On the First Day of Christmas...
Merry Christmas to all! The Twelve Days of Christmas at blackpearlsails has officially begun. For my gift to you, I am finally going to finish a story I began back in 2008, Bath Holiday, which is part of my post-CotBP Jack/Elizabeth universe. Crazy busy as I have been these last few weeks, I only have the repeat and update of chapter one (basically the same thing I posted in '08, except that Elizabeth's aunt's name has been changed to avoid confusion with a character in the Harry & the Pirate stories) and a brand new chapter two here, but the two remaining chapters will be posted during the coming week. It starts out with quite a bit of angst, as some of you may recall, but you know how I like happy endings. ;)
Many thanks to hereswith for editing Chapter Two on Christmas Day! And without further ado...
~ Bath Holiday ~
Chapter One: Life and Death
1 ~
Jack slipped the heavy gold ring onto her finger.
"No!" Elizabeth tried to jerk her hand away. "I thought we'd agreed--" But then she gasped in pain, again, and curled onto her side with a soft moan.
"Easy, darlin’,” he soothed, though in desperate need of soothing himself. “Doctor’ll be here soon. But I'll not have some petit bourgeois sawbones servin' you sauce with his physick. Young unmarried ladies of quality don’t jaunter about the countryside unchaparoned."
“I’m a widow!”
“You’re four and twenty, and barely look it.”
“But… my aunt--"
"-is in Bath, not here. You can spit in the world’s eye when we’ve arrived and you’re under her protection. Trust me for once, all right?"
He kissed the cold fingers, and her eyes filled, then overflowed. She whispered, “Jack… I’m sorry. You must wish me at the devil.”
“Don’t be-“
“Jack!” Ana burst in, face set. “Doctor’s here, the landlady’s bringin’ ‘im up.”
“Right.” He turned back to his stricken lover - his love - and tried to smile. “Steady as she goes, eh?”
“Don’t leave me!” The fingers gripped, now.
“I won’t.”
2 ~
In the event, he did leave her, shoo'd out by Ana and the landlady, the sight of so much blood -- far too much, he thought -- and by the doctor's words, matter-of-fact, slicing like knives: "A miscarriage, I'm afraid. Your first, I take it?"
Elizabeth had gaped, speechless, and then her eyes sought Jack's.
A child. Their child.
But the tide of events intervened, another wave of cramping pain taking her, the landlady's bulk blocking Jack's view, and Ana grimly taking his arm, hauling him away.
"There's nothing you can do here, Jack, and she won't thank you for staying. Go down to the taproom and have a drink or three. "
And he was out in the hall, the door shutting firmly in his face.
She won't thank you.
He descended the stairs as in a strong gale, and made his way to the taproom. The landlord took one look at him and poured the rum - the good stuff. Jack tossed it back without a second's hesitation, held the tankard out for more and repeated the procedure.
"All right, there?" asked the landlord, with a worried brow.
"Better," Jack lied, though the warmth of the liquor was already seeping through him. "Thanks, mate."
3 ~
The landlord tucked Jack into a quiet corner table, leaving him to keep company with a tankard, the remainder of the Good Stuff, and his flailing brain.
She won't thank you.
For seeing her laid out and helpless with a woman's lot? For being the cause of it in the first place?
Ana was probably right.
Although, Anamaria wasn't his Lizzie.
His Lizzie. That was the game they'd been playing.
And what makes you think I’m yours, Pirate?
He mentally shoved her old question aside and found himself wondering what the devil was happening up there. Thinking he should have stayed.
She won't thank you.
Swann wouldn't thank him either, he'd be bound. Jack gave a mirthless snort at the mere idea of informing the governor precisely what sort of succor had been offered his treasured daughter aboard the Black Pearl these last months. Abandoning her skirts for breeches, bare feet, and hours spent precariously aloft; unsanctioned activities leading to mayhem and incarceration in the Canaries; a pitched battle with corsairs and a deep cut that would ever mar her beautiful shoulder; a week of stormy Biscayan weather that had kept her cabinbound and him exhausted, eager as she was to practice the skills in advanced sexual congress she'd absorbed these many weeks under his tutelage; and now, with child by her erstwhile protector.
Lord, he should thank God fasting for what was going forth upstairs.
Except he wasn't.
He threw off his brooding mood with a curse and got to his feet. If he couldn't have the sea, and his Pearl, left snugly anchored in Portsmouth, at least he could get some fresh air.
4 ~
The night was cold and still and full-moon-bright, redolent of wood smoke and a hint of stable.
Jack wrinkled his nose a bit as he walked.
They were much too far from the sea. Halfway between Portsmouth and Bath. Silly place for a pirate captain -- but Jack wasn't playing that part just now. Gentleman Privateer he was -- his hair ornaments and eyeblack left behind in the Pearl's Great Cabin, a nice selection of purloined finery, the latest stuff from France, in his capacious portmanteau -- and on holiday, providing a suitable escort for Elizabeth on her visit to "Aunt Min" -- Minerva Swann, widow of Weatherby's deceased brother.
Jack frowned. He'd told Swann he'd be glad to do this, but that was months ago. Now that the time was at hand, he found himself fidgeting over the task, and he wasn't sure Elizabeth was entirely happy, either -- though that might have been due to... her situation.
He swore, softly, again. How long had she been feeling poorly? She hadn't said anything, though she hadn't been eating much, these last two weeks, and she'd been awfully quiet when they'd disembarked.
Very unlike her.
