The First Ball
"Hopefully this is the last time we'll have to do this," Elizabeth says, as I slip my shirt from over my head and place it next to me on the bed. I rub my bloodshot eyes and glance up at her slight figure looming next to me.
"It hasn't been pleasant for me either, you know," I let slip through gritted teeth. Leaning forward Elizabeth reaches around me to find the seam of the bandage wrapped about my chest.
"Did I say it was pleasant for any of us?" she asks, pulling hard at the knot till it gives under her now experienced hands. She unwinds the bandage and gives a sigh of relief as it peels away from my skin. There is no blood today, and I hear her whisper a prayer of thanks, her eyes cast momentarily upward. "This is the last day you'll have to wear these bandages," she says as she sets to work unwinding the starched white rolls of cloth that she has painstakingly, over the past few weeks, cut and boiled every day for me.
Our journey through these past weeks has been a dark and winding one. Night after night, upon my return home from the fort I awoke, sweaty and breathing heavily, with a pain in my gut and the screams of dying men echoing in my ears. My wife knew not what pain I was in and did her best to comfort me, and I told her on numerous occasions how much it meant to me; how much I loved her.
A smooth finger, one that has not seen work in all its life, swipes across the grotesque and reddened scar under my ribs. I grimace at its touch, for the flesh is still tender in that area, and Elizabeth sees.
"Sorry, James," she says, "I'm trying to be as careful as I can."
I twist my grimace into a wane smile. "I know. It's just sore, that's all."
"That's to be expected," she says matter-of-factly, and I catch her glancing at it again as she begins to spiral the cloth about me.
Her glance hearkens back to the first day she took the bandages off. They were still bloody then, and the copper smell was pungent, filling the room so that she was forced to open a window. As soon as the bandages had fallen away she stared at the wound stretching across me until I thought perhaps she could stare no longer, and then she said, in the same matter-of-fact tone "It could be worse." Only then did I realise that my wife was tougher than I had ever realised.
The new bandages finally secured, Elizabeth throws a shawl about her shoulders and helps me pull my shirt over my head. "I'll check if there was any mail this morning while you finish up," she says, brushing her lips against my cheek before sweeping out of the room. I push myself up from the bed, suppressing a groan. Fatigue weighs heavily in my arms and legs as I pull on trousers and tuck in my shirt. I take my coat from a hook inside the open bureau as Elizabeth bursts back into the room her shawl askew and her eyes bright with excitement.
"Look, James! Look what I've had from Father!" she cries, flourishing a folded piece of parchment in front of me. Her excitement is infectious and I smile brightly at her from underneath my hat. "What is it?"
She unfolds the parchment, which I can see bears her father's wax seal on the back. With shaking hands she reads aloud, "Commodore and my dearest Elizabeth, As I am sure you have heard several English aristocrats have traveled down to see the industry that is booming here in Jamaica. In honour of their arrival I have planned a ball of sorts, and am cordially inviting the two of you to attend a fortnight from now on the 7th of March. Please send word by Thomas whether I may expect you to attend. Yours, Father."
She lifts her head from its bowed position over the letter and meets my eyes with sheer enthusiasm. "A ball, James!" she cries, holding the folded parchment to her chest and casting her eyes heavenward as though this ball were of divine origins.
"Aye, a ball," I say, smiling broadly, not because I will be forced to dress up for a night of dancing and politicking with formal diplomats, but because my wife is so delighted.
Elizabeth raises an eyebrow. "Aye, a ball?" she asks, obviously displeased with my less than jovial tone, "Is that all you can say? We haven't had an opportunity like this in, well, months, years even. You could show a bit more excitement."
I cup Elizabeth's chin and kiss her cheek firmly. "Trust me, my dear, though I may not show it, I am happier than you could ever imagine. This will be an opportunity for both of us that shan't be missed."
She is silent for a moment, pondering my words, chewing on them to see if they hold any merit, and then, suddenly, her eyes widen in a state of shock. "I must speak with Betsy this instant or else I shan't have anything at all to wear!" she cries, worry clouding her face. I chuckle to myself at how quickly her mood may be changed as she hurries from the room, her shawl left on the floor forgotten.
