Fic: Prickly Bush Chapter Six

[celticbard76]

Title: The Prickly Bush Chapter Six
Author: celticbard76
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Very mild Norrington/Trimble (Peggy) 
Word Count: 2,425
Main Characters: Commodore James Norrington, Lieutenant Groves, Lieutenant Gillette and an OC, Lieutenant Trimble.
Disclaimer: I claim no ownership of Pirates of the Caribbean. Lieutenant Trimble alone is mine.

Chapter Six A Good Talking To

Back in her room above the tavern, Peggy wiped the blood from her brow and wrapped a length of linen about the wound. But she frowned as she looked in the mirror above her washstand, marking her appearance as too feminine. The white cloth peeking out from under her wig matched her pale skin and her blanched face took at least five years off her actual age.

She grunted and pulled the bandage from her brow, consigning it to a basket of her soiled underclothes. Through the open window the sound of heavy wagon wheels on cobblestone alerted her. Peggy dared to glance out into the mucky street, her eyes catching a cart that rolled by the tavern at an obscenely slow pace. The bodies of three soldiers lay within the wooden bed. Peggy felt her stomach flop over and she clenched her jaw.

Damned pirates.

Peggy sank onto the edge of her bed and lay back. The grimy ceiling shifted, wavering before her eyes like a vapid mirage teasing the horizon. She shut her eyes against the pain gnawing at her skull.

Peggy had never intended to join the Royal Navy when she left Yorkshire. In fact, she had enlisted into the army first. On some foggy night she found her way to a bleak little tavern where recruiting sergeants often forced the king’s shilling into the hands of drunken lads. Disguised in a pair of breeches that had belonged to her husband and a fraying jacket she had taken from a charitable vicar, Peggy signed on to be a drummer.

It had been a grand thing at first, full of pomp and play and processions. She enjoyed standing on the parade ground, pounding out some jaunty tattoo that called the soldiers to march. But upon one particularly hot afternoon, she had been accosted by a saucy little wench who had denounced her as “a scrawny puppy”. And Peggy had done what she always did, kicked the whore in the shins and ran.

Unfortunately, the wench had been the daughter of a prominent merchant and Peggy had no way to return to her regiment without receiving some manner of revealing punishment. So she bid farewell to her handsome red tunic, wandering west until she came to the sea and a handsome little port town.

There she had spied a stately ship sitting in the harbor, with a tall mast and bonny white sails that looked like a dove’s wing. Once more she dressed in a man’s clothing and let a sailor take her onboard. After that, she had never quite left.

Peggy listened for any sign of the ponderous cart. But it had long rolled away, leaving the street empty and bare but for the straggling civilians who sought to pick up the shattered pieces of their lives.

“Hey ho! You cannot possible be abed!” And the door to her tiny room opened, sending her shooting upright. Gillette leaned against the frame. “We’ve been looking for you, Trimble.”

Horrified, Peggy realized that she had removed the neck cloth used to bind her breasts and lay in naught but her breeches and shirt. She wrapped her arms about herself and rolled over to face the wall. Bile rose up in her throat.

“I’ll have none of this barging in,” she grumbled, praying that Gillette had noticed nothing.

He laughed. “Groves is down by the docks with Norrington. Are you coming along now? Or are you too harried to face James?”

“That’s no business of yours,” she said, trembling with relief. He had seen nothing.

“It is my business.” Peggy heard Gillette’s footsteps on the creaking floorboards as he moved into the room. “You had quite the row with Norrington, quite the-”

“Oh shut it.”

“Cheeky little thing,” Papers shuffled and Peggy dared to look over her shoulder. Gillette was fingering through several unfinished watercolors on the table. “These are new, aren’t they?”

She grimaced as he held one aloft. “I have no talent for it.”

He frowned discerningly and inspected the painting with his keen eyes. “Of course you do, my pet. It is a lovely bird.”

“A tree, actually.”

“That is what I meant.” He laid the parchment back on the table and some of the jollity vanished from his face. “I have been meaning to give you a good talking to.”

Peggy chewed her lower lip nervously and stared at the wall. There was an ugly thumbprint just below the windowsill that looked suspiciously like blood. “What for?”

Gillette cleared his throat. “You should have never lost your temper before Norrington. He prizes a certain amount of control in his officers, which hitherto, you have not displayed.”

