Author's Note: I offer my sincere apologies on the length of time between this chapter and the last. The update was delayed because I misplaced the notebook that contains what I all had written out! I was quite distraught as you can imagine. But I went ahead and rewrote the chapter anyhow; I'm really looking forward to completing this. I believe this is the longest chapter to date; I hope you enjoy it, and that it makes up for my tardiness. As always, thank you for reading!
In the Commodore's absence, Elizabeth tried out her new independence. Besides keeping mundane tea appointments and visiting her father in the afternoons, she wanted to be useful. Shirking the assumed elevated position of lady of the house- she never was one for convention- she accompanied her maid Clara, and learned how to keep house. She found she particularly enjoyed tending the vegetable garden and the flowerbeds, and the cook, an older woman named Margaret, taught her the regular recipes. Elizabeth went to the market with Clara, assisting her in picking out ingredients for meals, as well as shopping at the boutiques for a few new home furnishings.
On one such trip, Elizabeth stopped inside a craftsman's shop, one who made fine clocks and pocket watches. She thought one might make a good gift for the Commodore upon his return.
Walking over to a table by the window, she picked up a gold pocket watch in her gloved hand and opened it. On the face of the watch, a miniature painting behind the clock hands depicted a ship at sea, riding cresting blue waves. She could hear it ticking softly in the quiet of the store. She looked up out the window to the harbor of Port Royal. Real waves crested upon her home shores, rocking the docked ships. Her eyes scanned the crowds passing by, when she spotted William Turner- her heart stopped.
Will was with a tall, broad man carrying a coil of thick rope over his shoulder. The man was talking to Will, and Will was nodding- he looked thin and wan, and Elizabeth was filled with concern. She forgot about the gift idea, and she put the watch down and left the shop without a nod to the keeper and stepped into the street.
Clara had been waiting outside. "Mrs. Norrington," she said when her mistress reappeared.
Elizabeth quickly turned to the young woman. "Yes, Clara."
"Will that be all our errands, Ma'am?"
Elizabeth looked over her shoulder again- Will had disappeared. She nodded, feeling dejected. "That will be all," she said, and then made her way back to the house, stepping quickly.
Once in the door, Elizabeth went up to her room and sat down at her writing desk, and scripted an invitation to tea, addressed to Will Turner. Once sealing it, she sends off the butler Thomas to deliver it, with instruction not to return until he has answer if he will come or not.
Will did accept the invitation, though very reluctantly, and came to the Norrington house a Thursday afternoon.
Elizabeth sat on the edge of the couch in the parlor where the tea was set for at least fifteen minutes before Will arrived. When the doorbell rang, Thomas answered it, and Elizabeth stood several feet behind him.
"Hello, I've got an invitation for tea from Mrs. Norrington," Will told the butler.
Elizabeth cleared her throat and Thomas stepped aside. "Come in, Mr. Turner," she said.
Will looked better than when she had seen him two days ago; there was more color to his face, and his hair was clean and pulled back smartly.
They had not been so close since they were aboard the Dauntless, after defeating the Black Pearl pirates.
Elizabeth could not help from smiling widely at him. For a moment it looked as if a smile tugged at the corners of his lips too, but he kept his demeanor reticent.
"Hello, Will. I'm so glad you could come."
Will bowed, his lips pressed tightly together now. "I could never shirk and invitation from you," he stood straight again, looking into her eyes, "Elizabeth."
Elizabeth's smile quivered, and she held her arm out to the parlor. "Tea is served," she said.
They took seats across from one another.
"Where is Commodore Norrington?" Will asked.
Pouring the tea into Will's cup, she answered. "He is currently making a patrol voyage in the Bahamas."
Will frowned. "This seems inappropriate."
The old familiar flame of independence of Will's old friend flared. "I am head of this house; I may call upon friends if I wish."
"This friendly calling certainly is spontaneous," Will bit impatiently, understandably as an honestly heartbroken man.
Elizabeth picked up her own cup and saucer. "Yes, it does seem so. These past weeks have been strange, and unpredictable. I saw you at the harbor on Tuesday, and the notion that I must see and speak with you was instilled in me."
"Only upon seeing me?"
