Fic: 'Harry & the Pirate VI: Blood and Treasure (Jack/Harry, etc. - PG-13 - 2/20)
Chapter Two: Lord Wainfleet
Jack had been trying to get some work done while he waited for Tom to fetch the ladies, but though papers, books, pens and inkpot were all arranged on the table, he’d given it up and was now standing by the stern gallery, looking out at Singaraja harbor, but not really seeing it at all. That letter he’d received: Lord, it had fairly knocked him a-cock. What the devil was he to do? He’d be damned if he’d go back and settle in England. Cold and bleak, and full of wretched memories. Even the thought of visiting his father’s estate - now apparently his own, God help him - was highly unsettling.
What had made his father go to the trouble of fabricating the necessary documents to make Jack his legitimate heir? It was absurd! His father hadn’t even cared much for him when he was a boy - just enough to fund him at the local day school, and lay a riding crop across his backside when he was caught at some mischief. And then, when mother had died, Jack had been sent away. His father couldn’t bear the sight of him, like her as he was.
Wainfleet had supported Jack’s mother while she was alive, of course, and by extension Jack himself. Mother had been given a neat little cottage on the edge of the family property, and Jack knew even then they were fairly well-to-do, able to afford many luxuries that other local families could not. Jack supposed Wainfleet did love mother in his way, but not enough to marry her. She had come from one of the few remaining Catholic families in that part of England, and it would never do for a Wainfleet to ally himself with a papist. So she and Jack had lived on the fringe of society, neither fish nor fowl, as the saying went, and Jack had felt the lack of acceptance from both his father and the local community every day of his young life.
He hadn’t seen Wainfleet in years, not since that one time when they’d been visiting Harry’s brother George in London, when Tom was just out of shortcoats. The Sparrows had been invited to a card party, an elegant affair given by an old friend of George’s, and they’d been enjoying themselves very much when Wainfleet had been announced and walked into the room, causing Jack to spin toward the door as Harry said, “Oh my God!” and clutched at his arm. He’d stared, frozen, at that face from his past… the face of his father, but older, so much older. But only for a moment. Then he turned to Harry and patted her hand: “It’s all right. No worries, love.”
And it had been all right, even when their hostess had brought Wainfleet over, saying he’d begged an introduction to the famous pirate-turned-successful-privateer and his lovely wife. Jack saw the recognition in his eyes, and it was evident the man barely knew what to say beyond the conventions. But then he asked Jack to join him in a game of piquet, and Jack had obliged him. There wasn’t much talk during the game, but when it was over, and Jack had won, he looked at Wainfleet and said, “I can’t take money from my father.” Which was true enough: very bad form, that.
Wainfleet slowly put his purse back into his pocket. There was a long pause before he said, “I could always see her in your face.”
“I know it,” Jack had replied, shortly, and then Harry was there, standing at his side.
Wainfleet looked up at her from across the table, and smiled for the first time. “Mrs. Sparrow. You were once the Duchess of Wyndham, if I recall.”
Harry inclined her head. “We met once, at a ball. Many years ago, when I was newly wed.”
“Indeed. I remember thinking Wyndham a very fortunate man - though I wondered… well, you were very young, and I had known Wyndham for a very long time.”
Harry nodded. “Life is full of strange twists and turns, my lord. My fortune has improved much in recent years.”
She’d laid a hand on Jack’s shoulder as she’d said this, and he’d reached up and caressed her fingers.
A small gesture, but Wainfleet saw and understood, looking from one Sparrow to the other. He said, “It is a great happiness to me to hear it. But now, if you’ll both forgive me, I must take my leave.”
Jack and Wainfleet had risen from their chairs, and when his father, with some hesitation, offered his hand, Jack had taken it, for the first and last time.
Dead and gone now, these many months. But the memories…
A light, quick step brought Jack back to the present, and he couldn’t help smiling as his darling Lady Day burst through the door, a dimpling smile on her sweet face, all wrapped in apricot taffeta, like some delicious confection. She was quickly followed by her mother, who wore the same smile and looked far too young to be the mother of that handsome fellow with the saucy grin that brought up the rear.
Tom said, unnecessarily, “Here they are, Da.”
“Are we going home, Papa?” demanded Daisy excitedly.