Vivid pictures of her danced through his brain, her smiles, her laughter, the banked fire in her eyes after they'd made love, the unrepentant twinkle that belied her solemnity when he scolded, that flash when she was angry. She was rare and precious, and a pack of trouble, and he was very much afraid he'd henceforth be dead bored without her.
Nothing for it, then. A bored Sparrow is dangerous thing, James told him once -- he could hear that wry drawl now. And Jack had to admit, it was no more than the truth.
But a child! That had knocked him acock. Elizabeth, too. What the devil had been amiss that she'd never conceived when Will was alive? He'd swear there'd been plenty of opportunity, they'd always been a loving pair, and a girl didn't acquire that kind of enthusiasm through lack of happy experience.
He trained his thoughts on particular instances of her enthusiasm as his feet took him slowly round the yard, then out the gate and onto the road, where he stopped short. The hills stretched away all around the inn, for the bloody place was in the middle of nowhere, seemingly, but there were trees in lines along the post road and in the moonshadows was a slight figure hurrying , a chit of a girl it looked like, wrapped in a thin shawl against this bitter cold, carrying a large basket, and weeping -- he could see the silvery tracks of tears on her cheeks as she looked up at him in startlement.
Not good.
5 ~
"You all right?" Jack called out, warily.
The girl gripped the handle of her basket tighter. "Y-yes. Thank you. I'm f-fine." And then was unsuccessful in stifling a convulsive sob.
He sighed with a roll of his eyes. And just then heard another sound. Mewing. From the basket.
"Cats?" he asked with a wave, as she drew closer.
She clutched the basket protectively with her other arm, now. "N-no. K-kittens. My kittens!" She hurried past.
Jack had a shrewd idea what had prompted this vehemence. Life and death, again. He argued with himself briefly, but, as happened all too often, the less logical half won. So he said, before she was out of earshot, "You keeping all of 'em? I could use a cat. Kitten."
She stopped, turned back, uncertain. "You c-could?"
He walked toward her. "Bein' a sea captain, I like cats, if they earn their keep."
She stood staring as he approached, frightened, but wanting to trust him. Finally she blurted, "My brother was going to drown them! But he shan't!" This last was pretty fierce, but then she dissolved into hiccuping sobs of despair.
Lord.
"Here," he said, taking out his handkerchief and trading her for the basket. She complied with little resistance. The tempest was, thankfully, brief. She blew her nose, and as she dabbed at the tears with the edge of the wipe, he said to her, "What you need is a drink."
She peered up with startled eyes.
"I daresay the landlady -- or one of her crew, she was busy last time I saw her." He frowned, distracted by reality for a moment. But he pulled himself together. This was real, too, after all. "I daresay someone in this fine establishment would give you a toddy. You can drink it by the fire in the kitchen, and we'll have a bit of a parlay. What say you to that?"
She gaped for a moment, then said, "Thank you! You're very nice!"
He scowled. "Come on," he said, gruffly, and, the basket slung over his arm, led the way.
6 ~
The landlady met them at the door. "There you are! Your lady wife was asking for you, sir," she said, with an accusing look at Jack. Then it was, "Lawks! What've we here? Jane Woodman, what are you doing out at this time of night? Your mother'll be taken with an apoplexy, worrying over you!"
Jack didn't stay to hear the rest of Jane's scold, taking the stairs two at a time and rushing to the closed door of the room. He was just wondering whether he should knock, or just go in, when it opened to emit the doctor.
"There you are. She was asking for you. Getting rather upset."
Jack swore.
The doctor went on. "She'll be all right. I've given her some laudanum, just to help her rest tonight."
"She's..." Jack cleared his throat. "She's lost it?"
"Yes, not long after you left." The doctor frowned, looking at Jack through narrowed eyes. "You didn't know, did you?"
"I... no."
The man cracked a slight smile, finally. "Well, well. You new husbands are all alike. Not to worry. She's young and strong. There'll be others. She'll be fit as a fiddle in a no time. She was only a few weeks along. I've left instructions with her maid. She should be ready to travel again by Thursday, though I don't recommend bedding her for at least a month. I'll come by to check on her tomorrow. But there's nothing to worry about."
Jack nodded, and suddenly bethought him of fees. "What do I owe you?" he said, patting his pockets, and realizing he'd left his purse in the room.
But the doctor said, "We'll settle it tomorrow. Go in and see her now." And he opened the door for Jack.
7 ~
Ana was scowling, but her expression lightened when she saw him. "There you are! I'm glad you're back. She's--"
"--been asking, I know," Jack snapped.
Elizabeth's eyes were closed, and she looked very thin and pale in the big bed.
Ana said, rather gently, "She'll do, Jack. I'll just go downstairs and you can sit with her for a while."
Jack nodded, and went to the bed, but said to Ana before she left, "Take care of Jane and the kittens, all right? I'll be down in a bit."
"Jane and the kittens?" Ana repeated, blankly.
"Embryonic ship's cats. You'll see." Jack waved her out.
"Kittens?" Elizabeth opened sleepy eyes.
Jack came and sat down next to her carefully. "How do you feel?"
"Devilish," she said, and groped for his hand. He took hers up and squeezed it. Tears glistened in her lovely eyes. "I'm sorry," she whispered.
"Nothing to be sorry for," he said gruffly. "At least...." But grief scrambled his thoughts, so after a moment he just kissed her hand, then, when her tears overflowed, embraced her. "Hush, sweeting, they'll murder me for upsetting you again."
She chuckled, sadly, and he let her go. She sniffed, and then said, "What's this about kittens?"
"Basket of 'em. Jane's brother was going to drown 'em, but he shan't -- or so says Jane. She was running away, I believe. The landlady knows her."
