A.N.: Revised 10/21/2020. As noted in the introduction, I will be steadily going through and revising older chapters. Thank you for your patience, and for continuing to show this old story so much love! As always, everything belongs to the Mouse. Everything. Even you. Yes, you.
Chapter Two: In Which our Heroine is Introduced
Catherine Tuttle was just putting the finishing touches on the newly christened Black Pearl, formerly known as The Dauntless, when Lieutenant Gillette stuck his head over the rail. "Miss Tuttle, just what on earth are you doing? And how did you manage that contraption all the way over here?" he spluttered, looking down to where the short, raven haired woman was sitting on a wide slat of wood supported by thick ropes tied to the sturdy rail on the poop deck. A tiny dinghy was bobbing in the current some feet away, where it was tethered to the side of the ship.
"I carried it, Lieutenant. How do you think I got it over here?" she grinned, flashing even white teeth at him while screwing on the lid to a large paint jar.
"What have you do-oh no…" Gillette's mouth had dropped open at the sight of the new name freshly painted on, still glistening wetly in the hot Caribbean sun. His face purpled and he rapidly swelled up like a ginger bullfrog. Catherine vaguely wondered if the buttons on his waistcoat would pop off from the strain. "Tell me, Miss Tuttle. Do you have a death wish? Or are you just plain thick?" he hissed through clenched teeth.
"Neither, my dear Lieutenant! Just want to see how far I can push our dear Commodore before he explodes…literally," Catherine shrugged, tucking everything away into a large white canvas bag. Carefully, she slung the strap over her shoulder and then pulled herself up so she was now balancing on the plank she had been sitting on, her fists clenched around the coarse ropes.
Gillette stuck out a hand and helped her up, nearly toppling over the edge himself while trying to reach her, and grumbled, "Why couldn't you be taller?" She just rolled her eyes and staggered onto the deck, rubbing her aching neck.
"I am who I am, Lieutenant. And just so you know," she said, fixing him with a stern glare, "I am perfectly fine with my height."
"Yes, you in all of your Lilliputian glory."
"Indeed sir," she sniffed, untying the ropes and nearly dropping the impromptu swing-like platform.
"Still as clumsy as ever, I see," Gillette smirked even as he went over to help.
"Yes; to all our surprise, I managed to survive my childhood with minimal mishap," she retaliated with a glacial bite of sarcasm. Catherine accepted the rope from Gillette and wrapped them around the warped wooden plank before stuffing it into the bag.
"Whatever you say, Miss Tuttle. I only hope I am not the one in closest proximity to Commodore Norrington when he sees what you've done to his ship."
"Don't worry, Lieutenant." She smiled sweetly at him, which sent a chill of foreboding down his spine. "I don't plan to be." Even now, Catherine could spy a longboat approaching in the distance, with what appeared to be the Commodore in question at the prow. This was going to be good.
Norrington and several other Naval officers were just nearing the ship when he noticed something odd about it. "Lieutenant Groves, tell me you do not see what I think I am seeing," he deadpanned, staring at the huge white streak with The Black Pearl painted across it in bold, sable letters.
"Alright then. I shall not tell you that I see someone has painted over The Dauntless with The Black Pearl instead," Groves gulped, going white beneath his tan.
The other sailors in the longboat could hear Norrington grinding his teeth. A muscle was jumping in his jaw. In a failed an attempt to lighten Norrington's rapidly darkening mood, Groves searched wildly for anything that could serve to distract him from his plight, and in doing so, his hazel eyes landed on a foreign sight on deck.
"Ah! It appears we have ourselves a guest, sir!" Groves exclaimed brightly. Norrington continued to stare at the bold as brass lettering across the back of his ship, not listening to a word Groves was saying. "Miss Catherine Tuttle, I believe?" Groves blithely carried on, squinting up at the deck.
"No!" Norrington's head swiveled on his neck fast enough to make the other men wince, even as his eyes bugged out in horror. "Blast that woman! She did it!" he roared. His baritone voice echoed above the noise of the waves, and high up on deck, Catherine giggled with anticipation.
"Oh, this is going to be so much fun," she sighed. Turning, she hurried over to the rigging, only staggering with the roll of the ship a few times, and clambered up.
"Ah…Miss Tuttle? Given your already-discussed propensity for clumsiness, I do suggest you get down from there," Gillette called after her diminishing form.
"Oh, don't be silly, Lieutenant! Just as long as my concentration doesn't slip, I'll be fi-oh look! A seagull!"
"Miss Tuttle!"
