PV22: Sailor's Return

Rating: PG
Disclaimers: The Rodent Empire owns them. We pilfer.
Originally Posted: 6/25/06
Note: Our sincerest and hearty thanks to smtfhw for her excellent beta.
Warnings: Potential spoilerish appearances for those who are adamant
Summary: James Norrington is as much of a surprise to Port Royal as Port Royal is to him.

The civilian part of the docks reeked worse than the Naval one, but, in a lonely boat, an apparent civilian would better not approach the military parts. He tied off the little boat and clambered ashore.

If the fishermen wondered at the fine-dressed gentleman, they certainly never said so. They helped him to shore, knuckling their brows and handing him his duffle respectfully as he strode towards the path that led to the Fort. He seemed familiar, but then again, all gentlemen looked the same to them.

The gravel at the fort was as he remembered, but the looks meeting him were not. Where before there had been a salute, he was now stopped by two marines, inquiring as to his business. He looked up, and Marine Mulroy went pale.

"Don't be daft. Commodore Archer is in his office, remember? He passed by half an hour ago with the order not to be disturbed."

"I knew you should keep your hands off the grog. Just 'cause it's called a spirit doesn't mean you need to go and see them."

They both snapped to attention, and Murtogg stared. "Comm- Commodore Norrington!"

Norrington resisted rolling his eyes and saluted. "If you would be so kind as to announce my presence to Commodore... Archer?" He didn't know the man. He had expected to see Captain Ryves, the senior captain of his fleet, holding the position, but obviously, his replacement had already been sent.

The two marines shuffled, straightened. "Of course, Sir. Please follow us." They were whispering just a little too loudly.

"Don't be ridiculous. Norrington's a Commodore, and we all know that well enough. And Archer is a Commodore. So obviously we have two Commodores.

They led him a way Norrington knew all too well, the one to his own office, barging in without waiting for a reply to their knock. "Begging your pardon, Sir, but there's Commodore Norrington to see you."

Archer looked up from his desk, his elderly face worn and tired. He had four months of stultifying paperwork to catch up and a fleet badly demoralised by the unexplained disappearance of its commander. "Yes, yes, what is it? Sir, may I be of assistance?"

Norrington straightened and saluted, his posture as military as he could remember, wondering how to balance respect and authority. With Ryves, he would have known how to proceed, but this man was a stranger to him. "James Norrington, Sir. I was in command of this fleet prior to my abduction seven months ago."

Archer sat up abruptly, his fallen quill leaving a large blot on the page. "Norrington? Norrington! Abducted" He scratched at his head, tore off his wig and tossed it to the desk. "What-what? Sit down, sir. Please. Marines! Send down to the kitchen. I want a bottle of brandy. And send a message to the Governor at once." He eyed James curiously.

James nodded his thanks and sat down. It was strange to see his desk again, the same items ordered differently; and him sitting on the wrong side. "I realise I was likely thought dead, and I fear the reality is yet more spectacular. I have little doubt that Governor Swann will wish to witness my account as well, and I would like to wait for him, if you permit, Sir."

"Well, man, then we'll wait for him. Demme me! What happened to you? I was told you had simply disappeared. Feared the worst, don't you know? It was a right mess hereabouts before I came, must be nigh three months gone. Brandy?" Archer was easily closer to sixty than fifty, hurriedly wrested from his country home to man a humid backwater sliding into panicked chaos. "I'll have to write to London, of course, and to the Admiralty."

He took in the young man's browned face and streaked hair. "I'd say you've been in the sun, sir."

James gave a smile, the barest hint of one, the one that Jack had named his ‘commodorial smile'. "Thank you, gladly."

He waited until Archer had poured two glasses and they both sipped delicately. "Of course. I am well aware of the arising complications, and for that, I profoundly apologise although it lay not within my power to change it. And yes, I have spent most of these months in the sun, if involuntarily." He stifled the urge to shift in the chair. "May I ask who held command prior to you? Captain Ryves, I assume?"

Archer raised a bushy brow. "Yes, but the Admiralty felt him unequal to the task once the Indomitable and the Henrietta were added to the fleet. God knows why, he's a fine captain."

