PRINCIPLES OF COMPROMISE
- Dis/Claimer-
. Chapter Seven .
As the torchlight fully caught her terrified face, Elizabeth’s head shot up at the approaching man in a heavy coat. She closed her mouth and gripped Jack’s key (she realized that she still held it), putting her hand behind her back as discreetly as possible. She locked onto Beckett’s eyes to make sure he would not look anywhere else, and he lifted his eyebrows upon reaching her. She kept her cautious gaze.
“I have to admit,” he said, stopping before her, “I had doubted that you would come.” He reached out and gently took her hand in his, eyeing her carefully. “Forgive me.”
Elizabeth’s mind almost faltered as he placed a feather light kiss on the back of her hand, slowly releasing it afterwards. She stared disbelievingly as he returned to normal posture. What was he doing? Did he think flattery would get him ahead in a conversation she knew nothing of? She took half a step back while watching him, and Beckett looked away. She scowled.
“A cruel jest to speak with me in the vicinity of my fiancé’s grave,” she murmured lowly. “Have you something to say to us both?”
Beckett plucked a flower from the table next to the grave. “I apologize for not extending my sympathies sooner,” he replied, releasing his flower to the pile atop Will’s coffin. “It would seem fate has intervened itself once again.”
Hatred marred her thoughts as she looked at him for all he had done to her, though she could not shake the fact that she could barely see the devious glint in his eye. And his tone was filled with a kind of sorrow and regret rather than sarcasm and pride. She heightened her barricade; surely it was a false sincerity. He gave her a meaningful glance, but Elizabeth looked away.
“Conveniently,” she said, staring crestfallen into the ground.
Beckett’s eyes remained fixed on her. It was always a battle of wits with her, and he would be sure to come out on top. He took a step closer.
“You always seem to be in constant struggle to keep stability in your life,” he mused softly, slowly bringing down her defenses with the truth. He continued as her chest heaved visibly.
“But even feet firmly planted on a wooden deck still sway,” - she swallowed hard as he picked up another flower – “and eventually,” – he stood directly in front of her with a stern gaze she would not meet – “buckle.”
She gritted her teeth and finally gathered the courage to look at him. “I haven’t buckled yet.”
“Every little occurrence will try you,” he said to her, “and if you’re not wary, you’ll stumble into your own grave prematurely.”
“And why would that be of the slightest concern to you?” she asked, her tone not as harsh as she wished it would have been.
“Because I am a man of stability and order,” he said without hesitation. “I am what you need to survive.”
Her eyes narrowed angrily. “I don’t need you. I don’t need you or your propositions to keep me alive.” She bravely stepped forward. “We’ve not a good history on meeting one another’s terms anyhow.”
“This is not a business proposition,” he said calmly, trying to keep himself from stepping out of line. He raised the flower between them, eyes meeting hers. “It is a matrimonial proposal.”
Elizabeth’s eyes suddenly softened after a moment, and her heart skipped in that instant. Her mouth opened slightly, fearing that he meant what she thought he did. His eyes did not move or make a distinguished change, unsettling her further. She collected herself in a quick second, trying to mask her shock and confusion.
“A kind gesture to help a poor woman in her time of need,” she said with a biting sarcasm, “but I am already promised to another.”
Beckett wanted to emit a laugh, but he refrained. Instead, he let his knowing smile emerge. “The dead will give you no stability despite the earth surrounding them, especially if their heart lies with the sea.”
The comment brought a stinging pain in her throat. She fought so hard not to look away from him. Words straggled out of her tight airway.
“As Lord High Admiral, you heart lies not with the sea?”
“It will indefinitely lie on land when I am appointed Lord High Constable in a few day’s time,” he said. Impatience was weighing in, and he lowered his voice to let it fade out. “I am stable, and I am offering you the same security which you desire. You cannot deny yourself the opportunity.”
She knew something had been wrong. Something was up his sleeve. Something was turning the wheels in his head while hers slowed. She wished Jack would jump out and shoot the damn man, but he was probably gone by now. She had to do this herself.
