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The beginning of their marriage had weathered more than its fair share of turbulence. Which was saying something, given that Lord Peter Wimsey, well-known detective, and Harriet Vane, novelist and exonerated murder suspect, had been the subject of gossip for years before Harriet finally relented to Peter’s proposals and married him.
Peter’s solution of his most recent case resulted in an execution that shook him to his core. Afterwards, in its wake, they were both learning how to take their first steps in creating normality, a routine between his work (perusing the paper for another case, handling the niggling matters of estate) and hers (refining a draft, taking notes for another novel, planning a research trip).
Amidst all of that hubub, as they settled in their new home, was the inevitable unpacking of boxes. Bunter, Peter’s long term and invaluable valet/assistant, had handled most of them, but there were some Harriet had placed specifically in her office to unpack herself. One box, with no label, had been in her father’s closet since her early teens, and while she couldn’t be certain, she had suspicions of what was inside.
One day after breakfast, the late morning light traveling across the room, she pulled the box away from the corner it sat in and pried the flaps open. Folders of paperwork from Father’s medical practice, a couple books. And below it, a small wooden box.
Harriet paused for a moment, staring at it, before lifting it up.
The box was of dark wood, with a three-mast ship on a nest of waves carved on the lid. A small British flag flew from the highest mast. The sides of the box also had waves, the odd fish. She turned it over. On the bottom of the box was a skull.
“This box,” her granddad had murmured to her, holding her close on his lap, “holds one of our family’s dearest secrets.” He’d passed a hand over her curly hair and encouraged her to lift up the lid. Inside were three cords of dry, almost brittle leather, two that ended with silver clasps, another knotted around five metal bars spaced apart, and a single silver earring.
“Ah, ah…one moment,” he murmured as Harriet reached out a hand. He picked up the earring and placed it in her palm. “These are delicate, you have to be careful with them.” He picked up one of the cords and held it gently. After a moment she reached out with one finger to stroke the hard leather. “These were worn by our ancestor, Charles Vane.” He paused and fingered the metal clasp. “He was a pirate. He was hanged in Nassau after a very brief and swift trial, accused of the various things pirates are always accused of. And he probably was guilty of some of them.” He smiled down at Harriet’s wide eyes. “He was called a monster, as were many of the people who sailed in those seas.”
“A pirate,” Harriet murmured, holding up the earring in her fingers and looking at it closely.
Granddad smiled approvingly at her reverent tone. “Yes, chickadee. He was. And there are many stories out there about what he did. The people he killed, the things he stole. History says that he was a scourge of the seas, a terror to all who knew him.” He smiled and held her a little closer. “Your father wouldn’t want me to be telling you any of this. He’s embarrassed, thinks it’s something better forgotten, something that has nothing to do with the life of a country doctor.”
His voice lowered. “But I want you to listen carefully, now.” His loving gaze grew serious. “History is told by those who won the battles. It doesn’t mean it holds the whole story, that it holds all of the truth. Or any of it, sometimes,” he muttered to himself, plucking the earring from her fingers. He rolled it in his hand for a moment before placing the objects back in the box. “No. Charles Vane wasn’t just a pirate, or a pillager. He was a fighter, fighting for freedoms he was never able to achieve. A free island for his people, a new way of living.” He closed the box and smoothed his fingers over it. Harriet reached out and traced the waves on the lid.
Granddad let out a breath. “Even when you lose, those battles can carry a legacy through the centuries. To stand for your truth, and your people, is one of the noblest things you can do, and you don’t need to be of noble blood to do it.” He kissed the top of her head. “I want you to remember that.”
“Can you tell me stories about him, Granddad?”
“Yes. I will be happy to. But not right now.” He grunted a little as he stood, cradling her on one hip. “Oof, you’re getting big. Now it’s time for bed.”
Harriet sat in her office, fingers tracing over the ship and waves on the lid. The memories had risen with such immediacy that she sat on the floor for a while, holding onto the feeling of leaning into Granddad’s back, his arm around her, her feet swinging gently in the air. She warily lifted the lid and peeked inside. Wrapped in pieces of tissue paper, the cords and metal pieces, and yes, the earring too, were still inside. She tucked the paper back around it and fitted the lid closed.
The sun had traveled a couple feet across the room. It was close to lunchtime. She let out a breath, got up, and walked quietly up the stairs to the bedroom. After some hesitation she left the box on her bedside table. Putting it away in a drawer seemed wrong, somehow. After so many years she wanted it close, in the light.
The box lingered in her mind throughout the rest of the day as she unpacked and organized her things. She went to bed before Peter, feeling sleepy, and turned to face the box. As she began to drift off she almost imagined the waves that decorated the sides moving, and idly wondered if one of the fish carved in its depths would leap out of the water. Half asleep, she heard Peter moving around the room, getting ready for bed.