He was acutely embarrassed and too plain a man to hide it. "I don't really know what to say, sir, except that I am delighted you are alive and well, as I'm sure the Governor will be."

He chuckled and ran a hand through his cropped hair, straining to see the resemblance between this bronzed and hearty young man and the portrait of the lost Commodore, now removed to the Mess and decked in black ribbon. "I daresay Reverend Johnson will be distressed that his touching eulogy was for naught."

James joined him in an uneasy chuckle and sipped his drink. "My thanks, Sir. If I might say so, it is good to be alive, even at the expense of the good Reverend's speech. Perhaps he shall be able to save it for later, when all have forgotten the first time."

They were feeling each other out, like animals circling to find out who held the right to a certain position. Archer seemed a kind enough man, but it did not help the acute stab of seeing an unknown man sit at his own desk. Certainly, all this could be cleared up to mutual satisfaction.

Archer took a gulp of brandy. "So you are the great Pirate-Hunter. What in blazes happened to you? You vanished off the face of the earth near eight months ago. God knows, they looked everywhere." He had a distinctly uncomfortable feeling that the good-looking man sitting across from him was in for some surprises. Fortunate that he was still young.

"No search in the Caribbean would have yielded me up. I was brought aboard a privateer by brute force and pressed into service by a man to whom no loyalty is owed." Norrington turned the glass of brandy in his hands and sipped again, forcing himself to a slow pace. "It was not until after we reached port in Bombay that I managed to escape."

There was a lot of clatter outside the door and Governor Swann yanked it open, breathless and very red in the face. "Commodore Archer, what the devil is....oh. My. Commodore? Norrington! James!" His face broke into a genuine smile. "We all thought...we-no matter what we thought. Let me look at you, sir! My my!" He accepted a brandy after working James' arm like a pump handle.

James' smile lost its uneasiness, widening. His enthusiasm was dampened, keeping a cool detachment, but that did not mean the welcome was not appreciated. "Governor Swann. It is a pleasure to see you once again."

"James, I'll be damned! You look well. No, you look amazingly fit! Where in hell did you disappear to?"

Archer cleared his throat. "Apparently, sir, he was impressed into service. How did such a thing happen?"

James waited until the Governor ceased to fuss about him and took his seat. "As any searches will likely have revealed, I was at Lieutenant Groves' lodgings the evening before I went missing, in the company of several officers. I left earlier than most and was alone when a group of men set on me. I had half expected never to wake again, but when I did, I found myself in the brig of the Chimaera, Captain Hamilton's privateer."

"Damn the man! I'll see him on the gibbet if he ever shows his face in these parts again!" Wetherby Swann was not always a slave to political delicacy. "But what happened, James? How did you escape? We thought you were dead."

"And a likely enough assumption it was. The Chimaera was bound for the Indian Ocean. During the only shoreleave, on the coast of Africa, I was locked up with no chance to send word or escape. It took until Bombay and the assistance of a fellow sailor in very much the same situation that I could escape and find the opportunity to work my passage back to Port Royal."

"Huzzah for you both! Brave lads. And where is this sailor? I should very much like to congratulate him."

Commodore Archer shook his head glumly. He disapproved of impressment and thought briefly of how he was to explain the sudden reappearance of an officer in such circumstances. His voice was quiet and filled with admiration. "Brave indeed, sir. I'm thankful you escaped."

Norrington shook his head. "I fear he is not with me. He immediately sailed on to return to those dear to him, as I had set for Port Royal. I understand his motivations well." There was another quick smile, but it held a shadow of longing. "There is no bravery in what was but a necessity, Sir. It was my duty to return to Port Royal, and I am content I was able to do so."

"James, it was heroic! Well, well, you must come with me and we'll make you comfortable. Time enough for all this later." Swann shot a warning look at Archer and blustered more than usual. "Elizabeth will be pleased to see you hale and hearty. Commodore, with your indulgence?"

Archer nodded and rose. "Sir, I am glad of your safe return. All this can wait until you are rested from such a long and gruelling ordeal."

Norrington bowed. "My thanks, once more. It is good to be home." Much as he might wish, there was no point in pressing the issue, for he knew well it was not Archer's decision. "I look forward to resting in my own house once more."

