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The Sacking of Port Royal
by TortugaBlack

CHAPTER 3: The Meeting

Charles Darling kicked the old piebald gelding into a reluctant trot up the sloping grade from the fields. Reaching the manicured lawns of the governor’s mansion, he reined the animal up at the iron hitching post before the great house and dismounted. Tying the beast he gave it a gentle pat, then turned to watch the young man striding with purpose up the drive from Port Royal. The old man smiled as the sight of Will Turner brought back memories of the boy’s rescue from the sea as a child and his arrival in Port Royal, a story that had been told and retold to anyone who would listen for years thereafter…how Governor Swann and his daughter Elizabeth, a child of similar age, had been aboard the ship that rescued him and how she had been the first to point young Turner out as he floated unconscious in the sea.

Upon the boy’s arrival in Port Royal, Charles Darling had witnessed an almost immediate attachment between the orphaned boy and governor’s daughter, his own little mistress. And for some time after the unfortunate incident, the boy had been welcomed to the Swann estate to talk with Elizabeth and, on rare occasions, to share a few chaperoned hours of innocent play until he had been apprenticed to the local blacksmith and his station in life preordained. Still the two had tried to maintain some form of contact, but it hadn’t been easy and as time passed, Charles had seen the love in the boy’s eyes cloud with hopelessness. And now, he thought grimly, the young couple had been dealt another blow when the boy had been tarred by the sins of a father he’d never known. Like most of Port Royal he had been surprised to learn of the boy’s unfortunate parentage. But unlike most he had found no reason to hold it against the boy. He could only guess the affect it was sure to have had on the young man he now watched approaching the open gates of the estate.

Charles had seen the flush of excitement cross Turner’s face when he had personally handed him the note from Elizabeth. He’d watched the smithy open the envelope with work-hardened fingers, pull the delicate scrap of parchment from it and read the message with an eagerness only seen in the face of a lover. He’d watched the boy’s dark eyes travel the written lines again and again. If he’d had to describe it, he would have said the boy had savored each and every word written on that small scrap of parchment. When the young man had finally looked up, the excitement had been replaced with hopelessness. Had Charles been forced to make a wager on the chances of the young blacksmith making the walk up to the Swann estates that morning, he would have bet against it. Now as the smithy drew near, the old man realized he would not have been disappointed at losing the bet. He liked Will Turner and was saddened that he could see no happy outcome for the young man and the object of his desire…Elizabeth Swann.

Stepping away from the gelding’s side with a quick pat to the animal’s rump in passing, Charles Darling moved on an interception course with the tall figure in jerkin, dark trousers and seaman’s boots. An eyebrow rose in interest; the boots were new and uncommon footwear for a blacksmith. He frowned. Could it be the boy’s way of defying the over interest and sometimes open hostility of the townspeople’s sudden awareness of his parentage?

Reaching the head of the drive before the great house, Darling raised a hand in friendly greeting and smiled his welcome. Bloody hell, he thought as the boy drew near, a storm was brewing. The boots were not the only change he saw in Will Turner as he lengthened his stride at the sight of the manager. Looking closer he found other signs of the boy’s rebellion: the shirt, usually buttoned at the throat, was open, exposing a well-defined, strong neck and the hint of the well-muscled chest underneath. And the hair! He grimly shook his own head of white thatch. The dark hair always pulled neatly back from Turner’s face and bound at the nape of the neck with a thong or ribbon was now loose, combed back off his forehead and behind each ear to keep the heavy tresses from his face, but left free to fall onto his shoulders. And even from some distance he could tell the once thin mustache and thinner line of facial hair, that traced its way from the center of the boy’s lower lip to the tip of his chin, had darkened with new growth, the sideburns longer, more defined, giving the boy the look of a young rogue. Like his father perhaps, Charles wondered. Not a real good idea on the part of the young man, but one he could understand, having learned the story behind the boy’s recent adventure with the pirates. He took another step toward the approaching blacksmith.

“Good morning, William.” He offered his hand, smiling as Turner met him with open welcome and reached out to shake his hand.

“Mister Darling, good morning to you, sir.”

His hand was strong with a firm grip and a directness that the old man liked. “On your way up to the main house to see Elizabeth, boy?”