“What’s that, darling?” He murmured softly. He sometimes did that, to see if she was awake, to make sure he didn’t disturb her if she wasn’t.
“Hmm?”
“That box on your side. I haven’t seen it before, where’d you get that from?"
“Mmmm.” Harried sighed and turned to face him as he clambered into bed. “It’s a family heirloom.”
Peter’s eyebrows raised. “Really. May I see it?”
Harriet reached out for the box and handed it over to Peter after he’d settled in. He held it gently and took care to keep the lid closed, as it didn’t have any hinges or fastener. She watched him hold it with long, elegant fingers and felt a wave of fondness as he examined it closely. “Looks old.” His eyebrows rose as he turned it over. “Well. What have we here.”
Harriet reached out to trace the skull carved into the bottom of the box. His gaze grew both curious and mirthful at her small, wry smile. “Any treasure inside? Or a map? Something pointing to doubloons n’ gems and other such?”
“Nothing that exciting, I’m afraid.” Harriet pushed herself upright against the headboard and took the box from him. She eased off the lid, pulled aside the paper that kept the contents from rattling, and unwrapped the pieces, laying them on the bed in front of her. The necklaces looked just the same. The earring was smaller than she’d remembered. She was able to better understand what they were now, cast-off pieces cobbled together into a primitive set of adornments. “One of my ancestors wore these,” she said.
Peter’s eyes widened, and he picked up the shortest of the three, carefully examining the leather cord, handling the pendants knotted on.
“He was a pirate, they say,” she murmured, smiling as his gaze turned to her, amazed. “Yeah. Granddad used to tell stories about him, when father wasn’t around. Probably thought he was filling my head with silly fairytales.”
“Harriet Vane.” Peter laid down the necklace and picked up the earring, looking at it closely. “Great, great, however many greats grandchild of a terror of the high seas.” He sat back. “Well. You’ll have to tell me some of those stories.”
“I don’t know how much truth there is in the ones he told me.” She folded up the necklaces one by one, placing everything back in the box and fitting the lid on. She yawned loudly. “I will. But not tonight.”
“Of course darling.” He kissed her, stroked her cheek, and turned out the light. “Good night, dear heart.”
“Good night, love.”
***
The salt air was the first thing she was aware of. That and the bright light seen from under her eyelids. She opened her eyes, squinting in the sun. She was standing on the edge of a crowd of mostly bedraggled looking spectators. An empty gallows stood at the center, with soldiers of the British Navy in 18th century long coats and tricorne hats. She reached up her hands to her own head which was wrapped in a kerchief, and brushed them down voluminous skirts. Peter stood next to her in a more battered tricorne hat and breeches, tiny spectacles and a plain overcoat.
The crowd parted behind her, and a tan, weather-worn man approached, escorted by two soldiers. Harriet saw with a shock three very familiar cords around his neck. His blue eyes were narrow and calm, and seemed to see everything, peering out from a new bruise forming along his left cheek.
He walked through the jeering spectators without a glance of acknowledgement, seeking instead those peppered along the edge of the crowd who watched the proceedings in silence. He mounted the steps and stood motionless as the accusations and sentence were read out.
“Harriet,” Peter said in a shocked voice, “That’s…is that…”
“That’s Charles Vane, former captain of the Ranger, and one of the most fearsome pirates Nassau ever saw,” a man said next to them. “Never thought they’d catch ‘im. But I suppose we all get caught in the end, eh?”
Peter’s eyes grew huge. “Vane. Really?”
Harriet gave a brief, shaky nod and Peter grasped her hand. “Are you alright, darling? Do you want to leave?” Harriet shook her head, unable to speak. “Alright.” He took a breath.
They stood as the lieutenant rambled on about the silencing of a disruptive voice and the will of God. And then…
“Does the condemned have anything to say before the sentence is carried out?”
Vane stood strong and still as the crowed booed, and began to speak. Somehow Harriet could hear his voice clearly through the din. It was low, rough and firm, almost like the purr of a lion or other great cat, and at the edges of it she could hear a hint of her father.
“These men…who brought me here today, do not fear me. They brought me here today because they fear you.”
Harriet marveled as the jeers very quickly quieted down. Vane was calm and focused as he continued. She wondered if he’d been preparing for this possibility, this moment, and for how long. The life of a pirate meant you’d most likely either die suddenly, or in a situation like this.
“But know this. We…are many. They are few. To fear death is a choice. And they can’t hang us all.”
He paused, looking down, resigned. “Get on with it, motherfucker.”
Harriet gripped Peter’s hand ever tighter as the noose was placed around Charles Vane’s neck and looked at him, his face paling. “Are you alright?”
Peter nodded.
Vane died. Harriet turned away when several men rushed forward to pull at his legs. She knew it was an act of compassion, a way to hasten the end, but it was brutal nonetheless. Peter’s arm curved around her waist and she allowed him to lead her out of the square and away from the crowd.
