Author's Note- CONTENT WARNING: VIOLENCE, SEXUAL CONTENT, & MURDER

Chapter Three

It is truly impossible to find good help these days.

I am not accustomed to meddling in the affairs of my children, but this simply won't do. When I dismissed that immoral wretch from my doorstep all those years ago, I thought I made myself perfectly clear that he was to cease all contact with my Anna. Neither is aware that I know of their scandalous affair, or that my daughter has essentially been deflowered by some rapscallion midshipman who simply could not keep his prick in his pants! Oh, how the very thought of it enrages me!

And to think if his father knew of his conduct, God rest his soul.

But lord, how I've worked to keep their letters out of each other's hands! Just as I've worked to keep Lord Barclay from making Anna's ruination public knowledge—a silence easily bought by allowing the use of a servant girl or two to satisfy his needs. My daughter should count herself very fortunate that the Earl is still interested. I daresay the boy may actually have feelings for her, and why not? In spite of her lapse in judgment, she is a lovely woman in the prime of her life. She, like her sisters, bears their mother's golden hair and strikingly good looks. Indeed, my girls are quite a handsome lot… well, most of them, anyway. My youngest, Lydia, is not quite as fortunate in looks as her older sisters but neither is she unfortunate. I daresay that if she devoted as much time to her appearance as she does to her books, I would have her married tomorrow!

But I digress. She was an accident anyway.

In any case, any respectable gentleman with a decent fortune could have my Anna, were she not so stubborn. I am convinced Lord Barclay will suit her very well. That is to say, if I could but keep her dashing Norrington out of her life.

Poor, foolish child… I suppose she isn't entirely to blame. After all, what is more blameless than the innocence of young love? Had he not defiled her, I might have approved their match. He is from good stock, and has done rather well for himself.

Alas, I only knew of his most recent attempt to reach her after Barclay presented it to me. It seems, during a sudden fright, Anna unwittingly dropped a letter written in Norrington's hand. As expected, the Earl was not pleased, and rightly so.

"Who is this Commodore Norrington, anyway?" was Barclay's question.

"He is an officer in the Royal Navy, currently stationed in the West Indies. I should like to say he is no one of significance, but his family name says otherwise." I turn towards the fireplace. "You met him once, I believe—during the spring of the year twenty," I add over my shoulder as I toss the letter into the roaring fire… just as I had done to all the others. The satisfaction of the crackling flames devouring every last bit of it sets my soul at ease. I could probably fill a whiskey barrel with all the ashes from their failed correspondence!

I look up to see the Earl running through his mental list of acquaintances with a distant eye. Then it comes to him. "… Oh, Lawrence's boy?"

"The very same."

"I see. Fine fellow, from what I remember… excellent shot, too. Not really one for conversation, however," Barclay muses.

"Oh, please. Do not praise him," I remark bitterly, though I have myself borne witness to young James' rather deadly accuracy with a firearm. He never misses, no matter the distance or target. "Yes. Sir Lawrence was quite the disciplinary. As taut a commander as there ever was, God rest his soul. He raised his son with an iron fist and made a soldier out of him. That is, without doubt, the secret behind his successful campaign in the West Indies."

"Do my ears deceive me? That almost sounds like praise," Barclay teases.

"It is not praise. I am merely stating facts," I refute flatly.

He folds his arms across his chest. "Well, at least now I am able to put a face to the name of my infamous rival."

"He is hardly a rival at all. He has done very well for himself chasing down pirates and I truly laud him for it, though it is bad for business. As I said, it seems Lawrence succeeded in his dying wish of making a soldier out of his only son at last. But I will never forgive that lecherous reprobate for what he has done to my Anna."

"And yet her attachment to this man runs quite deep, it seems. I daresay she is still in love with him."

"That is why she has you, my dear boy!" I declare with a proud smile and clap him on the shoulder. "You just continue to charm her and she is as good as yours."

He looks doubtful. "Yes, well… that may be easier said than done."

I furrow my brow, quite confused. "How so?"

"I proposed to her shortly after my return." He lowers his eyes—not the look one has when announcing his engagement. "She fled from me, and I am yet to receive an answer. She refuses to see me."

Ah. That would explain her absence at dinner… I wave off his concern. "A minor setback. Anna is a spirited girl, with a constitution like no other. But she is still a woman. The shock of the proposal must've overwhelmed her. But I assure you: once she has a moment to process things, she'll come to her senses. Never you worry, my dear boy. Never you worry. All will be right as rain again by this time tomorrow. And if I may, I offer you my congratulations in good faith."

