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Pearl Tales
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Matter of Trust From a series of stories featuring Elizabeth Swann and Jack Sparrow by Hereswith |
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The
tale thus far... |
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It was a morning, much like any other morning, except that the Black Pearl lay anchored off the coast and there was a pirate in Elizabeth Turner’s kitchen, yet again. She was used to him, by now, if not quite to this particular disguise. The monk’s robes were ill suited, to say the least, considering the nature of the man. To be honest, though, she had seen worse. Once, he had dared come dressed as a woman, veil and gown in place. “Ha!” Jack burst out, all of a sudden, rubbing his hands together in childlike glee. “I win, Mrs. Turner!” Elizabeth frowned, looking at the cards. “Not fair, Jack Sparrow. You cheated.” “Pirate,” he said, with a grin. As if she needed the reminder. “That’s no excuse.” She had never, truly, been able to decide whether she cared for that grin or not. Mostly, she didn’t. Now was not an exception. She got up, the legs of the chair scraping against the floor. “It’s about time you left, don’t you think?” “Trying to get rid of me, eh?” He stretched across the table and snapped up his prize. It was a pearl, small but near to flawless and near to black. Jack claimed he had collected the oyster himself, in some distant past, having had to slay all manners of deadly sea creatures to obtain it. She wasn’t sure she believed him, but the pearl was a convenient stake and if, in the beginning, he had always carried it back with him, in later days she had often managed to keep it. “Had I wanted to get rid of you,” Elizabeth replied, in what was almost her old high-toned voice, “I would’ve done so years ago. The first time I found you and Will drinking rum on the porch.” “Ah, yes!” He grimaced. “I haven’t forgotten. You threatened to burn my hat!” His eyes narrowed, so that they seemed mere blackened slits. “So why didn’t you, then?” “He was happy.” As simple as that. “And you?” Or not. Bloody pirate. “We both were. You brought us the sea, Jack,” she said, somewhat ruefully. “I was grateful for that. I still am.” He stroked his moustache, pulling a little at the ends of it. “Can’t say a woman’s ever thanked me for that before.” “I should think not,” Elizabeth snorted. “But then, you’ve given them far different things, I’d imagine.” “Indeed.” He nodded, vigorously, beads rattling with the movement and began counting items off his fingers. “Emeralds and diamonds. Silk and satin. Silver and gold. And, of course, there’s the—“ The hard rap on the front door echoed throughout the house, as loud as a pistol shot and Elizabeth froze, completely or perhaps she turned to stone. Either way, she couldn’t move. Jack raised a brow. “I don’t know,” she snapped, coming to life again. “I’m not expecting anyone this early.” She pushed past him and walked up to the window, glancing out. Jumped back, instantly, as if bit. As if burned. “Blast!” The other brow arched. “It’s my father.” Heart beating to a hectic, complicated rhythm, Elizabeth cleared the table, then swirled, scowling when she saw him standing there, as calm as if nothing at all was amiss. “Bedroom! Now!” His smile was all golden and all sharply honed edge. A pirate’s smile. “Ordinarily, love, I’d be more than happy to oblige. But I confess I’m quite looking forward to seeing the good Governor again. Savvy?” And she didn’t, but he took no notice, merely ushered her towards the hallway. “It won’t do to keep him waiting, will it now?” She dug her heels in and brought them both to a screeching halt. “Jack! You’re mad! If he should recognise you—” He clucked disapproval. “If I didn’t know better, Mrs. Turner, I’d be inclined to believe you didn’t trust me.” She remembered this. His breath against her ear, his chest against her back. Memory was a palpable thing, sharp and fierce enough to hurt. And she almost let herself lean into him. “Elizabeth!” She flinched and stepped away, without a backward glance, smoothing out the folds of her skirt. “Trust, Captain Sparrow, has nothing to do with it.” His laughter followed her all the way to the door. * “There you are!” Governor Swann