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Bittersweet Homecomings	By : JennyPugh Category: Pirates of the Caribbean (All) > General Views: 3442 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own the Pirates of the Caribbean movie series, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 9
- 10
- 11
With thanks to
Killer K, PirateAurora and Chelsey. Sorry I didn’t mention you in chapter 9, I
had posted it up before I realised you had reviewed.

Welcome back
misty, I can’t wait to start reading your story again.
Killer, I would love
to give up my job – alas life is expensive! I love your reviews, they always
make me chuckle!

…

Chapter ten: ‘I
have to get away tonight…’

Jack and Shay
made the outskirts of London by late the following afternoon, having stopped off
at Oxford to change their horses at a coaching inn, Jack being grateful of the
pouches of coins he carried with him for it ensured good horses. He gingerly
climbed down, wincing with pain as he tried to walk.

‘Give me a
bloody ship any day,’ he muttered darkly as his eyes scanned the city before
him.

‘Look at the
size o’them buildings,’ exclaimed Shay in shock. ‘If God had meant man to be
that far off th’ground, He’d have given us longer legs!’

‘You’d do well
up th’main mast then,’ Jack ribbed, looking at the young man still on his
horse. ‘Thanks mate.’

‘Ah, there’s
nothin’ ter be thankin’ me for. Ye haven’t got yer lass back yet.’

‘No.’ Jack
pulled a rueful face and winced again as he re-mounted, then the two men made
their way towards the heart of the city, taking in the spectacle.

They came to the
River Thames and Jack smiled as he remembered the last time he had seen the
river, when he had stowed away on The Heart of Oak as a young lad. ‘So
much has happened since then,’ he mused, idly wondering if his parents and
brother’s were still alive.

Shay stopped his
horse and approached a stevedor taking a break from loading a ship. ‘Scuse me
mate, how would ye get ter Whitechapel from here?’

‘If ya go along
the river t’the bridge, take the road away from it then bear right, that’ll
take ya t’Whitechapel,’ the docker replied with a toothless grin.

‘Ta mate.’ Shay
returned the grin and re-mounted, following Jack as the pirate lead the way
downriver to London Bridge, fear and anticipation starting to well in his stomach.

…

After a couple
of discreet enquiries, they found Roger Crompton’s London residence and rode
past it slowly for the third time before carrying on down the wide street to a
coaching inn Jack had spotted about half a mile away. They took the horses to
the stables and booked themselves into the tavern that had seen better days and
had a hearty meal which succeeded in warming them up since it had begun to snow
during their last trek up the lane and had been coming down thickly. They
walked back to the house, Jack being glad of his boots and Shay wishing he had
some instead of his battered shoes, and made their way furtively around the
back, risking climbing over the high garden wall into the grounds.

Jack nudged his
companion and pointed to a barred window on the first floor of the building.
‘I’ll wager that’s where she is,’ he whispered, in spite of there being not a
soul about.

‘How d’we get
her out?’ enquired the younger man, rubbing his nose as he was wont to when
thinking.

‘We wait until
dark then break in. Have ya broken into a house before?’

Shay snorted
derisively which Jack took to be a yes and they fell silent, watching the house
for a time. Suddenly Jack perked up and peered through the bushes in which they
were hiding, trying to get a better view of a man standing in the kitchen
doorway, talking to someone within.

‘Bleedin’ ‘ell,’
he cursed as he recognised Nicholas Boothe. ‘They weren’t bounty hunters… they
work fer Crompton,’ he hissed, rocking back on his heels, pondering this new
revelation.

‘So ye reckon
she is definitely here then?’ enquired Shay.

‘Oh yes, this
just confirms it. I want ya ter go and watch th’front of th’house, I’ll come
an’ tell ya when it’s time ter move, savvy?’

‘Aye, aye
Captain,’ grinned the younger man, who waited until Boothe went back inside and
all was quiet once more, before making his way back over the wall.

…

‘I hope ter God
he decides ter move soon, I can’t feel me legs,’ the Irishman muttered to
himself as he continued to watch the house from a passageway between two houses
opposite. It had only just stopped snowing and he was frozen to the bone, but
still he watched and waited.

