The Ball

According to the reports coming with the merchant vessels, it had been the worst storm in the past twenty years that had devastated great parts of the Western Caribbean. Giant floods had struck many coastal areas, the heavy rainfalls causing avalanches of mud crushing down on nether villages, and many small fishing boats hadn't returned from sea.

None of these afflictions had been felt in Port Royal, which was located further in the East, still the reports of it left no citizen unperturbed. They knew what it was like to be caught by a storm; it could happen anytime in this part of the world and caused almost more destruction than an average pirate attack. Lieutenant Gillette scratched his chin, his eyes on the map of the area that had been hit worst. It was roughly were the Dauntless was likely to cruise presently. A ship like the Dauntless had only few weak points; she wasn't very fast, admittedly, needing strong winds to advance, but otherwise, she was stable and solid. Her mere weight gave her stability even in heavy seas, and the Commodore was an experienced sailor, knowing both his ship and the ocean.

"Do you think something could have happened to them?" Governor Swann asked anxiously, for the fifth time at least, and Gillette shrugged once again.

"It's impossible to say that for sure, Sir. But it's not very likely; it takes a bit more than a storm to affect a ship like the Dauntless!"

"Are you sure?"

With some effort, Gillette managed not to roll his eyes. The Governor was an idiot, at least that was sure, even his little daughter having more knowledge of naval affairs, and wasn't this saying something? He shrugged once more, heavily this time. "Nobody can say for sure, Sir. A storm is a storm, and there are many inexperienced sailors on the ship. You know, we received a whole load of new boys, fresh from Portsmouth. But the Commodore usually knows what he's doing, doesn't he?"

"Oh yes, of course," Governor Swann nodded eagerly, and Gillette wasn't able to suppress a sneer. Oh yes, the Commodore! The Governor thought the world of the Commodore, everybody did, not only the inhabitants of the town made some sort of saint of him. No, so did the soldiers, having more respect for the Commodore than for Admiral Thompson even. It was getting on his nerves, really. For eighteen years, he was in the Royal Navy now, serving fifteen of them with James Norrington, which was more than bad luck – it was a true punishment. Gillette couldn't explain himself what he might have done to be inflicted with James Norrington of all people; somehow, it didn't seem fair. Gillette was older than him, and judged by seniority, he should be the superior. But he wasn't.

Whatever this man did turned out to be a success; Norrington had never lost a battle, and managed in only eight years what had been the undoing of all his predecessors – ridding this part of the Caribbean of piracy. Of course, there were still some of them out there, there would always be pirates as long as the world contained poor starvelings, rich ports and Spanish gold frigates. But they were no real threats any longer, and most of all, they didn't dare to come near Port Royal, due to the Commodore's fame. He was a living legend among the sailors, at the age of thirty-one, even the Spanish praised him. It was ridiculous, really!

Commodore James Norrington was only thirty-one, but he was a legend already. Relentlessly, this prodigal hero, about whom, Gillette didn't doubt it, sonnets would be composed before long, had seen to purge this part of the world of pirates, he had brought peace and posterity to Port Royal and the surrounding islands, and had consequently been made a Commodore at an age when other sailors hadn't yet become a plain Captain. His success stemmed from a variety of qualities like patience and valour, perseverance and tenacity, foresight, cleverness, discipline and self-control, and mostly, a capability that not even Gillette could deny, namely iron-clad nerves in the face of mortal danger. Which was, on the whole, really unnerving for everyone else who was forced to deal with Saint James.

Well, he had just made his first real mistake in all those years, and with relish, Gillette had sent his report to Admiral Thompson about the incident. Norrington had let this Sparrow bloke escape, right before his eyes, before the eyes of the entire fleet in fact. His infatuation with the Governor's little daughter had stunned him, and Sparrow had vanished right from their midst. Two hundred armed soldiers, but no shot had been fired, no command been given – Norrington had messed it all up, and hopefully, hopefully he would pay for it. Justice would be done at last.

He, Henry Gillette had been ready, he had even asked the Commodore for an order, but in his inconceivable arrogance, Norrington had merely shrugged, and gone away then! And now, he was on sea for twelve weeks, hunting this pirate that he had been stupid enough to let go – suited him right, and with a bit of luck, he wouldn't find him in the next twelve weeks either. It'd be a feast when the Admiral finally had to acknowledge that his darling Norrington had failed it all! And Gillette would be ready for that moment, too!

