Hidden Liaisons

Hidden Liaisons
A Prequel to Pirates of the Caribbean

Author: hear-me-roar

Rating: R


Archive: That’d be awesome, just let me know and attribute properly and such.

Disclaimer: I donwn Pwn POTC. I wish I did, but I don’t. But if you steal Evi any any other originals I’ll hunt you down and tickle you with a feather. And it’s much worse than it sounds. ;)


The sun was setting and Commander Telling’s knowledge of nautical endeavors didn’t seem as if it would run dry anytime soon. Evie repressed a sigh and turned her eyes back to Commander Teller, feigning interest.

“-however, when the sails are aback, that is when the sails are pressed aft against the mast by the wind we-“ Evie drifted off again, staring at the sunset spread re hre her sinking into its twin on the Thames.

“Miss Turner?” Teller was looking at her expectantly.

“Yes? Oh I’m sorry Commander, the night is getting the better of me,” said Evie with a fake yawn behind her fan.

“Perhaps you should retire, it is getting late,” said Commander Teller with a short smile, ”I’ll see you to your chambers-“

“Thank you Commander, but I think I can manage,” said Evie as she rose and curtsied, walking back into the penthouse her Father had managed to procure for the summer months. He didn’t take to the oppressive heat of the West Indies well.

“I shall see you on the morrow, Miss Turner,” said Commander Teller with a bow.

“Hopefully not,” muttered Evie, dropping her fan unceremoniously on the table in her parlor.

“Evie,” came the soft reprimand from the corner. Her Father stood there, giving her a look of disappointment.

“Please, Father, I am tired and-“

“If Commander Telling is not to your preference then I will find-“

“I will not have you play matchmaker for me!” yelled Evie, slamming her bedroom door behind her, scowling at the maid who immediately let herself out of the servants’ entrance. Evie didn’t blame her. When she battled with her Father about suitors the room cleared rather quickly. Her Father barged in, not bothering to knock and shaking his fist at her, “You’re of proper age to be married and Commander Telling is a fine gentleman who will take care of you.”

“I do not want someone to take care of me, I want someone to love me,” said Evie as she grabbed her gloves and purse.

“Where are you going young lady?” he asked, blocking the doorway.

“I am going out,” she said, moving to walk around him.

“Not without an escort.”

“I don’t need an escort,” said Evie, walking out the door.

“GENEVIEVE TURNER! COME BACK HERE THIS INSTANT!”

Evie rolled her eyes at her Father, wishing he would just give up on his efforts to turn her into a civilized lady. It was a doomed mission. At least she allowed herself to be dressed in the outrageous finery of the London aristocracy.

After several blocks and a turned corner, Efounfound herself in the less favorable district of London, which was saying something as most of London was less favorable,the the Kent Tavern.

The interior was dark and smoky, leaving much to the imagination of the patrons whose reason in life was to lose themselves. The only noise was a faint murmur coming from subdued conversations and the tinkling of a piano being played by an elderly man. It wasn’t the height of excitement but Evie knew better than to frequent the rougher bars. All their clients wanted was a strong drink and a weak woman, not that she weak by any means. Though the aristocracy frowned on strong women, she still tried to stay in good enough shape so that she could walk several blocks without fainting, unlike some of her peers.

“Absinthe please,” said Evie, placing several shillings on the counter. Michael, the barkeep, knew better than to ask questions and placed the drink in front of her, without the usual sugar and sieved spoon. Evie downed the brew, leaning against the bar and musing over her Father’s words. He had been pushing all sorts of suitors upon her but Commander Telling was the latest. He was a man of thirty-seven with a large nose and a wheezing voice. Telling all but kissed her Father’s arse in his duties to the ambassador of the West Indies.

The door swung open and a rather bedraggled man came in. He stumbled over to the counter, staggering slightly from the wounds he bared. His back ached and he knew that one of his eyes was blackened and swelling. He managed to make it to a stool and laid his face against the cool grain of cou counter.

“Usual Jack?” asked Michael gently. Jack ed aed and than closed his eyes, a tear still managing to escape the confines of his lids. Michael turned back to pour the rum and sighed softly. He felt sorry for the young man, seeing what he had toure ure from his Father, one the lords of parliament who tended towards drunken rages at his son’s love for the fantasy of Shakespeare, rather than the philosophy of Locke. He remembered seeing Jack in here after trying to run away to Canterbury to study for priesthood, completely broken, physically and emotionally.

Michael placed the drink in front of Jack and patted the youths hand before going to pour another Absinthe. Jack took the rum and sipped at it slowly, wincing as the alcohol stung his broken lips. His Father’s annual ball had driven him to the manor’s library to dwell in Scotland with Macbeth, who had just killed Duncan. He rather liked the tale, wishing he had the strength to do such a thing to his Father. The chamberlain had found him there and then scurried to find his Father, who had been none too pleased. But Jack knew he had gotten off easy and was relieved at the fact.

Michael placed another Absinthe in front of Evie. The younman’man’s ability to hold her liquor still amazed him.

