She dreamt of tea time in the garden.
Except it was not the garden at all—not as Elizabeth truly knew it. A table had been set near a pond, and flowers familiar and foreign surrounded her in a bounty of ornamental petals. But where the mansion ought to have been, behind her head, she knew there had settled nothing. Nothing, except the vague memory of something else that had once been there—not even a shape. Instead, she had a feeling that there might have been something once; the looming sense of a shadow cast by a thought which her eyes could not yet turn towards to see…
The table was set, but the plates were still empty. Will was late. He was always late.
'No he isn't,' her real mind whispered.
No, he wasn't. Why would she think that? She was early, that's what this was—much too early, and she felt quite strongly it wasn't fair. She hadn't chosen this. She could have been perfectly on time if people let her have her way, if she ignored them altogether and instead met Will by the docks. Yet another unexplained something had made her early. And now she was sitting here hungry, waiting for him without her watch to keep the time.
There were ducks in the pond, taking shelter from the north's winters. There were crumbs in her pockets, stale and hard. And she tried to bide her time by taking granules between her fingertips, tossing them to the birds impatiently while considering licking up the next palm-full for herself.
Her stomach hurt.
Then mother was there, and so was the wind. Where they came from, Elizabeth could not say. The house, probably. Which house was it? She still could not see it. Was it a house at all? Was she in England or the Caribbean…?
Mother was speaking.
But Elizabeth could not hear either with the wind in her ears. No words could make their way from mother's slow-moving lips, without billowing gusts sweeping them away. Eventually mother merely smiled, pointing to Elizabeth's feet and silently bidding her to take off her shoes and enjoy the garden's grasses. Elizabeth did so hastily, tossing her stockings to the side, before turning back to take mother's outstretched hand—
But she wasn't there anymore. None of it was—no table, no saucers, no ducks even. Nothing except for the flowers, hanging over the stones of mother's grave.
Father was away. And Will had still not arrived.
But he was coming soon, to settle his reassurances on her shoulder, to hold her hand and heart in a nest carefully woven around her by his arms and fingers. Soon, he would be there. She knew it…
Or she thought she did.
After that, there was a sound of rushing water joining the wind, and a sway and pivot upsetting the earth itself under her feet. The world turned then tipped. And Elizabeth stumbled forward onto her knees, where she fell, and fell, and fell into nowhere, followed only by a confusing, lingering emptiness which slipped alongside her through the cracks of dawn.
Drizzling daylight discovered Elizabeth's heart twisting through odd, periodic spurts of yearning. The two remained on her mind throughout the morning in turns: Will and mother. As she sorted through her clothes with Estrella, as she greeted father at breakfast, as she met with Missus Lancaster to work through confirmations for the Christmas ball, they were there. Lingering.
And what an odd combination it was. Mother had been removed from her life nearly an entire year before Will had drifted into it. Their paths had never been granted half a chance to cross. Yet it felt as though something inside her had begun to insist they would cross paths in her heart. And not in any way that she would have expected. It … hurt. The freshness of Will's absence had somehow revived feelings about her mother's death, which she had thought long gone to their final sleep. And those same ponderous, heavy feelings for mother, once re-awoken, had somehow filled Will's simple absence with a tense anticipation of an unnamed grief which did not yet exist.
Though her limbs felt more limber and revived today, somehow her aching had fallen as deep as she'd felt in weeks, in her heart. It made very little sense—the only reasoning she could think of was the nature of her and father's conversations the night before.
'…when he makes you laugh like you were yesterday, you sound exactly like your mother…'
She worked at a quick clip, sparing little talk today with her helpers. More questions filled her, distracted her across the morning:
How could she have forgotten mother's laugh? How could she have not noticed she'd forgotten? Somewhere along the way, Elizabeth had stopped paying certain memories any mind. The music in her mental shrine had managed to slip away so quietly, she hadn't even felt it go. She had once believed they'd laughed together so often that those moments would never leave her. Yet now…
Four letters she'd begun to write, all for business. Yet through her scrawlings her fingers kept itching. To write him yet again, to reach for the last thing he'd said and remind herself of what it could have meant, they twitched and burned.
He had promised to write to her soon, yet still no new letter had come. Surely he would write today—a single page? How was he? Tired again? Hopeful? Hungry?
She was waiting… Why was she still waiting?
What was she and Missus Lancaster meant to be talking about now? Oh yes, the guest list for the King's ball. Aylett, Benison, Blackwell, Branch… Yes, yes. All the usual suspects. What was the point of her personally vouching for every person, when the attendees were the same as last year and the year before?
Would mother have found a way to laugh through gloomy, boring days like these? Or at least have made it worth smiling through?
Did she even remember mother's face anymore? Had it truly been mother who had appeared in Elizabeth's hazy dream? If she couldn't even recall a dream from that very morning, then how could she remember a face from another decade?
'Governor Swann requests the pleasure of —'s company to dine on Friday next at two o'clock…'What had mother's smile been like—her real, full smile, not that delicate glance from her paintings?
'Sir, your company is desired with the Governor and his council on Tuesday the 24th of October—'Were those all the memories Elizabeth had left: not of her mother's painted, living flesh, but of the forever-fixed paintings that only ever imitated her living?
'The Honor of — is requested at the ANNIVERSARY BALL of the KING'S BIRTHDAY—"At least she had paintings. There were those who didn't even have that… Will certainly didn't.
'…this sort of happiness is fragile, precious…'
Ah!
Was that it? The unseen connection? The very first thing she and him had found to be the same between them, regardless of all their other differences…?
The loss. The upheaval. The understanding.
Her fingers itched.
Perhaps she could write to him again? There wasn't really anything to stop her. She was already working on so many things to be taken out into town today anyway. What was one more?
Except, she had already sent him her answer. It was supposed to be his turn now. Was she really so hopeless as this, unable to wait even one day for a little word?
Perhaps.
Why hadn't he responded, still?
Suddenly, it was ten thirty, and Elizabeth's proofs of correspondence were finished at last. Not a moment too soon, either. With her thoughts still a-whirl, she felt both bored and overwhelmed, restless and exhausted. Whether it was from the tasks she'd just completed or the weight of her thoughts pressing down on her, she felt the onset of an angry headache. Her limbs were only a little stiff now, but her belly ached worse than ever. So while Missus Lancaster gathered up the small stack of letters, and Estrella called for an early tea, Elizabeth sagged down into her father's couch. There she toyed with the temptation of simply crawling back into her bed and sleeping until supper.
Then a caller came.
The letter finally arrived… just as he'd promised.
