Birds of a Feather

The Curse of the Black Pearl

Chapter Fifty

A Matter of Honour

He initially had the thought that getting Syrena out of his bed was the best course of action, but he found himself completely unable to move. It was almost like some primitive part of himself thought if he didn't move, they couldn't see him and then everything would be alright.

But it wouldn't be alright. Absolutely nothing would ever be alright again.

"Uncle," Philip said weakly. "What are you doing up?"

If he had ever doubted the relation between his uncle and his mother, the look of incredulous fury in that moment cemented it.

"I should go," Rosalyn darted for the door.

Weatherby Swann was faster. Instantly he caught her up by the arm and desperately yanked her back to him.

"Rosalyn, Dear," he said in his everything is alright and my family's reputation is totally not falling apart before my eyes even tempered, totally not losing control of the situation voice. "I don't think I have properly thanked you for your service over these past few days. You've been operating on very little sleep and have in general since our return taken on more than your fair share of duties. I really am most grateful, not just for the work you've done over the past week, but during the entirety of your tenure with us. I would like to reward that with a bonus."

"A bonus, Sir?" Rosalyn's voice shook. She knew she was in a very vulnerable position in the moment. Maids weren't meant to find Postulant Governor's nephew in bed with mysterious new strangers. In some households not only would her job be at risk, but if the stories of men like Bartholomew Swann were true, her very life could be too.

But Weatherby Swann wasn't his father. He had very different ways of dealing with family scandal.

"Yes, a bonus," Weatherby repeated. "I never really felt the bonus I gave you this past Christmas truly reflected how good form of character you have. You are efficient, diligent, loyal to this family, and above all discreet."

She understood immediately.

Weatherby continued, "I think a payment of your Christmas bonus plus another, say… forty percent ought to do it? What do you think?"

Rosalyn could barely breathe the tension was so thick. She looked between Mister Philip and Miss Finson in bed and back to the Governor whose hand shook as it continued to firmly grasp her wrist.

She swallowed, "And I take it that I would be expected not to tell the other staff of this bonus? Not even Mrs. Tomlinson?"

"We wouldn't want anyone to get jealous, now would we? So do we have an agreement?"

"Y- yes, sir."

"Good," Weatherby released her arm and gave her a fatherly pat on the shoulder. "Now really, you should hurry off to bed. You are looking most pale right now. You need some food and some sleep. I will tell the cook to fix you a small snack and Mrs. Tomlinson to let you sleep in a bit tomorrow. That other maid – what's her name? – Daisy can tend the fires tomorrow morning."

"Thank you, Sir," Rosalyn couldn't make her exit fast enough.

Weatherby watched her go, and then slammed the door behind her. He instantly wheeled around and fixed them with a glare so deadly that Philip was sure he was in the Hellfire of the kingdom of Lucifer.

The Governor stormed around to Syrena's side of the bed, eyes never leaving Philip for a second. Philip finally found the strength to pull the blankets back over his indiscretion on the sheets. Syrena instinctively pulled the blanket over her to shield her body from sight, and fixed the shoulder of her chemise. Weatherby snatched Syrena's night gown from the floor and tossed it on the bed next to her.

His voice was thin as he spoke to Syrena, "Miss Finson, you will return to your room immediately and you will stay in there for the rest of the night. Is that understood?"

"Yes, Sir," she snatched up the robe and scampered out of the bed. She was wise enough not to even glance at Philip as she pulled on the coat and left the room.

That just left Philip and Weatherby alone.

"Uncle, I can explain."

Weatherby held up a hand to stop him, "Just… don't."

It was hard to describe the amount of defeat and disappointment in his uncle's voice in the moment. The look on his face made Philip feel worse than even thinking about having broke a pirate out of prison and sunk a navy ship.

How did the disappointing of family somehow always make everything worse?

"Get up," Weatherby ordered. "Get dressed. Meet me down in my office in thirty minutes. I… I need some time to think."

With that he turned and stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

That was the moment the thunder died.

Because of course it did.

There had only been one time in his life that Weatherby Swann had been angrier, and that only made him more furious. It seemed impossible to think that Philip of all people could bring him as close to the day Weatherby had genuinely considered killing his own father. That horrible, ugly day he never spoke of, that Philip and Elizabeth never even knew existed.

He paced his office like an angry tiger, a thousand thoughts speeding through his mind. It was in times like these that Weatherby very much wrestled with the duality of uncle and father to Philip. What was the appropriate response? He almost didn't feel like it was has place to even make this decision, it truly belonging to Rebecca and Nathaniel.