"Drown them! Oh, no. Will you bring me one?"
"Make you feel better?" Jack smiled. Elizabeth nodded, sleepily. "Wait here, then. I'll bring you the best of the lot."
*
Five minutes later, she was drifting off, a plump, grey kitten curled snug asleep, against her neck.
"Ship's cat, see?" murmured Jack. "Knows his duty already."
The ghost of a smile touched her lips.
Chapter Two: A Lack of Communication
1 ~
Elizabeth was pretending to be as somnolent as the grey kitten on her lap. Eyes closed, she swayed gently in the corner of the well-sprung carriage as they drove through the wintery English countryside on the final leg of the journey from Portsmouth to Bath. From the Black Pearl to an elegant townhouse in Green Street. From Captain Jack Sparrow to her Aunt Minerva.
Elizabeth's lip trembled and she firmed it immediately. It would not do. The irresponsible behavior--the idyll she had shared with Jack-- must become a thing of the past. Neither of them had bargained for the mundane, yet in this case so extraordinary, outcome of their illicit love: a child. The dream Elizabeth had been living since the Black Pearl had set sail from Port Royal must end. She was a widow of gentle birth, of good family, an heiress, and since she now knew that she was capable of carrying on a line of descent, she must act responsibly in doing so.
She wondered how she would bear it.
These last months… how her time with Jack on the Black Pearl had eased the pain of Will's death. The days and days of sun and sea, thrilling adventure always on the horizon; the nights of laughter and love - thrilling adventure in themselves! As much as she had appreciated Jack for the last five years, pirate, good man, and friend, she now knew he was more, so much more than she'd ever realized.
But he was not made to be a husband or father. Concern and sympathy she'd sensed from him these last days, but along with them had come a sort of horrified reluctance to speak of what had happened. She didn't blame him! She felt the same, to a degree. Yet she could not help but wonder if he felt anything at all for the child they had lost, save relief that it had passed away.
After five years of marriage, she had thought herself resigned to being childless, but this incident had opened her eyes. If the baby had lived... ah, what joy to have had a child. Jack's child.
But it had not lived, and though she would not devalue that small spark of life by saying it was all for the best, she knew she should be glad that she would not be forcing Jack into such an undesired role.
And she could move on. Find someone else, someone more... suitable.
Someone who was not her piratical, heroic, amusing, fascinating, beloved Captain Jack Sparrow.
*
Jack watched his erstwhile lover, swaying in the corner of the carriage, pretending to be asleep.
Elizabeth. His Lizzie.
Mother of his child.
She had held up remarkably well. No vapors, no blue devils. No mention at all of the small life that’d been lost.
The latter point affected him most strangely.
It was absurd, of course, to think of himself as a husband and father - for that’s what it would have come to, if the child had lived. Provided she would have had him.
But no doubt she thought it absurd, too. Mrs. Captain Jack Sparrow. Ha!
Probably thanking her lucky stars for a fortunate escape, as surely he should be.
The trouble was, he wasn’t. This wasn’t relief he was feeling, not by a long chalk.
Felt more like… grief.
2 ~
“Oh, merciful Heaven!” exclaimed Minerva Swann, trundling down the staircase in her robe and slippers, aware that her eyes were nearly starting from their sockets and quite unable to help it. “Elizabeth!”
She might not have recognized the young woman before her, so tall and graceful, save that the lovely smile was the same.
Elizabeth held out her hands and said, “I would ask how do you do, but I can see you’re well - unchanged!”
“Nonsense,” Minerva said, fondly, brushing the hands aside and embracing her niece. Ah, she was pale, poor lamb, and there was a certain gravity in the clear gaze, both evidence of Elizabeth’s loss. Minerva felt the slender shoulders tremble a little and petted and soothed for a moment. One knew what it was to be a widow, after all.
But then Elizabeth gave a watery chuckle. “Indeed, Aunt, I’m fine, and must introduce you to… to my friend.” And she gestured toward the young man lingering by the door.
Or was he young? Minerva eyed him curiously, and with a growing realization that he was something out of the ordinary. Very much so.
He came forward as Elizabeth made the introduction - “Aunt, this is Captain Jack Sparrow. Captain Sparrow, my aunt, Minerva Swann” - and he bowed over Minerva’s hand. “Happy to meet you, ma’am.”
Minerva blinked, staring as the captain straightened, then felt her cheeks heat as a smirk curved his lips. Obviously he was fully aware of the effect he had upon the weaker sex.
Minerva cleared her throat and curtsied coolly. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Captain. My brother-in-law has mentioned you in his letters. I understand you once saved Elizabeth’s life.”
“More than once,” Elizabeth said, rather quietly, and Minerva then observed the glance the two exchanged. Oh! Oh dear!
“Indeed?” said Minerva, agitated. She composed herself and said to the captain, “There are not words enough to express my thanks for preserving the life of my dear niece. I understand, too, that you have carried an English letter of marque these many years. How good of you to take so much time away from your important duties to bring Elizabeth here to me. Will you be staying long in England?”
The captain looked less than happy at this. “It depends. On a number of things. I’ve some business in London and Portsmouth, for a start-“
“Well, you must come to us for Christmas,” Minerva said, secretly hoping he would do no such thing. “It’s in less than a fortnight! I give a delightful party on Christmas Eve, almost a ball, for I clear the gallery upstairs and hire musicians, best to be had. And of course there will be dinner, with all manner of treats. A grand occasion to present my niece.”
“I’m sure,” the captain said, smiling faintly.
