Christmas Fic - Great Tidings of Comfort and Joy
Great Tidings of Comfort and Joy
****
Elizabeth, bored to tears, stared out the window at the wide expanse of the endless lawn. She fidgeted, tugging at her corset, lamenting the freedom of her past before chiding herself silently. That was all in the past now, now she had a child to worry about, Will’s child.
Will!
It had been almost three years since her wedding night, three long years since she’d seen her husband disappear in a flash of green. So much had happened since then, so many changes. Alone in the world and with child, she had made the journey back to England, seeking refuge with relatives. Her Uncle Horace and Aunt Winifred had been kind enough to take her into their home, the stately Worth Hall in Sussex.
Believing her to be a penniless widow, after the tragic deaths of her father and husband, her relatives had not questioned her closely, sheltering her in her grief. And grieve she did; For her father, for Will, for the loss of everything she held dear. Her only solace, and strength, had been the child growing within her. A tangible proof that it had not been all a bad dream, that the events that had led up to her fleeing the Caribbean had truly happened. That one day, Will would return.
Word trickled in about the war against piracy being waged in the West Indies, with accounts of their trials and hangings. No mention though of the notorious pirate, Jack Sparrow being captured or killed.
Elizabeth could only cling to the hope that he had survived, slipped through the hands of the East India agents once again.
So at first, Elizabeth dismissed the distant image as wishful thinking, rubbing her eyes to clear them, only to find the figure to still be there, strolling along the long gravel drive to the house, repeatedly glancing down at the piece of paper in his hand and then around him as if trying to decipher the surroundings.
There was no mistaking him. Even without the tricorn hat, colorful sash, and frock coat, and despite the distance, the swagger was instantly recognizable.
“Jack!”
Gathering up her skirts, her heart pounding, Elizabeth hurried down the hall, forgetting all about propriety in her rush to greet the unexpected remnant of her past. Her aunt called out after her, as Elizabeth dashed out the front door, past the startled butler who had hurried to open it.
“Elizabeth! Where do you think you are going? Come back here, child, this instant!”
Her words went unheeded, as for the first time in three long years, Elizabeth found herself once again feeling alive. Her hear racing in her chest, casting off the shackles of society’s expectations, she ran down the drive and flung her arms around Jack, holding him tight as if to ascertain that he weren‘t a figment of her imagination.
“Jack! You’re alive!”
Jack gently extracted himself from her grasp, straightening his hat he flashed his familiar golden grin her way.
“Of course I am. Would I be here if I were not?”
“But why are you here?” Elizabeth asked breathlessly, hand on Jack‘s sleeve fingering the cloth as if to ascertain the man would not vanish before her eyes. “How did you find me?”
“At the bequest of one Captain Will Turner.”
“Will? You’ve seen him?” Eager for news, for anything Elizabeth grasped Jack’s arms, hardly believing her ears. “How is he? What did he say?”
Jack held up a hand to halt her babbling questions. “Yes, I did see him. He asked me to find you, make sure you were safe.” Looking around again at the manicured grounds and stately manor house, he added, “Which I see you are. Quite. So, I’ll just be going, then.”
“What?” Elizabeth clutched his sleeve. “You can’t go! Please, Jack.”
“Elizabeth?” Her aunt’s voice sounded loudly behind her. Cringing slightly, Elizabeth waited for the inevitable.
“Elizabeth! Who is this man? What do you think you are doing, out here by yourself, talking to this, this…”
“Friend of her husband,” Jack finished for her, then turned to Elizabeth, expecting her to finish the introductions.
“Jack…I mean, Captain…” Elizabeth stopped, not wanting to mention Jack’s name in case there was a warrant out for his arrest.
“Captain Jack Starling, at your service, ma’am.” Jack gave a theatrical bow.
“Well, I say,” Aunt Winifred huffed. “You knew the late Captain Turner?”
“Yes, Captain Sparling was there when my husband was killed,” Elizabeth interjected.
“Starling, darling. Starling.” Jack hissed, then added brightly, “And who might this charming person be?”