As he led her through the edge of the town, she looked around noticing that it had become more sparsely populated, until they left it behind entirely. Her roiling stomach eased, her shaking dissipated as they reached the shore, and found a deserted beach with several wooden chairs set in the sand.
Peter moved two of them close together and they sat, hands still linked but no longer gripping each other as if a storm would pull them apart. Harriet looked down, and then at Peter, and saw with surprise that they were back in normal clothes—she wearing a blue cotton lawn dress, Peter in tan trousers, a light linen shirt and suspenders, his cornsilk hair faintly ruffled in the breeze.
He pulled her hand to his lips and smiled, eyes shining. “Well,” he sighed, “now I know where at least some of your fighting spirit comes from.”
Harriet nudged her chair until it was touching his, and leaned her head on his shoulder. “It was horrible to see…but so brave. I don’t think he had any fear in him at the end.”
“To fear death is a choice,” Peter repeated, and paused. “I suppose that happens to be the case when you’re exposed to it often enough. Or rather, choose to run towards it, as I suppose pirates were wont to do.” Harriet squeezed his hand where it rested in her lap. Peter had seen a lot of death in the War, but he’d never really had a choice there. It wasn’t something they’d spoken about, yet. There would be time.
They sat for a while, the warm breeze passing around them. Harriet breathed in the salt air and felt herself relaxing more than she had in a long while, leaning into the comfort of Peter’s body.
“Have you noticed how quiet it is?” he remarked, looking around.
Harriet raised her head. It was true. The hubub and chatter of the town was gone. The only sounds were the waves that beat a rhythmic, soothing measure, and acouple gulls crying overhead. She looked along the shoreline and saw a single figure in the distance, walking towards them along the edges of the waves. As he strode slowly closer, she felt a dawning sense of recognition. The same long hair, the set of his shoulders.
“Is that….”
“Can’t be,” Peter said, astonished. “And yet…I think it is.”
Charles Vane came closer, his steps hesitant as he walked up to where their chairs were perched. His hands twitched nervously before he crossed his arms, looking back and forth between them.
“Well. This is new.”
His voice still sounded like a low, husky purr mixed with gravel. A smile twitched at his lips.
“Well, that’s certainly true, at least from our perspective,” Peter replied after a brief pause. “But d’you mind explaining what you mean by that?”
“I’ve been reliving my life’s worth of memories for a long, long time now.” Vane eyed a chair nearby, pulled it through the sand and sat down, facing them. He let out a breath. “First time there’ve been chairs here.” He stretched out his legs, the heels of his dark boots cutting trails in the sand. “Reliving every memory, and then after each one, walking back and forth on this beach,” he waved a hand behind him, “or sitting, baking my arse on the hot sand, sometimes swimming around.” He paused, running his hands over his face. “Yelling, screaming up at the sky. Thinking it over, piece by piece. Sometimes it took a few moments. Other times the wait was fucking interminable before I could move on to the next. Not once has there been someone else to talk to.” He let out a long breath and watched Peter holding one of Harriet’s hands, stroking it with his thumb.
Peter’s voice was gentle as he asked, “You just lived through your last memory. What happens now?”
Vane went still, his eyes narrowing. “How would you know about that?”
“We saw it,” Harriet said quietly. “We were in the crowd.”
Vane examined them for a while, eyes flitting over their unfamiliar clothing, Harriet’s short bob haircut. “Who are you?” He asked at last.
Harriet felt Peter’s gaze on her as she looked back at Charles Vane. “My name is Harriet.” She cleared her throat. “Harriet Vane. I’m…I’m a descendant of yours.”
Her heart beat fast as his eyes widened, staring into her face for an interminable amount of time. “How long?” He shook his head impatiently, looking at their confused faces. “I mean…you said descendant, what do you mean?”
“You’re a several greats-grandfather of hers,” Peter said. “Not sure how many.”
Harriet couldn’t help but smile at Vane’s confusion. “I was born in 1902.”
The man before them sank further in his chair, hands limp in his lap.
“You didn’t know you had a child,” Peter said.
“No.” Vane stared at his hands. “No. I didn’t.” He released a long breath. “I didn’t…” He shook his head. “Maybe it was for the best.”
“Your son,” Peter murmured. Vane’s head jerked up and stared at him. “It would have been a son, for the name to travel down the generations. He would have had a son, and he would have had one, and so on. The name of Vane has lived for two centuries since you died.”
“A boy,” he said in a reverent whisper. Eventually he rubbed a hand over his mouth and his gaze fixed on a midpoint in space. Harriet got the impression he was scrutinizing the years of his life all over again.
“He did know,” Harriet said, surprised to hear the edge of tears in her voice as Vane’s incredulous gaze rose back to hers. “He must have known. Stories about you have come down through the family ever since.” She started, suddenly conscious of a weight in one of her pockets. She reached in and pulled out the box. “I just found this in my father’s things yesterday.”
