FIC: St. Valentine's Day Massacre, Part 7
Title: Valentine's Day Massacre
Style: Prose
Genre: Drama
Words: 575
Prompt: The sacred geometry of chance at cutler_beckett
Rating: R
Length: Drabble
Pairings: Norria and Beckington
Warnings: Sex and Death
Authoress: cassiopaya
Characters: Anamaria, James Norrington, Cutler Beckett, Mercer, Gov. Swann, Estrella, etc.
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Dedication: sunsetdawn20
Notes: This installment is also deadicated tololitalockhart
Part: 7
***
“What do you mean, ‘Housekeeper’?” Anamaria demanded in shock. James had grasped her had and began to lead her from the room as though he was leading her from danger. The last time they had clasped hands, Anamaria was leading him through the back alley’s of Tortuga away from a lurching, drunken mob intent on stringing Norrington up from the rafters.
He did not know his own house the way she knew Tortuga and he stopped dead in a room with no stairs. He turned and paused again, trying to find his way to the back stairs. With a sigh and a scrap of intuition, Anamaria tugged on his hand and lead him to the stairs. James looked sheepish and then took the lead again as he climbed the stairs.
“I need someone I can trust in my own house,” James explained as he led her upstairs to the servants quarters in the attic.
“Trust?” she asked archly. “Trust enough,” James conceded and then opened a door to a room of middling size. Anamaria crossed the threshold and cast her eyes about the room a faint moue of displeasure marring her brow. James fiddled nervously with the edges of his cuffs.
She spun quickly and demanded, “I shall do as I please, yes?” He was taken aback by her fierceness, not expecting to see it, and agreed immediately. Anamaria’s continence melted into a pleased and pleasing smile and she told him, “James Norrington, you have yourself a deal.”
***
Anamaria walked a few paces behind Norrington and as he made his way to the Governor’s Mansion, she slipped down a side path and came to the servant’s entrance. She waited, as James made pleasantries, and then the door was opened and a woman gestured Anamaria inside. She was lovely with dark eyes and dark hair, her face was round like the moon, and her body voluptuous. There was at once an easy air of command and an obsequious briskness about her as she lead Anamaria to the Governor’s private parlor.
She opened the door to find Norrington and Gov. Swann’s heads bent together conspiratorially. When they turned their attention towards them the woman dipped into a courtesy and Anamaria followed with a deeper and more elegant sweep of skirts.
“Ah, Mistress Newman, thank you,” Swann said and then turned his attention to Anamaria, “Come closer, my dear, and let me have a look at you.” There was something patronizing and fatherly about this man, but there was no detectable malice in him. Anamaria sidled forward, as though she were back in her father’s house and wearing the latest Paris fashion modeled off a dressmaker’s doll. It was odd how these great houses always brought out the lady in her and she could be nothing but coquettish and charming.
“Gouverneur Swann, combien je suis heureux que vous m'avez reçu un préavis aussi court,” she said as she held out her hand to him. Flustered, Swann stood up immediately with “Bonjour, Mademoiselle,” and kissed her hand. Sending James a scathing look he said, “Norrington, you did not tell me she was a lady!” He stood abruptly up from his chair and shrugged helplessly at Swann. As he bowed over her hand, Norrington shot a look at her from under his lashes as though to say he had just caught her keeping secrets from him. She winked at James and allowed him to seat her on the sofa.