Chapter Text
‘Er… Cap’n?’
He turns his eyes from the ocean, the Pearl blessedly solid under his feet, to look at Anamaria. ‘Ye shouldn’t be on yer feet, Anamaria.’
She shrugs. ‘I’m taking it easy, Cap’n. Mister Gibbs will take the helm.’
‘That won’t be necessary, Ana. I’ll helm her myself,’ he says quietly, not looking at her.
‘Where we heading to, Jack?’ she asks quietly.
Where, indeed?
‘The Caribbees,’ he finds himself saying. ‘Let’s go home, Ana.’
‘Aye, Cap’n.’
It is late in the night when he finally allows exhaustion to overcome him, and hands the helm over to Gibbs. He enters his cabin and pushes his way through the door to his bedchamber, stripping off his rain-soaked coat. He discards it on the floor and lets the deadened weight of his body fall on to the bed, burying his face in a pillow, trying desperately to hold in the howl of agony that is threatening to tear its way out of his chest. He clutches frantically at the pillow, one hand sliding underneath, and his fingers graze across a stiff piece of paper.
He withdraws his hand to find himself clutching an envelope.
His hands scrabble for a tinderbox, and it takes several tries with his shaking hands before he can light the candle beside the bed, his heart leaping painfully at the sight of the neat, firm hand in which the words are written.
I, James L. Norrington, being of sound mind and body, do this fourth day of February, 1700, entrust the guardianship of my ward, Miss Katharine Norrington, to Captain Jack Sparrow. Captain Sparrow may be allowed absolute authority to make decisions on her behalf until such time as she enters legal adulthood, during which time he may choose to pass on this authority to another of his choosing, if he so wishes.
Signed:
Commodore J. L. Norrington
The next page bears a short letter.
To
The Head Mistress
Miss Martin’s Academy for Young Ladies
31, Greenwood Lane
Kensington
London
Dear Miss Martin,
Please consider the enclosed a legally binding document concerning Katharine’s future. I regret what has come to pass, and hope that you will accede to my wish in the knowledge that it is made with the greatest forethought. Captain Sparrow is my dearest friend, and has my absolute trust as well as my fondest regard.
I remain forever indebted to you.
Yours in all sincerity,
James Norrington
The third sheet of paper has a briefer note, scribbled in obvious haste.
Jack—my dearest, dearest Jack—dear god, I wish I had more time. Forgive me. I could ask this of no one else. Theo will explain.
Jack springs to his feet and heads for the charts to plot a course to England.
—
He climbs the rickety steps to the first floor of the ramshackle little building, enters a small torch-lit corridor, and knocks on the door at the end of the passage.
‘Who is it?’ a voice asks sharply from within.
‘Groves, it’s Jack Sparrow.’
An instant later, the door is thrown open and Theodore Grove has grabbed his hand, and is pumping it vigorously.
‘Captain Sparrow! Come in, come in.’
Jack steps in and looks around briefly. Groves’s little flat is spare but very neat, and he himself is dressed casually in worn, faded breeches, his shirt open-necked beneath a loosened cravat hanging about his neck.
He sits down without being asked to, and Groves takes the only other chair in the room, clasping his hands in front of him.
‘Captain, your—your letter brought devastating news.’
Jack nods, pinching the bridge of his nose momentarily, willing the incessant pounding in his head to stop, however briefly.
‘The Commodore indicated when we left him that he might not—might not survive the end of the journey, but not for a moment did we think it would really happen.’
Jack nods again, looking the young lieutenant in the eyes. ‘Your Commodore died at sea and in battle, Groves.’
‘That doesn’t make it easier to accept,’ Groves says softly, his voice laced with anguish.
‘No. No, it doesn’t.’
‘And that doesn’t seem to be enough for the Royal Navy,’ Groves goes on, anger in his voice now.
‘Oh?’
‘The Admiral in London… he implied that the Commodore’s death was… was for the best. That he’d have been tried and hanged if he had survived.’
‘Whatever for?’
‘For concealing the fact that he was of a pirate’s lineage, and for losing the Dauntless.’
Jack looks at him, speechless for a moment. ‘You’re not joking, Groves.’
‘No, Captain, I am not. Lieutenant Gillette and I have barely managed to escape being clapped in irons ourselves, until now. There is a hearing tomorrow to determine our fate.’
‘Damn, lad. I’m sorry.’
‘I’m not, Captain. I don’t care what they do to me. The only regret I will carry a propos the last few months—and I will carry it until the end of my days—is that I could not assist James in his hour of need.’
