The Last Rose of Summer: Parts VII - IX
VII
When Evie awoke she thought she must be still in the midst of a very pleasant dream. A dream that had her ensconced, warm and safe, within the arms of her long-lost Captain.
Her head was quite heavy and the kohl of the previous night was smeared so that her eyelashes clung together, turning all her surroundings to a lovely mess of burnished gold and muted red, even as the last lingering threads of her dream clung to her in the form of heavy, muscular arms draped about her. She most definitely did not want to wake up!
But as sleep struggled to release her she realised that the warmth of the phantom’s flesh did not lift nor give way, but seemed to become even heavier. She turned her head a little and felt the scape of coarse hair, like that of a beard, against her forehead, and heard the muffled exhalation of breath that was too heavy, too rasping, to be her own.
In a rush the events of the previous night came back to her. Barbossa - not dead, as she had thought, but alive and breathing, as he had been in years long past - and back on Tortuga, ravaging her hard and drinking and eating with as much gusto as he ever had. Indeed, perhaps more. Then she’d idled within his embrace and asked questions of him he’d been unusually patient to answer until the dawn had come - well, it must’ve, for she had grown suddenly weary - and she’d felt her lids growing heavier with every blink.
Carefully, she extricated herself from the still-slumbering Captain, gently unwinding her long hair from where it coiled about his shoulders. Then there had been nothing but the bliss of a heavy sleep - and although she had awoken reluctantly, Evie now felt more refreshed than she had in a long time. Evie propped herself on one arm and gazed down at Barbossa’s care-worn face. It was the countenance of a man who had faced winds from all over the world - the scorching and the bitter, the furious and the careless - and yet in the gentleness of sleep the ghost of a youth lurked somewhere there still.
Her heart skipped a beat and for a moment she thought he would suddenly tremble, then vanish, and she would be alone as before. That the night had been only a fancy, or worse, a cruel torment from some mischievous god - a visitation from beyond this life for a mere day only. She held her breath, one hand clutching at her breast, and stared at him in fright. But moments passed, and he remained, coughing a little in his sleep. She breathed out.
Slipping from the bed and into her wrap, she darted over to the fireplace and began to set a new one, that she might warm water and wine that she could spice in the way that was currently fashionable on Tortuga, such as it had fashions. Moving to her dresser and taking up the silver handled bristle brush that had once belonged to some fancy lady with initials of MR as engraved in the handle - though Evie did not recognise them - she began her toilet. Gazing into her mirror, time-warped and rippled as it was, she rather felt that she appeared softer today, with less care upon her face. Her long curls were enlivened by her brushing and leapt about her face, framing it prettily and a smile seemed to linger about her lips.
Evie paused in her administrations, breathing softly and gazing at herself, trying to understand the sensation of lightness within her. She was happy. As sure as could be - she was happy.
There was a rumble then, from the bed, as Barbossa stirred and awoke:
“A whore should know better than to leave a man’s side at the waking hour.” He commented with only the slightest hint of irritation. Evie could not help the smile that widened her mouth then and though she attempted a nonchalant saunter back to him, at the last she broke and leapt upon the bed with a delighted shriek, into his arms and the bliss of earthly pleasure.
VIII
Barbossa took the glass from her with a nod and took a large draught. She’d added the cardamom, ginger, cinnamon and clove and found the mixture enlivening and comforting at once, especially heated as it was. He shut his eyes for a moment at the taste and half-smiled. ”As they do in England.” He’d remarked, then continued pulling on his boots.
They’d determined to go out for their supper and though Evie would just as soon have stayed in her room and continued to enjoy his carnal attentions, her principle interest was in staying by his side and she was giddy with how much it seemed to be as days of old.
“We will not be long out,” he assured her as he fastened his sword belt and fetched up his hat. “But I want to be sure my men know what they’re about, for we set sail once more on the dawn two from now. “
Evie choked on her wine then, suddenly run cold throughout despite the warmth of the drink.
“That soon!” she cried with open dismay and Barbossa’s lip curled at her distress and he turned his back sharply to her, whistling to the monkey.
