A.N./ Okay, I know I took forever...but I wrote twelve pages, just for you! So...review and don't kill me, please? Let me know what you think, since I had this started around six months ago, and I wrote more to it quite sporadically. If it doesn't seem to bland, let me know, and I'll do my best. Okay? Great!
WARNING! THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS THE USE OF MILD LANGUAGE! I warned you! It's really not that bad at all...I just needed to say it.
Also, I want to thank all my reviewers, and the people who have either favourited, or put on alert this story. You all make my day every time I see that little notification in my inbox, and I just wanted to let you know that I really do appreciate everything, and that I always try to respond, though I might not get to you all the time.
Here's a slightly late Christmas present for you guys! Happy holidays, and enjoy!
-MP(MidgetPhantom)!
Catherine laughed to herself the entire way home. Really, it was just too easy! Norrington should have seen it coming. Her thoughts continued like this until she reached her front door.
"Ma'am!" Grace gasped, throwing it open.
"Erm…hello?" she said, looking confused.
"Why did he take you? How did you get out? What happened?" the maid asked in rapid fire.
"Easy, easy! All in due time. As for right now, I should dearly like a bath, and a nap. Oh, and a cup of tea. Thank you, Grace," she said, stepping into the foyer.
"Of course, ma'am."
Catherine wandered through the hallways aimlessly, before going up the stairs to her room and plopping down onto her bed. She was completely unaware of the amount of time that elapsed until Grace came in with the buckets of hot and cold water for her bath.
"Grace?"
"Yes, ma'am?"
"…Do you think it's unfair to the Commodore what I am doing to him? Please tell me truthfully."
The maid paused and took a long look at her mistress. "Why would you say that, ma'am? Are you feeling well?"
Catherine fixed her with a look.
"Right. Well…I suppose it could be taken both ways…on the one hand, he does need some excitement in his life since he never partakes in anything other than work. Not to mention, he doesn't seem overly vexed by them. But then again…he never had any argument with you before, if you understand my meaning. It just seems a bit out of the blue, is all."
"Thank you, Grace. I do think it was a bit unfair locking him in the cell in order to escape…"
"You locked him in a cell?!" Grace shrieked, whirling around and nearly knocking over a bucket.
"Oh right. I didn't tell you that, did I? Whoops."
Her maid mumbled to herself and continued preparing the bath.
Once Grace left the room, Catherine plunked in an unladylike fashion into the gigantic tub, and sank in up to her nose in the comfortably hot water. She soaked herself until the water began to cool slightly, then scrubbed every inch of dirt and whatnot off her until her skin turned pink.
As she towelled off, her thoughts turned to her next prank, and how she was going to pull that one off. Norrington was sure to be wary of any sort of attempt on him and his personal effects for the next few days…or years…so she would have to plan everything out and execute it as carefully as possible, else all would be for nothing. Suddenly, a grin lit up her face, which would have caused anyone if they had been in the room to run in the opposite direction as quickly as possible.
A week had passed since the incident in the gaol, during which Norrington had steadily lowered his guard.
"Well sir," Gillette said as he came up to him, sporting a new wig. "We have seen neither hide nor hair of Miss Tuttle. Do you think this bodes well for us, or not at all?"
"Well, my dear sir," the commodore began. "It can be taken both ways. On the one hand…"
"Alright James, I get it. Don't shoot unless we're absolutely sure it's her."
"Very good, Gillette! You're finally learning something," he said, clapping the lieutenant on the shoulder and walking to his office.
"But…" he stuttered, standing in the middle of the corridor and looking like a lost, be-wigged puppy.
Groves came up silently behind his friend, and said, "So now it's down to shooting, eh?"
"Apparently so, Theo. Apparently so."
Catherine never thought she would be able to break in a second time at night, much less during the day, but the devil's own luck seemed to be with her, for everyone appeared to have either been given the day off, or had gone to town.
The lock snicked open easily, and she entered the house with some trepidation at first, poised to flee at the slightest of sounds. When it had been made clear that absolutely no one was at home, she gleefully tripped up the stairs and into Norrington's room, hefting the bag she carried from her shoulder to the floor in front of his clothes press. Thanking all the deities she could come up with for her good luck, she hurriedly switched out his last uniform with a Marine's, and sent up a silent prayer that he wouldn't look in there until the following day, when he got ready for work. Laughing evilly to herself, she opened the door, checked both ways, and snuck out. She was just about to go down the stairs when she heard the door open and shut on the main entryway.