Swann stuttered and hemmed and hawed until Archer answered for him. "Sir, I'm afraid your house was sold some months ago. Your family in England." His eyes were quiet and filled with pity. "It would be best if you go with the Governor for the moment until we can sort this out properly."

He felt chill, all of a sudden, but Norrington stoically contained himself, naught visible but a hint of shock in his eyes, the faint tremor of his lips. He set them tightly. "I see," he murmured, then straightened up. "In that case, I am most grateful for your hospitality, Governor." He swallowed and was glad of the cravat's covering.

"Nonsense, James. Always glad to have you. Come, come my carriage is waiting and what you need is my excellent cook's attentions." Swann's eyes tralled over the mismatched clothing; a frayed cuff on the coat, the way a bit of the lace cravat dangled with a stray thread. A sad homecoming, indeed, for a brave man. He fussed his way through a quick farewell and led James out into the pitiless sunshine.

Norrington's gaze wandered for a moment, lingered on the gravel, certainly washed away by the rain and replaced while he had been gone, but it looked the same, alternately dusty and gleaming in the sunshine. The gallows, a dark silhouette against the light, sat sadly in the courtyard.

He was about to say he needed no food nor rest, but did not. Instead he followed quietly, sitting in the carriage. "Forgive my woolgathering, Governor. It seems so long now. I trust you and your daughter are well?"

"Very well, James. Very well, indeed. But you! Damn me, you must have had a hard time of it. Didn't that blaggart---what was his name?---recognise you?" There were a million questions on Swann's lips but he couldn't ask them yet: the look in Norrington's eyes was too distressing for words.

Norrington stared at him blankly, as if wrenching himself from a dream, forcing himself not to simply look at the streets rolling past. "Hamilton. I do not think he did, else I would not have lived to return. Surely, he would not have taken the risk knowingly. I never dealt with privateers where it could be avoided, and again, that has proven wise."

"James, are you quite alright? No need for a doctor? Of course, I will get my barristers working immediately. There will be a lot of to-do over this, as I'm sure you can imagine. Did you really have to work your way to Bombay? Shocking!" There was no mistaking the admiration in Swann's voice.

"There is always work to be done aboard a ship, even if that of the Captain is different from a common sailor's." Norrington concentrated and smiled tightly. "There is no need for a doctor. I bear no injuries."

Wetherby Swann felt quite inadequate to the task ahead of him. How could he tell this man, whom he admired tremendously, that as far as anyone knew, he was dead? That everything he had owned not be sold by order of his distant relations in England, had been shipped back months earlier. He tapped the silver handle of his walking stick nervously. "I'm very pleased to see you well, James."

Norrington's eyes fixed on Swann's. He had always known the Governor well, but his own acute awareness of the man's gestures was new; as though he had learned to read them, to realise why the words, welcome for sure, but certainly not vital, were repeated too often. "As am I, Governor, as am I. But pray tell me, is there something amiss? I assure you, I will find my own lodgings soon and not abuse your hospitality more than need dictates."

"James, I am very fond of you. I would be most distressed if you felt you could not accept my hospitality for a time."

He paused, fumbling with his snuff box and sneezed explosively into a fine linen handkerchief. "We had searches out all over these parts. Even had the fishermen drag the cove. James, son." He faltered, then steeled himself. "The Navy itself declared you dead. You will need to write to your family in England." Swann's hands fluttered helplessly, a strange mirror of Jack's inane gestures.

Norrington was silent. The carriage rode past a little blond boy on the street and his hand clenched into the fabric of his coat before he let go. The declaration was an act of certainty he had not expected. It normally did not happen when a soldier did not fall in battle. His voice was slightly rough when he spoke. "Of course I shall. They shall know I am alive, as shall the Admiralty."

But for now, he was nothing, his commission, his oath of service, all revoked by the death of a living man.

Swann breached all protocol and patted his hand. "Of course they will. You know how tiresome they can be about things. Paperwork and woolgathering. You said you escaped in Bombay? How marvellous! What an adventure!"

The Governor was frankly horrified by the sudden turn of events. He had sincerely mourned Norrington, imagined him washed out to sea by an unlucky fall or fallen to some pirate assassin's dagger. Never had he considered the possibility that the man could still be living. The Navy had covered its own distress and any potential embarrassment over losing him by declaring the Commodore a dead hero after patrols and searches had yielded no answers to his disappearance. A live Norrington was going to be a sticky wicket indeed.

