Dark of the Moon (25 & 26/36)
Only ten parts (and an Epilogue) to go! Many thanks to hereswith who ended up editing Part 25 several times.
[25]
After Bootstrap Bill had brought her back to the Black Pearl and the sanctuary of Jack’s cabin, Letty had found herself unable to refrain from shedding tears over the sudden turn the day had taken when that… that harlot had caught sight of Jack and commandeered him, without so much as a by-your-leave. Not that Letty would have given her a by-your-leave, or indeed anything save a hard slap across her beautiful, sly face! The mental picture of a great, red handprint marring that creamy skin almost had the power to satisfy. Almost.
And then, through her tears, Letty gave a bitter laugh.
She had no right to claim Jack Sparrow as hers. It was ridiculous. Or wishful thinking, perhaps: after all, she did belong to him in one very real sense, and she had grown accustomed to thinking that the tie made him hers as well, at least a little. But this had no basis in fact.
She was a fool.
After that she became angry. Angry at herself, first, then angry with him. It was true that there was no reason for her to expect any consideration for her feelings, other than what suited his convenience. And yet, she did expect it. It had been her day, and he had ruined it!
She felt like a petulant child. She felt like throwing things. At him, if he’d been there. But he was not, of course. And there was nothing much to throw in any case, as he kept most of his belongings neatly stowed in the forbidden sea chest.
A mulish look came into her face at that thought. It seemed grossly unfair that she should be confined to this tiny cabin with nothing to do while he was still consorting with that… female. She had finished the book she’d been reading, just the night before. She must have another, and she knew exactly where to get one.
And there would be many other things she might find of interest in his sea chest, as well.
*
It was quite late - she’d heard the bells sounding the end of first watch. Surrounded by much of the contents of Jack’s sea chest, Letty was sitting cross-legged on his cot and frowning at the small but particularly intriguing object that lay in her hand when the knock came: twice, then twice again.
Bill! she thought, pleased that he should have returned to bid her good night. He would probably scold, and exhort her to put Jack’s things away, as he had done when he’d come to see her earlier, but he might be willing to answer some questions about their wayward friend. She carefully climbed from the midst of the scattered hoard and went to loose the bolt.
But it was not Bill who opened the door.
“Jack!” she gasped.
A raised brow over narrowed eyes, a curl of lip - Bill must have told him what to expect. She flushed at this betrayal, and more as his eyes flicked from her to the disarray of the cabin. Caught out, indeed. Her heart thumped so loudly she thought he surely must be able to hear it. But then his glance fell on her once more, and he saw what she was holding. All the humor left his face.
“Give me that,” he said, his voice as cold as she’d ever heard it.
She held out the exquisite miniature she’d unearthed from deep in his sea chest. He took it, and she backed away as he came into the cabin and shut the door.
He did not look at the small painting, but his hand upon it was caressing, possessive, and Letty knew then that her guess was probably correct: the dark, richly dressed beauty depicted on fine ivory was his mother.
Letty recalled the menace of his words that first night: You will never mention my mother again. Savvy? But things had changed between them, and her voice shook only a very little now. “She was not some horrid low creature, was she?”
Like a swift-moving storm, a number of emotions crossed Jack’s countenance before finally settling on an uncharacteristically honest sadness. “No.”
“Is she still… living in England.”
“No.” He lifted his hand and opened it, and studied the likeness for a long moment. Then, abruptly, he closed his hand and put the miniature into the pocket of his coat, slung over his arm. He raised his eyes to hers again. “Her name was Katherine. Kate. She died, in childbed when I was twelve. Is that what you wanted to know?”
I want to know everything! Letty thought. But she said, only, “She was very beautiful.”
And this seemed to breach his defenses. “Yes. And a beautiful soul, as well.” He laid his coat and shirt on the cot, and knelt by the chest to stow his things.
Letty helped by gathering up and bringing him the clothing, books, seashells, small weapons, and other effects she had removed. He spoke as he worked to replace them, his voice carefully light. “Prettiest Kate in Christendom she was. I was a trial to her. Born on the wrong side of the blanket to start, and then… well, difficult cloth to cut, y’ might say. But she loved me. My father’d set her up in a cottage, just off his land, near to the village. Convenient, for him. Most of the local citizenry cut our acquaintance, of course. It made for a quiet life. Too quiet. I took to helpin’ the Gentlemen - smugglers - when I was nine or so. I knew my father turned a blind eye to their work- liked his French brandy, y’see -- but I’d sense enough to know he’d have me flayed if he found out I worked with ‘em, though he never paid me much heed in the ordinary scheme of things.”
“Is he alive? Your father?”
“Haven’t heard otherwise. Last time I saw ‘im was at the funeral, and the way he looked at me…” His voice trailed off, and he shrugged a little, as though to rid himself of the memory.
“But why?” Letty asked, appalled.
He turned to her. “You’ve seen the picture.”
