A/N: JackOLantern_Summers mentioned in a comment that they wanted to see Hattie turn up in this story, and then as I was writing this chapter, the way it unfolded actually demanded that she appear. So I'm not saying you're a sorcerer, bestie, but I meaaaaan…
The morning after the dinner party, James awoke to find the book he'd attempted to give Miss Byrne sitting neatly in the middle of his doorstep. Given what a grave miscalculation it had been, and the Irishwoman's colourful turn of phrase, he suspected he'd been lucky that it hadn't come with a note detailing exactly where he could put the book. She must have dropped it off herself, for a servant from the mansion would have left it with his maid, Hattie, instead. James found himself relieved that they hadn't run into one another when she did so – and then laughed at himself. After all he'd faced, he was wary of the likes of Theodora Byrne. What was the world coming to?
She must have been up and moving alarmingly early if she'd come by before he'd risen himself – and while James was always an early riser, this morning he was excessively so, because he'd barely slept at all. After his talk with Elizabeth, he'd been unable to keep her words from his mind. Nor Miss Byrne's face.
"I don't suppose you saw how she reacted when Groves gave her that fright?"
He had noticed. Even before Elizabeth pointed it out, he'd noted it – but the pointing out of it meant that he could no longer brush it off through wilful denial.
It was difficult to say whether she knew she was visible from where she'd stood on the patio that night, but James suspected not. He could detect no artifice in her demeanour as she'd stood, arms curled around herself, staring unseeingly off into the night, looking so very lost. A far cry from the woman who'd all but given him a dressing down in front of one of his own men at the beginning of the night.
From where he'd been stationed watching her, he did not see Groves' approach until his hand reached out to get her attention, but her response was something he'd seen in full. In all of his considerations of Theodora Byrne – more numerous than he'd ever admit – he'd never been able to even faintly imagine her cowering. And yet, that was what she'd done.
Whirling, she'd cowered down, and lifted a hand up before her face as if to protect it from a blow that did not come. All on sheer, unthinking instinct; at least if her following embarrassment was anything to go by.
She'd refused to be cowed by him thus far, and James was under no illusions as to how stern and dour he could be when he so wished…which was often. So what manner of man would it take to produce that response in her? Who had she expected the owner of the hand to be, lost in her thoughts as she was?
And what did that make James himself, if he'd spent all of this time being so openly hostile towards a woman who not only meant no harm, but was fleeing harm herself? It troubled him greatly – and it did not so much as wipe away his curiosity as give that curiosity new questions to chase. For the safety of those here was his responsibility - his duty - and if these new suspicions proved correct, Miss Byrne fell under that duty of care. So it still fell to him to puzzle out the truth.
Although perhaps more gently than he had been thus far.
It was that notion…as well as guilt…that had him lurking near the front windows of his home like some strange spectre, waiting to see if she would pass by again – which she would have to do, if she'd gone to town as he suspected. Luck would have it that she cut a striking enough figure as to make her impossible to miss.
Theo couldn't pretend she didn't feel just a little nervous as she walked by Norrington's house on her return journey to the Governor's mansion, after a visit to town that had been half-fruitful and half incredibly frustrating. As was her pattern here.
When she'd snuck up the front path to his home in order to return that stupid book (she'd hoped he'd be smart enough to take it with him when he left after dinner, but apparently not), she felt an adrenaline rush of the likes previously only achieved during an incredibly rousing game of ding-dong-ditch. Right up until she'd set the book down atop the doorstep and made it back to the street before the house, she'd been certain that the door would swing open and she'd be greeted with the sight of Norrington's stupid, finely polished buckled shoes. Followed by that frown as if she'd lost her mind. As was his pattern, in all dealings with her.
It appeared, thankfully, that she'd gotten there just early enough to miss him. But she knew that luck wouldn't hold up when she went by again, and when she noticed the book was gone from the step, she couldn't completely convince herself that some servant or other had handled it without telling him. 'The book gnome visited' probably wasn't the daily norm here, and it sorted of warranted some sort of comment.
She'd almost been clear of the house entirely when she heard the front door open, and long strides making their way down the path until he was close enough that he wouldn't have to scream her name in the street like Marlon Brando's unhinged brother.
"Miss Byrne."
Would ignoring him be bad? Yeah, it would definitely be bad. God, modern folk didn't know how good they had it, being able to hide behind the excuse of headphones. Stifling a sigh, she stopped, and then turned slowly. So slowly that she probably looked like she was trying to have a dramatic movie villain moment. Or like a music box with a broken spring.
"Captain," she greeted flatly, looking at his neck rather than at his face.
