He wasn't sure why he came back, after all he had sworn countless times, and in numerous places, that he wouldn't. The brand on his arm was a constant reminder that there was no returning and that it would be both painful and foolish to try; and, as he wasn't neither a fool nor a lover of pain, that had seemed to settle the matter.

But somehow his dying had changed things, and perhaps in more way than he yet understood, and the need to come back had appeared from the fading smoke of the battle and then refused to go away.

So he had come back though he still didn't know why.

It was Christmas and they would be here, his good fortune that it was also a place where no wandering military man was likely to recognise him and where the Navy was scarcly seen. Not that he was inspired with any desire to see most of them, but Horry and the old lady were different; they were the ones who had drawn him here and he knew that he couldn't leave without catching a glimpse of them. He needed to be sure that all was still as it once was before he put them behind him again, and this time, probably, forever.

Though he had been sure that he had done that once before.

But he was here now and he would see them before he went, then the past could be left to lie. That thought drew him through the woods and up the drive, the cold ground crunching beneath his boots and the trees catching at his hair. But if he was only to stay at a distance, and he had swore to Mr Gibbs as well as himself that he was going to do just that, then why had he left so much of the pirate behind him he wondered? Why had he sent the Pearl away until tomorrow?

***

The house was unchanged, the tall twisted chimneys reaching up to a cold and crying sky, their plumes of smoke fading into the mist of the rain that threatened to turn to ice. The leaded windows were dull and blind in the fading light and he could only imagine the brightness within, a world where fires were always burning and candles were lit as soon as day began to withdraw.

He waited beside the main drive, tense and still unsure of how to proceed. From here the house could be as dead as his past, a shell surrounded by a lifeless garden where the winter winds soon swallowed any bloom hardy enough to unfurl a petal. Even the crash of the seas against the cliffs were somehow drained and lifeless as if Calypso herself were in mourning, as perhaps she was.

With a sigh for something he couldn't have explained he squared his shoulders and drew a deep and steadying breath, then he strode out from the cover of the spinney and began the trek to the side garden gate.

***

Darkness was closing in as reached his objective. This close to the house he could see the signs of occupancy, and the markers of the season. From the stables the stamping of hooves and the whistling of grooms told their story of carriages and visitors. Tracks in the shingle spoke of recent arrivals, and the wreath of green on the doors signaled their welcome. Behind the heavy window panes he could just make out the flicker of fire and candle, and once, when the door opened for a moment, he caught the sound of laughter and a violin being played. But no one came out of the door and he remained concealed in the shrubbery and lost in memory of other times until the dying light and the closing of the heavy drapes separated him from the world inside.

Yet it still wasn't enough, for he had seen no sight of his objectives, and as the evening shadow deepened he turned away and made his way to the kitchen garden wall. The gate was locked, just as he had expected, but it had presented no barrier in the past and it pleased and amused him that it did not do so now. It was the work of seconds to be over it and gliding though the shadows of that same wall towards the back door and his unadmitted objective.

The kitchen garden was deserted, the day time laborers gone to their rooms and cottages to eat and sleep, to draw breath in readiness for the mornings festivities. No servant would venture here now that dinner was prepared and so there was none to challenge him; he moved a little easier and faster as he fixed his eyes on the tradesman's door, closed tight now against the thickening cold of the night.

In the shadow of the lintel he paused, for if he was to lift the knocker then there would be no turning away and he would have to see it through. Was he truly ready to face the past in this way a small part of him demanded, he had not seen them but he had been here was that not enough? But the rest of him bade it hush, he had come a long way to do this and it would be done. Done for them and for himself, both for who he was and who he had been. There were those he needed to do right by and this Christmas Eve he would do it.

His hand reached for the knocker almost without his knowledge and the first thud sealed his fate.

There was a moment of panic as he realised that he had bare seconds now to change his mind. Then the latch was being drawn and the hinges creaked, as he suddenly remembered that they always had, and even that sliver of a chance was gone. The past was truly woken now and, for good or ill, he would have to see it through

***

The face that stared at him was young, too young to be known to him, and topped by a grubby cap, matched by the stained apron that bound the girl's skirts. 'A scullery maid then', he thought, and cursed, though he should have expected as much, 'the lowest of the low, in this place at least, and as like to scare as a hind surprised in a glade.' But easy enough to pass with the right words.

He pulled his hat from his head and swept it to his chest with the ghost of a bow. The child's eyes widened as they travelled over him, taking in the long topped boots and unfashionable coat, becoming saucer like as they slid over the long braids of his hair just visible over his shoulder; his sash he had left behind on the Pearl and his pistol was well hidden, but even though he had tied his hair back the uncurled length of it would be remarked by her. He saw the scorn start to form on her face and the wariness appear in her eyes, and he could imagine the words forming on her tongue before she even thought them. 'No place here for such as you, be gone or I'll rouse the men to give you a beating.' But she'd not say those words for he spoke first,
"Is Mrs Jane here girl?"
Sure enough the scorn faded to be replaced by hesitant curiosity and the words that she did speak were polite enough, though uncertain in tone,
"Yes, she is, what is that to you?"

Relief flooded through him, that she was still here would make things so much easier. He smiled at the child still half hidden behind the door, but only a half smile that didn't show his teeth nor warm his eyes, and a soft one at that, no call to frighten the little miss, not if he wanted to get indoors without a fuss.
"Just tell she has a Christmas visitor, someone from the past who is minded to make her acquaintance once again. For a short while."
That brought some small scorn back to her face, such as she were as aware of the distinctions of life as a Duchess,
"And would she be minded to see such as you? Mrs Jane is cook here and has no need of vagabonds." Her words were sharp now and her looks dismissive.
"That is for her to decide is it not?" he replied gently but with a hint of wrapped steel slipping into his voice.
He smiled again, more warmly this time as he saw the effects of his words and the sound and timbre of his voice go to work on her. In the dim light he though she dropped a half bob of a curtsey and wondered again at the power of the little things to sway such as her. Her eyes widened again as she stared back at him,
"Very well, who shall I say is callin'?"
Her tone was softer now and the challenge was gone from her look. Even so he caught her uncertain backwards glance and knew that she might yet bar his entrance.

He softened his smile again and kept his voice gentle,
"I'll wait her shall I? Until you have been given permission for me to enter."
He saw the relief as she bobbed again,
"If you please." The ghost of a 'sir' hung unspoken, but thought, in the cold air before she compressed her lips over such an unlikely deference and skipped back in doors to the safety of those who would know what to do.

The moments that followed seem like hours as memories attacked from all sides, this door he had known so well, the three legged stool, dark and wet in the winters evening, still tucked under the eaves for use when cleaning game and peeling vegetables in warmer airs, the smell of new hay drifting on the wind from the stables where the grooms were settling down for an evening of ale and cards, the scent of cooking wafting out from the still open door. Things he had once known so well but which he had lost and had never thought to see again. Once again he wondered why he had come back.

