Isabelle sat in the library and rubbed at the bridge of her nose. Her head still ached even though the mob had been put down the day before. The headquarters of the East India Trading Company was uninhabitable; the lower clerks and accountants were sifting through the rubble trying to find anything that might be salvageable. The day after the uprising, she had made her report to Cutler.
"Lord Beckett?"
"Ah, Isabelle! I'm so glad you're alright." But he didn't even look up from his ledger as she came into the room. Isabelle stood before the desk and held out the green folio she'd rescued from the headquarters building. Cutler looked up at it as if he wasn't sure what it was. He took it from her slowly and perused the contents. "You were able to retrieve it…" He said distractedly.
"Yes. I had found it just as Jame…Mr. Norrington found me." She had almost used James Norrington's given name and Cutler had noticed. He looked up at her with one eyebrow arched high on his pale forehead. "I didn't have time or the ability to get anything else."
"Well, you didn't disappoint for once." Cutler's voice was cold and dry; he tossed the portfolio onto the desk and leaned back in his chair. "Have you anything else to report?"
"About?"
"Well, did you see anyone…was there anything unusual that you saw or felt?"
"Not exactly. I felt the discontent, but that's been brewing for some time."
"You didn't report that earlier." Cutler snapped.
"Well I didn't think it would get this bad, my lord."
"You should have told me at the slightest sign!"
"Mrs. Grossvenor is upset because her cat went missing last week. She was dreadfully upset by the whole affair and could think of nothing else the other day in the market. Is she a security threat?" Isabelle was tired and her temper was short. She regretted her outburst even as she was still speaking.
"Isabelle, you are out of line. I will excuse it for now simply because I know you must be tired after your ordeal." Cutler's voice was like the marble of the mantle piece; cold and flat. "You are dismissed."
Isabelle stood her ground for a moment but left after only a moment's hesitation. When she reached the door though she remembered something and turned back. "There was something else."
"Yes?" Cutler had gone back to his reports and seemed distracted.
"There was no coin in the accountants' desks in the office."
"You were going to steal from the company?" Cutler stopped writing and brought his cold gray eyes to focus on her. She felt as if someone had dumped her in a tub of ice and was holding her beneath the surface.
"Of course not! I thought to keep it from being consigned to the fire, or to keep it out of the mob's hands…."
"I'm sure…"
"It's the truth! But the trays were empty! I swear it; someone had cleaned out that office before I got there!"
"Yes well, Isabelle, it is fortunate for me that there was a shipment to England the day before. In fact, that ship's manifold is what was in this file." He said tapping the green portfolio. "So you see, I know there was not gold there."
"Then why did you accuse me of trying to steal it if you knew it wasn't there?"
"Because I know that you didn't know that." Isabelle didn't understand. Cutler was making no sense to her and she was too tired to try to deal with it. "Leave, Isabelle. You'll be doing a lot of work in the wake of this catastrophe." Isabelle left the room and almost slammed the door on her brother once on the carpeted floor of the foyer. She stood with her hand on the outside handle and felt as the flames of his anger buffered against the door. She had not genuflected as he thought she should have….she had not showed him the proper respect on her departure.
"Good, he's angry and I'm angry, at least he knows how it feels." She stalked away from the door and went to the parlor for the rest of the day.
A few days later she was called to the library, which had become a sort of temporary headquarters for the Company, to tell her tale to an insurance representative, a lawyer and the captain of the guard. The three men listened to her story carefully, the lawyer and the insurance representative taking careful notes and the marine listening with careful disdain.
"Did you recognize any of the people in the mob?" The Lawyer asked.
"No."
"Do you think if you were to see them again you could identify the brigands?"
"Sir, it was dark, the shadows cast from the fires were long. I was terrified. I wouldn't have recognized my own brother had he been on the streets that night."
"Are you sure?" He was pressing her to find someone they could pin the whole thing on. If it was just a nameless mob, there could be no real trial, and the entire city of Port Royal would be known as a city of criminals and arsonists. It would be over run by similar criminals hoping to find sanctuary amongst their own. She saw where the lawyer's imagination went and saw Port Royal degenerating into another Tortuga.
"I could recognize no one."
"Thank you Miss Beckett." The insurance agent said with a forced smile. "I believe that will be all." The marine stood by the door and bowed her out of the room. The door clicked behind her softly and she heard the men talking on the other side. Most of the words were lost to her, but she felt their unease. They had to pin these crimes on someone. How could no one be identifiable in the crowd? A knock on the main door sounded and Isabelle waved the majordomo off and answered it herself.