“What’s wrong with him?” askeie, ie, motioning to the young man who was gingerly sipping at his drink.

“His Father’s a loony old bastard,” said the barkeep instantly. “Oh, quite sorry milady, excuse my language.”

“It’s quite alright Michael, I myself have said worse,” said Evie with a smile.

“He’s a lonely fellow, never seen him with anybody. Male or female.”

“Michael!” said Evie in mock indignation. Michael smiled and went back to cleaning glasses. Evie sat in contemplation for a moment weighing her options and decided in favor of the one that would anger her Father the most. Takher her drink she moved down to sit next to the young man.

“Sod off,” he muttered as he heard her sit down next to him. But as Jack heard the rustle of skirts he lo up up to find a young woman sitting next to him, her lavender eyes filled with sympathy. “Oh, I’m sorry miss, I didn’t realize-“

“Why does everyone think that it pains women to hear such oaths?” asked Evie, more to herself than to the young man beside her. “Now, how awful is this Father of yours?”

“Michael has a loose mouth,” said Jack as he threw the barkeep a murderous look.

“Indeed he does. So what of your Father?”

“He’s not that bad.”

“Bullshit.”

“Pardon me, Miss……”

“Turner, Genevieve Turner. But everyone calls me Evie,” she said, extending her hand. Jack took it and kissed it lightly, blushing as he did so.

“Delighted. I’m Jack Sparrow.”

“Sparrow. What an interesting name.”

“It is rather queer-“

“No, I like it,” said Evie with a reassuring smile.

“Thank you, Miss Turner-“

“Please, call me Evie. Only my Father’s friends call me Miss Turner.”

“Alright then,” said Jack unsurely.

”Anyway, you’re not covered from head to toe in bruises, most likely with a few broken bones as well, and saying that he’s ‘alright’.”

“Well……”

“Spit it out.”

“FINE! He’s a bloody stupid git who can’t appreciate the works of masters!” Evie stared at him in surprise. She had been expecting the youth to be a scoundrel who couldn’t keep out of bars and brothels, not that he looked the part. With his black hair and chocolate eyes, well…. He was quite charming actually.

“He doesn’t understand that Shakespeare is one of the great minds of our time! All he cares about are politics and parties,” he said with a derisive snort, drawing Evie back to his tirade.

“At least you don’t have your Father shoving suitors-“

“Are you joking? I have ‘sble’ble’ girls shoved at me right and left. “Oh Jack, this is Lord Something-or-others daughter. This is the Kings third cousin’s niece. It’s enough to drive a man mad!”

“Oh I know, my Father wants to wed me to one of his men, Commander Tell. He’s such a stodgy bloke, all business and proper decorum. God, the man knows more ways to bow than the Queen has jewels,” said Evie with a laugh which Jack found infectious. He’d never found it so easy to laugh, especially after one of his Father’s beatings. Evie smiled and downed her drink, setting it upon the counter. “As much as I hate to leave present company I should rn hon home before my Father calls out Scotland Yard so that my honor won’t be impugned.”

“I could see you home,” said Jack cautiously, ”I mean, I see you’re perfectly capable of taking care of yourself-“

“I would like that,” said Evie, cutting off his rambling. Jack stood slowly, offering his arm which Evie happily took.

They walked the few blocks to Evie’s penthouse in companionable mirth, talking of the theater and books that most Lords turned their noses to. When they finally arrived both were grinning and in good humor, a rapid change from their arrival at the tavern.

Jack bade goodnight and watched her climb the stair when he fancied himself a risk, ”Evie?”

“Yes Jack?” asked Evie, turning from the door.

“Might you accompany me to the theater tomorrow? There’s to be a showing of Macbeth.”

“I’d love to,” said Evie genuinely. “Goodnight Jack.”

“Take care, Evie,” said Jack as the door closed, leaving him to find his way home, hoping that his Father had retired to his chambers. The streetlamps barely lit the London streets, throwing detail into oblivion. None of this matter to Jack as he was too deep in his own thoughts to admire the architecture of this well to do district.

He climbed the steps of his Father’s house slowly, dreading every footfall like an iron-plated whip. Fishing in his pocket he found the key to the house and let himself in quietly, throwing the bolt behind him. He slipped off his shoes and climbed the stairs, jumping the third creaking step as not to arouse any of the household staff. Jack made it down the hallway and safely into his room, only sighing when the both his and the servants’ door were locked.

Shedding his coat and stockings he rummaged in his chest of drawers, fingers finally closing upon a well worn leather cover with Macbeth proudly emblazoned on the cover. Jack had paid good money for the book, seeing as Shakespeare personally locked all of his scripts in a vault after each performance. Yet a few of the actors could be bribed to transcribe their lines, creating a few pirated copies to be had for a small fortune. Being the son of a Lord had its perks, one being access to previously mentioned small fortune. Jack settled into his bed and opened the book to where the murdered Duncan was discovered, easily being whisked away to where his current problems were of no matter.