Cutler had indeed been upon the ship that had entered the harbor. As he rode in the carriage up the dirt road, he noted the atmosphere of the city. He heard laughter coming from the open windows of houses and saw tables in the church yard and wondered as to the occasion behind them. His coach trundled farther up the road and pulled into the drive of his estate.
"Home Sweet Home." He thought as he went up the stairs and entered the foyer.
"Lord Beckett! You're home!" The majordomo came forward and took his cape, cane and hat from his Lordship and bowed low. "Are you hungry, My Lord? I shall have cook set up dinner for you."
"Yes, that would be splendid. Tell me, where is my sister?"
"Lord Beckett!" Isabelle swept down the stairs with a smile upon her face. She was wary of him. But she knew what he wanted to see. When I come back, you will be docile and subservient. He stared at her as she dipped a curtsey and looked at him "I hope your trip went well."
"Yes, the heart is secure, for now. Other problems arose, but will be dealt with in time."
"Anything I might help with?"
"Perhaps, but it is not to be dealt with now. Come, I shall have no talk of business just yet. Join me for dinner."
Cutler's distaste for anything business related lasted only until his meal was finished and then he desired to know the entire goings on of Port Royal. Isabelle filled him in on everything she knew.
"I saw tables outside the church. Was there a wedding?"
"No…it is May Day. There was a celebration."
"A celebration? How quaint. What part did you have in it?"
"I donated the time of cook and some of the others. All the families did."
"And the Company?" Isabelle could feel his ire building and was cautious with her answer.
"Father Murdoch asked for some donations of flour and the like, I thought it wise for the Company to make a small donation to such an endeavor." Cutler stood from his spot at the head of the table and came to stand behind Isabelle's chair.
"How much?"
"No more than one barrel of flower and two cones of sugar." Isabelle answered. Cutler's hand came down heavily upon her shoulder. "We divided the flour and sugar and sent it home with the children, for their families."
"Your hand is all over this Isabelle. Why on earth would the company donate such things?"
"Well, My Lord, in case you hadn't noticed, the Company is not looked on with much favor in this town." Isabelle hissed as he dug his fingers into her shoulder and grasped her chin with his other hand forcing her to look into his cold eyes. "The people didn't know it was really a donation from the Company…they believe Father Murdoch bought it with alms."
"Really, you think the good Father has the sort of funds to distribute such things to the entire community?"
"Well, some of the society families may have donated…."
"But they didn't!" Cutler fumed.
"No, but I did! It came from my allowance." Isabelle answered desperately. It would take everything she had to pay for the flour and sugar she had appropriated for the donations to the children. Cutler stepped back from her, his eyes still cold, but beginning to warm at the prospect of Isabelle's being penniless and wholly dependent on him. She could feel it in her very core.
"Quite the little charity dealer. I'll expect to see the bill of sale and your coin upon my desk on the morrow." Cutler hissed at her. He left the dining room and slammed the door to the library where he remained for the rest of the evening.
Lord Beckett spent his days in the company offices, cut off from the town and orchestrating the lives of the people in the streets below. In the market place, Isabelle heard the rumblings of new taxes and higher prices on basic trade goods. She wasn't sure if this was sanctioned by the English trade board or if it was Cutler's misguided attempt at punishing the people for Isabelle's May Day celebration. She would not question him though for fear the tax hikes were brought on by her charity to the town. If it was, he might raise prices even more.
Weeks passed by and Isabelle felt the angry stares drill through her in the market place. It was almost to the point she no longer wanted to leave the estate. She saw James Norrington from afar, or after church, but he was no longer required to be a protector or messenger at headquarters and could no longer find a good excuse to call on Isabelle. She had not had a moment to call on him to tell him about Cutler making her pay for the gifts at May Day. She wasn't even sure she wanted to for fear that he might try to cover the costs himself. She had sold a gold broach, a gift from Cutler's father in order to help cover the costs sustained by purchasing the barrel of flour.
Soon she started to second guess James Norrington's friendship and she grew sullen and spent her days in the garden. Perhaps he had been using her friendship as a way to get closer to Cutler, as a means to ensure his position within the company. Maybe he thought that she had some sway with her brother and she would put in a good word for him. James had done a remarkably good job of hiding many of his thoughts and feelings. She had realized that the British Navy had instilled a stone veneer in him and that emotion was something he had difficulty showing. He masked it. Perhaps her sense of his sincerity was part of that façade. Regardless, whatever his intentions may have been, it had worked in his favor. When she had reported to Cutler the evening of his return she had informed him of how well James had comported himself to his duties and that he certainly deserved a reward for his service. But she had heard nothing further on the subject.