She could not summon a whore’s dispassion now; she had betrayed herself already and her anguish was too keen. Grasping him by his arms she entreated, with a hot wetness already gathering in her eyes:
“You can’t leave that soon! Please! You just got ‘ere - it’s been agony, it ‘as, I only want you near a little while longer!”
“That would only make ye the more maudlin when the time came. “ He grumbled, a thunderous look upon his brow.
“Please!” She implored once more. “Surely you can stay a week at least!”
He had fixed his gaze toward the ceiling, pulling back from her but now he thundered:
“I cannot! If I be to keep me ship and not lose it to that charlatan Sparrow, I cannot be idlin’ here in drunken foolishness nor wallowin’ in useless sentiment!”
“I cannot bear it!” she wept and continued to cling to him though he had become stiff with dangerous humour, the same that had always preceded the back of his hand in years gone past. She did not heed the warning and buried her face against his chest, sobbing uncontrollably. “Please. Please, do not go so soon.”
His hand raised to grasp her hair, thrust her away, to slap, but at the last instant it faltered, then fell softly upon her neck, his grip though firm was gentle and he pulled her face from where it was buried in his shirt and raised it to his, grasping it with his other hand.
“Do not weep!” he commanded harshly. “Quiet yeself, this excess be unbecomin’. I leave as I say I will and nowt will persuade me otherwise, least of all a whore’s tears. Think no more about it and set yer mind instead to enjoyin’ the time that we have. Ye should know by now, I will return eventually.”
Evie’s chest heaved and she had to swallow hard, but she did as commanded and quieted though her eyes still burned. She washed her face with cold water and quickly rimmed her eyes in kohl and her lips with carmine as Barbossa gulped down another glass of wine and refused to look at her.
Then it was down to the streets below, where the Tortugan night was warm, lively and filled with the scents of sin.
They walked for a while in silence, some distance between them, Barbossa’s countenance grim, brows heavy above his eyes, and Evie hiccoughing from the effort of swallowing her tears. They passed a scene where another whore was shrieking and throwing an assortment of clothes and furniture from a doorway towards a sailor who bawled and entreated her to listen to reason. At that, a smile quirked Barbossa’s lips and he placed a hand on the back of Evie’s neck, drawing her closer to him.
“I must be assured of me security before indulgin’ in revelry.” He offered her. “I am much weary from venture and relieved with your company. But there be time enough for longer stays in the future. “
She knew it was as close as he would come to saying he wished to stay with her and it soothed her considerably. She leaned against him and wrapped an arm about his waist, silently treasuring the solidness of him as they made their way through the chaotic streets of Tortuga.
IX
They were enjoying the meal of wild pork and hen, roasted with spices and smothered in sauces, Evie’s appetite unusually good and Barbossa watched with approval as she cleaned her plate.
“Ye could do with a few more of these.” He remarked, referring to the meal, as Evie fetched out her pipe, filling it with the ground cocoa leaf. “Ye’ve all but wasted away.”
Evie shrugged as she searched in her petticoats for a light. “You know my appetite was never especially sharp.” She noted suddenly the candle that illuminated their table in the crowded tavern, and held it to the pipe. She knew that she was a lot thinner these days, even the spread of her advancing years doing little more than slightly widening her hips and curving her belly, but the pipe simply did not encourage appetite. She knew too that Barbossa preferred a curvier figure and supposed that, now he was returned to her, she had reason to try and eat a bit more. She puffed away, feeling the lovely sting of the drug as Barbossa continued to watch with a strange sort of amusement, then inhaled too sharp and was overcome with coughs, her body wracked with them painfully.
“Ye do that often now,” he observed, and she indicated the pipe. She had become used to the coughing fits, forgetting that he had not known her when they begun and would’ve marked them through the previous night. He reached over and took it gently from her grasp, not heeding her ‘oy’ of protest. “Fill yer plate again.” He directed her. “Then ye may indulge.”
She sulked, but complied and he filled their glasses once more with wine, before turning his eyes to the boisterous crowd, where two very young, dimpled and buxom whores made merry. His smile was appreciative and not a little covetous and she followed his gaze to the lovely strumpets before smiling to herself.