"As far as a necessity can ever be considered an adventure, certainly." James was no fool, irked by the change of topic. Still, he dared not insist. He had returned, so why was he not home?

Dead. After his own dedication, the thought stung. That he had been given up by those on whom he had never given up. He was torn from his thoughts by the carriage pulling to a stop, Swann's mansion as white and the gardens as green as ever.

There was clatter and chatter and generally a great fuss when the Governor ordered the guestroom readied for Norrington. Much as James had anticipated a proper bath, he did not want or need the two valets who bustled over him like a prize stallion.

He bore it quietly, as he did dinner, glad that Elizabeth stole long looks over her wine but did not press him for answers and appeared happy to see him, though strangely silent. He made his excuses as soon as he could with any courtesy, knowing that Governor Swann was not likely to attend to business as long as he considered his guest 'exhausted' and in need of pampering.

His bed was large and lonely and too still. Eventually he slept, dreaming of the swaying waves he missed lying awake.

The next morning he was awake long before dawn, pacing the room restlessly until commotion outside signalled more than just invisible servants were awake.

"Elizabeth! I don't want to hear anymore of this. Please, darling. Be a good girl and take your breakfast upstairs." Swann's voice had the whine of a chronically overwhelmed parent. He was settled at a small table on the veranda and glared at the coffeepot as her angry steps clattered on the parquet floor. He really was quite looking forward to her wedding.

James heard rather than saw Elizabeth disappear into her room, then rushed past and joined Swann on the veranda. "Good morning, Governor."

"Morning, James. Please sit down. You must be hungry. I know I am and these sweet rolls are simply too good to resist." The Governor had as bad a sweet tooth as Jack and slathered a roll with an alarming amount of jam. "I hope you slept well."

James nodded his thanks and sat down, staring at the jam on his own roll. It tasted excellent, but he could not help thinking of the orange jam Andre and Cookie had produced, and what Jack had done with it. He looked up with a start and smiled. "Excellent, thank you."

Swann's eyes were hooded as he sipped his coffee. "James, I'm afraid all this is going to be terribly tedious. My barristers are, of course, at your disposal, but it will mean a lot of letters back and forth to London and your relatives. I believe the closest high-ranking officer here is Admiral Winthrop who is stationed in Nassau. I imagine Archer has already written to him." He coughed delicately. "I would be pleased if you would consider my home yours until something can be arranged to reinstate your funds."

James blinked and went still. He had half-expected this delay and there was naught he could do about it. He was without means, legally dead to Port Royal. He did not enjoy being dependent on help, but he was, and having it offered was better than having to ask for it. "It is I who has to thank for your hospitality. Forgive me should I have appeared ungrateful yesterday, I was not myself and I fear enforced inactivity is not my forte. Yet, I will have to exercise patience in this matter."

"I'm sure this will be resolved in one way or another. But damn, James, how terrible for you! What was it like, being impressed?" For a moment, the Governor's eyes were as mischievous as a boy's. It was easy to see where his daughter got her sense of adventure.

James sipped from his coffee, his worry not easing as Swann changed the topic once more, as though wishing to spare him the thought of those necessities he could not avoid. Still, he owed the man for his hospitality and his help, and so James stilled his own restlessness. "I believe a good part of Hamilton's crew was recruited by the same means. They certainly seemed rather... professional about it. I had received a concussion from the blow which struck me unconscious and was detained in the brig for two days ere they brought me topside and put me to work."

"I told Hamilton I was a purser, hailing from a merchant ship. I am certain he would have had me killed immediately had he suspected I was an officer of the Navy. The sailor I befriended claimed he was a Spaniard, and he certainly appeared exotic enough. A little like that pirate, Sparrow. He was very kind to me and took care of my head injury while we were held in the brig together."

"My, my!" Swann mumbled with his mouth full. "Impressing is a dreadful business. I wonder if Archer should put night patrols along the docks. A Spaniard, you say? And like Sparrow? My word, James, you're lucky he didn't cut your throat! What a dreadful thing to happen to any gentleman. You'd think such scum would know a man of breeding when they see one."

