Chapter Five - A Kiss Goodnight
Life had gone from placid stagnation to a frenzy of activity in a very short time, and Elizabeth wasn't sure she quite had her balance yet. Sir Richard Bletchley had mysteriously- oh, so mysteriously- become a regular fixture at the Wilmots' table over the last few weeks. She looked on with amusement as he attempted to explain European geography to Nathaniel with the aid of some half-eaten bread pudding.
"Look, this bit is France, and if I move this currant to the right a bit, that's Paris. So where's the Prussian border? No, no, that's Bern. You don't need to know about Switzerland, nothing happens there. Yes, that's Prussia. So-" he began cutting a shape with a spoon "- is this is the Republic of Venice or the Duchy of Milan?"
"That looks like the Papal States."
Richard peered at his creation, prodded it, and sighed.
"So it does. I was never much of a sculptor." Taking advantage of the lesson's lapse, Nathaniel scooped up another spoonful of the pudding and swallowed it. Beside him the red-haired man pulled a face of mock-horror. "You just ate the Iberian peninsula!" The boy snorted with laughter.
"Mouth closed when you chew, dear." Even Sarah couldn't make the rebuke sound serious. Sylvia cleared away the last of the plates and the atmosphere in the dining room was light and cheerful. Andrew poured himself a brandy as Sarah took Nathaniel to prepare for bed.
Glancing out at the sunset-tinged garden, Elizabeth rose from the table.
"I think I will take some air."
"May I accompany you?" Richard's expression was not subtle. She returned his smile and nodded.
The spring flowers were blossoming, filling the cool evening air with soft fragrance and spreading a palette of colour through what had until so recently been drab brown and green. The sun's last rays were smudged across the city horizon and the evening star was visible in glimmering yellow.
Richard rocked on his heels slightly, hands clasped behind his back. She turned to study him as he addressed the garden.
"I had been wondering, Elizabeth, if you would care to accompany me to the theatre one evening? I have access to a very fine box in the Theatre Royal and I believe the King's Company is putting on the Shakespearean histories- that is, if you would like to." He seemed a little flushed despite the chill in the air as he finally looked at her.
"I would like that very much." There was a tension, just there; her own breathing sounded uncannily loud even as a robin began chirruping its evensong from the ivy-covered wall. Richard took a sharp breath. He could feel it too. It was delicate- the air did not seem to sing with strain as it had aboard the Pearl… no. That did not matter any more.
Richard’s voice was warm.
"You're a fine woman, Elizabeth."
"I am told that the Bard was not entirely true to history in his depiction."
"And you have a vested interest in defending a king who ruthlessly undercut his own brother...?"
Richard put a hand to his heart.
"I must at least try to uphold the honour of my namesake, even if he doesn't warrant it." Laughing, she took his arm as they made their way through the throngs exiting onto Drury Lane. "Though what sort of monarch worth his salt would trade in a whole kingdom for a single horse I'm not sure. He could have at least said 'my kingdom for a horse and a reasonably decent carriage too' if you ask me. Or perhaps 'my kingdom for a horse as long as I get to keep Wales'."
"Would he have wanted to keep Wales?"
"Good point."
There was a brief hubbub in the street as a man tore through the crowds, pursued by another in a bright red waistcoat. Richard chuckled.
"Now there's a man who could do with a horse."
"You mean the Runner, I presume?"
"I do try to avoid endorsing the cause of thieves and scoundrels." Elizabeth felt a slight twinge at that, but ignored it. She had no control over her dreams, and certainly not over the particular scoundrels her mind chose to propel onstage every night, but she had control over whether or not to pay any attention to them, which she absolutely was not doing. She looked at Richard beside her; hair short and neatly combed, moustache trimmed and jawline smooth. He was tall, he was tidily dressed. But his eyes reminded her of the sea.
The musicians struck up 'The Collier's Daughter', and as the fiddle sang she faced Richard in the lines of the set. They crossed hands and stepped in time to the beat of the drum, he turned her and she took the hands of the next man, but his eyes barely seemed to leave her even as he followed the steps with a new partner. She wasn't sure if it was the heat of the room or the soaring of the music, or the heady step and turn and step again but Elizabeth felt strangely alive, her heart racing as if in desperate confirmation.