Norrington's fame should be his, Lieutenant Gillette often thought, he should have been promoted back then and not Norrington, and if he had been Captain, he would by now be the Head of this fort, he would have done anything just like Norrington, and have the byname 'scourge of piracy' and be the toast of all the ladies between San Antonio and Kingston. It was the grossest of injustice that Admiral Thompson had promoted the younger Norrington and not him, Henry Montgomery Gillette!

Basically, his whole life was a sequence of misfortunes, injustice and plain bad luck. He had two brothers and two sisters; Christopher, the eldest had inherited the title and fortune, William, the youngest had been sent to Oxford to become a clergyman, and all other money had been used to bribe some worthless simpletons into marrying his ugly, silly sisters. There had been only enough left to buy him, Henry, a commission and with that, he had been sent away. He felt nauseated when thinking of Christopher, enjoying all of London's amenities and comforts, while he himself was stuck on some godforsaken rock in the middle of nowhere, and deprived of every comfort at all.

His Navy career was no great success either; he had started as a Lieutenant and never got any further, and he blamed only the Commodore for this. Not only that Norrington would never recommend him for a better position – they didn't like each other, and were both well aware of the other's dislike – he was also a pain in the back. Simply everything about Mr Perfect was downright annoying, Gillette wouldn't have known where to start if he had been asked about it. But of course, nobody ever asked – who else could find fault with the dear, dear Commodore?!

But this would come to an end at any rate, and then, he would become Head of the fort, and a new wind would blow! He was roused from his gleeful musing by Governor Swann asking once more, "When do you think will the Commodore return?"

Gillette put up his best smile, hoping his vexation didn't show to clearly. "We will soon hear from them, I'm sure, Sir. Sparrow cannot hide forever, can he?"

"Hopefully so, Lieutenant Gillette! But I'm afraid he is a sly man!"

"So much worse that he was allowed to escape, Sir," Gillette said confidently, but this reply clearly dismayed the old Governor. He sighed and shook his head.

"Yes, yes. But Commodore Norrington will sort it out, I hope! He's a most excellent man!"

Excellent? Oh yes, of course. Governor Swann had thought of his hapless daughter who had enabled this flight in the first place – Gillette shouldn't have mentioned it. He didn't get along too well with Miss Swann, but since she had dumped the Commodore, he had grown a little fonder of the girl. Normally, he found her pretty much impossible – even his preposterous sisters possessed more dignity, like it was suitable for a decent English lady. They weren't half as handsome, or clever, admittedly, but what use was in beauty if it wasn't supported by distinct manners and elegance? However, she had broken the Commodore's heart, and Gillette liked her all the better for it. At least once, somebody was capable to see this man for what he really was!

She had slighted him for the sake of a young blacksmith – Henry still had tears of laughter in his eyes when remembering that day. Once, only once, Norrington, the great, famous James Norrington had got what he deserved. There was a god, out there. And He had a great sense of humour. All his military successes, all his merits, this terrible air of sacredness hadn't tempted the fair lady's heart, and judging his state when Gillette had seen him for the last time, this had hit him worse than any pirate attack could ever have. Brilliant!

"Is there anything else, Sir?" he asked now, using his most flattering voice and praying that the Governor would leave. To talk to him was like talking to a child; unfortunately a rich, powerful child, but Gillette thought he had some skills of endearing himself to the rich and powerful ones.

"I can't think of anything right now, Lieutenant. Will we meet you on the ball tomorrow?"

"Certainly, Sir!"

"Marvellous! Will you bring your cousin, too?"

"Of course, Sir. He's looking forward to it, he told me!"

Oh yes, his cousin. Another of these famous sailors. Captain Francis Filister, pride of Nassau Port. Francis had been made Captain two years ago for vanquishing the infamous Captain Black. Another of these ridiculous stories! But Henry liked him nevertheless, or even more so. His mother had married a rich commoner, alienating the rest of the family, and her son had inherited both her single-mindedness and her cheerful disposition.