—
Jack spends a sleepless night on the small, lumpy sofa in the tiny parlour, having turned down Groves’s offer to let him have the bed. He misses the gentle swaying of the Pearl, hating being on land now more than ever.
It is in the dark that the anguish bubbling under the surface of his composed demeanour comes to the fore, tormenting him both as he lies awake, and in his dreams. Tonight, he is the hangman as a tall, blue-uniformed figure stands at the gallows, his wrists bound behind his back, a black cloth thrown over his head.
He wakes sobbing, clutching a cushion, gasping for breath. He bites into his fist to keep from waking Groves, and closes his eyes tightly for a moment before composing himself and splashing water on his face from a basin beside the kitchen sink.
—
‘I look like the Earl of Rochester,’ Jack scoffs, looking at his reflection in the mirror.
Groves lets out a short laugh, arranging the long, curly brown wig more securely over Jack’s head. ‘Not a bad comparison by any means, Captain Sparrow.’
Groves has insisted that a gentleman caller at the Miss Martin’s Academy would be expected to look like a gentleman, and Jack is secretly grateful that wearing the horrid thing on his head means that he has not had to unbraid his hair or remove his little treasures woven into its dark, wild strands. He is wearing his own breeches, Groves’s having been too long for him, but has borrowed a shirt, coat and cravat from the lieutenant for his impending visit to the school.
Groves’s eyes meet his in the mirror. ‘I wish I could accompany you, Captain, but the hearing begins in an hour.’
Jack turns to him and holds out his hand, and Groves clasps it tightly for an instant. ‘May Fortune be with you and Gillette, mate.’
‘Thank you, Captain. Miss Martin is a reasonable woman, but should you face any trouble, we will accompany you to the school this evening.’
—
Miss Martin’s Academy for Young Ladies, Kensington. Jack squints at the name engraved on the small board on the wall beside the gatepost of an unassuming building, and he takes a deep breath and walks through the gates. The little path leading to the building is lined on both sides by flowers exuding sweet fragrances, and Jack wills himself to focus on the task at hand as he enters the building.
He is shown into the Head Mistress’s office by a young maid in a frilly white uniform, and sits and fidgets nervously in front of the slim, bespectacled woman behind the desk as she writes slowly, having gone back to her work after giving him the briefest of nods.
She rings the bell after a minute, and the maid enters again. Miss Martin slides her letter into an envelope and seals it neatly before handing it to the girl. ‘See that this is despatched at the earliest, Mary-Jane.’
‘Yes’m.’ The girl bobs in curtsy and leaves.
Miss Martin holds out her hand silently for the letter Jack is clutching, and he feels a strange reluctance to hand it over. She peruses it quietly for a minute, and then removes her spectacles and throws him a sharp glance.
‘This is a most unusual request, Captain Sparrow.’
‘I understand that, ma’am—er, miss—um, your headship.’
‘Miss Martin will do quite nicely, Captain. As I was saying, this is rather unexpected. What has brought on this course of events? I trust Commodore Norrington is well?’
‘He—fell in the line of duty, Miss Martin.’
‘Dear lord,’ she whispers, her eyes widening in shock. ‘I—I’m extremely sorry to hear that, Captain.’
Jack nods carefully, his eyes locked in fascination on the small wooden pen-holder on her desk.
‘This will be a terrible blow to Katharine, Captain Sparrow. A terrible blow.’
He nods again, a finger worrying at the cravat wound much too tightly around his throat.
‘Would you be so kind as to wait in the parlour? I must inform the child immediately, and perhaps it would be better if she had a moment alone to—’
‘Of course,’ Jack cuts in, aware that this might seen as rude, but desperate to be alone himself. He remembers to bow quickly to Miss Martin before retreating in relief.
A few minutes later, Mary-Jane enters the parlour and curtsies. ‘Miss Martin is requesting your presence, sir.’
Jack re-enters the office to find Miss Martin alone there, staring out of the French window opening into a little garden. When she turns to him, he sees that her eyes are unnaturally bright.
She lets out a quiet sigh and indicates an armchair, and Jack sits obediently. She sits down in an identical chair and pours him a cup of tea from a steaming china pot. ‘I have had to deliver terrible news to more students than I care to remember, Captain. It never gets easier.’ She massages her temple beneath the strands of grey that streak through the rich brown hair, and then lets her hand drop.
‘What exactly was your relationship to Commodore Norrington? Katharine does not know you.’
‘No, she—he and I were—comrades.’
‘I see.’ Her sharp eyes scrutinise him deeply, and Jack meets her gaze evenly. ‘You do not look like a military man.’
‘No, Miss Martin. I have my own vessel.’
