Forgive me no more

Chapter 4

Port Royal

'You need to keep in mind, my dear friend, that this union is to be considered also as an alliance. An alliance with the intention of bringing back together our family’s wealth and influence and the Company’s world-wide network of trade. But, by entrusting you with my daughter in marriage, I also give the one person away I cherish most, which is, if I may say so, the one fact even more important than the economic aspect of our agreement. In consequence, I expect you in any case to, should you ever find yourself face to face with the necessity of such a decision, choose her well-being and honour over the prospect of greater monetary benefits.

To end this letter, let me just say a few more words on the time of your engagement and the date of the marriage, which is, of course, yet to be set. Use this time well to get to know each other. While this arrangement’s nature today is one of a fusion of potentialities to guarantee the further existence of the vision the East India Trading Company represents, very soon you will share your lives with each other. I do trust you to always keep this in mind.

If I may ask you to send word as soon as my daughter has arrived.

With the best wishes to my dear future son in law,

Lord Henry Beckett.'

The addressee of the letter folded the sheets neatly to place them back into the top drawer of his desk. He had yet to inform Lord Beckett, the older brother of the former director of the Company, about the abduction of his only child. But while he had still rational hope the girl might be brought back to Port Royal unharmed, he would not send letters which would cause naught but deep sorrow, without doing any good. Sighing, Sir Jonathan Sterne let his gaze wander from the desk to the open ocean. No window prevented the soft, salty breeze to make the air in the room circulate.

When the ship on which he expected her to be had returned without her, he had lost his confidence for just an instant, had already anticipated her body being washed ashore, or more likely, never to find out what had happened to her. Just seconds later, the captain of the unfortunate vessel had handed him the note the pirate had ‘left’ him by wrapping it around a piece of wood and throwing it onto the deck when he left the former slave trader and his crew for the storm. Unexpectedly, the writing was easy to read and didn’t contain many spelling mistakes, another small, but dear triumph not being begrudged. And, as if this day hadn’t been dark enough, there were another two people missing: the elderly man to whom the task of keeping an eye on her virtue had been assigned, and her maid. “They fell overboard in the storm.” had been the only reaction of the captain on the matter, but somehow Sterne had serious doubts regarding their fate. Sooner or later, whenever there was one, a slave trader would jump at an opportunity. Perhaps the old man was dead. The girl, Sterne was certain, wasn’t, young and pretty as she was. Well, at least the man hadn’t sold his future wife’s other belongings.

Somewhere out there, he mused, his fiancée was currently facing the dark sides of Caribbean life. None had thought this would happen – they had on purpose chosen a small ship, one which would not likely transport valuable goods and thus should have been of little interest to pirates. To be absolutely certain, they had instructed the captain and owner of that ship to pay whatever amount necessary to ensure a safe journey. And still, it had not been enough. A knot of guilt formed in his stomach. He had considered the possibility of providing an escort, but, due to the lasting shortage of military resources, had finally decided otherwise. Although he did not know his future wife yet, her dead would be a great loss. On this marriage, to be more exact: on her father’s money, depended his future.

Years he had been waiting and working to eventually fill a position at the head of the Company. How it had hurt to witness the defeat at Shipwrack Bay. But then, finally, they had assigned him the position as the director of the Company’s branch in the Caribbean. They had put this difficult task into his hands, and he was convinced he was most capable of fulfilling it – to lead the Company back to former glory, to undo the Caribbean failure. While the circumstances in the Caribbean were most difficult ones, the business blossomed everywhere else. Thus, he had the rightful hope to be promoted to director of the whole Company if he managed to put things in the Caribbean back together. After just a few weeks, he had discovered realising his intention would be almost impossible – as long as the resources placed at his disposal weren’t increased. Letters had been sent and received in London and Port Royal until he had to understand it was all up to him, and he couldn’t suppress the swelling pride in his heart at having found a way.

His fingers clasped the armrests of the chair he was sitting in, until his knuckles turned white. There was a certain rage slowly building up, the idea of not being able to intervene, to see the rise and fall of the Company (and his career) again in the hands of pirates, to stop them from doing whatever they would do only fuelling his anger. The powerlessness of the last two years surfaced to its full extent; the life of the person he depended on to turn the tide had fallen into the hands of those who had caused this exasperating situation. And even if he did get her back – he would most likely not be able to strike back immediately. The British marine could not (and would not) afford to support an offensive reprisal, and he would have to wait until the marriage, until her family’s money had bought him the much needed raise in ships, men and weapons. Right now, it would be a great risk focusing the remaining power of the Company on a long-lasting, sapping feud with the Caribbean pirates, its outcome not in the least predictable, though he found he should ponder taking that risk. If he could somehow win this struggle for power, he could be almost absolutely sure to return to London soon – as the new director of the East India Trading Company.