He was a favourite with half of the town's ladies already, and it didn't take a prophet to know why Governor Swann made inquiries after him either. He clearly hoped his daughter to be among the girls fancying Francis; after failing to make her marry the Commodore, he would go for the second best thing. Poor man, seeing his only child throw herself away – Francis' mother had at least married rich. Commoners were easier to bear when they were rich, and with a smart spouse, they could even adopt some proper manners in time.

Well, Francis would take her sure enough, she was pretty, she would inherit a large fortune, her father was a gentleman. The perfect bride, so to say. But not even his optimism truly believed that he could detach the girl from her petty fiancé, and by now, he neither was in need to do so. He was rich himself, and had likewise said, "Why should I chase a girl when I can have a dozen girls chasing me?"

"Sportsmanship?"

"I'm no sportsman, Henry. Your Norrington may be one, but not me!"

"Bloody Norrington!"

"Yes, bloody Norrington, but let me give you a piece of advice, mate – you shouldn't wear your dislike on your lapels. Makes you sound so pathetic, you know?"

To be reprimanded by a commoner's son about one's attitude wasn't pleasant, but Lieutenant Gillette didn't mind too much. Francis was just like that, and it had got him far, much further than Henry had come. Well, perhaps with his assistance, he could still make his way.

Talking of the devil – in this moment, Francis came in, neatly greeting the piffling Governor, and shooting his cousin a brief, but nonetheless broad, grin.

"Captain Filister! I was just talking to the good Lieutenant here about the storm – so what would you say – could something have happened to the Dauntless?"

This time, Gillette couldn't keep his calm countenance, but that did no harm, as Governor Swann's gaze was focused on the Captain, who put up his very best smile. "I'm convinced that everything's excellent, Sir."

"Are you? That's a relief…"

Henry was sulking – he had assured that ridiculous man five times that everything was going to be all right, without any effect. But as soon as Francis would open his mouth, the Governor was relieved, eh?!

"Absolutely, Governor Swann. Don't make yourself uneasy, I'm certain that the Dauntless is exactly where it ought to be, and we'll soon hear of them."

Francis and the Governor shook hands, and this one left, reassuring one last time that they'd all come to the ball. Francis nodded, smiled, and confirmed, making the old gentleman beam.

"Brilliant! My daughter can hardly wait!"

And then he was gone, eventually, and Gillette let out a long, heartfelt sigh. "Honestly, there's one thing I do not envy bloody Norrington for – he's got to deal with this idiot all the time!"

"Well, cousin, you might want to get used to him. Once you are Head of this fort –"

"Ph! As if! Knowing my luck, the Admiral is going to pardon Norrington, and I'm left out in the cold once again!"

"I don't think so. Calm yourself, I –"

Gillette interrupted him impatiently, "You know the Admiral, yes! Didn't help me last time either, did it?"

"Last time, Admiral Thompson still had his Golden Boy Norrington, Henry. But once the heroes go down…"

Gillette remembered once more the glorious day of Sparrow's escape and couldn't but giggle. Francis went over to the cabinet and fetched two glasses of Whiskey. "And we can celebrate tomorrow – haven't you heard? Little Miss Swann can hardly wait!"

This wasn't exactly true in fact. Miss Swann couldn't have cared less for a ball to which her fiancé hadn't been invited, and where she'd be urged to dance with dull gentlemen and inapt officers for a whole night. But Hen would come, too, and Elizabeth would be able to continue with her little plan to make her friend and the Captain madly in love with each other. No matter what the young lady always professed – Elizabeth knew for sure that Henrietta had as great a heart as every other woman. Maybe it took some more to captivate it, but she didn't doubt the Captain's skills to seize his opportunity!

She'd only have to prevent her father from interfering, otherwise she'd be stuck with Captain Filister the whole evening, which must not happen. Nothing must divert his focus from Miss Van Dyke, and there'd be enough girls that Elizabeth would be forced to take care of to keep them away from him. She'd arrange lots of dances for all the little Miss Coxes, Elliots or Perkins, she was to make sure that they'd be busy entertaining one young officer or another as long as staying away from the Captain.

"Where's your dancing card, Hen?" she asked innocently.

"My dear Lizzy, don't get started with that again!"

"I don't know what you are talking about, dear! I'm merely curious which of these fine gentlemen has ventured to dare asking you for a dance!"