Harriet handed it to him, and he took it gingerly, as if it was about to bite him. He grazed his fingers over the ship on the lid. “This looks like the Ranger.” He looked at them. “My ship.”
“Ah,” Peter murmured.
Vane lifted the lid and froze, getting a glimpse of the contents. He replaced the lid and gave it quickly back to Harriet, looking a little spooked. One hand tugged at his longest necklace, as if to remind himself that it was still there.
“Someone…” he paused and cleared his throat. “Someone must have taken them off me after I died.”
“Someone must have given them to your son,” Harriet said hoarsely. “Someone who told him who you were.”
“I couldn’t bear to leave him with nothing,” a woman’s voice said from a few yards away.
Charles Vane’s entire body seized for a moment as he jerked his head towards the voice. A woman with flowing golden hair, a practical shirtwaist and long skirt stood with her bare feet sinking into the sand, one hand gripping the back of another chair as if it was the only thing holding her up.
“I realized it on the ship, after I was arrested, when they took me to London,” she said. The woman’s and Vane’s eyes were fixed on each other. “They told me I’d get off easy, and that it would give the baby a better chance if…” she fought to keep her face from crumpling, tears streaming down her face, “if I willingly gave him up to a ‘proper’ family. They threatened to cast him in an orphanage if I fought them.”
“Eleanor,” Vane said, as if it was the only word in the world.
“They continued to hold his fate over my head after I came back. Rogers knew about him. Said no one knew who he was, and that wouldn’t change as long as I cooperated with everything he did. I couldn’t….I could never tell you about him. I couldn’t risk you going after him, putting yourself, or him, at risk.” Tears flowed unabated as she kept her gaze fixed on Vane. “I had to renounce you completely. I had to betray you. And then…and then I said those horrible things to you, and you died.
“I had someone take the cords off your body before they buried you. At first it was just for me to have something…but I couldn’t stop thinking about him, that he should have them, that he should know. And…then I found out his family had died. He was with an elderly aunt, in a little crumbled down town in Sussex. I’d told Max about him, and I was planning to go after him when I had the chance, but then I died…”
Vane sprang out of his chair, enfolding her in his arms, as she continued through her tears. “She must have found him, Max somehow must have reached him, or someone else, maybe Jack…”
“If anyone would have been able to make that happen it would have been them,” Vane said, his voice broken.
Her arms went around him, clinging to him, her head buried in his chest. “How…how can you look at me, how can you touch me after all this, after everything… My God, Charles…”
“Eleanor.” His eyes squeezed shut and he rested his cheek against her head. “We aren’t either of us blameless. We put each other through hell.” He held her as she sobbed into his chest. “You tried…so hard, to make it work. And you were brilliant.”
She sniffed, looking up at him. Vane brushed her cheeks with his thumbs, and kissed her.
Harriet glanced away at the shining waves, the pure sand, still holding Peter’s hand, wiping her eyes with the other. Peter kissed her fingers, her cheek, and held her close. Eventually she turned and saw Charles and Eleanor still embracing, but watching them.
“Oh! Beg pardon,” Peter said with a wry smile.
Vane snorted. He pulled Eleanor’s chair over and they sat down, hands linked. “Eleanor. This is Harriet Vane.” Eleanor’s head cocked slightly, staring at her. “She’s…well. Our granddaughter. Of a sort.”
“Several greats down the line,” Peter interjected.
“Hello,” Harriet gave a little wave.
An awestruck smile crept over Eleanor’s face. “Harriet.” She reached out and clasped one of Harriet’s hands in both of her own. Reached over and kissed her cheek. “Hello.”
****
Thinking back on it later, Harriet couldn’t be certain how long they sat on that beach and talked. An hour? A day? The sun never shifted, a golden, forgiving presence as they asked each other questions. So many of them, Harriet’s heart expanding in new directions at the wonder on Vane’s and Eleanor’s faces as she told them of her years studying at Oxford, of making a living as a writer. Of her time in prison, awaiting trial as the suspect in Philip’s death, of Peter’s tireless and ultimately successful attempt to exonerate and free her.
Vane and Eleanor were amused, amazed, and understanding of that last bit. “We’ve both been imprisoned before,” Eleanor remarked. “Whatever people say you’re guilty of, in the end it’s only you and the cell walls that know whatever the truth is. Everyone else can go fuck themselves.”
Vane grinned and his arm that had wrapped around Eleanor’s waist tightened as he kissed her hair. He rested his piercing gaze on Peter. “Never had any use for Lords,” he said. “But I suppose every family has to make the best of them.”
Peter chuffed a laugh, his lips curving in a sideways smile. “You might be surprised how many Lords agree with you.”
Tales continued to unfurl on both sides, like sails lifting, showing the true direction of the wind. Stories of battle and betrayal, rage, resentment, and fierce loyalty. More than once Eleanor choked out confessions while gripping Vane’s hand. More than once her eyes were fixed on Vane when he laughed, or smiled more broadly than his face seemed to know how to do.
