Disclaimer: I do not own Pirates of the Caribbean.
Author's Note: It's finally here! Beckett and Anne reunite at last. This chapter also contains a brief excerpt from the weepy Irish song "Carrighfergus". If you get a chance, I would recommend listening to Loreena McKennitt's version of it, it so reminds me of poor Norrington. Anyway, I would like to thank Astraeas Dream, who took the time to read and review the last chapter. As always, I do not have a beta for this fic so any spelling or grammatical errors that appear in this story are my fault and my fault alone. Enjoy!
March 16, 1731
Dearest Diary,
The strangest dream has followed me these past five nights. It seems the closer we draw to Port Royal, the more persistent it becomes. I feel the need to recount every peculiar detail, if only to settle my mind.
I found myself standing on a beach. It was midday, the sun was high in sky and the waves were licking the shore. The sand was hot. A woman sat close by, a strange woman. She had knotted hair and brown skin that shone when the light washed over it. Her dress was made of rags.
"Come sit," she said. Her voice sounded foreign. She patted the sand and combed it with her long fingers.
I did not feel at all frightened. In fact I enjoyed the breezes and the warmth and the thundering sea. The woman's smile was kind and inviting. I did not fear her.
I sat in the yellow sand across from her and she took my hands in hers.
"Are you ready?" she asked and I nodded. Her eyes grew bright then. So bright and full and round.
The woman withdrew a small knife from the sand. Before I could say anything else she drove the blade into my throat. I could feel it stuck in my windpipe.
No pain did I feel. But I could not breathe. I could talk though.
"Where am I going?" I asked her. She held my hands as I fell back on the sand. The tide was coming in. "Where am I going?"
She did not answer me and the world began to fade. The waves washed over me.
I am not sure what I should think of such a dream. It is foolishness. But why does it haunt me so? Perhaps it has to do with Mr. Norrington pacing the decks at night and singing. Always the same song, always in the same sad voice. I know it by heart now.
But the sea is wide and I can't get over
And neither have I wings to fly
Oh, if I could find me a handsome boatsman
To ferry me over to my love and die
I'm drunk today but I'm seldom sober
A handsome rover from town to town
Oh, but I am sick now, my days are over
Come all you young lads and lay me down
I asked him one morning at breakfast why he sang so. He said he had learned the song a long time ago in a place he barely remembered. He looked so forlorn I did not question him further.
I wonder what would drive a man to such sorrow. Perhaps Cutler will be so good as to inform me when I arrive.
The journey has been easy, I suppose. Mr. Norrington says the waves are calm for this time of year. Agnes does not agree. She has been so wretchedly ill and more than once I've heard her say she wished she was back in England.
Mr. Norrington always takes care to escort her above deck whenever her illness strikes. But he always stands by my side, never speaking. He keeps his eyes on the ocean.
I, for one, am weary of the ship. It is a pretty little thing to look at…from shore. I never cared much for the sea.
The rest of the servants do not complain. When not in my presence, they keep to themselves in their cabins. I hear little from them.
Young Cutler is peaceful most of the time, though he cried loud and long one night when it rained. We had just come from dinner and Mr. Norrington was escorting me back to my cabin.
When he heard the babe crying his eyes went soft.
"What ails him?" he asked as Agnes met me at the door with my son in her arms.
"He is fearful of the rain, perhaps," I said and I took Cutler into my arms and rocked him until he was quiet. For the first time I saw Mr. Norrington smile.
The other gentlemen on the ship rarely speak with me. They are frightened, I suppose. Cutler must have threatened them all so fiercely. I am sorry for them. They are small men, with small weather beaten bodies and nervous hands. They cling to the ropes and the rails and sometimes I think the wind itself might blow them away.
I do wish someone would speak with me though. No longer do I have Harriet to keep me company and I miss her now.
I tried to speak to Mr. Norrington once. We were standing on the deck and the sun was bleeding into the sea, creeping towards the horizon. Agnes was ill again. The ocean was quiet and still. I almost wished for the roar of the waves or the sudden clap of thunder. Such stillness is most unnerving.
Curiosity taunted me as I stood there and I glanced at Mr. Norrington. He was watching the sea, as usual.
"What is the nature of your association with my husband?" I asked. The silence that followed was even more terrible than before. Mr. Norrington went inside himself again, hunched his shoulders and looked away.
"I was a naval officer some time ago," he said at last. "A very long time ago, in fact. Lord Beckett had use for my services."