---
I check the time on my pocket watch and glance impatiently at the solidarity of Elizabeth's closed bedroom door. With a sigh I resume my pacing up and down the corridor in impatience. Elizabeth and Betsy have been at it nearly two hours, and I fear that if they use one more minute we shall be quite late. Pulling my shoulders back I steel myself, and raise a hand to knock firmly on the door.
"Yes, James? What is it?" Elizabeth calls. There is a hint of annoyance in her voice that I do not dare miss.
"You're not seeing the King of England you know," I say dryly. Silence greets my comment, and at first I fear that she has chosen to ignore me and will continue her preparations until we most assuredly are late. Suddenly, the rustle of petticoats and the clicking of heels against the wood floor greet my ears and become louder until the door is swung open wide and Elizabeth steps out her lips pursed.
My eyes widen and Elizabeth's cool demeanour melts, stifling a laugh. "James, really, you've got a ridiculous look on your face. Someone would think you've been knocked in the head if they saw you."
I say nothing, wishing to enjoy the view as much as I can before I must share it with all the other guests at the ball. Her face is radiant and her hair has been done up and curled in a way which frames her face magnificently. A pearl earring dangles from each ear matching the pearl necklace hanging closely about her neck. The mulberry-coloured mantua gown opens onto a lace stomacher, which matches the lace peeking from the trumpet-shaped sleeves. Elizabeth smoothes down the front of the gown, and looks at me expectantly, for I have been silent for some time.
"You are beautiful," I breathe, lifting her delicate hand to my mouth. My eyes meet hers as I press my lips to her skin, and she does not look away or blink. "I fear I shall have a terribly hard time sharing you this evening."
Elizabeth covers my hand with her free one, and runs her thumb over my knuckles. "I'm afraid you must," she says. "I would not be parted from you this evening if that were possible, but I am afraid it will become inevitable for proprieties sake."
I nod, and lower her hands. "You are right," and then I smile mischievously, "But that does not change the fact that I am sure you will be the most beautiful woman in the room tonight."
Elizabeth looks down at my flattery, but I see the glint of quiet delight in her eyes and know that she is pleased with the attention even if she does not say so herself. Her hand pressed firmly, but gently in mine, I lead Elizabeth down the staircase and to the waiting carriage outside.
---
"It's so wonderful to see you again, my dear Elizabeth, Commodore," Governor Swann exudes warmly, kissing his daughter's cheek fondly and grasping my hand in a warm, fatherly handshake. "And how are you getting on?"
The question is directed more at Elizabeth than myself, and so I let her answer. Taking her father's hands in her own Elizabeth looks into his eyes and answers in a tender, yet strong voice, "I am fine, Father. We're fine. Please do not worry. I am very happy."
Governor Swann gives his daughter's hands a loving squeeze that does not match the taken-aback look upon his face, "I understand you my dear," he says, "I shan't keep you any longer then, as I'm sure you have many people to see and meet."
We nod in unison, our faces set somewhere between that façade of happiness from so long ago and the fresh-faced future we both yearn for. The crush of couples and military men entering from outside threatens from behind, and without another word we step inside the mansion's brightly lit entrance hall. A few people linger on the threshold admiring the general splendour of a house in which they have never been, but to Elizabeth and I the house is as familiar as a parent is to a child. Without encouragement Elizabeth entwines her arm with mine as we swerve to the left and enter a side parlor.
The room is hot and already I feel overwhelmed by the size of the crowd and the heat of bodies packed tightly together. Now I remember why I haven't been to a ball in so long. Beside me Elizabeth rocks backward and forward on her heels noticeably eager to begin the night. A passing servant offers up two glasses of champagne one of which Elizabeth takes, as I politely decline.
Making a conscious decision not to continue standing in the doorway I move toward the group of men to our immediate right. They are a boisterous bunch, but as soon as I step within range of their circle their laughter goes silent, and they stare at me expectantly. Suddenly Harrison, one of my own lieutenants, thrusts his hand forward to shake mine vigorously.
"Commodore!" he cries, "I had no idea you would be here, Sir."
I shake back just as vigorously in an attempt to convey my feelings of pleasure at seeing one of my own here amongst strangers. "No idea?" I respond, and I turn to gesture to Elizabeth hovering by my shoulder, "My wife is the Governor's daughter, Harrison. Certainly the drink hasn't gone to your head that quickly as to make you forget."
