It had been almost a month since Vane's escape. There had been no sign as to where he'd gone or whether or not been he'd been able to reunite with Rackham and the others. For all Eleanor knew, he could be laying dead in the jungle somewhere, poisoned or mauled by some Bahamian critter. His fate remained uncertain and with it the fate of Nassau.
Uncertainty did not sit well with Eleanor.
Flint would no doubt be a formidable force against the English. She had no doubt he had by now concocted some manner of plan to burden and frustrate the occupation. But his name did not quite carry the weight of Vane's. It would not garner the same support from the masses. Flint was well feared but not so well respected. He was not regarded as a man of honor, but as a clever, devious and manipulative man.
Not unlike herself.
Vane on the other hand, was known to be a man of his word. A man who was vicious and brutal, but also candid and ruled by a code of his own principles. He was both feared and revered, a king among pirates.
Even setting aside her feelings for him, she understood they needed a such a man. If they were ever to have any hope of reclaiming Nassau, Charles Vane had to live.
Yet his whereabouts remained unknown. Through Woodes, she had received word that Flint and his crew had been chased by Hornigold to the banks of an uninhabited isle called Maroon Island. There, a small army of escaped slaves had amassed on the beach and forced Hornigold to abandon his pursuit of the Walrus. But there had been no word since. She had no way of knowing if they were still on Maroon Island, or if they'd since moved on.
It was possible they'd returned to sea. But even so, they would have needed a base of operations. A place to replenish and revitalize, appease their men. To Eleanor's knowledge, Maroon Island was a small and uncharted isle with no real source of resupply. This made it an unlikely place to permit an extended stay, but not impossible if they had been planning such a visit beforehand.
It was also possible that they'd returned to the waters near Nassau. There were many smaller islands in the vicinity in which they could hide without being too far from much needed supply caches. Their ship could hide in the flares of the sun if need be, as it had done in the past. Or perhaps they'd anchored in one of the nearby bays on New Providence Island, just outside of Nassau's boarders. The island was large enough, and just uninhabited enough, to have sections that were unoccupied and ideal for remaining hidden. Such places would serve as decent campsites as long as they were smart about it.
There were too many possibilities to be certain of anything, but she hoped they'd chosen the latter. Perhaps it was only wishful thinking, but their being on the island would make it more probable that Charles had found his way back to them. If they weren't far off, it would also mean they had easier access to the supplies and information that resided here in the heart of Nassau.
But all of this was speculation. She needed answers and concrete evidence if she was to effectively plan her next move. She would not enter any further into this endeavor blind.
Decided, she rose from the patterned wing chair in which she'd been sitting. As she stood, Mrs. Hudson sent her a disapproving and questioning look.
With a self-satisfied mannerism that closely resembled Mrs. Hudson's earlier expression, Eleanor spoke. Her tone held a careful touch of feigned innocence and confusion despite the brazen countenance of her face. "What? I've finished."
When Mrs. Hudson lifted a speculative brow, Eleanor offered sweetly. "Would you like to see?"
With a huff, Mrs. Hudson grumbled. "In such a short time spent, I doubt it could be anything remarkable. But very well, give it here." She held out her hand to receive the embroidery hoop.
Eleanor handed it over without complaint.
The moment Mrs. Hudson looked upon the carelessly stitched monstrosity, her eyes widened. Her mouth curved down in disdain and a disgusted grunt rose from her throat as she slapped the embroidered hoop face down in her lap; as if trying spare her delicate eyes from being subjected to a second viewing.
Eleanor scarcely managed to suppress her grin. Her creation was a barely recognizable, hastily stitched representation of a naked woman from neck to knee. She was no artist, but the outline was clear enough to interpret it's intended likeness. And just as she'd expected, Mrs. Hudson's delicate sensibilities had been thoroughly offended. Strange, that something so simple and meaningless could rile this woman so effectively.
"This is unseemly." Mrs. Hudson scolded. "Completely salacious and indecent. You should be ashamed of yourself, a lady should never be so lewd."
"Apologies." Eleanor lied. Though still her expression did not quite match the meaning of the statement.