"Bugger!" she hissed, not caring what sort of language she used at the moment. Her only thoughts were bent on escaping unnoticed. Dashing back down the corridor and into his room, she wildly glanced around for a place to hide when she spotted the open window. Rushing toward it as the footsteps got ever nearer, she peered out, and almost laughed in relief when she saw the mass of ivy clinging to the wall. Catherine had just ducked out of sight, and was making her way steadily down the wall when the door opened, and Norrington walked in.
She shimmied as quickly as she could down the wall, and then dove into a bush just as the good commodore poked his head out the window. Lying as still as she possibly could, she waited until she heard it bang shut, then risked a glance skyward. The curtains had been drawn over the glass, which allowed her to escape. She dared not risk leaving through the front though, so she made her way to the back, sticking to the hedges like a shadow would its owner.
Catherine did a little victory dance as she made it to the back unnoticed, but then she had to figure out a way to climb over the wall without causing injury to herself, or the barrier. It was too high for her to climb over without some sort of assistance unless she stretched herself out as far as she was able, but she doubted she could pull herself up by her fingertips. Sometimes, being petite was a definite disadvantage.
'Why on earth did I have to be faced with a problem now?' she wondered, her eyes scanning the landscape in front of her. They lit on an old stump, and suddenly, an idea flashed into her mind. She scurried over to it, making a surreptitious glance behind her, hopped on, and threw her arms, uniforms and all, over the top. After several attempts, she managed to haul herself over and to the other side, falling to the ground with a whumph.
"Owwwwww," she moaned to herself, rubbing her sore hip.
After a congratulatory stop in The Bonny Lass, she made her way home to prepare for her "innocent" journey to Murtogg and Mullroy.
"Ma'am?" Grace called out, coming into the hallway. "Is that you?"
"Of course, Gracie dear!" she chirruped, prancing up the stairs and into her room.
Grace poked her head in and watched her mistress pull out a gown from the wardrobe before disappearing behind the screen. "Erm…what are you doing, ma'am?"
"Going to visit Murtogg and Mullroy, that's what," she answered, mumbling curses under her breath as she struggled to lace the ties in the back.
"Do you need any help?" the maid offered, looking only the slightest bit unsure.
"Yes, thank you! You're a godsend, Grace. You really are," she almost shouted in relief.
In absolutely no time, Grace had her laced and buttoned up, leaving Catherine to wonder how on earth she managed to do it all so quickly every time. Shrugging, she picked up the pilfered uniforms and flounced out of the room, calling back her thanks.
Grace shook her head and sighed, wondering how on earth her parents managed to put up with her for over two decades.
As Catherine made her way down the street to the fort, she realised she had no idea how she would manage to get it to them without being noticed, or whether they were in the fort at all. Pausing by the tavern she had been frequenting due to her questionable nocturnal(and now not-so-nocturnal) activities, she sat down on a bench, and pondered over what to do next.
Fifteen minutes and as many discarded ideas later, she was rewarded with the sight of the two men of her thoughts striding down the street and turning towards the tavern.
"Oh! Mr. Murtogg and Mr. Mullroy!" she called, jumping to her feet and waving to get their attention.
They looked around blankly for a few seconds, before they noticed her. Murtogg spoke out, "Oi! 'S Miss Tuttle, it is! What do you suppose she wants?"
Mullroy answered, "Well, I dunno. I'm not her now, am I?"
"Who said you were?" his friend asked, looking at him like he was an idiot.
"No one ever said I was, I was just saying…"
"Ahem. Will you two please stop your bickering and just come over here? I wish to ask you something."
Looking a bit flustered, they walked over and stood about three feet away. "What can we help you with, madam?" Murtogg asked, bowing slightly at the waist.
"I wish for you to take this. Commodore Norrington has no further need of them."
"What are they?" Mullroy said, looking suspicious.
"Old uniforms from his earlier days. I met his maid several hours ago, and she said she had no idea what to do with them. She was loathe to discard them…the fabric is very fine wool, you see." Catherine smiled inwardly as her plan was set in motion…
Norrington burst out of his room the next morning, wearing naught but his banyan, bellowing for Jacob.
"What is it, lad?" the exasperated man asked, puffing up the stairs.
"Where on earth have my uniforms gone? Look at what I am left with! A Marine's! Preposterous!" he ranted, thrusting the offending garment at him.
"Miss Tuttle sir, not preposterous," Jacob said, arching a greying bushy eyebrow at him.
"Wha…but…I locked the doors!" he whined, stamping his foot angrily.
"James, you do know you sound like you did when you were three, do you not?" Jacob asked, looking worried for his employer's health and sanity.
"Oh, give me that," he snarled, snatching them from his butler's arms and stalking back into his room, slamming the door shut behind him.