Then the door was pushed wider and a woman appeared with a lantern in her hand and two broad shouldered young men at her shoulders. She stood back from the edge of the door and raised the lamp high, her white cap was tinged yellow by its light, the silver hair beneath that gilded too. Yet though it illuminated her, a familiar face despite the intervening years, it left him in shadow and what she could see of him her pinched expression told him she didn't like.
"The girl says you be askin' for me? What for? You may know my name but I know none such as you, nor want to. Be gone, or if it is a message that you bring then deliver it quickly for it canno' be good news if it's brought by the likes of you and at such a time."
Her voice was cold though polite enough.

He sighed and bowed low,
"Forgive me Mrs Jane. There is no message and I would not worry you for the world. Be easy, I am all the bad news that there is. But I need you assistance," he looked at her from under half swept lashes and smiled his most charming smile, "and you will say that it is not the first time and you will be right. Mrs Jane I need to speak to Horry. But I would see no one else if it can be arranged. I need you to fetch her for me, as you have done in the past," his smile widened, "as only we three know."
The woman came to the door stoop then, her brows narrowed in confusion, for he knew that she was feeling the familiarity of his voice though the shape of the man was unknown. The lamp was raised higher and shone towards his face. He straightened as her free hand came forward to grasp his arm stepping back slightly and pulling him towards the passageway behind her.
"Daniel, fetch more light." She said without turning.
There was murmured protest which she waved away,
"Do as I say boy, William here is protection enough for a moment and I do not think this man means me any harm."

The one called William moved closer to her shoulder as the one called Daniel scuttled to do her bidding,
Jack suppressed a smile at the sight, no boot boy or footman would risk the wrath of the cook and, while Mrs Jane had always been fair and kind, she ruled her domain with the threat of no second helpings, a dire threat indeed to a growing lad. Sure enough the boy was back in short order with a branched candleabra in his hand and with the butler at his back.

The light was brought forward and shone into his face and he looked steadily from cook to butler and back again as they all stared at him. Then he heard a muttered oath and the butler took a step backwards, and Mrs Jane's hand was on his arm again and she was stepping closer to stare at him. Her head bare met his shoulder but there was no fear in her eyes. After a moment her hand was withdrawn, going to her mouth as her eyes widened,
"Oh my lord, it can't be," she breathed, "by all the saints of heaven." She stepped backwards the menfolk hurried retreating before her, "by all the saints."
She took a deep breath and came forward again, tilting her head and looking at him first one way then another; finally her free hand came up to touch his face and he caught it, pressing the cold fingertips to his lips,
"I'm keeping you in the cold Mrs Jane," he smiled at her, "forgive me."
In the light of the candles he saw the sheen of tears in her eyes and closed his fingers more tightly around hers.

"By all the saints of heaven." She whispered again as the tears stared to spill down her cheeks, "you've come back, after all this time, you've come back."
"Just for tonight Mrs Jane, things to settle, then I'll be gone again I promise you."
She shook her head at that, though what it was she was denying she didn't say.
"By all the saints," she whispered again. Then she seemed to recall herself .
" Come you in, there's food and drink and a fire as there always was." She reached up and touched his face again, "you are cold, come and get warm."

A hand fell heavy on his shoulder and he half turned, hand reaching for his sword, he met the eyes of the butler staring at him as if Christmas Eve had suddenly turned to Easter Day,
"My pantry, lad. It's quiet there, no need for Miss Horry to face the stares of those who know no better."
A name suddenly clicked in Jack's mind.
"Mr Fletcher is it not? I thank you, 'twould be best perhaps."
The man nodded his recognition, the hand on Jack's shoulder pulled him forward,
"My pantry it is then Mrs Baker. I'll find some port if you can provide some victuals. Best keep this between ourselves, given what's gone before."
The cook nodded and wiped her eyes then turned for her kitchen, she cast one last look behind her and Jack her heard her say,
"By all the saints of heaven, I never thought I'd see this day." then she faded into the shadow

***

Port had never been his drink of choice but it seemed somehow fitting in this dark and fire lit room. Mr Fletcher had provided glass and bottle then left him in a deep cushioned chair beside the fire. Mrs Jane had brought him pies and bread and a side dish of the best cheese and pickle he'd tasted since last he was here, then she had left him too, still wide eyed and blessing herself.

But before she had gone she had kissed his forehead and run wondering fingers over his hair, touching the trinkets still visible with an uncertain look; then she bit her lip and shook her head, in sadness or confusion but he couldn't be sure of which,
"You were ever a wild one my lamb," she said softly, "but what has life done that you should stay away so long and come back this way?"
Jack swallowed on some emotion he could not, and would not, name,
"Just what life was minded to do Mrs Jane, as it does with all men born of woman. No more and no less."
Seeing the tears glowing again in her eyes he raised a warning finger and smiled softly,
"No grief for me now, for it could have been worse and there are those who would tell you it should have been. I'm my father's son after all."
She shook her head,
"No one will tell me that, never."
Then she had left, and he'd just stared into the deep red depths of his glass and tried not to remember.

She's been newly employed when he first came here, a handsome woman and probably a mite fewer in years than she had claimed, for cooks were not supposed to be young. Whether the Mrs was an honest title he neither knew nor cared, she had always been Mrs Jane to him, just as she had been to Horry. All he knew was that she had been a stalwart of his youth from the first day he arrived here dispatched from his father sight at his mother's insistence.

Not that Teague had protested much, that his only legitimate son was a disappointment to his father had been clear enough to all concerned.

He leaned back in the chair and smiled to himself, watching the past in the play of light in the crystal and wine, Mrs Jane had stood between him and the world, and its probably just retribution, more times than he could count. Scrumped apples and torn clothes, chimneys climbed and ponds swum, lost hair ribbons and pilfered sweetmeats, snatched nights at sea and swear words learnt from the sailors and fishermen, forbidden books and undone lessons; the sins of growing up, and she'd shielded him from the consequences of them, hiding him and comforting him in the kitchen for times without number, ay, and lied for him more than once or twice. Seemed that she was no more reluctant to do that now, even knowing so little of him and his fate. Maybe there had been more to the boy he had been than the man he was now recalled.

Mrs Jane and the old lady, sometimes conspiring together to save him from his sins. Despite the warnings of others they had sheltered him and nurtured him and in return he had loved them both fiercely and without reservation, and not only for their protection. The boy he had been would have died for them without a whimper or protest and would have been proud to do it. Most of all for Horry. He would have died in whatever torment was required to save or please Horry.

Jack frowned as he watched the ruby light dance in the glass, where had that boy been in Jones's locker? For he was sure that he hadn't seen him. Was he dead? Was that one part of him that had been able to love so freely without asking any reward been the one he had lost, was it now gone forever? Did he care if it was? That boy had been a fool, just as the man he first became had been.

Both were gone now, but he would not let Mrs Jane know that, nor Horry or the old woman if she still lived. They deserved better than anything the man he was now could give them, so let them have the boy to live in their memory.