"To The One Who Loves Me So Well, "Elizabeth, "Before I write anything else, I must first ask whether you have continued to feel poorly, going into the evening. I have worried your experience would be worse than most after the fall you'd taken. It reassures me to hear that you feel your pains are not as bad as what I had felt, but I still regret hearing you feel them at all. Are you terribly bruised? Has anyone else from your staff noticed? There are certain balms or concoctions I've heard about in recent years, which may help soothe bruises and sore limbs—Miss Trattles' sister married a pharmacian, and I believe she may know what it is you need, or whether I've conjured up imagined magicks. "I must confess that I've missed you to shocking and stifling depths, for what little time this day has been. After being blessed with your company so constant, I've felt emptiness around me keenly. There are spaces in my mind where I've begun to recognize that nothing else could ever overwhelm your absence, however brief. Only you. You were on my mind without rest from before my eyes had even opened. It is the same every day—I think it always will be. "Please tell me about your first day returned to your duties. I could not keep myself from wondering—in doing so, I could not help imagining the return of your burdens to be twice as troublesome, when considering the selection of discomforts already weighing down on you. Are there many tasks for you to take up? Your new housekeeper—what do you think of her? Do you expect her help will be what you had hoped? Are you happy with the arrangement? What are you reading tonight? "I wish I was given more time to spend on you now. I wish I was wealthy in daylight and rich in starlight, so I could lavish you with whichever of the two you craved the most in any hour of your life. You are a wonder to me continually, and your love is overwhelming of even my worst miseries. I have no reason for writing so much on it, except it comes to me relentlessly in many, many waves, and I feel compelled to say it now. "Your gifts were welcome and lifted my spirits greatly—as well as Master Hackley's. Thank you, truly. I must apologize for the state of my last letter, it was hardly better than an insult to your attentions. I realize now that in my haste to write to you, I failed to include a proper introduction for him. "I shall introduce him belatedly: as I've mentioned in the past, Master Hackley is the son of my neighbor, and often works for his mother's laundry. I met the lad and his parents when I first joined Brown's workshop—before he was yet big enough to speak. Now, he's a good lad, very loyal to his family, if a bit brassy with his tongue. I hope he was not rude to you. He's been surly for many weeks now, but today he was altogether beside himself when he returned with your reply. He all but demanded I produce an answer for you on the spot, then made an amusing shadow outside my door until his mother called him. "Which calls to mind: you may want to be cautious about the rewards you bestow on him. He is young, and I am not wholly confident he will avoid the attention of unsavory persons—although I have attempted to speak to him about it. It may be better to find ways of rewarding him that will not draw too much attention to his purse. "But I thank you once again, not at all for the last time. Though my work is heavy, you have made it light. I've stolen one of your enclosed kisses, but kept the second to savor once I've lost myself in the night. I believe all will be made right by this week's end. At which time, I hope to return those kisses and strength you lent me with an overflow of my own—if not tenfold then until your aches and weariness have been washed away entirely. "Oh, Elizabeth—what a bewitchment you are, my soothing and nettling all at once. The ghost of you is in my mind while I write now, as though pretending to lie in wait for my arms. If I could truly hold you, and whisper these things into your ear directly, there would be no room for weariness in me at all tonight. "Mister Brown has be—please excuse the sloppiness of my writing. It is growing very late. The forge was hot today until well into the afternoon. I wish I had something compelling to share about my doings, but I'm afraid the work was simply long and repetitive. I made nothing I feel would be worthy of any unique admiration. But there are now a few coins in my pocket all to myself, at last! And in a few days' time, I expect to breathe again. With you. "I once more must offer profuse apologies for the failures of my correspondence. I have but two pages to offer you today, when I wish with all my heart I had the time to send you ten, twenty or however many more you would wish. But my eyes and hands are heavy; my candle will not last me long tonight, and I fear my sleep will serve me even less. "I hope when this finds you tomorrow that good rest has found you, that you are reinvigorated, and the day ahead is a joy. I await your answer with deep anxiousness and shallow patience, and hope you will forgive me. "With heartfelt pledges to love you better, "P.S. Your language is my delight—it could never be called plain, especially not by one so poorly lettered as me. I love every bit of forwardness in and from you. I am continually humbled to hold your letters in my hand, as evidences which might shake me out of all disbelief that your affections are no fantasy. You inspire me to fight for words closer to those which you truly deserve. Tell me whatever you wish. I am greedy for it. "—Yours I remain, "P.P.S I am counting my moments without you, and hoping that one day they will number among the few—that our hearts' scales will finally tip, and the weight of our longing will be made light compared to the immensities of our contentments. "P.P.P.S. Everyday. "Your Will"
Elizabeth knew her feelings had become overworked when she felt tiny tears pricking her eyes, out of the blue. They were like leaks from the warring feelings sweeping over her in waves. Relief came first, for it was clear Will was well enough to keep his word. Next came the elation, for he had sent two sheets—twice what she had hoped for!—filled front-to-back by words interwoven with his love. She devoured them in minutes. He worried for her, he missed her; he dreamed of her; he was greedy for her. And how it made her heart tumble about to know it! There was a resonance with his feeling, one she felt echoing long and loud within the hallowed halls inside her chest. She was greedy for him. She dreamed of him. She missed him.
And she worried for him.
Loudest and longest, this feeling lingered. As her eyes consumed the feast of his words once, then twice, this new wave of unease began to climb inside her.
But it was during the third time reading, with her fingers pressing her questions from his letters back against her lips, that Elizabeth noticed she was being watched—by someone standing in her bedroom doorway. When she looked up from her vanity, the unblinking intensity in Estrella's expression took her by surprise. She frowned her confusion.
"I hope you're not expecting a public reading. I'm not so certain I'm prepared to share just yet."
With a visible jolt Estrella's eyelids finally began to flutter, as though she'd just been shaken awake from her own dreams.
"I'm sorry!" she squeaked, then pressed a hand to her forehead in a fluster. "I didn't realize I… just became lost in thought."
With a fretful pink coloring her cheeks, Estrella continued to make her way through the chamber, carrying a small stack of folded towels towards Elizabeth's washroom. As she passed, Elizabeth shook her head and mused to herself. She'd been on the cusp of worrying whether there was something grave Estrella had come to say, even though there was no reason for worrying so.
She felt so fretful today…
'It was that damn dream. The entire day has felt so lonesome and dreary thanks to it, and now…'
Her eyes drifted from latent mental images of the lonely version of the garden she had dreamed back to the letter in her hand, settling on the spot she'd last stopped reading.
Four pages of loving concern, clumsy apologies, and wistful longing Will had offered. Yet somehow so few words there were concerning what had prompted him to send such a vague and hasty cancellation, yesterday. Their time apart had only amounted to a day now—well, a little more. She was certain not much could have happened to him in that time, that it was likely Brown had simply ordered him to make up the work he'd missed on Monday. Like her, he was burdened by the boring miseries of work after enjoying a wonderful period of repose.
That had to be it.
And yet…
And yet Elizabeth couldn't help but think: if that were all it was, he would have said so more bluntly. Wouldn't he? Normally he said so much more. How odd she felt it was that Will inquired after her health, while saying so very little to reassure her of his own. And in the absence of any real story from his past day and a half, Elizabeth's already-anxious mind couldn't resist trying to draw out meaning from the few hints he provided. He wondered about her business, yet only dismissed his own as "long and repetitive." He claimed his spirits were lifted—but he left to mystery the reasons why they were low to begin with, especially after they had enjoyed so many things together over their long weekend.
"Your love is overwhelming of even my worst miseries," he had said.
"I made nothing I feel would be worthy of any unique admiration," he had said.
"I expect to breathe again," he had said.
Not all of it could be chalked up as pure hyperbole, could it? Surely, these were not the words of a man merely borne down by one day's work. He sounded downtrodden, squeezed, in misery, practically overnight. Something had to have happened, something he was intentionally choosing not to divulge, something she was determined to find out… and fix, if she could.
She could. She would.
Just as she was needed, Estrella returned from her tasks inside the washroom. Elizabeth spun her upper body in her direction, visibly calling her attention.
It was given, with her maid coming to a stop as her eyes found her mistress waiting for her, expectantly.
"Would you call to the kitchen and have dinner packed up in the carriage? Enough for four to eat, please," she requested. When she caught sight of an acknowledgement in Estrella's eyes, she allowed herself to go back to her desk, musing softly to herself, "I need to call on him today…"
Yes. Perhaps it seemed a little bit desperate to outside eyes—like she was so lovesick she could hardly bear parting with her gallant for a day. It didn't matter. She simply couldn't shake the feeling that something had gone wrong for him. So, trusting that her orders were underway, Elizabeth opened her writing drawer, and began withdrawing the equipment for composing a new reply. Ink well, paper, quill…
"Would you like me to wait for you to finish your notice first, miss, or shall I collect it from you in a few minutes?"
Elizabeth frowned to herself.