“You… you’re very like her.”
“I am.”
“But I would have thought…”
He shook his head. “He’d cared for her, but after she died I was only a reminder of what he’d lost. Of what had killed her. So he sent me away. A year as cabin boy on one of his family’s ships. Then three years apprenticed to old Deveral, before I escaped.”
Letty swallowed hard. “I’m sorry.”
“You should be,” he said, mildly. “I told you to stay out of my things.”
She stared at him. “Not that!”
He stopped to return her regard. “No?” He cocked his head, considering her. “Well, p’rhaps I’ll forgive you anyway, this time. As for the other: there’s no need. I’ve had it a great deal better’n some, and the past is past. Savvy?”
“Y-yes,” said Letty.
Jack nodded. “Always best to keep your eye on that horizon.”
Letty did not reply. But she could not help thinking that the same might be said of her own situation.
*
[26]
The next morning, Knacker was lowered into a waiting cutter by way of a sling. Jack remained stone-faced as he supervised the proceedings, though inwardly he both winced and smiled grim satisfaction at the man’s pain. The blackguard’d be a while healing, but he’d no longer be doing it on the Black Pearl.
Still, Jack considered that he had reason to be grateful to the man, so he didn’t say much as Knacker groaned and cursed crossing the choppy bay, nor as they carried him, laid out on a makeshift stretcher, to a decent inn hard by the harbor. They planned to leave him there, ensuring his care with a small bag of coin. Knacker was far from philosophical about this, and set up a litany of venom and vitriol as soon as he’d recovered from being lifted onto the bed.
“Y’ bloody git!” he hissed at Jack. “Maroonin’ me here ‘cause o’ that milk ‘n’ water bitch, an’ here’s me with me good sword arm an’ skill before the mast. Tobias is an arse, and you’re soft, boy, soft as they come!”
Jack’s lip twitched, and he leaned on Knacker, just a bit, enough to make him purple up. He said, silkily, “I’m thinkin’ you’d be dead if I was any harder, mate. And if you were better off now I’d slit your tongue, speakin’ like that of a lady.”
“Lady!” Knacker gasped. “So she ain’t even beddable. Bloody hell! Should thank you for sparin’ me the effort. I’d not take her if y’ paid me!”
But Jack, thinking of the many faces of Lettice Granger, merely laughed at this. “More fool you, then, eh?” He patted his erstwhile opponent (none too gently) on the cheek, and turned to his companions. “Let’s go lads,” he said, cheerily, and left without a backward glance.
*
TBC
[25]
After Bootstrap Bill had brought her back to the Black Pearl and the sanctuary of Jack’s cabin, Letty had found herself unable to refrain from shedding tears over the sudden turn the day had taken when that… that harlot had caught sight of Jack and commandeered him, without so much as a by-your-leave. Not that Letty would have given her a by-your-leave, or indeed anything save a hard slap across her beautiful, sly face! The mental picture of a great, red handprint marring that creamy skin almost had the power to satisfy. Almost.
And then, through her tears, Letty gave a bitter laugh.
She had no right to claim Jack Sparrow as hers. It was ridiculous. Or wishful thinking, perhaps: after all, she did belong to him in one very real sense, and she had grown accustomed to thinking that the tie made him hers as well, at least a little. But this had no basis in fact.
She was a fool.
After that she became angry. Angry at herself, first, then angry with him. It was true that there was no reason for her to expect any consideration for her feelings, other than what suited his convenience. And yet, she did expect it. It had been her day, and he had ruined it!
She felt like a petulant child. She felt like throwing things. At him, if he’d been there. But he was not, of course. And there was nothing much to throw in any case, as he kept most of his belongings neatly stowed in the forbidden sea chest.
A mulish look came into her face at that thought. It seemed grossly unfair that she should be confined to this tiny cabin with nothing to do while he was still consorting with that… female. She had finished the book she’d been reading, just the night before. She must have another, and she knew exactly where to get one.
And there would be many other things she might find of interest in his sea chest, as well.
*
It was quite late - she’d heard the bells sounding the end of first watch. Surrounded by much of the contents of Jack’s sea chest, Letty was sitting cross-legged on his cot and frowning at the small but particularly intriguing object that lay in her hand when the knock came: twice, then twice again.
Bill! she thought, pleased that he should have returned to bid her good night. He would probably scold, and exhort her to put Jack’s things away, as he had done when he’d come to see her earlier, but he might be willing to answer some questions about their wayward friend. She carefully climbed from the midst of the scattered hoard and went to loose the bolt.
But it was not Bill who opened the door.
“Jack!” she gasped.
A raised brow over narrowed eyes, a curl of lip - Bill must have told him what to expect. She flushed at this betrayal, and more as his eyes flicked from her to the disarray of the cabin. Caught out, indeed. Her heart thumped so loudly she thought he surely must be able to hear it. But then his glance fell on her once more, and he saw what she was holding. All the humor left his face.