"Mr. Norrington!" Isabelle stepped back with a smile and let him in. "You look well this morning."
"Thank you, Miss Beckett." James said with a small bow. He was wearing a new coat of navy blue and his brown hair was combed back and clean. His face, which usually bore at lest one days' growth of beard, was free of any hair and his eyes were bright and clear. The cut and color of his new coat brought out the color of his eyes, something she only rarely noticed, and the shape of his broad shoulders; his waist coat was flashy champagne colored brocade. He took a deep breath and subconsciously ran his hands over the fine embroidery on his waistcoat.
"Don't worry, it suits you." She smiled as she shut the door and turned back to him. "I suppose you're here for…" She nodded towards the library door and he nodded.
"Yes, I'm to give my deposition." He sighed as he dropped his arms to his sides.
"They asked if I recognized anyone from that night." Isabelle whispered.
"Did you?"
"Honestly Mr. Norrington, I cut my hand and bled all over half of Port Royal and was none the wiser to it. Do you really think I recognized anyone in the street?" She moved across the foyer towards the library door and felt James' eyes on her.
"How is your hand?" She was wearing a long sleeved chemise beneath her dress, the sleeves of the under gown covered her hand up to her knuckles. The steel blue silk of her dress shimmered as she moved across the room. "You're hiding it?"
"It's better to hide it Mr. Norrington. If everyone were to see it, they might start asking questions, and then I'd have to tell them that I cut myself descending a drain pipe like some sort of jungle creature. Wouldn't that just scandalize all of Port Royal?" She had a mischievous smile playing about the corner of her mouth as she looked up at him with one eyebrow arched. "I'd also probably have to tell them who it was that coerced me into descending the previously mentioned drain pipe. Better for all parties involved that this remain hidden." She said raising her hand up and waving it slightly.
"You're probably right. The parlors of this city are already terror filled enough." Isabelle nodded as they stood outside the library. Finally, Isabelle raised her left hand to knock on the door and waited until the marine came to admit James Norrington.
She did not see him when he left and she did not see him in the days that followed. She did see the ship builders who were concerned that their money might have burned up with the company building. Assured that it wasn't, they gave Cutler an assessment on how far along his precious new ship was.
"Her keel is laid and she's coming along ahead of schedule. The second level of gun decks is going down as we speak."
"She'll be ready to sail then by the appointed date?" Cutler asked. Isabelle was in the room taking files from Cutler out to Mercer. Of the two places being in the Library with Cutler was the lesser of the two hells. The ship builders looked at each other and nodded.
"Of course my Lord. With any luck she'll slip from her dry dock ahead of schedule." Isabelle wanted to laugh. They weren't about to tell Cutler that his ship was actually a month behind schedule and that it would take a small miracle to get it in the water by the desired date. Isabelle delivered the files to Mercer and held the door for the ship builders to leave.
"Were they honest, Isabelle? Is the Endeavor really ahead of schedule?"
"The Endeavor?"
"Yes, that's to be the name of the new ship. It'll be the fastest, most powerful ship in the Caribbean. Even the Dauntless and Interceptor will have had nothing on this ship." Cutler said with a gleam in his eyes. How could she tell him that his new ship, The Endeavor, was a month behind schedule?
"It's a fine name…"
"But will it be ready on time?" Cutler pressed. Isabelle sighed and approached his desk.
"I don't think it will, My Lord." She saw his face fall, as if he were a child told he could not have a puppy before his birthday. "They are behind schedule as it is, more than a month so, and it will take a small miracle to get it finished by the date you desired."
Cutler slammed his hand into the desk and his face turned an odd shade of red.
"Mercer!" Isabelle shuddered as Mr. Mercer came into the room. "I want you to go down to the ship yard, set up a marine presence and get those builders working faster. I want that ship done!"
"Yes My Lord." Mercer bowed and left the room, glaring at Isabelle as he did so.
"You are dismissed, Isabelle." Isabelle curtsied and left the room to take up refuge in the parlor. Cutler certainly was in a foul mood these days.