She shed her bright cloak to display a rather stunning - and somewhat revealing - costume. Jack frowned, disliking the notion of the Pearls, not to mention most of the population of Singaraja, gazing upon his young daughter’s shapely bare arms and shoulders. “Is that what you’re wearing at the festival?”
“She’ll be one of dozens dancing, my dear,” Harry said soothingly, “and all of them pretty as flowers! She’ll barely be noticed in the crowd.”
Jack sat down and patted his knee, and Daisy took her place with alacrity, putting her arms about him. “You’ll notice me, that’s all I care about.”
Jack chuckled and gave her a squeeze. He said to Tom, “What took you so long? I’ve been wallowing in self-pity for the best part of two hours.”
“Sorry. You know how they are.”
“So I do,” said Jack, with a dramatic sigh.
“What’s this about?” Harry asked, untying the ribbons of her hat and taking it off. “Tom said you received a letter from England?”
“It’s there, on the corner of the table.”
Harry put down her hat and picked up the letter, quickly scanning the contents. Her brows lifted steadily and her pretty mouth was forming an O by the time she reached the end. She turned to him. “Jack, how can this be?”
“Bloody hell if I know.” He said to Daisy, “Excuse my French. And don’t let me hear you repeating it.”
“Oh, no, Papa!” Daisy said, and shot a look at her brother, who winked.
“Pert minx,” Jack said, pinching her backside. She gave a tiny shriek and jumped off his lap, and he rose and went to Harry. “I suppose we’ll have to go to England, love. Will you like that?”
She took his hand. “Only if you do. But… I have been missing St. Claire more, lately. Perhaps it is time to go home for a while. We won’t have to stay long in England.”
“No.” Jack slipped his arms around her. “Long enough to buy you some new gowns, though.”
“And to show Daisy all the sights.” Harry smiled.
“And young Tom here is just the right age to be introduced to the world.” Jack grinned crookedly at his son. Lord, the lasses would be all over him. He might not be quite as piratically splendid as his father, but Tom was a very good-looking specimen, and sharp as he could stare.
Though his expression seemed a bit odd at the moment. “Do you think Anne will still be there?” he asked.
There was a brief, uncomfortable pause.
Once upon a time Jack and Harry had wondered if Tom’s attachment to Anne Norrington, youngest daughter of Admiral James and his wife, Harry’s old friend, Maggie, would endure and become something more than mere childish friendship. But things had changed. Tom had changed, even before they’d left St. Claire, and though he and Anne had parted on good terms - the boy had even given her a kiss goodbye, from what he’d said - it was likely Anne had changed a good deal as well. She’d been in England for the last several years, for one thing, attending a seminary for refined young ladies in fashionable Bath, and living with Norrington’s older sister, Caroline. All this they’d had from Maggie’s last letter to Harry, delivered some eighteen months ago and written long before that. There’d been no word from Anne herself since the first year of the Sparrows’ voyage, perhaps because Tom had proven such a lamentable correspondent. Now Anne would be quite grown up, nigh on seventeen, ready to make her debut, and ripe for marriage. Who knew if Tom could rekindle the friendship they’d had as children and fan the flames to something more?
Harry said lightly, “She may very well be there, Tom. How good it will be to see our old friends again.”
“Aye,” Tom agreed, looking thoughtful, as well he might: he was no longer the innocent lad who’d left Anne weeping on the dock at Port Royal five years ago.
“Look!” said Daisy, demanding their attention from across the cabin.
She’d put on the rest of her costume, a golden crown, collar, and bracelets, and now she stood, straight and dramatic, arms stretched out on either side, ready to dance. “Tom, beat time on the table so I can show Mama and Papa.”
Tom chuckled, and indulgently followed her orders.
As she began to repeat the studied movements she’d learned so well, Jack sat down and patted his knee again, and this time his darling wife obliged him, curling up and kissing him once… and again, more lingeringly, when he raised his face to hers. Daisy was busy dancing, and Tom was watching her performance, so Jack allowed one hand to roam a bit, until Harry captured and kissed it. “Later!” she whispered, eyes alight, and as she turned to watch her daughter she slipped her arm about Jack’s shoulders.
Later, indeed, Jack mused, quite content to wait. Anticipation was a wondrous spice.
Continued in Chapter Three: Remembering