Eventually Vane noticed Peter’s gaze trained on the coastline, and as he turned to follow it they all saw a large warship out in the water, a small rowboat resting on the sand, where one hadn’t been before.
Vane and Eleanor looked at each other. “Well, love,” he said softly, “I think it’s time.” He looked at them, and said, to Harriet’s complete surprise, “Want to come with us?” He noticed their hesitation. “Just for a little while. There’s a few more people on that ship that you would find interesting.”
Eleanor’s eyes lit up. “Really?”
Vane paused. “I think so. Can’t you feel them, somehow, out there?”
She stood for a moment, and her smile broadened, taking on an almost manic excitement. “You’re right.” She turned to them. “You should come too.”
“Well, darling?” Peter said. “Want to step aboard a pirate ship?”
Harriet looked at them, a thrill rising in her chest, and nodded.
“Yes,” Eleanor declared. She pulled Vane down and kissed him, once, twice, three times, stroking his astonished face before turning to grab Harriet’s hand and pull her ahead to the rowboat.
***
Vane took the oars. His arms pulled the boat almost effortlessly through the glassy water as Eleanor and Harriet chatted away and the island receded into the distance. Untold ages he wandered alone on that shore, and now this rowboat contained more happiness than he’d ever imagined in his sorry life. And yet that short lifetime had created it all. It was enough to scramble the mind if you thought it over too much.
Lord Peter…Wimsey, now there was a rather unfortunate name. Vane shook his head to himself. The man seemed a level-headed sort, with an obvious adoration for the quiet, curly-haired woman absorbing Eleanor’s chatter like a plant in the sun. Vane felt an ache for Eleanor, who had endured so much, and the smart, strong, greats-grandchild who’d lost her own parents so young. But that ache was muted by the joy they all felt now. It was a fucking miracle, something Vane hardly felt equipped to contain.
His reverie was broken by a shouting from the ship. Soon they were all scrambling up the rope ladders to the deck.
***
Eleanor was the first to reach the top, with Harriet and Peter after her, showing less awkwardness than Vanewould have imagined from landlubbers with their strange shoes. And then he was racing up the slippery ropes and over the hull to land on the deck.
Before he could take a breath he was struck by someone who wrapped him in a full embrace. “You tardy bastard. Should’ve known you’d be one of the last to arrive.” Vane leaned back to see Jack’s eyes glistening, his dark hair a mop in the salty air.
Anne wasn’t far behind him, shoving Jack aside to grip him around the waist. “Fucking making us wait out here. Asshole.” Vane looked down and stroked her long red tresses, her hat nowhere to be seen, her eyes as shining and piercing as her broad smile.
From there a loud hubub struck up as he became aware of the crowd on the vast deck, all moving to slap him on the back, yell in his face, and kiss his cheeks more times than he could count. Teach pushed through them to pick Vane up in a hug that crushed the breath out of him for a moment. Through the pandemonium he saw Eleanor and Max in a long embrace, both crying silently while Max whispered in Eleanor’s ear. Harriet and Peter stood back, Peter looking over the ship as if taking in the structure, Harriet fixed on him in the center of the crowd. Their eyes met for a moment and her broad smile matched his elation before Gates gripped his arm. “Give the man some room to breathe you stupid fucks!” he yelled, laughing.
Their numbers dissipated, people forming smaller groups, laughing and talking animatedly. Eleanor returned to Vane’s side, pulling Max along with her. Max reached up to press a light kiss to his cheek. “Eet is good to see you, Charles,” she said with a small smile.
“Max was just telling me about our son,” Eleanor’s eyes flitted up to his.
Vane put his arm around Eleanor’s shoulder and leaned his head against hers for a moment, looking at Max questioningly. Anne and Jack drew closer, and Max reached out for Anne’s hand. “We were able to go to England, Anne and I…we left after Jack was ‘anged. That would ‘ave been about…seven years? After Eleanor?” Anne nodded.
Vane patted Jack’s shoulder commiseratingly. Anne reached out her other arm to wind around Jack’s waist, leaning her head on his shoulder as Jack kissed her hair.
Vane’s glance returned to Harriet, who was watching the group at a distance from her perch along the taffrail. “Hold on a moment.” He waved at her with his free hand and gestured her to join the group. She hesitated, then walked over to stand beside him. She tried not to fidget as they examined her with puzzled looks, Jack in particular scrutinizing her from head to toe.
Eleanor cleared her throat. “This is Harriet. Harriet Vane.” She smiled as Max and Anne’s eyes widened. “She’s our descendant.”
Jack’s jaw dropped, until he caught himself doing it and quickly shook it off. “That’s…incredible.”