The Governor had visions of brave forbearance and English fortitude dancing in his head, interrupted by fresh coffee and another sweet roll. "And you spent all that time playing a part! Damn me, man! You should have considered the stage to pull that off. Did you actually see Bombay?"

"I fear the necessity of playing a role to remain alive is a different matter entirely than the self-display of travelling mimes, Sir. And as it was with Sparrow in that wretched business, a common goal often makes allies of enemies. In this case, it was the wish to escape and return to the Caribbean."

James wondered if a cravat had always impeded swallowing, or if he had simply tied it too tightly. "Bombay was the first port in which I could leave ship, and I spent several days ashore ere I could leave for Port Royal once more."

Swann's eyes twinkled. "I've always wanted to see the far Indies. Was it a den of terrible iniquity, filled with depravity and exotic lovelies?" His lips twitched at his own questions and he was very glad he'd sent Elizabeth to her room.

James thought of the bath, the harem, of their room; Jack's hands dancing across his skin, of sweat gleaming on golden flesh, but certainly, these were not the tales of a civilised man, cherish the memories as he might. "It is a most exotic and foreign place that would certainly warrant further exploration, but my own priority, understandably, was to escape."

"Ever the fine officer. James, you are truly a marvel. And how did you finally escape the blaggard?"

Swann was no fool and had seen the green eyes in that bronzed face go soft and distant. He imagined some dark-eyed houri must have left an impression. Certainly, Norrinton did not resemble his former self: he was deeply tanned, broader in the shoulders, trimmer at the waist, altogether larger and more alive than the man in the proper wig and Navy brocade he remembered. "No romance worth recalling?"

James coughed delicately, choking on his coffee. "You are likely now thinking of sailors' reputations, but there is no memory of such a nature of which I would speak." That much was true, at least, and for a moment, he allowed himself to imagine Swann's expression if he told him of matelotage with Jack Sparrow; better yet, Jack's reaction to the Governor's shocked stare.

The thought of the gallows followed on its heels and he forced the memories back where they belonged. "Bombay is a large city. Port Royal appears a small fishing port compared to it. It was little trouble to disappear where Hamilton could not find us."

Swann's face crinkled into a grin. Unwittingly, he echoed Jack's own words. "You're a dry one, James. I'm sure no lady would have need to fear for her reputation with you. Did you see any of its wonders? I've heard tell of temples and wild animals in the streets."

James could see them right in front of his eyes, the colours, the warm sun; the poverty. Children playing, children stealing, a strange and stark contrast, and still, somehow beautiful. "The wild animals are kept in gardens. A boy of the crew ventured too close to a mother tiger, and it was good fortune he escaped unharmed. The temples, the city... I lack the words to describe it. Magnificent and beautiful. I had ventured to the East Indies before, but never had I seen this."

"Hmmm." It was the Governor's turn to look dreamy. "I'd always wished to see such a place. Someday you must write a memoir and share all your daring exploits. A tiger! A live tiger in a garden. Amazing! And heathen temples." The sly look crept onto Swann's face again and he covered his embarrassment by stabbing at his omelette. "It is a great pity you hadn't longer to explore. But why did you not contact the East India Trading Company? I am certain that they, as loyal subjects of the Crown, would have aided you."

James bought himself time by chewing on the last bite of his roll, frantically thinking. "Hamilton held a Letter of Marque, issued by the Governor of Nassau. It stands to reason that he had good contacts with the East India Trading Company as well, whereas I stood alone, without proof of my identity or the truth of my claim. When the opportunity to return to Port Royal by other means presented itself, I took it, rather than risking exposure and further complication of the matter."

The Governor grunted and helped himself to more jam. "A bit wild out there, hey what? Well, the thing is done and you are safely home. That's what is important." He munched contemplatively. "I suppose I should call upon Messrs. Bleak and Crome this morning and alert them to your case. I must counsel patience, James. Howevermuch we are pleased to have you...have....are those braids?"

James bit back a curse and smiled pleasantly. "It is but a sailors' superstition with no more meaning than alleged good luck. I simply woke up with them one day." He stifled the urge to run a hand through his hair and turn the braid between two fingers as had become habit when he was exasperated by something Jack had done. "I will exercise myself in patience. It is merely the inactivity which makes me restless."