"I only jest, sir. You would think that after all I've done, the Navy would want to see me put in fetters, not worry over my safety as I ascend into unknown heights and dangers whilst escaping from the incredibly furious Commodore Norrington," she called down as she settled herself comfortably in the crow's nest.
"You should really get down from there, Miss! He's not happy!" Gillette was a tiny blue, gold, and white speck on deck far below her. If she squinted, she could just make out his pale face craned up to look at her.
"All the more reason for me to stay up here then…oh damn, he's coming up." She made a face at Gillette, who was shading his eyes against the glare of the hot Caribbean sun and looking both smug and worried. Norrington was already halfway up the rigging and gaining every second.
"Ah, welcome to my humble abode, Commodore!" she chirped when he climbed stiff-legged into the crow's nest. Catherine had to admire his form. 'How on earth does he manage to stalk everywhere he goes? Would he teach me how to do that?' she half-wondered. One glance at his face told her the answer was very likely "No." "Now now, let us not be hasty," she chuckled nervously, taking a tight step away from him as he stretched his arms out to wrap his fingers around her throat. "I am quite sure we can resolve everything with a pleasant talk."
"Talk?" he wheezed. "You defiled my ship, and you think we can have a pleasant talk?!"
"Of course, sir! How do you think peace treaties get negotiated? They don't bombard the other with cannonfire and miraculously come up with an accord, do they? Somehow I don't think that's quite how it works."
"You have an undeniably quick tongue, Miss Tuttle. I highly suggest you keep it behind your teeth where it belongs, hm? Now get down from there," he growled, gesturing grandly toward the rigging. "Ladies first."
"Oh no, Commodore. I'd rather you went first." She gestured in kind.
"Oh? And why is that?" One brow climbed high on his forehead.
"So you won't push me off, that's why. Besides, I would feel much safer knowing you would be there to catch me, should I lose my purchase."
The other brow rose to meet its twin. "Frankly madam, I don't feel safe descending before you, either."
"Ah, but you're the gentleman, and a gentleman always honors a lady's wishes," she grinned. 'Ha! Caught you!' she thought triumphantly. Norrington looked reluctant, but finally relented with ill grace.
"Very well, Miss Tuttle. I will go first." He bowed mockingly at the waist and sneered, then turned around and began to descend. Catherine chuckled to herself and waited a moment for him to put a safe distance between them before following in his wake. Norrington didn't even wait for her feet to touch down on deck before he began lambasting her for her latest stunt.
While it may have been fun painting over the name of the ship, it was by no means fun scraping it all off. Catherine fumed and mumbled curses at Norrington the entire time, absolutely baking in the sun. "Are you done yet? I should like to get out of this cursed heat for a bit, you know," Norrington drawled, coming to lean over the rail.
"No, I am bloody well not done, and you know it!" she growled, leveling a fierce glare at him.
He chuckled. "Oh, you have me quaking in my shoes, Miss Tuttle." She glared at him fiercely while he clicked his heels together, bowed at the waist, then pivoted and walked away.
After ten more minutes of scraping, the last of the stubborn paint came off, revealing the vestiges of The Dauntless looking much worse for wear.
"Finally!" she crowed. Instead of waiting for someone to help her over the side of the ship, Catherine tipped backward into a graceful swan dive into the cold, clear blue waters below.
Upon hearing the splash, Norrington rushed over again to lean over the rail, hoping frantically she wasn't drowning. "God damnit, woman!" he snarled when he saw her dark head bobbing against the waves. The skirts of her simple round gown billowed around her in the water like a bell. "Why can't you behave like a normal lady?"
"Oh hush, Commodore. Let me cool off first before you spoil all my fun again, eh?" she shouted back, sticking out her tongue childishly. Already, her inky dark hair was sliding out of its pins like octopus tentacles, contrasting starkly with the aquamarine waters around her.
Fed up with her antics, Norrington bit out, "Better swim to shore, there. Don't want any sharks nibbling on those dainty little toes of yours, hm?"
"Oh, do shut up," she muttered, still treading water. A wave caught her in the face and she spluttered at the intense salty flavor. "You're not being very gentlemanly yourself, you know!" she shouted back.
"Indeed, Miss Tuttle. I bid you good day and safe travels." With that, he gave her yet another mocking bow, then turned on his heel again and vanished out of sight along deck.