…Then again Rebecca's decision would probably be to throttle her son. But still.

Philip had crossed a line, not just for himself but the whole family. Weatherby glanced at his desk. Sitting there were the figures he had been working on for William Turner – the entire reason he was awake at this God forsaken hour. He had just made a breakthrough, finally maybe finding just enough money to help William and Elizabeth.

He caught up the papers and threw them in the fire. They were useless now. Every scrap of money he was able to claw up would be going to Rosalyn now. It wasn't much, but it might have meant the difference to everything for William.

This was the most selfish thing Philip had ever done. Weatherby damn well was going to make Philip pay him back – Lord knew the boy was good for it – but there was little hope to help William and Elizabeth now.

But the anger could not last forever and he slumped down in his chair.

What the Hell was he supposed to do? Weatherby Swann had made a career in making difficult decisions for people, but now facing the most serious situation their family had ever endured, he was at an utter loss.

Philip had been in bed with a woman. Not just a woman, a mermaid. All while being under active investigation by the Church of England. This wasn't some little sin to shove into the closet with the rest of the family skeletons. If they found out Syrena was a mermaid, Philip's neck could be at risk.

How many arguments had he had over Philip's pirate and navy ship problem to make it go away? How many favors had he called in? How many carte blanche favors had he promised to keep Will and Philip safe? Then Philip turned around and did this!

Hadn't he done a better job of raising his children? Why were they determined to be so rebellious? So ungodly? What had he done wrong?

Weatherby sighed and looked at the picture on his desk. His bedroom was not the only place he kept portraits of Katherine. He picked up the one he kept on his desk: that which had been painted of her in her wedding dress.

Katherine would know what to do. She would have dealt with it with a firm but loving hand, one they could stand in partnership over. Not many people would realize it, but Katherine was clever. She would know how to spin this into a positive that didn't leave all of Port Royal whispering about their shame.

She had a very simple motto she lived by: Don't fight them. Outsmart them.

He supposed that's why they fell for each other; they knew how to wiggle out of things and save face. Heck, they had even met because they worked together to lie to her mother.

Weatherby chuckled, they had always made a good team. The night Weatherby was told he had to make a marriage match, they barely even to have a conversation before Katherine keyed into the development and agreed. They had put the pieces into place for Katherine to come into Swann Manor and immediately take control as Mistress of the house. They had figured out beneficial path of Governorship and played their hand for years to make their way into the position. Heck, it was them who had planned the entire-

But she wasn't here.

It was a cold hard truth that Weatherby Swann could never fully get over. She had been gone a decade, yet she was still a frequent figure in his dreams. He had made sure grief didn't become the focus of his life, but that didn't stop the moments when he would wake in the morning, forgetting she was gone, and then remembering making him lose her all over again.

He had lost so much: Katherine, Daniel, Tabitha, the other dozen who never even got a name, Rebecca, Cece, brothers and another sister that he barely even could name now without a thought. Nathaniel.

Nathaniel should be here. Nathaniel would know exactly what to do. Rebecca wouldn't and indeed would make a fuss that woke the house and made it all worse, but Nathaniel would know.

He was a godly man but a lot more open minded than people gave him credit – and that was saying something. But Philip and Nathaniel, as much as father had been uninvolved in raising son, were so alike. He would be able to see past the fury and betrayal and see the fear and panic his son was enduring. He would lift those weight of expectations and honour, and he would show the step forward.

Katherine and Nathaniel, in some ways were almost a mirror of Syrena and Philip. They would know what to do.

But Philip was stuck instead with Weatherby Swann – a horrid fate being stuck with such a poor replacement, if you asked his father.

No. No one asked his father because no one gave his father's opinion one iota of weight. His father had been wrong: always been wrong. Weatherby Swann was stronger, wiser, and kinder than his father. He would do better for this family than Bartholomew had ever done.

"Alright," Weatherby spoke to the portrait of Katherine, "what are we going to do about this, Angel?"

And soon enough he had his answer.

When Philip reached his uncle's office door, he seriously considered running. Since meeting Syrena, it had been lecture after lecture of appropriateness, but this was beyond the pale. A line had truly been crossed, even if flesh had not become one.

It was no one's fault but his own; he knew damn well what he had been doing. No amount of bible verses would change the fact that he did wrong. There was misunderstandings and then there was rolling on top of a woman and pulling down her chemise. He should have kicked Syrena out of his bed the moment he found her there.

Philip hesitated, and then knocked.

"Enter."

With great reluctance he did.