Henrietta arched an eyebrow. "Ah, I see. Well, I can easily tell you. Lieutenant Gillette has, and so have Mr William Perkins, Mr Bradshaw, Sergeant Fisher, Mr Zinn and Mr Brooder. Are you content?"

"Captain Filister has not asked you to dance?" Elizabeth cried anxiously. "That's very bad of him! I shall immediately –"

"No, you shall not, Lizzy. For once because it isn't your place and then because he has indeed asked me already!"

"But why didn't you say that?"

"Because you are so keen to hear it anyway. Listen, I really wish you would stop this nonsense – it is quite embarrassing for me!"

Elizabeth had the grace to blush lightly, but this didn't keep her from turning her friend's words just as she pleased. 'Embarrassing' – in her notion, this could only mean that Henrietta in fact had some interest in the Captain that she didn't want to admit, and she prided herself for the delicacy not to press the matter any further. Nevertheless, with delight, she watched the two of them dance together, casting Henrietta enthusiastic and Captain Filister encouraging glances.

She danced with the man only once this evening – she had accepted even Mr Carmichael as a partner to avoid more than one dance with the Captain. Mr Carmichael was a bachelor of fifty-one years, plump and a horrid dancer, but the Captain should spend as much time as possible with Henrietta, and Elizabeth was willing to go any length to reach that purpose. Also, she didn't want to encourage her father's unreasonable hopes.

The Governor was grieved indeed with the evening's course and remarked quietly, "My dear child, why do you engage every dancer in the whole room but the Captain? I've seen him ask you at least four times!"

"But Father, don't blame me, please. It isn't my fault that the other gentlemen have asked me earlier on, and really, if I wasn't dancing with poor Mr Carmichael, no other girl would and he'd be on his own for the entire ball. Besides, the Captain isn't a particularly fine dancer!"

"Neither is Mr Carmichael, dear."

"No, he's disgraceful, so my dancing with him can well be regarded as an act of charity!"

He couldn't help it and smiled. "Act of charity? Oh well, so all your dancing is as unselfish as can be, right?"

"Yes, surely!" She beamed merrily, completely missing the irony in her father's comment. "Since the Commodore is gone, you are the only fine dancer in the whole of Port Royal, and since it'd be highly improper for me to dance with you, I have to content myself with young men stepping on my feet!"

"Lieutenant Gillette dances very well, too, doesn't he?"

"Yes, he does, but a good partner doesn't only dance well but talks pleasantly, and as the Lieutenant is hardly a wit, I shall always dislike having him ask me!"

"You are too shrewd for me, my darling!"

She refrained from nodding knowingly and gave him another smile. "Oh no, Father, I simply lack your civility, so I can speak my mind freely!"

He let it pass and sighed. He had actually hoped that the absence of her fiancé would tempt Elizabeth to be a little more responsive to the Captain's charms, but he had to realise that it had effected the opposite. Perhaps, he contemplated, it would be more useful to obtain an invitation for young Mr Turner to the next ball, so she could see the difference between the somewhat clumsy and inexperienced boy and the other, exceedingly superior guests. True, Captain Filister was no born dancer – which was a pity, as Elizabeth was very fond of it – and he surely made not half as good a figure on the dance floor as the good Commodore. But he would cut out the young blacksmith nevertheless, who certainly had never attended a single ball in his whole life.

He knew that his daughter found him to be a snob, and she wasn't wrong in assuming so either. But what she fully failed to realise was that she was a snob herself in some ways – and at least, the Governor was aware of his own stylish preferences in this respect. Elizabeth fancied balls and dancing, expensive dresses and gallant talking a good deal. She estimated education and good breeding in her company. Will Turner could offer her nothing of all this, and although she might find this romantic for a while, it was bound to tire her sooner or later. No, she had a quite distinct sense of class; that consciousness made her idolise the gap between herself and the young craftsman in the first place. What distinguished him most in her eyes was his being different from herself, which she found exotic and exciting – but when had happy conjugal life ever been solidly founded on such feeble effects? There would come the day when she was to despise her husband's simplicity, when she would be dissatisfied with her own superior sense opposing his naiveté. One could perhaps achieve a better place in life and be happy with it, but lowering oneself always inescapably led to dismay and regret.