Mrs. Hudson shook her head, revulsion and bewilderment clear in her disposition."Your lack of propriety continues to astound me."
Eleanor shrugged. She only needed this session to be over. She'd been aiming to rile Mrs. Hudson into a fit of self righteousness in an attempt to facilitate a means of ending this ridiculous practice. If she could get that far, perhaps she could convince the puritanical chaperon to accompany her into town and then loose her in the crowds. Hopefully the disunion would last long enough for Eleanor to garner some information on Charles and his associates.
It was likely she would later be reprimanded for venturing off alone, but she would deal with that complication when it arose. If worse came to worse, she would claim to have lost Mrs. Hudson in the crowded market. It wasn't foolproof and it was reasonable to assume she would still receive some form of punishment. But she was banking on the hope that if Woodes believed the separation unintentional, he would not allow her punishment to be overly severe.
"Is our session finished then?" Eleanor questioned innocently.
"It certainly is." Mrs. Hudson asserted, clearly unwilling to further besmirch her virtuous decorum.
Eleanor nodded. "Then fetch your cloak and an adequate escort. I'd like to get some air."
Mrs. Hudson's eyes narrowed. She was clearly unhappy with the idea. But after giving Eleanor a sufficiently chiding look, she rose and set about retrieving her cloak. "We've not long before sundown, it'll be a short jaunt." When Eleanor simply nodded and gave a dismissive wave of her hand, Mrs. Hudson sighed and turned to go acquire the escort. "I'll be but a moment."
Mrs. Hudson vanished down the hall while Eleanor dawned her own cloak and fought to urge to pace as she waited for Mrs. Hudson's return.
After what felt life ages, Mrs. Hudson finally reappeared in the doorway. She was flanked by two brawny men in uniform. Eleanor maintained an air of stoic indifference, but inwardly resisted the urge to groan. One escort would have been bad enough, now there were two. Ditching them both would be significantly more difficult; which she assumed was Mrs. Hudson's mindset when seeking them out.
Gritting her teeth, she decided that the additional man would make no difference. She would still rise to the challenge. Resolved, she emboldened a look of indomitable poise, lifted her chin and strode past them toward the hall.
The three followed her without complaint, though she did receive a haughty look from Mrs. Hudson as she passed.
No matter, she would be rid of them soon enough anyway.
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The trio trailed a few feet behind Eleanor as she wandered through the market, pretending to peruse the various shops and vendors.
Glancing to her left, Eleanor spotted a bedraggled looking beggar sitting on the corner. With the sight of this unfortunate man, a feasible method of departure occurred to Eleanor. Slowly she sauntered over to the vagrant and crouched down before him.
Mrs. Hudson and the escort stopped and stood a few feet in her wake, watching her closely.
"What are you doing?" Mrs. Hudson called out from behind her. Eleanor wasn't surprised they'd kept their distance, the impoverished were the affluent's plague. It was as though they feared the mere proximity of mendicancy would contaminate their immaculate souls and inevitably lead to their own destitution.
Having spent much time on an island wrought with the unkempt and flagitious, she knew this ideology to be moronic.
But right now it served her purposes and she intended to take advantage. In this instance, taking advantage meant playing on Mrs. Hudson's religious predilections.
Eleanor's tone was honeyed, if not a little patronizing, when she answered. "Is it not the Christian thing to do? To offer assistance to those in need?" Her right had made an outward display of producing a single piece of eight and holding it out towards the disheveled man.
Mrs. Hudson huffed, clearly uncomfortable with the idea but trapped by the doctrine of her own faith. She continued to look displeased and uneasy, but made no move to approach or argue against the matter.
Her back remained turned on her entourage and the attention of the trio rested upon the coin she still held in her right hand. They probably wanted to make sure she wasn't engaging in anything suspicious or handing over some form of intel.
And that was fine. She was more than capable of a little subterfuge.
While they obsequiously watched the movement of Eleanor's right hand, her left discreetly drew the beggars attention toward the hefty coin purse she held under the edge of her cloak. For a moment he eyed the purse with undisguised interest, then he lifted his eyes to meet hers. The look on Eleanor's face clearly requested subtlety and the beggar did not disappoint. He simply gave her a look that plainly asked what it was she wanted from him.