Weatherby Swann's office was as grand and important as befitting his station. Filled bookcases, oil paintings, mahogany desk, and velvet drapes. It was a place where great decisions were made and Philip feared what ones had already been made that night.

His uncle wasn't at his desk, rather he sat by the roaring fireplace. Two fancy but uncomfortable couches faced each other with a small elegant table between them. It was the place Uncle would seat guests when he wanted to put them at ease before springing his trap. Even worse a crystal decanter with matching two glasses and a bottle of 1718 Swift Whiskey sat on the table. Uncle did not break out the crystal and birth year whiskey unless there was either very good news or very bad.

Feeling incredibly awkward, Philip couldn't think of anything else to say but, "You wanted to talk to me, Sir?"

Sir was a formal word. Sir told his uncle he knew this was serious.

"Close the door behind you and have a seat," Weatherby gestured to the couch across from himself.

Philip slunk over to the couch, very aware that the seat placement was very deliberate. Side by side meant friends. Across from each other meant very bad things were about to happen.

"Uncle, please listen to me," Philip had one chance to take control of the situation and he wasn't about to give it up. "I know it looked really bad, but it really wasn't what it looked like."

"Philip, do you think I'm an idiot? Of course I know it wasn't what it looked like. As much as you may be inexperienced in these matters and susceptible to temptation, you still have a very strong set of morals that I know you wouldn't cross." But before Philip could respond, Weatherby snapped, "What matters is what Rosalyn thinks it looked like!"

That shut him up.

Weatherby rubbed his face, "I really thought we were better than this, Philip. Finding the young man of the house unmarried and in bed with a woman. Sneaking around behind my back. Paying off maids to keep quiet. This is beneath us. It's the sort of thing your grandfather would smirk at me and tell me he knew I would be a failure."

"You're not a failure."

"Neither are you! You're smart! You're accomplished! I just-"

Weatherby let out a strangled cry of frustration and grabbed the whiskey bottle. He sloppily poured a glass and threw it back. It burned like Hell – Philip's birth year batch was a particularly potent one in the Swift Whiskey line.

"Philip," Weatherby sighed, looking down at the floor as he tightly clutched his whiskey glass. "What the Hell are you doing? Have you lost all of your senses?"

Philip agreed that the pattern of the carpet was most interesting, "Uncle, I'm sorry. I don't know what came over me. I just stopped thinking."

"Oh, you were thinking alright. Just not with the right head."

He blushed. His uncle had never been so bluntly crude before.

"I… I'm sorry."

"Sorry is not going to cut it this time."

The ticking of the grandfather clock was the heartbeat of the room as Weatherby lifted his glass and took a long drink. Philip found comfort in mirroring the action, though he greatly disliked the burn it left in his throat.

Weatherby took another deep breath, his eyes looking not over Philip's shoulder where they were directed, but far into the past of his own youth.

"Look, I get it," Weatherby admitted. "I've been in your shoes. I was once young and in love for the first time-"

"It's not like that," Philip cut off, not rudely but no less firmly.

Weatherby regarded his nephew wirily, "Then how is it?"

"You… You wouldn't understand."

"I wouldn't understand?" he echoed hollowly. "Philip, I got Katherine pregnant over a dozen times. Do you think I did it by just holding her hand?"

Philip's jaw dropped and he looked up at his uncle in utter shock. There was no embarrassment on Uncle Weatherby's face, in fact there was a frankness to it that showcased how little he cared of the societal impropriety of telling his nephew about his marital relations. Philip's face was burning, and it wasn't from the whiskey.

"Drink," Weatherby ordered as Philip gaped at him like a fish. "You're going to need the fortitude as this conversation isn't going to get a lot better."

He dutifully downed the glass in one shot, held it out for another pour – which his uncle unflinchingly offered – and then downed half of the new serving.

"Philip," Weatherby set down the bottle, the glass clinking upon glass as it reached the surface. "Let us be men and have this conversation. I've tolerated you bringing this girl home because I knew with your character's generous serving of godliness, propriety, and chastity it would not be a problem. But now it is. There's no shame in this part of your nature being awoken as long as you handle it properly. Letting this girl be half naked in your bed is not. And do not tell me that it is different because she is a mermaid and doesn't know the world-"

"She doesn't!"

"But you do!" Weatherby snapped. "Simple yes or no. Do you wish to have carnal relations with this girl?"

"Uncle!"

"Don't you chastise me. Answer the question."

"I…" Philip's head was a flurry of confusion, not in the least helped by the whiskey pulsing through his system. "I do. But I don't. No. Not out of wedlock. I would not break that law of God."