“Yes…” For the first time there was a hesitation in the grip and the young man’s voice. He released Darling’s hand. “I came…but I probably shouldn’t have….”

“Nonsense, Miss Elizabeth sent for you, didn’t she?” Charles turned toward the house, drawing Turner with him. “If it’s one thing I’ve learned over the many years of my life, it’s never keep a good woman waiting. Come on, I’ll walk you up to the house.”

Reaching the front of the mansion they started up the stone steps to the door in silence. Sneaking a quick glance now and again in Turner’s direction, Charles observed a seriousness, a determination, he’d not seen before in the smithy’s usually friendly dark eyes, a tightness around the mouth. As he slowed his stride and allowed Turner to precede him, a flicker of concern touched the pale blue eyes of the old man as he was again struck by the physical changes in Will Turner. Elizabeth Swann was in for a surprise if she was expecting the young man of months past. The Will Turner standing at the top of the steps waiting for him was a boy no longer, he was a man and, Charles thought with interest, one with heavy matters on those broad shoulders.

At the top of the steps Charles Darling moved past the young blacksmith to the closed door, raised the latch and beckoned Turner into the foyer ahead of him. Inside a young maid stepped quickly out of the blacksmith’s way and stood before him her hands clasped nervously in front of her, her eyes roaming with obvious attraction over the strapping good looks of the young man. Darling sighed. “Maria, would you please tell Miss Elizabeth her guest has arrived?” The girl stood spellbound before them, her eyes locked on Will Turner. “Now, child!” The spell broken the girl dropped a quick curtsy, turned and hurried up the curved staircase. He shot a glance at the smithy, but Turner, seemingly unaware of the maid’s interest, stood at stiff attention and openly uncomfortable.

“Relax, William. You’re waiting for a beautiful woman, boy, not a flogging.”

“Yes, well…” The young smithy turned his attention past the old manager to the staircase, then to the quiet emptiness of the foyer. “I – I haven’t seen Governor Swann lately and thought he must be…away. When I got Miss Elizabeth’s missive, I wasn’t sure I should answer it in person as she requested.”

“Of course you should have.” Elizabeth Swann smiled from the head of the stairs, her hand lightly touching the balustrade as she moved toward them. “Good morning, Charles.”

“Miss Elizabeth.” Charles tipped his head in greeting and smiled his pleasure, feasting his eyes on the beauty and grace of a child grown. From him, Elizabeth’s attention had shifted to the young man at his side; Charles didn’t have to see their eyes meet, or the expression of caring on their faces, he could feel the pull of the one for the other in the very air around them. These two had been bound from the moment of their meeting he acknowledged with sadness; if the feelings they both wore so openly toward each other were to be realized, there would be rough roads yet to travel.

Elizabeth Swann reached the last step and stepped lightly from the stairs, joining them with an open welcome. “Will, it’s been so long. It’s good to see you.”

Will Turner stepped forward to meet her, his eyes drinking in the sight of her like a man too long sober looked upon an offered tankard. Darling chuckled at his comparison. A little early to be thinking such thoughts, but he promised himself a drop of libation when his work was done. “Well, young folk, I have work needing done so I think I’ll leave you two…”

“Charles, what’s going on here?” Martha glided into the room, her shoulders back, her skirt rustling with disapproval. “I didn’t hear the bell.”

“You didn’t hear it, love, because it wasn’t pulled.” Charles moved away from the young couple, blocking his wife’s way. “I met Mister Turner on the drive and walked up to the house with him. We didn’t want to disturb the household so we let ourselves in.”

“Charles, you know all guests should be properly announced,” his wife scolded, trying to get a look at the couple. “Especially with the governor away.”

“Now, Martha, Miss Elizabeth is the head of this household when His Honor’s away. She sent for the boy and I, personally, met and escorted him inside. You’re here to watch over them like an ol’ broody hen along with a houseful of servants. I hardly find anything improper in that, do you?”

“Will, why haven’t you come to see me?” Elizabeth whispered, looking into the dark eyes of the man she had loved since childhood.

Drawn from the older couple’s gentle argument, Will turned his attention to Elizabeth, uneasily aware of their closeness. “Your father? He’s away?”

“Yes, he sailed over a fortnight ago with Commodore Norrington and the Dauntless to take formal possession of a replacement for the Interceptor.” She stepped closer, noting with disappointment his hurried step backward.