“Now there’s a couple of luscious tarts and no mistake.” She declared. “Don’t know why as you would keep seekin’ me out with so many bright young things about.”
He half-laughed and leaned back in his chair, eyes twinkling. “Now, why the cunnin’, wench, ye know well enough.”
She shrugged and reached for her glass to drink. “Not cunnin’. Is ‘onest. ‘Aven’t got as much to offer as them. Not anymore. I knows it.”
“Ah,” Barbossa glanced at her with sharp amusement. “No fisherman like a woman. Me gaze of ye is much influenced by years past. And ye be comely enough still. Satisfied, wench?”
She set the glass back down and wiped at her mouth to hide her smile and threw him a sly glance from beneath lowered lashes at which he laughed. “Asides from that, it be more than a pretty face I desire.”
She sighed, a warmth rising within her that was not caused by the alcohol, and nestled against him contentedly, her fingertips playing along the rough and frayed edges of his vest, her cheek against the crook of his shoulder. He dropped an arm about her and continued with his supper.
“Fourteen, that one there.” She said jerking her head towards the blonde who was singing a ribald ditty to the amusement of a cheering group of sailors. “I looked that good at fourteen. You should’ve ‘ad me when I was fourteen.”
He snorted. “Ye were flat as a plank at fourteen, or I most likely would’ve. I’d say I had ye when ye was properly ripened.”
“Twenty years I been at this now.” She ruminated, slipping a hand inside his shirt to curl about his chest hair. “On this same bloody place, most of it in the same bloody room, turning the same bloody tricks. Seen at its best and at its worst. It went really down’ill for a while there, got so as you ‘ad to practically throw in bed and breakfast just to get a blighter up!”
Barbossa laughed softly at that and she continued.
“Things lookin’ back up now, though, thank ‘eavens for small mercies, or I might’ve ‘ad to take up needlework! ‘Course, most of the old girls ‘igh-tailed it - to greener shores, as they say - “
“Pastures.” he murmured in correction, but she did not heed him.
“ - but such as was never for me. “ She paused and sighed, pushing her hair back over her ear. “Well. So it would seem. I s’pose. I thought about leavin’. Many times. ” She glanced up at him shyly. “Glad I didn’t now. It’s a big world out there.”
“Ye seem to have survived well enough here. “ Barbossa remarked mildly, and Evie nodded in agreement.
“Oh yes, well enough. I s’pose it’s just - “ she hesitated for a moment, wrinkling her forehead. “ - it’s just that. All my life I been ‘ere. Watchin’ ‘undreds of others come and go, as they please, ‘earin’ all the tales they ‘ave to tell of the world.”
Barbossa shrugged and took up his glass for a drink. “Such be the lot of a woman - of a whore.”
She sighed. “I’m just a bit weary of it all. If that’s my lot - why can’t I do it someplace else for a while? The truth of it is, I ‘aven’t the guts. Been ‘ere too long - too settled. Don’t know anythin’ about the world beyond Tortuga, or ‘ow to go about movin’ through it.” She seemed suddenly distressed by this, her brow furrowing.
Barbossa finished his mouthful and wiped his lips. “Death gives a man a new perspective on things.” He stated, then took a large sip of his drink. He seemed somewhat agitated, fidgeted a moment when he set his glass down, sighed. Finally, he spoke again. “If ye be wanting to leave wench, I will take ye. And will set ye up with a home of yer own to mind for me whilst I am upon the seas. “
She could not speak for a long moment, staring at him in mute astonishment. He did not look at her, but watched the antics of the crowd as though he had said nothing of great import.
“Are you bleedin’ serious?” She finally managed to exclaim, her heart hammering urgently in her chest. He looked at her in mute enquiry, as though to ask what had so stunned her.
“If that be what ye wish.” He repeated, and for what seemed to her like the twentieth time in as many days, tears sprung to her eyes and she could not help laughing.
“You - you would take me to another land - and put me in a ‘ome there, that I might keep?”
Again Barbossa shrugged lightly, pursing his lips slightly. “I am but a few years short of retirement. It needs only for me to recoup what I have lost in order to do so comfortably. And when that time comes, Missy, I will be much appreciative of a comfortable home and a warm body in me bed. Shall it be ye, then?”