“My aunt, Lady Winifred Crowley.”
“The pleasure is mine, to be sure,” Jack said pleasantly.
“Humph,” her aunt sniffed. “Well, I do suppose, if you were a friend of the unfortunate Captain Turner, you will wish to come in.”
“No… I‘m afraid I‘m in a bit of a--”
“Yes!”
They spoke simultaneously, exchanging challenging looks, and with the powers only invested in a woman stalwart, Elizabeth hurried to add, “We shall have tea, and you can tell me all about your adventures. I have just been dying to hear news from home.”
Jack sighed, but Elizabeth didn’t give him a chance to change his mind, just wrapped an arm in his and propelled him towards the house looming over the lawn, in Aunt Winifred’s wake.
“Not to mention dying of boredom,” she added under her breath, for Jack’s ears only.
****
“We’ll take tea in the conservatory, Billings,” Lady Crowley said with a dismissing wave to the butler.
“Very good, milady,” he said, taking Jack’s hat and stick, and hurrying off towards the kitchen.
Elizabeth could hardly contain her excitement at seeing Jack again, as they made their way to the conservatory. It was her favorite room in the house, a beautiful sunlit space filled with white wicker furniture and potted palms, and a woven palm thatch mat covering the flagstone floor. Several large glass cases were scattered about, along with various curios from her uncle’s travels, a decidedly tropical space which reminded her of home.
The three of them sat awkwardly in silence, at first, while the maid fetched the tea. Jack squirmed in his seat, before giving in to the temptation and began strolling around the room, curiously perusing the various items scattered about, an assortment of pottery and ceremonial masks, some grotesque, others comical in appearance.
“My husband, Sir Horace, traveled extensively before we were married,” Lady Crowley said with thinly disguised distain. “These…objects, are from his travels among the heathens.”
“Uncle Horace should be arriving home soon,” Elizabeth added. “I am sure you and he will have plenty to talk about.”
“I am sure we would all like to hear of your… adventures, Captain Starling,” her aunt echoed, her voice cold.
Jack put down the wooden mask he was holding and smiled briefly. “Villainy wears many masks, none so dangerous as the mask of virtue,” he quoted, with a quick glance towards Elizabeth.
She blushed, and was thankful for the interruption of the servant with the tea tray. As she busied herself with the tea, Elizabeth’s mind was racing. Will! Jack had seen him, spoken to him. Oh, if she could only spend just one day with him! Tear suddenly sprang to her eyes as her heart plummeted at the thought of wee William, and how he’d be a grown lad before he would meet his father.
Jack must have noted her distress for he suddenly frowned and came over to where she was sitting. Perching on the chair next to her, he asked in a low voice, “Is there anywhere we might speak in private?”
“Yes, yes,” she answered impulsively, then glanced at the stern face of her aunt. Too bad, she thought. Propriety be damned, if there was news of Will to be had.
“Would you care for some tea, Captain Starling?” Lady Crowley asked, frowning at her niece.
“None for me, thank you,” Jack said brightly. “Never touch the stuff. But, I wouldn’t be averse to something stronger, if you’d be so kind.”
“Uncle has some whiskey in his study, I believe,” Elizabeth said helpfully. “We could just go…”
“You’ll do nothing of the sort, young lady,” her aunt retorted. “I shall ring for Billings.” She looked down her long nose with a disapproving stare for Jack. “Whatever will Mr. Crimshaw think if he were to find you entertaining commoners, unchaperoned at that.”
“Who the bloody hell is Mr. Crimshaw?” Jack blurted belligerently.
“He is the landowner of the estate down the road,” Elizabeth said dryly. “Auntie here is hoping to marry me off to him.”
“And why not?” Her aunt asked sharply, the disapproval of Elizabeth’s undesired adverseness clear as day. “He is very well off, and fancies you. A woman in your position, widowed, with a small child and no income, should be ecstatic to have anyone interested, let alone someone of name and breeding such as Winchester Crimshaw!”
“Ah, but she does have an income,” Jack said, holding up his hand. “That is what I have come to tell Mrs. Turner. She is worth quite a pretty penny, between the estate of her father and the holdings of her late husband.”