Peggy’s stomach flipped over. “And you’re a pillar of stoicism?”

“Peter.”

“The Turner boy deserved it, he’s a whelp.”

“I am not quite sure of that. The lad is an annoyance, but not a-”

“You were quick enough to defend me,” she snapped.

“I had to.”

Peggy shifted her jaw. Gillette was right, he always was. “Let’s not talk this over now, please,” she said. “I have enough of a headache.”

He sighed. “Mind yourself, for my sake.”

“I will.”

“Then I’m going down to the docks. James wants me on the Dauntless. Oh, I hope to God the pirates did little damage.”

“Well then, I will see you shortly.”

But Gillette didn’t move. “You won’t walk me out?”

“No,” Peggy said firmly, her nails digging in her biceps. Once more, she glanced over her shoulder at him.

“You are a funny lad, Peter,” Gillette said with a soft smile. He turned on his heel and moved out into the hall. Peggy waited until the door clicked close before she rose and slid the bolt across.

Then turning to the laundry basket, she began to rifle through the musty smelling clothes. At the bottom, she found a two yellowed neck cloths. One she bound about her brow, ignoring the sting as the stiff material stuck to her broken flesh and the other she wrapped about her chest.

Thank God Gillette had noticed nothing. She smiled. He was like her mother and the way he crooned and clucked over her suggested nothing but a maternal air.

And Theodore Groves was her brother, the renegade, the often not proper man who liked to make her laugh.

What then, was Norrington to her? Ah, Norrington. He was a strange sort of fellow.

Peggy slipped on her jacket and hurried to the door. Downstairs, her landlady, Mrs. Prevost, was shrieking over the state of her sitting room. Peggy groaned, knowing that she would have to come out of hiding sometime soon.

Nausea made her throat contract and she clamped her mouth shut to avoid retching. What if Norrington did reconsider her position? Groves and Gillette would surely speak on her behalf, though Norrington was liable to overlook their protests. He had a stern way about himself sometimes, but oh, she loved him for it.

Peggy straightened, her spine arrow-straight. Love? No, that was too strong a word. She had only loved one man and he was dead.

Norrington was her mentor, yes her mentor and nothing more. Loyalty bound her to him and affection for his kindly ways, but certainly not love. No, never love.

With a sigh, Peggy wrenched open her door and trotted down the stairs. Mrs. Prevost met her about the bottom step, her small, lithe frame beguiling the strength within.

“Have you seen the sitting room?” she asked hotly.

“Nay, ma’am.” Peggy shook her head. “And pardon me for not weeping over your smashed furniture. I’ve more important things to attend to.”

Mrs. Prevost reached out and latched onto Peggy’s wrist. “I only let you board here because you promised me protection.”

“That and several shillings a month. Dammy, I could have me own house, you know. Be happy I abide here.”

“Speaking of which,” Mrs. Prevost paused and squeezed her wrist, “you’re late with the rent.”

“Sorry.” Peggy waved her away. “More important things to attend to.”

“I’ll bring it up with the Commodore, I will!”

Peggy cringed. She didn’t much like causing trouble, especially the sort that turned sharp attention her way. “All right, then,” she said, “all right. I’m going to be honest with you, ma’am. I haven’t got the rent.”

“Spent it all on drink!”

Peggy ignored her, moving into the common room of the small tavern. Broken chairs lay on their sides and a long table was overturned. The windows were all smashed in. Peggy stepped carefully over the glass.

“They broke in?” she asked.

“Aye.” Mrs. Prevost took her broom in hand. “I hid in the cellar. They all ran off though, back to their ship before much damage was done.”

“Sorry,” Peggy repeated, feeling just a touch of guilt.

Mrs. Prevost mumbled to herself.

“Look, I haven’t got the rent like I said.” Peggy placed her hands on her hips and faced Mrs. Prevost. “But I’ll let you go into my room and take the bottle of brandy I keep beneath my bed. Is that fair now, ma’am?”

Mrs. Prevost seemed to consider. “Well, I could use a drink.”

“That’s right!” Peggy clapped her on the back. “Now I’m likely to be off to sea for awhile. If I don’t come back, Lieutenant Gillette gets my sketchbook and watercolors and Lieutenant Groves gets my set of pewter goblets.”