Had it been quite three months since they met? She wasn't entirely sure. Being courted by the son of a lord, however minor, was a far more exciting endeavour than the life of a Parliamentarian's charity case, and though she thought Nathaniel might be missing her it mattered not. She would do this. Richard was wonderful; charming and witty and handsome, an educated gentleman with the slightest hint of rogue. She liked him, she could like him every day of her life and like his house and his servants and his children and being Lady Bletchley when his father passed on. She was certain he would propose, though he managed to be slightly less obvious than Norrington or Will. It was a little odd to feel well-versed in being proposed to- though really it had only happened twice. That one had not meant a thing.
Richard danced as he spoke, with darting movements of his feet adapting to shifts in the melody, hands strong holding her own, that smile lingering even when the pace quickened and one mis-step would send him completely off-kilter. That smile always directed at her. A life of liking him would doubtless be very agreeable.
He paused when handing her down from the carriage outside the Wilmots' house that evening, a hand resting on her upper arm.
"Elizabeth... you danced wonderfully."
She quirked a smile.
"So did you."
His mouth twitched slightly in imitation of her own, and he went on.
"You look so beautiful... I..."
A moment of hesitation, then he kissed her. His lips felt unfamiliar, soft and refined. If anything he tasted of the wine they'd drunk at the Deacons' party, of the spiced syllabub served for dessert, as gentle as his mouth and the lightness of his fingers. There was nothing to overpower her, no stinging salt and the scorch of rum like desire in her belly, no clash of hearts and souls. But he was tender.
As they broke apart the smile returned, fuller and brighter now, and like the moon she reflected it. She did like him.
Tortuga glinted in the fading light, a pirate's treasure reflected in the calm waters of its harbour. Two Tortugas really was quite a fine prospect indeed, but alas the second was a little too wet for much enjoyment. Jack struck his most noble pose on the fo'c’sle as Gibbs guided the Pearl into port. On the docks they could see a few figures turning to point at the galleon as the crew doused sail. Doubtless the stories had had them sailing off the edge of the world again, or being swallowed by a whirlpool or crushed by the Symplegades with no golden fleece to show for it. Life aboard a floating legend was never quite as glamorous as most new crew members believed when they signed on for the Black Pearl. He stepped down onto the main deck as she was made fast against the dock.
"It's been a while, Captain Sparrow."
Jack tipped his hat to the harbourmaster striding towards the ship
"That it has, matey."
"Heard you'd all been strung up in Portsmouth o'er three year ago."
He winced.
"As if I'd be fool enough to sail there." Dilshan and Ragetti lowered the gangplank and Jack sashayed down, dropping a coin into the harbourmaster's outstretched hand. The man squinted at it for a second, then raised his eyebrows and extended the hand again. With an elaborate sigh the captain handed over the other two shillings, and turned back towards his crew. "Last three on ship have to stay as watch. Enjoy yourselves, gentlemen!"
It really had been far too long. Tortuga seemed to have recovered admirably from the naval onslaught; there were at least as many men collapsed in the gutters as last time he had seen it, and wild music spilled with lantern light through the tavern doors as he strolled past, picking over the occasional comatose drunk. A huge, moustachioed man loomed in front of him and Jack stopped short, unable to sidestep the olive-skinned stranger's bulk. The man peered at him for a moment, then slapped him on the back with a friendly blow that still almost sent him flying.
"Captain Jack always comes back!"
Regaining his balance, Jack began edging away, but the man seemed to have lost interest and plodded on, repeating the phrase in a sing-song Turkish accent. The captain adjusted his coat.
"Odd fellow."
He walked on along grime-cobbled streets, a route he knew all too well. The building he headed for was ramshackle but clean, a girl sweeping the street in front as he approached. He treated her to a leer and she rolled her eyes. Raising a hand, he tapped at the crudely-painted door.
A few moments later it swung open.
"Yes?" Scarlett's eyebrows shot upwards. "They told me you were dead!"
"I was. Terrible business, almost lost my hat."
"You've been gone three years!"
His hand darted out to catch her wrist in the nick of time.
"My darling, don't you wish to hear of all the marvellous adventures I've been having in said three years?"
"You'll probably tell me whether I want to or not."
"Precisely." Jack grinned at her. Her hair was still that ridiculous shade of red and pinned up, none of the subtleties of golden brown loose in the sea breeze- shut up Jack. He fished in one of his pockets then drew out a small coin purse, dropping it into Scarlett's hand. She weighed it tentatively, then slipped it into a pouch at her waist.
"I have missed you, Jack Sparrow."
"Captain Jack Sparrow, darling. Captain."