Jacob sighed and raised his eyes skyward, before turning around and making his way back down the stairs.
Norrington blew through the corridors of Fort Charles, looking absolutely thunderous. Word had quickly spread that no one was to mention any sort of uniform to him on pain of death, after he exploded at a midshipman who told him the laundress had given him the wrong one.
Normally, he would have thought nothing of Murtogg and Mullroy huddled together whispering in an alcove, but when the pair had a large canvas sack at their feet, and were holding his uniforms, that was something entirely different.
"Just where on earth did you get those?" Norrington hissed, wheeling about and striding towards them.
Murtogg squeaked at the sight of his puce coloured face and hastily dropped the offending garment into the sack. "Erm…ah…" he stuttered, looking at his friend for supplication. Mullroy shrugged and backed off a ways, leaving him to fend for himself.
"Where, man! Tell me immediately, or I shall have you dishonourably discharged!" the livid commodore thundered.
"M-m-m-miss Tuttle, s-s-s-sir," he stammered, knees knocking together.
"Blast it all! And give me those," he snapped, taking his uniforms and walking toward his office.
Ten minutes later, Norrington was dressed in the proper attire, and was down at the stables.
"Commodore? Where are you going?" Gillette asked, coming out of the tack room. "It's the middle of the morning!"
"I am off to pay a young woman a visit, Gillette. I shan't be long," he muttered tersely, tightening the girth around his horse's belly.
"Congratulations, James! Take all the time you need, Groves and I will handle everything! Might I ask," he said in an aside, leaning closer to his friend to keep things a private as possible. "Do I know her?"
"Yes, you do," he replied shortly, moving over to slip the bit into the unwilling stallion's mouth. "Dammit, Aethon. Just take the bloody thing," he growled, frustrated.
"Who is she?" Gillette prodded, looking more and more excited. "What is her name, James?"
"Miss Catherine Tuttle," he said through clenched teeth.
"Really?" His face looked shocked, but he was willing to accept it. "She is quite a nice young woman when you get past the stubbornness and practical jokes…"
"I am not going there to court her, I am going there to arrest her!" he yelled, causing the restless animal to rear up. Norrington swore and tugged on the bridle, bringing the pawing hooves back down to earth.
"Oh. Ooooh…" Gillette said, comprehension dawning over his features.
Norrington turned his head and looked at him as if to say, "Duh."
Finishing, he swung himself up into the saddle and galloped out of the stable, not pausing to say farewell. The people moved out of his way hurriedly, not wishing to be trampled, especially when he got to the narrow, winding streets of the town. He didn't even spare a second glance at Turner, on his way to deliver swords that needed mending, when normally he would have at least nodded in his direction, so intent was he upon reaching his destination.
Catherine was in the gardens, transferring a small lavender bush to a patch of earth with more space around it when he careened up the drive and drew his horse to a quick halt, leaping off and stalking toward her.
"Miss Tuttle, on your feet!" he snapped, his hands fisted at his side.
She twisted around to look behind her, brushing a stray black curl out of her face as she did so. "Commodore, is that you? I don't have my spectacles, and the sun is in my eyes," she called out, squinting.
Briefly, Norrington entertained the thought that she looked rather pretty in the pale blue topaz coloured muslin she was wearing, and then his mind snapped back to business. "Yes, Miss Tuttle, it is. You are to come with me immediately, do you understand? Or do I need to spell it out for you?"
"I do not follow you at all, Commodore. Perhaps if you started at the beginning…?" she said, knowing full well why he was there.
"Oh do get up! Good heavens."
"Let me finish with the lavender. I don't want it to get damaged," she said, turning back around and starting to pack the rich black soil around its roots.
"You have three seconds," he said, rolling his eyes.
"There, all done. Pass me that watering can, will you? It will dry out if I don't, especially since it is so hot out already."
He huffed, but did as he was asked out of gentle breeding and his ever-present sense of duty and propriety. "Now will you stand?" he asked as she set it aside.
"Very well." She rose, but lost her balance, falling into a surprised Norrington's outstretched arms. "Dear Lord!" she said, clutching his lapels. "My feet got in the way of each other again. Thank you, Commodore."
"Do you make a habit of falling on people then?" he asked, looking down at her.
"No. Only the tall ones," she said, standing up and dusting herself off. "What did you need sir? I am correct in thinking that this is not simply a social call?"
"It is not. I am here because you stole my uniforms and replaced them with a Marine's. You are to come with me, and spend the night in gaol as punishment."
"But can you prove I took them?"
"Murtogg and Mullroy said that you gave the sack containing my uniforms to them, claiming that I wanted them to have them, or some other ridiculous piece of drivel."