The day was a scorcher, and standing still was somehow worse than moving – maybe because she knew the longer she lingered, the longer she'd be without the shade of the Governor's mansion.
"What was your business in town?"
This time she did sigh, but she told him anyway – if she didn't, he'd only make up something nefarious.
"I met with William Turner, to check the progress of my endeavour, and then I attempted to visit the library."
"…Women are not permitted access to the town's library."
"Attempted," she reiterated.
Her snippiness, horrifyingly, seemed to endear her to him more than it might've if she'd made an effort to smile awkwardly and pretend he hadn't been a complete raging knobhead the night before.
"I'm sure the Governor would not object to your perusing his library."
"They're mostly history tomes," she said. "I wanted to see what else was on offer."
History tomes written from an eighteenth-century English perspective, no less. She couldn't crack any of them open without hearing every single one of her ancestors simultaneously screaming in fury. And she could hardly visit a book shop, unless she was going to be enough of an ungrateful prat as to start asking Governor Swann for pocket money.
When he said little else, but made no move to leave, she nodded a farewell. "Good day, Captain."
She barely moved to turn when he stepped forward, finally saying what it was he'd chased her down to say. And god, did it surprise her.
"Miss Byrne, I do not pretend that I do not owe you an apology after my…misjudgement last night," he said. "And, as of this moment, my calculations tell me that we've roughly a thirty percent success rate in our dealings with one another. Perhaps I may be so ambitious as to push that up to fifty percent."
Surprise got the better of her, and she met his gaze – finding green eyes staring into hers with a shocking amount of earnestness. Her own eyes widened, and a great deal of her annoyance fell aside of its own volition, which in turn shocked him. They spent more time than she suspected either of them would later admit, standing there, watching one another.
Theo was the first to come to her senses, breaking whatever strange spell had come over the both of them.
"What do you suggest?"
He hadn't actually apologised, but she was willing to let that fall by the wayside if it would make this bullshit stop.
"A revision. Of yesterday."
"I'm not sure I have the energy for another dinner party," she snorted.
He stifled a smirk of his own. "Nor I. But I do have a personal library that I am rather proud of. You are free to browse it, and borrow what you wish."
Whatever defensiveness yet lurked in her posture was truly gone then, and she blinked at him owlishly.
"…Really?"
"Truly," he said – and even failed to take offence at her doubt.
"I…" she shifted her weight from one foot to the other, and then nodded. "All right. Thank you."
When they reached his house, Theo didn't comment on how he left the front door wide open as she passed through – not even when she was tempted to make a joke about having an easy escape to hand. Once inside, he paused in the entranceway and she pretended she wasn't making a study of the house. It was difficult to picture, after all, how a man like Captain Norrington might be when at home. It conjured images of his "relaxing" with poker-straight posture, his shoulders straight and his nose in the air as he leafed through a book.
The place was nice. Not a particularly surprising fact, given that he was considered the logical choice for Elizabeth. Homes here were bigger than she was used to back home – they were still a long way from terraced houses and semi-detached maisonettes – and while this one wasn't a mansion, it was still pretty damn big, even by the standards she'd seen here. Despite that, though, everything was simple. Masculine, really. Dark, finely polished wooden furniture, with a distinct lack of florals or frills. That was the job of the woman, she supposed. Still, she hardly disliked it without all that. It suited him.
"Hattie? Come here a moment, please."
Sounds of boots against the hardwood flooring rattled from upstairs, and a young, blonde maid appeared at the top of the stairs.
"Yes, sir?" she quickly descended, greeting Theo with a smile and a quiet how do you do?
"This is Miss Byrne – take her to my study, where she will pick out whichever books she so wishes."
Hattie, for a brief second, looked as stunned by the gesture as Theo had been, but she recovered quickly and nodded.
"Yes, sir. Follow me, please, miss."
The study showed more signs of life than any other part of the house she'd seen. While still, unsurprisingly, neat and orderly to an extent that was almost unnerving, it felt actually lived in. A small handful of books and notebooks were stacked carefully atop the desk, along with a couple of quills that had been sharpened but thus far unused, side by side perfectly symmetrically.
Theo hadn't realised she'd been surveying the room until she remembered Hattie's presence, turning and smiling sheepishly.
"Sorry. I'm a little distracted. The heat."
"Not at all, miss," she gave a polite smile – although her eyes remained fixed on her with curiosity as she continued. "The captain is rather particular about the way his shelves are organised – by subject matter, and then alphabetically thereafter. Is there anything in particular that you're looking for?"
"No, no I…" she almost admitted she was still too stunned to even really consider what books she might want to read. "…I'm sure I'll know it when I see it."