“And Commodore Norrington?” Mrs. Prevost asked, leaning on the long handle of her broom.

Peggy smiled. “He’s to have the gold ring I keep on my person. So don’t go scrounging for it in my room.”

Mrs. Prevost frowned. “And what if all of you die?”

Peggy shrugged. “Then take what you will.”

The notion seemed to please Mrs. Prevost even more. She hummed a little as she swept away the glass, waving absently at Peggy as she strolled out the door and down the street.

Peggy glanced once back at the tavern. The small garden surrounding it was overgrown and weeds poked through the old fence. Inside, Mrs. Prevost began to sing in a high voice and Peggy picked up the tune as she walked down to the docks.

“I'll serve thee in such noble ways was never heard before. I'll crown and deck thee with all bays and love thee more and more.”

****

“Don’t you think you were a bit harsh on him, sir? Just a bit harsh?”

Norrington glanced up at Groves, his brow creasing. “Not at all, Theodore.”

Groves snapped shut the log book in his hands and frowned. “It was a bloody hard night, sir and Peter had the worst of it.”

“I know.” Norrington turned away from his young Lieutenant, his sharp eyes hitting the waves and focusing on the blank horizon. The waterfront was still scorched and sore and shattered after the night’s siege. His sailors scrambled over broken barrels and splintered docks, making haste to prepare for their voyage. It was slow work, Norrington noted with a great sense of dissatisfaction. Very slow work. Who knew what had become of poor Elizabeth already.

Ships smoldered in the harbor, but Norrington was pleased to find both the Dauntless and Interceptor untouched. One he could rely on for power, the other for speed and with any luck they would catch up to the pirates in no time.

Groves took off his hat and wiped his brow with the sleeve of his coat. “I don’t think you should have sent Trimble off at any rate. Poor lad.”

Norrington rolled his shoulders, struggling to ignore the small amount of guilt that gnawed at him. He had been overly harsh with Trimble, though the matter could not be amended now.

“Look, here he comes.” Groves tapped Norrington on the elbow. “Try to act kindly towards him.”

“Are you dictating to me?” Norrington asked with a hint of a smile.

Groves winked and turned back to his business in the log book. Trimble tripped lightly down onto the dock looking more than a little sobered.

“Theodore.” The boy nodded at Groves, then looked to Norrington. “Sir.”

Norrington nodded in return. “You look dreadful.”

“Thank you, sir. Always nice to be greeted with a compliment.”

Norrington cringed inwardly, sensing Trimble’s evident displeasure. Wounded pride ran deep, especially in a man like Trimble.

Norrington cleared his throat. “Will you come here, lad? Come here!”

Trimble obeyed, but with a sour face. Norrington lifted the bandage about his brow and inspected the gash.

“You haven’t had it stitched up?”

“My apologies, sir. I didn’t realize you ordered it so.”

Norrington smoothed the bandage back in place with a frown. “Well, now you are just being saucy.”

Groves stifled a chuckle. Trimble sniffed.

“Again, my apologies sir. I shan’t speak unless requested.”

“Oh God.” Norrington raised his head, his eyes fixed on the serene heavens. “I was overly harsh, Peter, I know that. And I am sorry for scolding you so, but you should have kept a still tongue in your head in front of the blacksmith.”

“He’s offering you an apology, Peter,” Groves said under his breath. “Accept it, please.”

Trimble shifted awkwardly. “All right,” he said softly. “I’m sorry, sir. My conduct was insolent.”

“And now let us never speak of this again,” Groves muttered. “Andrew will be quite pleased to hear that you two have made up. As for me, the constant prattle was pressing upon my nerves.”

“Is Andrew on the Dauntless now?” Trimble asked, raising his sharp, little chin.

Norrington half-turned, pointing to the harbor. “He is-”

“Sir! They’ve taken the Dauntless!”

Norrington wheeled around. Lieutenant Gillette was standing in a longboat, his arms thrashing about wildly like a man possessed.

“Sir!” he screamed, gesturing at the Dauntless. “Sparrow and Turner! They’ve taken the ship!”

“Oh dear,” Trimble said in his shrill voice. “I sincerely hope I am not blamed for this as well.”

The song Peggy sings in the chapter comes from the chorus of the folk song “Montrose”.