It was a reasonable thing for Estrella to wonder over. Accepted conventions were clear about avoiding calling unannounced for people's meals. But as far as she was concerned, the rudest part about a faux pas such as this mostly pivoted around the inconveniences created when an unexpected arrival added more seats to a table than unwitting hosts were unprepared to serve.
This visit would be quite the opposite scenario. And if the circumstances were opposite, then it seemed not unreasonable to consider how the need for the related conventions could also be reversed.
She once more twisted her neck to look towards Estrella and her puzzled brow.
"No need for notice," Elizabeth clarified.
Or tried to—Estrella didn't seem to think the situation was any clearer.
"No need…?" she echoed back in a cautious tone.
A small chuckle of mingled mirth and frustration left Elizabeth's shoulders. Was this really worth being so mystified over? They had done this once before already—Estrella had been there!
"No need—thank you," she reiterated to Estrella. Then feeling she ought to explain a little more, she added as she turned back to her desk, "I would rather surprise him."
That should have been that. With the food in the basket, and their surprise underway, Elizabeth felt it should have been quite clear to Estrella what her intentions were: The visit would be almost exactly like that first, unannounced visit to the beach, with only a handful inconsequential differences.
Yet Elizabeth could have sworn she caught the barest twitch of a disapproving frown upon Estrella's lips before she bowed her head and turned aside. It was as though she disagreed with the entire venture.
And for whatever reason, that disagreement irked Elizabeth.
It shouldn't have mattered—she was the mistress, and Estrella was the servant. Under normal circumstances, Estrella's opinion would have been altogether irrelevant, unwelcome even.
However, very few things about this courtship reflected a "normal circumstance." Her intended groom was no normal suitor, her intended not quite normal for women of her station… at least, publicly. And Elizabeth had asked for Estrella's opinions in the past, not only out of a desire for closer friendship, but also out of an interest in having ready access to the experiences of someone whose feet had crossed this gap she herself was swiftly approaching. Granted, her crossing wasn't in the same direction or manner. But this maid had watched the ways of manor house and market street. She knew what mattered to noble and humble alike, familiarized with the appetites of those who had and the hunger of those who had not.
She could see things Elizabeth could not.
Right now, with the maid's barely-hidden squinting and scowling, Elizabeth couldn't tell whether Estrella was seeing a hidden pitfall she could not, or was simply not seeing the full scope of the path she could. See.
Perhaps even more clarity would be useful now.
"I think he could use another pleasant surprise, you see," she called after Estrella, before the maid could pass through her chamber door, into the outer hallway.
Estrella slowed to a halt, then backtracked a few steps to face her mistress with a plainly skeptical but listening ear.
Elizabeth's lips parted as though making room for the words of Will's letter, repeating themselves inside her mind, growing heavier and heavier to her heart and tongue.
"Something's weighing down on him. And he isn't speaking about it the way he normally would," she admitted carefully. "If our timing is right, we could pop in when he will be taking his break again—have a bit of an indoor repeat of our outing by the shore. That would be nice… Don't you think so?"
She watched Estrella's face for signs of understanding, for shapes of concession or approval to show in any trace in the corners of her down-turned lips. Instead she only found an unfamiliar somberness in Estrella's eyes when she spoke, professional and calm.
"If that is what you wish, miss, I'll see it done."
Elizabeth blinked through her surprise. No, Estrella truly did not think this little surprise would be nice.
But why not? There was no real reason to take issue with it, was there? Will had accepted her gifts often enough for the past several days. And he had been delighted the last time she'd swept him away on their little detour. Did Estrella possibly believe she was up to something else that would lead them back into trouble, like last night's temporary escape? Did she dislike the idea of leaving the mansion on a rainy day on short notice? Did she think they would be putting Will to work, rather than relieving him of it?
Well. Whatever it was was neither her nor there in the end. She'd asked Estrella what she'd thought, and she'd chosen to simply remain silent. Without good reason to convince her otherwise, Elizabeth had no reason to be deterred from her intentions.
So she nodded.
"Thank you, Estrella," Elizabeth dismissed once again, then set the first sheet of her letter at the proper angle for writing.
Quill in hand, she set about starting her letter for Will. Or she would have liked to. She could feel the stillness of Estrella's hesitant lingering. Did she have something else to say after all?
"Will you still be wanting your tea, miss?" she asked.
"Hm?" Elizabeth turned her head. Tea? What did tea have to—her eyes caught sight of the tea set which had been brought up to her, then promptly forgotten as she'd fallen into the depths of her love's letter. "Oh, yes. Leave it, please."
Bobbing a curtsy, Estrella took her leave of the room to fulfill her orders, at last.
In her absence, the upper rooms of the house fell to a nearly stifling quiet, beneath which Elizabeth could mull over and scratch out ponderous black scrawlings. Her thoughts were sifted and sorted for sharing, with fragments of her dream rising back to the forefront of her mind. She took apart the feelings left behind, and mused over their meaning with him. Her musings were punctuated by answers to his many kind-hearted questions, which she paused to read in scattered minutes of reminders. New questions grew and turned in her mind faster than she could draft them.
A page was filled in a trice and a second one was well on its way to being, by the time Estrella returned. At which point, Elizabeth found herself forced to split her attention between the composition of her letter, and her maid's busy buzzing about her room. If they were to leave as soon as Elizabeth hoped, it was time to change into clothes meant for outside rains. Her quill was put down for a moment, and her comfortable, breezy gown was removed in favor of a darker floral robe.
When she sat back down to resume her writings, Estrella stood behind her to make quick work of plucking out the pins from her hair.
"You know, if you don't mind my saying, miss…" she spoke again, softly at first but with an increase in boldness as she did. "It would still be a surprise for him to receive your announcement."
The hair pins were deposited on a tray atop the vanity with a clatter. A brush was picked up, and Estrella's hand came to rest firmly atop Elizabeth's head as she ran the boar bristles through the lengths of her barely-tangled hair.
Elizabeth glanced at the top of Estrella's face in the ornate mirror before her, where all but her sharp and shrewd eyes remained obscured by the mirror's bottom frame and her low-seated angle.
"It isn't the same," she insisted firmly. Then a fresh image came to her mind on its own, a lovely one of a smile, heartened and bright despite a cavernous dimness that shaded out midnight moonbeams. And her lips quirked upward as though she were admiring it with her open eyes. "I prefer to see the look on his face when he realizes I've come to rescue him."
She watched the reflection of Estrella's eyebrow tug a one-sided sign of doubt. "Is that what you're doing?"
Elizabeth resisted a laugh and returned a raised brow back to Estrella. It seemed as good an argument as any, if she could sell it with a straight face. "In a way, it is. Isn't it? Freeing him from the drudgeries of labor…"
Estrella's other eyebrow joined the first in disbelief raised higher, and she punctuated it by wrenching the brush through Elizabeth's hair a little harder on its last stroke.
With a scolding wince, Elizabeth continued to press her argument towards the Estrella in the mirror. "It will be less work on him, not more. I am not asking him to throw me a dinner party—we'll be bringing everything we need with us. There will be practically no demands on him. Only a little of his time."
Estrella opened Elizabeth's container of pomade, loaded a bit onto her palm, and then after spreading it between her two hands, began to feather very light layers through the roots of Elizabeth's hair. As she did so, she gave a shake of her head.
"I just think it's a common courtesy, miss. You do not care for unannounced callers, why would he feel any different?"
Elizabeth's lips formed the shape of an offended scoff. That wasn't the same at all! There were important details that distinguished between this and that in small yet significant ways. She tried to whip around in Estrella's direction, to tell her exactly that. But her maid's surprisingly sturdy hand planted itself back on the top of her head and kept her fixed in place.
She pouted.