“I was given a similar opportunity this evening,” she found herself saying with a challenge in her voice. “And I accepted it.”
Beckett knew now she must be toying with him, but he humored her nonetheless, coming uncomfortably close. “Really? And who was it that promised you a stronghold in life so graciously on the eve of your fiancé’s burial that prompted your immediate acceptation?”
Elizabeth glanced over Beckett’s shoulder back at her carriage quickly. She heart pounded as if warning her not to say what her fast mind was formulating. Her mouth was ready to beat her conscience, bet Beckett suddenly spun around, looking back at the carriage. He made out the figure waiting beside it with a smile.
It was all too perfect. She had cornered herself and Norrington both, and he was now able to take control.
“Ah, the Commodore,” he said in light amusement. He turned to her. “An honorable man, taking you by his side so generously. I see he is not here now, however.”
“You requested a private word,” Elizabeth reminded him in a belittling tone. Beckett finally let his withheld laugh escape into the night.
“I will have to extend to him my congratulations then,” he said to her. His eyes read the lie on her face easily, and Elizabeth silently fumed at this. The game was over, and Beckett had won.
There would be other games, she reminded herself as she stared him down.
His gentlemanly cover that had slipped away during their conversation immediately reappeared. “My congratulations to you, Miss Swann,” Beckett said with faux politeness, bending slightly at the waist. She remained stiff.
“Thank you.”
He did not move. A smiled curled onto his lips. “Your Commodore is waiting,” he said mockingly.
With a burning hate in her eyes, she tore them away from Beckett and slowly began to make her way back across the field to the carriage. Beckett stood stationary with a very pleased smile as she trudged away.
So she was ‘engaged’ to Norrington, was she?
Excellent. This would work out much nicer than his original plan. He could rid of them both at the same time a lot easier than thought.
And he would.
x x x
Elizabeth marched back through the field to the curious eyes of James waiting by the carriage. He did an adequate job of hiding his impatience and concern until that point; when he saw her and the ghost of a scorn she wore, he stepped forward readily.
“What happened?”
“Help me inside,” she said immediately.
Norrington looked over the field at Beckett’s faint outline suspiciously. He stared for a moment as he opened the door and held out his hand for Elizabeth, but she suddenly snapped, ‘Don’t look over there’ at him. He looked up at her, clueless.
“What is going on?” he asked.
“Hurry inside; he’s still watching.”
James threw one last glance over the dark field before entering the carriage, seating himself beside Elizabeth. The coach began to move away from the side of the road and Lord Beckett’s view. Elizabeth averted her eyes to the floor, and Norrington sensed fear behind them.
“Elizabeth, what has he done to you? What did he say?”
“It’s not what he said,” she said guiltily. “It’s what I said.” She couldn’t even look at him.
He bent his brow even more. “I don’t follow.”
Elizabeth swallowed. “He proposed to me.”
Norrington’s body reacted in an uncountable number of ways at this. His eyes widened, his heart pounded, his stomach dropped - sorrow, guilt, pain, anxiety, and fear – fear of what she had said.
“You accepted?” he asked in a breathless whisper of disbelief. To his amazement (and relief), she shook her head. It puzzled him further. “Then what was said?”
“I told him that I was promised to another.” At this, she met his eyes. A shameful plea was surfacing, and James realized why. He glanced away briefly, the weight of her words sinking in.
How was he to react? Upset? Shocked? Angry? Overjoyed? A thousand and one possibilities presented themselves in half a second, but in the end, he knew this was not what it seemed. She was not in love but in a battle with Lord Beckett. Should he feel used for being her only defense when the situation proved tactful?
No. He held too much for Elizabeth in his heart, and so, understanding presently rested on his face. He looked at her hands that wrung nervously around something. He cared not what it was at the moment.
“I’m so sorry,” suddenly rushed out of her. She had no place involving him.
But then again, he didn’t seem to mind. She caught the smallest of smiles on his face, along with a bit of hope that he did not completely hate her. Norrington sighed. They were engaged. Again.