Slowly but surely, Catherine swam back to the docks, where a stunned dockhand helped her out of the water. She refused a sedan chair on principle (and was quite certain they would refuse her as well due to her sodden clothes), and likewise refused the offer of a hack carriage. If she walked slowly enough, she should be dried out enough to be somewhat presentable in front of her closest friend. Perhaps if said friend closed her eyes…
By the time she got to the Governor's mansion over thirty minutes later, the overskirts and bodice of her gown were now only mostly damp, mainly under the arms and along her sides, but the hem of her petticoats still dripped seawater and clung unpleasantly to her legs. Before she could even knock, the door opened and the disapproving butler appeared. "Miss Tuttle, welcome. Miss Swann is waiting for you in the drawing room."
"Thank you, Rivers. I seem to have lost my bonnet, but you may take my reticule." She couldn't restrain a smile at the appalled look on his face when he accepted the dripping item in his reluctant hand.
"Certainly, Miss. Thank you." If looks could kill, she would be dead. Rivers continued to glare furiously after her as she left a trail of brine-scented water on the polished wood floors on her way to find Elizabeth.
"Catherine! How are you? Do tell me everything!" Elizabeth greeted. "Shall I pour you some tea?" The teapot was already in motion before Catherine could even give her answer.
"Yes, thank you. I'm dreadfully thirsty. Better make that an extra sugar. The heat's gone straight to my head." She accepted the teacup and saucer gracefully and took a long sip before she even sat down.
Elizabeth settled back into her chair and looked at her expectantly. "Well? What happened?"
"Well, darling," she sighed, setting down her cup before flopping into a decorative chair with an odd squelching noise. Her skirts puffed out sadly with a gust of air. "I had to scrape it all off and I need to repair the lettering tomorrow, but other than that, it was very stimulating evading his strangle hold up in the crow's nest yesterday."
"He tried to strangle you?" Elizabeth asked dubiously over the rim of her delicate floral-patterned teacup.
"Of course he did! I wouldn't say it if it weren't true, would I?" Catherine pretended to look affronted as she picked up her cup and took another sip of tea. "And I think I've ruined the chair…"
"Oh, nonsense. Father's been looking for an excuse to redecorate," Elizabeth said, waving her hand dismissively.
"I think you mean to say you've been looking for an excuse to decorate, dear."
"Same difference. So, will that be the end of it?"
Catherine pretended to choke. "Do you not know me? Since when have I ever been able to leave well enough alone? No, I have an entire list of trickery plotted out in my diary. Something has to entertain me while my family is away."
"If you wanted entertainment, I would have invited you for tea," Elizabeth grumbled sourly.
"Yes, but no. That wouldn't have worked at all. I couldn't possibly prevail upon your father's good graces any more than proper."
"And what you're pulling with the Commodore can be considered proper? Have you taken leave of your senses?"
Catherine shrugged delicately. "I mean, that's entirely possible. But the main difference is that your father is an entirely kind man, the kindest I've ever met. Commodore Norrington practically begs to be pranked. Am I wrong?"
"No," Elizabeth sighed. "I do agree it's very amusing to see him so riled…but surely there must be another way besides defacing Royal Navy property? Isn't that a jailable offense?"
"In all likelihood." Catherine sipped her tea calmly. Elizabeth rolled her eyes and shook her head. Sometimes, she just didn't understand her.
By the time their visit came to an end, both her gown and her reticule had mostly dried off. Rivers wouldn't even make eye contact with her, instead staring off somewhere to the left of her hastily-repaired chignon. "Goodbye my dear," Elizabeth said as she fondly pressed a kiss to each cheek. "Do get home safely. I shall see you for tea tomorrow?"
"If all goes well, yes," Catherine responded in kind. "If you haven't heard from me by half past three, don't expect me to come."
"Very well, then. And please, try not to make him too angry…"
"We shall see. Please tell the Governor I said hello and apologize on my behalf for the destruction of his chair." Rivers made a strangled noise in the back of his throat that both women ignored. "Have a lovely evening, Rivers!" Catherine grinned. She couldn't help antagonizing the man, not when he was so clearly asking for it.
"Good evening, Miss Tuttle," he snapped. With a crinkle of salt-stiffened fabric, she turned and walked out of the door, jumping a little when it slammed shut behind her.
Slowly, Catherine made her way along the path down to the street. The early evening hours were pleasant, with no direct sun and a slight sea breeze to cool down the otherwise balmy, humid air. Insects and birds alike were chirping amongst the foliage, and the rustling leaves provided a soothing background to the natural symphony. She took her time ambling back to her own home, and by the time she arrived, twilight was already settling in.
"Miss Tuttle, where have you been?! We've been out of our minds with worry!" the butler exclaimed as he opened the heavy oak door.
"Here and there, Pinkney. No need to worry about me, I'm alright. I had a bit of an adventure this morning and then spent the afternoon taking tea with Miss Swann."