Jack grimaced at the maudlin direction of his thoughts and took a deep swallow of port. What was done was done and could not be undone, and he'd not have that idealistic youth back if it were offered; but he could be the man that boy might have been for a few hours, then he'd go again leaving another legend behind him and right done by those he owed. He stared up and the wall and nodded to himself, that he could manage.

The latch clattered and Jack put his glass down quickly, getting to his feet as the door opened and straightening his coat as he did so. A shadow appeared at the door, the outline of spreading skirts and piled hair telling him who this was even though she remained in shadow. He just stood and stared toward the face he couldn't see except in his mind's eye.

Then there was the click of a heel and the swish of silk and the shadow moved into the room, the flickering candles showing him a woman of close to his own age, hair still the shade of winter beech leaves and piled in a tousled drift upon her head, spreading skirts the colour of mulled wine, eyes darkened from their day time amber by the dim light. For a moment they just stared at each other in silence and then he stepped towards her smiling, his hands reaching for hers,
"Horry," he said, and then fell silent, hands falling back to his side as she stared at him without expression.

She came closer though and scrutinised him carefully, the candle light picking out the amber in her eyes and the russet sparks in her hair as she did so, her gaze drifting from the scuffed sea boots to his leather hat before her eyes met his in a long and steady look. He looked back at her, holding his breath for fear that the sound of his breathing might frighten her. Not that anything had ever frightened Horry. Not the Horry he had known at least, but who could tell with this strange and solemn woman.

Suddenly she was smiling, lace falling away from her forearms as she reached out to take hold of his arms, skirts whispering as she closed the distance between them as quickly as she could, her voice was as warm as her smile.
"Jonathon!"

***

"She's dying."
"Who is?"
"Grandmamma."
"Oh."

They were still sitting in the butlers pantry, a place they had often dared each other to see when still children, the firelight glinting on the port and Horry's hair. She was seated in the deep chair and he was on the carpet at her feet, poking the fire and soaking up a long forgotten warmth, one that owed little to the dancing flames, nor disappearing port. Horry had a glass of that same drink in her hand, but her other one frequently rested on his shoulder or head as if to reassure herself he was still there. Above them servants bustled about serving dinner, a fine feast in the familey's Christmas Eve tradition. Horry had sent word that she was needed by her grandmother and not to expect her, none would check and they had the evening to themselves. Mr Fletcher and Mrs Jane would leave them alone, terrifying the others servants into silence about the strange visitor who sat with Miss Horry in the room along the passageway.

For a fleeting moment he wondered if somewhere inside he had known of this impending death, and if it was what had called him back to the place that had once been home, years ago before his blood and the sea had called him away.

"No she can't die, she's indestructible, always was," he heard himself say, "just like Teague."
"Your father? Have you seen him then?"
Jack looked into the heart of the flames and his mouth twisted into a wry smile,
"Aye, I have, recently too, though I can't say that the meeting was expected." He took a deep swallow of port, "most unexpected in fact." Jack laughed without humour, "He's almost respectable Horry, " he waved his glass towards the fire, "revered even, if you can imagine that. Keeper of the Pirate Code, Teague of all people."

Her hand came down onto his shoulder,
"He is not the devil Jon. Not a good man I'll grant you, and I'll never forgive him for what he did to grandmamma, nor you either, but he's not the devil."
"Is he not?"
"No, and if he has found some measure of peace then you should be glad for him."
He looked up at her feeling his brows setting into a frown,
"Should I?"
She stared back as unafraid of his mood or opinion as ever she had been. 'Not ever Captain Jack Sparrow at his worst would frighten her' he thought.
"Yes, you should. For if he can then so can you," her voice was gentle but determined, just as it always used to be.
Jack smiled as he felt his frown fade of its own accord, and for a moment he bent his head and let it rest against her knee, just as he had done when they were so much younger, a lifetime away,
"Mebbe. Though I think I'm a lost cause Horry, even death gave me no peace."

"Jones, not death Jon. Whatever is to come do not forget that."
He laughed and gripped her hand, raising his head to stare at her with wide and challenging eyes,
"Theologian are you now Horry? Well I'm not surprised you always were a wise girl. Most unbecoming in one so pretty 'tis true, but you were born with more sense than any priest or bishop."
"Some would not say so," she said sedately though there was nothing sedate about the look she gave him and he felt the warmth of it lay fire his blood.
"They would be fools, and we never were," he said softly, one finger tracing patterns on her hand, "or has time changed your mind about that?"
"No, I have no regrets, well none that flow from you that is."
Her hands closed over his,
"But she is dying Jon. At most she has a few weeks now. I'm glad that you came back before she did."

He looked down at the floor again, his face sad and serious in the firelight,
"Why? She can have no desire to see me. No reason why she should. She gave me a chance, gave me everything I asked for, my freedom and a ship, and I failed her as badly as Teague ever did. I hoped she thought me dead, for I intended that she would, better that than know me for what I am."
"If you think she would rather have you dead than a pirate then you do her a great disservice. She understands Jon."
He looked back up at her with a twisted smile,
"And what does she understand Horry? The brand on my arm means that there is no redemption for me, not without the grace of the king and I'm not likely to get that now am I? The charge sheet against me runs to several pages, and though I swear to you there are some sins I have not committed the ones that I have are too many to count. There isn't a navy man who wouldn't hang me from the yardarm without question or chance of confession, nor one who wouldn't leave my body to rot and feed the sea birds. Better that I am dead and she remembers what I might have been."
He tried to keep the bitterness from his voice and failed.

She leant forward, setting her glass on the table with care then she dropped her chin on to the top of his head wrapping her arms around his shoulders,
"She understands, " she said softly, "Oh, she didn't always, and there was as much anger as grief for you at the beginning."

Jack gave a mirthless laugh, but leaned back against her knees and reached up to catch her hand,
"So what changed that she understands so much now?" he asked wryly.
There was a moment of silence as if is she was debating something with herself, when she answered her voice was so low he could only just catch the words,
"In town, five years ago, she met a man called Beckett."

***

The room was still as he remembered it, the heavy drapes, the imposing bed, the intricately carved chairs and tables; and, as always on Christmas eve, a roaring, pine scented fire that set shadows dancing on the walls and amid the flowers and angels of the ceiling mouldings.

He had come here each Christmas eve for seven years, to hang greenery around the mantelpiece and picture frames and then to be given sweetmeats and punch, to sing carols around the spinet and to unwrap secret presents. The old lady had not been quite so old then, though she had always seemed so to him, and he could remember the colours of her dress glowing in the fire and candlelight and the ribbons on her cap fluttering as he pulled her around in some childish ritual dance. It was in this room she had taught him the steps of real dances, and to play the stately measures and folk tunes of her youth on the spinet, exclaiming at the rapid skill of his clever fingers, laughing behind her fan when he sang her the shanties the sailors had taught him. It was at this window he had first put a spyglass to his eye and looked across the gardens to the cliffs and the seas beyond and told her of his dreams. In this room he and Horry had sheltered from a world that seemed to want neither of them, though for different reasons. The old lady had been vibrant and alive, and also kind and still beautiful, to him at least.