"No," Elizabeth glanced down. "I've wanted to see you for a long time- you're my greatest friend, Will."
Will was silent; he looked down into his cup, filled with black tea. The tea set was the Commodore's- it was an old one, the paint on the porcelain faded, depicting scenes of the English countryside.
Not touching his cup, Will sighed. "I was at the harbor bartering passage on a trade ship."
"Passage?" Elizabeth repeated. "Bound where?"
"The American colonies."
"The colonies!" she exclaimed. "Why?"
Will leaned forward with his shoulders on his knees, holding his hands out, palms up, in likeness of bearing all. "I can't stay here anymore, Elizabeth. It's become unbearable over the last months."
"You can't leave!" Elizabeth pled, suddenly desperate. She had been hoping to reestablish a connection with one she held so dear, and now it would be fruitless. "You must stay!"
"Why? The island had more than one blacksmith. I will do just as well, perhaps better in the colonies."
"I'm not talking about business, Will, you know I'm not! I am asking you to reconsider."
"Why, Elizabeth?" he asked again. "I have not had a word from you in months! Not even on the occasion of your wedding. If I am such a great friend, wouldn't have I been allowed to attend?"
Elizabeth's eyes began to well with tears, and she bit her lip.
"You have a husband now," Will continued. "You have a new life. Now I must find my own."
"I wouldn't have been able to do it if I saw you!" Elizabeth burst, crying freely now; it had been a long time since she allowed herself to do so. But she could no longer contain the truth of her heart. "If I saw you before the wedding, I would not have been able to marry the Commodore. I could have never taken those vows."
With an almost hungry look, William edged forward on his seat. "Tell me why, Elizabeth."
"I-" she choked on her words, and shook her head. "Don't make me say more, Will. I have known it in my heart, but if I admit it out loud I will come undone."
"I had come undone a long time ago, even though I did not proclaim it. But I will now." He stood. "I love you," he declared.
Elizabeth covered her face with her hands. Will saw the ring on her left hand. He went on. "I should have told you every day from the moment I met you. But I've been too cautious. We've been too cautious, if your sentiments are the same." He swallowed; emotion was rising up in his throat. "But it's too late. We both shall have new and very separate lives in the future."
"And what shall we do in the present?" Elizabeth uttered weakly.
"We must say goodbye."
Elizabeth closed her eyes, and round tears fell from her lashes. Will stepped forward around the table and took her hands. He looked at the left, the wedding band glinting in the light. "The Commodore loves you. Try and love him, as you could not love me."
Then he took her right hand and kissed it tenderly. She opened her eyes and stared intently into his face, memorizing his features. He met her gaze. "Goodbye, Elizabeth." He let go and moved to the door, into the hall.
It took but a moment for Elizabeth to submit to her own heart, desiring to match Will's for honestly. She flew from her chair and dashed into the hall, skirts ruffling behind her. She caught Will by the arm in the foyer. He turned around, and Elizabeth pressed her lips to his.
Stunned for a moment, he afterwards returned her embrace fiercely. Her lips were salty from her tears. Their hearts raced and they held each other close, fearing to let go.
But Will did let go, when he felt the cool metal of Elizabeth's wedding ring against his cheek. He stepped back. They looked at each other, having been caught up in their passion. Then reason began to creep back into their minds.
Will retreated to the door and spoke not without crying. "Goodbye, Elizabeth Norrington."
His words, her name hit her like a broadside. "Goodbye," she whispered as he disappeared behind the closed door. She was left alone in silence, frozen, the taste of William's kiss still in her mouth.
She was rooted to the same spot that James had kissed her goodbye. It paled in memory, in comparison to the embrace she and Will shared. She knew that a likeness to it could never be achieved with Norrington, for the mutual feeling of such desire was absent. She did not love him in such a way. But they were bound in matrimony. And upon this thought, Elizabeth sank to the floor, weeping anew with a greater sorrow, of guilt and grief.
On the same night that Elizabeth met with William Turner, Commodore Norrington stood on the deck of the Dauntless in a pitch-black night. There was no moon, and the stars were veiled behind midnight clouds. The ocean was very still, with an eerie silence hanging over the water. The only light was that of the ship lanterns, casting a ghostly orange light over the ship.