She answered quickly and in hushed whispers. "Distract the woman and two escorts standing behind me. Keep at it long enough for me to slip away and the purse is yours."
Going along with the ruse more readily than she'd expected, the man nodded and held his hand out for the single coin she still had grasped between her fingers. With the corners of her mouth turning up, she dropped the lone coin into his palm and muttered. "Not now. Wait until we make our way back this way."
The man nodded and gave a lopsided grin, made a show of thanking her for her exorbitant generosity.
Clever man.
She covertly dropped the coin purse into his upturned hat as she rose and turned back to rejoin her security detail. Mrs. Hudson eyed her warily but said nothing.
Sometime later, Mrs. Hudson commented on the approaching dusk and suggested returning to the fort. Eleanor complied.
A few more minutes of walking and the quartet was nearing the corner on which the beggar had previously been sitting. Eleanor's skin tingled with the anticipation, with the adrenaline that warmed her blood and accompanied the knowledge that soon she would need to make her move.
But the corner came and went with no sign of the beggar and Eleanor began to worry. What if the canny little man had no intention of returning? What if he'd simply taken her coin and scampered off? It was a risk she'd known she was taking when she'd handed over the purse beforehand, but she'd seen no other option. Now she was faced with the very real possibility that her opportunity for fading into the masses had passed.
Just as she'd begun to loose hope, a scream sounded behind her.
Eleanor whirled around to see that very same beggar snatch the bonnet from atop Mrs. Hudson's head. Ever the damsel, Mrs. Hudson began screaming. Yet the man seemed undiscouraged by the racket. He danced around the trio shouting unintelligible gibberish and waving Mrs. Hudson's bonnet around like some kind of banner.
If he was intending to appear mad, he was doing a fine job of it.
As one of the escorts moved to intervene and retrieve the bonnet, the apparent lunatic ducked out of reach. Each time the escort would attempt to catch the man, he would skitter away or slither out of grasp, often using the distressed Mrs. Hudson as a human shield.
Eleanor grinned. This scrawny wee vagabond proved quite the agile little fellow.
Eventually the second escort joined the pursuit, perhaps believing his partner to be either incompetent or in dire need of assistance. But still, the limber little man continued to flail and gibber and flit around them. This couldn't last much longer though. Sooner or later, her mad little helper would be forced to either retreat or be seized.
When she'd asked for a distraction, this was hardly what she'd imagined. But a small crowd had finally begun to form around the bizarre little spectacle and Eleanor wasted no time in using it. Warily she slipped into the throng of spectators and began working her way past them, back towards the center of town.
She didn't have much time. It wouldn't be long before they noticed her absence and began searching. She needed information and she need to find it quickly.
Luckily, she knew exactly where such information was likely to be found. The whorehouse was the center hub for all the goings on within Nassau.
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She hastened through the streets with her head down, cloak closed and hood up. She had no intention of attracting any unwanted attention.
The sun had begun to set and the lights of the tavern and connecting whorehouse were within sight.
She closed the remaining distance quickly, carefully, and without incident, slowing her pace as she approached the entrance to the brothel. Cautious of what might be awaiting her in or around the structure, she took a moment to surveil her surroundings.
When no one seemed to pay any mind to her presence, she began to move towards the doorway.
Just as she was about to enter the noisy bustle of the establishment, she caught sight of a familiar face across the street. The man leaned against the neighboring building in a seemingly drunken stupor. His name presently eluded her, but she recognized him as one of Rackham's men.
For a few minutes she inclined against the side of the building, watching to see if the man remained unattended. When no one came to his side, she decided it was sufficiently probable he was alone.
With a steadying breath, she wiped her damp palms across her skirts and readied herself to take control of the situation. She didn't have time to formulate a plan of great detail or brilliance, so she settled for the first plausible one that came to mind.
She would be as shrewd, merciless and uncompromising as was necessary. She had to be.
Keeping the movement of her hands obscured, she slipped a small dagger from the lining of her cloak as she advanced toward the man.
As she approached, the man gave her a drunken leer. His eyes flitted from her chest to face with shameless interest. "Hey there, Sweetheart." He slurred.
