Author's Note: Hello and welcome to chapter seven of "Rubicon". I'd like to say thanks to everyone who took the time to read and comment on the last chapter, Tiera-Tarie, sudoku, and Astraeas Dreams. Your comments are wonderful, thank you all so much! As always, I do not have a beta for this fic, so any spelling or grammatical errors that occur are my fault and my alone. Enjoy!
Disclaimer: I do not own POTC or its characters.
March 23, 1731
Dearest Diary,
I am thoroughly exhausted. The dim light of morn shifts the clouds that tumble about the horizon and I watch the night ease into day from my bedchamber.
And what a night it has been.
I am giddy with wine still and weary from pleasant chatter and dance. For last night Cutler and I hosted a ball, our very first, in Port Royal.
It was a grand masquerade, the likes of which I am sure the Caribbean has yet to see. English elegance does not extend to Jamaica's gentry, but I tried to maintain the good taste which I hold so dear.
Flowers festooned every room, bright and cheery. I ordered grand arrangements of fruits piled high atop silver platters. Pastries and sweet meats were brought forth along with fine wine and Madeira Cutler ordered just for the occasion.
In the ballroom, three dozen mirrors graced the walls, reflecting the light from the chandelier and every movement of the dancers. We had a lovely group of musicians as well and they played all through the night. Still, the sounds of the harpsichord and violin merrily chime together in my mind. The gardens were open and guests traversed betwixt the hedges whilst candle-bearing servants stood hidden in alcoves, letting light shine upon the gravel paths.
I do not know how, but Cutler managed to gather a vast array of paintings to grace each room. So ivory-limbed Roman revelers pranced across each panel. Bacchus ruled over the dining room, seated amidst his fair maids. And majestic Augustus himself rode forth upon a chariot in the parlor. Garlands of snowy flowers twisted about columns.
To end it all, the guests were entertained by a fireworks display. Brilliant flashes of gold split the heavens over the wharves and illuminated all of Port Royal.
I daresay we have made our mark in the Caribbean.
Besides the richness of decoration, we made sure to garb our persons in only the finest fabric. Cutler dressed as a wild stallion, I as a fox. But I believe this is the first time the fox has ever caught the horse.
My husband wore a black frock jacket, the coattails of which were long to mock a horse's elongated back. His mask was narrow and extended forth from his brow to resemble the creature's face. He looked most handsome, I thought. And for a laugh he carried a horsehair riding whip. No other gentleman appeared so dashing, or imposing.
I wore a tawny gown with a good deal of lace about the collar and cuffs. The skirt was wide, a hoop adding to my hips. None of the other ladies were quite so aware of the current fashion, their dresses plain and dowdy looking. I believe I inspired much envy.
My mask was small and covered only the upper portion of my face. The eyes, however, were but thin slits and I found myself squinting throughout the evening. Cutler teased and said he wished he could chase something so fair across the moors. I told him to mind his tongue or he should never chase a creature again.
The ball commenced just before nightfall. One by one the guests arrived, driving up in small coaches with skinny looking horses. How distasteful.
They congregated in the parlor and drank punch. I heard one silly girl exclaim to all her friends.
"Why, isn't this grand! I wonder if England is as lovely."
Cutler told me that the foolish wretch had never set foot in England. What a shame.
We descended the staircase together and let the guests exclaim over our appearance. Cutler was so proud to introduce me, his wife, the accomplished Lady Beckett. And I found myself smiling as bewigged gentlemen bowed to me and ladies curtsied.
Many were introduced to me. I can barely remember each name and face now, but I shall try.
There were a great many navy officers. Lieutenants Theodore Groves and Andrew Gillette were most kind. There was also a Captain Radcliffe with his wife, Mary. And one Captain Southerly who came alone.
My greatest surprise of the evening came when Cutler introduced Mr. Norrington (who attended as well) as Admiral Norrington. When I inquired as to why, Cutler just patted my arm and promised me an explanation in the morning.
Next came Mr. and Mrs. Kearney. They are Irish people and still spoke with crude accents. I did not care for them much and Mrs. Kearney had a sour face. I do not think she held me in high regard.
Later in the evening, I heard her denounce our decorations as ostentatious.
Mr. Curtain, a wealthy bachelor was next introduced. He was a friendly sort of man, but not at all pleasant looking. And I thought he laughed too loud. Cutler seemed to agree.
There were many others, of course. A good number of officials and associates of my husband. But I am afraid I find most of the local gentry to be common. Too common, I might add. And I certainly do not intend to socialize with them.
But fortunately, just as my disappointment grew, I was introduced to a Lady Jane Nesbitt and her husband, Sir Nesbitt.
Sir Nesbitt is a goodly man and he owns a rich plantation not too far away. Lady Jane is just come from London herself a year ago and I found her most delightful to talk to. She is several years my senior and even confessed that she thought I should be older as well.
I think she is a sensible woman and of good-standing and breeding. We spent most of the evening in each other's company.
After our time in the parlor, we led the company upstairs and opened the dance. Perhaps the greatest thrill of the evening was once more falling into step with my dear husband. We both recalled the finer points of the minuet perfectly. It was so lovely, so comforting to join each other and dance. I am reminded of the two years we spent in courtship, the hours we so carelessly wiled away. Each footstep, each lavish gestured echoed with memories and fondness. And despite the crowd around us, I could look only at Cutler and him at me.