“Aunt Min-“ Elizabeth turned, frowning.
But Minerva said quickly, “Now, Elizabeth, you look fagged to death, in spite of your beauty, and after that long drive today it’s no wonder.”
“I’m sorry we arrived so late-“
“Not at all, not at all,” Minerva exclaimed. “But come, bid the captain good night and I’ll take you upstairs. We’ll have you tucked into bed in a trice.”
“But… Jack!” And Elizabeth turned to the captain.
“No, love-Eliz-Mrs. Turner,” Captain Sparrow said firmly, though his eyes… oh, dear, Minerva thought again. “You rest. I’ll see you in the morning - if I may call?” This last to Minerva.
“Of course, my dear sir. But not too early, mind.”
“You’re not staying with us?” Elizabeth said, sharply. “Aunt-“
But the captain broke in again. “No, I’ll be lodging at the Royal George. No worries. I’ll see you tomorrow.” He bowed, then let himself out as Minerva’s footman entered, carrying Elizabeth’s bags.
3 ~
The golden light of a snowy winter dawn woke her, along with a tiny gray paw patting her cheek.
“You darling!” she chuckled, and drew the kitten under the warm blanket to cuddle. However, the fire, banked for the night, had been brought to life once more by some carefully quiet hand. As the room grew warmer, the kitten grew restless and presently indicated that a dish of cream would not come amiss.
Elizabeth rose and peeped out the draped window, taking in the frosty scene, and immediately thinking how very much Jack would dislike this cold. Memory and a nagging anxiety instantly returned to plague her as she began her morning toilette, but the coming of Aunt Min’s dresser, Mrs. Pierce, forced her to adopt a cheerful mien, and she found it was more or less unfeigned by the time she was descending the stairs.
It was not to last.
“A note, for you, ma’am,” said the footman, with a bow, “Sent round from the Royal George.” He held out the salver with the note upon it, and Elizabeth hesitated, as though it might burn, for she recognized at once the elegant, spidery hand directing it to Mrs. Turner.
It did burn, though not as badly as it might have, for it was Jack’s voice, friend and lover.
Elizabeth -
The devil’s in it, but word has come from Portsmouth that there’s some plaguey nonsense about the Pearl’s status as a letter of marque. Leaving by the mail coach at first light as it’s said to have the best chance of getting through - the snow’s uncommon thick. I’ll return, or send word. You enjoy your visit.
Yours, as ever.
Jack
Visit. Only a visit. She breathed a sigh of relief, then, and realized she’d been holding her breath. He wasn’t leaving her, it was only a visit.
“Good morning, my dear,” said Aunt Min, bustling in from the direction of the morning room. “Is that a note from the captain?”
“Good morning!” Elizabeth said, with a smile. “Yes, it’s from Jack. He’s had to go back to Portsmouth on business to do with his letter of marque, but he assures me he’ll be back as soon as he can manage it.”
Aunt Min clucked, saying, “Oh, gracious! And the snow lying thick on all the roads. Dreadful weather, I’ve not seen it like this in years. But Elizabeth, my love, do you really think you should refer to the captain by his Christian name? Don’t you think it might encourage untoward familiarity?”
Elizabeth opened her mouth, shut it again as she thought of the many intimate moments in which she’d whispered… murmured… called…cried that name in the last six months. “Yes, aunt,” she finally said, meekly, feeling inclined to laugh… and weep.
4 ~
Jack was swearing a blue streak as he left the port admiral’s office and headed back to the Pearl. After an unconscionably long journey, in which he’d seen more snow fall than he’d thought possible in this part of England, he’d arrived in Portsmouth to find the authorities ready to lock up half his crew. Upon investigation it seemed they’d done little more to offend than any sailor would do on shore leave, but because of the Pearl’s history, and her people’s status as privateers, these sins had put them beyond the pale.
Actually he’d warned the Pearls that this would be the case if they didn’t keep civil.
But when the cat’s away, mice will get up to all sorts of egregious mischief, and Jack now found himself angry at his crew, at the unreasonable and condescending manner of the port admiral and his minions, at the weather (coming on to blow, with freezing rain beginning to spit), and at life in general.
What he wouldn’t have given to be whisked away to a tropical clime, accompanied solely by darling Lizzie.
Elizabeth.
He ducked into one of the better public houses near the waterfront, a cozy looking place, shooed away a couple of shabby “Portsmouth brutes” (summoning enough charm to avoid giving them offense), and ordered hot punch, paper, pen and ink.
Elizabeth -
I hope this finds you well. I’m here in Portsmouth, but find that the Pearl’s outstayed her welcome already and we’ll be obliged to move the ship up to Bristol. This has the advantage of being closer to Bath, but I fear beating North in this weather is going to be a lengthy and difficult adventure. I’m rather glad you’re safe and warm there with your aunt, and won’t have to listen to the profanity that’s sure to arise in short order, for it’s mainly the crew’s misbehavior that’s set all this inconvenience in motion. I mean to take it out of their hides by laying on regardless, or as much sail as the Pearl will take at least.
Keep a weather eye peeled, and you’ll see me before you know it.
Jack
5 ~
The day after the Pearl weighed anchor for Bristol, there was a surprisingly messy accident on the road going north from Portsmouth. The mail coach overturned into a deep ditch, severely damaging the vehicle and breaking the leg of the driver. The few passengers were lucky enough to be uninjured, but they had all they could do to keep themselves and the driver warm and in what comfort could be managed until help arrived.
