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Driftwood by Hereswith [Reviews - 0] [239
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by Hereswith
Chapter 1
It was near twilight, when they came upon the shipwreck. The sun was sinking fast, but still hung high enough above the distant, unbroken horizon that it glittered in between the debris, turning the surface of the ocean a shade of gold that seemed far too glaring for such a scene of complete destruction.
A solemn hush had settled over the Pearl, and many of the men had gathered to point and look. Elizabeth, who was standing by the starboard rail, was eerily reminded of that other, long-ago shipwreck, and the feeling was heightened by the fact that Gibbs was again by her side. Granted, he was older and more grizzled than he had been, back then, but his curses had much the same bite.
Some of the floating pieces were scorched, and Elizabeth shivered. “It must have been an explosion.”
“Aye, ‘tis likely,” Gibbs said. “God save their souls.”
“Capt’n! Someone’s in the water!”
Jamie’s sudden shout startled them both, and sent Parrot, perched on Gibbs’s shoulder, into a flutter. Heart thudding, Elizabeth leaned forward, glancing searchingly about, and she presently saw what it was Jaime had spotted. It was not a boy on this occasion, which, she realised with a pang, she had almost expected, but a young woman, wearing only a torn, ragged shift, her hair trailing dark over wood and wave.
“Dead men tell no tales,” Parrot observed, and Gibbs pulled a grimace at the statement. It was harsh, but undeniably apt.
The order to heave to rang out, and while Gibbs took off, Elizabeth remained, her gaze fixed on the girl. She was worried it was too late, already, that the sea had not spared the poor creature, after all, but merely delayed its final embrace, for the girl did not stir. Did not move, in spite of the loud jarring sounds and the busy hum of voices that filled the air as the ship slowed to a stop and the longboat was launched.
Though Elizabeth held her breath for parts of it, the rescue went, on the whole, without incident. With steady strokes they rowed up as close to the girl as possible, and set about hoisting her, limp as a child’s doll, into the longboat. Elizabeth noticed that one of the men stretched out, precariously, to dislodge some small object from the board the girl had been lying on, and she could not make out what it was, but it glinted, like metal.
Once the girl had been brought aboard, they gently set her upon the deck and, by that time, she was beginning to revive. Her body twitched, then convulsed, and Gibbs eased her onto her side as she spluttered and coughed, gagging up the water she had swallowed.
Eventually, when there was nothing left to retch, the girl tried to sit more upright, and she appeared to become more cognisant of her surroundings: the ship beneath her, and the men who regarded her with great and undisguised interest. She blanched, recoiling back and thereby into Gibbs, who braced her with his hands.
“Lass, what’s—“
The girl screamed, like an animal that had been attacked by a predator, a high, keening wail that cut like a knife, and tore free, desperately scrambling away from Gibbs, until she slammed into the gunwales, and the scream abruptly choked off. She huddled up, arms around her knees, whimpering and rocking back and forth.
Elizabeth reacted to the sight as if thunder-struck. Berating herself for a thoughtless, simple-minded fool, she pushed through the crowd of crewmembers, and crouched beside the girl. She was a slight thing, with barely a curve on her, all eyes and waist-length hair, and as pale as a lady who had been sheltered from weather and wind. Elizabeth did not touch her, but she said, pitching her voice low and soothing, “It’s all right. You don’t have to be afraid.”
The girl’s head whipped up, in shocked surprise. She coughed again, struggling to speak, and when she did, it came out cracked and reedy frail. “Pirates.”
Elizabeth hesitated, briefly. “Yes. But—“
Her answer sent the girl into a fit of miserable crying and Elizabeth instinctively took hold of the bird-thin shoulders to draw her into an awkward embrace, shushing and patting her. She glanced to the side and found him whom she sought. “Jack?”
“Aye, love,” he responded, guessing at what she did not say, and proceeded to tell the men, in no uncertain terms, to return to their duties and quit the deck, and handsomely, to boot.
The girl’s weeping ebbed, by degrees, as the men scattered. Jack was the last to depart, and when he had, Elizabeth ventured to release the girl, who sniffed.
“He called you ‘love’.”
“He always has,” Elizabeth replied, with the trace of a smile. “It’s a habit of his. What is your name?”
“Leah,” the girl said, wet lashes flickering. “He’s a pirate.”
Elizabeth felt a surge of sympathy, remembering, more clearly than she cared to, her own reaction after having been at Barbossa’s fickle mercy and the cause for it. She knew the fear that chased across the girl’s delicate features. “True, but he isn’t—he won’t hurt you, nor will the crew. He would not allow it.”