"That's for people I do not like," was her protest anyway, while glaring stubbornly back through the mirror. "If he called on me unannounced, I would be beside myself."
Although she was focused on sectioning Elizabeth's hair with her comb, doubt continued to remain fixed firmly on Estrella's face.
She questioned, "Even if you had to rearrange your schedule to accommodate him?"
"Especially then!" Elizabeth declared back with conviction.
Even more skepticism.
An annoyed breath puffed in Elizabeth's chest. Why was this so hard to understand from her perspective? "He works at the same tiresome tasks day after day. I think he deserves to have a little bit less tedium sprinkled into his life—what's wrong with that?"
That may have done it. The stern judgements softened in Estrella's expression for a moment. Hopeful and expectant, Elizabeth watched her mirror-fingers make quick work on winding up a sectioned-off lock into a coil she knew would be reminiscent of a rose, once her coiffure was complete.
But when she reached for some hairpins, Estrella also released a tired-sounding sigh.
"Your arrival would still ensure that, miss, with or without your announcement beforehand," she argued in a voice softened by sympathy. A brief moment of quiet passed between them, while Estrella continued to pin and twist Elizabeth's crown into a row of golden silk-spun blooms. Eventually, she looked into the mirror to offer Elizabeth a once-more cheerful grin, through the crinkling shape of her observant eyes. "He will smile like the sun either way, when he sees you. He always does."
Like the sun?
Again, Elizabeth's thoughts were suddenly struck by a daydream, crafted half by balmy memory and half by loving design: she saw Will standing in dust-dazzled rays of the smithy's afternoon, dreamily cradling the blade of his latest sword on his open palm. She could picture him turning, as though the sound of her opening the door had just caught him unawares. And captured in his eyes she could see the vibrant warmth of the dying day, rich and radiant as crystallized carnelian, while his face blossomed at the sight of her…
"Exactly…" she breathed out on airs of wistfulness.
There was a truth underneath what Estrella said, one so certain that Elizabeth would be bold enough to call it undeniable:
He loved her.
Sometimes it shone from him like the sun; sometimes it poured over her in torrents; sometimes it roared or swayed or shuddered like other things far less quiet. But in ways swiftly becoming too many to count, ways she could only feel and never adequately describe, she saw, she heard, she felt, she knew that Will Turner loved her completely. And ever since he'd finally pledged it, anyone who knew him knew it too.
So, yes, these little social quibblings would not matter so much to either of them. Not really. Even if the order of everything became tussled or broken, and they were left standing in the remains of utter confusion: in the end, all that ever really mattered was the knowledge that they would be one with the other.
"And if that's the case, then what difference does all this propriety make?" Elizabeth continued to muse. She returned her focus to Estrella's brow, in the mirror. "Surprises are nice. I want him to have things that are nice—he deserves it."
The shrug of Estrella's brows signaled a certain resigned acknowledgement of the caring intentions she's declared—but she's still plainly unconvinced.
Elizabeth pressed her lips together. Though the curve of her mouth bent upward, her eyes slipped down from the place her hand had stalled over her letter. Her vision fixed onto the patterns of silver, raindrop-dappled light, seeping over her floors through her window.
They were in the middle of the wet season. Its sounds met her ears in a luscious, rushing chorus, accompanied by the joyous cries of tree frogs and the whistling wind.
She felt such varied and conflicting feelings about the rain. Some days she loved all it could be. It washed the world over to become more vibrantly verdant. On the best days, it kept the sun's glory from razing the world to the ground with a heat thrown out of balance. How soothing a passing storm could be, especially when she kept such golden feelings radiating through her mind and heart, as she did now.
But the rain did not fall the same everyday. When it didn't bring green, it drained the world of color and filled it with mud, muck and wreckage. Going outside became a bother, when torrents weighed her clothes down terribly, or made her skin sticky and pruned with sweat-laden humidity. Very little could be done, not when downpours would turn the streets into streams and rivers—the world ended all locked up indoors. And in the summer, coolness rarely came with it. More often it only blanketed the world in a suffocating mugginess that could transform any dwelling not along the shore into a little piece of hell.
She hated it then, when all it seemed bent on was washing away her best-laid plans, trapping her somewhere she did not wish to be.
Surely, it was no better for Will.
In the smithy today, there would be no sunshine streaming over him—with poor luck, there could even be water trickling through it's breezy rafters, interfering with his work. If the forge was not lit, would he be holed in his master's house? She could imagine the windows shut tight, making it dark as a cavern, and hardly less empty. How lonesome and unbearably dull days like these must be for him! And to think of that, while also knowing what his letters seemed not to say about the burdens bearing down on him…
No, he deserved the rain remaining in his life to be the kind that made his world greener, not greyer. He deserved the sun, and balmy breezes, and serene seas. He deserved peace and good weather in his soul for the rest of his days. And on the days when the weather turned foul, he deserved to be with someone he loved—with her.
They would be one with another when the weather turned bleak.
"We are not arguing this, Estrella," Elizabeth declared at last with some finality, blinking back into her present. "It's only a small change in convention—there's nothing wrong in it."
This time there was no readable reaction upon Estrella's forehead. Her only answer was a dutiful, "Yes, Miss Swann."
Then without further sign, she planted the last of Elizabeth's locks within the bouquet which had been arranged atop her head. As she stepped back out of the site of the mirror to admire her handiwork, Elizabeth waited with some restlessness for her assessment. After a little tut announced the perception of a flaw, Estrella's deft fingertips were back at work, tugging and tweaking at her hair in the smallest of adjustments.
For a while, only the rain spoke, whispering unintelligible gossip over what the wind had seen on other isles.
And then, "Have you ever gardened before, miss?"
Elizabeth felt her brow pinch. Where did that come from? The flower shapes in her hair? "No… Why?"
She saw the top Estrella's head tip to the side a little, like she had shrugged.
"Only curious."
The smithy was closed when they arrived—however, Elizabeth had expected that. What she hadn't expected was the silence after she knocked on Mister Brown's door. Even after over a minute of waiting, there were no stirrings from inside the house.
"Strange…" she muttered to Estrella, who had her lips pressed together in a poorly maintained facade of stoicism. "He's usually here."
Not that she'd actually managed to have visited enough times to actually know that was true. Yet. Still, she knocked a second time, with more force. Perhaps the rain had washed the sound out… even at a drizzle.
There were other sounds along the block: a dog's barking, birds enjoying their showers, a few sloshes and splashes from the handful of people making their way through the soggy streets. But from within the house, they could hear nothing at all.
Elizabeth sucked the insides of her cheeks between her teeth and bit gently, annoyed.
Seconds slipped by at a plodding pace.
Estrella cleared her throat. "Too bad there isn't some procedure we might have been able to follow to notify him of our arrival, so he'd be—"
"Oh, hush up," Elizabeth snapped, and shot her maid a glare as she knocked again in five slow, heavy pounds that nearly echoed down the street.
In the corner of her eye, she thought she saw someone from the house next door poke their head out their door—turning confirmed it. Evidently, her knocking was doing a better job of summoning the neighbors than it was calling Will or his master. With an awkward smile, she offered the neighbor a wave.
They scowled and shut the door back up.
And still the Brown's door remained fastened soundly for another second, and another, and another…
One more time, Elizabeth raised her hand… but ultimately she couldn't bring herself to strike the door again.
Trickles of disappointment began to soak into her, more cold and unpleasant than the rain drizzling outside her cloak. Certainly, she could keep her nose in the air, close her ears up when it suited her, and bite her tongue against any and all admissions of fault. But the truth was it wouldn't change the rapidly growing likelihood that Estrella had, in fact, most likely, mayhaps, probably been right about this entire thing.