A loud knock on the door to his office tore him out of his musings. Without awaiting an answer, a member of Commodore Gray’s staff half-entered the office.

“Sir. They’re back.”

Wrapped in a thick blanket after a taking a long, hot bath, Celine Beckett carefully sipped at the porcelain cup of hot tea. Its warmth spread through her body, and slowly she began to realize she was finally safe. During the journey back to Port Royal, she had not been able to calm down, but had been in a smouldering, deep state of alarm. The abduction had had a stronger effect on her than she would like to admit. Outwardly almost unaffected, she had constantly searched the horizon for black sails, still not convinced it was all over now. All those romantic ideas of pirates she had shared with her friends home in Britain proved not to be true. There had been no polite, handsome captain, offering her his cabin, the crew was dirty and boozy, the brig cold, clammy and uncomfortable. And then there was this ever-present question, this doubt, whether or not she would leave this ship unharmed and alive. Never in her life had she been afraid like this. But if her mother had taught her something before she died, then it was to hide weaknesses, to maintain the outer posture. However, what had spared her this time the embarrassment of showing strong emotions, was her fury. Whenever she felt like she was getting closer to a breakdown, she had concentrated on her anger, designing plans on how to make that damned pirate, no, not just him, oh no, all pirates within her reach, pay. Being inexperienced but nevertheless inventive, she had soon found a way. Since it would be a rather impossible thing to do personally, she had decided to let her future husband solve the problem.

While both blanket and tea were fulfilling their shared task of preserving the warmth of the bath, she relaxed. A minute ago, she had asked the people taking care of her to leave her alone for a while. When the last of them had closed the door, a calming silence had surrounded her. With a deep sigh, she sunk further into the soft cushion of the chair, savouring the forthcoming tranquillity as long as it would last.

Eventually, the door to the guestroom was opened carefully. The thick carpet swallowed the sound of the steps approaching her, and just when a soft, male voice addressed her she got aware of his presence. Instantly, she knew who stood in front of her. Her father had described him to her rather often at her requests: tall, slender, light brown hair and, although he was already beyond his thirties, a youthful sparkle in the grey eyes. Though, when her eyes found his, she searched unsuccessfully for that sparkle. Instead, they gazed worriedly into hers for some uneasy seconds, before he went to fetch himself a chair, positioning it close to hers.

“Are you unhurt, dear?” he asked gently, his eyes again scanning her face for any sign of pain.

According to her thoroughly thought out plan, this would have been the moment when she would start to cry, telling him of all the terrible, humiliating, dreadful things they had done to her, how her worst nightmares had come true. Of course, the only true tale would be the one about the brig. But the honest, open sorrow she found directed at her seemed to open the gate to all the contained emotions she had tried so hard to hide. Gone was her pride, gone the facade of haughtiness and indignation. Beneath appeared the girl who had just gone through the worst experience of her until then overly protected life. Tears welled up in her eyes, then flowed freely down her cheeks, leaving a salty tang on her lips. Her body trembled violently, she felt like someone had put an all too heavy stone onto her chest, making her breathing difficult and painful. The first shuddering breath she forced into her lungs felt like fire, and when she released the air again, a hard sob escaped along with it. The strong, comforting hand Jonathan covered hers with broke her last defences, and the next instant she cried openly. “Let go”, her fiancé whispered, “it’s alright, you’re safe. Safe.”

Later that day, she could not recall how long they had set there, how long she had cried and how long he had held her hand. What she did recall, however, was her desire for revenge, and as soon as she had come back to her senses, she started to talk.
“This ... this Sparrow, see, he ...” she sobbed.

“Slowly, dear. You do not have to talk about it yet, if you don’t feel strong enough.”, the concerned voice of her husband-to-be hushed her.