Lieutenant Gillette walked up the stairs to the upper deck to join Norrington, who had been more silent than usual.
"Evening, Commodore."
"Good evening, Gillette."
"I hope you're well James," he said, dispensing with titles, speaking with Norrington as the friends they had long been.
"I'm fine. Just a bit distracted."
Gillette hummed in reply, nodding with his character smirk playing on his mouth. After a moment of silence, he went on feigning small talk. "May I inquire after the health of your wife?"
"Very perceptive, Andrew."
"You should expect nothing else from me," he declared smugly in jest. "I've known you since we were midshipmen. As iron-sided as you portray yourself to be, I won't let you forget there's still a wooden hull underneath that metal, just like every other ship."
James rolled his eyes. "Thank you for that insightful simile, Andrew."
"Complimentary, sir." He smiled for a bit, then asked with all sincerity, "How is Elizabeth?"
"Distant," James sighed, looking off to the hidden horizon.
An approaching marine interrupted them. "Commodore; Lieutenant," he saluted.
"At ease," Norrington nodded.
The marine continued. "Sirs, it's hard to say in the darkness, but if you look just southeast beyond the stern, I believe there's a ship in the distance."
Gillette took out his spyglass and peered through it. Against the black of the night, a shadow of a ship was indeed discernable. "Sail ho, Commodore. Could it be the one we're looking for?" He passed the glass to Norrington, who saw it as well.
The H.M.S. Dauntless was currently searching for a pirate ship responsible for the attacking and seizing of merchant vessels in the Bahamas.
"It is a possibility. Raise the men and call to arms. Silently," he added.
In short time, the soldiers were assembled on deck with muskets and swords. But by that time, they had lost what sight they had of the unknown sea craft. But it was nearby; thus they waited- Either for the ship to show itself, or to wait until the sunrise would reveal it.
After an hour's time, the men grew impatient. But Norrington would not ignore the unsettling feeling in his stomach, or the sense that someone was just behind him, staring at the back of his head.
Gillette marched up and down the deck, in slow, quiet steps. He looked up at James, still stationed on the upper deck, illuminated by the lanterns, when without warning, two shots rang out in the dark. The ship's lantern's shattered and the lights were extinguished; darkness enveloped them.
"Commodore!" Gillette shouted. Had Norrington been hit? Gillette clambered up the stairs.
"I'm unharmed, Lieutenant," Norrington's voice came. Gillette's eyes were adjusting and he could see Norrington, standing rigid. "Be silent," he ordered. "Stay alert."
The crew's ears strained to listen to their commander's voice. They could only see his silhouette. Each man stared wide-eyed into the night while their enemy remained invisible.
Norrington overturned the shattered glass from the lantern with his foot, as the glass had been blown onto the deck. Looking up again along the possibly traveled trajectory of the assailant's bullet, all was veiled. Patience was wearing thin.
But it was rewarded- for suddenly out of the dark and the fog a ship came bearing down on them, of a dark-colored hull and gray sails. It sailed parallel to the Dauntless, on its starboard side. Shadows of men could be seen on deck and hanging like spiders on the rigging.
The Naval captain shouted across the way. "This is the H.M.S. Dauntless. Identify yourself!"
Silence. The captain repeated his call- "Identify yourself or prepare to be boarded!"
There was a clattering sound of a chain and pulley, and against the black sky and the black fabric, the white skull and crossbones of the pirate insignia would be seen rising on the mast. The shadows moved, the metal of weapons shimmered. It was all still silent, until they fired first.
An onslaught of orders were issued. Men manned the cannons, held their muskets aloft. The battle was engaged.
Shots were fired in the dark, at passing specters. The Dauntless rumbled with cannon fire. The muzzle flash would illuminate the scene for a moment, providing an ephemeral heading. But the pirates were not using their cannon; their intent was to take the ship, not sink it. They kept sailing nearer, closing the gap between them, and then like phantoms, came down from their ropes and descended on the Dauntless.
The deck was soon filled with combatants. The pirates were attempting the greatest silence as they moved, using the dark to their benefit. The only sound they made was frenzied breathing, rustling clothing, and footfalls. It was cowardly, but cunning. It infuriated the Commodore.
