Author's Note: Hello and welcome to chapter eighteen of "Rubicon". I would like to thank everyone who read and reviewed the last chapter, ElfLuver13, Tiera-Tarie, and Astraeas Dreams. I have no beta for this fic, so any grammatical or spelling errors that appear are my fault and my fault alone. I hope you enjoy!

Disclaimer: I claim no ownership of Pirates of the Caribbean.

August 12, 1731

Dearest Diary,

A ship came in from England today, bearing both wretched news and a wretched personage. The news I shall speak on first, for it affects me little now that I dwell in the Caribbean. Still, it vexes me so.

Uncle has died. Harriet wrote to me, her letter detailing his end in simple words and simple thoughts. She did wish to further upset me, though I know she must grieve herself. Harriet was never opposed to Uncle but pretended to dislike him for my sake. She wrote saying that he had passed in an ordinary manner. The influenza took him and a fever. For three days he lay delirious and on the fourth he died. Now he is with my dear Aunt and Father. Let us hope he does not make them miserable.

My vexation, however, does not arise as a result of his passing. No, I am much too hard-hearted for that. Harriet spoke of the circumstances which now surround our Mother and I am not at all pleased.

Uncle, her brother, left Mother quite penniless. The family house (in which I spent my childhood years) was seized to pay his debts. Mother, once a lady of high degree, is now without a proper home. I care not, for after all she was so terribly cruel to Cutler and I. Let her wander about the streets of London as a pauper begging for pence. I would never help her.

But Harriet would.

My ever kind and generous sister took Mother into her home. I am most angry. Does Harriet not see the trickery she will employ? I do. Mother will turn her against me and soon my own sister will not trust in me. Harriet assured me of her love but I know better. I wrote to my sister and advised her against her ill-chosen course of action. With any luck, she will heed my warning and leave Mother in the care of some mutual friend. Or better yet, perhaps she will leave her be altogether.

Cutler tells me not to worry over such a matter but I cannot put it from my mind. Perhaps that is what has caused my sleepwalking. Five nights during these past two weeks, Cutler or some servant has caught me traversing the halls. I do not remember the incidents though my husband's wearied expression is enough to proof of these strange events. Scattered dreams follow me some nights, filled with bonfires and distant voices. It is all a blur now, not so clear as my dreams once were. I try to piece them together during my waking hours but such heavy meditation only serves to give me a headache.

Perhaps it has something to do with the haunting tale Cutler told me. I pray not, for his story was quite terrifying enough. I dare not write of it for my husband has warned me against it. Cutler begged me not to think on it and oh, I do try. I do so try!

The Caribbean does not seem quite so friendly as before.

Now I feel I must say something of the wretched personage who arrived today. I did not wish to see him, but again Cutler begged me. He seems to do a good deal of pleading these days, as a matter of fact.

My husband sent for one Doctor Hall to come from England to treat me. Cutler says he is well spoken of and has attended to the greatest members of the gentry. I wish he had stayed in England.

Doctor Hall came at once to our house from the ship, not even bothering to secure his lodgings first. I received him coldly though Cutler seemed overjoyed. It is not natural for a woman with child to be seen by a physician. Tradition dictates that such business belongs to women alone. I would even prefer to be seen by another incompetent midwife than this man. But there was little I could do.

Agnes complained heartily as well, for she has seen to my health during the recent months. Cutler believes it is both unwise and crude for a lady of standing to be treated by her maidservant. I did not argue the matter, though I am sure I could prove him wrong.

Doctor Hall is a strange sort of man. Quiet with wide eyes and a round face. I rather thought he looked like a young man but as it seems he is nearly fifty! Do my eyes deceive me or does he?

He came into my chamber (another matter of harsh impropriety I might add) and I made sure Agnes came with us. For a good while he examined me and often listened to the sound of my breathing. Often, he bade me cough and I did so, my lungs aching each time. He asked me if I had ever retched up blood and I said yes. This seemed to concern him greatly.

"The pallor of your skin suggests the advancement of the sickness," Doctor Hall said at one point. I sat on the edge of my chair with my fingers curled about the arms. He heaved a great sigh and looked at me sadly. "There is little to be done. I fear some of my treatments might be too difficult for the child to bear. If you survive the birth, then perhaps I might be able to ease your suffering…for a time."

Upon hearing this, Agnes burst into tears. I sent her from the room at once. It was a strange thing, indeed. Even though Doctor Hall seemed sure in my fate, I was not frightened, nor did I think I would die.

"You will tell my husband that you found me well," I said. Doctor Hall looked quite stunned.

"My lady, I cannot lie," he replied and I saw that he was not prepared to do so.

"If I am to die, then I will," I said. "There is no reason he should be forced to anticipate my end. Let him be happy for a time, if that is God's will."

And then Doctor Hall looked at me with respect in his eyes. He smiled and bowed his head.

"My lady is very brave."

I nodded. "A woman should be."

"Very well," he said. After a moment he stood, collecting his things and moving to the door. "I will say nothing to your husband, if that is your wish. But you must realize, he will expect some answer from you."

I said I understood and he left. For a long time I sat in my chamber and now I await my husband. He has not come to me yet and I must think of something to tell him.

Dare I lie to him?

Footsteps. I hear footsteps on the stair.

Lady Anne Beckett