And that was all he said. I wanted to shake him then. I wanted to force an answer out of him. Instead I retired to my cabin and watched young Cutler dozing in his cradle.
Such was the progression of my journey. Still waves, silence and many unanswered questions. And then five days ago the dreams began. I have taken to pacing up and down my cabin and I imagine my husband doing the same in his chamber.
Dear God, it has been so long. Often in my mind I repeat the last words he said to me on the day of his departure. I do not wish to forget his voice.
"Farewell, my fairest," was all he said as the coach pulled away. But I remember the sorrow in his voice and the cold indifference he struggled to mask his emotions with.
Should he be the same way during our reunion? Dear God, it has been so long.
Last night when I awoke from my dreams I did not hear Mr. Norrington singing. Instead there was a knock on my door and Agnes soon came bearing news.
We would be in Port Royal by morning.
I have not slept since. I went above deck just before dawn and smiled along with sun. The men were chattering and Mr. Norrington stood by his post. He said nothing.
After a while I retired below and changed from my plain frock into a red silk gown. Agnes helped me dress and arranged my hair. And now I sit alone, my hands are shaking so.
Above deck I hear voices, scattered cheers. The men are celebrating. Someone is calling out.
"Land ho!"
I must go.
Lady Anne Beckett.
Later
Dearest Diary,
I am seated in a most grand chamber now but I have not the time to describe the particulars of it. All I can say is that it is a grand chamber in a grand house nestled atop a great green hill.
Oh for the joys of this day! Shortly after I heard the men cry out on deck I went above and saw a sliver of land. The sliver soon grew into an island with a fine harbor that housed dozens of ships. My husband's ships, I might add. The flag of the East India Trading Company waved in greeting, situated atop a fort that faced the ocean.
I can scarce remember the details of my arrival. The ship came into the harbor and a great crowd of people stood there, curious. Mr. Norrington stood with me on deck and folded his hands behind him.
"Welcome to Port Royal, my lady," he said. I could not see much of the place at first, just the harbor and several houses in the distance. I was too busy searching for him.
Agnes stood behind me with young Cutler in a basket in her arms, the other servants in her wake. I paid them little mind. The sailors worked quickly, lowering the gangplank onto the dock. Orders were shouted and there seemed to be a good deal of commotion. Only Mr. Norrington remained quiet.
"May we go now?" I asked him after several of the sailors had disembarked.
"Of course, my lady." He offered me his arm and begged me to tread carefully. The wooden plank wobbled a bit beneath our feet.
I was halfway to the shore when I heard horses approaching the harbor. A great coach, such as the one we had in England, hurried down the street. Two fine horses with plumes upon their heads pulled the vehicle. The crowd suddenly thinned.
My heart thundered in my breast and I found I could not breathe. Poor Mr. Norrington, I clutched his hand so tight.
The coach halted just off the docks and a footman jumped down and hurried to the door. I was almost to the shore then and my pace quickened. Mr. Norrington had to lengthen his strides to keep up with me.
The door to the coach opened and I swallowed my tears as Cutler stepped out.
My dear husband, oh my dear husband! He looked just the same, though his eyes went wide the moment he saw me.
And then he was hurrying to the docks and Mr. Norrington disappeared from my side. I could not move, forced to watch as Cutler drew near. It seemed to take him so long.
At last he stood a mere foot from me. I wanted to reach out and touch him.
Cutler doffed his hat and bowed. "Lady Beckett."
I managed to curtsy. "Lord Beckett."
His fingers slipped between mine and he leaned close and whispered so only I could hear, "Anne, my fairest."
"Cutler," I replied. "My friendliest."
He led me to the coach then and helped me inside. Once the door was shut I began to weep. And just as we had years ago in that darkened labyrinth, Cutler let embraced me and held me close and I wept upon his shoulder. He raised his hand and stroked my forehead and I kissed his fingertips.
Soon we arrived at the grand house and Cutler brought me inside and sat me in a grand parlor. And just as I had previously instructed Agnes, our son was brought to us and placed in my husband's arms.
I don't think I shall ever forget the expression on his face. He pulled back the blanket and stared at the child, and in his eyes I saw both love and a certain satisfaction. He was so pleased.
"My son?" he asked and raised his eyes to me.
"Yes," I replied. My husband smiled and held the child in his arms.
We dined together afterwards and spoke for so long a time. I had not forgotten his voice after all. Now I have little time to detail every event. Cutler is coming up the stairs to our bed chamber.
Lady Anne Beckett