“No, let me, please. See, when he had dragged me onto the bridge... he actually threatened to throw me overboard if I wouldn’t stop struggling, and pushed me against the railing. For a moment, I really thought I’d fall!” Her stammering had subsided. Now the words spilled from her lips, smoothly carrying the well-prepared words to his ears.
“And then, aboard the other ship, I was locked up in this filthy cage, without a single drop of water or something to sit on! It was all cold and damp down there, and I couldn’t support myself. With this storm outside, every wave tossed me around like I was some kind of a ball, hitting me against the walls and the iron bars. And then, it was the following day, I think, he made me scrub the deck in front of his crew, telling them in detail what he intended to do to me this night, and what they could do to me afterwards!” New tears streamed from her eyes, her fingers closed around his hand. The following pause emphasized her last words. Her fiancé couldn’t help but tighten his grip on her hand. Anxious, he urged her onwards.

“Did he...?” She cut his sentence off with a movement of her free hand.

“No, no.” she hurried to assure him. “There was this elderly mate, this Gibbs. That evening, Sparrow came down into the brig. I had tried all day long to prepare myself for what I thought was to come, but still, the waiting was the worst. He had already unlocked the door and reached for me, when Gibbs called him back onto the deck. These two weeks he somehow managed to keep his captain from ... from ...” This time, it was Jonathan who silenced her.

“It’s over now. You’re safe, home. No one will hurt you here.” She nodded weakly, wiping her eyes with the already soaked handkerchief. “Jonathan? Will you take care of him? I mean, will you make sure this terrible man never gets to do something like that again? Please? I don't think I’ll be able to forget what he did to me as long as he’s in freedom.”, she begged, her wide eyes fixed on his with an expression of utter trust.
Jonathan Sterne sensed that somehow, she seemed more naive than she was, that there was something else behind this vulnerability. Although it must have been a dreadful experience without question, he would wager without hesitation she would never, under normal circumstances (as far as such circumstances could ever be called normal), put her emotions on display like that – not if she wasn’t expecting to gain something by it. Not that he cared – as long as she played her part, he would play his, and after all, at this very second she provided him with a perfect reason. Slowly, taking the risk he had thought about earlier became more and more attractive to him.

“Celine, let’s talk about this tomorrow. Now, my dear, I think it is best if you went to bed. I’ll make sure you won’t be disturbed, and if there’s anything you should need, one of my staff members will be guarding your room, so just call.” Again, she gave a slight nod, followed by a small, but grateful smile.

“Thank you, Jonathan.”
“I’ll see you tomorrow, then. Have a good night.” He lifted her hand to his lips and pressed a soft kiss onto it, then rose and left her alone.

When silence filled the air again, it gave room to the small voice inside her head, repeating words her father had used about ten years ago, when she was eight and had lied to him about a broken toy, blaming her nursemaid: 'If you are sure you have told me the truth, go to bed and sleep well. If you didn’t, you will not sleep well again until you told the truth, for God does not grace dishonest people with a restful sleep.' She inhaled deeply, then exhaled, blowing the voice against the ceiling, where it wavered and then faded away. Tired, she felt she would not have any problems going to sleep. Carefully, she peeled herself out of the blanket and took the few steps to where they had set her luggage down. Celine carelessly searched through the layers of dresses until she had found a nightgown. She quickly changed and brushed her hair before she dropped onto the bed with a low 'thump'. The moment her back hit the mattress, she felt a deep relaxation seizing her body. Every muscle felt as if he would refuse every command her head would try to give, when her mind, seemingly on its own accord, recalled the last minutes on the beach of the island where they had met with the delegation of Port Royal.
Sparrow’s hand rested on the nape of her neck, while the captain in charge counted the gold coins into a chest. With every coin that fell into the chest with a light clicking, the pirate’s grin seemed to get even brighter. His fingertips were drawing lazy circles on her skin, making her flinch uncomfortably. And when finally the last coin had left the hands of the officer, he lowered his head to hers, the braids of his beard brushing against her cheek. His voice was a soft murmur as he drawled, “That’s it, luv. You an’ me, we gotta part now, but trust ol' Jack, time will fin’lly mend our broken hearts.” While he spoke, his lips almost touched her temple, and in a strange way she had yet to classify, the deep, soothing tone of his words made the hand in her neck feel different, almost familiar. “Now, lass, get goin’. Lover's talks on a beach may be nice, but really, me could use a lil less audience.” The warm pressure of his palm disappeared, then reappeared between her shoulder-blades, pushing her gently into the direction of the British soldiers.

Her defiance and anger surfaced again at the memory and she grabbed the cover, jerking it roughly over herself. How could he dare talking to her as if she was one of these damned whores, even selling her like a piece of furniture. Forcefully, she drove the last remnants of doubt out of her consciousness.