“I do?” - “She does?”
Both women spoke in unison. Elizabeth smiled widely, suddenly a weight was lifted off her shoulders. “How ever did you come by it?”
Jack smiled. “I have me ways. But,” he gave Elizabeth an apologetic look. “Now I really must be going.”
“So soon?” Elizabeth was crestfallen. “You haven’t even met young William.”
“I am sure we’ll meet again,” Jack said with a wink. He walked quickly ahead and stopped in the hallway, managing a moment alone with Elizabeth before the butler returned with his hat. “I have arranged for a solicitor to send for you. He will see you money is safe.”
“But must you go?” Elizabeth implored. “Please, at least come to dinner tonight.”
Jack studied her for a long moment, then shook his head. “Not so sure that’d be wise, not with your Aunt Fred wanting to see me tarred and feathered.”
“Oh she is not so bad, just a bit of a stickler for propriety.” Elizabeth rolled her eyes as her aunt’s voice called querulously, “Elizabeth? Your tea is getting cold.”
“I better go,” Elizabeth said, with a glance over her shoulder. “You’re sure you won’t come tonight? Dinner is at seven, drinks at six.”
“Is the rum gone?” he teased, finally getting a happy smile out of her. Then seriously, he said in a low voice, “I have several letters for you, from Will. He is frantic with worry for you and his son.”
He reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a small sheaf of envelopes, tied in a red ribbon. “Keep them close, luv.”
And with that he was gone.
****
By the end of the month, Elizabeth Turner found herself to be the holder of a substantial amount of gold, money measured in Pounds Sterling, and the co-owner of a tavern called the Blacksmith’s Arms.
That is how Elizabeth Swann Turner came to reside in the seaside village of Swanage, where she ran a profitable establishment, to the extent to where she found herself quite famous in the area both for her hospitality, her stern, yet fair bargain, and for her kind capturing of rogue hearts as the “Protective Angel of Smugglers.”
But, that is another story, best left for another time. The East India agents might be listening.
****
****
Elizabeth, bored to tears, stared out the window at the wide expanse of the endless lawn. She fidgeted, tugging at her corset, lamenting the freedom of her past before chiding herself silently. That was all in the past now, now she had a child to worry about, Will’s child.
Will!
It had been almost three years since her wedding night, three long years since she’d seen her husband disappear in a flash of green. So much had happened since then, so many changes. Alone in the world and with child, she had made the journey back to England, seeking refuge with relatives. Her Uncle Horace and Aunt Winifred had been kind enough to take her into their home, the stately Worth Hall in Sussex.
Believing her to be a penniless widow, after the tragic deaths of her father and husband, her relatives had not questioned her closely, sheltering her in her grief. And grieve she did; For her father, for Will, for the loss of everything she held dear. Her only solace, and strength, had been the child growing within her. A tangible proof that it had not been all a bad dream, that the events that had led up to her fleeing the Caribbean had truly happened. That one day, Will would return.
Word trickled in about the war against piracy being waged in the West Indies, with accounts of their trials and hangings. No mention though of the notorious pirate, Jack Sparrow being captured or killed.
Elizabeth could only cling to the hope that he had survived, slipped through the hands of the East India agents once again.
So at first, Elizabeth dismissed the distant image as wishful thinking, rubbing her eyes to clear them, only to find the figure to still be there, strolling along the long gravel drive to the house, repeatedly glancing down at the piece of paper in his hand and then around him as if trying to decipher the surroundings.
There was no mistaking him. Even without the tricorn hat, colorful sash, and frock coat, and despite the distance, the swagger was instantly recognizable.
“Jack!”
Gathering up her skirts, her heart pounding, Elizabeth hurried down the hall, forgetting all about propriety in her rush to greet the unexpected remnant of her past. Her aunt called out after her, as Elizabeth dashed out the front door, past the startled butler who had hurried to open it.
“Elizabeth! Where do you think you are going? Come back here, child, this instant!”