No, the silence proved she had to admit it: Will was likely not even home. And seeing as she had no idea where else she could even begin to look for him, that meant her own stubbornness had turned this venture into one taken for no good reason at all.
Letting a sigh slip free and her hand fall down, Elizabeth turned towards her maid with shamefaced, downcast eyes.
Then all on the hop, the door swung open—and there was Will, dressed down to only his shirt and breeches, blinking into the silver light seeping through splattering rain.
Elizabeth's heart skipped into double steps at the sight of him, and for a moment she lost sense of what it was she'd been knocking on his door for. The way his shirt's loose and light fabric draped across his upper body somehow revealed a very different shape to him than she'd observed even yesterday. Certainly, she'd still describe him as fairly slender, that part hadn't changed. Why would it? However, in what she might have thought to be the opposite of logic, without his outer garments he somehow seemed a little… sturdier, for some reason. His shoulders seemed more squared and steadfast. And despite having seen him in the recent past with his chest fully unbuttoned, she somehow hadn't realized until this very moment that, underneath his waistcoats, he was quite so… bosomy.
But it wasn't as though he, ah… Well, was he still, was…? He… Hm!
"Elizabeth?" Will croaked, clearly puzzled. "What are you doing here?"
Belatedly, she realized she'd been staring with her mouth hanging open like a pelican. Though she rapidly clamped her lips shut, a rush of heat flooded out from her gut in competing emotions, up and down her body. Her face was on fire. And she knew if she looked at Estrella, she would discover her expression stretched with an all-knowing smirk, or something equally perturbing.
It would seem that shapely breasts weren't only Will's weakness.
She used the act of answering his question to draw attention back to where it should have been to begin with, pointing at the basket in Estrella's hand.
"Bringing you supper, of course! What else does it look like?" she announced, perhaps with a little too much excitement. "I have some cold cuts and beer for you. And I brought a little cake…"
He continued to blink with bewilderment. But after a moment of thinking, something seemed to strike his mind with a realization. With shake of his head, he stepped back enough to admit the two rain-soaked women to his master's house. Elizabeth hang back, intending to allow Estrella in first. However, seeing as this was different from usual pattern, and nothing about the decision had been spoken aloud, there was a brief moment of confusion, where the three of them simply stood and stared awkwardly at one another.
Eventually, Elizabeth gestured that she wished for Estrella to move forward first.
Her maid frowned with confused suspicion, but she said nothing. Instead, she simply hefted the basket in her grip and stepped lightly into the house's dim living quarters.
When Elizabeth took her turn to step inside, she did so grinning. Allowing Estrella to pass first meant she could take her time without leaving anyone else to soak in the rain. And so rather than sweep past Will straight into the house, she paused before him, and set her hands upon his shoulders for balance as she perched herself on her toes to reach his lips without pressing her wet cloak into his dry clothes.
It was a challenge, but his hand came to her waist to help steady and support her. And so she kissed him chastely once. Then twice, because she couldn't help herself. Then after a moment of consideration, took advantage of a third, final press of her lips into his.
And then she frowned.
His lips greeted each touch of hers with the expected warm and gentle answer. And yet… that was all. Something of his usual enthusiasm, his eager requests for more, seemed to be missing from the moment. He offered her what she asked, nothing more and nothing less. And just as she was about to begin wondering what would cause this unprecedented shift in their intercourse, she realized the daze from before was still in his eyes. He hadn't been blinking only from the changing brightness, or the surprise from her visit.
"You were sleeping…" Elizabeth quietly realized.
At last, Will offered a little smile, acknowledging her observation as true without words. In doing so, the exhaustion she had not seen in his face became plain as day.
Her heart panged with a mixture of sympathy and guilt. While he hadn't said much in his letters, he had mentioned how long his forge had stayed lit, how his time was being taken by a difficult problem at work. And now that she thought of it, she remembered how he'd told her on that day at the beach how he liked to use his afternoons for rest… Why hadn't she remembered that? No, even if she'd forgotten it, why hadn't she considered on her own that he may have chosen to use a rainy afternoon to shut his eyes for a time?
She could practically feel the pointed look Estrella was likely giving her right now.
With genuine regret and disappointment, Elizabeth sighed. "I'm sorry, Will. You made yourself sound so tired and busy, I didn't think you would be taking your break today. I wanted to surprise you and persuade you into one."
She brushed one hand along his weary cheek. He didn't feel feverish, at least.
His smile softened into something much more warm and familiar. "I appreciate the effort."
It wasn't the smile she'd originally expected, but it was genuine and it was his. While relief lifted her spirits, the glimpses of exhaustion in his eyes bolstered her previous convictions to not just offer him a little cheer, but to rescue him from the troubles that had come to assail him.
So she finally let herself into his master's house, and allowed Estrella to help her shrug her way out of her cloak. She was glad to be rid of it as quickly as possible—it was already muggy and warm outside to begin with, and the house was as dank and hot as she'd feared it would be. Though the shutters of a single leeward remained open to outside light and air, the windward side of the house was all shut up to the raindrops gusting about. The only source of inside light was a low burning fire on the hearth. Thankfully, the whitewashed walls helped a great deal by bouncing its light about the room.
Though it made the room quite stuffy, Elizabeth couldn't help but feel a little thrill at the sight of the fire, as it managed to strike her with an idea. They could save the beer for later. And instead of drinking something more suited to the wet and heavy weather, something which could also soothe Will's tired spirits and pick him up a bit.
She spun back around to face him, as he was shutting the door.
"You know, next time you visit, Elizabeth, I think it might be—"
"What do you think about a little bit of tea or coffee today—" she began to ask, before sharply deviating into a curse, "Oh, hell!"
Then she rolled her eyes in frustration. Perhaps it was because of the sounds of the rain and the door being shut; perhaps it was because she'd started with her back to him. Whatever the reason, it was only after she'd finished blurting out her question that Elizabeth realized Will had been speaking, and she'd cut him off. Why were things ending up so awkward today?
With her fingers brushing her chest in show of her remorse, she quickly added, "I didn't mean to interrupt you, Will."
"That's alright," he answered with a wave of his hand and a barely stifled laugh. Then in two strides he was beside her, asking gently, "What was your question?"
Elizabeth probably ought to have been the one asking him that—she had interrupted him, after all. But as her sight adjusted to the room's dimness, she found Will looking at her with such careful attention… Perhaps what he said hadn't been anything all that important. If it was, he'd surely bring it up again. Or she could ask him about it, once they were seated.
So she accepted the opportunity to ask again, "Would you like tea or coffee?"
Still appearing a little tired and lost, his eyes left her to glance in Estrella's direction, probably searching out the food basket. "I thought we were having beer?"
"Yes," Elizabeth answered. "We may—I just wondered whether you wouldn't prefer something else."
Will sighed a little and ran a hand over his eyes. "I have no preference. Surprise me."
Perfect! That was exactly what she'd come here to do. And from the expression lingering on Will's face, he needed something extra to perk him up. So a good strong coffee or tea is what it would be.
The only problem that remained was the tiny, trivial detail that she had never touched a cooking fire in her entire life—not even once. Hell, one of the only fires she'd ever tended to was the one she'd built with Jack Sparrow—and even then, he'd done most of the work to get it started. She did know a few things about fires: how to feed them and make them burn hotter mainly–which was why so much of her rum had ended up accelerating Sparrow's bonfire. She did not know how to cook with them. She hadn't even the faintest idea on where to begin a pot of coffee or tea—they were always brought to her already steeped. And it would be ridiculous to surprise Will with a visit, only to put him to work making drinks he hadn't expected making—that was exactly what she'd assured Estrella they would not do.
Fortunately, a solution to this problem had been brought with Elizabeth to begin with. So with a pleased smile, she turned about to face the direction of Estrella's dimly lit figure.