James concentrated on his breakfast and did not see the sharp look Swann shot across the table. Clearly, there was more to Norrington's story than met the eye. He smiled to himself and finished his coffee. "Well, I am off to town. Do you care to join me, or would you prefer that I handle this. With the utmost discretion, of course. I fear your presence will be quite a shock."

James frowned. A shock? To see him returned? Should it not be a pleasant surprise, to see someone thought dead, returned whole and hale? "I would rather join you, by your leave. I see no need to cower in hiding and would rather attend to this matter than sit by idly."

Swann grimaced, then pushed his chair back. “If you insist, James. I should see that you have some proper clothing and perhaps you would care for the services of my valet. He is an excellent barber."

James fell silent. The hint was clear enough, but it seemed like betrayal to cut off the braids now. They were mementos of something he cherished, and he would not give that up because of nothing but an askance look. "That delay is unnecessary. Certainly, my hair can be tied to fit beneath a wig."

"Ah yes, of course." The Governor had a politician's vagueness when necessary and waved the servants to remove the dishes. "But we must get you properly dressed. Shoes, stockings, a good English suit of clothes. Demme, I'll send for the tailor this afternoon. I supposed they will have to do for the moment. I know there must be a few wigs about." He grinned and winked suddenly. "You can use that formal one I got last winter. I cannot bear it but it is much like your regulation wig."

James bowed his head. "Once more, my thanks. I would not know what to do without your help." He folded his fingers to stop them from worrying at his cuffs. Certainly, it was not the finest attire, but had they expected him to return from captivity clad like a Lord? "Is there nothing at all left of my possessions? Certainly, my wardrobe was of little interest to my family or any buyers."

Swann's face creased in genuine distress. "James, I'm afraid that everything not auctioned at the sale or sent back to your relatives went to the rag and bone men. I'm sorry." He raised an eyebrow. "Although the piratical look is quite becoming, you know. Most dashing."

James' eyes narrowed. "I clad myself with the means I possessed, and if any common sailor had the means to bear himself a gentleman, there would be no such thing as the piratical look."

He could hear the pity, in Swann's words, see it in his actions, the clumsy attempts to cheer him that only provoked the opposite. He took a breath and reminded himself that no matter how little he liked it, he was dependent. "My apologies. It was not the easiest time."

"James." The Governor's eyes were soft. "I'll have Peter bring the wig to you. Are you sure you want to do this?" Again, he unconsciously repeated Sparrow's very words.

James bit back a sharp retort and nodded. He needed no pity and need not be spared anything. "I cannot simply sit idly while my matters are taken care of. I cannot and will not hide. I thank you for your support, but please understand this, Wetherby."

Swann nodded and clasped his arm briefly. "Brave lad! The carriage will be ready in a quarter hour. I will meet you in the driveway."

It was an exercise in frustration to pin his hair under the wig, but eventually, James managed. Swann had that resigned sigh in his voice when James joined him at the carriage, so similar to the one he'd heard when Elizabeth did something of which her longsuffering father did not quite approve.

The ride to town was quick, and this time, James' glance out of the window was focused. Nothing had changed. The same paved streets, men going about their day's work, the stones shimmering in the sun's heat.

As they emerged from the carriage, townspeople had gathered, openly staring when, after the Governor, their former Commodore climbed out and stood straight, the wig unnaturally white above his browned face. Whispers started up and James half-wished to linger and listen, but Swann ushered him inside.

A clerk greeted the Governor and led them to an office in which a tall, bespectacled scarecrow in black loomed behind a large desk. He rose to greet Swann, assiduously ignoring James until the Governor pointedly introduced him.

James did not need to see the sneer in Mr. Crome, Esq.'s face to feel his spite. Throughout the entire conversation, the man ignored him as he saw fit, interrupted narrations of the tale he'd begun to tell, and generally treated him as though worthy of not the slightest attention. Norrington was nearly trembling with repressed rage, but the Governor had not become a Governor without acquiring a certain ability to skilfully distract and manoeuvre. They rose, bowed stiffly and the barrister promised he would take care of matters as quickly as reputation and circumstance would allow.