Months passed and storms plagued the island off and on through the end of the summer months. Businessmen tracked mud and dirt through the foyer of the house and into the parlor and library conducting business while the former offices were demolished and reconstruction began. Isabelle tried to help the house servants with the cleaning but they would hear none of it. She tried to help make suggestions for the new office, and to find new space--that her home would be returned to her--but Cutler would hear none of it. She felt useless; she could not help with housework and Cutler wouldn't allow her to help with anything Company related. Weeks passed by and Isabelle watched as the world seemed to move around her. She saw nothing of James Norrington; she eventually discovered that he'd been sent to England at Cutler's request and had gone telling hardly a soul of his intentions. Isabelle had only found out when she had spoken to the woman who managed the boarding house James had taken a room in. And even that small discovery was only because the woman's mind had drifted to the sea chest that Norrington had left in her care and wondered to whom she should send or give it should he not return. The warm summer slipped imperceptibly into a balmy autumn and that changed into a gray winter. Port Royal was not what it once used to be. What had once been a happy, colorful, and prosperous town in the New World was now a drab, lifeless, sad place. The only people staying in the city were those with businesses that could not be transported, or merchants, who felt far safer in Port Royal, protected by the guns of the royal marines. Isabelle often wondered if the merchants were staying because they felt protected, as they often tried to convince themselves, or if it was because they were terrified Cutler might turn the guns on them if they left.
Isabelle knelt in church after the other parishioners had left and prayed an extra moment for strength, and for protection for William and Elizabeth—wherever they might be. Nothing was known about their location, at least not that Isabelle knew, and she wondered what might have happened to the Governor's daughter and the blacksmith. She had seen Governor Swann in church; the man looked ten years older than he had the day she and Cutler had come to Port Royal. Gracious, we've been here just under a year. Isabelle thought as she ended her prayer and crossed herself as she entered the wide aisle to leave the church. Governor Swann was held quite solidly beneath the thumb of the company and he looked all the more worn for dealing with both affairs of state and acting on the King's behalf and dealing with business that Cutler set to him. The Governor had been arrested after Elizabeth Swann's jail break and had been black mailed into supporting the company to maintain his freedom. On top of the business tasks he dealt with, he was worrying himself sick over his missing daughter. Isabelle knew that the Governor had privately funded three different vessels to seek out his daughter or find any news as to her whereabouts. She also knew that he had offered quite a substantial reward for that information.
Isabelle stepped out into the early spring sunlight and saw several ladies chattering animatedly to someone. Isabelle didn't take the time to look to see who it was. Probably a traveling salesman, come to delight the ladies with the latest fashions from Paris and London. Isabelle strolled towards the church yard gate and saw that it was not a salesman, but Mr. Norrington they were all speaking with. She paused for a moment and stared, willing herself not to smile or to insinuate herself into the group of hens crowding around the man. She thought it odd that only a few months ago these women had looked at James Norrington with disdain, as if he were something less than human. Now they were flitting about him as if they were gulls and he were a great catch laid out for their own personal feast. She heard one of them ask about fashions in England. Trying to make sure they can keep up appearances with the Continent. Easier said than done in this place. He doesn't even realize he's being used, does he…? Madeline LeBouviette suddenly appeared in Isabelle's path and beamed at her. The girl would have been a stunning beauty, if not for her long, yellow, jagged teeth and Isabelle might have liked her if she wasn't such a featherhead with a mind turned to slander and gossip.
"Oh, Miss Beckett! Isn't it just wonderful?"
"I have no idea of what you speak, Miss Le Bouviette. What is so wonderful?"
"Why, Mr. Norrington returning and getting a position with your brother's company, of course! Isn't it exciting?"
"I hadn't known he'd been appointed. I shall have to congratulate him."
"Congratulate who?" Isabelle turned and looked up at James Norrington who had come up behind her.
"Why you of course!" Madeline answered, beaming at him and striking his arm playfully with her fan. "I was just telling her of your appointment as Admiral in the East India Company."
"Yes, Congratulations." Isabelle said, yet she did not feel excited for him, she could see in his eyes that he was not truly proud of the appointment. Or perhaps it was merely the way she'd found out that disappointed him. "I had no idea…."
"Why surely you must have, Miss Beckett? How could his Lordship possibly have kept something like this hidden?!"
"Because, Miss LeBouviette, some people practice discretion." Isabelle snapped, her voice taking on the chill of the late February day. She nodded to the stunned girl and swept past both her and Mr. Norrington. "Good day to you both. You shall have to call upon his lordship and myself at your earliest convenience."
"Admiral Norrington." Isabelle mentally corrected herself. How could she have not known? She stepped up into her coach and returned home, her anger slowly building.
A/N: More to come, and soon too! Thanks for your patience!