…

‘I want ter
go in now,’ Jack thought impatiently, his eyes boring a hole in the barred
window. ‘I hope ter God she is all right. Maybe I should go an’ see Shay,
come up wi’a plan. What the hell…?’

…

Jenny glanced
through the curtains, her hearts sinking as she saw it was dark outside and had
been snowing. If she had looked at little harder at the garden, she would have seen
the bushes move suddenly as Jack barely stopped himself from leaping out upon
seeing her, but she was too despondant to notice. The only things that ever
registered was when it was daytime and safe and when it was night time and
dangerous. She went to put the leather lace back in its hiding place but froze
as the key turned in the lock and managed to shove it beneath the mattress as
the door opened to reveal her husband, very drunk and weaving from side to
side. He locked the door behind him, not being too drunk to lower his guard,
then lurched for her, cursing as she dodged him.

‘Come here, you
whore,’ Crompton yelled, inching closer to her, unbuckling his belt as he did.
‘I said come here,’ he ordered lashing out with the belt then diving on
her as she reeled from the sting to her face. The force of him landing against
her knocked the breath from Jenny and with his mouth over hers, she found it
hard to breathe and struggled for all she was worth, eventually managing to
bring her knee to his groin and smiling with grim satisfaction as he doubled
up.

‘No!’ she
yelled. Jenny knew she would have an easier time if she didn’t fight against
him so much but it went against the grain to do so, so she fought like a
wildcat and suffered the consequenses.

Roger Crompton
recovered enough to drag his wife to the bed and throw her onto it. He
straddled her and ripped the buttons off the woollen dress she had been wearing
and sank his teeth into her breast.

‘Get off me you
bastard,’ she screamed, then wound her hand around the back of his head and
smashed her forehead into his face, feeling the bones in his nose crunch as
they broke. He slumped forward, senseless, and Jenny turned him over and pushed
his face into the pillows, kneeling on his shoulders and neck as she reached
for the leather lace which she doubled up and threaded around his neck. She
twisted it as she continued to press his face down until with a gasping sob she
got off him, pulling the lace away. She reached a tentative hand out and
prodded him then turned him back over, placing her hand on his chest to check
if there was a heartbeat and stared with a mixture of horror and relief when
there was not.

‘Oh God,’ she
whispered, scarcely beliving that she was free of him but at the same time,
realising she was not free of the house. ‘I’m safe until morning,’ she
thought, knowing no-one would miss him until then. Jenny went to the side room
and washed herself down, breaking the ice skimming the top of the pitcher then
fetched another dress of dark green wool from the cupboard and pulled it on,
securing the lace around her neck and tucking inside the dress, her trembling
hands betraying the turmoil inside. She pulled a dark brown coat from the
cupboard and fetched a pair of black ankle boots which she had never worn, for
she had never been outside the room in all the time she had been there, then
looked once more at the body and shuddered. ‘I have to get away tonight,’
she thought. ‘Be long gone before they find him.’ Jenny went to the door
and sat down beside it, her ear pressed against the wood, listening to the
comings and goings of the household until it went quiet.

She stood and
carefully turned the key in the lock and slowly pulled the door open, glancing
along the landing and breathing a sigh of relief when no signs of life were
apparent, closing and locking it quietly behind her, pocketing the key.
Cautiously she tiptoed along the landing and down the stairs, reaching the
bottom rung as the cry of alarm went up. She looked up at Thomas Hall about to
come hurtling down the stairs and she flew for the door, smashing the window
beside it with a heavy ornament from the hallway table and scrambling through
it, ignoring the pain as shards of glass cut her hands. Jenny knew she would
have a few moments head start for there had been a couple of bolts on the door
and the key was not in the lock. ‘It’s funny what you notice,’ she mused
as she ran through the snow. She looked blindly up and down the deserted street
then ran across to the other side, a shriek of terror being stifled by a hand
across her mouth as she felt herself being pulled into a passageway.

…

Sorry it wasn’t
Jack that killed Crompton as so many of you wanted, but I think it works better
with Jenny having done it.

…
- 9
- 10
- 11
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Bittersweet Homecomings