The blonde nodded, remaining by the doorway. Theo turned to the shelves. They were all leatherbound volumes, and so it was difficult for much to really leap out at her without her properly reading the spines.
"Have you lived here long?" she asked Hattie, mostly to fill the silence as she looked. "In Jamaica, I mean."
And also because part of her felt the need to establish that she didn't view servants as window-dressing. Even if that was what they strove to be.
"I came over with my parents – so long ago that I scarcely remember it, miss."
"You're used to the climate, then."
"It becomes less noticeable over the years, miss," she offered a sympathetic smile. "And Captain Norrington always makes sure the servants – here and in town – have all of the ice we might need, to make our work more bearable, in the hotter months."
Theo smiled tiredly. Even despite their rocky beginnings, she didn't find that surprising at all.
When she finally returned downstairs, Captain Norrington was sitting on the sofa in his sitting room, long legs stretched before him, his coat removed to reveal a white shirt with rather dramatic sleeves, and a finely embroidered waistcoat. His cravat had been loosened, his collar pulled away from his neck, and the white wig sat on the sofa beside him, his dark hair plastered to his head as he rested with his face tilted back, eyes shut. This day was proving to be one of the hottest since her coming here to Port Royal, and while she was often driven to self-pity in her corset and skirts, she consoled herself with the fact that she didn't need to wear that white monstrosity atop her head every day.
Theo knocked at the table by the doorway and he started, sitting up and regarding her with surprise.
"Forgive me," he said. "I thought you'd left."
As he spoke, he made to take up his wig but Theo interrupted.
"Please don't, if you'll only be uncomfortable. This heat is…a lot," she finished lamely. "I'm still trying to get used to it."
"As am I," he snorted, and surprised her by leaving the wig where it sat. "It's cooler, out at sea. And you've arrived during one of the hottest seasons we've ever endured here."
Hopefully the townsfolk wouldn't take that as an ill-omen. The redheaded wench brings the fires of hell with her, or some such crap.
"I was spoiled for choice," she explained. "Took a wee bit longer than I realised. I wanted to show you what I picked before I left – to make sure it's all right."
The last thing she needed was to pick out something with great sentimental value. With her luck, she'd choose something passed down the Norrington line for centuries, and he'd either resent the choice, or be at the Swann's door tomorrow to retrieve it.
He motioned her over and she approached, side-stepping the other sofa to draw nearer and present the books to him.
"Flora and Fauna of the Caribbean," he read aloud, taking up the first one.
"Seems a good idea to know what I'm surrounded by," she supplied – mostly to fill the silence.
He nodded readily enough, moving to the next one. "Gulliver's Travels."
"Escapism," she shrugged.
"And…" he paused when he came to the third and final one, eyeing her curiously. "Marcus Aurelius?"
"For when the escapism doesn't work," she said drily.
Norrington surprised her then, for he chuckled – just a little one, but it seemed genuine all the same. As was his curiosity. For the first time, she felt as though he was speaking to her for the sake of speaking to her, rather than because some sense of chivalry demanded it or, worse, because he suspected her of something sinister.
"You've read it before?" he asked, a note of surprise to his voice.
"A few times," she admitted. "It's the sort of thing where a refresher never hurts. I…may I?"
She gestured, unsure whether she was doing the right thing or not, to the sofa opposite him. With little idea of whether it was proper (although they'd have to be really daring to get up to anything with all of the doors and windows wide open, and a maid in the next room), or whether he was simply waiting for her to finally piss off and leave him in peace, she knew that it was a risky move. But she also knew that he was making an effort – a real one, this time – and so she'd feel iffy if she plundered his shelves and left without so much as a bit of polite chit chat.
This was new territory to her, too. If anybody else had done what he had last night, she'd have never so much as looked in their direction again, regardless of if they'd let her borrow a thousand of their fancy books. Even now, she was wary – half expecting him to ask a perfectly innocent question, only to skewer her with whatever answer she gave. But…he had the movies going for him.
After all, they depicted him to be good. Maybe he wobbled a bit in the middle, but even then, Theo couldn't much fault his actions – for they pretty much always adhered to the moral code he'd had drummed into him, likely since birth. Pirates bad, English good. If anything, an excessive sort of loyalty to Jack after he had a hand in his losing everything would suggest a near-impressive lack of brains, and she couldn't say she'd have behaved any different were she in Norrington's shoes. Or wig. In the end, it wasn't like he wouldn't pay for the more questionable of his actions, either. And dearly, at that.