“To Deptfort? England?” He shot an uncomfortable look again toward the Darlings.

“No, to the Colonies.” Worry creased her forehead. “Will, is something wrong?”

“Mister Turner.”

Will turned somewhat guiltily away from Elizabeth to meet the disapproving eye of the Swann’s housekeeper.

“Mister Darling –” Martha shot her husband a mild, but disapproving glance, “–was somewhat remiss in his welcome. The governor is currently away and, as a gentleman, I’m sure you will understand if I ask that you reschedule your appointment for after his return.”

“I came at Miss Swann’s request, unaware that Governor Swann was not in residence,” Will explained. He turned his attention back to the young woman at his side. “If it is her wish that I do so, I will return at a later date.”

“No,” Elizabeth answered with feeling. “It’s all right, Will.” She turned back to the disapproving housekeeper. “Martha, Mister Turner and I will be on the veranda. Would you please have refreshments brought to us there?”

Accustomed to her mistress’ oft time impulsiveness, Martha Darling sighed and shook her head in disapproval. “Your father would be displeased, milady, if he knew of this meeting during his absence.”

“Martha, Martha,” Charles Darling interrupted. “These children have known each other since childhood, do you really fear for Miss Elizabeth’s reputation should she spend a short while–” he shot a knowing glance toward the young couple, “–with Mister Turner?” He turned back to his wife. “Now Miss Elizabeth has sent for Mister Turner and he has graciously answered her summons, I think they deserve some time together…alone.” He emphasized the last word, his eyes locked to those of his wife.

“It’s – it’s highly against…”

“I know, love, I know.” Charles smiled and reached a finger to gently touch his wife’s cheek, lowering his voice. “Don’t you remember those stolen moments in your father’s…”

“Mister Darling!” Martha exclaimed, her cheeks reddening under his touch. “You forget yourself…your place!”

Charles chuckled lightly. “I think not, Martha. It has been and always will be at your side.” He stepped away. “Now leave these young people and go on about your business.”

With a parting huff and a swing of her skirts, Martha Darling turned on her heel and left the room.

The estate manager turned back to the young couple. “Mister Turner, it’s a pleasure seeing you again.” He touched his finger to his forehead in quick acknowledgement of the young woman. “Elizabeth, be good child, and don’t make me regret going toe to toe with my wife on this matter.” He grinned. “I’ll likely catch the blunt of her temper later anyway.” With that Charles opened the door and let himself out, closing it softly behind him.

For a moment they could only stare after the estate manager. Breaking the silence Elizabeth slipped her arm around Will’s and turned him in the direction the housekeeper had taken. “Will, I’m so glad you came, please come, the veranda will be cool this time of the day and will give us the privacy to talk. There’s so much I want to know.” She looked up into the dark eyes of the man she loved. “By the way, I like the boots.”

A smile broke the somber expression as Will pulled her arm gently into the crook of his own and went with her, if somewhat reluctantly, into the house. Passing through the sitting room, they moved into an airy library lined with bookshelves, through a formal dayroom, and finally through open double doors onto a covered veranda. Sheltered from the heat of the sun overhead, the veranda was cool and inviting. At one end, a table was set with several straight-backed chairs around it, at the other end, an ‘S’ shaped settee sat alone, it’s upholstered cushions beautifully stitched needlepoint, its delicately carved mahogany arm polished to a fine sheen. Will eyed it nervously as Elizabeth steered him in its direction. It was obvious the seating arrangements she had chosen; he handed her to a seat at the bottom of the ‘S’, and took the other for himself.

“You mentioned the Dauntless sailing to the Colonies, it was my understanding the British Navy’s contract was with Deptfort?”

Settling into her seat, Elizabeth regarded him anxiously and, reading his unwillingness to move into more serious matters, she nodded. “Until recently that was true. When James –Commodore Norrington – put in a formal request for a replacement, he received word that John Rose had left Deptfort and was building ships for the British in the northern colonies…a place called James Island. The ship commissioned to replace the Interceptor is to be one of the first to leave the new yards.”

“And the new ship?” The question was asked with no real interest in the asking. His eyes avoided hers to settle on a large willow at the far edge of the veranda.

“A schooner.”