“My granddad told stories about him as a child,” Harriet said, placing a brief hand on Vane’s shoulder and smiling up at him. She reached into her pocket and pulled out the box again.
“Mon Dieu,” Max exclaimed softly. “May I?” Harriet handed it over. Max held it gently as Anne passed her fingers over the lid, eyes wide. “We ‘ad it made in Nassau before we left,” Max said, looking at Eleanor. “I knew where you kept your jewelry, found Charles’ necklaces there. I got into your room right after you died, before anyone else could ransack the place, and I took them.”
“We asked around before we eventually left Nassau, got a lead on where he was, the name of his family,” Anne said darkly. “Gathered up a stash I had hidden and snuck onto a ship. It was close,” she cast a wry look at Max. “We almost got caught, but we got out.”
“We ‘ad to search for a while once we got to England. And we ‘ad to be careful, make sure no one was looking for us. But eventually we found ‘im. ‘E was with the aunt of ‘is adoptive father. She was quite elderly, and it wasn’t ‘ard to get in her good graces. She let ‘im stay with us for a few days while she was sick, we told ‘im about both of you.”
There was a long pause. Vane and Eleanor stood silent, his arms around her, absorbing what Max had said, still enough to not miss a word.
“What was he like?” Harriet finally asked.
“Quiet,” Anne replied. “But smart. Didn’t miss much.”
“‘E mostly looked like you,” Max said, looking at Eleanor, before her gaze shifted to Vane. “But ‘e ‘ad your eyes, Charles. And ‘is voice was lower than a little boy’s usually is. ‘is voice sounded like what I’d imagine yours was when you were small.”
“He asked a lot of questions,” Anne added. “We told him everything we could.” She caressed the box one more time before handing it back to Harriet, watching it disappear into her pocket.
“We stayed near ‘im for a few years,” Max said. “Eventually we both got sick. I died coughing my fucking lungs out.”
Anne rubbed Max’s shoulder. “After Max died, Robbie was the only thing I had left,” Anne murmured.
“Robbie?” Eleanor asked.
“Yeah. His name was Alfred Robert Simpson. Always hated the Alfred part. After his aunt died, he came to live with me. I was a bit of a mess after getting consumption and Max leaving me behind.”
“Wasn’t by choice,” Max grumbled. “Getting cast onto that fucking sand, living out every single fucking memory until the island or God or ‘ooever pushed me into Purgatory decided that I’d ‘ad enough.”
Jack let out a long sigh. “I admit, reliving all of my blunders wasn’t my favorite way to pass the time.” He pulled Anne in, kissing her forehead. “But it’s worth it, to see you all again.”
Anne smiled wryly and shook her head before she continued. “He was a good lad. So kind. Funny, too.” She looked up to see Vane’s disbelief. “Yeah, wouldn’t ‘ve thought it, would you? But he was. And he never grew tired of hearing stories about you two. And Jack, and Max. Flint, Silver. Teach. Everyone. By the time he was sixteen he’d dropped the Simpson and taken the name of Robert Charles Vane.”
Vane’s eyes shut for a moment. Eleanor blinked and swallowed hard.
“I was only around for a couple years after that before I caught sick again,” Anne continued. “Robbie was training to be a blacksmith, had a little inheritance from his aunt, enough to keep me with him until I died.” Her gaze turned back Harriet. “It’s good he made himself a family, after.”
“Thank you for telling me about him,” Harriet said. She squeezed Vane’s shoulder again, smiling at him, then glanced over at Peter, who was talking animatedly with a heavily painted man with a set of toothy jaws around his neck. “I’m going to walk around for a bit. Keep Peter out of trouble.”
They all watched her walk away in silence. Vane smirked at Peter’s wide, boyish smile as he introduced Harriet to Joshua, who began gesturing enthusiastically, probably recounting a battle.
“‘Cmon,” Anne muttered to Eleanor. Max had already grabbed Anne’s hand to lead her off. Vane reflexively reached out for Eleanor. “It’s alright, we’re not going far,” Anne said with amusement. “We just need to catch up on a few things.” Eleanor gave him a quick kiss and walked off with them, descending to the lower decks.
“It’s hard to be apart when you first return,” Jack said quietly. “I kept thinking that if I let go of Anne she’d vanish like a dream.” He looked up a Vane with a smile. “But we’re all still here. We’re all…safe. Free and safe. Not the easiest concept to grasp, is it?”
Vane shook his head in amazement. “No. I’m having a hard time believing it.”
Jack’s smile widened and he gestured to the groups of happy people chattering away along the deck. “And yet here we are. Come on. I have a lot to catch you up on.”
***
Vane had thought the rumor mill was active while he was alive. That was nothing compared with the explanations, tall tales, tearful apologies, and raucous laughter around him as he and Jack walked the deck. Eventually Eleanor and Anne came back bearing mugs of rum. Cheers went up as they pointed the others to where they could be found. It was delicious, and left Vane with a soft, light feeling in his chest, but never went beyond that. He did find himself smiling even more easily, at one point astonishing those near him when he broke out in laughter.