She was sitting beneath an arbor in the garden sewing one afternoon when she heard a rustling in the dense foliage farther down the path. The air was calm and the sound seemed out of place in the silent afternoon garden. She stood, setting her needlework aside when she heard the rustling again.
"Is someone there?" Isabelle stood and went cautiously towards the noise. "Hello?"
But she could neither see nor sense anyone in the garden. She went all the way down the path to the garden gate but still did not see anyone. A cool breeze began to blow and she pulled her shawl closer about her shoulders. A storm was brewing, of that she was certain, but of what sort, she was unsure.
The rain came late that evening just as the evening meal was being served and the sky remained dark and unseasonably cool for the next few days. It made the roads slick and several carriages remained stuck in the mire that the streets remained.
One afternoon Isabelle was helping to light the lamps of the house. She entered the library and heard Cutler sigh as the room was bathed in the golden light cast from the hurricane lamps.
"Lord Beckett…is something troubling you?"
"You have to ask?" He asked glaring up at her. She smiled indulgently at him.
"Perhaps I should have said "What is troubling you?", but I didn't want to intrude."
"I'm in the middle of finalizing an important business deal and of course, I'm missing several of the key files." He leaned back in his chair and rubbed at the bridge of his nose. "I shall just have to go back to headquarters to retrieve them, though honestly I don't want to go out in this drab weather again."
"Why don't you allow me to go?" She asked as she lit the last of the lamps. "I could use the walk and you've been working yourself too hard of late."
"What?" He looked up at her through his fingers. "You would do that for me?"
"Of course, Lord Beckett. You are my brother after all." He sighed as she came to stand before his desk. "Which files Cutler, and where are they? I can be back in twenty minutes if I leave soon. And by the time I get back, Cook will have supper ready."
"It would be nice to relax for a bit…" Isabelle knew Cutler was tired; he had not even reacted to her use of his first name. "Very well…they are in my office, on my desk I think. They'll be in a green portfolio."
"I shall leave immediately." She left the room and put her coat on in the foyer. "Anne, tell Mr. Hawkins that Lord Beckett is not to be disturbed until the evening meal is ready. If I'm not back by the time it is to be served, serve Lord Beckett and I shall take my meal later. His Lordship is very tired and needs some much needed rest."
"Yes Miss Beckett." The house girl curtseyed and shut the door behind Isabelle as she trudged town the walkway towards town.
Isabelle thought back to her first time in Port Royal. Then, all the houses had been full and though the town had been fearful of the heightened military presence, it had at least been alive. Now, many of the houses were dilapidated and empty. Shutters banged in the breeze that kicked up off the harbor. People had left Port Royal to make their way on other islands, the shipping industry having been altered in this previously flourishing port. Isabelle blocked the sad thoughts and anger from her mind and trudged into the empty company office. She heard a shutter bang loudly where it had obviously not been secured. She made her way up the stairs and went into Cutler's office. The shutter banged again and the wind howled through the building. Isabelle shivered as she heard it whistle across the chimney tops. The shutter banged once again and then grew silent. She hoped that it had either re-latched itself or a passer by had secured it growing as annoyed as she had with its constant banging. There were several portfolios scattered across the office. Some were on Mr. Mercer's desk, others were on the tables about the room. She filtered through the ones on Cutler's desk and then moved about the room trying to find the green folio. Finally she went to Mercer's desk and there, buried beneath several other files and documents, she saw the fabled green one.
"Ah ha! There you are…." Isabelle leaned across the desk and carefully began to extract the heavy portfolio. But something pricked at her consciousness before she could finish. The feeling made her breath catch in her throat and she paused. Someone was in the building with her. Not only were they in the building, but they were close to the office where she now stood. So intent had she been on ignoring the plight of the people of Port Royal, she had ignored the feeling of anxiety that permeated the air. Why was the air ripe with anxiety and anger? The other person was now standing in the doorway. She was unprotected, standing with her back to the door. What shall I do? Isabelle leaned far over the desk and slid the drawer open quietly. Thankfully Mr. Mercer had a place for everything, including the dirk shaped letter opener. She grasped the cold metal handle and drew herself up again. She tried to glance over her shoulder to see the newcomer, but the room was dark with shadows. She held the blade in her right hand and tried to slip the needed portfolio from stack, but she could barely concentrate. Her hands shook and she couldn't concentrate on the task. She was trying to keep tabs on what was going on around her, while trying to act oblivious. What was she to do?