An emotion Elizabeth could not interpret darted in Leah’s eyes, but it was gone as swiftly as a wisp of cloud, and the girl shuddered.
“You’re soaked through,” Elizabeth frowned. “Come, let’s get you out of these clothes.”
Leah gave a nod of acquiescence and Elizabeth supported her as she rose to her feet, then steered her towards the Great Cabin. The girl stumbled repeatedly, flinching at every noise, and Elizabeth was glad, for her sake, when they reached the cabin and could shut the doors on the rest of the world. While Leah hovered, silent, in the middle of the room, Elizabeth went to retrieve a blanket and something for her to wear, deciding on the simple shift that she herself had used, on her journey here.
“Put this on, when you’re dry,” she said, handing both items to the girl. “Shall I help you?”
Leah shook her head so that her hair slapped her cheeks and Elizabeth did not insist, merely turned her back to give the girl what privacy she could. It was obvious, from the odd sighs and mutters, that Leah was wrestling with the garments and Elizabeth was on the verge of going to her, in spite of the girl’s reluctance to accept her assistance, but then Leah announced, “I’m done.”
Elizabeth faced the girl once more. “Do you want anything to eat, or drink?”
“No. I couldn’t.” Losing what little colour she had, Leah swayed, tears brimming and overflowing. “I’m—I’m sorry.”
“You should rest,” Elizabeth said, with concern. She walked over to the bed, and straightened it, fluffing the pillows. “There. You can take the bed.”
Leah bit her lip. “Whose is it?”
“It’s the captain’s cabin,” Elizabeth replied and, as Leah stiffened, “He won’t come here tonight, if I ask him not to. He might grumble a bit, but he’ll understand.”
The girl shot her a sharp, disbelieving look. “You trust him to honour that? Knowing what he is?”
“Yes,” Elizabeth assured. “I do.” A thousand questions formed on her tongue, but she held them back. Leah’s behaviour gave hint enough of what she had been through and it would be unwarranted, and cruel, to distress her further, at this point, by having her recount the details of it.
Leah wavered, then climbed into the bed, warily, as if she was prepared to bolt. Elizabeth spread a blanket over her, and Leah pulled it to her chin, curling up beneath it and clutching at the edges. Her eyelids soon drifted down, from pure exhaustion, Elizabeth suspected, rather than peace of mind, and her breathing deepened and evened out.
As the light from the stern windows gradually faded and grew colder, Elizabeth, sitting on the other side of the bed, watched over the girl, musing on the strange fate that had placed another stray, nearly drowned and abandoned, in her charge.
*
A soft knock roused her from fitful, troubled dozing, though Leah was undisturbed. Elizabeth got up, rubbing her eyes to rid the blur, and slipped out of the darkened cabin. The night was mild, and the burgeoning moon peeked forth between the masts, shining on Jack, who was lounging by the steps to the helm.
“How’s the girl?”
“Leah,” Elizabeth corrected. “Weak, and frightened. She hasn’t mentioned what happened, and I did not have the heart to press her on the matter.”
“Time for that come morning, eh?”
Elizabeth nodded. “She’s sleeping, now, at least. Do you think—“ She paused, meeting his eyes. “Could you stay the night elsewhere?”
“Not letting me into me own cabin, are you?” he teased, rather than reproved. “Aye, I suppose I could, there’s room with Gibbs. The company won’t please him overmuch, but I’ll get the short end of it, I reckon, seeing as how he snores.”
“I will make up for it, later,” she said, her smile a promise. “Thank you.”
The grin he offered quite unsettled her pulse, and it must have shown, for he chuckled and caught a loose strand of her hair, tucking it behind her ear, fingers lingering far longer than necessary. Then his brows drew together, as if something occurred to him, and he rummaged through his coat pocket, fishing out a piece of jewellery. “I well nigh forgot. ‘Twas in the wreckage.”
The object was metal, as Elizabeth had surmised earlier: it was a locket, and inside was a miniature picture of a woman, alike to Leah in most respects, except her age. “It must be her mother.” Elizabeth closed the locket. “I’ll give it to her when she wakes.”
“Aye, do that,” said Jack. “I’d best inform Gibbs of the new arrangements.” He made a quick, though anything but perfunctory bow, and took his leave of her with the words, “Sweet dreams, Mrs. Turner.”
She followed him with her gaze for a spell, before she turned, meaning to retire to the cabin, but her attention was temporarily diverted. Parrot had alighted on the railing, but his posture was peculiar, not proud and swaggering, as was usual, and Elizabeth a
Author's Note: