The plot bunny lurking around in my garden for some time now forced me to write PotC-Fanfiction - and with the help of my brilliant beta nelliedances I even managed to do so in English. I'd be delighted if you gave it a try :-)

Reviews of all kind (including concrit!) are more than welcome!

Title: "Life Without A Compass"
Author: ladyofthesilent
Rating: hard R, maybe NC-17 (for later chapters)
Pairings: Jack/Elizabeth, some Will/Elizabeth and Elizabeth/others (implied)
Genre: Humour/Romance/Angst/General (probably a little bit of everything)
Warnings: Spoilers for CotBP and DMC
Disclaimer: The mouse? But I honestly believe Jack and Elizabeth are owned by no one but themselves ...
Summary: 15 years after AWE, Elizabeth has returned to England and meets a young woman in need of some advice ...
Status: Chapter 1 - Infatuation

The small but elegant carriage moved along the gravel drive, leading up to a large mansion which would have been impressive, had it been approached during daytime. Now, only a few minutes to midnight, darkness had fallen and the house was towering ghostly into the night sky. One room was still light and a lantern was flickering right where the entrance had to be but otherwise there was nothing to suggest that a warm welcome was to await the young woman sitting in the coach.

Charlotte Cowley frowned slightly. This summer would leave much to be desired, she was sure about that. Time at Chiswick Hall had the nasty habit of passing in an exceptionally slow fashion. Apart from having breakfast, tea and dinner, there was not much to be done throughout the whole day – except for sitting in the parlour with Aunt Augusta and her smelly lapdog, listening to her distributing the latest gossip while feeling strangely intimidated by the dog's never ceasing snarl. There were no rides through the extensive park since Aunt Augusta didn't believe it to be appropriate for a young lady to handle a horse; there were no games, no interesting guests, and – worst of all – no opportunity to see …

'No!', she reminded herself, steadying herself in defiance of the still jolting carriage. She would not think about HIM. He was gone now, more than – she did not know how many – miles between them. And she would never see him again. She had told him so in her final letter to him, written and delivered under her mother's stringent eyes.

There was nothing left now but to forget. Charlotte decided that she'd done a good job with it so far, even with this small lapse. She hadn't thought about him for quite some time now; at least the past three minutes had been fully occupied with dark and depressing ponderings on her life without him which – obviously – had nothing to do with him. Well, almost.

She was mentally patting herself on the shoulder when the carriage suddenly stopped and almost made her tumble down her seat. In shock, she grabbed her hat, pulled it off and by that destroyed what had once been a complicated hairstyle. Panicking, she began to furtively fix some loose strands, but to no avail. It only got worse and by the time a black clad servant formally opened the door, she looked as if she had encountered and fought some strange beast during the journey. The servant, however, didn't seem to be moved by her strange appearance, though he must have noticed her dishevelled state. While she let him help her step off the carriage, she wondered how those people did it. How was it even possible to appear THAT unmoved by the odd and all too often amusing moments provided by the people they were serving? It obviously demanded a fair deal of self-control – something Charlotte had never quite possessed. She smiled admirably at the servant who had by now taken her handbag, but he seemed decidedly unmoved by that either. Maybe it would make quite an exciting pastime to force a smile – a real one! – out of one of those grave looking, black clad individuals.

Still clutching her hat in her right hand, she followed the servant up to the entrance. She took a deep breath, preparing herself for her aunt's derisive comments on her appearance and her reasons for spending the summer at Chiswick. A knock at the door was answered by a inquiring voice from inside and soon a powdered wig appeared, followed by a head dominated by watery grey eyes and a stocky body which when put together formed Aunt Augusta's head servant Mr. Pepys. He held up a small lantern and Charlotte had to momentarily close her eyes, having just spent hours in the dim light of the coach.

Though Pepys didn't seem to care much for her appearance, Charlotte felt he didn't care much for seeing her either. Visitors were seen as an interference with the quiet and uneventful life at Chiswick and it had taken her mother quite some time to persuade Aunt Augusta to take her in at all. It was not until it was mentioned that the reputation of the family might be endangered if Charlotte didn't leave London and so it was decided that she was to spend the summer with Augusta, her dog and the grave looking servants in this dark and boring old house in the countryside.