In the anxiety and confusion, they gave no thought to the mail, which in any case was now soaked and ruined, the bag having burst open in the fall. There had been a brief, inconvenient thaw earlier that morning and business letters, personal correspondence, and holiday parcels lay strewn over the slushy landscape, including one particular missive addressed in an elegant, spidery script…
Mrs. Elizabeth Turner
c/o Mrs. Minerva Swann
12A Green Street
Bath
~ To Be Continued…
Many thanks to hereswith for editing Chapter Two on Christmas Day! And without further ado...
~ Bath Holiday ~
Chapter One: Life and Death
1 ~
Jack slipped the heavy gold ring onto her finger.
"No!" Elizabeth tried to jerk her hand away. "I thought we'd agreed--" But then she gasped in pain, again, and curled onto her side with a soft moan.
"Easy, darlin’,” he soothed, though in desperate need of soothing himself. “Doctor’ll be here soon. But I'll not have some petit bourgeois sawbones servin' you sauce with his physick. Young unmarried ladies of quality don’t jaunter about the countryside unchaparoned."
“I’m a widow!”
“You’re four and twenty, and barely look it.”
“But… my aunt--"
"-is in Bath, not here. You can spit in the world’s eye when we’ve arrived and you’re under her protection. Trust me for once, all right?"
He kissed the cold fingers, and her eyes filled, then overflowed. She whispered, “Jack… I’m sorry. You must wish me at the devil.”
“Don’t be-“
“Jack!” Ana burst in, face set. “Doctor’s here, the landlady’s bringin’ ‘im up.”
“Right.” He turned back to his stricken lover - his love - and tried to smile. “Steady as she goes, eh?”
“Don’t leave me!” The fingers gripped, now.
“I won’t.”
2 ~
In the event, he did leave her, shoo'd out by Ana and the landlady, the sight of so much blood -- far too much, he thought -- and by the doctor's words, matter-of-fact, slicing like knives: "A miscarriage, I'm afraid. Your first, I take it?"
Elizabeth had gaped, speechless, and then her eyes sought Jack's.
A child. Their child.
But the tide of events intervened, another wave of cramping pain taking her, the landlady's bulk blocking Jack's view, and Ana grimly taking his arm, hauling him away.
"There's nothing you can do here, Jack, and she won't thank you for staying. Go down to the taproom and have a drink or three. "
And he was out in the hall, the door shutting firmly in his face.
She won't thank you.
He descended the stairs as in a strong gale, and made his way to the taproom. The landlord took one look at him and poured the rum - the good stuff. Jack tossed it back without a second's hesitation, held the tankard out for more and repeated the procedure.
"All right, there?" asked the landlord, with a worried brow.
"Better," Jack lied, though the warmth of the liquor was already seeping through him. "Thanks, mate."
3 ~
The landlord tucked Jack into a quiet corner table, leaving him to keep company with a tankard, the remainder of the Good Stuff, and his flailing brain.
She won't thank you.
For seeing her laid out and helpless with a woman's lot? For being the cause of it in the first place?
Ana was probably right.
Although, Anamaria wasn't his Lizzie.
His Lizzie. That was the game they'd been playing.
And what makes you think I’m yours, Pirate?
He mentally shoved her old question aside and found himself wondering what the devil was happening up there. Thinking he should have stayed.
She won't thank you.
Swann wouldn't thank him either, he'd be bound. Jack gave a mirthless snort at the mere idea of informing the governor precisely what sort of succor had been offered his treasured daughter aboard the Black Pearl these last months. Abandoning her skirts for breeches, bare feet, and hours spent precariously aloft; unsanctioned activities leading to mayhem and incarceration in the Canaries; a pitched battle with corsairs and a deep cut that would ever mar her beautiful shoulder; a week of stormy Biscayan weather that had kept her cabinbound and him exhausted, eager as she was to practice the skills in advanced sexual congress she'd absorbed these many weeks under his tutelage; and now, with child by her erstwhile protector.
Lord, he should thank God fasting for what was going forth upstairs.
Except he wasn't.
He threw off his brooding mood with a curse and got to his feet. If he couldn't have the sea, and his Pearl, left snugly anchored in Portsmouth, at least he could get some fresh air.
4 ~
The night was cold and still and full-moon-bright, redolent of wood smoke and a hint of stable.
Jack wrinkled his nose a bit as he walked.
They were much too far from the sea. Halfway between Portsmouth and Bath. Silly place for a pirate captain -- but Jack wasn't playing that part just now. Gentleman Privateer he was -- his hair ornaments and eyeblack left behind in the Pearl's Great Cabin, a nice selection of purloined finery, the latest stuff from France, in his capacious portmanteau -- and on holiday, providing a suitable escort for Elizabeth on her visit to "Aunt Min" -- Minerva Swann, widow of Weatherby's deceased brother.
Jack frowned. He'd told Swann he'd be glad to do this, but that was months ago. Now that the time was at hand, he found himself fidgeting over the task, and he wasn't sure Elizabeth was entirely happy, either -- though that might have been due to... her situation.
He swore, softly, again. How long had she been feeling poorly? She hadn't said anything, though she hadn't been eating much, these last two weeks, and she'd been awfully quiet when they'd disembarked.
Very unlike her.
Vivid pictures of her danced through his brain, her smiles, her laughter, the banked fire in her eyes after they'd made love, the unrepentant twinkle that belied her solemnity when he scolded, that flash when she was angry. She was rare and precious, and a pack of trouble, and he was very much afraid he'd henceforth be dead bored without her.
Nothing for it, then. A bored Sparrow is dangerous thing, James told him once -- he could hear that wry drawl now. And Jack had to admit, it was no more than the truth.
