Chapter Twenty-Seven
Gone
"You'll waste your time with the Rislingtons," Elizabeth said briskly, pushing a lock of hair behind her ear. "They probably donated mud or rocks. Your best bet is the Murtoggs, that colonel, or Mr. Smythe. The Potters probably just threw money at them."
"Much 'preciated, Mrs. Turner," Barbossa said, inclining his head in a slight bow. Elizabeth heaved a sigh, shaking her head ruefully. "I don't know why I do it."
"P'rhaps because ye owe me," Barbossa challenged humorously. Elizabeth's eyes widened with bemused interest.
"Owe you, Captain?"
"I b'lieve it was you and that young Turner did demand a wedding ceremony in the midst of a ragin' battle?"
"Oh, that," Elizabeth laughed. "I wouldn't take it back for the world. All right, we're even now."
De Faria slid the map Elizabeth had drawn off the table and shoved it in his pocket. "We should be leaving, Captain."
"Aye." Barbossa stood and bowed deeply, taking Elizabeth's hand and lightly kissing it. "T'was a pleasure."
"Good Lord, Captain, you almost strike me as decent," Elizabeth exclaimed, withdrawing her hand from his.
"Hardly," Barbossa retorted, straightening. "'Til we meet again, Mrs. Turner."
"Indeed," Elizabeth agreed, and showed them to the door since her maid Estrella was still cowering in the kitchen.
"Let me see da map," Ragetti asked, pawing at De Faria. De Faria handed it over, rolling his eyes.
"So . . ." Ragetti scrunched his eyes up as he stared intently at the map. "That way." He pointed a finger down the road.
"Learn ta read, ye maypole." Barbossa grumbled, and turned the map right-side up.
As the door to the first house they visited swung open, a woman greeted them. Upon seeing Barbossa's decorated jacket and sword, she smiled.
"Are you here for Antony?"
"Matters of business, ma'am," Barbossa answered smoothly. The woman nodded her head and beckoned them inside.
"Antony, you have visitors," she called as she closed the door. A man stumbled into sight shrugging his red coat on and adjusting his belt. His eyes landed on Barbossa and he paled.
"You!" He shouted, and seized the woman's arm. "Henrietta, send for Lieutenant Mullroy. Now." The woman, Henrietta, gave a frightened look, but obeyed.
"Do I know ye?" Barbossa asked, hand resting on the hilt of his sword.
"'Know you?'" the man repeated weakly, completely taken aback. He ripped his coat off and pulled the neck of his undershirt over his shoulder to reveal a jagged white scar.
"You shot me the night before my wedding. You kidnapped my fiancee."
Barbossa glanced at Ragetti, who shrugged. "Sounds like sumfin you'd do."
"Now look here, Murtogg," Barbossa began, "I think ye be havin' me confused with another man, I've never seen ye before in me life." The words came out easily enough, but something about the man's face was familiar. Barbossa shook the feeling and stood resolutely staring down Murtogg until his gave in. It wasn't hard.
"I'm . . . I'm sorry," the man stammered. "I've just never seen someone who looked so similar to that man. I'm . . . Forgive me."
"No hard feelings',"Barbossa assured him softly.
Murtogg turned, "False alarm, Dear. I made a mistake." Henrietta peered worriedly back into the hall. "Perhaps I can offer you some tea?" Murtogg said, reddening darkly.
"No, but thank'e. I'm just havin' a question per'aps ye can help me with."
Murtogg didn't recognize the box.
"Probably the old colonel's, don't you think?" Murtogg asked his wife, handing her the box. Still a little pale, she glanced back the the three before taking it.
"Um, maybe. It's too plain a thing for the Rislington's taste, I should think. No offense intended, you see," she added hastily. "I don't know."
By the time they left the Murtogg's house the sun had begun to set, but Barbossa was determined to get a solid answer. They would at least visit the colonel's house, and see where it led them from there.
The visit to the Murtoggs had shaken Barbossa, even though he hid it well. Murtogg's accusation had sounded accurate, and for an instant, in that moment of the words processing in Barbossa's mind, he'd seen a flash of something. Someone. Sharp strains of a violin and the toss of golden-brown curls against shimmering blue silk. In another second it was gone.
"I'm sorry, I've never seen that box before." The old colonel apologized, handing it back to De Faria.
"Couldn't someone else have donated it?" De Faria persisted, "Your wife, or a servant perhaps?"
"My wife has been dead these five years, rest her soul, and I have only one servant."
"Can we ask him, then?"
"Her," the colonel corrected, "and yes." He picked up a small bell and rang it twice. A middle-aged woman in a dark dress appeared.
"Yes, sir?" She asked, head down.
"Did you give this box away?" the colonel asked gently. The maid blushed and bit her lip.
"I'm sorry, sir, I found it in her room and didn't recognize it as anything important. I didn't know you wanted to keep it. I'm so sorry, it won't happen again." She said all this very quickly and looked as she were about to cry.