***

This room was not as he remembered.

The litter of hair pins and scattered jewellery that spilled before the mirror had not been here in those far off days, nor had the crystal flagon, of some perfume he assumed, or the vase of winter roses. Then she had been a girl not a woman, and possessed of little that was her own. Now she might wear red if she pleased, and order a fire when she wanted it without worry of her governess's displeasure or the tale telling of her maid.

Not that he'd been here often, just the once or twice and most of those occasions in the year before he left. No leisurely courtship for them, nor carefree hours of wanton pleasure between white sheets, just hurried half hours stolen when her governess was out visiting and the servants were busy with dinner preparations. Moments made tense and unforgettable by the fear of discovery and disgrace as much as passion, though there had been enough of that too.

Jack looked around him while trying not to appear to do so. The bed was the same, though the coverlet and hangings were new, the pillows looking as fat and soft as he recalled them. Behind him the door lock clicked and a key turned; he heard Horry's skirts whispering over the rug towards him, and suddenly he was fifteen again, shaken by a desire he could not master and an almost overwhelming fear that he would get it wrong. He could not count the women he had lain with, nor list the variety of the places and circumstances in which he had known them, and it had been a long time since he last felt any doubts or worries about such encounters, yet at this moment those intervening years were fled and he was a boy again and afraid that he would not get it right.

But as she came to stand beside him, as her hand reached out to touch his shoulder, as her fingers pulled the ribbon from his hair, he knew that it was more than that. In all those encounters across the years he had sought the same thing; he would never have admitted it to himself, but not saying didn't change the truth of it. On each and every occasion, in every encounter, he had sought to rediscover the magic that had lived in the passion between that boy and the girl that Horry had been. But he had never done so, the roaring of the flesh and blood that brought the short release from lust, ay he had found that right enough, a warm body in an unfriendly and dangerous place he'd found that too, and the joy of the admiration in the eyes of a woman, and sometimes a man, the gratification that came with their flaunting of him and his legend. All of these he'd known and paid for. But he had never found that magic, that intensity of feeling or pleasure, again.

Now he was afraid that all those encounters would stand between him and his reclaiming of it, that in trying to recapture what he had lost he had destroyed it forever. That when the chance of regaining it was here before him it might be that he no longer had the capacity to feel it. Better not to try if that were the case, better to hold on to the dream of what had been and tell himself it was the years that caused its passing not the life that he had lived. A day or two and he could sail away, find a port with pleasurable company for the wooing and pretend as he had done so very many times before, he had a gilded tongue and he could spin a yarn for himself as well as any stranger.

Her arm was around his waist now and her head tilted against his shoulder,
"Jonathon? What is wrong?" Her voice was soft, "it's been a long time it's true, but grandmamma is right and I'm not a fool. I know you said no more than the truth when you spoke of your past, and I'd be lying if I said some part of me wishes that it wasn't so. But I never expected you to return at all, much less return a saint. I'm not shocked you know, and I know what I want as much as I ever did."
She pulled at arm until he turned to face her,
"I'm no more unwilling now than I was then."

Jack sighed and stared down at the carpet, his fingers winding themselves around hers,
"Horry love, you don't know the half of it." He gripped her hands tightly, "Not sure that I'd want you to."
He tilted his head to look sideways at her and smiled,
"Truth is I'd take a bloody sword to half the King's Navy before I'd let anyone tell you that."
"Only half?"
He smiled wider, the glow of it reaching his eyes,
"Swords don't half take the wind out of man, Horry, I'd have to take a pistol to the others. But I would."
"Is it so bad?"
"I'm a pirate, what do you think?"
"That there's more than one so called honest man who is nothing more than that. Some who are maybe worse, too. Cutler Beckett for one, he might not broken the law but he must have been the worst kind of pirate if what he told grandmamma was the truth."
Jack sighed,
"That may be true and it may not be, but the law says it's different." He looked down at the floor,
" I tried Horry, I wanted it be different, but maybe the fate's were against me," he played with the ring on her finger, the one he had given her in this very room when he swore that he would come back for her, "or maybe it's just that I'm my father's son in more than I would wish."

She moved closer to him, the silk of her gown's hem washing over his boots like a purple tide, the warmth of her body stoking the fire her smile had already set burning within him; her eyes were huge and dark in the firelight,
"If being different meant that you did Beckett's bidding then I would not have you different. Though it's true you were a fool to go back, what were you thinking of Jon?"
Her fingers slid beneath the sleeve of his coat and shirt to find the scar, gently stroking the whitened flesh with a thumb. Jack shrugged, trying to concentrate on her face and her words and not to think of the body below the dress, nor the softness of her skin or the ache that was growing in his groin.
"I'd be at a loss to tell you now, but I paid a high price for the mistake. I can't say I expected what I got but I don't know what I did expect any more, though I knew enough of Beckett to have anticipated that his displeasure would be great and bitter."
The last words were breathed into her hair for she had slid her arms around him as she pushed the coat from his shoulders. Jack swallowed hard, there was something he needed to do before this went any further; he would not lie with her then think she saw it as a cheat.

He took a step back from her letting the coat fall but resting his hand upon her shoulders,
"Horry, there is something I must ask of you and I pray you will believe me, but I'll not take it amiss if you do not and wish me gone from your room."
She looked up at him with wide and apprehensive eyes, and he caught hold of her hands and pulled them to his chest letting their entwined fingers form a barrier between them. He drew a deep breath, now the moment had come it took all his will to risk what he hoped might be found between them,
"There is a girl, on the Pearl, soon to be delivered of a child and in need of a friend in a cold and lonely world. I ask that you be that friend Horry."
The sudden pain in her eyes woke feelings he thought he had put behind him forever when he made his trade with Jones. He saw her throat tighten as she swallowed hard but her voice was as still soft and kind,
"Your child Jon?"
He shook his head, though he held her look without flinching,
"No love, not mine, though I'd not blame you if you call me liar."
She was silent for a moment; then she drew a deep breath,
"Not even possibly yours?"
He smiled at that,
"No, not even possibly," his hand tightened about hers, "nor even wanted to be. She's a bonny lass but not for me; though if I'd been more my father's son she might have been bewailing my acquaintance in her labour, for there was a time when I think she might have had me for all the likely regret."

"But you would not have had her?"
Horry had never been a fool, what did he say to that? The truth perhaps, though he could not hope that she would believe it,
"She is young and comely Horry, and she thought a pirate romantic. I'd lie if I said there wasn't temptation," he dipped his head to let his brow rest against hers, "and she reminded me very much of another young woman I once had the great good fortune to win the attention of."
"The truth Jon," there was no softening smile but she did not move away
"The truth. I know the other party and he was always the lad for her. She's near been the death of me more than once in his defence. There was never any doubt where her choice would lie even had I been minded to claim her, she never lost sight of her true objective for long for all that I can be a charming rogue when I set my mind to it."
" That's true and even when you do not. But if she and her child are none of yours what is she to you that you bring her to me and ask favours for her?"
He smiled down at her,
"An orphan cast adrift on the shores of Beckett's ambition love. Mother long dead and now father gone too and at Beckett's say so, her young husband lost to the sea for at least ten year. But we know the way of the world do we not? There are many who will be only too willing to say he never existed and blow the chill wind of doubt upon her virtue. She has no grandmamma that I know of to steer her around the rocks that await her, and even if she had......"
Jack took a deep breath wondering what this final revelation would bring,
"She took up arms against Beckett, we must bide our time and see what comes of that. Oh there was no choice about it to be sure, neither for her nor the whelp she's lost, but the lever used against them, the rope that bound them to disaster, was myself and for that I owe the child a debt if not the mother."