Her words went unheeded, as for the first time in three long years, Elizabeth found herself once again feeling alive. Her hear racing in her chest, casting off the shackles of society’s expectations, she ran down the drive and flung her arms around Jack, holding him tight as if to ascertain that he weren‘t a figment of her imagination.
“Jack! You’re alive!”
Jack gently extracted himself from her grasp, straightening his hat he flashed his familiar golden grin her way.
“Of course I am. Would I be here if I were not?”
“But why are you here?” Elizabeth asked breathlessly, hand on Jack‘s sleeve fingering the cloth as if to ascertain the man would not vanish before her eyes. “How did you find me?”
“At the bequest of one Captain Will Turner.”
“Will? You’ve seen him?” Eager for news, for anything Elizabeth grasped Jack’s arms, hardly believing her ears. “How is he? What did he say?”
Jack held up a hand to halt her babbling questions. “Yes, I did see him. He asked me to find you, make sure you were safe.” Looking around again at the manicured grounds and stately manor house, he added, “Which I see you are. Quite. So, I’ll just be going, then.”
“What?” Elizabeth clutched his sleeve. “You can’t go! Please, Jack.”
“Elizabeth?” Her aunt’s voice sounded loudly behind her. Cringing slightly, Elizabeth waited for the inevitable.
“Elizabeth! Who is this man? What do you think you are doing, out here by yourself, talking to this, this…”
“Friend of her husband,” Jack finished for her, then turned to Elizabeth, expecting her to finish the introductions.
“Jack…I mean, Captain…” Elizabeth stopped, not wanting to mention Jack’s name in case there was a warrant out for his arrest.
“Captain Jack Starling, at your service, ma’am.” Jack gave a theatrical bow.
“Well, I say,” Aunt Winifred huffed. “You knew the late Captain Turner?”
“Yes, Captain Sparling was there when my husband was killed,” Elizabeth interjected.
“Starling, darling. Starling.” Jack hissed, then added brightly, “And who might this charming person be?”
“My aunt, Lady Winifred Crowley.”
“The pleasure is mine, to be sure,” Jack said pleasantly.
“Humph,” her aunt sniffed. “Well, I do suppose, if you were a friend of the unfortunate Captain Turner, you will wish to come in.”
“No… I‘m afraid I‘m in a bit of a--”
“Yes!”
They spoke simultaneously, exchanging challenging looks, and with the powers only invested in a woman stalwart, Elizabeth hurried to add, “We shall have tea, and you can tell me all about your adventures. I have just been dying to hear news from home.”
Jack sighed, but Elizabeth didn’t give him a chance to change his mind, just wrapped an arm in his and propelled him towards the house looming over the lawn, in Aunt Winifred’s wake.
“Not to mention dying of boredom,” she added under her breath, for Jack’s ears only.
****
“We’ll take tea in the conservatory, Billings,” Lady Crowley said with a dismissing wave to the butler.
“Very good, milady,” he said, taking Jack’s hat and stick, and hurrying off towards the kitchen.
Elizabeth could hardly contain her excitement at seeing Jack again, as they made their way to the conservatory. It was her favorite room in the house, a beautiful sunlit space filled with white wicker furniture and potted palms, and a woven palm thatch mat covering the flagstone floor. Several large glass cases were scattered about, along with various curios from her uncle’s travels, a decidedly tropical space which reminded her of home.
The three of them sat awkwardly in silence, at first, while the maid fetched the tea. Jack squirmed in his seat, before giving in to the temptation and began strolling around the room, curiously perusing the various items scattered about, an assortment of pottery and ceremonial masks, some grotesque, others comical in appearance.
“My husband, Sir Horace, traveled extensively before we were married,” Lady Crowley said with thinly disguised distain. “These…objects, are from his travels among the heathens.”
“Uncle Horace should be arriving home soon,” Elizabeth added. “I am sure you and he will have plenty to talk about.”
“I am sure we would all like to hear of your… adventures, Captain Starling,” her aunt echoed, her voice cold.
