Fic: 'Harry & the Pirate VI: Blood and Treasure (Jack/Harry, etc. - PG-13 - 4/20)
Chapter Four: Reunion
William Weatherby Turner had been sitting in the bay window of the drawing room for most of the morning, ostensibly studying a dusty old history book, but keeping half an eye on the street - and more than half an eye, more than half the time. He and his parents and Grandfather had been installed in his Great Uncle George’s home in Mount Street for less than a month when word had come that the fabled Black Pearl would soon be arriving in England, and just yesterday a messenger had ridden up from the coast with a note informing the Turners and Swanns of the Sparrows’ imminent arrival.
Young Will barely remembered these interesting relations of his, though there was one incident involving his cousin Daisy that still remained vivid, probably because said incident did not redound to his credit and such things seemed to stick in one’s head more easily than happier events. It didn’t seem quite as dreadful now that he was turned eleven, but at not quite six, smashing a ball through one of the French doors at Grandfather’s mansion, when he’d been expressly forbidden to play with his new cricket bat anywhere near the house, had seemed a crime worthy of Dead Man’s Cay. But Daisy had grabbed up the bat and stepped in front of him just before everyone had emerged from the house to see what had happened, and she’d said, in a quite convincing performance, “I did it. I’m sorry, Grandfather. Wilby said you wouldn’t like it, but I just wanted to try it once, that’s all.” And he had not refuted her lie, not even when Cousin Tom had marched her off to be confined to her room for the rest of the day and evening. It had taken Will hours to gather the courage to confess the truth, but he had done it at last, though Daisy’s wrath at having her Plan spoiled had almost been more painful to endure than his father’s grave displeasure.
He remembered Daisy’s spirit more than her appearance, though he’d retained a general impression of a very pretty girl. But five years was a long time, and no doubt she had changed a great deal by now.
For the first time since he and his family had arrived in this cold, damp country he was quite agog with happy anticipation. Not that it hadn’t been fine meeting Uncle George, and seeing some of the sights. But England was such a far cry from Jamaica that he could not understand at all why grandfather had chosen to return here to live on his retirement. Perhaps the schools were better here, and of course William Weatherby understood how fortunate he was that grandfather was willing to not only pay for his education but take care of him during school holidays. But the thought of his parents leaving him here, to be sent off to live and learn with a pack of strangers, made him wish he was still a child and could weep with vexation. Not to mention dread.
But now a coach and four hove into sight, bowling around the corner and into the square, and it was followed by another, larger conveyance, piled high with trunks and a huge wooden crate. Distracted from his brooding, William Weatherby leapt to his feet. It had to be them!
He yelled as he ran through the foyer and down the hall: “They’re here! They’ve arrived! ” His parents, Grandfather, and Uncle George were enjoying a late breakfast of coffee and pastries in the morning room at the back of the house, which afforded a view of the small back garden, and he burst into the room. “Two coaches, and mountains of luggage! Mother! Father! They’ve arrived!”
But Mother had already risen to her feet, laughing, and Father, too, though Grandfather complained, “Enough, lad! We’ve all heard the news.”
But Uncle George said, “Weatherby, you’re such a spoilsport. If Harry’s return isn’t worthy of some shouting, what is, eh? Come, let’s go greet them, lad.”
The footman, Geoffreys, who’d been with the family forever, was having some difficulty in maintaining an appropriately impassive mien as they piled into the foyer, but he opened the front door and, even as they went out, the coaches were rumbling to a stop. Will descended the stairs, two at a time, then hesitated, unaccountably shy, as the groom opened the door of the coach to reveal a slight figure, all pink satin and lace. The laughing eyes met his and she jumped out before the steps could be let down, the startled groom briefly steadying her before letting her go. “Wilby!” she squeaked, and put her hands out, bouncing over to him.
What could he do but catch hold? “Daisy?”
“Of course! Don’t you remember?” she demanded, looking him up and down. “You haven’t changed a bit!”
“Day, that’s cruel - and untrue,” scolded a tall, dark young man as he climbed from the carriage - Cousin Tom! He flashed a grin and said to Daisy, “He was five when you met him last, of course he’s changed.” But then Tom turned with a bow. “How do you do, Uncle Weatherby? Uncle George?”
“Tom! My dear boy!” Grandfather embraced him.
Captain Jack emerged from the carriage next - he was unmistakable in spite of looking somewhat less piratical than when Will had last seen him - and he gave a hand to Aunt Harry, who alighted with the additional assistance of Mother and Father -- Aunt’s dress was an amazing confection, and wanted to get caught on things. At last it was accomplished, however, and the enthusiastic and, in some cases, tearful greetings went on for some time.
Daisy said confidingly, “I didn’t mean it that way, Wilby. You look very grown up.”
Will, feeling oddly bemused, said, “No one’s called me that in years.”
Her smile vanished, and it was as though the sun had dipped behind a cloud. “Must I not call you Wilby? But what do they call you?”
“Just Will, or William Weatherby. But you can call me Wilby, or anything you like.”
“I’ve always called you that in my head, so Wilby it must be.” Then she sank into a graceful curtsey, for Grandfather and Uncle George had come to greet her.