To be continued!
When Evie awoke she thought she must be still in the midst of a very pleasant dream. A dream that had her ensconced, warm and safe, within the arms of her long-lost Captain.
Her head was quite heavy and the kohl of the previous night was smeared so that her eyelashes clung together, turning all her surroundings to a lovely mess of burnished gold and muted red, even as the last lingering threads of her dream clung to her in the form of heavy, muscular arms draped about her. She most definitely did not want to wake up!
But as sleep struggled to release her she realised that the warmth of the phantom’s flesh did not lift nor give way, but seemed to become even heavier. She turned her head a little and felt the scape of coarse hair, like that of a beard, against her forehead, and heard the muffled exhalation of breath that was too heavy, too rasping, to be her own.
In a rush the events of the previous night came back to her. Barbossa - not dead, as she had thought, but alive and breathing, as he had been in years long past - and back on Tortuga, ravaging her hard and drinking and eating with as much gusto as he ever had. Indeed, perhaps more. Then she’d idled within his embrace and asked questions of him he’d been unusually patient to answer until the dawn had come - well, it must’ve, for she had grown suddenly weary - and she’d felt her lids growing heavier with every blink.
Carefully, she extricated herself from the still-slumbering Captain, gently unwinding her long hair from where it coiled about his shoulders. Then there had been nothing but the bliss of a heavy sleep - and although she had awoken reluctantly, Evie now felt more refreshed than she had in a long time. Evie propped herself on one arm and gazed down at Barbossa’s care-worn face. It was the countenance of a man who had faced winds from all over the world - the scorching and the bitter, the furious and the careless - and yet in the gentleness of sleep the ghost of a youth lurked somewhere there still.
Her heart skipped a beat and for a moment she thought he would suddenly tremble, then vanish, and she would be alone as before. That the night had been only a fancy, or worse, a cruel torment from some mischievous god - a visitation from beyond this life for a mere day only. She held her breath, one hand clutching at her breast, and stared at him in fright. But moments passed, and he remained, coughing a little in his sleep. She breathed out.
Slipping from the bed and into her wrap, she darted over to the fireplace and began to set a new one, that she might warm water and wine that she could spice in the way that was currently fashionable on Tortuga, such as it had fashions. Moving to her dresser and taking up the silver handled bristle brush that had once belonged to some fancy lady with initials of MR as engraved in the handle - though Evie did not recognise them - she began her toilet. Gazing into her mirror, time-warped and rippled as it was, she rather felt that she appeared softer today, with less care upon her face. Her long curls were enlivened by her brushing and leapt about her face, framing it prettily and a smile seemed to linger about her lips.
Evie paused in her administrations, breathing softly and gazing at herself, trying to understand the sensation of lightness within her. She was happy. As sure as could be - she was happy.
There was a rumble then, from the bed, as Barbossa stirred and awoke:
“A whore should know better than to leave a man’s side at the waking hour.” He commented with only the slightest hint of irritation. Evie could not help the smile that widened her mouth then and though she attempted a nonchalant saunter back to him, at the last she broke and leapt upon the bed with a delighted shriek, into his arms and the bliss of earthly pleasure.
VIII
Barbossa took the glass from her with a nod and took a large draught. She’d added the cardamom, ginger, cinnamon and clove and found the mixture enlivening and comforting at once, especially heated as it was. He shut his eyes for a moment at the taste and half-smiled. ”As they do in England.” He’d remarked, then continued pulling on his boots.
They’d determined to go out for their supper and though Evie would just as soon have stayed in her room and continued to enjoy his carnal attentions, her principle interest was in staying by his side and she was giddy with how much it seemed to be as days of old.
“We will not be long out,” he assured her as he fastened his sword belt and fetched up his hat. “But I want to be sure my men know what they’re about, for we set sail once more on the dawn two from now. “
Evie choked on her wine then, suddenly run cold throughout despite the warmth of the drink.
“That soon!” she cried with open dismay and Barbossa’s lip curled at her distress and he turned his back sharply to her, whistling to the monkey.