"Would you mind helping me with some coffee, Estrella?"
With her back to the fire, the look on Estrella's face could not be seen, but Elizabeth could see the shape of her shoulders rise and fall with a sigh.
"Of course, miss…" she answered. Then she turned to face her charges, with a kindly expression. "Your kettle, Mister Turner? And the grinder."
Without a word, Will pointed out the ironworks kept above his mantel, and then a small table covered in a few smaller kitchen implements, pushed off to a corner on the fireplace's far side, near the stack of firewood.
As Estrella got to work retrieving the kettle and filling it with water from the day's reserves, Elizabeth looked back to Will. Seeing as this would delay their dinner for a little moment, she was intent on sharing a smile and asking him to take a seat with her.
He was caught in the middle of an eye-watering yawn.
A little guilt pricked at her heart. She really, truly hadn't meant to rob him of his rest—quite the opposite. But now she was getting into his hair instead of his heart, and if she didn't work to salvage the situation, the entire meeting would end on a sour note.
So she stepped into Will's side, and gently took his arm in reassurance. "I promise we won't be long. I only wanted to make sure you were eating well. I thought perhaps going to the tavern probably isn't the most convenient for you now."
"That is true…" Will admitted with a sleepy shrug and more, teary blinking.
She'd thought to lead him to the table, but the sight of him still wrapped up in the clutches of drowsiness clenched her heart a little tighter and made her think better of it. Instead, she gave his arm a tug towards the back of the house and his open bedroom door.
"Why don't you go lie down for another moment? You can come out and eat when you're done sleeping," she offered lightly. "I'm sure Mister Brown won't mind finding us here?"
Will shook his head with conviction and slipped his arm free from Elizabeth's grasp.
"I could not sleep with you here like this," he insisted in a quiet voice. Then turning to face her, he surprised Elizabeth by cupping her face in his large hands and kissing her—properly kissing her with welcoming lips and gently indulgent sighs. When they parted his whisper brushed her worries like a balm. "Your company is far too important. But thank you for offering."
His thumb began tracing soothing arcs along her cheek, driving her towards distraction. But looking into his eyes for the parts of his heart she most wanted, she still saw lines—not the lines of laughter that usually lingered, but those other lines that made him seem so much more worn and weary than any man his age ever ought to feel. This was backwards—she'd come here to comfort him. Her own hands rose to soothe him in return with light strokes along his shoulders.
"Are you certain?" she returned in her own hush. "You look so tired."
"I'm certain, yes," he replied firmly.
Moving one hand to cup her behind the head, Will pressed his lips to the center of her forehead. When he looked back at her, his smile was finally returning to light his eyes with a genial glimmer. A ripple of relief spread an answering grin across her face. That was what she wanted—his honest smile.
Their embrace was dropped, and Will placed his hand to the small of Elizabeth's back to nudge her back towards the table.
He said, "You came all this way for you me, I'll remain awake for you. Now, you sit down. You're supposed to be my guest."
"Oh, no!" Elizabeth balked and sidestepped her way out of his guiding hand. In a few quick movements, she maneuvered herself to stand just behind Will, and set two firm hands upon his shoulders to nudge him towards the table instead. "You'll have to fight me for that honor, Mister Turner. I came here to spoil you, and I'm all but determined to do so."
She heard him sigh, saw him shake his head, but even from behind she could see how the wrinkles around his eyes had reshaped themselves into an acquiescent grin.
It was surprising how involved a process a single cup of coffee could be. While she paid most of her focus towards chatting with Will, Elizabeth kept one eye trained on Estrella, genuinely curious about what sort of magic went on behind these daily brews. The process struck her with flickers of fascination, not only from the novelty of watching something new being created. Surely, it was enlightening to witness how the coffee had to be toasted first, and how tedious it could be—she'd never realized that was done every day.
But in addition to this came other realizations, as she found she could easily imagine Will in Estrella's place, doing the very same tasks.
She'd never imagined him tending to his home's hearth, before. Whenever she'd drifted into wondering what it was he might have been doing at a given time, she'd always imagined him working the smithy or taking his leisure from it. At the anvil or forge, at the tavern or at practice with his swords, at the table already supping or in his bed drifting into sleep—those were the places and tasks she always imagined for him. There was very little in between to consider.
Yet watching Estrella work, and knowing Will would have done if she'd allowed him, brought into sharper clarity just how much he was his master's helper. With Mister Brown's wife and sons very much absent, and no proper servant hired to tend to the place, it was all but guaranteed that the man had left a great deal of the house's maintenance to Will himself. In actuality, there was so much Will knew how to do for himself which she did not—he was obligated to do so much which she did not.
How much did he do? What else had he mentioned before? That pot of stew over the fire, was that his handiwork? He'd mentioned hiring a laundress before, so that at least was done by extra hands—but she knew he still was the one to fetch and deliver his and his master's loads. He fetched his own water, tended his own fires. He said he did his own shopping. Just this one kettle of coffee was already taking more than a half hour to prepare—how many minutes and hours did the rest of it add up to?
Especially because, in addition to it all, he worked. Hours and hours he worked…
Suddenly the fatigue Elizabeth saw in Will's face seemed so much more pronounced, despite the gradually growing frequency of his smiles. A bitter taste began to build in Elizabeth's mouth, thinking of it all.
"Where is Mister Brown, anyhow?" she wondered aloud, diverting the conversation with her burst of annoyance.
She watched Will's smile slip with his gaze back down, towards darker recesses.
"Sleeping," he answered. With serious eyes, he took a not-quite-surreptitious glance towards the back of the house. Then after a moment of consideration, he also took a breath. "We've had a rough few days."
Elizabeth pressed her lips together in a frustrated line. So it was what she had suspected… or something close to it. But again he was dancing around the subject—now there could be no mistaking it. "A rough few days?" What was that supposed to mean? Whether because Estrella could be listening or because he didn't want Elizabeth herself to know, something was being kept quiet.
And evidently it involved Mister Brown.
If whatever had happened had been related to work, she doubted it would matter who heard it. Will was always open about the difficulties in his employment. And if it involved Brown, but did not involve work… If it involved Brown, but in ways Will was hesitant to speak about, then perhaps…
Was it the other, older problem? The one that Brown had supposedly left behind…?
She loaded the first of several questions onto the tip of her tongue, when in the most uncanny of coincidences, a muted fit of coughing chattered out from the second bedroom's door.
Elizabeth couldn't help narrowing her eyes in suspicion towards the sound. That man had been so silent this entire time, she hadn't even realized he was home. How convenient it was for him to suddenly have his presence heard in such a manner right after she inquired after him.
As delicately she could manage, she asked Will, "Is he ill? Or is it…?"
Will's brow furrowed, his eyes turned sharp against something inside himself when he looked at her.
Then a weak voice called through the closed door, "Turner…"
Will's chest heaved in a deep sigh. Then he stood from his chair with a muttered excuse, "Just a moment."
As he crossed the room into deeper darkness and unlatched his master's door, Elizabeth's eyes remained pinned on Will's silhouette, searching for answers to her questions in the way he moved. He opened the door only the minimal amount, then slipped through carefully.
"Sir…?" he called, and clicked the door shut behind him.
Although Elizabeth thought she heard the start of a question croaked before, "Did you let the girl back—?"
If she were honest, however, it had been a little too faint to be certain.
Now the rain was the only sound left behind—and even that had grown softer, with the storm's former whistling rushes now sounding more and more like gentle, scattered patters. Elizabeth turned her head in her maid's direction, and was unsurprised to find her also staring at the closed up bedroom. When her eyes shifted to read Elizabeth's thoughts, there was concern in the curves of her brow or mouth which she did not bother to conceal. She was certain a similar candidness had stolen her own expression—a worry and a wondering that neither of them was yet willing to speak out.