“Give me that,” he said, his voice as cold as she’d ever heard it.
She held out the exquisite miniature she’d unearthed from deep in his sea chest. He took it, and she backed away as he came into the cabin and shut the door.
He did not look at the small painting, but his hand upon it was caressing, possessive, and Letty knew then that her guess was probably correct: the dark, richly dressed beauty depicted on fine ivory was his mother.
Letty recalled the menace of his words that first night: You will never mention my mother again. Savvy? But things had changed between them, and her voice shook only a very little now. “She was not some horrid low creature, was she?”
Like a swift-moving storm, a number of emotions crossed Jack’s countenance before finally settling on an uncharacteristically honest sadness. “No.”
“Is she still… living in England.”
“No.” He lifted his hand and opened it, and studied the likeness for a long moment. Then, abruptly, he closed his hand and put the miniature into the pocket of his coat, slung over his arm. He raised his eyes to hers again. “Her name was Katherine. Kate. She died, in childbed when I was twelve. Is that what you wanted to know?”
I want to know everything! Letty thought. But she said, only, “She was very beautiful.”
And this seemed to breach his defenses. “Yes. And a beautiful soul, as well.” He laid his coat and shirt on the cot, and knelt by the chest to stow his things.
Letty helped by gathering up and bringing him the clothing, books, seashells, small weapons, and other effects she had removed. He spoke as he worked to replace them, his voice carefully light. “Prettiest Kate in Christendom she was. I was a trial to her. Born on the wrong side of the blanket to start, and then… well, difficult cloth to cut, y’ might say. But she loved me. My father’d set her up in a cottage, just off his land, near to the village. Convenient, for him. Most of the local citizenry cut our acquaintance, of course. It made for a quiet life. Too quiet. I took to helpin’ the Gentlemen - smugglers - when I was nine or so. I knew my father turned a blind eye to their work- liked his French brandy, y’see -- but I’d sense enough to know he’d have me flayed if he found out I worked with ‘em, though he never paid me much heed in the ordinary scheme of things.”
“Is he alive? Your father?”
“Haven’t heard otherwise. Last time I saw ‘im was at the funeral, and the way he looked at me…” His voice trailed off, and he shrugged a little, as though to rid himself of the memory.
“But why?” Letty asked, appalled.
He turned to her. “You’ve seen the picture.”
“You… you’re very like her.”
“I am.”
“But I would have thought…”
He shook his head. “He’d cared for her, but after she died I was only a reminder of what he’d lost. Of what had killed her. So he sent me away. A year as cabin boy on one of his family’s ships. Then three years apprenticed to old Deveral, before I escaped.”
Letty swallowed hard. “I’m sorry.”
“You should be,” he said, mildly. “I told you to stay out of my things.”
She stared at him. “Not that!”
He stopped to return her regard. “No?” He cocked his head, considering her. “Well, p’rhaps I’ll forgive you anyway, this time. As for the other: there’s no need. I’ve had it a great deal better’n some, and the past is past. Savvy?”
“Y-yes,” said Letty.
Jack nodded. “Always best to keep your eye on that horizon.”
Letty did not reply. But she could not help thinking that the same might be said of her own situation.
*
[26]
The next morning, Knacker was lowered into a waiting cutter by way of a sling. Jack remained stone-faced as he supervised the proceedings, though inwardly he both winced and smiled grim satisfaction at the man’s pain. The blackguard’d be a while healing, but he’d no longer be doing it on the Black Pearl.
Still, Jack considered that he had reason to be grateful to the man, so he didn’t say much as Knacker groaned and cursed crossing the choppy bay, nor as they carried him, laid out on a makeshift stretcher, to a decent inn hard by the harbor. They planned to leave him there, ensuring his care with a small bag of coin. Knacker was far from philosophical about this, and set up a litany of venom and vitriol as soon as he’d recovered from being lifted onto the bed.
“Y’ bloody git!” he hissed at Jack. “Maroonin’ me here ‘cause o’ that milk ‘n’ water bitch, an’ here’s me with me good sword arm an’ skill before the mast. Tobias is an arse, and you’re soft, boy, soft as they come!”
Jack’s lip twitched, and he leaned on Knacker, just a bit, enough to make him purple up. He said, silkily, “I’m thinkin’ you’d be dead if I was any harder, mate. And if you were better off now I’d slit your tongue, speakin’ like that of a lady.”
“Lady!” Knacker gasped. “So she ain’t even beddable. Bloody hell! Should thank you for sparin’ me the effort. I’d not take her if y’ paid me!”
But Jack, thinking of the many faces of Lettice Granger, merely laughed at this. “More fool you, then, eh?” He patted his erstwhile opponent (none too gently) on the cheek, and turned to his companions. “Let’s go lads,” he said, cheerily, and left without a backward glance.
*
TBC