The Devil's Hand

--Chapter Two--



    Will found her fairly quickly, sitting on a barrel, eating a chunk of cheese and chatting with Gibbs.

    "You've really never heard of Jack Sparrow?" Gibbs asked incredulously as Will walked up.

    "I honestly haven't," Nicola said. She smiled at her cousin. "Hello, Will."

    "Nicola. It isn't safe for you to wander around the-"

    She cut him off, gesturing at Gibbs. "He's safe enough."

    "He's also a crewmember."

    "Yes, I know that, cuz," Nicola said. "Why else would he be on the ship?"

    Will sighed. "Gibbs, this is my cousin, Miss Nicola Holyfield."

    Elizabeth joined them then. Will really hadn't expected her to stay put. She was followed by Jack. The pirate captain had a bulky bag over one shoulder, presumably Nicola's, and the young woman's weapon.

    Nicola gave him a cheeky grin. "We've already met. But the gesture is appreciated."

    Elizabeth's brown eyes swept over the dishevelled figure before her. "Come back to the manor with me, Nicola, and we'll get you properly-"

    "Clothed? Styled? Trained?" Nicola straightened, suddenly seemed undeniably lady-like in spite of her ragtag appearance. "I assure you, Elizabeth, that there is, in fact, nothing wrong with my manners, if I have proper motivation for maintaining social standards. I have, after all, been to the King's Court in Paris, and met Louis himself."

    Then she grinned, her blue gaze flicking to the pirate captain. "Of course, I usually find I've less than adequate motivation . . . which is probably one of the reasons I was sentenced to death."

    "What did you do?" Will demanded.

    She just smiled, a small, enigmatic smile that would soon, he was certain, drive him crazy.

    Jack was studying the dagger. It was a design he'd seen before, but he couldn't quite place it. Witchcraft, he mused silently. It was certainly no ordinary dagger. Jack Sparrow was rarely wrong, and he knew it had ceremonial purpose. That was not in question. What was in question was how Nicola Holyfield had come by it, and how she had been captured and tried for witchcraft.

    He looked up to find Nicola staring at him. Wordlessly, he handed it back to her, point towards the floor. One corner of her mouth curled up in acknowledgement of his distrust. "Don't worry, Captain Sparrow. I'm not going to stab you."

    His smile match her own, in response to her unspoken "Yet". He handed the bag to Will. "Found this under the table. I am assuming this belongs to the . . . lady."

    Will nodded and slung it over his shoulder, then took his cousin by the arm. "Regardless of whether you wish to or not," he told her, "you are coming back to the manor."

    "I never said I wasn't. I implied that I will not act like a trained lapdog."

    She was still protesting as he dragged her down the gangplank, Elizabeth trailing behind.

    Gibbs stood. "Interesting girl."

    "Very interesting," Jack murmured.

    His first mate studied the captain's reddened cheek. "She slap you?"

    "Who hasn't?"

    "Good point."

    Gibbs moved off, leaving Jack standing on the deck by himself. It was a moment before the pirate stirred.

    "Her father's name is Leslie?"

 

-----

 

    The instant they walked in the door of the governor's mansion, Nicola was swamped by maids who absconded with her person, stripped her, and dumped her in a large copper tub full of hot water. At least, it seemed that way. How they'd prepared so quickly was completely beyond her comprehension. She'd never been able to get the maids to work that fast back home.

    "Ouch!" she exclaimed, as Flora, Elizabeth's newest maid, pulled a little too hard on her gold locks. Her hair had been washed, dried, and was now being brushed.

    "I'm dreadfully sorry, miss," the maid murmured.

    "No," Nicola said to Elizabeth. "I'm not going to wear one. I refuse."

    "I'm afraid your garments are being laundered, and you have no choice," Elizabeth sighed. "I detest them just as much as you. However . . ."

    Nicola groaned. "I know. Everything I could possibly borrow is in your wardrobe, and every dress you own requires a corset. All right. But only for tonight."