She laid a hand against his chest and he leaned in towards her. The cochineal on her lips was bitter; there was no fire to warm his kiss, no sweetness to entice him and throw all rational thought to the winds and the waves. But it was enough, as he pushed her back into the house.
"Look, this bit is France, and if I move this currant to the right a bit, that's Paris. So where's the Prussian border? No, no, that's Bern. You don't need to know about Switzerland, nothing happens there. Yes, that's Prussia. So-" he began cutting a shape with a spoon "- is this is the Republic of Venice or the Duchy of Milan?"
"That looks like the Papal States."
Richard peered at his creation, prodded it, and sighed.
"So it does. I was never much of a sculptor." Taking advantage of the lesson's lapse, Nathaniel scooped up another spoonful of the pudding and swallowed it. Beside him the red-haired man pulled a face of mock-horror. "You just ate the Iberian peninsula!" The boy snorted with laughter.
"Mouth closed when you chew, dear." Even Sarah couldn't make the rebuke sound serious. Sylvia cleared away the last of the plates and the atmosphere in the dining room was light and cheerful. Andrew poured himself a brandy as Sarah took Nathaniel to prepare for bed.
Glancing out at the sunset-tinged garden, Elizabeth rose from the table.
"I think I will take some air."
"May I accompany you?" Richard's expression was not subtle. She returned his smile and nodded.
The spring flowers were blossoming, filling the cool evening air with soft fragrance and spreading a palette of colour through what had until so recently been drab brown and green. The sun's last rays were smudged across the city horizon and the evening star was visible in glimmering yellow.
Richard rocked on his heels slightly, hands clasped behind his back. She turned to study him as he addressed the garden.
"I had been wondering, Elizabeth, if you would care to accompany me to the theatre one evening? I have access to a very fine box in the Theatre Royal and I believe the King's Company is putting on the Shakespearean histories- that is, if you would like to." He seemed a little flushed despite the chill in the air as he finally looked at her.
"I would like that very much." There was a tension, just there; her own breathing sounded uncannily loud even as a robin began chirruping its evensong from the ivy-covered wall. Richard took a sharp breath. He could feel it too. It was delicate- the air did not seem to sing with strain as it had aboard the Pearl… no. That did not matter any more.
Richard’s voice was warm.
"You're a fine woman, Elizabeth."
"I am told that the Bard was not entirely true to history in his depiction."
"And you have a vested interest in defending a king who ruthlessly undercut his own brother...?"
Richard put a hand to his heart.
"I must at least try to uphold the honour of my namesake, even if he doesn't warrant it." Laughing, she took his arm as they made their way through the throngs exiting onto Drury Lane. "Though what sort of monarch worth his salt would trade in a whole kingdom for a single horse I'm not sure. He could have at least said 'my kingdom for a horse and a reasonably decent carriage too' if you ask me. Or perhaps 'my kingdom for a horse as long as I get to keep Wales'."
"Would he have wanted to keep Wales?"
"Good point."
There was a brief hubbub in the street as a man tore through the crowds, pursued by another in a bright red waistcoat. Richard chuckled.
"Now there's a man who could do with a horse."
"You mean the Runner, I presume?"
"I do try to avoid endorsing the cause of thieves and scoundrels." Elizabeth felt a slight twinge at that, but ignored it. She had no control over her dreams, and certainly not over the particular scoundrels her mind chose to propel onstage every night, but she had control over whether or not to pay any attention to them, which she absolutely was not doing. She looked at Richard beside her; hair short and neatly combed, moustache trimmed and jawline smooth. He was tall, he was tidily dressed. But his eyes reminded her of the sea.
The musicians struck up 'The Collier's Daughter', and as the fiddle sang she faced Richard in the lines of the set. They crossed hands and stepped in time to the beat of the drum, he turned her and she took the hands of the next man, but his eyes barely seemed to leave her even as he followed the steps with a new partner. She wasn't sure if it was the heat of the room or the soaring of the music, or the heady step and turn and step again but Elizabeth felt strangely alive, her heart racing as if in desperate confirmation.
Had it been quite three months since they met? She wasn't entirely sure. Being courted by the son of a lord, however minor, was a far more exciting endeavour than the life of a Parliamentarian's charity case, and though she thought Nathaniel might be missing her it mattered not. She would do this. Richard was wonderful; charming and witty and handsome, an educated gentleman with the slightest hint of rogue. She liked him, she could like him every day of her life and like his house and his servants and his children and being Lady Bletchley when his father passed on. She was certain he would propose, though he managed to be slightly less obvious than Norrington or Will. It was a little odd to feel well-versed in being proposed to- though really it had only happened twice. That one had not meant a thing.