Outside, the same crowd still waited, augmented by some men from the other side of the street, the bolder ones near the carriage. One young man came closer yet , bending as close as Jack always did, just barely not touching him. James opened his mouth to speak when the man spun around and returned to the crowd, whispering agitatedly.

Somewhere, the sun was shining in a perfect world where palm trees tickled blue skies and seas as green as glass, and calm goodwill flowed with its golden rays. But not in Port Royal. Within that single day, the entire town was buzzing with the news that Norrington was alive and back. In the taverns, tradesmen gossiped as fiercely as their wives and daughters, laid wagers on how long he would remain and whether or not there would be a dust-up between him and the new Commodore. Sewing circles in the fine houses whispered dramatically about his tanned face, daughters anxious to see, their mothers just as anxious to spare them such a sight. Every marine and sailor and officer knew by sundown the night of his return and his former subordinates glanced among themselves and wondered what protocol could welcome home a dead man.

None of it was said to James' face, but he heard the whispers, full of disdain; he saw the glances, curious like little Matthew's but with nothing of the childlike innocence. He ignored them. He ignored the wrinkled face as the tailor measured his waist and shoulders and brought him a new set of clothes, he ignored the chatter of the servants as he sat in the back garden.

Should he disgrace himself by losing his temper and reproach them for an hour's peace, only to give fuel to further rumours? The fire glittered in his eyes but he smothered it, keeping himself in check, proving that the man those fine women gossiped about and called a savage with secret delight at his misfortune possessed more manners than they.

Elizabeth peeked through the curtains of the French doors to the garden and frowned as the kitchen chatter reached her sharp ears. She went the long way around and stood in the kitchen doorway, glowering. "A little quiet here would be most appreciated," she snapped, turning on her heel as she headed out the back door where she could come upon James without his seeing her. He was so brown and his hair so light, she hardly would have recognised him, but it suited him. Oh my, yes, it suited him admirably.

James started, torn from his thoughts, but he showed none of his surprise as he rose and turned, gracefully bowing. "Miss Swann. Forgive my lack of attention. I was woolgathering." Engagement became her well: she had shed the last remainders of the freckled little girl and become a woman more than beautiful.

"Nonsense, James. Please sit down. May I join you or would you prefer to be alone. I'm so thrilled you are alive." Her face split into a genuine smile. She hesitated for a moment, then rushed over to hug him. It was dreadfully improper but damn decorum. He was a fine man, a good one. He had been lost and now was found. It was more than reason enough to ignore stuffy rules and silly politesse.

Where before he would have frozen, he now embraced her for a moment, before realising the impropriety of it all and gently pulling away. "Thank you." With her, at least, he knew it was spoken sincerely. Elizabeth never said something she did not mean just because propriety demanded it. "By all means, I am more than grateful for the company, lest your father sent you to convince me of taking the services of a barber."

"Father is a dear, dim old love and not half as clever as he imagines." Her dark eyes were wiser than they had been before her adventure, and calmer. "You were impressed! How awful for you! What happened? Let me have some tea brought or would you prefer a proper drink?" She didn't run as she used to, but glided across the lawn and spoke with the housekeeper inside, emerging with a bit of needlework to settle herself in the chair across from him. "Now, you must tell me all about it. I've been dying of curiosity. You are well?"

James did not know how often he had related the tale in these last days, but the gleam in her eyes was not the cruel curiosity he'd seen so often. It was more honest somehow, like that of the little girl who had demanded entertainment of a young Lieutenant on the crossing from England. "Yes, I am well, or will be as soon as this matter is satisfactorily settled. Also, I assure you that, contrary to rumour, I am still literate." His eyes twinkled, but there was a dark edge to his normally dry humour.

"And decking yourself out like a pirate," she teased. "I like it. It becomes you much more than your wig. But what an adventure you've had! All the way to Bombay only to escape and come right back. So loyal!" Her nimble fingers flew over the trifle in her hands and she looked up with a sly expression. "Father said you told him a Spanish sailor helped you. That was very kind."

"Miss Swann, I must protest. The sheer lack of uniform does not imply piracy." James knew that expression, and it certainly befitted a young girl plotting mischief better than a grown woman. "Your father was right. We found ourselves in much the same situation: recruited against our will and with every wish and reason to return home."