"But she's already demonstrated she would, and even worse now it looks like to the world that you have." Weatherby glanced towards the door, knowing out there somewhere Rosalyn was simply bursting to tell someone what she had seen, "I can't protect you forever. It'll get out soon enough. All it takes is one wrong whisper and this whole town will think their pastor-in-training has had sex out of wedlock."

"But I haven't."

"Do you think that matters to them!" Weatherby snapped. "Gossip is a vicious weapon and will destroy your life the same way it did to your parents."

"My parents' lives weren't destroyed!"

"Oh, you don't get it," Weatherby leaned back against the couch cushion. "You were so young and naïve, how could you have ever understood? Even Elizabeth couldn't see what was truly going on."

Philip bristled at the implication that Elizabeth was more observant than him but didn't say anything for he knew in some ways it was true.

Weatherby took a deep breath and collected himself.

"Philip," he said calmly, "this situation has become untenable."

"Uncle, please, just give me one more chance."

"You're out of chances, Philip. I'm sorry, but I've given you every chance I could offer. Now we have to decide how we're going to deal with Syrena."

Fear chilled his heart, "Wh- What do you mean?"

Weatherby Swann took a deep breath, "I have thought long and hard about the situation and have determined there are three courses of action we could take. It's up to you to decide which we shall go with, but know that you only have these three options. Understood?"

"Yes, Sir."

"First choice," Weatherby said, "we send her away and forget any of this ever happened."

"No," Philip said firmly.

He continued as if he hadn't heard his nephew, "It would allow you to continue on with the life we've had without the difficulties of risking sin out of wedlock, much less deal with a mermaid in your life. You get your life back and nothing much has changed except for your cousin and Will Turner being together."

"I will not send Syrena away."

Weatherby looked at Philip for a moment, something sad but silent passing through his eyes.

"Very well," Weatherby said. "Your next option: Syrena leaves and you go with her."

Philip fell silent at that.

"You can make the same choice that your parents did: give up on everything you have ever worked for to be with someone you honestly don't know that well."

Philip felt it in the pit of his stomach. Back on Isla de Muerta, it had been so easy to say he would do that very thing. Give up everything and run off with Syrena like it didn't matter.

But it did matter. Everything he had ever known, everything he had ever loved, everything he had ever worked for… and he had worked so hard.

How many hundreds of hours had he spent studying scripture? How many times had he done the drudge work of Pastor Thomas? How much time, money, and effort had he dedicated to building the life he had – and very much enjoyed. To give up everything for love was a romantic notion… until you actually faced the option.

He loved Syrena; that fact was not in question. But could he give up everything for a relative stranger?

It was in moments like these that Philip knew he wasn't completely like his parents. Hardship they did endure, but it had been so easy for them to choose to give up everything to be together. True, they probably had at least a day to think over it vs the handful of minutes Phil was getting, but making that choice was so much easier for them.

"I love her, Uncle," Philip said.

That made Weatherby smile, "I know, Philip. And you can choose that option to go off with her. You leave behind everything and put your fate in this girl's hands. You'll still have my support – financially as well as emotionally – but you'll just have to live far from here."

Philip sighed, "You said there was another option."

"Yes, I did."

"What is it?"

Weatherby simply raised an eyebrow.

Philip burst out laughing, "You can't be serious!"

"I'm deadly serious. The only way to keep your life here is to make this whole situation respectable. You take this girl to wife and be done with it."

"But I barely know her!"

"Then you probably should have thought about that before allowing her into your bed."

Philip just gaped at his uncle dumbfounded. Was this really happening? Yes, he loved Syrena and could see himself married to her, but that was years down the line. He wasn't ready for marriage! He was only 20 years of age. He wasn't even legally considered to be responsible enough to have access to all of his money – probably a good thing considering what he did have access to, he kept liquid – there was no way he could provide for a wife and family.

Well, maybe not family. The advantage to marrying a mermaid was that one could practice family planning without dwelling in the murky potential sinful areas of family planning. If mermaids could only become pregnant when they wanted to, then it was God who would decide when to make them want it.

But still, marriage was a big step. He hadn't even known Syrena a full month. It was the same sort of commitment question that he had about leaving with her.

Commitment. That was what kept catching him up on either of the choices his uncle offered. How committed was Syrena? Would she really want to stay with him for the rest of her life? He was the first man she had truly known. What if she changed her mind?

…What if he changed his?

"Uncle," Philip struggled to gather himself, "I don't- I'm not ready for this. There has to be another way. Another option we're overlooking. There has to be something more than marriage or banishment. Please, Uncle!"