"I could have found them, and then said that to get you angry with them, you know. Mayhap your laundress forgot them, or was going to sell them for a bit of extra pocket money. Or maybe it was even Elizabeth! She's been dying to sneak into your bedroom for the longest time, you know!"
"How dare you!" he gasped, looking highly affronted. "Elizabeth would never! And besides, she is betrothed to that Turner whelp."
"But she was engaged to you first," she said, looking up at him from beneath her lashes.
Norrington's face purpled, but he refrained from saying or doing anything that he most likely wasn't going to regret later.
"So. What punishment are you going to have for me today?" she questioned, straightening his lapels.
Norrington pushed her hands down and said, "You shall have to work in the kitchens. Cook will tell you what to do."
"You're not going to arrest me again and throw me in gaol?"
"No. I don't feel like being locked in my own cell again."
She paused for a few seconds and said, "I could have sworn you had the key…oh well!"
"Will you just get on the damn horse?!" he huffed, his patience at its end.
"Will you help me up? He's much too tall for me. Not to mention, I'm in skirts, and I doubt you would want to see me sling my leg over his back. Beautiful animal, by the way. Thoroughbred? He looks magnificent. What is his name?" she said, hardly pausing for breath.
Norrington passed a hand down his face and said, "No, I definitely do not want to even imagine you trying to mount him without assistance…ugh…and yes, he is a Thoroughbred. His name is Aethon, meaning…"
"I know what it means," she said. "Burning, fiery. That is the literal translation of the Greek word. I assume it has something to do with his temperament? You know my own horse, of course…"
Norrington made a step for her with his hands and helped her mount, before settling himself into the saddle in front. "How can anyone forget that beast? He's deadly, and should be nowhere near civilised people. I cannot believe you manage to ride that thing."
"Sabbath is a beautiful horse! Just because he happens to be very high strung, it does not mean he is evil, or anything else. Good Lord," she stated, pinching his side as he moved Aethon off down the drive again.
"He is pitch black, enormous, and looks like he came from the Bowels of Hell itself! And you're trying to tell me the thing isn't dangerous? He threw so many people before you decided to buy him…and why on earth is he named Sabbath, anyway?"
"Because he puts the fear of God right into you! Besides, you're just jealous because I can keep my seat on him longer than you ever could."
"That's probably because you put some sort of spell on him!" he snorted. "And I am not jealous."
"So now I am a witch?" she smirked. "Must be a step up."
Norrington didn't deign to give a reply for that.
Once he left her at the mercy of the kitchen staff, Norrington returned to his office to fill out more reports, file papers, and down several shots of brandy. He repeated this process for a good while until Gillette knocked on his door and entered before his friend could say yea or nay.
"James? I erm…I think you should come down to the kitchens and see this for yourself," he stated, shifting his weight from foot to foot.
"Stop fidgeting! I can only focus on one of you at a time!" Norrington said, getting to his feet slightly unsteadily. "What is going on?
"Miss Tuttle," was all the lieutenant had to say to sober the good commodore up, it seemed.
One second, he was standing at his desk dumbly, succinctly saying, "Oh shit." The next, he was striding out his door, not bothering to wait for Gillette. As the lieutenant trotted behind him, Norrington was muttering, "She's probably got the cook in a stranglehold at the moment…I never should have left those two alone. They're like hot oil and water…"
"But it practically explodes when you add water to it," Gillette said, looking confused.
"That is exactly my point, Lieutenant. Go find Groves. Can you tell me why on earth I didn't just throw her in the gaol?" he whirled around suddenly, walking backwards.
"James, turn around before you smack into something," Gillette warned, watching the looming corner warily.
Norrington spun around just in time to avoid colliding with the stone, and continued his diatribe.
The walk to the kitchens generally took a good few minutes seeing as it was in the very heart of the fort, but Norrington was able to cut the time in half due to the speed with which he was moving. Whatever scene he was expecting, it certainly wasn't it when he burst through the door. "Gillette?" he said slowly, staring at the people in front of him. "Would you like to explain what is going on?"
"Well…you walked away too quickly for me to clarify sir…ahm…I believe that she's managed to turn your punishment around…"
Catherine was elbow deep in dough and absolutely covered in flour while the cook tutored her on the finer points of roasting the perfect cut of sirloin. All around them, the lesser kitchen staff scurried to and fro, gathering pots and pans, discarding other utensils, and generally giving the place the look of a bedlam.
"Miss Tuttle? Might I speak with you a moment, or are you unable to come away?" Norrington said, walking forward a bit tentatively, worried he might step in the way of someone.