"Your arrival has been awaited, Miss", Pepys said formally but there was something in his voice telling Charlotte that he was decidedly annoyed. He preceded her down the entrance hall and through a large corridor which, as she knew, led up to the library. This caused some astonishment since Aunt Augusta rarely used that particular room in the house. It had been her late husband's domain and Augusta herself didn't care much about books. She usually preferred sitting in the parlour, working on some awfully ugly piece of embroidery while talking to the snarling dog.

On entering the library, Pepys stiffly announced: "Miss Cowley has arrived, M'lady."

"Thank you, Pepys. You may take your leave of us now," a voice replied – which definitely didn't belong to Aunt Augusta.

And with Pepys closing the door behind him, Charlotte found herself facing a tall woman sitting in an overstuffed armchair. She probably had been reading since a couple of books where lying on the small table next to her on which a candelabra had been placed. She was smiling and Charlotte detected some underlying amusement in her lively brown eyes glittering in the candlelight.

"Good evening, Charlotte – I may call you Charlotte?"

"Yes … I mean, good evening. I am sorry I …"

"Nothing to be sorry for", the woman interrupted. And indeed, it was late and she didn't give much for excuses which were made out of nothing but courtesy. "I am sure you're wondering about that strange woman sitting opposite you, looking nothing like your dear aunt. Am I right?"

"Well, yes … but I am sorry, I am not …"

"I already told you: Nothing to be sorry for. To be frank, there are not many things in my life I am really sorry for and I grant the same to other people. But to answer the questions you're dying to ask but obviously are too polite to do so: I am Lady Wentworth but you may call me Elizabeth. And yes, I know you've already heard of me and honestly, I am excited to learn WHAT you've heard of me. But let's leave that for later. – No, don't interrupt me. No more sorrys, remember? Now, I am a guest of your dear aunt Lady Beauchamp. She kindly invited me to stay at Chiswick when we met in Bath this spring. You see, I am suffering from quite a nasty cough that won't leave me and, since my own estate is located in the north, I very gratefully embraced the opportunity to spend the summer in Sussex. As it is, your aunt has left yesterday because her mother-in-law is not feeling well and demanded to see her. I have been asked to tell you that Lady Beauchamp sends you her very sincere apologies, greetings, best wishes and such – do you want to hear the rest? Probably not, I see. If the old woman – that is, Lady Tateshal – is pretending to die again, it will be weeks until your aunt can be expected to come back to Chiswick. At least, that's what I have been told by the servants. Be it as it may, it seems like you will have to put up with me for the time to come."

She leaned back in her armchair, signalising that her little speech was over and that it was now Charlotte's turn to say something. Contrary to the servants, Lady Elizabeth Wentworth made no effort to suppress her amusement on Charlotte's appearance and seemed to take some twisted pleasure in soaking up her obvious bewilderment. Charlotte was not quite sure she liked this woman's company, most notably because she had indeed heard of her. Everybody in London had, presumably. She had appeared in England about 15 years ago, literary out of nowhere. Rumour had it she had lived in a place called Jamaica (wherever this place had to be) and was brought from there by the king himself. She soon became famous in London society for telling the most shocking and exciting stories about pirates, secret love affairs and dangerous adventures – using language that would even have made a sailor blush. Not more than a year after she had arrived in England, she got married to Lord Wentworth, a rich and reputable nobleman almost 30 years her senior. He had died two years ago which left her an independent and affluent woman of good standing. There were rumours about her moral conduct leaving much to be desired and … well, looking at her, Charlotte decided that she probably had no trouble whatsoever in finding a suitable lover.

Though Elizabeth had not bothered to leave her armchair, Charlotte was able to make out that she must be a rather tall woman with the lean and agile body of a young girl. Her face was outstandingly handsome, with big brown eyes and full lips. Her hair was of a very light brown and dressed into an elegant hairstyle. No matter how you looked at her, Charlotte decided, this woman did look nothing like the late thirties she had to be in. She suddenly felt very ugly and unappealing. Was there anything special about her common face, the boring and somewhat jejune blonde hair and the slightly too broad hips? Maybe – no, probably, HE would have left her anyway, sooner or later. As long as there were women like Lady Wentworth in this world, no man would bother to look at Charlotte Cowley for more than a few wasted seconds.

Elizabeth entertained herself by looking at the awkward girl and almost couldn't keep herself from laughing out loud. Charlotte Cowley was undeniable a very pleasant and beautiful girl – and the shyness and naivety she was displaying at the moment had probably attracted many a young fellow. Among them the poor drawing master she was sent to Chiswick for. She stared at Elizabeth like she had just encountered a ghost or worse – oh yes, the older woman mused, Charlotte had most probably had heard talking about her and was now pondering on what to make of it.