"So much of a debt that you bring her here, your last refuge?"
"Aye, for I made her king of the fourth Bretherin court for my own ends. 'Tis true I saw no other way to save any of us and that I merely made it possible for her to do that which she wished to do anyways; but I branded her pirate as surely as if I had put an iron to her wrist."
"A pirate king!" the uncertainty was written in her face and voice," why should she need such as I?"
Jack sighed and pressed his brow more firmly against her own,
"No longer love. The court is dissolved and with it her kingship, now she is just as any woman who must raise her child alone. But the married name she bears is common enough and in time the deeds of these last months will fade into myth, for there are many whose interests will not be served by remembering it. Give her some space love, just a visit or two to a newly widowed girl, that's all you need do, a passing mention of the tragedy of her too sudden loss, and none of the old cats will dare say a word. You say she is Mrs Turner and Mrs Turner she is."
He raised her hand and kissed her fingers,
" In time she may be able to claim her father's name and the protection of her family, maybe she will return to Jamaica to raise the child and wait for young William's return, but till then I beg you to cast your mantle over her in payment of my debt."
"No more than that?"
"No more than that."

She was silent for a moment, then her fingers turned and squeezed his,
"Very well. I will wish respectability on Mrs Turner, for the road she walks I could so easily have walked too."
He leaned his head back and looked at her down the bridge of his nose,
"But never did?" he wasn't sure quite what he wanted the answer to that to be,
"No, though I'm sure that was more by luck than judgement." Her eyes sparked amber again in the firelight, "nor for the want of risking it as I recall."
He grinned down at her,
"So I remember. Was it just the old lady who knew do you think? Or we were more obvious that we tried to be?"
She smiled a she devil smile, the one he remembered in this most wished for dreams,
"I think if anyone else had known I would have heard about it, loudly and with frequent repetition."
He pulled her closer again,
"And what of now? Would you banish me from your room, or tolerate me but to sleep on the carpet?"
She looked up at him wide eyed and serious,
"Is it desire you offer me Jon, or payment for your debt? Care and need of me or a reward for Mrs Turner's good name?"

Jack slid his arms around her waist, flattening the mounds of her breasts visible above the lace to his chest; one hand slid down to her hip and pulled her closer still, drawing the silk of her skirts tight across her thighs, he looked into her eyes without flinching,
"I'll sleep on the carpet without complaint if you think that to be the case,"
She said nothing and he turned his mouth against her neck,
"But I ask you Horry love, do I truly give you a you cause to doubt my interest or wishes. The truth now, do I feel like a supplicant to you?"

***

Jack could not recall a night since his leaving of here when his skin had been more alive to another's touch, nor one where his senses had come together in such a way. Nor had there been a moment that he could recall when his need for the one beside him had been greater, but where the waiting had been less irksome or more pleasurable.

Horry was everything he had remembered and then more; a skin of velvet and a mouth of silk twined around him, hair cascading down to tangle with his own and trap his fingers in its abundant shine. Each touch opened doors he had thought barred, and brought with it a feeling of warmth that went beyond the aching fire that raged in his belly or the hard furnace of his impatient horn. The shivers called up by soft fingers on chest and belly was both familiar and new and very sweet, and there were times when he held his breath and thought that he would never breath again if in not doing so he could keep hold of the moment. Things he had done countless times before were re-discovered, and he could only smile into her eyes when he saw the same rediscovery in her face; for him it was still more wondrous still, the years falling away and with it the staleness of custom. That she wanted him for himself alone was no doubt some part of it, the knowledge that she did what she wanted for choice and not need, that her obvious joy in him had nothing to do with the thought of a meal or a roof for the night nor having a pirate lord as a trophy in her bed. Until that moment he had not realised or admitted how cynical his port side coupling had become.

By the small hours of Christmas day they were drowsing comfortably, passion spent for the moment, laughing at memories of the past, some shared, some not.

"Who would have thought that a peach would lead us into such iniquity?" Horry said rolling onto her side and starting to play with one of the long braids now trailing across his chest.
"Iniquity do you say?" he caught her hand and kissed each finger by turn, "did you pray for forgiveness then? " He grinned at her, dropping his voice to a purr, "For if you did then the prayers were not very efficacious as I recall matters."
She sighed with mock regret,
"I was such an innocent I did not know that I had done anything I needed forgiveness for."
Jack raised his head and kissed her breast with great care and thoroughness,
"Nor I love, nor I." he said eventually. "How could such pleasure be wrong?"
Then he narrowed his eyes and pointed a finger at her
"But 'twas all your fault my girl, for if you had granted me but a single bite of that stolen peach when I asked for it then we might both still be innocents."
She gave a most unladylike snort at that,
"Asked for it? Demanded as I recall and imperiously." She leaned forward and nipped his waving finger, "and who was it that had risked the gardeners wrath to filtch it? Tell me that? Old Ben chased me all the way to the orchard."
"So he did! But we said we would share love, don't you remember? A single bite was all I asked for but no you would deny it to me, fight me for it you did and look where that brought us."
Horry rolled over him, pinning him to the bed and laughing,
"And I say that were it to happen again I would still fight you for it Jonathon and be glad of the consequences."
He raised his brows and nodded at her,
"And I'd say good for you, I like a lass that can fight her corner." His hand slid over her hair, "but I promise you that I never thought that tussle in the grass would end up where it did."
"Nor I, but we had fought before, why should we have thought that time would be so different? We had stopped being children Jon but we didn't know it until then."

Jack sighed, twining his fingers with hers, his eyes taking on a far away look,
"If my father had been a different man then events might have taken their usual course. As it was that could never be, he killed three men before his majority and broke his mothers heart. No coming back from that."
"He is what he is Jon, as are you."
"A sad commentary on us both love, more sad then I hope you ever know."
She looked at him for a long moment, seeing something in his distant eyes that hurt her. With a sudden jerk she flung the covers back and swung herself to her feet.
"Come with me."
"What! It's Christmas day Horry and the house is full; we will be seen and I'll not bring disgrace on you now, having not managed to do soin the past, despite my best effort."
"It's not yet morning Jon, have you forgotten so much, they will be only just asleep, none of them will wake for many hours yet. Not even the lowliest of the servants will be stirring yet."
She was shrugging herself into a silk robe as she spoke and stooping she picked up his shirt and breeches and tossed them to him; she grinned that shedevil smile again,
"Much thought the idea of you trekking naked through the house amuses me it will be cold so you must dress. Hurry, for I would not waste much of tonight somewhere other than my bed."