"Hush, now, I'm not angry. These men were just wanting to know more about it. I have no need for it."
"And whose box was it, now?" Barbossa asked.
"I suppose it was my daughter's, but I've never seen it until now."
Ragetti gave a little hiccup and he looked around wildly, as if searching for something.
"Cap'tin," he whimpered, but Barbossa stamped hard on his foot. The pirate swore and clutched his knee to his chest.
"If ye'll excuse me associate and I fer just a moment," Barbossa explained and yanked Ragetti from the parlor into the front hall.
"What?" He hissed through gritted teeth. They'd explicitly agreed to not use terms of rank to keep to their story.
"I fink I've been here b'fore," Ragetti whispered. "But I don' know why or when. I fink it's black magic or sumfin. I'm scared."
"Wait outside, then." Barbossa snarled, and whirled around to re-enter the parlor. Ragetti didn't follow.
"You were saying it was your daughter's?" De Faria asked as Barbossa sat down.
"I suppose," the man shrugged, "but she's been gone for years."
"Married, I presume?"
The man looked sharply at De Faria, his face traced with sorrow. "She's gone to us."
"Oh, I'm sorry." De Faria stumbled over words he wasn't accustomed to saying. "If we could look around her room perhaps, we might figure out where this box came from. A receipt perhaps . . ."
It was a loose theory, but the colonel didn't seem bothered. He waved his hand in permission, and sighed, "Up the stairs to your right. The larger furniture has been sold, but some of her things are still there."
"What are we looking for?" De Faria asked as Barbossa pushed the door opened and they entered the room.
Barbossa didn't know how to answer him.
A box stood by the open window. It looked as though the contents of a dresser had been hastily thrown in to be organized later, but since forgotten. Papers, ribbons, kerchiefs, jewelry, stockings.
Barbossa rifled through the papers for anything. Many were letters or simple sketches of flowers and seashells. There was a bundle of heavier paper edged in gold tied with a red ribbon. Barbossa slid one from the ties to see the words A cordial invitation in curling letters. He flipped it open and stared at what was written within.
To the wedding of the Esteemed Officer Antony Murtogg and Miss Miranda Farthing
Miss Miranda Farthing.
A roaring, rushing scream filled Barbossa's mind as he read and reread the name. Who was she? Something had flashed briefly in his mind, but the harder he tried to remember it, the more it slipped away. The only detail he could summon was a pair of lovely, tearful eyes, as grey and troubled as the stormy sea.
Barbossa shoved one of the invitations into his pocket and began a frenzied search for something, anything in the box that would tell him more about this girl. He glanced again at the letters, but they were addressed to the girl, naturally, from friends and some from Murtogg. Words jumped out from the writing and Barbossa narrowed his brow.
. . . so delighted that you've returned unharmed, you must come visit so delighted that you've returned unharmed, you must come visit . . .
. . . and after all those misadventures it's a wonder you're doing as well as you are, nevertheless we're all praying for you . . .
. . . I'd missed you so those months we were apart. It truly showed me how much I care for you . . .
. . . showed me who I truly am . . .
Something cold swept through Barbossa's body as he saw the familiar words. The paper looked liked the beginning of a letter, but had been slashed with two angry lines to make an "X" over the writing. Barbossa dropped everything else and lost himself in the words.
I feel awful about the way we parted. I'm so sorry about what I said; I know I can't change you, and I don't want to. It's always more difficult dealing with what we truly want when we have it than when we are simply wishing for it. I know that now.
You weren't entirely right the day you told me it was the sea that showed me who I truly am. It wasn't the sea, but you. I know now who I am and what I want, but this is an unjust world. I miss you. I love you. (These last two sentences were crossed out, and continued with:) I wish we were together again. I wish so many things that I know will never be realized.
I'm engaged now. Even though the truth is that I will never truly belong to anyone except you, we both know it won't work. We're both too stubborn and I wish
The letter ended abruptly. Barbossa turned the paper over, but already knew nothing else was written. He had heard her voice as he read it. Now he couldn't remember what it sounded like- only that it was perfect.
He heard De Faria rummaging carelessly through the closet and a sense of distaste filled his mouth. If what the man had said was true and the girl was dead, digging through her things felt deeply wrong.
It wasn't often Barbossa was lead by a higher power.
"Let's go." He barked. "Ragetti's waiting outside."
"Did you find anything?" De Faria asked.
"No." Barbossa slipped the letters into his pocket and the two left with only the briefest goodbye to the colonel.
/\
"Please remember."
The young woman's soft cry pulled Barbossa close and he tucked her to his chest. He held her tightly, pressing his cheek to her hair. He couldn't remember what she looked like. He tried to hold her at an arm's length, but she pressed herself closer, burying her face in his coat.
"You've forgotten me." Her sobs rent his heart.
"Who are you?" He found himself asking.
"'She shows you who you truly are.' You won't like her truth," the woman whispered, and disappeared.
Barbossa sat up in his darkened cabin. The ship's bell rang softly from the night wind. As he recalled his dream it slipped away until he could only remember holding her. Whoever she was.