"Obviously, there is something that prevents you from talking to me", Elizabeth broke the silence. "It's my turn to be sorry now since you're probably almost dying from hunger and fatigue while I – sated and well rested – am trying to force you into the most boring kind of conversation. Do you want me to have the maid bring you some food? I am sure there is something left in the kitchen."

"Yes, that … eh … would be very kind, thank you." As a matter of fact, Charlotte felt neither hungry nor tired. Her mind was floated with all kinds of unfinished thoughts and the unexpected absence of her aunt (or was it the presence of this strange lady?) didn't do much to improve things. Nevertheless, while eating there was not much time left to commit one faux pas after another as she felt she had done since she first entered this room.

Elizabeth rang a little bell, a servant appeared and was sent to fetch some food from the kitchen.

"Since we're all alone here, nobody will mind you eating in the library. I'd like to be selfish and enjoy your company a little longer but of course I wouldn't mind if you preferred to take your dinner in your room."

"No, the library is fine with me", Charlotte lied, feeling she had been trapped.

"Wonderful", Elizabeth said a little too enthusiastic and clapped her hands. "Now you've decided to stay here, you should get yourself a seat. Why not use the chaise lounge over there?"

She pointed to a piece of furniture standing just opposite the armchair she was sitting in.

"And don't forget to take off that awful travelling cloak. It's far too hot in here anyway."

Charlotte obeyed, pulling of the cloak and throwing it over the chaise lounge before sitting down on it herself.

"So", Elizabeth began again, hoping the girl would become less reserved when being asked some harmless questions. "How was your journey? I hope you haven't been bothered by highwaymen?" A devilish smile spread across her face and Charlotte almost got the impression that she actually enjoyed the thought of being bothered by ordinary scoundrels.

"No. It was a very quiet journey. And somewhat boring", she dared to add.

"Ah yes, I can see that. Travelling alone is always a real misfortune. It's much more amusing if you have some travelling companions you can get to know during the journey."

Her voice was warm and encouraging now and Charlotte felt herself warming up to her. She was probably nothing more than a kind woman with a rather more interesting past than others.

"You have travelled a lot?" Charlotte asked, becoming a little more self-confident.

"I'd rather say I have. You probably have heard about my dear father serving as governor of Port Royal?"

"Port Royal? Is that … eh … in Jamaica?"

"Was. Port Royal is no more. It was destroyed in a terrible earthquake the year I left. Now the island's governor – who is a good friend of mine – resides in Kingston. I think I have seen quite a lot of places all around the Caribbean. And", Elizabeth added proudly, "I have even been to Singapore!"

Charlotte felt her head spinning even faster. So many places she had never even heard talking about... places that sounded strange, exotic and – to tell the truth – terribly exciting. She was just about to ask where Singapore was located when the servant came back, placing a small table in front of Charlotte. She soon found herself facing a huge salver, loaded with all kinds of food ranking from a turkey to various pies, cooked vegetables and some fruit. Having poured a reasonable amount of red wine into an expensive looking chalice, the servant bowed and left the ladies to each other's company again.

"Bon appétit!" Elizabeth exclaimed, taking a sip from her own chalice which had been refilled as well.

With the first bite she took, Charlotte suddenly realized that she must have felt like starving for hours. Forgetting all about good manners and Elizabeth's presence, she began eating hastily, stuffing food down her throat and taking rather large gulps of wine.

Watching her, Elizabeth felt herself reminded of a very similar behaviour she had once shown while having been forced to dine with an evil as well as (for the time being) undead pirate named Barbossa. She felt anger welling up inside her – not because of what Barbossa had done to her but because of what he had done to Jack. Thinking of Jack, on the other hand, made her anger fade immediately and a small and gentle smile spread across her face. It hurt, of course. But then, she didn't mind a little pain from time to time – and this was one definitely worth bearing.

She was still lost in all kinds of pleasant memories when Charlotte's voice interrupted her musings.

"So is there any truth to the stories?" Charlotte's eyes glistened enthusiastically in the flickering light of the candelabra and Elizabeth was delighted to note that the girl probably wasn't used to drinking even the tiniest amount of alcohol. Her chalice was completely empty and its contents had done the trick and loosened her tongue. Her voice didn't seem steady anymore but the fact that she had dared to ask her a question which was everything but polite suggested that they could have an interesting little conversation before going off to sleep.