But a child! That had knocked him acock. Elizabeth, too. What the devil had been amiss that she'd never conceived when Will was alive? He'd swear there'd been plenty of opportunity, they'd always been a loving pair, and a girl didn't acquire that kind of enthusiasm through lack of happy experience.
He trained his thoughts on particular instances of her enthusiasm as his feet took him slowly round the yard, then out the gate and onto the road, where he stopped short. The hills stretched away all around the inn, for the bloody place was in the middle of nowhere, seemingly, but there were trees in lines along the post road and in the moonshadows was a slight figure hurrying , a chit of a girl it looked like, wrapped in a thin shawl against this bitter cold, carrying a large basket, and weeping -- he could see the silvery tracks of tears on her cheeks as she looked up at him in startlement.
Not good.
5 ~
"You all right?" Jack called out, warily.
The girl gripped the handle of her basket tighter. "Y-yes. Thank you. I'm f-fine." And then was unsuccessful in stifling a convulsive sob.
He sighed with a roll of his eyes. And just then heard another sound. Mewing. From the basket.
"Cats?" he asked with a wave, as she drew closer.
She clutched the basket protectively with her other arm, now. "N-no. K-kittens. My kittens!" She hurried past.
Jack had a shrewd idea what had prompted this vehemence. Life and death, again. He argued with himself briefly, but, as happened all too often, the less logical half won. So he said, before she was out of earshot, "You keeping all of 'em? I could use a cat. Kitten."
She stopped, turned back, uncertain. "You c-could?"
He walked toward her. "Bein' a sea captain, I like cats, if they earn their keep."
She stood staring as he approached, frightened, but wanting to trust him. Finally she blurted, "My brother was going to drown them! But he shan't!" This last was pretty fierce, but then she dissolved into hiccuping sobs of despair.
Lord.
"Here," he said, taking out his handkerchief and trading her for the basket. She complied with little resistance. The tempest was, thankfully, brief. She blew her nose, and as she dabbed at the tears with the edge of the wipe, he said to her, "What you need is a drink."
She peered up with startled eyes.
"I daresay the landlady -- or one of her crew, she was busy last time I saw her." He frowned, distracted by reality for a moment. But he pulled himself together. This was real, too, after all. "I daresay someone in this fine establishment would give you a toddy. You can drink it by the fire in the kitchen, and we'll have a bit of a parlay. What say you to that?"
She gaped for a moment, then said, "Thank you! You're very nice!"
He scowled. "Come on," he said, gruffly, and, the basket slung over his arm, led the way.
6 ~
The landlady met them at the door. "There you are! Your lady wife was asking for you, sir," she said, with an accusing look at Jack. Then it was, "Lawks! What've we here? Jane Woodman, what are you doing out at this time of night? Your mother'll be taken with an apoplexy, worrying over you!"
Jack didn't stay to hear the rest of Jane's scold, taking the stairs two at a time and rushing to the closed door of the room. He was just wondering whether he should knock, or just go in, when it opened to emit the doctor.
"There you are. She was asking for you. Getting rather upset."
Jack swore.
The doctor went on. "She'll be all right. I've given her some laudanum, just to help her rest tonight."
"She's..." Jack cleared his throat. "She's lost it?"
"Yes, not long after you left." The doctor frowned, looking at Jack through narrowed eyes. "You didn't know, did you?"
"I... no."
The man cracked a slight smile, finally. "Well, well. You new husbands are all alike. Not to worry. She's young and strong. There'll be others. She'll be fit as a fiddle in a no time. She was only a few weeks along. I've left instructions with her maid. She should be ready to travel again by Thursday, though I don't recommend bedding her for at least a month. I'll come by to check on her tomorrow. But there's nothing to worry about."
Jack nodded, and suddenly bethought him of fees. "What do I owe you?" he said, patting his pockets, and realizing he'd left his purse in the room.
But the doctor said, "We'll settle it tomorrow. Go in and see her now." And he opened the door for Jack.
7 ~
Ana was scowling, but her expression lightened when she saw him. "There you are! I'm glad you're back. She's--"
"--been asking, I know," Jack snapped.
Elizabeth's eyes were closed, and she looked very thin and pale in the big bed.
Ana said, rather gently, "She'll do, Jack. I'll just go downstairs and you can sit with her for a while."
Jack nodded, and went to the bed, but said to Ana before she left, "Take care of Jane and the kittens, all right? I'll be down in a bit."
"Jane and the kittens?" Ana repeated, blankly.
"Embryonic ship's cats. You'll see." Jack waved her out.
"Kittens?" Elizabeth opened sleepy eyes.
Jack came and sat down next to her carefully. "How do you feel?"
"Devilish," she said, and groped for his hand. He took hers up and squeezed it. Tears glistened in her lovely eyes. "I'm sorry," she whispered.
"Nothing to be sorry for," he said gruffly. "At least...." But grief scrambled his thoughts, so after a moment he just kissed her hand, then, when her tears overflowed, embraced her. "Hush, sweeting, they'll murder me for upsetting you again."
She chuckled, sadly, and he let her go. She sniffed, and then said, "What's this about kittens?"
"Basket of 'em. Jane's brother was going to drown 'em, but he shan't -- or so says Jane. She was running away, I believe. The landlady knows her."
"Drown them! Oh, no. Will you bring me one?"
"Make you feel better?" Jack smiled. Elizabeth nodded, sleepily. "Wait here, then. I'll bring you the best of the lot."
*
Five minutes later, she was drifting off, a plump, grey kitten curled snug asleep, against her neck.