"Then why are we leaving it? " he protested as she pulled the shirt over his reluctant head.
"I think it is time I reminded you of something," she said, batting away his hands and turning to slide his breeches over his ankles. "Come now, I'd do it in daylight and spare us the loss of time here, but we cannot take the risk. Hurry, it won't take long."
Still protesting he dragged on his clothes, muttering about wilful women, but he he did as he was bid then slid his coat around her shoulders in protection against the chill he knew was waiting for them. With a shake of his head he followed her across the room and they slipped, hand in hand, through the door.

***

The house was dark and silent. They had not even risked a candle and the shadows were deep and worrying to one who so often needed to stay unseen and unsurprised. They descended the stairs to the first landing then crossed the top of the main staircase; the hallway was dark and secret below them, only the faint red glow from the banked drawing room fire where a door was only half closed lightening the darkness. Round the landing and past the games room they crept, Jack's boyhood memories melding with more recent ones in a fission of unease. On, past the old lady's sitting room, cold and unlit these days, and round a dark corner to a doorway where Horry stopped to strike a light and pick up a candle.

Jack shivered in a sudden and more powerful draught and frowned at her,
"The gallery? By all that's holy why bring me here Horry?"
She took his hand and pulled him forward, her robe glowing white and ghostly in the gloom.
"You need a lesson in the past Jon, you have forgotten."
"Forgotten what?" he demanded.
Horry led him over cold and creaking boards to the far end of the gallery and raised her candle high, its light glowing faintly on the frames that lined the walls.
"Look Jon, what do you see?"
"Paint and canvas love, and nothing of much interest, certainly nothing worth leaving your room for."
"But what do you see in them?" she insisted
He sighed, but she meant him to see something before she would leave so he gave the nearest two a cursory look.
"Not much, an unprepossessing lot if the truth be told, " he said after a moment.
"But respectable, yes?" she insisted, "Worthy. Law abiding, and noble would you say? Isn't that what these painting show to you? Honest and substantial men and their happy and pretty wives."
Jack squinted at the nearest painting agai,n it was of man in light armour with his dog curled at his feet, he shrugged,
"I suppose."

She smiled at him in the flickering light,
"But we know different don't we? Look at them again. Behind each painting is a story it doesn't tell. That it takes care not to tell."
She swept her arm in an arc that encompassed the row of paintings nearest to them,
"They were brigands to a man Jon, thieves and mercenaries many of them, and pimps and whores when it suited. But the winners always write history, and they were that. Clever and resourceful people, willing to do what it took and with the knack of being on the winning side."
Jack squinted at the nearest painting again and shrugged,
"Maybe. Was never much for the family history you might recall, I was here on sufferance."
Horry took his arm,
"Your father's forbears Jon, and yours too. That was what your father lost, the knack of being on the winning side. For the rest, was he so different from them?"
She looked back at the paintings,
"You at least have your mothers blood, and grandmamma has always said there was a much of her as Teague in you, but he had only this, for Grandmamma's family is no different."

Jack thought about that for a moment the closed his hand over hers,
"You always were a clever girl Horry."
She nodded,
"Too clever, and I thank God for it, for it made me unmarriageable."
"Not me then?"
"No, not you. Don't think that I regret it either, for grandmamma has seen that I have had a good life with her, I've travelled and known good company and new ideas and friendship."
She looked at him with shining eyes,
"And I was here tonight, where I would always wanted to have been."
She began to pull him towards the door,
"Though I would rather be somewhere other than the gallery at this moment."
Jack pulled her around and kissed her,
"Pity it's so cold," he said eventually, "might be good sport to use these sofa's for something other than polite conversation. Something that might affront these painted stares."
She laughed,
"I doubt anything we could do would affront them," then she shivered "but it is cold. Too cold."
He nodded and pulled the coat tighter around her, his smile glinted gold in the candlelight,
"I, on the other hand, find myself lit by an inner warmth," he quirked an eyebrow at her, "How quickly do you think we can get back?"

***

The rest of the night passed in a haze of passion and laughter and then finally sleep; but before first light a scratching on the door waked them. A hesitant voice followed the scratch,
“Miss Horry, I’ve brought chocolate and mince pies, as you asked.”
Horry stirred and yawned,
“Come in Mrs Jane, “ she said softly, pulling the sheet up to her chest.
Jack swore softly in half awake protest and buried his head under the covering.

The cook came in on near silent feet. Seeing the mound under the bedclothes, she exchanged a smile of very female complicity with her mistress and set the tray down with a soft chuckle. She took one cup and crossed to his side of the bed, setting it down on the chest, she tapped a finger to the region of his head,
“Be careful, for it is hot and it wouldn’t do to spill it”

Jack drew one corner of the sheet down and looked at her with a wary eye, but the look on her face was reassurance enough to let him push it down to his chin and smile his most charming smile at her,
“Thank you,” was all he risked saying.
“Well don’t let it get cold,” she scolded gently and, casting one quick look at his sheet draped outline, returned to Horry’s side.
“I’ll take your grandmother hers in a while. She’s had the best night she has seen in a long time I think and I’ll let her sleep a while yet. So you have time to enjoy these and dress at your leisure, would you have me help you with your hair?”
Horry took the pie she was being offered and bit into the soft pastry with relish,
“As you did when I was a girl? No, I’ll manage, I must be back here by the time Clarrissa comes to dress me for morning service.”
“Very well, ma’am. Ring if you want more chocolate or if you need help with anything,” at Horry’s laugh she ventured another smile of female understanding, “though seems you’ll not be needing much of that this morning.”

She came around to Jack’s side again, where he was sipping chocolate with great care and concentration so as not to see the smiles of the two women. She waited patiently by the bedside until he could avoid it no longer and he looked up at her under his lashes with a sudden trepidation and something almost like shyness. Seeing it her smile became maternal and she wagged a finger at him,
“There will be breakfast set out in Mr Fletcher's pantry before you leave. Do not think of going without saying goodbye Mr Jonathon, for I’d never forgive you that and I’ve done nothing that you should treat me so.”
Jack set down his cup and caught her reddened hand in his,
“Nor have you. Never a truer friend did a lad have than you Mrs Jane, what do you think I am that I would leave without a word to you?”
She smiled softly at him,
“A scamp and a scallywag, Mr Jonathon, just as you always were. A rogue too maybe, though perhaps not as shameless as you would like to think yourself.”
He blinked at her in silence for a moment before dropping a light kiss on the roughened fingers,
“You were always a woman of discernment Mrs Jane, let us pray that you are right again. Though I think you would find that view to be in the minority.”