Norrington parried the blow of a pirate's sword and lunged at the man, felling him. He turned about, his weapon held before him and defended himself thrice over. When a gun fired, the flash was reflected off his bloodstained blade- and the ring upon his finger.
Norrington's heart skipped a beat as his mind flew back to Port Royal, to Elizabeth, and his brain was filled with anxiety. This situation was nothing new, being in mortal danger was nothing foreign. He had not feared it before. But now, he wished to remove himself from it and ensure that he lived another day to see his wife again.
This distraction was his downfall. He had frozen only for a moment, but that was all it took. A searing pain cut across his back. Hissing through clenched teeth, Norrington spun around to make out a massive figure holding a short sword. He lunged again, and the Commodore fought back with a fury, but each time he swung his sword, the pain of his wound increased as the muscles in his back stretched.
The pirate swung wildly and fiercely, bearing down on James. Norrington narrowly deflected a blow to his head, but the man dropped the sword directly down and struck Norrington's leg, cutting deep.
A pained shout burst from his mouth, and his left leg buckled; Norrington could not catch himself. He hit the deck hard and waited for the killing stroke, damning his foolish doubts.
But it never came. Looking up, the man's shadow loomed over him, his sword raised. But before he had been able to fall, a second person charged the man, driving their own sword into the pirate, who fell heavily. Gunpowder lit again, and by the light James could see it was Lieutenant Gillette who had saved his life. He kneeled over his friend-
"Will you be alright?"
"Yes," he replied thickly, pain and bitterness in his voice. The Commodore was furious that he had been defeated so, from allowing his sense of duty to wane, replaced by fear and desire. Even though it had been a second, he paid severely for it.
Gillette turned back to the melee, but staying close by Norrington. It so happened that the man the Lieutenant had defeated had been the captain of the pirate gang, and the resistance soon crumbled without leadership. Their stealth disintegrated by the dawn's early light, and when the sun peaked over the horizon just beneath the clouds, the pirate crew was accounted for as defeated and captured.
Norrington was one of many attended to by the surgeon; wounds were cleaned, stitched and bandaged. The pirates were allowed to attend to their dead, then the prisoners were placed in the brig.
By the afternoon the marines whom had fallen were laid to rest, buried at sea, passing under the cover of the flag of their country. Norrington declared the names of the dead soldiers gravely, standing on his own in respect, but when the crew bid peace to their last fallen comrade, James had to take a cane to lean upon. He would not let anyone try to support him, but Gillette kept a careful distance as he followed him back to the commander's quarters.
Norrington went to his desk. Gillette closed the door behind them.
"I do not require a nurse, Gillette," he said, looking down at the maps.
"I know that there are ailments other than physical that are unsettling you." Andrew stood with his chin thrust forward.
"Are you referring to my pride? I can assure you that it does not suffer, even though I am very nearly a cripple. Severe injuries are expected in military service, there is no shame in withstanding them."
Gillette frowned. "There is something other than the results of the battle that bothers you."
"Once again, Gillette, very perceptive," he said a bit scathingly. Upon seeing his friend's irate expression, James dropped his head. "I apologize." He took a breath. "Yes, there are other factors."
"And they are?"
James would not tell Andrew of the anger he harbored for himself because of his error in concentration. He would only receive another lecture on the common hearts of men. He curtly replied, "Personal."
"Alright James. We all have our secrets, I'll let you keep yours."
"Thank you." James sat down gingerly and awkwardly, stretching his leg out in front of him, and leaning forward, keeping pressure off his back. The cane was placed against the desk. "Now," he began with formality. "As our scheduled docking date is several days overdue, and the fact that we are in need of repairs and carry a brig full of pirates, Port Royal shall be our heading. Relay this to the pilot."
"Yes sir," Gillette replied. He saluted and left. Soon the sails caught a favorable wind and the Dauntless was on the return journey home. As the ship rose and fell on the crests of the waves, Norrington stared at the charts, comparing it to himself. In one hemisphere was Elizabeth, in the other was the King's Royal Navy. But he could only wish that his heart could be as calculated.