“Child, come give your uncle a kiss,” said Uncle George, and held out his arms. Daisy complied with alacrity, and then was released to repeat this performance with Grandfather.
“Just like your mother at the same age. Charming. Too charming.” Grandfather shook his head reminiscently.
“Aye,” said Captain Jack, coming over to wink at his daughter. “And too saucy by half, she gets away with murder. I daresay she got that from Harry as well.”
“Oh, most assuredly,” Grandfather agreed. “I did warn you.”
But Lady Harry said, “Elizabeth, do you hear them maligning me and my darling girl?” She beckoned Daisy. “Come, my love, that’s enough bouncing for now, haven’t we been bouncing along that execrable road for hours? Let us go in and Anatole and Louise will bring us all some refreshments. George, you won’t mind them taking over the kitchen while we’re in residence?”
“I warned my own cook that it might come to that. I’d thought to send him away on holiday, but he said he’d be pleased to take instruction of such artists.”
“How very tolerant of him, and wise, too. Amelie and Alphonse are with us, as well, and will see to the unpacking. Geoffreys!” Lady Harry lifted her skirts and trotted up the stairs, smiling at the footman. “How happy I am to see you again! Will you mind showing Amelie and Alphonse where our things are to go? And that crate on top of the carriage must be brought in with the greatest care. The drawing room will do for the Unveiling.”
“What’s in it?” Uncle George asked.
“It’s a surprise for you,” Aunt Harry said, tossing a smile at him, over her shoulder, before leading the way into the house.
*
James Norrington gave a hand to his sister, Caroline, as she descended from the hackney coach, then paid off the driver, who’d been remarkably patient, fully earning both his fee and the extra coins James pressed into his hand. As the coach drove off, brother and sister climbed the marble steps of George Swann’s residence, and then James vigorously applied the door’s gold-plated knocker.
It had been nearly an hour since Swann’s kitchenboy had come around with a note: They’ve arrived! James had instantly determined to walk the few blocks to Mount Street, but Caroline had commented, “Have they indeed arrived? I vow, I am all agog to meet them, James. Give me but a moment and I’ll come with you. Will you please call for a carriage?” and then had kept James (and the coach) waiting nearly half an hour while she changed her gown and had her maid redo her coiffure - both of which had looked perfectly adequate to James before she’d left the room, though she’d only chuckled when he’d mentioned this in venturing to remonstrate with her when she reappeared at last. “Men never understand these things,” she’d said, with the maddening complacence of an elder sister who’d never, in James’ memory, given him so much as an inch of moral advantage.
The door was opened by Swann’s footman, who seemed to have been expecting them, but as they stepped inside, Harry appeared from the drawing room, followed by an exquisite child who could only be Daisy, the picture of her mother save that she had Jack’s darker hair, and his eyes.
“James!” Harry exclaimed and rustled over to take his hands. “How good it is to see you!”
“My dear,” he said, with a surprising surge of emotion, and raised each of her hands to his lips in turn. Then he said, more lightly, “I see you haven’t lost your modish touch. How did you obtain the latest in French fashion so quickly when you’ve been at sea for months?”
She chuckled. “Isn’t this an absurd creation? But the story of its acquisition must wait. Is this not your sister?”
“She is! I beg your pardon, Caroline. This is Mrs. Henrietta Sparrow. Harry, my sister, Lady Hayes.”
The ladies both sank into curtsies, eyeing each other with interest the while, and Harry said, “I wonder that I never chanced to meet you when James and I were unleashed on the town as youngsters.”
“There’s no great mystery in that,” said Caroline. “I was already married and buried in the country - Hayes detested town life and whisked me away as soon as he’d put the ring on my finger. I heard of your marriage to the duke, of course.”
“Of course.” Harry gave an almost unnoticeable grimace, then brightened. “But let me introduce my daughter, Marguerite.”
Daisy came forward and made a very creditable curtsey, her eyes demurely cast down, and said, “How do you do, ma’am?”
Caroline deigned to smile, and said to Harry, “Excellent. She’s the very spit of you-“
“James! ”
It was Jack, striding across the foyer, his face alight. He looked nearly as young as ever - as did Harry: what a strange magic hung about them! - but he was dressed more extravagantly than of old, with his facial hair neatly trimmed, and his long hair stripped of its ornaments and curled down his back. Alphonse had obviously been hard at work.
Memories assaulted James, came flooding in at the sight of his friend, of that golden grin: his unbelievable (and annoying) insouciance on the scaffold, about to hang at James’s order; the love and pride of him as he’d taken Harry to wife before man and God; the panic in his eyes as Tom was being born in the Pearl’s Great Cabin; his fire and skill in battle - and his luck, too, which he’d needed often and often; his empathy and the force of will that had brought James through that terrible injury, fifteen years ago now.
James owed this man, this pirate, so very much. His life. And his happiness, as Maggie would agree.
They embraced. And James felt oddly complete again.
“Five years, Jack,” he said.
“Too long,” Jack agreed. “But we’re back now, and maybe for good. Harry wants to see St. Claire again, and I’m getting too bloody old to be sailing ‘round the world from scrape to scrape, eh?”
“Are you? You certainly don’t look it.” And James grinned to see how Jack preened at the compliment.
It had surely been far too long.
Continued in Chapter Five: Considering the Sparrows