He slipped his trousers on and put his coat on over his naked chest. The night air lifted his heart as he made his way to the helm. Darkness had always relaxed him, and he smiled grimly as the ship drifted into a patch of moonlight. He held his hand to his face and watched the flesh slide over muscles and tendons in the silver light. The curse was broken.
A sharp scream slipped through his heart and Barbossa buckled to his knees. It was the most peculiar feeling he had ever experienced. He hadn't heard with his ears. His heart had seemed to stop its very pulse for those few seconds the sound ripped through it, and he clutched at his chest, gasping for breath.
The deck remained barren; the scream had gone unheard by the others. It was Barbossa's alone to suffer. He rose unsteadily to his feet and grasped the wheel for support. Something crunched in his pocket and he withdrew the contents. The letters. He flattened them out against the railing and began to read, still pressing his palm to his chest.
Dear Miranda,
We all missed you terribly at my wedding, it just wasn't the same without you. I only just recently heard what happened. Now I'm so delighted that you've returned unharmed, you must come visit me and my new husband. I hear you're engaged yourself- congratulations, darling. I always knew you and Antony were close. The deepest love blooms from friendship, as I myself and my Walter can attest to.
I look forward to hearing from you.
Your Cousin,
Penelope Goldsberry
Barbossa let the wind snatch the letter out of his hands, and looked at the one below.
Miranda-
Good gracious, but you've a story to tell! It's simply scandalous, being stolen away by a handsome pirate on the night before your wedding-I'm the most popular girl in Port Royal now just for being your best friend. They all want to here your story from me, but I'm sure I'm telling it all wrong.
I still can't believe you've been back home for two months and I still haven't seen you! I know you've been through much, and after all those misadventures it's a wonder you're doing as well as you are, nevertheless we're all praying for you. But do tell your parents they must stop being so protective, a girl like you has got to get some fresh air every now and then. I miss you dreadfully, please at least let your parents allow me to see you; I'm practically your sister for Heaven's sake!
Sincerely,
Henrietta
Barbossa wondered if he was the pirate the girl had written of. It coincided with Murtogg's story. The next letter was from Murtogg.
My Miranda,
I've already written three letters to your parents begging them to let me visit you, and they've ignored each one. I'm not mad, I still want to be your husband. I don't care about your past, I just want a future with you. I'd missed you so those months we were apart. It truly showed me how much I care for you. Now it's been six months since you returned and your parents still only allow Dr. Potter to see you. On Sunday morning I overheard your mother whisper to Mrs. Potter about sending you away.
This frightened me terribly. Please, Miranda, give me some kind of hope that you're well. I still love you so much.
Yours forever,
Antony
Frustrated, Barbossa crumpled the letters and threw them over the railing. So her parents sent their sickly child away and then she died. A complete waste of time.
"Well, that was a waste of time." De Faria unknowingly agreed with Barbossa, gesturing to the papers still resting on the waves as he ascended the steps to the helm.
"Aye." It was all Barbossa could think to say. He leaned heavily against the railing, staring out at the vast horizon. The moon's reflection lay shattered across the sea, and there was nothing before Barbossa but emptiness.
"It always comes back to a woman, doesn't it?" De Faria asked airily, propping his chin in his palm as he too leaned against the rail. Barbossa looked hard at him, and De Faria grinned.
"It's clear as day, Captain. What's the story?"
"There isn't one," Barbossa muttered curtly.
"Well, now it is interesting," De Faria commented, looking back to the horizon. "Do go on."
"Flashes," Barbossa began abstractly, "vivid images of a girl. I don't know who she is."
"You've never seen her before?" A spark or curiosity gleamed in De Faria's eyes.
"Never."
"Sounds like the Siren's Curse to me. If you believe in that sort of thing." De Faria added, seeing Barbossa's expression. "Beautiful demons that plant false memories of themselves in your mind. They'll drive you mad if you let them. I saw it happen to a sailor once. Not pretty near the end."
The description caused Barbossa to bristle with defense, and it shamed him when he realized why. As a pirate, he was superstitious by nature, and his history was proof to any skeptic that curses were not just of legends. He didn't want suspicion to darken the flashes of this young woman. To his surprise, he'd grown attached to this woman he couldn't even prove knew of his existence.
"Just a thought," De Faria finished with a shrug. He pushed himself backwards off the railing and glanced up at the stars. "Where to now?"
"Montserrat," Barbossa growled. "And I b'lieve the lanterns need more oil."
"And I suppose that'll be my job?"
One look at the captain's expression supplied De Faria with his answer, and he left.
Montserrat. The name of the island had slipped from Barbossa's mouth as easily as one's name would if the question of identity were asked. Why Montserrat? Barbossa usually avoided British islands, their navy being the most threatening to a pirate's health.
Barbossa couldn't help but think that something larger than himself was guiding him, and it wasn't a damn siren. It was something that felt much closer to his very soul.