A Man's Reach: Chapter Five
<-- Chapter Four: The Unbearable Lightness of Being Teddy Groves and Andy Gillette
Needless to say, my night of valedictory passion did not go quite according to plan. Neither in the valedictory sense or the passion sense. When I saw the ships out there I felt a jolt of…. I dunno. Longing. Homesickness. Electricity.
I rushed off into the night, to see if I could just maybe see one that could have been her. I knelt in the sand and waited and looked and eventually the sound of the cannons died back and the fleet turned away.
I had no-where else to go and nothing to else to do. I went back to Norrington’s and sat in the window; was still there when he came home. He knocked on the door- in his own home, bless ‘im. He put his arm around me and squeezed my shoulder as I shook, not crying, I’m not the crying sort, just brimming over with a kind of nervous energy. He smelt of gunpowder and that dust the aristos put in their wigs, but also of soap and body and it was a comforting, real smell. I didn’t ask him to stay though. The moment had passed.
I must have fallen asleep cross-legged in the open window, cos I woke up with morning dew on my face and a seagull staring crazy-eyed at me from the sill.
“Piss off, you.”
It cackled and wheeled away, and I thought “There’s an omen if ever there was one.” But if it was a good one or a bad one I couldn’t tell. Just generally ominous.
James had gone, but there was tea, again, with a new note, and a blanket had been wrapped around my legs.
Jack,
I am at the fort. Will not be back ‘til late. Mr. and Mrs Higgs, and Mr. Hawkins will be back around nine o’clock. Either make yourself scarce or come up with some sort of alibi.
If you have to explain yourself to them before I return, I would be very grateful if you would do so in a way that doesn’t incriminate me, or cause them to resign.
James
P.s. I’m serious. Don’t upset the staff. They’ve been very good to me, and I couldn’t replace them.
Pompous arse.
Now, chaps and chapesses, I’m afraid, Jack has been playing the part of the Unreliable Narrator. I have been deliberately with holding information from you good people, mainly because the story is not quite straight in my head, but seeing as I’m here, and it’s now, and I’d better work out what I’m going to tell Norrington, who is, I’m sure you’ll agree, far more terrifying than any of you lot, I’ll use you as practise. You don’t mind if I walk while we talk, hey? Goodo. Don’t really fancy meeting them servants just yet.
So, right. Let’s start with the distant past. Twelve years, fifty one weeks and six days ago, I, a spry twenty- something, got in a spot of bother, while, aheh, freelancing for His Majesty’s esteemed naval services. It involved Spanish prisons, and somebody’s daughter. And her brother. And a series of documents of a politically sensitive nature. You know. Innocent stuff, which totally did not warrant the kicking I got given by the guards. Or the interrogation. Or the certain knowledge that I was going to be garrotted at some point and there wasn’t a damn thing I could do about it. It was going to be an ignominious end to what had so far been a fairly glorious career.
So when a sleek guy wearing a nifty uniform leant against the bars and told me he could get me out, obviously I took him up on the offer. I’d have been mad not to. I mean, yes, I thought it was a little odd that his eyes hadn’t got irises or whites, being just like globes of black marble, and that his teeth had something of the tiger about them, but those are not, in themselves, direct indicators of inherent evil and out to conscript as many bodies as possible in his….*ahem* yes. More on that later. What I’m saying is: It takes all sorts to make a world and I’m not one to judge a man on how he looks, and besides he was friendly enough. Extremely friendly.
“John Smith!”
This not actually being my name, it took me a while to realise that the caller who was calling was calling me. However, when whoever it was caught up with me and tugged my sleeve I was forced to take note.
I turned, smiled warily, made a small bow, “Miss Swann.”
Her smile was positively coy, and presented me with her left hand, “Mrs Turner, in fact.”
I was surprised, to be honest, I hadn’t expected it to work out. None of my loves-of-my-life-who-I’d-die-for ever did. But I suppose I’m not entirely representative. “My congratulations.”
I found myself pinioned against her side as she took my arm and walked with me. She leant against my shoulder and whispered, “There’s a very funny looking man following you, Jack. No, don’t turn around. Please just play along.”
Our route took us to the posh end of the docks, to an elegant town house, likely not standing twenty years.
The new Mrs. Turner made no mention of the “funny looking man” on entering her home, nor did she straight away ask me what brought me to her town, but showed me through to the drawing room and rang the bell for tea, as though I were a frequent visitor.
I gazed around the room, and its expensive furnishings, “Lot of demand for swords and gates in these parts then?” Elizabeth frowned,
“As a matter of fact, this is my house. My mother left me money for after I married. But, certainly, Will is no pauper.”
I shook my head, “Of course not. Skilled man such as him.”
She gave me a look, “The smithy came into his possession, and some very important people came to hear of his talents.” Pride and love filled each vowel. Nauseating, yeah?
I held up my hands, “Never said they didn’t, love.” Her defensiveness left me thining just how they’d heard. To be sure, Will was a fine blacksmith. But many smiths are, and there is still, even in these suspicious days, a fashion among the rich for Toledo blades.
“There’s no pride lost in a friend recommending your husband to other friends of his. It is how trade works.”
I’m sharp sometimes, “Commodore Norrington is very good to his friends, I’m sure. He seems the type.”
She looked apologetic, “I know there’s no love lost between the two of you,” I almost laughed, remembering James’ hands inside m’shirt. I crossed my legs.
“He’s been very kind, and so gracious given the circumstances; he’s like you. A good, fine man.” Can’t argue with that . Fine man indeed. “Will had to be seen to be more than ‘just a smith’ and James’ friendship as certainly helped, particularly with the Society side of things. Business has never been better. They really seem to get along, too.”
I made a general gesture of acceptance, “You two were never really pirates.”
The maid brought in the tea, we thanked her, she smiled, curtseyed, left. As Elizabeth drank, I got a chance to look at her. She looked pretty and happy and I wondered just what she was doing that made her seem less inclined to the roaming. Hopefully not growing some kind of Turner-spawn. That would be a right let down; for her just to settle down and become like every other member of the lower aristocracy of her sex.
Just as I was about to mention her apparent contentedness, we heard this:
“…Yes, but you didn’t see his face. The smug bastard… Oh, I beg your pardon miss...what I mean is, I just wish I could do something about them!”
Elizabeth’s eyes went wide, “That’s James...damn! Hide, idiot!”
For the show of things, I hid behind one of the curtains. Didn’t want her to suspect nowt, did I?