One of the few benefits to being a woman was that men often overlooked you as a threat.
Eleanor forced a smile onto the curvature of her lips and stepped forward to lean into the man. Her left arm came up to encircle his neck as she lowered her face to rest above his shoulder, her breath fanning gently against his ear. His hands came up to grip her waist and her right hand moved to press the dagger firmly against his groin.
His body stiffened and stilled.
Briefly it occurred to her that this method of resolution to a problem was more characteristic of Charles or Anne, than of herself. In the past, she'd often employed others to distribute her violence, but rarely engaged in it herself.
Strange that such a thought would occur to her now.
"Where is Rackham?" She breathed against his ear.
To the average onlooker, she would appear to be simply another whore. With their proximity and position, it would seem as though she were fondling him, perhaps trying to convince him to agree to more expensive services.
The man swallowed roughly, his breath quickening. "I don't know." He croaked.
"If you've any attachment to your balls, you'll reconsider that statement..." She whispered.
When he remained silent for another moment, she pressed the dagger more firmly against him, eliciting a quiet yelp followed immediately by a string of curses. "Fuck! Okay, okay, easy! He came back to the island only a few days ago. He's holed up not far from here, set up camp in the jungle on the North-Eastern side of the island."
"Why? Is Charles Vane with him?" She demanded.
The man nodded. "Yes, yes, that's why Rackham's here. Billy and two of Flint's crew ran into Vane a couple days after they were supposed to have rescued him from the English. I don't know how he got away from them, but he did."
She closed her eyes, fought to bury the relief that rose with the mention of Vane's survival. Steadied, she asked. "Why did they stay here? Why not take Vane and head back to the safety of Maroon Island?"
The man shifted uncomfortably. "How do you know about Maroon Island?" He rasped.
"Answer the question." She hissed.
"Billy is trying to rally support for an uprising. He wants to incite animosity towards the English and that Guthrie bitch. Vane stuck around to help him and Rackham showed up when he got word of Vane's escape."
It was a good thing her face still remained hidden in his shoulder because that last bit had stung a little and it showed on her face. Vane was actively helping to not only turn the island against the occupation, but against her as well. The island had never been particularly fond of her in the first place, but it was still an uncomfortable revelation.
She should not have been surprised that he would seek to retaliate, given the hell she'd put him through. But somehow the knowledge still cut deeper than it should have. Perhaps some wishful part of her had hoped that freeing him might soften some of his disdain for her. But it was a foolish and unrealistic hope. One that would bring her nothing but grief.
She inwardly shook herself, trying to free herself of that particular train of thought. At this point, dwelling on his feelings towards her was a pointless waste of time. There were more important things to consider than her keening heart.
She'd gotten lucky tonight. Even having seen her face, this idiot still didn't recognize who she was. She could work that to her advantage. She simply needed to ensure that he kept his mouth shut about this encounter all together.
"Anything else you'd like to share?" She questioned softly. Her voice was light and encouraging, as though she were asking him to disclose his favorite colour and not the whereabouts of men who would kill him for such admissions.
"No..." He whispered.
For a moment she said nothing, then finally nodded. "Fine. Now... Your aware of what happens if you mention this encounter to anyone, yes?"
When he kept silent, she clarified. "You spilled your guts, gave away the whereabouts and intentions of men who are thieves and murders by trade. You did so with very little encouragement. If you tell Rackham, or Vane, or any of your little friends about what transpired here tonight, they'll kill you... They've done worse for less, no?"
The man nodded with reluctant acceptance.
Tone sardonic, she asked. "So we understand each other then? This cozy little encounter remains between us?"
Again he nodded. "Yeah, yeah, it's our little secret." He muttered with dejection and fear.
"Good." With that, she released him, stepping away from him abruptly. He bent over, his hand grasping his knees. He looked as though he might be sick.
Anne Bonnie would have been proud. Well, if she didn't hate Eleanor's guts, that is.
She backed away from him until she was sufficiently satisfied with the distance between them before she turned and hurried back in the direction of the fort.
Now that she knew Vane was alive and that there were already plans set in motion, there were arrangements she needed to attend to herself.
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