Just over Harrison's laughter I hear whispers of "Governor's daughter?" rippling through the group of men. Elizabeth fidgets beside me, her miniscule shift in weight conveying her unhappiness with how the situation has turned. Taking matters into my own hands, for I know Harrison will not, I step forward, and clasping my hands behind my back in a rather military stance, I introduce myself.
"Commodore James Norrington," I say, and am greeted with nods and raised glasses. I open the circle slightly to admit Elizabeth in. "This is my wife, Elizabeth. As you now know she is the daughter of our most generous host."
Murmured greetings move around the circle and there are warm smiles and hands for her to clasp as every member of the party is introduced. As soon as the introduction is finished the atmosphere shifts and Elizabeth lowers her eyes demurely before retreating to the group of women on the far side of the room.
Thus we are trapped in the vicious social circle, a wheel forever turning, lowering and raising up its inhabitants with each cycle. As soon as Elizabeth is gone the talk turns to politics. There are several strong-minded aristocrats in the group, and I find that it is appropriate for me not to speak right away. In this time my eyes wander over the crowd to rest on the other side of the room where I can just make out the top of Elizabeth's head amongst all the feathers and plumage. She stands amongst those of her rank; the women who have been born and bred in luxury. A few feet away stand another group of women. There is no physical difference that can be detected between the two groups, but it is obvious to those with trained eyes that these women are the newly rich who know naught what to do with such wealth and flaunt it exceedingly.
I watch Elizabeth for some time, commenting on the conversation here and there so as not to come across as unsocial. Her facial features, at first calm and collected, begin to show signs of distress. The gossiping women directly behind her glance furtively at her turned back several times, and with each glance I feel the tension tighten like the taut rope holding a sail. Sensing trouble, I excuse myself from the group with a nod of my head and a thank you for an enjoyable conversation.
Elizabeth's eyes snap directly to mine as I slip through the crowd in an unhurried fashion so as not to alarm or arouse suspicion of any kind. I see her longing to break away from the group of tittering women, but she knows she must stay put until I call her away. In an instant I am by her side.
"You must excuse us," I say to the gawking women, "I've promised my wife a dance. . ."
Trailing off I grip Elizabeth's arm steadily and lead her through the open doors to the room beyond where the sawing of a violin can be heard above the din. "Shall we dance?" I ask, and without waiting for a reply, I pull her toward me and step into the swirling throng of dancers.
We had danced only once before, at our wedding, and I did not think we were such a poorly couple then. However, as we make a stately waltz around the room I find myself trodding upon Elizabeth's feet as her hands go limp in mine. Our bodies are disjointed and try as I might I cannot keep our arms and legs from becoming an entangled and uncoordinated mass.
"You're doing a fine job of keeping this ship afloat, my dear," I say jokingly so that only Elizabeth can hear. She lifts her face to meet mine, and I come to an abrupt halt. Her cheeks are tear-stained and her eyes are rimmed with red. I search them for some sign as to what is the matter and will her to say something, but her lip trembles instead. "We will go," are my final words before I usher her from the gaiety of the ballroom and again through the unbearable heat and rush of the room beyond. We meet her father at the door, and when he catches sight of his daughter's face his visage crumples with concern.
"Her room is just upstairs, James," he says, wringing his hands as I support Elizabeth with an arm about her waist. "Perhaps it is just the heat and excitement. I could have water brought up to her."
Elizabeth smiles, her face lightening a little with the love only a daughter can feel for her father. "I am all right, Father. I just need to go home and rest. Please do not worry about me."
The exact same words from earlier. Governor Swann takes note of this, but kisses his daughter's forehead and says no more of it. "Yes, you will be fine. You are in the Commodore's care after all. I trust him."
Elizabeth's weight slips from my grasp, and tightens her grip on my shoulder to keep from falling. She is eager to leave, and with a curt good evening to the Governor I help Elizabeth down the steps of the great house. As soon as the door is shut Elizabeth slumps against me.
"Help me, James," I hear her whisper, and without hesitation I sweep her up into my arms. She is weightless, almost a feather easily blown away in the wind. She clings to my neck and does not let go until I have placed her gently into the carriage. When the door shuts I ask, "What is the matter? What happened?"