So long we were parted. I swear never to leave his side again.
We enjoyed a sumptuous dinner then. Unfortunately, Cutler was called away to attend to some matter and had to quit the table in a rush. He seemed most annoyed and I did not speak with him again until later in the evening.
After his departure, I at first felt put upon. How should I carry on my duties as hostess? But I soon recovered and the party proceeded without incident. The guests laughed and chatted. Polite inquires were made. The subject of my crossing from England came up often and most of the ladies shuddered at the thought.
"I could hardly stand such a perilous journey!" Mrs. Smythe, an old matron cried.
I smiled and told her that I was quite fortunate. My crossing was made most comfortable. I meant to turn to Mr. Norrington then and commend him for his kind care aboard ship. But Mr. Norrington had left the table as well. Perhaps he had gone to join my husband?
Dinner concluded and most of party returned to the ballroom for more dancing. Some gentlemen remained by the table and dedicated themselves to cards and drink. Other couples strolled through the gardens.
I shared a dance with Lieutenant Gillette and then Lieutenant Groves. They both chatted with me for a short while and I was impressed by their heightened manners and kindness. Captain Southerly then asked for a dance and I obliged him. He was quiet man but I enjoyed his company none the less.
Then Mr. Curtain, that rakish bachelor requested that I take his arm and join him in the minuet. He was not half as polite as the others and I knew his flattering words would never have been uttered in the presence of my dear husband.
Fortunately, Lady Jane rescued me and we retired to the parlor with some of the other ladies to converse.
A good while later, when the clock was creeping past midnight and Cutler still hadn't returned, I briefly left the company. I wished to go upstairs and see to my son. Agnes had put him to bed but I wanted to observe his peaceful sleep for myself. So gathering my skirts, I hurried up the stairs.
The corridor was dark and only my feet pattered along the floorboards. Yet after I had taken a few steps forward, a figure seemed to lash out at me from the shadows.
I gasped and leapt backwards. I could not draw breath.
"Oh, Lady Beckett!" Mr. Norrington moved closer, his hands clasped behind him. His face was so white, so terribly white. "Forgive me, my lady. I did not see you standing there."
"Never mind, sir," I said. But several minutes past before I had could breathe properly again. "I did not expect to see you here."
"Oh, forgive me." That was all he said. I stared at him. His eyes were red and he looked to have been crying.
"Mr. Norrington, are you well?" I asked at once.
"Of course, my lady." But his voice seemed to break. I rushed forward and placed my arm on his wrist, improper yes, but I pitied him. His smart blue coat was soft beneath my fingertips.
"Tell me what is amiss."
He stayed silent for a long moment and tried to withdraw further into the shadows, but I would not let him.
"Mr. Norrington?"
"These dark hours." He waved his hand. "They remind me of dark times."
I could tell he wished to leave, so I let go of his arm. He stepped back and offered me a bow.
"My lady." And then he hurried towards the stairs. I watched him go, so upright, so fine, so sorrowful.
"Mr. Norrington!" I called after him. He paused and turned. "Do not be so sad," I said. His eyes widened and I thought I saw tears gather within them once more. And then without another word, Mr. Norrington rushed down the stairs.
I almost thought to follow him. But another noise distracted me. Someone moved about down the corridor. Agnes, I thought at once. She must have decided to look in on young Cutler as well.
I gathered up my skirts again and hurried down the hall.
"It is just me, Agnes," I said as a warning. I did not want her to be so frightened as I was.
"Who?" A male voice answered me back.
I stopped.
"Who are you?" I demanded and squinted. I could just make out a tall figure. "What are you doing here?"
The man shifted and I thought I heard him sigh.
"This used to be my daughter's bedchamber," he said. His voice was a soft whisper, mournful.
"No more," I said forcefully. "Who are you?" And I stamped my foot upon the floor. The man sighed again and drew near. He was an older gentleman, with fine clothes and a drawn face.
"I know who you are," he said.
I felt a bit frightened then because he seemed to almost accuse me.
"You have not answered my question," I said. "Speak or I shall shout for assistance."
"I have seen your face," the man said. "Your husband carried your miniature about. You are the woman Lord Beckett married."
I said nothing.
"This used to be my daughter's room," he continued and pointed to the nursery door. "She was just about your age. Her name was…is Elizabeth."
And here the man began to cry. Pitiful, long sobs that shook one's very soul. I did not know what to do.
"Do you know what your husband did to her? Do you know?"
"Governor Swann!" Cutler's voice rang out from behind me. We both jumped.
"Governor Swann?" I asked as my husband slipped his arm beneath mine. I looked back at the disgraced man. So he was the father of Elizabeth Swann, that rotten wench!
"I told you to quit my property," Cutler ordered and he glared at the Governor.
"This is my home," Swann replied. Outrage crept into his voice.
"Was your home," Cutler corrected. "Leave. Now."
The man obeyed this time and he slid past us. I heard his footsteps thunder down the stairs.
"Governor Swann?" I turned to Cutler once more. But he smiled and again patted me on the arm.
"Later, my fairest," he said.
We returned to the party then and quite enjoyed ourselves. Mr. Norrington was nowhere to be seen though and I regretted his absence. The dance concluded and we wished our guests farewell. And so ended a lovely evening, if not a peculiar one.
Now, I can hardly hold my head upright. I fear I must retire now. There will be time for questions later. Cutler calls me to bed.
Lady Anne Beckett.