"Of course, Miss. Your supper is prepared in the dining room, if you wish to eat it there. Otherwise, I will have it sent on a tray up to your rooms."
Catherine nodded as she continued toward the stairs. "Thank you, I should like that instead. Please inform the staff that I will be keeping similar hours tomorrow as well. If you need to find me, I will either be at The Dauntless or at Governor Swann's house."
"Very good, Miss." Pinkney watched his mistress until she was out of sight up the stairs, then hurried away to give the latest information to the rest of the household staff.
Catherine made it to her rooms nearly unaccosted, but Grace O'Malley, her lady's maid, exited her door just as she was reaching for the handle. Both ladies startled, but Catherine recovered first.
"Oh, Miss!" she gasped. "What happened to your gown?!"
"No need to worry O'Malley, I'm perfectly fine. I just took an unexpected swim in the ocean today. It will wash out." The two traded spaces, and Grace followed her mistress back into the bedroom. "I should dearly like a bath tonight. The salt is doing nothing good for my hair or skin. I already told Pinkney I will be taking my supper up here tonight; I should like to eat it in the chair by the window."
"Yes, Miss. Of course. Right away, Miss. I'll be back in a moment to help you undress." Grace hurried out of the room, shaking her head at Catherine as she went. After years of living with the Tuttle family, she had almost become inured to the children's wild ways…almost.
Catherine breathed a sigh of relief as the damp stays were finally removed. The stiff coutil was uncomfortable even over the linen of her shift, and her skin was itching mightily. She scratched viciously until pink streaks appeared on her skin while Grace unfastened the laces of her underpetticoat and let it drop to the floor. "Thank you, I'll wear my bedgown until the bath is ready. No need to sully another garment before I'm clean," she said as she stepped out of it and over to her wardrobe.
"Certainly, Miss Tuttle. I'll go check on the water now."
Catherine read quietly in her favorite chair while she waited for the heavy enameled tub to be brought in by several burly menservants, then filled first with hot water, then cold until it was the perfect temperature. When it was prepared, Grace added a splash of lavender oil to the water and swished it around with her hand. "I have a separate basin prepared for your hair, Miss. Shall I add more cool water?"
Catherine tested it with the back of her hand. "No, this is lovely. Thank you, O'Malley." She carefully laid her bedgown aside, then shed her shift, wrinkling her nose at the smell of saltwater and seaweed. In fact, there even appeared to be a piece stuck to the hem…ugh. Catherine groaned as she sank down into the steaming water. After hours of sitting in damp clothing and having the salt dry on her skin, this felt like heaven to her aching muscles. "I should like to be left alone to soak first, O'Malley. You may come back in ten minutes to help with my hair." The half-Irish lady's maid nodded and bobbed a quick curtsey.
"Of course. Shall I fetch you tea?"
"No need, I'll have it with supper after." Catherine leaned her head back against the side of the tub and closed her eyes. Perhaps just a quick nap…she didn't even hear the door close behind Grace.
After her bath, Catherine dried off and allowed Grace to help her into a soft, well-loved chemise. "My nightgown, if you please. I'm not quite ready to retire yet, and in fact think I may catch up on my correspondence in the library after supper," she directed. Wordlessly, Grace complied and handed her the correct garment from her wardrobe, then moved to tidy up the rest of her mistress's toilette. Catherine sat patiently while Grace came over and combed the tangles and snarls out of her hair.
"Oh dear," she sighed. "It's gone coarse again, Miss. Shall I use the lavender oil?"
"Yes, if you please. Perhaps next time we wash it we'll do an olive oil rinse."
"With an egg. I know you don't like it, but it helps calm down the curls so nicely," Grace added as she worked the oil through mid-shaft to ends and deftly plaited the curling black mass. Catherine sighed; she really didn't like the egg. It was slimy and cold on her head and made her shiver with disgust…but O'Malley was right; it did make her hair ever so lovely.
Supper came and went. When alone, Catherine tended to wolf down her food, and the events of the morning had left her ravenous. Tea with Elizabeth was insubstantial, especially after her impromptu swim and walks. Only fifteen minutes after her tray had been brought up, Catherine found herself exiting her room and walking down to the library, her soft kid slippers whispering against the stair treads. The first thing she noticed when she entered the library was the smell of books, leather, and ink. Inhaling deeply, Catherine allowed herself to be swept away by the familiarity of it all. When she opened her eyes again, she meandered slowly over to two portraits hanging on the wall. The one on the left depicted a small, black-haired woman, wearing a smile as demure and mysterious as the Mona Lisa, with dancing black eyes, a Roman nose, and high cheekbones, denoting her rich Italian ancestry.
