You've worked laundry before, you know how to properly wash a gentleman's shirts? See that you're careful, and—oh dear, is that wine? He must have worn it to Miss Swann's engagement party; I heard from Betty that Mrs. Ellsworth was parading her daughter in front of the commodore, can you imagine? No breeding, no breeding at all—and she drinks far more than any lady ought. I'll wager that's her wine spilled on that shirt—shameless, that woman.

Now there's no need to go repeating that, hear?

What can that black smear on the collar be? Almost looks like what those... women put on their eyes, you know the type I mean. Well, he is obliged to venture into the wickedest pits of sin—likely one of those hussies tried to use her wiles on the commodore and found out he'd put up with no such foolishness.

I was surprised he went to that party, but I suppose he was expected, being an old family friend and all. He took it hard, Miss Swann deciding to marry Will Turner. And what was she thinking? She's a lovely girl, but a bit daft, I should think, throwing over our fine Commodore Norrington for a blacksmith. Will's a nice boy—noticed, have you? I shouldn't doubt it. Yes, he's got those big dark eyes and a charming smile, and they say he's an excellent swordsmith as well—but poor as a church mouse and not half the gentleman our commodore is. Why, do you know they say that his father is a pirate? 'Struth—now what women in their right mind would want to marry a man with bad blood like that when she could have a dashing, handsome officer of the Royal Navy?

How has he gotten so much sand in these shoes? If I didn't know better I'd think the Commodore had been out walking the beaches, there's that much. And all over Jenny's clean floor. You'll need to sweep that when we're done.

You know it 'twas Commodore Norrington saved Miss Swann from those dreadful men aboard the Black Pearl ? They snatched her up and took to the seas, and he went after her without a though as to his own safety. How she could turn down a man as gallant as that, I'll never know.

What? Yes, I heard that too. Days and days alone on a ship with all those men and no chaperone, trapped on an island with that Jack Sparrow, and you've heard the stories about him. No telling what those ruffians would have done to her—I shouldn't wonder, oh no. Of course it's not for me to say, but I think it's for best she refused the Commodore after that—Miss Swann says that not a man laid an improper hand on her, but that's a bit hard to believe, isn't it? They were all pirates, after all, not gentlemen.

Ugh—what is that smell? Rum? Well, I never. The commodore doesn't indulge in such a vile drink—likely he got doused by some brigand he was arresting. And will you look at the knees of those breeches? Looks like he was rolling around in some alley, doesn't it? Shocking, the way criminals will treat an upstanding English gentleman. You'd think they'd be ashamed of themselves and come along quietly, but there's always one tries to escape. And it's not the worst state I've seen his clothing in, oh no. Those pirates have no respect for the uniform.

Although the commodore would have married Miss Swann anyhow, you know, even if it hurt his reputation. He would have given her the protection of his standing—there's not a soul in town who'd dare gossip so about her then—I'll never understand why she chose young Will when she could have been the wife of our commodore.

Here, girl, you're not to touch that. That's the commodore's coat, and I'll not have you ruining it. Very particular about his uniform, is our commodore, you'll learn that soon enough. Though he's lost another button—that's the third in as many months. What can he be doing? I know I sewed them on good and proper. Men; no appreciation for what it takes to keep them looking so smart and elegant.

And the things that wind up in their pockets—look at this, will you? Beads, a cork, a bit of lace—and what is that, a braid? What a dreadful thing to carry around—looks like it came off the head of a savage, doesn't it? Just set it all aside for him to sort through at his leisure. Never throw anything away you find in his pockets, no matter what it is. Once I found a bit of paper with the most scandalous verse written on it and of course I threw it right in the bin, and oh, wasn't he angry with me? I'd never seen those green eyes of his go quite so cold, it quite gave me a start, and sure I've not thrown anything out since.

Still, I don't know why he'd want all those trinkets; likely he'll just throw them away, but I suppose they could be useful in sending one of those scoundrels to the gallows.

No, no, Andrew will tend to the wig. You're not to lay so much as a finger on it unless Commodore Norrington puts it directly into your hands. And won't Andrew have a time of it today? Sand. In his wig. Another ribbon vanished, too.

I never thought she was the right girl for him anyway. Always been a bit wild, has Elizabeth Swann. He needs to find a nice girl, who'll appreciate all he has to offer. He's the most eligible man in Port Royal, you know. I'm sure he won't have any trouble finding someone that catches his fancy.