He was was distracted by a cheer that went up as more people came climbing up the ropes. It was Flint, and Silver. Of course. They stood, getting their bearings as they eyed the crowd in disbelief, when soon after them came Mr. Scott with a younger, dark woman, followed by Mrs Barlow and another man. He held back and watched them greet the other crewmembers. Flint seemed to be a bit in shock, walking through the crowd’s slaps on his back. Eleanor sprinted towards him, hugged him tight, and his composure slipped, tears flowing down his face. Vane’s jaw clenched a bit. Eleanor had told them how Flint had been at her side when she died. He assumed the woman holding Silver’s hand was probably Madi. Flint brought the other man forward, introducing him, it seemed. The man cracked a joke which made Flint smile broadly, then grip him by the shoulders and pull him into a long kiss.
The crew stared silently for a moment, then began to cheer and joke. Mrs. Barlow smiled on approvingly, before Flint released his captive and did the same to her.
Well.
That gave past events some additional context, now didn’t it.
Jack grinned at Vane’s expression and patted his shoulder. “No more need to hide in the shadows, eh? I bet that’s going to do wonders for him.”
Vane chuckled. Suddenly Flint was in front of him, crushing him in an embrace. “You stupid fuck”, Flint muttered thickly. “It’s good to see you.”
Vane took a breath and slapped him on the back. “Thank you,” he said. Flint moved away a bit, looking at him inquiringly. “For being with Eleanor. At the end. She told me.”
Flint choked inarticulately and shook his head, then cuffed him on the shoulder before walking off to pull Gates into a hug. He wasn’t the hugging sort in life, Vane mused, but he seemed to be making up for it now.
Jack wandered away to talk to some of the crewmates who’d been under his captaincy after Vane’s death. Suddenly Eleanor was there, grabbing his arm to pull him into a sunlit corner near the stern, kissing him until he was breathless, and he responded in kind, feeling an immersive dizziness he hadn’t known since he was a green lad.
All too soon Billy Bones struck up a bawdy song, the bastard, and immediately a group of them were either singing along or yelling suggestions for what Vane should be doing next. Eleanor broke away, laughing. “Get on, you lousy shits! Find some of your own amusements, stop perving after ours!” Vane buried his head in her neck, shaking with mirth. Eventually the group lost interest when Vane showed no inclination to leave where he was, and wandered off in search of more rum.
Eleanor pulled back, still chuckling, to look at Vane’s beaming face. Her expression faltered, her smile wavering.
“What is it?” Vane asked, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear and stroking her neck.
She shook her head. “You’re fucking beautiful.” She kissed him, then pulled back again. “I don’t remember you ever smiling like this.” Vane stroked her shoulder, his hand running down her arm to hold her hands in his. “You know,” she said, returning his grip, “you’d have been well within your rights to spit in my face when you saw me.”
“Eleanor.”
“Just…let me say this.”
Vane relented, stroking her hands with his thumbs.
“I never…I was never truly able to stay with one choice. I kept chasing different visions of prosperity and stability…for the island…and I held that above everything else. Above you, above anyone on this ship, above any one at all.” She swallowed hard. “I spent a long time on that sand after the end, picking apart all of my decisions. If I did it all again, given what I thought I knew then, how much I was lacking, how impulsive…how…spoiled, I was…I don’t see that I’d do it any differently.”
She took a deep breath and looked him in the eyes. “But I wish I could. I wish there was some way I could change the ways I hurt you. I think maybe it would have been better if I’d chosen some one to be loyal to, and if I could rewrite that life now, that choice would be you, Charles.
“I am so, so sorry. For everything that happened. For what I convinced myself was necessary. For not telling you about our son. For how you died.”
Vane tried to speak, and she placed her hand on his jaw, shaking her head. “I just need you to know. I could never love you like you deserved, then. I was convinced I couldn’t. But I do now. And if you need to be angry, or to tell me to go away, if you decide you hate me,” her voice broke for a moment, “….I understand.”
Vane gripped one of her hands in both of his and held on tight. He let out a sigh and looked at her. “You pulled the rug out from under me so many fucking times.” Eleanor stiffened, and he reached out one hand to cup her hip and bring her closer. “I kept coming back. Do you know why?”
He leaned close to murmur in her ear. “I know you, Eleanor. From the first day I saw you, I always knew you were for me. Always. Even when I also knew I’d fight to live free to my dying breath.” He pulled her in and kissed her hard. “You were spoiled, for sure.” He chuckled while she gave him a grudging shove. “I was a stubborn fuck. We hardly ever caught a break, the two of us. Kept being put at cross purposes with each other. By fate. By those fuckers over there.” He waved at the milling pirates on the deck.
He pulled her close. “We’re here now. That’s enough.”