“For these waters?” Again a question asked, but still he showed little interest in the subject.

“Yes,” Elizabeth replied, puzzled at Will’s behavior. Something was upsetting him, but whatever it was, he was not yet ready to talk of it. She carefully followed his lead. “She’s shallow-drafted with two masts, fore-and-aft rigged, and between a hundred fifty and two hundred tons.”

For the first time interest sparked in the dark eyes; surprise turned his attention to her. “She’s small.”

Hoping to hold his attention, Elizabeth searched her mind for more information on the new ship. “Small…and fast. She’s large enough to carry twelve cannon, but lighter in tonnage than the Interceptor.”

“That size, she’ll have no need of a large crew.” Will Turner’s voice hardened. “A pirate hunter…” His attention turned back to her. “And your father sailed with the Dauntless?”

“Yes.” She reached a hand to the curved wooden arm that separated them. “You didn’t know?”

He shook his head.

“Will.” She reached across the chair arm to lightly touch his sleeve, forcing him to meet her gaze. “Why haven’t you come to see me? It’s been weeks since – since…”

The question, softly spoken, caught Turner off balance. “Up until her sailing, I’ve been busy with the refit and ironworks for the Dauntless,” he admitted.

“And afterwards?” she pressed, but he would not meet her gaze.

“I – I thought it best that I…” He shifted uncomfortably in the narrow seat. “After all that’s happened with Jack…the Black Pearl…and later the hanging of the last of Barbossa’s crew…” Honesty and a desire not to hurt her drove him on. “Elizabeth, I could not in good faith bring my troubles to your doorstep.” He looked around the quiet veranda. “I shouldn’t be here now. It will only lead to more talk…”

“But it wasn’t entirely your decision, was it?”

Will Turner visibly stiffened at the accusation in her voice. “Maybe not at first,” he admitted. “But it was the right one.”

Elizabeth looked away. “So my father did warn you away from me….”

“It matters not, Elizabeth,” he interrupted. His eyes met hers. “I would have chosen to do so had he not asked for my understanding.” Sadness touched the dark eyes.

“And the late nights in the forge?” she pressed, watching him closely. The question, she noted had caught him off guard. The dark eyes, always so open to her, flickered with something she could not read. “I’ve been working on a project of my own.”

“A project of your own?” she repeated, unsure of his meaning and equally sure he was not likely to tell her more. But she also suspected it was not the cause of the sadness and pain she read behind almost everything he’d said since his arrival…and more that he hadn’t said. “Will, what is it?” Her whispered words brought the fear of exposure to his already guarded expression and the further masking of whatever he was attempting to hold from her.

Will Turner dropped his gaze. “It’s…nothing.”

“Will, please…” Elizabeth reached out again with a thought she suspected would find its mark. “It’s your father, isn’t it? All the talk, the rumors, how could it not raise questions?”

“It’s not so much the questions,” Will grudgingly admitted. “I’ve accepted…what he was.”

Elizabeth studied him carefully, but made no move to interrupt, fearing if he were stopped, he would not continue.

“I know that in the end he regretted what was–” the pain was naked in his voice, the anguish too long held in check, “– what was done to Jack, but I had not truly considered the fate that awaited him….”

“When he was put over the side?” Elizabeth encouraged softly.

“Yes.” The torment again touched the dark eyes. “He was cursed…the same as the others.”

Elizabeth’s eyes widened with understanding. “He couldn’t die…”

Will Turner nodded, unable to speak past the lump that had formed in his throat.

Heart-sore with his pain, Elizabeth reached again for the rough hands of the man she loved. “Will, I’m so… so sorry. I hadn’t realized…”

“My father didn’t die when he was dropped overboard ten years ago,” he continued, reliving the nightmares that had haunted him up to their recent conclusion. “He, too, had taken coin from the stone chest and was cursed. Bound in chains and anchored to a cannon, Bill Turner, my father, could not die. Instead he languished there alone in the depths of the sea for ten long years.” He took a shaky breath. “When the last coin dropped into the stone chest, drenched in my blood…the blood of Bill Turner’s only child…my father finally died.” Will looked up and in the final moments of his acceptance of guilt, he shared his grief with the only person he knew would understand. “With a stroke of a knife and the shedding of my blood…his blood…I killed my own father.”