She does not respond right away, and I do not press her. I have come to understand that, while it may take Elizabeth time to respond, when she does it is with complete honesty. The carriage rattles on, and I stare at my hands clasped in my lap. A sigh escapes from Elizabeth's lips, and there is a rustling of satin as she turns toward me. I lift my face to meet hers.
She has been crying silently again, for there are fresh tears upon her face, and even now one clings to the end of her nose, hanging on for something. Distraught, she pushes a loose strand of hair out of her eyes, which dart this way and that unable to focus. She swallows hard and opens her mouth.
"I thought he was behind now," she says, wiping her eyes with the back of hand, "P-part of a past that I would not have to face again. Those women," she pronounces this with contempt, "know nothing of it, and they feel it is their right, nay their privilege, to bring such things up in a public setting as though it would make them more. . . more –"
She trails off, her hands clenched into fists in her lap, as she stares at something I cannot see. "What are you speaking of?" I ask, thoroughly confused.
My wife blinks at me as though she has just remembered that I am there. "Why, Will, of course," she says her voice heavy with underlying emotion. "They were talking about Will, James! They said that if I'd been wife to one of their husbands he would have surely thrown me out or had me hung for being an adulteress! And there I was, unable to say anything or defend myself against their vicious remarks and their name-calling. A whore, James, that's what they called me! The Commodore's whore!" Tears stream unchecked down her cheeks again, as she spits out every painstaking word.
Elizabeth collapses against me, sobbing into my chest, her hands clutching at my waistcoat. I wrapped my arms around her, drawing her to me, and run a hand over hair, kissing the same spot over and over again.
"You are not a whore, Elizabeth, nor were you ever one. You have made mistakes, but haven't we all?" I ask over her sobs, which quiet with each gentle caress. "Those women have no right to judge. They are strangers here and have only heard the gossip that may be found everywhere. In a few weeks they will leave again, and all that will be left are those who know the truth of the matter and who would not care either way."
Her head surfaces only inches from mine. I can see my reflection in her glassy brown eyes. "And do you love me still despite all the trouble I have given you and the grief I have caused?" Her words come out choked and strained. The ocean crashes nearby, and I knock on the roof of the carriage with a sudden idea in mind.
"James, you didn't answer my question."
"Give me a minute."
Elizabeth looks slightly affronted at my distracted tone. The carriage rumbles to a halt, and Thomas opens the door. I jump out with renewed vigour reveling in the night air and the sound of the ocean tide pulling in and out. I grasp Elizabeth's outstretched hand and help her down the steps before lifting her into my arms again. She is too surprised and perhaps curious to speak, so I pick my way across the road and down the rocky incline in silence. The sand is warm through my booted feet, and I have to fight to keep from sinking with each step. Setting Elizabeth down on the packed wet sand only a yard away from the foaming waves, I step away for a moment, stooping to grasp a handful of the whiter loose sand from farther up the beach.
"James, I don't understand."
She turns to me, her arms crossed, as I stride back to her again. Her eyebrows are drawn together almost comically, and they arch upward as I hold out the handful of grainy sand.
"See this?" I ask, and she nods uncertainly. "Memorise and count every grain in my hand." She stares at my outstretched palm caught between whether to laugh or take me seriously. A gust of wind blows out of the north then, and I take the opportunity to throw the brown specks into the air. They catch and scatter, lost to the naked eye amongst millions of their counterparts. "Now find every single grain that I just held. Only when you have done so will I stop loving you."
Authoress' Note: There are many different kinds of "firsts", and it seems this is the first time I've only written one author's note. :P Anyway, as you can tell I'm trying to update more frequently. I'm in the "home stretch" with this group of vignettes and am hoping to finish it up soon enough. I'm thinking there will be about 3 or so more after this one if all goes according to plan. I hope no one was bothered by the intense description of Elizabeth's gown. I did a lot of studying on styles from that time period and was so proud of myself that I went a little overboard with the description. Like James would know about stomachers and trumpet-sleeves. XD I should also apologise for the sappy ending. To be honest, I've been waiting to write an ending like that for ages, so I hope some people don't roll their eyes at it. Just let your inner hopeless romantic come out at that part, and you'll find it's easy enough to read. Now that I've written another story in itself… Please don't forget to review! Thanks so much!