“You realize he will inform your father with the news immediately,” he stated. Elizabeth looked down, nodding heavily. “There may be no taking this back. Beckett will make sure of it somehow. Though,” – a laugh – “you have taken it back before.”
Elizabeth’s heart twisted with guilt as a flash of pain passed over his face, but he managed to override it with a smile. A sincere smile. The corners of her mouth started to upturn.
“It’d be a trifle more difficult this time, however.”
“Oh well,” he sighed. “You can be kidnapped by pirates again or something. Then I’ll come after you, swords blazing, and we could conveniently never return after a sea battle heard across the seven seas.” He looked over at her with an arched eyebrow. "Returning to Tortuga suddenly sounds ideal."
She could hardly believe it. Had he been drinking again? Commodore James Norrington of the Royal Navy and Miss Elizabeth Swann, Governor’s daughter, playing with engagement as if it were a humorous affair? In fact, they both began to chuckle, lifting the mood in the carriage dramatically.
“We are so unholy,” Elizabeth said at one point. James smirked.
“I’m beginning to think it’d be best to embrace the fact rather than ward it off.”
Elizabeth couldn’t believe the words coming from his mouth and laughed again. She felt like she was a schoolgirl plotting with her best friend. The carriage slowed to a stop.
“Being on the other end of the East India Trading Company’s sword for nine months is an experience that doesn’t disappear with the effects of the alcohol,” he said. “And neither does the desire to outsmart them.”
Elizabeth smiled (dare she say, excitedly) as he exited the coach and helped her out onto the steps of the manor. In two seconds of silence, they had trust, respect, and understanding in one another. Elizabeth wanted to mock Lord Beckett and tell him that she had found some stability in that moment. Norrington was on her side.
“Good night, Miss Swann,” James said quietly.
“Good night,” she replied. “Commodore.”
As she gracefully walked up the stairs to the front door, James smiled at her fondly. She returned it before closing the door, and he exhaled slowly.
If only I had been so human during our first engagement, he thought longingly.
x x x
Jack entered the fort silently. The wind’s whistle on the stone structure was all he could hear. He remained perched a second longer before running around the corner to enter the prison.
He stopped.
Beckett stood with his back to him, ready to enter with a collection of men. He slid behind the pillar again. Why’d he come back for his pistol and sword? And coat? And compass? And…
Damned it all, he wouldn’t leave without his hat.
And Beckett was about to see all of his possessions and no Captain Jack Sparrow lying victim in his cell.
He debated. Run? Without his things? Leave Elizabeth with his magic key to take the blame? He felt a little guilty, leaving her at the mercy of Beckett for his escape while mourning the loss of William. Then again, she did loose his black pearl and give him the key… Even though Will had signed the paper... And then the Pearl would be here the next morning not knowing that he had fled…
The door to the prison opened. He was running out of time!
Oh… the hearing… the magic key… his hat and compass…
Jack suddenly ran from the pillar. He made a mad dash across the veranda to the other side of the jail, whipping open the heavy door and closing it as he continued running.
From the other end of the long hall, Beckett held out his arm to stop his men.
“Sir-“
“Shh!”
He heard footsteps running right at him blindly, and the soldiers immediately raised their guns in defense. An iron gate then slammed shut somewhere in the middle of the narrow room. Rustling. Silence. Beckett ran forward with his men, eyes darting around for the invisible man. His eyes finally slowed as he looked down at Jack on the floor of his cell. Jack raised an eyebrow.
“He went that way,” he finally said, pointing to the door he had just entered.
Beckett glared at him. “Indeed. And what did he look like?”
“Couldn’t tell ye, mate,” Jack said. “Too dark down here.”
Beckett refused to stop looking at the pirate, knowing he had something to do with it. “I want guards stationed at all entrances at all times,” he decided. “That way no one can enter – or exit – again.” His eyes narrowed slightly. “We can’t have the entire town in shambles if a murderer were to escape. They’d be in constant fear for their husband’s lives.”
Jack glared at Beckett as he walked away, leaving the prison and his guards behind.
Forget the hat. He blamed Elizabeth for all this.
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