He paused, looked at her and sighed, his voice softer. "It may sound as if all impressed sailors shared this motivation, but some do not have any better place than that ship to which they can return."

"I hope your Spanish friend was able to find his way home as well. Impressment should be forbidden. It is a vicious practise." Her lips had compressed into a thin line that broke into another smile. "I'm thrilled you are safely back and suffered no ill effects from your ordeal. But Bombay! How wonderful. It must be marvellous to see such places." Her eyes moved restlessly, the whites stark against dark irises.

"I likely should not say this, but I am convinced that you would have enjoyed Bombay. It is no place fit for a lady, yet I doubt that you would heed that." James caught himself. "No disrespect intended, of course," he added hastily.

Elizabeth laughed softly. "James, my aunts were convinced that Port Royal was no fit place for a lady. I'm sure the Indian gentlemen of Bombay would disagree with you." Her grin was infectious. "I do think you look so well, all browned. And your hands are as calloused as Will's. I like that." Her smile faded as she caught an earful of chatter from the kitchen. "I am going to use a carriage whip on them!"

James took her hand and quirked a smile. "Thankful as I am for your indignation on my behalf, I assure you that is not necessary. Leave them to talk. Anything else will only worsen it. What little truth there is in their blather I do not fear."

Suddenly, he dropped her hand as if burnt. "Although I wonder if a port like Bombay which we call uncivilised does not hold more welcome for a returning sailor." His voice was resigned, not quite bitter, and he shuddered inwardly. He would not complain, certainly not to one of the few who had genuinely bid him welcome.

"Oh, James." She was horrified by the tone of his voice. "I'm so sorry. This must be so terrible for you and silly gossip doesn't help at all. You'd think people would have more sense. It's a sad thing when every normal person you know babbles and behaves....well, behaves worse than....than Jack Sparrow in his cups!" She huffed her indignation.

James chuckled desperately and nodded. "At least he eventually passes out and ceases talking." He half smiled and his eyes fixed into distance. "Soon, this will take the same course. There is only so much a town can say about myself and my adventures, after all."

"It was terrible when you disappeared. No one knew what had happened. Poor Lieutenant Groves was frantic and they dragged the cove, searched everywhere. It was awful. I know Will would love to see you. May I ask him some evening? He worked with one of the search parties for weeks." She blushed and kept her eyes on her needle. Will would be in for quite the surprise and she got a little thrill wondering if he might just be a tiny bit jealous to see his former rival so brown and fit.

James nodded. "Gladly." He laughed. "I believe I may yet have room in my social schedule." It was strange how now they could speak more openly than during his courtship, that it would seem less stilted than any conversation with another.

He swallowed hard. "There is only one matter, Elizabeth. I am well aware that his and your own positions are not easy, the wedding drawing so close. I would not wish you to offend Port Royal's society any more. I am a persona non grata at the moment and not blind enough to be oblivious to it. I would not have you suffer from it."

"Then you can share that place of honour with me." Her eyes twinkled like her father's. "James, I am well-aware that my marriage is considered a disgraceful mesalliance and I have plenty of words for those who gossip about it. I need not repeat them. I'm not a woman who is dependent upon others' rules and guidelines. I am most fond of you and would consider myself a worthless friend if I let their nastiness sway me in any fashion." Her smile was soft but there was steel behind it. "I am and always will be your friend and the devil take anyone who cares to disagree."

Her face flushed and she giggled. "My apologies. I'm afraid my vocabulary has not improved at all."

James smiled and for a moment, it was the wide, relaxed smile of which Jack had grown so fond. "My most sincere and heartfelt thanks, Elizabeth. Still, know that if your decision should falter, I will bear you no ill will. You have an engagement and soon marriage to worry over, and I would be the worthless friend if I did not want that to be your priority."

She began to protest and he lifted his hand to silence her. "Let us talk no more of it. We have both said all we wish the other to know."

She clasped his hand with both of hers. "James Norrington, you really are quite wonderful. Now let's go inside before Estrella comes needling me about my shawl. I'm sure you would like a proper tea and I'm famished."

Pirate Vindaloo, Chapter 22

Sailor's Return