She could not summon a whore’s dispassion now; she had betrayed herself already and her anguish was too keen. Grasping him by his arms she entreated, with a hot wetness already gathering in her eyes:
“You can’t leave that soon! Please! You just got ‘ere - it’s been agony, it ‘as, I only want you near a little while longer!”
“That would only make ye the more maudlin when the time came. “ He grumbled, a thunderous look upon his brow.
“Please!” She implored once more. “Surely you can stay a week at least!”
He had fixed his gaze toward the ceiling, pulling back from her but now he thundered:
“I cannot! If I be to keep me ship and not lose it to that charlatan Sparrow, I cannot be idlin’ here in drunken foolishness nor wallowin’ in useless sentiment!”
“I cannot bear it!” she wept and continued to cling to him though he had become stiff with dangerous humour, the same that had always preceded the back of his hand in years gone past. She did not heed the warning and buried her face against his chest, sobbing uncontrollably. “Please. Please, do not go so soon.”
His hand raised to grasp her hair, thrust her away, to slap, but at the last instant it faltered, then fell softly upon her neck, his grip though firm was gentle and he pulled her face from where it was buried in his shirt and raised it to his, grasping it with his other hand.
“Do not weep!” he commanded harshly. “Quiet yeself, this excess be unbecomin’. I leave as I say I will and nowt will persuade me otherwise, least of all a whore’s tears. Think no more about it and set yer mind instead to enjoyin’ the time that we have. Ye should know by now, I will return eventually.”
Evie’s chest heaved and she had to swallow hard, but she did as commanded and quieted though her eyes still burned. She washed her face with cold water and quickly rimmed her eyes in kohl and her lips with carmine as Barbossa gulped down another glass of wine and refused to look at her.
Then it was down to the streets below, where the Tortugan night was warm, lively and filled with the scents of sin.
They walked for a while in silence, some distance between them, Barbossa’s countenance grim, brows heavy above his eyes, and Evie hiccoughing from the effort of swallowing her tears. They passed a scene where another whore was shrieking and throwing an assortment of clothes and furniture from a doorway towards a sailor who bawled and entreated her to listen to reason. At that, a smile quirked Barbossa’s lips and he placed a hand on the back of Evie’s neck, drawing her closer to him.
“I must be assured of me security before indulgin’ in revelry.” He offered her. “I am much weary from venture and relieved with your company. But there be time enough for longer stays in the future. “
She knew it was as close as he would come to saying he wished to stay with her and it soothed her considerably. She leaned against him and wrapped an arm about his waist, silently treasuring the solidness of him as they made their way through the chaotic streets of Tortuga.
IX
They were enjoying the meal of wild pork and hen, roasted with spices and smothered in sauces, Evie’s appetite unusually good and Barbossa watched with approval as she cleaned her plate.
“Ye could do with a few more of these.” He remarked, referring to the meal, as Evie fetched out her pipe, filling it with the ground cocoa leaf. “Ye’ve all but wasted away.”
Evie shrugged as she searched in her petticoats for a light. “You know my appetite was never especially sharp.” She noted suddenly the candle that illuminated their table in the crowded tavern, and held it to the pipe. She knew that she was a lot thinner these days, even the spread of her advancing years doing little more than slightly widening her hips and curving her belly, but the pipe simply did not encourage appetite. She knew too that Barbossa preferred a curvier figure and supposed that, now he was returned to her, she had reason to try and eat a bit more. She puffed away, feeling the lovely sting of the drug as Barbossa continued to watch with a strange sort of amusement, then inhaled too sharp and was overcome with coughs, her body wracked with them painfully.
“Ye do that often now,” he observed, and she indicated the pipe. She had become used to the coughing fits, forgetting that he had not known her when they begun and would’ve marked them through the previous night. He reached over and took it gently from her grasp, not heeding her ‘oy’ of protest. “Fill yer plate again.” He directed her. “Then ye may indulge.”
She sulked, but complied and he filled their glasses once more with wine, before turning his eyes to the boisterous crowd, where two very young, dimpled and buxom whores made merry. His smile was appreciative and not a little covetous and she followed his gaze to the lovely strumpets before smiling to herself.
“Now there’s a couple of luscious tarts and no mistake.” She declared. “Don’t know why as you would keep seekin’ me out with so many bright young things about.”