exclaimed, when he laid eyes upon her. “Why didn’t you—“ He trailed off, nonplussed. “Elizabeth?” “Yes, father?” “Who’s that man?” Only then did she turn around. The cowl was up and Jack’s face was hid, as were the telltale trinkets and braids. He had slipped both of his hands into the sleeves and kept them still, a remarkable achievement in and of itself. His head was bowed and his shoulders slumped, as if piety or old age weighted them down. “I’d best be off, Mrs. Turner,” Jack said, with a voice that, though feeble and trembling, betrayed no trace of a slur. “I feel much better now and since the rain has stopped, I’ll not presume on your hospitality any longer.” Elizabeth blinked, grateful that her father’s attention was elsewhere. “I was only glad to be of help, Brother Simon.” Jack approached the Governor, awkward and hobbling. “The years have taken their toll. I’m no longer in the best of health, I fear, and your daughter was so kind as to offer me shelter.” He coughed, loudly, deep in his throat. “I may be a stranger to these parts, but if you govern Port Royal half as well as you must have governed your very own household, I’m convinced we’re in good hands. The very best of hands!” Weatherby’s frown faded, slowly, but surely. “I do what I can, Brother Simon.” And Jack, the scoundrel, the scalawag, the blackguard, who could not be stopped, carried on: “It’s all any of us can hope for, in the eyes of the Lord.” Elizabeth saw the change in her father’s face and was suddenly afraid that he would do something incredibly foolish, the way honest men so often did. Like inquiring if Brother Simon could stay a little while longer. She stepped between the two of them, taking hold of her father’s arm. “Why don’t you go inside, father? I’ll be with you in a moment, I’ll just see the Brother on his way.” “But I—“ Weatherby began, looking at Jack. “There’s some of Annie’s pie in the kitchen,” Elizabeth added, hoping to stem the tide. Her father brightened at the prospect. “Well, if that’s the case—it’s been a pleasure to meet you, Brother Simon.” Elizabeth tensed, but all the angry thoughts she had sent the pirate’s way had, it seemed, reached their mark. Jack merely bowed and muttered something that sounded like a blessing. No doubt it scorched his tongue. Governor Swann smiled, patted Elizabeth’s hand and disappeared into the back of the house. Elizabeth clenched her teeth, glowering at Jack, who took the hint and hurried out of the door, shoulders shaking, visibly, beneath the robes.
“I was not,” Jack professed, but seeing her expression he quickly amended his answer. “Only a little.” She hit him anyway, right arm coming up and slamming into his side. From a distance, it might have looked like an accident. He winced. “I suppose I deserved that.” “You did.” Elizabeth stopped, reaching the gate. The sun was bright and harsh, now that the sky had cleared, and the shadows had shortened. She didn’t much like the thought of him trapped in that merciless glare. “Be careful.” He made a huffing sound and she knew him well enough to know what he would say. “Captain Jack Sparrow or not,” she countered, before he could speak, “you’re not immortal.” “Ah, but I was!” he quipped, in response. “The immortal Captain Jack Sparrow. And some of it might’ve rubbed off on me, eh?” She shook her head, giving up, but not giving in. “Daft.” “Peas in a pod, love. Peas in a pod.” He leaned forward, close enough that she caught a glimpse of metal coins and the whites of his eyes. “One day, Lizzie, me girl, I’ll ask you to come with me.” She smiled, then, and if her smile wasn’t golden, it might as well have been. “One day, I will.” He chuckled, reaching for her hand, placing the black pearl on her palm and closing her fingers around it. “Keep it, darling. I’ll win it back, fair and square, the next time.” Something clenched inside her chest and it might have been her heart, but she ignored it. For now. His hand tightened around hers, briefly, then he let go. Elizabeth lingered, watching him leave, even though she knew her father was waiting. The wind was from the ocean and the air was heavy with salt. She took a deep breath, letting it out in a sigh. Trust him, he’d said. Bloody pirate. She had long ago resigned herself to the fact that she did.
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