She gave a snort of scorn,
“Folks are often quick to judge Mr Jonathon, and those with least knowledge and smallest cause to do so judge the quickest and the hardest.”
Catching the look that flashed across her face Jack wondered what experience it was that she spoke from, maybe that title of Mrs was not so honest after all. Not that he cared, though he could hope that Elizabeth would not need to learn the same bitter lesson. By Horry's grace she would be spared it and he would have one less sin to account for. He kissed the cook's fingers again and then let her hand fall,
“A woman of the world you are.” He bit into the pie she had set beside his cup, “If your cooking wasn’t so wonderful I’d say you’ve wasted your life stayin’ on land, but tasting these pies, no man could say that was a waste.”
She nodded and folder her hands on her apron, the smile lingering in her eyes though her mouth was prim.
“As I said a scamp and a scallywag.”
He grinned at her as he licked the crumbs of pastry from his moustache with obvious pleasure,
“Aye, that I am.”

She looked him up and down then tossed Horry another conspiratorial smile,
“I’ll see you at breakfast.”
Then she left them shutting the door carefully behind her.

***

The sky was as cold as his bed and the rain a lucky chance as he stared back towards the fading shore. Above him the black sails of the Pearl swelled with the wind, increasing the distance between himself and what he was quitting with an almost indecent haste, as if she feared that he would change his mind and leave her if given a sliver of a chance.

The crew were glad of their speed, for with Cornwall left behind the waters were not so safe for such as they and there might those who would find time to give pursuit even on Christmas day. As the mist claimed the feeble lights of shore they were glad of the gusting wind at their stern

Jack watched the land disappear and decided it was best that he didn't examine what he felt. The man he was he must leave behind, as he had done before, and Captain Jack Sparrow must again assume control, for he could survive the days that no doubt awaited them. Survive he must until his future course was clear.

Elizabeth was gone, taken ashore to a small cottage prepared by his grandmother long ago when she had thought there might be need of it. A day or two of rest and she would make the final leg of her journey to the town of Plymouth, from there she would emerge from the chrysalis of Miss Swann as the butterfly of Mrs Turner, a grieving woman whose husband had been claimed so unfairly by the sea. She would not be remarkable here, there were too many of the same, and Horry would see that story stand.

Not that Elizabeth had been happy about the arrangement.

"Who is this lady of your acquaintance Jack and why would she agree to help me?" She had caught at his arm, frowning and with her eyes narrowed with suspicion,
"What is she to you that she will do this for a stranger? Who is she that she can?"
He had swallowed his irritation, knowing that she was worried and afraid for her child, and grieving still for a father lost and a husband surrendered. He had fluttered a dismissing hand in her direction
"That is of no consequence El'sabeth, it is enough that she will do it." He had looked back towards the cliffs that hid the only place, aside the Pearl, that he could still call home, "She has a good heart, always had, and that's enough."
"Not a pirate then?" there had been bitterness in Elizabeth's tone.
He had smiled at her carelessly,
"Don't know luv, never had the chance to find out."

He caught her look and softened his tone, guilty at the sight of her white face and anxious eyes. 'How hard must this be for her', he thought, 'the governors daughter to be so cap in hand obliged to a stranger, and one whose pedigree she must, of necessity, have so many doubts.' Why would she believe that any woman known to him could lay claim to the character of lady? She was in for something of a shock 'twas true, but he would be long gone by then and could only imagine her confusion when faced with Horry, who was so obviously of her father's station. He had charged Horry most carefully with denying her curiosity of course, and with staying mum on the exact nature of their acquaintance, and she would hold to that, but he doubted Mrs Turner would give up her pursuit of an explanation easily. Imagining her efforts in that direction would provide him some amusement in the months ahead.

Still he could be easy now, Elizabeth was safe under the veil of respectability again; the Caribbean was a long way from here, and Singapore even further, so provided she was careful there was no reason her part in Beckett's debacle should be discovered. Though why it should matter to him he still wasn't sure. But all debts to that quarter were now paid, and neither the whelp nor his distressing damsel were any of his responsibility anymore. As for the future, well Horry had undertaken to make discrete enquires as to Elizabeth's remaining family and in time she might be able to resume her place in their no doubts well fed bosom, then again maybe not. There was nought he could do to alter that however, and if she needed to remain an anonymous Mrs Turner than so be it; she had chosen to be the wife of a blacksmith after all, and she must have known the consequences of that even when her father lived.

Not that she and her offspring would starve exactly what ever the outcome; the gold that Sao Feng had bequeathed to her with the captaincy of his ship would keep her in comfort, if not luxury, for many a year. Certainly until Will returned. Jack was not sure of the plunder prospects of the captain of the Dutchman but he doubted that the lad would leave his wife and child un-provided for, even if he were unable to break the chains of his destiny.

As for himself? Well the future was no more certain than ever. He looked back at the fading shore and thought again of an old woman with a good heart and a tricky mind and smiled, though perhaps there was more hope, and opportunity, than he had thought when he arrived in these waters.

***

"Jonathon, I need to speak plainly with you."
The old lady had been brighter this morning, though the shadow of approaching death could still be seen at the back of her eyes. He was sitting on the edge of her bed close enough to see the spark of darkness despite the candle flare. Outside the winters day was just beginning and there was an hour or more to go before the church bell would ring out the first call to the faithful of the day, but the fire was burning high and the room was a world away from the cold season beyond the window.
"When did you ever do ought else ma'am?"
She smiled a tired and pale smile,
"Maybe not plain enough for all that. There are things that should have been said years ago."
Jack had shifted uneasily for that did not sound comfortable.

Her smile grew wider on seeing him wriggle, and she patted his hand,
"Be easy, I'll not rail at you for what you were or are, there is no profit in that and I have too little time left to waste it on things that can't be changed."
He opened his mouth to reassure but she frowned,
"Do not insult me by denying it. I've seen more than four score years on this earth and recognise that the time is approaching for me to quit it. There is little I regret, except perhaps that I could not have dealt you a better hand in life. If I had not been your grandfather's second wife things might have been different, if your father had been my eldest son that might have changed things too."
She sighed sadly,
"But those things could never have been altered, failing another plague your father could never inherit, and being what he was that always meant heartbreak. If he had had the prospect of the estate then maybe he would have tilled a straighter furrow, but without that he was always rootless and likely to go astray."
Jack gave her a wide smile,
"He's keeper of the code, a venerable sage, if only amongst the pirate fraternity. He's found safe harbour now what ever other waters he may have sailed."
She gave a mirthless laugh,
"He was always one for the forms and rules, though others might not have seen it. The men he killed, well it was all for cheating;" she shook her head, " though to kill a man when he had deloped.. That I could never understand or forgive."

There was a moment of silence,
"He caused you much grief, did he not?" Jack said eventually.
"No more than he caused your grandfather, and perhaps no more than he caused you. He loved your mother I think, too much to share her with anyone else."
Jack shrugged,
"I was not what he wanted me to be. And when I turned away from him.. Well as you say he was always one for the forms and rules and traditions."
"But no doubt he is proud of you now?"
Jack looked away towards the fire,
"I don't know, would it be a good thing if he were?" He shrugged again. "We have found some sort of accord in recent events, but I don't care as much as perhaps I ought. Though I think his world will outlive him by a little, and I confess that I find myself not unhappy with that reflection."
The withered fingers closed tight around his own, and she smiled again,
"You were a good hearted child Jonathon, I doubt the man is so much different. But what of you? That is what I want answered, what of you? Where do you go from here?"