What was there to say? They didn't know the man's condition, except that it sounded poor. And it seemed likely whatever speculations they made could possibly be heard through the door…
The fire spat and made them both jump.
As though snapped back awake to their setting, Estrella quickly returned to stirring her pan over the fire. The rolling of the beans made up for the died-down whispers of the wind, and the logs continued to burn down with a twitchy sort of restlessness. Above the rain, the fire, and the most muted hums of Will's tenor leaking in spurts through the bedroom's closed door, a silence still hovered that Elizabeth began to find stifling.
Or perhaps it was the heat of the room itself. It was becoming almost unbearably hot in this house.
She rose to her feet and opened the door to let some air in and assess the state of the weather. Sure enough, the storm seemed to be calming at last—there was a breeze strong enough to breathe a bit of life into the room, yet not so strong as to drag rain through the door along with it. Pleased with this, she noticed a stone near the door frame on the porch. It was quickly used to prop the house's door open. After the windows shutters were also flung out, light and good air were able to flood back into the house, fighting off the looming gloom. And Elizabeth sighed a little more happily to herself.
Estrella seemed heartened by the adjustment as well, turning into the light with a more cheerful expression as she tipped her pan to assess her roasted beans. Seeming pleased with their appearance, she removed the pan from the fire and returned to the little table of accouterments. Elizabeth followed her with curious eyes, and watched her work. From the small assortment of equipment, her maid selected a skinny brass container, the domed lid of which she lifted free. Then with a spoon she began to carefully feed scoops of dark beans into the open tube.
"What is that?" Elizabeth asked.
Estrella spared her one quick glance to settle her surprise. "A mill. For the kitchen."
"Oh…!" Elizabeth responded, feeling a little foolish. She'd somehow thought that the grounds would be crushed by hand, in the mortar. But after a second thought, she felt her question was more reasonable. After all, "I didn't see a handle…"
"You attach it after—I can show you. Oh, bother…" Estrella explained, then cursed when a few beans missed the mill's opening and managed to bounce to the floor.
The mill's mouth was very narrow, and the spoon unwieldy. As small a task as it was, Elizabeth couldn't help thinking Estrella could use an extra pair of hands—if only to catch fallen beans before they hit the floor.
So she stepped forward enough to join Estrella at the table. "May I help?"
Estrella looked at her with enough surprise, she may as well have seen a pig swallow a horse. A fresh, proverbial egg broke in Elizabeth's face, and she felt her cheeks begin to burn a little from her offense. It wasn't that out of the ordinary for her to offer some assistance! She could be useful!
But the moment passed once Estrella answered, "Just need to be a bit more careful, miss, that's all. It's not all that tricky, I'm only a bit clumsy today."
The bedroom door opened before Elizabeth could react. And both women turned to watch, as Will slipped back into the main room, then fastened the latch behind him. The curve of his lips was cordially formal, matching the way he bowed his head on his way back to the table.
"My apologies," he offered in a low voice. "Thank you for waiting."
He looked to Elizabeth before he sat, and with a sharp look she managed to capture his attention, holding it tightly against her expectations for an answer to her earlier question. What was wrong with his master…?
Will pressed his lips together and let out a slight huff through his nose.
"He's just indisposed, Elizabeth—that's simply the way of it," he answered somewhat curtly. Then with his eyes flickering in Estrella's direction, he added, "Let's change the subject."
It wasn't the answer she'd hoped for. Indisposed? There was a reason she used that excuse for herself so often—it could mean tens of things. Indisposed… Obviously, Brown was indisposed. But for what reason? Had he two been overworked to exhaustion? Had he taken ill? Had he injured himself? Or was it that other problem?
She was used to Will being more direct, often to a fault. This caginess, these nearly politic, vague answers were not only frustrating in their stubborn stasis, they were unlike him. But in that uncharacteristic hesitance she thought she found part of her answer—there were only two conditions she felt Will would hesitate to admit to, while in the company of others besides herself. Anyone could fall ill, anyone could be injured. But a man who worked himself to exhaustion could be perceived as possessing one sort of weak constitution. And a man who drank himself into a stupor could be seen as possessing a weak constitution of another sort entirely…
His master's pride was in a delicate balance. So it seemed that, yet again, Estrella's presence was pushing one or both of them to keep their lips sealed when they would rather set them loose on each other's ears. Yet again… she was being asked to simply wait.
"Alright," Elizabeth conceded, though it was accompanied by a sigh. But taking Will's desires to heart, she returned to her side of the table, and asked, "How is Master Hackley today? You made it sound as though he was biting your ankles yesterday."
Thankfully, Will's expression warmed a little as he drew out her chair farther, and held it in place for her to take a seat. "He is well." A pause occurred while Will helped her scoot her chair back into place. "He was very put out with me when I sent my reply without him this morning…"
He turned to retrieve some cups for the table.
"As am I!" Elizabeth protested sternly.
She was almost as eager to vouch for Denys' presumed reliability as she was annoyed that Will had snatched one of the chores she ought to have been doing away from her.
"Are you?" Will asked with the barest hint of surprise coloring his own amusement.
He held out a cup for her to take.
She accepted it with both hands. "Yes! I had struck a deal with him, you know!"
"Ah!" Will pretended to be somber as he laid the last two cups upon the table. "I was uncertain whether he was telling the truth about that."
Elizabeth frowned at that, and pivoted in her seat to look at him. "I thought I told you in my letter."
"You did not, I'm afraid."
Really…?
"Oh!" she responded, while mentally trying to rehearse what it was she'd written to him. "I suppose we may have discussed it after I'd already sealed it. In any case, if his mother would allow it, I'd like him to become our messenger at least once a day…"
The afternoon ended on a much sweeter note, helped along a great deal by a filling meal and lighter conversation. Of course, the coffee also provided just the tonic they all needed for a taste of reinvigoration.
As Elizabeth relayed her brief experience with little Master Hackley, a triad of odd tangents were taken:
First, after quoting the boy's assertions regarding women and swords, a debate began over which murder she must secretly be plotting to want a sword so badly. For this, they never settled upon an imaginary candidate, as Estrella found this topic dangerous. But in her mind Elizabeth strongly considered the heads of Amelia's family. Second, after her attempt to explain to Will how she'd relayed their history to Master Hackley, they found themselves attempting to convince Estrella of the reality of the Black Pearl's curse. This topic Estrella found unbelievable, and declared them both to be wholly mad if not attempting to fool her for sport. Finally, a second debate was launched with Will over whether sharks or crocodiles could have believably taken care of Barbossa's crew before breaking the curse—and whether or not they would have died or simply languished in the beast's bellies for ages thereafter. Estrella found this topic grotesque enough to issue a threat.
"If you don't pick your minds out of the gutter, I'm going to march out that door right away!" she squeaked.
"Is that a promise?!" Elizabeth teased with irrepressible enthusiasm.
"Please don't! I can't think of anything worse than that…" Will pretended to beseech, before downing the last grainy dregs of his drink.
Estrella was quick though, and recovered from her mistake with a sharp retort: "And if I return straight to the mansion and confess all your sins on your behalf, what then?"
With that, the matter was put to rest at last.
However, by that point Will's smile had come out to stay at last. And in between their increasingly rambunctious chatter, Elizabeth counted to herself the number of times his dimple flashed or his eyes crinkled up in a grin.
Once she was certain he'd become more relaxed, she felt satisfied that their visit's hour had come to its end at last. Estrella gathered up their cups and coffee supplies for washing up. Will retrieved a rag for wiping crumbs from the table. However, determined as she was to make sure that not a single second of this visit created more work for him, Elizabeth snatched the rag away and put herself to work in his place. Her technique was admittedly shoddy at first, with crumbs being swept onto the floor instead of captured in the rag or in her hand, like was apparently correct. But Will gave her some careful corrections, then showed her how to sweep things out the door, and before long, the dishes, the table and the floors were all clean.