    "Certainly," her cousin's fiancee replied. "What do you think, Flora, the peach brocade?"

    "Oh, no, mum." The maid shook her head, blonde wisps of her hair peeking out of her kertch. "Best be the wine-coloured silk."

    Elizabeth, already garbed in a gold moiré, tapped her fan against her full lips, then nodded. "You're right."

    Elizabeth fetched the dress, and spread it out on the bed in the guest room assigned to the younger woman. Nicola's eyes widened at the sight of it.

    "Goodness! What's the occasion?" she inquired.

    "The commodore is coming to dinner," Elizabeth said, glancing slyly at her new soon-to-be cousin.

    "The commodore?"

    "Commodore Norrington. He's a very fine man. He heads the garrison at Fort Charles."

    Nicola filed this information away for future reference.

    Flora finished the touches on her hair, and then found Elizabeth's extra corset, and stuffed Nicola into it.

    "I can't breathe," Nicola wheezed.

    "The trick is to not breathe too deeply." Elizabeth handed her a fan. "And use this as often as necessary."

    With a well-practised flick of her wrist, Nicola snapped it open and instantly began fanning herself. "This contraption was obviously designed by men," she muttered.

    Elizabeth laughed. "No doubt. Shall we?"

    Will met them on the landing. He smiled at Elizabeth, then his dark brown eyes drifted over to his cousin, pleasantly passed once over her, then bulged abruptly as he let out a choking gasp.

    "Is something amiss?" Elizabeth asked, immediately placing her hand on her fiancé's arm.

    Will pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and slapped it over his face.

    Nicola looked down at her borrowed dress. She didn't see what was wrong. Certainly, the bodice was a trifle low . . .

    "Are you actually intending to wear that?" Will demanded, recovering. He kept his eyes on her face, not on her neckline.

    Elizabeth scoffed. "William Turner! There is nothing wrong with this dress. I wore it just last week, and you didn't object."

    Her fiance gestured at Nicola's bodice. "No offense, darling, but . . . but . . . Pardon me if this is . . . coarse, but . . . Your proportions, dearest, are not the same?"

    Elizabeth looked at Nicola very hard, noticing for the first time just how much rounded flesh protruded above the gold-lace trimmed neckline. "Oh, for heaven's sake!"

    Nicola opened her fan and placed it over the rather abundant cleavage on display. "Shall I go about like this all evening, cuz? I could get a cramp in my wrist, but if it makes you feel more comfortable . . ."

    The other woman rolled her eyes. She signalled to Flora, who had followed them down the stairs. "Would you bring us a kerchief? Something that will go with this dress."

    "Yes, mum."

    "Really, this is nothing compared to London fashion," Nicola insisted. "This would be quite modest for an evening gown. And let's not even discuss Paris!"

    "We're not in London, cuz," Will gritted. "And I do not want Commodore Norrington to drop his eyeballs down your dress!"

    "Oh, posh. They can't, they're attached. And if they are not, he should hardly be Commodore, should he?"

    Nicola twitched her fan, and without waiting for Flora, swept off, spine straight, into the drawing room.

 

-----

    Dinner wasn't quite a disaster. The Commodore was stiff with Will and Elizabeth, and it was immediately apparent to Nicola that something had occurred between the trio to cause the uncomfortable silences.

    Governor Swann was rather taken with Nicola, and asked her of the happenings in England. She informed them that William II was continuing the occupation of Ireland, and the Jacobites in Scotland continued to stay quelled. She casually mentioned that she had lost a sibling, Peter, in one of the battles, at Dunkeld.

    Will only had vague memories of Peter, as Peter had been four years younger than himself, and would only have been eight when Will left England.

    Elizabeth asked about Nicola's other siblings. It turned out that seven Holyfield children remained; Nicola was the eldest, and she had four sisters and two brothers.

    James Norrington, Nicola found, was a handsome, distinguished man of about thirty-five, who could be witty when he wasn't sulking. It was obvious that Elizabeth had been hoping to foist Norrington's attentions off on Nicola, but the man was a little too sullen to pay much attention to Nicola's charms.