He looked back towards her, speaking softly,
"The truth? I don't know. My last clear purpose is fulfilled, I have delivered Williams wife to safety and I have no more responsibility for Elizabeth or what she does. I hope she makes a home for herself and her child and finds a way to live with her losses. For myself I ask only the sea and the freedom to sail it,"
He smiled at her again.
"I have the Pearl back again and some ..possibilities. But nothing is certain."
She looked at him seriously,
"And if I were to give you others, more possibilities, would you think it gift or curse?"
Jack's smiled widened,
"That would depend on the nature of the possibilities."

The old woman nodded as if she expected no other answer. For a moment she seemed to think, then she pulled him slightly closer to her,
"I have some property of my own, the remnants of my marriage settlement and willed to me by your grandfather death on his death. It has grown in value significantly over the last few years and is a respectable fortune these days. More than one of your cousins covets it as you may imagine."
Jack laughed and she nodded her agreement at the implied comment,
" It had been my intention to leave it to Honoria alone," she continued," but I think it might prove more curse to her than boon if I leave it unencumbered, for they would want her wed and would never leave her alone until she chose one of them. She is strong it is true, but once I am gone she will be alone and that might change matters. Nor is she fitted for the life of a lonely but wealthy spinster, so I have discussed this with her and we have come to an alternative arrangement."
She looked at him with such intensity that Jack was suddenly suspicious; he narrowed his eyes at her and looked down at her with his head cocked,
"Hmmm, I see. This alternative it would be involving me I suppose, since you intend to tell me of it."
"It might indeed," she smiled softly and a flash of youthful devilry danced in her eyes.
Jack looked at her for a moment in silence, and then he smiled again and clasped her hand more tightly,
"So enlighten me as to your plans to thwart my more deserving kin."

She settled herself more comfortably on her pillows,
"I have the intention of making a codicil to my will, informing the world that I have never accepted my grandson Jonathon's reported death in the east and so am leaving this property jointly between Honoria and that Jonathon. The condition I place on her is that she seeks out her cousin or proof of his death. She will have the use of the interest on his share of the same property on the condition that she does so. This situation will be stipulated to continue until such time as she marries outside of the family, in which case that interest will pass into a fund for her children, or his if she has no issue, or until she has incontrovertible proof of his demise. At which point she will inherit the balance of the property involved. I will specifically charge her with seeking him first in the Indies and the Caribbean where the property involved is located."
Jack threw back his head and laughed,
"And do you think they would allow her to go alone on this venture? No of course you do not, you know them too well. So what else do you have in mind?"
She looked down at his hand clasped in hers and stroked his fingers with her thumb,
"I would not be at all surprised should she encounter pirates during her voyage, so perhaps she might be advised to take advice and escort from one who know of such things and might keep her safe. If her relatives were, then, to get left behind, by some unforeseen misfortune, then she would not be left unprotected. It may take her some time to complete the investigations, but I would not be surprised were she to find her cousin in some far flung corner of the shrinking globe or to find someone more suited to her interest in such a place."

Jack looked at her with all hint of smile gone,
"Why would you do such a thing?"
He made to pull his hand away but she stopped him by a look,
"Honoria deserves netter than the life they would give her. She is not suited to mindless polite company, but as I said they would never let her be while she was unmarried. As for the rest.."
She drew a deep breath,
"You may not consider yourself your father's son, it has been too long since I saw him to judge whether that is fair or not, though I have never doubted that he begot you. But you are most certainly your grandfather's grandson and he was a good man, though not always honest." She sent him a sideways smile, "None of the licquor in this house ever paid duty in his time you know, nor the lace nor tea nor anything else. He always knew your father sailed with the smugglers when the mood took him and he made no effort to stop it, any more than he stopped you in your adventures. It did not make him a bad man and if he had known of your actions with Beckett he would have cheered you, for he treated men fairly regardless of their station. He might not approve of you but he would like you, and that is enough for me. Horry of course does not even need that, what she thinks of you is enough for her."
She slapped his hand with playful fingers,
"I had best die soon now I think of it, for though you and Horry were always lucky in the past your luck may not hold, and she is not yet so aged that she might not need to find reason to leave quickly."
Jack shot her a horrified look, so horrified that she laughed;
"I'm sure you did your best to avoid such an outcome but that is no guarantee you know."

Jack saw her expression and frowned,
"Why do I think that you would not be so displeased by such an occurrence?"
"Because I am too old to lie or pretend and I would not mind at all. Certainly not if Honoria had the opportunity to escape before the consequences became dire."
She gave him a long and saucy look,
"Misfortune? I'm not so sure, I think that you would give me most pretty great grandchildren and probably clever ones too." Her look became serious, "Would you run away Jonathon and leave Honoria unsupported were it to happen?"
Jack didn't like to think of that matter but forced himself to, for she deserved an answer,
"If I had the choice..... then probably not, but there are many things that could go wrong with that. Does it matter? Would my answer change anything?"
"No," her look was shrewd and she flipped a careless hand, "for I do not believe you would when it came to it whatever you might think or say now. But for the moment it is of no matter. My will shall be changed tomorrow and none will know of it but those involved."

Jack heard the click of the latch and knew that Horry had returned. A bundle was tossed onto the bed beside his knee. He and the old lady looked up at her in enquiry,
"Shirts Jon," she smiled, "and stockings, and a cravat or two. Who can say when you might have some use for them? I'll find you a coat before you leave if you wish, one warmer than the one you have on."
He reached out an took her hand,
"Thank you."
She smiled sadly,
"It will be light soon, there will just be time to have some breakfast before you leave, the others will not be awake for some hours but if you are to catch the tide........" her voice trailed away.
The woman in the bed watched her with hidden sorrow and a renewed determination to bring this story of years to some form of resolution.
"Find the coat Honoria. Leave Jonathon and I to say our goodbyes."
She nodded mutely and left without saying more.

The woman in the bed waited until the door latch clattered closed. She was suddenly tired but she gripped his hand again and pulled him closer,
"Make a proper goodbye to her Jonathon for she deserves that, if only for her efforts for this Mrs Turner."
"Aye she does, and much more, I know it." His smile glinted at her, "and Mrs Turner has nothing to say in it."
The old woman had stared up at him with something close to longing in her face and Jack felt a sudden sadness for the years lost and the things never said. For the things that never could be said now, not in this world, for there was not the time. She shook his hand with the last of her energy,
"So what do you think Jonathon? If Honoria goes travelling at my behest how likely is she to meet a pirate?"

Jack looked down at her with a golden and conspiratorial smile,
"I'd say it was very likely grandmamma, the world being the way it is, and possibilities being what they are. I'd have no hesitation in sayin' that it would be very likely indeed."

***

The end .....for the moment