And she smirked a little at Estrella as she put the broom away—she had helped! Will's mod was obviously improved and he hadn't had to lift a finger for more than a second, after all. Estrella merely shook her head.
At last, the group exchanged a long goodbye. Long it was, almost entirely thanks to the persistence of Elizabeth and Will's goodbye kiss, which lasted longer than was believably decent but never reached the fervor of the day before.
After several minutes, their lips did part reluctantly, while their eyes danced together slowly and their hands continued to leave behind a few parting touches.
"Thank you for the gifts. Again," Will extended in a quiet blessing. His palms remained running along her shoulders.
"Of course," Elizabeth responded. Her fingers fiddled with the fastenings on his shirt's collar. "Anything you need to help you through these long hours, I will give you."
His lips lost their lovely curve, and eyes drifted downward at that—not the reaction she'd hoped for.
She would have teased him for stealing another glance at her cleavage, if it weren't for the fact that she had never removed her fichu today. But no, this time his fallen gaze seemed to signal his falling back into his previous worries—thanks to her untimely reminder.
Cursing herself for not having more tact, Elizabeth tried to salvage the moment by lifting his chin with one careful hand.
When his eyes met hers there was a heavy weight behind them, one she knew he would not share while Estrella remained in ear shot. It made her stomach turn with aggravation, and her heart twisted with pity. And while she plotted in her mind to find ways to wheedle this pointless secret out of him, she did the next best thing she knew how to do, and tried simply lifting him a little higher.
Fixing her gaze steady with his, she brushed the back of her fingers against his freshly prickled jaw. "I am so proud of you."
Emotions trickled through his eyes like currents in a stream, here and gone too quickly to catch. Eventually, stillness came. And beneath the softness of his admiration appeared the keen edge of his natural earnestness—sharp but not yet cutting.
"And I am so very grateful to you, truly," he professed with his heart in his voice. "But Elizabeth—"
"No protests!" she edged herself in with a finger upon his lips, before he could let the knife of his rejection fall. She knew what he meant to say, as he'd said it many times before—and her answer was unchanged. "This is my love for you, as we've discussed. I only accept your kisses for payment, and nothing less."
She sealed her point with one final kiss, which he responded to practically by reflex.
But once they were once again parted, it was clear he did not accept her argument this time, as he immediately began to protest, "Elizabeth, I'm not—"
No! They were not having this argument again—not when he obviously needed these little helps more than ever. Until he told her the full story of what was happening in his life at the very least, she would feed him. He would just have to accept it.
So before he could get another word in, Elizabeth slipped from Will's arms, and pirouetted out the door. "Until our next meeting, Will Turner!"
"When will that be?" he called after her, and followed Estrella out onto the outside steps.
"Who can say?" she threw back over shoulder flirtatiously, as she scurried down the stairs, out of his reach. "We'll both find out soon, I'm certain!"
It was meant as a joke as much as an attempt to avoid this already-tired conversation. But when she turned to look back at him, he was not smiling anymore in answer. Again, he looked worn.
What was going on…?
"Let me know, please," was his final word—nothing else.
Rather than feeling her heart soar on its expected, usual course, Elizabeth was taken aback by the way she felt it fumble a little, before settling awkwardly onto a strange, solemn perch. This wasn't how things went between them—not since their love had begun to join them. Every time they said goodbye now, it was warm and fulfilling and hopeful. This felt… like something was wrong.
Whatever it was, the moment was passing too quickly to dwell on right away. Estrella had made her way down the stairs, and Elizabeth was in her way, standing in the middle of the street. Will was practically in his undergarments, and the rain had nearly stopped, meaning outside eyes would begin to return to witness the spectacle. They had to part.
She offered him one last smile, and dared to blow him a kiss.
He answered her expressions of affection by placing his hand to his chest, over his heart, finally grinning again in return. It encouraged her.
But then he extended her a wave goodbye, and she and Estrella were walking down the street to hop back in the carriage. And as they made their way back to the mansion, Elizabeth could not help dwelling on the way Will's last smile hadn't seemed to shine as bright as…
"Are you alright, miss?" Estrella's kindly voice inquired. "You don't look as happy as you usually do, meeting together and all that."
She could have lied, could have said she was tired, could have said she was sad to say goodbye again. But she was lost enough in her thoughts, there was no desire to conceal them.
"Neither did he…" she mused aloud.
And for a ponderous moment that was all that was said. The carriage wheels ground into the streets, its axles creaked and swayed up the hill, the jungle whisked past its windows. Yet Elizabeth's mind wandered backward, back to the blacksmith's house and all the little moments where their party's interactions had felt unusually gloomy or… well, awkward.
She couldn't shake the sense that Will was keeping something hidden unnecessarily, couldn't shake the sense that she should have pressed him to tell her more than the bits of nothing he'd offered, couldn't shake the sense that… that…
"Did something about him feel strange to you?" Elizabeth spoke her thoughts once again. But this time, as she did it, she twisted to face Estrella and ask her directly, "Or was it my imagination?"
Estrella sighed before turning her own head back in Elizabeth's direction.
"He seems tired, miss," she stated matter-of-factly. "It sounded like his workload is heavier than usual."
"I suppose…" Elizabeth admitted hesitantly. She remembered his yawns, and the way they left him with tears in his listless eyes from their intensity. He had been napping… "Yes, you're probably right."
Then she remembered the tightness in his jaw when she'd asked about his master; the look in his eyes when he'd been summoned; the careful ways which he'd entered and exited Brown's room, and the less careful way he'd crossed out Brown's name in his letter; the way it took nearly the entire visit before Will's smile had returned to join them…
She shook her head, and turned back towards Estrella, arguing, "Except, if that were all it was, I should think the food would have been more of a relief."
Right? There was something else at work here behind just … exhaustion. Will had been exhausted before. Visits like this had been a boon to him—that was the entire point of coming down the hill to begin with!
But Estrella looked at her mistress with an expression crossed between exasperation and sympathy. And Elizabeth had a feeling what she was about to say would somehow come back to their conversation earlier in the day.
"If… you don't mind my saying so, miss:" her maid began delicately, "it did seem to me like he was trying to tell you something which might have explained it better."
Elizabeth rolled her eyes.
"Oh, that," she dismissed with a wave of one hand. Even though it had nothing to do with their morning discussion, this topic was no less annoying. "I know what he was trying to say. He keeps trying to reject these gifts, because he feels he needs to prove his independence."
The narrow beginnings of doubt crept into Estrella's eyes. "He's told you that?"
"In different words, but yes," Elizabeth answered. She tried to shrug, but the motion was disrupted by the carriage bumping about on its approach to the top of the hill. "Men and their pride."
"Is that what it is?" Estrella wondered quietly.
"Certainly," Elizabeth asserted, feeling herself bristle with offense over the hints of disbelief behind Estrella's humdrum responses. She knew what she was talking about! She'd spoken about these things to Will, more than once! In spite of her better judgement, she began to rant defensively, "We have spoken about this more than once, he and I. Despite his humble circumstances, there are times and places where Will can be as proud as anyone. It should be clear enough through the way he would rather suffer long hours at his work than ask for a little help. But it won't be that way forever. Once we are married, we both will become helps to one another."
Then having decided she was through with the conversation, that her word was sufficient enough to be the last, Elizabeth turned back to stare out her window, and reflect on the frustrated feelings lingering in her heart.
"He will simply have to learn to accept that I will not leave him to languish in his work alone. And that's that."
Even turned away, she could tell Estrella was still unconvinced. But not another word on the matter was spoken for the rest of the day.