Eleanor let out a choked sigh and relaxed in his arms. They rested there, watching crew and captains wandering around the deck, exchanging pleasantries and insults in equal measure. Sometimes Vane would close his eyes and let the soft movement of the ship, the sounds of the crew and the odd gull’s cry wrap around him.
It was in one of those moments that someone tapped his shoulder. He opened his eyes to see Harriet and Peter standing in front of them. “I think it’s time for us to go,” Harriet said in her low voice.
Vane took in the larger vista around him and saw that the light had become more slanted, the sun having moved towards the west. The infinitely long daylight, the sun in its full glory the whole time he’d been on the island, had finally begun to wane.
His eyes stung as he reached out to embrace her. “Take care of yourself,” he murmured, and sighed as Harriet’s arms went around him.
“I will.” She looked up into his face. “I have a feeling we’ll see each other again.”
Vane gave a little huff and squeezed her shoulders. “I hope so.” He looked over to see Eleanor holding one of Peter’s hands and talking to him softly as he listened in silence.
Harriet kissed his cheek and moved to embrace Eleanor. Peter moved to Vane and held out his hand. “It was an honor to meet you, sir.”
Vane shook his hand in a strong grip, noting that Peter’s stance changed slightly, but that he didn’t flinch. They held a gaze for a long moment. “I’ll take care of her, Captain. With my life.” Peter smirked. “As much as she’ll allow me.”
Vane slapped his shoulder and nodded. “Good man.” He scrutinized Peter for a moment. “I have a feeling as we journey further we’ll be meeting other generations of the passed peoples. We’ll keep an eye out for any of yours, in case they’re seeking news of their family.”
Peter’s brows shot up. “Thank you. That’s very kind.”
Harriet walked over and quickly hugged Vane again, kissing his cheek. “It’s time.” She squeezed him and murmured, “Good-bye, granddad.”
Vane chuckled, stroked her hair, then let her go. “Safe travels.”
They climbed down the ropes with an agility that still surprised him, and he watched them get into the rowboat. Peter took the oars and soon they were speeding westward into the setting sun.
Eleanor wrapped an arm around his waist as they watched the boat recede into the distance, the light dimming further.
“Alright you lot, time to get moving, we’ve got a long journey ahead,” Gates bellowed. A few crewmembers pulled the lines, and like everything else, the sails lifted almost effortlessly in a sudden soft wind that caught them up like kites. Vane noticed with amusement that the many captains on the ship, himself included, all stood back with no desire to provide any direction. Captains they would always be, but their time of giving orders was over.
The light dimmed further and stars began to wink into being all over the sky. Lamps lit up around the deck, and someone started to play a tune on the guitar, another joining in on the pipe. Vane looked toward the bow, holding Eleanor’s hand in his. A strange, peaceful thrill settled over him as the ship coursed off into the unknown, twinkling darkness. Everything he needed, that he’d ever desired, was with him now, as they set off on their next voyage.
***
Harriet woke by degrees. Shafts of light came through the drawn curtains. She turned to see Peter still slumbering next to her. A few moments later she heard a light tap on the door and Bunter poked in a discreet head. “Beg pardon, miss. It’s nearly nine o’clock. You wanted to be woken if you slept this late.”
“Yes, thank you, Bunter.” He nodded and closed the door. She stretched and gave Peter a nudge. “Wake up, you. It’s nine o‘clock.”
“Really?” He yawned. His eyes opened and he glanced over at her. “Looks like you just woke up too. I don’t remember us both ever sleeping in this late.” He sat up, rubbing his face. “I had the most incredible dream.”
Harriet froze, and shifted slightly. She realized that she was wearing her night dress with the pockets in the front, and felt the box in one of them. She pulled it out and held it up. “Was it about this?” she asked.
They looked at each other for a long moment.
“Charles Vane,” Peter said tonelessly.
“The island? The ship?”
Peter nodded. “The pirates,” he murmured with awe.
“I remember it,” Harriet said. “We remember it.”
“My God.” Peter looked stunned.
Harriet placed the box in his hands and almost leapt out of bed, grabbing a dressing gown and wrapping it around her. “I’ll be in my study,” she said, quickly combing out her hair.
“Why? What’re you going to do?”
Harriet looked at him incredulously. “Write it all down, of course. Every detail I can remember.”
“Of course. Let me look at it when you’re ready, won’t you? I’ll let you know what I remember too.”
Harriet grinned at him, kissed him quickly, and nearly sprinted out the door, past a surprised Bunter.
“Is everything alright, m’lord?”
“Quite, Bunter. Can you please bring a tray with tea and her Ladyship’s breakfast to her study? She’ll be there for a while.”
“Certainly, m’lord.”
Bunter left, and Peter ran his fingers over the border on the front of the box, looking at the gleaming wood and the ship carved into the lid.
“Yo ho ho,” he muttered with a smile.