I am, of course, overjoyed by the prospect of Barclay's future marriage to my daughter. There is, however, still plenty to worry over. Anna's refusal would certainly complicate our business venture. If she does not come round, I will be forced to consider alternative measures. For the past eleven years, I have been successful in ensuring Norrington's letters never reach her hands, nor her his. I have succeeded in this, until now.

It was quite easy finding out the culprit. Nothing escapes the eyes of Mr. Jervis the butler and Mrs. Elshire the housekeeper. They informed me right away that it was Penelope Williams who committed the blunder.

"Of course, it was Penelope! The halfwit… stupid girl," I mutter to myself, not at all surprised.

She was the newest addition to the staff of Wolbrighton, brought in to replace Greta, Anna's chambermaid, who recently eloped with one of the stable boys. Penelope was petite, pretty with a mass of golden curls and unusually large blue eyes, and subservient. And incredibly stupid. The day the Lord distributed brains, she was clearly not amongst those who received one.

Hence, why she was the perfect gift for Barclay.

I sent the simpleton to his bedchamber to perform her nightly duties just after reading hour and saw to it she serviced him to satisfaction. Then I sent her to my wife, who oversaw her 'treatment.' It would not serve for Barclay to have an illegitimate child, just as it did not serve for Anna. But I thank God that nature took its course and so eliminated the problem for me. I could not bear the thought of subjecting my own flesh and blood to such agony, for I have observed that it can be quite painful.

"I don't s'pose… you would make an exception this time," the young girl protested meekly.

"I beg your pardon?" my dear Prudy exclaimed with a sneer. "You stupid girl, how dare you even suggest such a thing! Have you gone mad, Penelope? Do you want to be thrown out on the street? Insolent girl!"

"No, ma'am! Forgive me! I meant no disrespect! It's just… it hurts me so," she whimpers, her eyes larger now.

There was the tiniest flicker of sympathy in my wife's eyes, but no more. She did, however, take care to add another layer of lotion to the tube. "I assure you, the world is not kind to those who are with child and unmarried. A little pain now is nothing compared to that of starvation or spending the rest of your days in the poorhouse while the child is sent to an orphanage, should the little brute survive infancy."

My wife's reply is perhaps a bit harsh, but the truth is rarely a pleasant thing. Tearfully, Penelope submits to her mistress and assumes her place on the bed. She parts her legs, and the 'treatment' is administered by my wife's nurse, Constantia, a very large, pig-faced woman with beady eyes and graying curls streaming beneath her bonnet. When it is done, the girl rises to return to her quarters in the servants' wing, but there is one final matter to be dealt with.

"My dear, might I see you in my study before you retire for the night?" I request, though it is hardly such. It is an order that I expect to be obeyed. Fortunately, she seems to understand this and follows me submissively. I beckon for her to have a seat in front of my desk and assume my own place in my chair as I prepare to confront her. "How long have you worked for me, my dear?"

"Four months, m'lord."

"And do you like it here?"

"Yes, m'lord."

"And do you like serving Lord Barclay?" I observe her closely.

Her eyes drop to her hands folded in her lap. Her answer is anything but truthful. "Yes, m'lord."

"Ah-ah, but we mustn't be coy, must we, my dear?" I correct. "Do you not like Lord Barclay?"

Terror fills her eyes. "No, m'lord! I mean… It is not that. Lord Barclay is a very fine man. And he treats me well. He is not rough or abusive. It used to hurt, but not so much anymore, now that I am used to it."

"But…?" I pry.

She is unsure of herself, and appears to be on the verge of tears—typical woman. "It's just… it's just…"

"Yes? Just what? … Out with it, girl!" I bark impatiently, causing her to flinch.

"It's just that it doesn't seem right! Seeing as how he is Miss Anna's suitor!" she confesses, her tears flowing steadily now.

I cannot hide my amusement. Perhaps she is not as muddleheaded as I thought. "Yes. He is, indeed. I understand completely."

She hesitates, sniffling. "You…you do?"

"Well, of course, my dear!" I declare. "After all, adultery is a sin, is it not?"

"… Yes, sir?" she admits hesitantly.

"And what else is a sin in this household, Miss Williams?" I can see her struggling to work things out. Her poor little brain must be on the verge of overload after her moment of brilliance.

"… Swearing?" she offers.

"Perhaps," I allow momentarily, for by all accounts, she is not wrong. "But I am referring to a more… specific matter—something you were told when you first came." She says nothing, at a loss. I almost feel sorry for her. "Letters, girl! Letters! You were instructed to give all letters received to either myself or Lady Sharpe. Do you recall such an order?"

"Yes, m'lord!"