He half-laughed and leaned back in his chair, eyes twinkling. “Now, why the cunnin’, wench, ye know well enough.”
She shrugged and reached for her glass to drink. “Not cunnin’. Is ‘onest. ‘Aven’t got as much to offer as them. Not anymore. I knows it.”
“Ah,” Barbossa glanced at her with sharp amusement. “No fisherman like a woman. Me gaze of ye is much influenced by years past. And ye be comely enough still. Satisfied, wench?”
She set the glass back down and wiped at her mouth to hide her smile and threw him a sly glance from beneath lowered lashes at which he laughed. “Asides from that, it be more than a pretty face I desire.”
She sighed, a warmth rising within her that was not caused by the alcohol, and nestled against him contentedly, her fingertips playing along the rough and frayed edges of his vest, her cheek against the crook of his shoulder. He dropped an arm about her and continued with his supper.
“Fourteen, that one there.” She said jerking her head towards the blonde who was singing a ribald ditty to the amusement of a cheering group of sailors. “I looked that good at fourteen. You should’ve ‘ad me when I was fourteen.”
He snorted. “Ye were flat as a plank at fourteen, or I most likely would’ve. I’d say I had ye when ye was properly ripened.”
“Twenty years I been at this now.” She ruminated, slipping a hand inside his shirt to curl about his chest hair. “On this same bloody place, most of it in the same bloody room, turning the same bloody tricks. Seen at its best and at its worst. It went really down’ill for a while there, got so as you ‘ad to practically throw in bed and breakfast just to get a blighter up!”
Barbossa laughed softly at that and she continued.
“Things lookin’ back up now, though, thank ‘eavens for small mercies, or I might’ve ‘ad to take up needlework! ‘Course, most of the old girls ‘igh-tailed it - to greener shores, as they say - “
“Pastures.” he murmured in correction, but she did not heed him.
“ - but such as was never for me. “ She paused and sighed, pushing her hair back over her ear. “Well. So it would seem. I s’pose. I thought about leavin’. Many times. ” She glanced up at him shyly. “Glad I didn’t now. It’s a big world out there.”
“Ye seem to have survived well enough here. “ Barbossa remarked mildly, and Evie nodded in agreement.
“Oh yes, well enough. I s’pose it’s just - “ she hesitated for a moment, wrinkling her forehead. “ - it’s just that. All my life I been ‘ere. Watchin’ ‘undreds of others come and go, as they please, ‘earin’ all the tales they ‘ave to tell of the world.”
Barbossa shrugged and took up his glass for a drink. “Such be the lot of a woman - of a whore.”
She sighed. “I’m just a bit weary of it all. If that’s my lot - why can’t I do it someplace else for a while? The truth of it is, I ‘aven’t the guts. Been ‘ere too long - too settled. Don’t know anythin’ about the world beyond Tortuga, or ‘ow to go about movin’ through it.” She seemed suddenly distressed by this, her brow furrowing.
Barbossa finished his mouthful and wiped his lips. “Death gives a man a new perspective on things.” He stated, then took a large sip of his drink. He seemed somewhat agitated, fidgeted a moment when he set his glass down, sighed. Finally, he spoke again. “If ye be wanting to leave wench, I will take ye. And will set ye up with a home of yer own to mind for me whilst I am upon the seas. “
She could not speak for a long moment, staring at him in mute astonishment. He did not look at her, but watched the antics of the crowd as though he had said nothing of great import.
“Are you bleedin’ serious?” She finally managed to exclaim, her heart hammering urgently in her chest. He looked at her in mute enquiry, as though to ask what had so stunned her.
“If that be what ye wish.” He repeated, and for what seemed to her like the twentieth time in as many days, tears sprung to her eyes and she could not help laughing.
“You - you would take me to another land - and put me in a ‘ome there, that I might keep?”
Again Barbossa shrugged lightly, pursing his lips slightly. “I am but a few years short of retirement. It needs only for me to recoup what I have lost in order to do so comfortably. And when that time comes, Missy, I will be much appreciative of a comfortable home and a warm body in me bed. Shall it be ye, then?”
To be continued!