The other portrait showed a man as serious as his wife was mischievous, wearing a powdered wig and elegantly cut clothing, all in dark colors. He had almond-shaped, dove grey eyes, the same ones Catherine had inherited, and a proud tilt to his head. He looked almost as if he were challenging anyone within sight to a battle of the wits and knew he would come out the victor.
Catherine chuckled a bit as she studied the paintings, and said quietly to herself, "Mama, Papa, thank God you're not here right now. You'd die of shame." A knock sounded on the door just then, startling her out of her thoughts. "Come in," she called over her shoulder as she moved over to sit at the escritoire.
Pinkney entered, bearing a silver tray with a single white letter on it. "For you, Miss, from your parents. It arrived on the evening packet from Bristol." Catherine eagerly accepted it from him and broke the seal, even as she thanked him for bringing it in. It had been weeks since their last letter, and she was curious to hear how everyone was faring. With a bow, Pinkney wordlessly departed, shutting the door softly behind him.
Catherine was in the middle of reading the part where her mother had elbowed her father aside to write her own version of the story they were regaling her with when Norrington was shown in.
"Oh!" she gasped, standing up swiftly and clutching her nightgown shut with one hand.
Norrington snapped his gaze to the dark wooden paneling behind her in embarrassment. "I apologise for intruding…I ah…did not realize you weren't decent…ahem…." he coughed into his fist, blushing a brilliant crimson.
"No matter, Commodore. Erm…would you care for some tea? I'll ring…" Catherine didn't wait for his response, going instead to the bell pull and giving it a firm tug. She spoke in quiet murmurs to the servant who appeared in the doorway, then settled in the pair to the armchair Norrington had seated himself in by the window.
"I erm…I came to see if you were up to the task of repainting The Dauntless tomorrow," he said after a few moments of awkward silence. "If you are too sore, we can certainly wait —"
"You are just determined to have me fix every little stunt I pull, aren't you?" she grinned. "Never fear, sir. I will be there at nine sharp. You will be supplying the paints, I presume?"
"Naturally," he snorted. "God only knows what it would look like if I left that part to you."
Catherine grinned wickedly at him. "Probably not very nice."
"Exactly."
They were interrupted by the tea tray being brought in, and both were silent while Catherine fixed the beverage to each other's likings. Catching sight of the letter peeking out of her pocket, Norrington asked, "Do your parents know of your escapades?"
"Certainly not," she snorted. "They'd never let me out of their sight if they did."
"More's the pity," he grimaced. "You must have been something as a child."
"Mmmm, indeed. Although I'm not sure it would have been much better had I been with them. Mischief runs in the family, you see." At his inquisitive look, Catherine continued. "Apparently, my cousin has decided to woo a lady, with disastrous results."
Norrington sipped at his tea. "Oh really? How so?"
"I believe falling into a fountain was involved, amongst other things. How I wish I could have seen their expressions!"
"You're right, you would have been just as bad if not worse," he decided. "Just please, for the sake of my sanity, try not to damage any more property!" Catherine only cackled in response to that.
The next day, Catherine once more found herself baking under the hot Caribbean sun while she carefully filled in the letters with a specially-made lettering brush. "How is it coming?" Norrington leaned over the rail and startled her out of her misery.
"Eep!" she squeaked, clutching onto the rope as her platform rocked back and forth.
"Careful now, wouldn't want to fall off!"
"I swear, I am about to throw this at your face," she growled. A smear of blue paint graced the side of her nose and completely undermined her fury.
He chuckled at her, not believing her in the least. "Nearly finished? You've been at it all day, after all."
"Yes, nearly. Three more letters to go, and then I never want to see this ship again."
"And whose fault was it that you wound up needing to do such a job?"
"Go away!"
Norrington ducked a flying paintbrush and laughed, infuriating her even more. "Very well Miss Tuttle, I shall leave you to it," he smirked. With yet another of his mocking bows, ('Really, he should get a royalty every time he does it,') Norrington walked off to the opposite end of the ship, where Gillette and Groves were waiting.
"Sir, you do realize she's going to retaliate now," Gillette pointed out. Groves nodded in agreement. "Then I shall deal out the proper punishment when she does," Norrington replied. The other officers shook their heads at him.
"This little war you have going on is never going to end," Groves sighed.
"Not at all," Gillette agreed.
"Oh, it will end. Mark my words, one way or another it will end." Norrington was glaring in the direction of the poop deck, where the ropes fastening Catherine's platform to the rail could be made out. As one, Gillette and Groves looked at each other and groaned.