No, everything she'd seen of him – though he'd yet to actually do any of it – had been understandable, and spoke to a pretty decent strength of character. He hadn't been a dick to her for the sake of being a dick, of that she was certain. It came from a place of protectiveness, she supposed, rather than Amelia Simmond's particular brand of sneering sadism. Furthermore, he'd even been kind to her once. As he'd said himself, he had a success rate that stood at about a third, and the first catastrophic meeting had been the fault of her blundering more than anything he'd done. No, a second chance wasn't only the wise thing to concede from a strategic standpoint of making this place liveable, but it felt right.
He gestured his ascent, and she slowly sat down, resisting the urge to fiddle with her skirts as he continued to hold onto the books.
"I always liked the passages about fire. A lot," she explained, narrowing her eyes as she tried to recall one of them without butchering it. "The blazing fire makes flames and brightness out of everything thrown into it."
At that, he offered a tight-lipped half-smile that wasn't half so sarcastic and mirthless as the ones she was used to seeing from him.
"As a fire overwhelms what would have quenched a lamp. What's thrown on top of the conflagration is absorbed, consumed by it - and makes it burn still higher."
Theo made an impressed noise at the back of her throat, smiling. "That's some memory on you."
He huffed a laugh. "A blessing and a curse. As well as a necessity, given my occupation."
"I understand that. My dad- my father used to do these little tests with me – how many carriages were on the street that we just walked past? What colours were the horses pulling them? So on. Just to really drum it into me to be aware of my surroundings."
Of course, the carriages had been cars, and he'd been asking her what brand they were, but she already sounded like a blithering idiot here half the time given her limited ability with period drama speak, so she had to be careful.
"A habit more suited to a commanding officer and his men, I should think," he commented, a bemused furrow taking root in his brow.
But still, it was curiosity – not suspicion – that ruled his features.
"Most trouble people find themselves in comes from their not being aware of their surroundings," she shrugged a little. "Of course, I'm not so naïve to think it's always avoidable – or the fault of a person who doesn't notice the knife at their back rather than the one holding the knife, but whatever danger awareness can negate, he wanted to be sure that it did in my case."
"A noble aim."
"Mm. He was my gateway into all that," she gestured towards the copy of Meditations in his hand. "Always used to say it was foolish, wanting to be the person who always wins. Too much of that is reliant on outside forces, and the second you lose, your confidence is shot and you start feeling sorry for yourself. It's much better to just strive to be the person who gets back up again, after every defeat. That, you have full control over."
Norrington looked at her strangely, then. Not in a bad way – but in one she couldn't quite place. If she'd been more optimistic about their interactions, she might've dared to say he looked impressed. His features certainly softened from their usual grim disinterested set. They looked at one another for a long moment – so long that Theo almost wondered if she'd just made a tit out of herself yet again in some unknown way.
Then, finally, he said quietly.
"You must miss him greatly."
Theo forced a strained smile, half-wishing she'd never brought him up in the first place. "Yes. Well. Just more fuel for that fire of mine, right?"
Norrington snorted – not unkindly – and then stacked the three fairly thin books, and held them out towards her with one hand. Theo reached her hand out and grasped them, but didn't full pull them from his hand quite yet. Instead, she paused and offered him a tired smile.
"Fifty percent. Thank you, Captain Norrington."
He smiled then, and Theo noted silently to herself that he was far too handsome than was good for anybody. His dark hair emphasised his strong features - especially when that stupid wig wasn't acting as a glaring distraction from them. Classically handsome. That was the phrase. A face that would suited being carved in marble.
"Fifty percent, Miss Byrne," he echoed.
She left feeling lighter than when she'd stepped inside.
A/N: I can't find anything suggesting it was an official rule that women weren't allowed in libraries, but everything I have been able to find indicates that the only reason I can't find that rule in writing is for similar reasons that we don't have 'please don't shit on the floor' as an explicit rule in public spaces today. It's just assumed that everybody knows.
What I did find is that women started pushing to be able to use public libraries somewhere around the 19th century, and that to contend with this, libraries had to create separate reading rooms specifically for women, so no nefarious mixed-sex reading would take place. With libraries around this time period, from what I can find they were mostly intended for the use of university students, or scholars. Both of which could obviously only be male, because woman brain small.
So I don't think it's unrealistic that Theo would've been turned away from the library in Port Royal. If anything, I think it's more of a stretch to think that the English would've bothered building a library in Port Royal, because the people important enough to read books could probably afford their own private libraries. Given that women's literacy wasn't considered particularly important, either, and the only women who could read would've been of a higher class and able to afford their own books, that would've played a role, too.
But hey, maybe they wanted to make sure the lower-ranking officers had easy access to books, in order to expand their minds. I could imagine the likes of James, and Gov. Swann, being all for that. I do imagine it being very, very small, though.