"Ship's cat, see?" murmured Jack. "Knows his duty already."
The ghost of a smile touched her lips.
Chapter Two: A Lack of Communication
1 ~
Elizabeth was pretending to be as somnolent as the grey kitten on her lap. Eyes closed, she swayed gently in the corner of the well-sprung carriage as they drove through the wintery English countryside on the final leg of the journey from Portsmouth to Bath. From the Black Pearl to an elegant townhouse in Green Street. From Captain Jack Sparrow to her Aunt Minerva.
Elizabeth's lip trembled and she firmed it immediately. It would not do. The irresponsible behavior--the idyll she had shared with Jack-- must become a thing of the past. Neither of them had bargained for the mundane, yet in this case so extraordinary, outcome of their illicit love: a child. The dream Elizabeth had been living since the Black Pearl had set sail from Port Royal must end. She was a widow of gentle birth, of good family, an heiress, and since she now knew that she was capable of carrying on a line of descent, she must act responsibly in doing so.
She wondered how she would bear it.
These last months… how her time with Jack on the Black Pearl had eased the pain of Will's death. The days and days of sun and sea, thrilling adventure always on the horizon; the nights of laughter and love - thrilling adventure in themselves! As much as she had appreciated Jack for the last five years, pirate, good man, and friend, she now knew he was more, so much more than she'd ever realized.
But he was not made to be a husband or father. Concern and sympathy she'd sensed from him these last days, but along with them had come a sort of horrified reluctance to speak of what had happened. She didn't blame him! She felt the same, to a degree. Yet she could not help but wonder if he felt anything at all for the child they had lost, save relief that it had passed away.
After five years of marriage, she had thought herself resigned to being childless, but this incident had opened her eyes. If the baby had lived... ah, what joy to have had a child. Jack's child.
But it had not lived, and though she would not devalue that small spark of life by saying it was all for the best, she knew she should be glad that she would not be forcing Jack into such an undesired role.
And she could move on. Find someone else, someone more... suitable.
Someone who was not her piratical, heroic, amusing, fascinating, beloved Captain Jack Sparrow.
*
Jack watched his erstwhile lover, swaying in the corner of the carriage, pretending to be asleep.
Elizabeth. His Lizzie.
Mother of his child.
She had held up remarkably well. No vapors, no blue devils. No mention at all of the small life that’d been lost.
The latter point affected him most strangely.
It was absurd, of course, to think of himself as a husband and father - for that’s what it would have come to, if the child had lived. Provided she would have had him.
But no doubt she thought it absurd, too. Mrs. Captain Jack Sparrow. Ha!
Probably thanking her lucky stars for a fortunate escape, as surely he should be.
The trouble was, he wasn’t. This wasn’t relief he was feeling, not by a long chalk.
Felt more like… grief.
2 ~
“Oh, merciful Heaven!” exclaimed Minerva Swann, trundling down the staircase in her robe and slippers, aware that her eyes were nearly starting from their sockets and quite unable to help it. “Elizabeth!”
She might not have recognized the young woman before her, so tall and graceful, save that the lovely smile was the same.
Elizabeth held out her hands and said, “I would ask how do you do, but I can see you’re well - unchanged!”
“Nonsense,” Minerva said, fondly, brushing the hands aside and embracing her niece. Ah, she was pale, poor lamb, and there was a certain gravity in the clear gaze, both evidence of Elizabeth’s loss. Minerva felt the slender shoulders tremble a little and petted and soothed for a moment. One knew what it was to be a widow, after all.
But then Elizabeth gave a watery chuckle. “Indeed, Aunt, I’m fine, and must introduce you to… to my friend.” And she gestured toward the young man lingering by the door.
Or was he young? Minerva eyed him curiously, and with a growing realization that he was something out of the ordinary. Very much so.
He came forward as Elizabeth made the introduction - “Aunt, this is Captain Jack Sparrow. Captain Sparrow, my aunt, Minerva Swann” - and he bowed over Minerva’s hand. “Happy to meet you, ma’am.”
Minerva blinked, staring as the captain straightened, then felt her cheeks heat as a smirk curved his lips. Obviously he was fully aware of the effect he had upon the weaker sex.
Minerva cleared her throat and curtsied coolly. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Captain. My brother-in-law has mentioned you in his letters. I understand you once saved Elizabeth’s life.”
“More than once,” Elizabeth said, rather quietly, and Minerva then observed the glance the two exchanged. Oh! Oh dear!
“Indeed?” said Minerva, agitated. She composed herself and said to the captain, “There are not words enough to express my thanks for preserving the life of my dear niece. I understand, too, that you have carried an English letter of marque these many years. How good of you to take so much time away from your important duties to bring Elizabeth here to me. Will you be staying long in England?”
The captain looked less than happy at this. “It depends. On a number of things. I’ve some business in London and Portsmouth, for a start-“
“Well, you must come to us for Christmas,” Minerva said, secretly hoping he would do no such thing. “It’s in less than a fortnight! I give a delightful party on Christmas Eve, almost a ball, for I clear the gallery upstairs and hire musicians, best to be had. And of course there will be dinner, with all manner of treats. A grand occasion to present my niece.”
“I’m sure,” the captain said, smiling faintly.
“Aunt Min-“ Elizabeth turned, frowning.
But Minerva said quickly, “Now, Elizabeth, you look fagged to death, in spite of your beauty, and after that long drive today it’s no wonder.”
“I’m sorry we arrived so late-“
“Not at all, not at all,” Minerva exclaimed. “But come, bid the captain good night and I’ll take you upstairs. We’ll have you tucked into bed in a trice.”
