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Ladies Speaking In Confidence
A 'missing scene' from chapter 3 of Reasons to Believe
From a series of stories featuring Elizabeth Swann and Jack Sparrow

by Hereswith

The tale thus far...
1. A Matter of Trust
2. Steps of the Dance
3. Mirrored Movement
4. Reasons to Believe 1 - 2 - 3 - 4
5. Ladies Speaking in Confidence
6. In the Dark Watches of the Night
7. Fair Weather Morning
8. Marchland
9. White Squall (Rated 'R')
10. Halcyon
11. Turnabout 1 - 2 - 3 - Epilogue (Rated 'R')

Deep down below the deck of the Pearl, with her eyes firmly closed, Elizabeth could almost believe that the wood that cradled her, that carried her across these unfamiliar waters, was something more than wood. Something more than planks hewn from trunks of trees that had been ancient even before she was born.

"Tomorrow," she said, and it was a mere whisper, easily lost to the hovering shadows. "One more night, and then it will truly be over, no matter what happens."

She felt a little foolish, giving voice to her thoughts, but talking would, she hoped, ease the ache inside her chest. And since she could not quite bring herself to discuss these matters with Gibbs, or any of the crew, she chose instead, and against all sense and reason, to speak to a once-cursed ship.

The Black Pearl, if she listened, gave no sign of it. She moved steadily forward, inevitably towards their destination, as if unburdened by doubt. Elizabeth, however, was not. She sighed and continued, "It's so strange. For days I've been desperate to reach those isles, and now, at this very moment, I wish we never would. I'm—"

There was a loud creak, a sudden, discordant sound, and Elizabeth started, glancing around, the small hairs on the back of her neck rising. She held her breath, but heard no heart beating but her own. And nothing stirred, even in the darkest of corners.

She touched the hull, tentatively, following the pattern of the grain with her fingers. "I'm afraid," she confessed, at length.
"Of what we will find, or—not find. Of having to go home, and live out the rest of my life, landlocked and bound by the rules and trappings of respectable society, knowing that is all there is left for me, because he's gone. Perhaps I could take up needlework," she added, with an attempt to laugh that ended up flat. "Father would be delighted. And when he asks why I always sit so close to the window, I will smile and say the light is better there, and not mention the sea."

Elizabeth clenched her jaw, her hand forming a fist against the wooden surface. "I might have been able to settle for that, at one time. Made of it what I could, as best I could, my childhood dreams fading with the years, from lack of nurture. But I can't. Not anymore. Freedom," she told the ship, nearly choking on the word and the memory both. "That is what you are. What you have become. For me, as well."

It was, she reflected, an irony of fate that it should be a corset that had so thoroughly changed the course of her future.
If it had not caused her to faint, if she had not fallen and been so fortuitously saved, it was unlikely that either she, or
Will, would have met the infamous Captain Jack Sparrow. For what business would he, after all, have had with a common blacksmith's apprentice, and a Governor's daughter? Funny ol' world, innit? Jack might have remarked, with a devilish grin, had he been present, and privy to her musings. And it was. But it would be bleak, beyond measure, without him.

"Jack," she said, low and fierce, promise and prayer. "Jack."

The Pearl shuddered, then, from bowsprit to stern, in instinctive response to her captain's name, or simply at the behest of the wind and the waves, and at the edge of Elizabeth's vision, the air seemed to tremble, the way it sometimes did in the heat of a scorching sun. She blinked, unnerved, and the oddness vanished.

It might have been a figment of her imagination. She was tired and, to be honest, less than clear-headed, so it was a distinct possibility. But being thrown into the midst of a ghost story had taught her that such common, ordinary explanations could not be taken for granted. And the vibrations still lingered, still hummed in her ears, like an echo of the surf. Or of leaves in a dense autumn forest.

“Yes,” she answered, as if a question had been put to her, and a sentiment, of sorts, had been expressed. "So do I."

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