Weatherby's face softened at the desperate and scared shine in his nephew's eyes.

"I know this is a cruel decision to force," Weatherby couldn't help but feel that burning and nauseous feeling his father would always put in the pit of his stomach. "The Lord knows that my father put your mother and I in a position like this some many times. I have sympathy and understanding for your situation. I remember how frustrated and scared I was when my own father told me I had to marry. I've told myself so many times that I would never force yourself or Elizabeth into marriage."

He paused and took a deep breath.

"But I don't do this for the family," Weatherby continued. "I don't care about the sake of the family name. Not over your and Elizabeth's beings. I love you, and that's why I do this for you. To protect you and prevent the life your parents suffered through. That I suffered through."

Philip frowned. He never really reflected on the suffering his uncle had endured. It was so easy to brus off the power and privilege that Weatherby Swann had. But his life had been anything but pleasant: tragedy, sacrifice, and abuse.

He wasn't lying to Philip; his uncle was doing it for his sake. Truly and honestly.

Deep in his heart, Philip had known that this was what would happen when his uncle found them in his room. When scandal like that happened, it was covered up with marriage: a simple, easy answer.

That didn't mean it still didn't scare him.

"What if Syrena doesn't want to marry me?" Philip asked. "What if she says no?"

Weatherby sighed heavily and gave it serious thought, "When you dedicate yourself to a relationship the way you have to Syrena, it's frightening at first. You're not two individuals anymore. You're partners who have to make your large decisions together. There's a very real possibility that she will want to choose one of the other two options."

They didn't voice the heavy question in the air. What if Syrena chose to leave Philip to let him have the life he worked for? She had already refused to let Philip leave it behind and made the sacrifice to give up her own dreams and aspirations and follow him home. What if she decided that the ask of marriage was too much?

But there was the even more terrifying thought that clung unspoken to Philip's lips. Marriage was forever. What if it didn't work out? To marry Syrena would be the biggest gamble of Philip's life. Even worse than the whispers of a preacher having sex out of wedlock was the whispers that would come if a preacher's wife left him.

He was the first human Syrena truly knew. What if she decided that Philip just wasn't enough? What if their views of religion drove them apart? What if their worlds were just too far to bridge?

"I… I don't know what to do, Uncle," Philip confessed.

Weatherby nodded sadly, "I know, but it's a choice you have to make."

He took a deep breath, "Ok. I'll do it."

"Do… what exactly?"

"I'll marry Syrena," Philip said. His brain whirled as he readjusted all of his plans, "I'll make the announcement at church this week. I will then put all of my efforts into studying for my ordination, and then once I have been ordained we'll have a nice modest wedding in England where my aunts and grandmother can all attend. Pastor Thomas has promised to come to London for my exams already, so I'll have him-"

"You misunderstand me, Philip," Weatherby cut off. "I didn't mean you would marry her in a few months or even few weeks."

"Then what do you mean?"

"We need to get this deal with as quickly as possible. I intend to speak to Pastor Thomas tomorrow to have you two married in the next day or two."

Philip's jaw dropped.

"Have you lost your mind? I can't get married tomorrow!"

"We need to beat the gossip."

"Are you mad? The kind of gossip that would incur if I married Syrena tomorrow would be worse!"

"Not at all." Weatherby explained, "A quick marriage just invites the speculation of rushing things so you can fall into bed with Syrena. Converse that with gossip of alleged proof you did out of wedlock."

"Just because I married doesn't mean Rosalyn still won't talk."

"No, but let's be honest, who is going to believe Rosalyn that you had intercourse out of wedlock if you have a rushed marriage. After a few months when it becomes evident that Syrena isn't with child, Rosalyn's gossip would be overwritten as a wild tale."

"That doesn't mean this still won't come back on us."

"No, you're right. It still can. That's why we want to do as much damage control as possible."

Philip sighed a long breath, "I… I haven't even known her a month."

When Weatherby looked at Philip in that moment, he didn't see his nephew but rather his sister when she made the hardest decision of her life. And he remembered the remembered the vow he had made to protect their family.

"I know, Philip," Weatherby said gently. "I know."

Philip took a deep breath, "How long do I have to decide?"

"You'll tell me your decision in the morning. Take the time to talk to Syrena, but ultimately, it's your choice, Philip. Either leave the girl or marry her."

Weatherby took one last drink, patted Philip on the shoulder, and silently exited the room. He left behind his nephew with one difficult thought.

What in the world was he going to do about Syrena?