The newcomer moved out of the shadows and pounced on her. Isabelle raised her arm high to strike at her attacker with the blade, but her wrist was caught in one strong hand. She dropped the portfolio and pushed against her assailant even as they covered her mouth and pinned her to the desk. She tried to kick to scream, anything to get up or away. The grasp on her wrist tightened and she heard someone trying to shush her, but she would not be so easily silenced. She tried to breath but couldn't; she tried to scream, but couldn't do that either.
"Shhhshhh! Miss Beckett….Isabelle! Open your eyes and look at me!" Isabelle did as she was told and looked up into the eyes of James Norrington. She stopped struggling and released the blade she'd been holding. It clattered dully against the desk. "Do you promise to be very quiet?" She nodded quickly. It was becoming hard to breath, she'd do just about anything to get him off of her. Only then did he remove his hand from her mouth. She gasped in the stillness of the office and it seemed loud to them both. He stood back and helped her stand up.
"What are you…" He moved forward and covered her mouth again, holding a finger to his own lips.
"Whisper….there are others downstairs…." Isabelle strained her ears and could hear the sound of someone moving downstairs, then she heard glass break and a shout was raised. Quickly remembering the whole reason for being in this place, she quickly grabbed the portfolio she'd been sent to retrieve.
"What's going on?" Isabelle hissed at him. He grasped her hand and dragged her towards the door. "Who's downstairs and why on earth did you attack me?"
"I don't know what's going on, but I overheard some men at the lodging house discussing a raid this evening." Isabelle watched as Norrington craned his head around the door jamb to look out into the corridor. "I was going to go inform the constable when I saw you come in here." There was a loud crash and Isabelle heard a great cheer as more people rushed into the Company Headquarters. She came to stand beside James and looked towards the head of the stair case and saw a strange orange glow diffuse the gloom of the darkened building.
"What shall we do?" Isabelle knew their way out was limited and soon the angry mob would come upstairs.
"Follow me." James practically dragged her from Cutler's office and down the hall into a small back corner room. Just as they had entered the room they had heard people come up the main staircase. James quietly closed the door, and then began to pull a desk to block it off. Isabelle pushed with all her might and together they maneuvered the desk into position.
"Wonderful, now we're trapped in here!" Isabelle hissed as she looked around. She was sure she could smell smoke and wondered if she was to be burned alive, condemned to the fires like the witch many people would think she was if only they knew everything about her.
"No, we'll go out the window, here." James threw up the large window and leaned out to assess their escape. "The drain pipe here should be able to support us." Isabelle snatched up a satchel that happened to be lying upon one of the smaller clerk's desks and slung the bag over her shoulder as she slipped the portfolio into it. Why even bother, the whole building was going to be consigned to a fire? She joined James at the window and looked at the slender length of pipe that ran from the slate roof down to a half filled rain barrel.
"You have got to be joking."
"No, I'll swing you to the pipe and then all you have to do is climb down…."
"What!?" Isabelle stood back from the sash and shook her head. "I'll not be swung about like a sack of grain!"
"It's the only way! Can't you smell the smoke!?! They're firing the building!" James said. Isabelle could now see the haze beginning to fill the room as smoke drifted under the door frame. She heard shouts and heard people entering the other offices farther up the hall. "Come on now!"
"No! You first!" Isabelle said as James grasped her hand. He stared down at her and scowled. "I can reach the pipe, but I'd prefer to have someone below in case I lose my grip on it." James looked ready to argue with her but she was insistent and on leaning out of the window, proved she could reach the pipe on her own. "Please! Go!"
James slung his leg out the window and reached for the pipe and slid easily down it using skills he hadn't used since he had been a young midshipman. He reached the bottom safely and then called up to Isabelle. She was no longer in the window though. She had made a dash to one of the accountant's desks and opened the collections drawer. She looked puzzled at the empty drawers and cubbies that should have been at least mostly filled with coin.
"This one's locked!" She heard someone on the other side try to force the door.
"Hurry, they've already lit part of the building!" Someone else said. She raced back to the window and leaned out to grasp the drain pipe. She grasped the pipe tightly in both hands and slid down the pipe section by section. The pipe was rough in her hands and she had to stop every few feet to re-grip the pipe after joints and brackets. She was most of the way down when the pipe shuddered and a high pitched grinding sound filled the air. The bracket she gripped tightly in her hand snapped away from the wall and she nearly fell. She bit down on her lip in an effort not to scream and closed her eyes before moving to the next section of pipe. She felt James reach up to grasp her ankle and guide her foot to the edge of the rain barrel. Then he reached up and grasped her narrow waist in his strong hands to lift her down.
"Come, there's little time." Together they ran up the darkened streets of Port Royal as the world seemed to come crashing down around them.