“But… Jack!” And Elizabeth turned to the captain.
“No, love-Eliz-Mrs. Turner,” Captain Sparrow said firmly, though his eyes… oh, dear, Minerva thought again. “You rest. I’ll see you in the morning - if I may call?” This last to Minerva.
“Of course, my dear sir. But not too early, mind.”
“You’re not staying with us?” Elizabeth said, sharply. “Aunt-“
But the captain broke in again. “No, I’ll be lodging at the Royal George. No worries. I’ll see you tomorrow.” He bowed, then let himself out as Minerva’s footman entered, carrying Elizabeth’s bags.
3 ~
The golden light of a snowy winter dawn woke her, along with a tiny gray paw patting her cheek.
“You darling!” she chuckled, and drew the kitten under the warm blanket to cuddle. However, the fire, banked for the night, had been brought to life once more by some carefully quiet hand. As the room grew warmer, the kitten grew restless and presently indicated that a dish of cream would not come amiss.
Elizabeth rose and peeped out the draped window, taking in the frosty scene, and immediately thinking how very much Jack would dislike this cold. Memory and a nagging anxiety instantly returned to plague her as she began her morning toilette, but the coming of Aunt Min’s dresser, Mrs. Pierce, forced her to adopt a cheerful mien, and she found it was more or less unfeigned by the time she was descending the stairs.
It was not to last.
“A note, for you, ma’am,” said the footman, with a bow, “Sent round from the Royal George.” He held out the salver with the note upon it, and Elizabeth hesitated, as though it might burn, for she recognized at once the elegant, spidery hand directing it to Mrs. Turner.
It did burn, though not as badly as it might have, for it was Jack’s voice, friend and lover.
Elizabeth -
The devil’s in it, but word has come from Portsmouth that there’s some plaguey nonsense about the Pearl’s status as a letter of marque. Leaving by the mail coach at first light as it’s said to have the best chance of getting through - the snow’s uncommon thick. I’ll return, or send word. You enjoy your visit.
Yours, as ever.
Jack
Visit. Only a visit. She breathed a sigh of relief, then, and realized she’d been holding her breath. He wasn’t leaving her, it was only a visit.
“Good morning, my dear,” said Aunt Min, bustling in from the direction of the morning room. “Is that a note from the captain?”
“Good morning!” Elizabeth said, with a smile. “Yes, it’s from Jack. He’s had to go back to Portsmouth on business to do with his letter of marque, but he assures me he’ll be back as soon as he can manage it.”
Aunt Min clucked, saying, “Oh, gracious! And the snow lying thick on all the roads. Dreadful weather, I’ve not seen it like this in years. But Elizabeth, my love, do you really think you should refer to the captain by his Christian name? Don’t you think it might encourage untoward familiarity?”
Elizabeth opened her mouth, shut it again as she thought of the many intimate moments in which she’d whispered… murmured… called…cried that name in the last six months. “Yes, aunt,” she finally said, meekly, feeling inclined to laugh… and weep.
4 ~
Jack was swearing a blue streak as he left the port admiral’s office and headed back to the Pearl. After an unconscionably long journey, in which he’d seen more snow fall than he’d thought possible in this part of England, he’d arrived in Portsmouth to find the authorities ready to lock up half his crew. Upon investigation it seemed they’d done little more to offend than any sailor would do on shore leave, but because of the Pearl’s history, and her people’s status as privateers, these sins had put them beyond the pale.
Actually he’d warned the Pearls that this would be the case if they didn’t keep civil.
But when the cat’s away, mice will get up to all sorts of egregious mischief, and Jack now found himself angry at his crew, at the unreasonable and condescending manner of the port admiral and his minions, at the weather (coming on to blow, with freezing rain beginning to spit), and at life in general.
What he wouldn’t have given to be whisked away to a tropical clime, accompanied solely by darling Lizzie.
Elizabeth.
He ducked into one of the better public houses near the waterfront, a cozy looking place, shooed away a couple of shabby “Portsmouth brutes” (summoning enough charm to avoid giving them offense), and ordered hot punch, paper, pen and ink.
Elizabeth -
I hope this finds you well. I’m here in Portsmouth, but find that the Pearl’s outstayed her welcome already and we’ll be obliged to move the ship up to Bristol. This has the advantage of being closer to Bath, but I fear beating North in this weather is going to be a lengthy and difficult adventure. I’m rather glad you’re safe and warm there with your aunt, and won’t have to listen to the profanity that’s sure to arise in short order, for it’s mainly the crew’s misbehavior that’s set all this inconvenience in motion. I mean to take it out of their hides by laying on regardless, or as much sail as the Pearl will take at least.
Keep a weather eye peeled, and you’ll see me before you know it.
Jack
5 ~
The day after the Pearl weighed anchor for Bristol, there was a surprisingly messy accident on the road going north from Portsmouth. The mail coach overturned into a deep ditch, severely damaging the vehicle and breaking the leg of the driver. The few passengers were lucky enough to be uninjured, but they had all they could do to keep themselves and the driver warm and in what comfort could be managed until help arrived.
In the anxiety and confusion, they gave no thought to the mail, which in any case was now soaked and ruined, the bag having burst open in the fall. There had been a brief, inconvenient thaw earlier that morning and business letters, personal correspondence, and holiday parcels lay strewn over the slushy landscape, including one particular missive addressed in an elegant, spidery script…
Mrs. Elizabeth Turner
c/o Mrs. Minerva Swann
12A Green Street
Bath
~ To Be Continued…