"Then how is it a letter was found in Anna's room without mine or my wife's knowledge?"

"Oh, m'lord, I must beg your forgiveness! I was not thinking! I was cleaning Miss Anna's room and forgot that I had taken it out of my pocket to grab my handkerchief so that I may not drip my sweat upon the furnishings! I set it upon her dressing table and then I was called downstairs—I must've forgotten it! Please have mercy on me, sir! Please! It was an honest mistake! I swear it!"

Fresh tears streaked her young, innocent face, her eyes red and puffy. She truly was a sweet little thing. I could see why Barclay fancied her, to say nothing of her womanly attributes, to which she hid well. Nevertheless, her lapse in judgment may prove costly to Anna's future, and therefore, I had no choice but to punish her; to ensure such a mistake would never happen again.

Amidst her pleas, I raise my hand to silence her. I never did care for sniveling. "Compose yourself, madam, if you please." I pause until she is quiet. Then I rise from my chair, leaning upon my desk. "I understand mistakes can be made. To err is human and all that. But still…" I move slowly round my desk, looking down at her. "… some mistakes can be fatal."

She does not conceive my meaning, nor do I allow her the chance to do so, for during our discussion, a large, dark figure slipped into the room undetected and has come to stand behind her. At my signal, he slips his massive arm round her neck and proceeds to strangle her. His brutish strength easily hoists her small body from the chair. She flails in his grasp, kicking it over. Sheer terror comes upon her face, which I note is now as red as the cushion upon which she previously sat. Amidst her gasping, she tries to scream through the large hand covering her mouth, but it is no more than gurgling hisses and squeaks. I did not think it possible, but her eyes are the widest I have ever seen them! I truly fear they might pop right out of their sockets. I curl my lip at the thought of the potential mess.

Pain fills her eyes just before a terrible 'CRACK!'… And then she grows limp.

Silence fills the room—a hesitation, to ensure the deed is done. When I am satisfied, her assailant releases her, allowing her to simply drop to the floor with a dull thud. He is a large, burly man, a murderous-looking creature—what one would expect to find in the Highlands of Scotland. His eyes are as dark as the beard on his face, as is his hair stringing from his knit cap. There is a certain stench surrounding him, but I am unsure if it is his or if it is from the girl.

I am besieged by a momentary wave of panic when there is a knock upon the door. I move swiftly behind my desk and draw my pistol from the drawer but keep it at my side. I demand rather crossly the identity of whoever is on the other side and I am instantly relieved to see Barclay when he enters. There is something in his hand, but I cannot quite make it out. The large man—Joseph—twists about to view our guest, but otherwise remains in place. I suppose the consequences of being discovered have eluded him; but such is the price to pay when one hires an ill-mannered brute with very little brains.

"Am I interrupting something?" Barclay asks, a bit out of sorts. He only spares a passing glimpse at the servant girl lying on the floor. Her eyes are just as large as ever… interesting.

"No, not at all. Just finishing up," I say, regaining my composure. "Oh, and I'm terribly sorry but Miss Penelope will no longer be able to serve you. I trust you aren't too disappointed."

A flicker of remorse crosses his face, though it is hardly visible. "Ah. Pity, that. Such a sweet girl… no matter. I'm sure I can find a suitable replacement."

"Yes, indeed, pity," I wave indifferently with an upward tilt of my chin to urge him to continue on with his business. It is late and I am about done for the day. "What can I do for you, sir? Has Anna given you an answer at last?"

He hands me a letter, masking his disappointment with a brave face. "No. But I think you'll want to read this. It's from the Palace."

I raise my eyebrows. "Oh?"

Indeed, I did. The seal, bearing the crest of King George, holds it together. I break it, and the first thing that catches my eye is a summons to Buckingham Palace. I acknowledge it and read the letter in its entirety. Mostly, it is full of useless dribble… His Majesty the King, etc., etc., etc., Under the advisory of the Prime Minister of Parliament, Sir Robert Walpole, and Lord Speaker Sir John Cust, and so on and so forth… but what it conveys is a message I find most interesting: Governor Weatherby Swann has unexpectedly taken ill and is forced to return to England, effectively resigning his commission as Governor of Port Royal, leaving the position vacant. Admiral St. Lo has been posted as acting governor until a suitable replacement is found. I am the King's first choice, according to my influence in London and my peerage.

"Well… this is news indeed," I spare a curious glimpse down at the deceased lying at my feet. I detect the smell of piss and shit, and I curl my nose in disgust. The wench has soiled my new tapestry rug! "Perhaps a change of scenery will be just the thing."

Barclay fixes me with a strange look. "Andrew… we may have a problem."