Jack put down the wooden mask he was holding and smiled briefly. “Villainy wears many masks, none so dangerous as the mask of virtue,” he quoted, with a quick glance towards Elizabeth.
She blushed, and was thankful for the interruption of the servant with the tea tray. As she busied herself with the tea, Elizabeth’s mind was racing. Will! Jack had seen him, spoken to him. Oh, if she could only spend just one day with him! Tear suddenly sprang to her eyes as her heart plummeted at the thought of wee William, and how he’d be a grown lad before he would meet his father.
Jack must have noted her distress for he suddenly frowned and came over to where she was sitting. Perching on the chair next to her, he asked in a low voice, “Is there anywhere we might speak in private?”
“Yes, yes,” she answered impulsively, then glanced at the stern face of her aunt. Too bad, she thought. Propriety be damned, if there was news of Will to be had.
“Would you care for some tea, Captain Starling?” Lady Crowley asked, frowning at her niece.
“None for me, thank you,” Jack said brightly. “Never touch the stuff. But, I wouldn’t be averse to something stronger, if you’d be so kind.”
“Uncle has some whiskey in his study, I believe,” Elizabeth said helpfully. “We could just go…”
“You’ll do nothing of the sort, young lady,” her aunt retorted. “I shall ring for Billings.” She looked down her long nose with a disapproving stare for Jack. “Whatever will Mr. Crimshaw think if he were to find you entertaining commoners, unchaperoned at that.”
“Who the bloody hell is Mr. Crimshaw?” Jack blurted belligerently.
“He is the landowner of the estate down the road,” Elizabeth said dryly. “Auntie here is hoping to marry me off to him.”
“And why not?” Her aunt asked sharply, the disapproval of Elizabeth’s undesired adverseness clear as day. “He is very well off, and fancies you. A woman in your position, widowed, with a small child and no income, should be ecstatic to have anyone interested, let alone someone of name and breeding such as Winchester Crimshaw!”
“Ah, but she does have an income,” Jack said, holding up his hand. “That is what I have come to tell Mrs. Turner. She is worth quite a pretty penny, between the estate of her father and the holdings of her late husband.”
“I do?” - “She does?”
Both women spoke in unison. Elizabeth smiled widely, suddenly a weight was lifted off her shoulders. “How ever did you come by it?”
Jack smiled. “I have me ways. But,” he gave Elizabeth an apologetic look. “Now I really must be going.”
“So soon?” Elizabeth was crestfallen. “You haven’t even met young William.”
“I am sure we’ll meet again,” Jack said with a wink. He walked quickly ahead and stopped in the hallway, managing a moment alone with Elizabeth before the butler returned with his hat. “I have arranged for a solicitor to send for you. He will see you money is safe.”
“But must you go?” Elizabeth implored. “Please, at least come to dinner tonight.”
Jack studied her for a long moment, then shook his head. “Not so sure that’d be wise, not with your Aunt Fred wanting to see me tarred and feathered.”
“Oh she is not so bad, just a bit of a stickler for propriety.” Elizabeth rolled her eyes as her aunt’s voice called querulously, “Elizabeth? Your tea is getting cold.”
“I better go,” Elizabeth said, with a glance over her shoulder. “You’re sure you won’t come tonight? Dinner is at seven, drinks at six.”
“Is the rum gone?” he teased, finally getting a happy smile out of her. Then seriously, he said in a low voice, “I have several letters for you, from Will. He is frantic with worry for you and his son.”
He reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a small sheaf of envelopes, tied in a red ribbon. “Keep them close, luv.”
And with that he was gone.
****
By the end of the month, Elizabeth Turner found herself to be the holder of a substantial amount of gold, money measured in Pounds Sterling, and the co-owner of a tavern called the Blacksmith’s Arms.
That is how Elizabeth Swann Turner came to reside in the seaside village of Swanage, where she ran a profitable establishment, to the extent to where she found herself quite famous in the area both for her hospitality, her stern, yet fair bargain, and for her kind capturing of rogue hearts as the “Protective Angel of Smugglers.”
But, that is another story, best left for another time. The East India agents might be listening.
****