‘I see,’ she says again. ‘And how long did you know the Commodore?’
‘Seventeen years,’ Jack says unabashedly.
She raises an eyebrow. ‘And yet you never met Katharine?’
Jack shrugs. ‘James was a private person. It was only during the last year that we… collaborated on work.’
Perhaps it is because of the comfort with which James’s Christian name rests on his lips, but Miss Martin seems satisfied with his explanation for the moment.
‘You can come back in the evening if you wish to see her, Captain,’ she says, standing, and he knows that he has been dismissed.
He wanders down the drive, now strangely reluctant to leave the tranquil little school.
As he steps out into the cobbled street, his eyes fall immediately on the horse-drawn coach parked across the road. The curtains are pulled across quickly, but not before Jack catches sight of the face of the occupant underneath a felt cap pulled low over the forehead.
He begins to run as the coach starts up and rattles down the street. He looks around wildly for a hansom as he runs, but there is no other vehicle in sight, and he has to give up at the end of the street. The coach disappears from view and Jack doubles over, a hand over the stitch in his side, panting.
He turns around and races back into the school, tearing down the driveway, brushing past a startled Mary-Jane and bursting unannounced into Miss Martin’s office.
Miss Martin looks up in surprise. ‘Captain Sparrow? Whatever is the matter?’
‘Katharine—she’s in grave danger, Miss Martin.’
She stands up in astonishment. ‘What on earth do you mean?’
‘The men who killed James—I believe they are also after her.’
‘Captain Sparrow, that is quite absurd. Who are these men? What would they want with a schoolgirl?’
‘Could you please just check that she is safe?’
‘Captain Sparrow—’
‘Please. I beg you.’
She gazes at his earnest face, and then rings the bell. There is a knock, and Mary-Jane enters. ‘Mary-Jane, please check if Miss Katharine is quite well. Do not disturb her.’
‘Yes, Miss Martin.’
Jack remains standing, his breath still coming in sharp, painful gasps, as he glares at the Head Mistress. She holds his gaze resolutely, stone-faced.
There is another knock, and Mary-Jane re-enters. ‘She’s at her desk, Miss Martin.’
‘Thank you, Mary-Jane. You may leave.’
Miss Martin turns steely grey eyes on him as the maid leaves. ‘Well, Captain Sparrow? Are you quite satisfied now?’
‘No, Miss Martin, I am not,’ Jack says quietly. ‘I believe that child is in danger, and I will not leave here without her.’
Miss Martin actually snorts. ‘What you’re asking is quite impossible, Captain. You may be her legal guardian now, but I cannot release her into your custody without a female chaperone.’
‘Oh, for crying out—’
‘That will be quite enough, Captain Sparrow.’
‘Don’t you care about her safety at all?’
Miss Martin’s nostrils flare in indignation for a moment, and then she sits down and gazes at him levelly. ‘James was a good man, Captain Sparrow. I have known him for more than a decade, since when he first left Katharine in my care because he trusted that no harm would come to her within these walls.’
Jack stares at her, forcing himself to take deep breaths, trying to put himself in the position of the woman in front of him.
‘I will not,’ she continues quietly, ‘betray his trust by handing his sister over to an impetuous stranger with nothing but a letter to prove his word.’
Jack nods, deflated. ‘Can—may I come back and visit her in the evening?’
‘You may, Captain.’
He nods his thanks and turns to walk out of the room.
‘Captain Sparrow?’
He stops with a hand on the doorknob, turning his head to look at her.
‘You seem genuinely concerned about her welfare. If indeed you have her best interests at heart, I can assure you that you can be as confident as her brother had been that she is well-protected in my care.’
‘I thank you, Miss Martin,’ he says quietly, meaning the words. ‘But there are some things that are outside your control, and mine, or James would have been here himself today.’
She takes a sharp breath, a sudden fear leaping into her eyes, and he nods quietly and leaves.
He steps out into the street and hails a passing cab with a whistle.
‘Can you deliver a message?’ he asks. The cab-driver nods.
‘Lieutenant Theodore Groves at the Naval High Command. He’s to come to Miss Martin’s Academy at Kensington as soon as possible. You got that?’ Jack slips a few coins into the boy’s hand.
‘Lieutenant Theodore Groves,’ the young cab-driver responds smartly. ‘Miss Martin’s, immediately.’
‘Good lad.’ Jack nods at the money. ‘He’ll match that.’ The boy nods, clicks his tongue at his horses, and drives away.
Jack crosses the street and reclines against the wall, folding his arms wearily across his chest, and settles down to wait.