    Not that Will's cousin was interested in the commodore. She tried not to fidget, already plotting to follow Will when he went back to speak to Sparrow. Now there was an interesting fellow. Rather below her, but certain to be entertaining.

    Elizabeth casually mentioned that she'd overheard someone in town mention a pirate ship called the Blood Storm, but the commodore barely seemed to hear her. He paid attention to her words, at least, but all he wanted to discuss in the way of pirates was "Sparrow, that shameless reprobate".

    At last, the dinner ended. Norrington didn't linger, as he had to return to the garrison. Nicola retired to the guest room the servants had made up for her, and found that several pretty and servicable gowns of Elizabeth's--likely ones that were out of fashion--had been hung in the armoire in the room.

    "I don't think I've ever had hand-me-downs," Nicola mused to herself, when Flora had left at last.

    She rummaged through the bag she'd brought with her from England, and pulled out trousers and a shirt, which she changed into quickly. Nicola slipped into the coat that went with the trousers, not bothering to bind her breasts; there was no point in really trying that. This disguise would only work to keep immediate notice at bay.

    Will was just leaving, as she went to the window. He declined an offer of a carriage, and set off on foot. Good; it would be much easier to follow him.

    She carefully opened the window and stepped out onto the sill. Her window was close to the corner of the house. Some deft wiggling, and she was able to clamber down the quoining. She lost her footing five feet from the ground and fell, landing with a painful thump in the bushes.

    Nicola rubbed her offended posterior, grateful nothing else had been injured. She hadn't been lying when she'd said she was no good with the rigging. She was terribly afraid of heights.

    She snuck at a reasonable distance after Will, hand tight around the grip of her dagger. Fortunately, her leather-soled shoes were fairly noiseless on the cobblestones, and it meant she could get closer.

    He rounded a corner, and she darted after him, only to turn it and find . . . no one there.

    Oh, lovely. Where had he gone?

    Nicola briefly considered calling for him, but she'd been hiding from him for a reason. She huffed out a breath and bit her lip, not entirely sure what to do. She could make her way down to the docks by herself, but that was an extremely stupid idea.

    A hand came down on her shoulder and she stifled a shriek, whirling with her dagger aimed to make contact with her attacker.

    Will danced out of the way and levelled a glare at her. "What are you doing?!" he demanded.

    "Following you!" she said. "Obviously!"

    "Yes, but why?"

    "Because I need to talk to you. And Captain Sparrow."

    Her cousin eyed her for a long moment, weighing his options. It was apparent that if he took her back to the house, she wasn't likely to stay there, and he would be late for his meeting with Jack. They were more than halfway to the docks, now, as it was.

    "Fine," he sighed. "But then I'm taking you back to Elizabeth's and you'll stay there."

    She offered no argument, meekly falling into step beside him. "I'm sorry," she said. "I would have asked, but I'm sure you would have said no."

    "You're right, I would have."

    They made their way to the Pearl, where they were greeted by a very short man in a vest.

    "We're here to see Jack, Marty," Will said, taking hold of Nicola's arm.

    "Cap'n's waitin' for you," the dwarf said, manner mild but eyes intent on Nicola.

    They went up the gangplank and Nicola followed Will to the captain's cabin. She hadn't paid it much attention the first time she'd been here, more intent on finding a quick hiding place. It was an . . . interesting environment, definitely masculine, but disorganised, something she attributed to Sparrow's apparent nature.

    "What's she doing here?" Jack asked in surprise when they walked in.

    "She followed me," Will said.

    Nicola rolled her eyes and wrenched her arm free of Will's grasp. "I came because I need to talk to you."

    Jack's dark eyes narrowed. "Concerning what, precisely?"

    Nicola pulled out her dagger and placed it on the map in front of him. "Giacomo Pantaleone Ulisse Damiano Roccelli, or, as he's known in the French court, the Devil's Hand. He's also my former intended."