"I am rather busy at the moment sir, but you may definitely come over here," she answered, tossing back the errant curl that always seemed to take the most pleasure in hanging in front of her nose and tickling it.
"What are you making?" he asked, poking curiously at the huge lump of dough, half expecting it to poke him back.
"Bread. I haven't done this in so long, I nearly forgot, but dear Susie here helped refresh my memory. What was it you had to ask me?"
"Oh yes," Norrington said, coming back to his senses. "Are you out of your mind? How do you always manage to charm everyone around you? And you have a bit of flour on the tip of your nose," he added as an afterthought.
"Commodore, in case you failed to take notice, I am covered in the substance. A bit on my nose won't make much difference either way you look at it. And as for "charming" everyone…it's simply my nature!" she smiled sweetly, batting her eyelashes at him.
Turning around, Norrington looked at Gillette sternly and said, "Is this what you dragged me down here for? A girl kneading bread dough?"
As his friend was about to open his mouth to answer, a riot of voices sounded from behind another door, which opened suddenly, spilling out a bushel of children.
"What do we do next, Miss Tuttle? We found the cat," a tall boy said, standing up proudly and saluting her.
"Well Tommy…" she said, pausing to think. "You're the general. What do you think needs to be done?"
"But you're the Lady General Tuttle! You're in charge of the army. I just give your orders to my men…and women," he allowed, as several tow-headed girls, who by the looks of it were sisters, fisted their hands on their hips and glared at him.
"Well…how about you order your army to help the Lady General Tuttle knead this bread dough? After you've all washed your hands thoroughly, of course." She smiled fondly as they scurried over to the sinks, another of the staff pumping the water for them.
"That James, is what I wanted to show you," Gillette muttered, as they pushed and shoved each other for space.
"Ah," Norrington said, his throat suddenly tight as he watched her move over to let them in. Everyone looked so happy, it was almost unbearable. He had lost everything when Elizabeth refused him, and yet they looked as if Christmas had come several months early. "Miss Tuttle…I mean…Lady General Tuttle, are you certain you will be able to handle this…army?" he said, standing ramrod straight with his hands clasped behind his back.
"Of course, Brigadier General Norrington!" she laughed. Catherine was about to say something else when one of the tow-headed girls, who must have been no older than four, tugged on her sleeve and said quietly, "Kitty? Will you come here tomorrow too and play pretend with us again?"
"Of course, darling. I'll come as often as you wish," she smiled tenderly, leaning down to place a motherly kiss on her blonde curls.
By the end of the work day, Norrington had a splitting headache. As he was walking down to the kitchens, he met her waiting in the corridor, looking exhausted.
"Miss Tuttle? Are you feeling ill?" he asked, looking a bit confused.
"Of course not, Commodore. I am merely worn out. Those children really do take all the energy from a person," she laughed. "They are delightful though. I am so happy they are allowed to stay within the fort."
"It is easier on their parents, seeing as they don't constantly have to worry where their children are during the day, or what sort of trouble they've gotten into," he replied. "Come. It is time for you to return home."
She nodded and followed him to the stables, where he helped her mount Aethon again, before settling himself in the saddle as well. The journey back to her home was silent, with Norrington absorbed by his thoughts and Catherine nodding off against his back, her arms wrapped snugly around his waist.
When they arrived, he said quietly, "You are at your house now, Miss Tuttle. Please allow me to help you down."
She slid off Aethon's back and into his hold without a word, and accepted his arm after he set her down on the ground. "You seem to have a natural affinity with children, madam," he said quietly, glancing back at the chestnut animal to make sure he wasn't wandering off.
"I dearly love them, especially little Emma," she answered as Grace opened the door and pulled them both inside.
They followed the maid into the library, where a dying fire was promptly stoked up into a cheery blaze, effectively warming the cooling space. "I am surprised at how chilly it was in here," Catherine muttered, going over to shut the windows.
"The sea breeze will do it," Norrington answered, accepting the cup of tea Grace had forced into his hand.
He stayed only long enough to imbibe the beverage, then took his leave of the Tuttle household. "Good evening, Miss Tuttle, madam," he said, bowing to her and Grace before walking out the door and mounting Aethon.
Catherine watched from the window as he disappeared down the long drive, then said happily, "Today was most eventful, Grace. I shall be back at the fort tomorrow…there are some children there who have me wrapped about their little finger."
"Of course, ma'am," she said, retreating to the library to bring the tray to the kitchen.
The mistress of the house lay in bed that night, feeling quite contented indeed.
Well, that's it! Please, tell me what you thought. I need the constructive criticism so I may do better! Thanks!
-MP!