Richard danced as he spoke, with darting movements of his feet adapting to shifts in the melody, hands strong holding her own, that smile lingering even when the pace quickened and one mis-step would send him completely off-kilter. That smile always directed at her. A life of liking him would doubtless be very agreeable.
He paused when handing her down from the carriage outside the Wilmots' house that evening, a hand resting on her upper arm.
"Elizabeth... you danced wonderfully."
She quirked a smile.
"So did you."
His mouth twitched slightly in imitation of her own, and he went on.
"You look so beautiful... I..."
A moment of hesitation, then he kissed her. His lips felt unfamiliar, soft and refined. If anything he tasted of the wine they'd drunk at the Deacons' party, of the spiced syllabub served for dessert, as gentle as his mouth and the lightness of his fingers. There was nothing to overpower her, no stinging salt and the scorch of rum like desire in her belly, no clash of hearts and souls. But he was tender.
As they broke apart the smile returned, fuller and brighter now, and like the moon she reflected it. She did like him.
Tortuga glinted in the fading light, a pirate's treasure reflected in the calm waters of its harbour. Two Tortugas really was quite a fine prospect indeed, but alas the second was a little too wet for much enjoyment. Jack struck his most noble pose on the fo'c’sle as Gibbs guided the Pearl into port. On the docks they could see a few figures turning to point at the galleon as the crew doused sail. Doubtless the stories had had them sailing off the edge of the world again, or being swallowed by a whirlpool or crushed by the Symplegades with no golden fleece to show for it. Life aboard a floating legend was never quite as glamorous as most new crew members believed when they signed on for the Black Pearl. He stepped down onto the main deck as she was made fast against the dock.
"It's been a while, Captain Sparrow."
Jack tipped his hat to the harbourmaster striding towards the ship
"That it has, matey."
"Heard you'd all been strung up in Portsmouth o'er three year ago."
He winced.
"As if I'd be fool enough to sail there." Dilshan and Ragetti lowered the gangplank and Jack sashayed down, dropping a coin into the harbourmaster's outstretched hand. The man squinted at it for a second, then raised his eyebrows and extended the hand again. With an elaborate sigh the captain handed over the other two shillings, and turned back towards his crew. "Last three on ship have to stay as watch. Enjoy yourselves, gentlemen!"
It really had been far too long. Tortuga seemed to have recovered admirably from the naval onslaught; there were at least as many men collapsed in the gutters as last time he had seen it, and wild music spilled with lantern light through the tavern doors as he strolled past, picking over the occasional comatose drunk. A huge, moustachioed man loomed in front of him and Jack stopped short, unable to sidestep the olive-skinned stranger's bulk. The man peered at him for a moment, then slapped him on the back with a friendly blow that still almost sent him flying.
"Captain Jack always comes back!"
Regaining his balance, Jack began edging away, but the man seemed to have lost interest and plodded on, repeating the phrase in a sing-song Turkish accent. The captain adjusted his coat.
"Odd fellow."
He walked on along grime-cobbled streets, a route he knew all too well. The building he headed for was ramshackle but clean, a girl sweeping the street in front as he approached. He treated her to a leer and she rolled her eyes. Raising a hand, he tapped at the crudely-painted door.
A few moments later it swung open.
"Yes?" Scarlett's eyebrows shot upwards. "They told me you were dead!"
"I was. Terrible business, almost lost my hat."
"You've been gone three years!"
His hand darted out to catch her wrist in the nick of time.
"My darling, don't you wish to hear of all the marvellous adventures I've been having in said three years?"
"You'll probably tell me whether I want to or not."
"Precisely." Jack grinned at her. Her hair was still that ridiculous shade of red and pinned up, none of the subtleties of golden brown loose in the sea breeze- shut up Jack. He fished in one of his pockets then drew out a small coin purse, dropping it into Scarlett's hand. She weighed it tentatively, then slipped it into a pouch at her waist.
"I have missed you, Jack Sparrow."
"Captain Jack Sparrow, darling. Captain."
She laid a hand against his chest and he leaned in towards her. The cochineal on her lips was bitter; there was no fire to warm his kiss, no sweetness to entice him and throw all rational thought to the winds and the waves. But it was enough, as he pushed her back into the house.