"What stories?" Of course, Elizabeth knew exactly what the girl was talking about but Charlotte's blatant excitement amused her immensely and she had no intention to make it fade too soon. Yes, it was definitely fun to have created an image people were talking about. And Elizabeth was sure that people were talking about her in a way which wasn't quite admiring but still somewhat awestruck.

Charlotte blushed, despite the alcohol. To be on the safe side, Elizabeth reached for the decanter the servant had left on the table and poured some more wine into Charlotte's chalice.

"The stories about … I mean, what they say about you."

"And what do they say."

The girl blushed even more and Elizabeth had to suppress a grin. "I'm sorry but I … I didn't want … I … I just …" And then curiosity prevailed. "You know, that you were kidnapped by pirates – and marooned on an island with the worst of them! Oh yes, and that you did escape by tying some turtles together. So … is it true?"

"Aye", Elizabeth replied playfully and enjoyed the feeling of letting a word escape her lips which would have drawn the attention of a whole London dinner party.

Charlotte's eyes became larger and larger and for a moment Elizabeth feared they would drop out of the girl's head, which reminded her of a certain one eyed pirate she had once known.

Charlotte took another sip and focussed Elizabeth in a way which made her wonder if her vision was already blurred.

"You know", she said, obviously trying to remember what they had just talked about, "I don't think I'll ever live to see something THAT exciting. Actually…" Another sip. "I haven't even been as far as France."

"Oh, I think the reason for your stay in Chiswick is exciting enough, though. A lovely little escapade, if you ask me …"

Elizabeth had just finished the sentence when Charlotte jumped up, almost knocking over the small table with the remains of the dinner still on it. "He is NOT an escapade," she declared passionately. "I love Marius and I WILL marry him, no matter what they say!" She then began to sway on her legs and fell backwards, winding up on the chaise lounge again.
There was a fire burning in the girl's eyes that Elizabeth hadn't thought possible. There was definitely more to Charlotte Cowley than met the eye, which was good. Elizabeth smiled again, deciding that her stay in the country would probably not have to be that bad after all. Her nasty cough hadn't reappeared during the whole evening and she decided that this girl provided just the kind of company she needed to recover in an agreeable fashion – even if this meant she had to get her drunk every night.

"I see. Nevertheless an interesting story which I'd love to hear. If you want to share it with me, of course"

Actually this was the invitation Charlotte unconsciously had been waiting for since she had entered this house. Having regained her composure after her little outburst and taken another sip of that delicious drink in the beautiful chalice, she began to retell her own personal romance in the most vivid colours.

Marius DuMaurier, a young painter from France had been hired by her mother to act as a drawing master. She had taken a liking to the young man immediately and it wasn't long until they were exchanging longing glances at each other. The drawing lessons turned into inspiring conversations and soon a whole flood of letters and little presents were exchanged. They even had dared to kiss behind the greenhouses in the garden while her mother believed them to draw squirrels.
Unfortunately, Mrs. Cowley had started to wonder about her daughter's sudden interest in drawing (which demanded several lessons a week) and decided to take a little stroll around her bedroom. She had found Marius' letters – all of them, tied together with a red ribbon – in the drawer and that was the end of it. Marius had been forbidden to ever enter the Cowleys' house again and Charlotte had been forced to write to him, declaring that she had no interest whatsoever in continuing their acquaintance. To make sure she really had no opportunity to do so, it was decided to send her to Chiswick so she could spent the summer away from London and get over her unfortunate infatuation as quickly as possible.

" … And so", she closed somewhat dramatically, "I am here now, with a broken heart and nothing left but the most painful memories of the only man I will ever love."

Elizabeth face remained grave. She actually felt sorry for the girl even though she knew better than anyone that Charlotte was talking complete nonsense. Marius DuMaurier was most likely NOT the great love of Charlotte Cowley's life but there was absolutely no use in telling her that now. She'd probably heard it too many times before and it hadn't changed anything. At eighteen, Elizabeth had been the same and unlike so many others, she hadn't forgotten about that. But still, this was not the time for another 'When I was your age…' tale.

"Will you believe me", Elizabeth said instead, "when I tell you that I am in a very similar situation? You see, the man I love – mind you, the only one – is as far from me as I can possibly imagine. I don't even know if he's still alive."

"Really?" Charlotte had emptied her chalice again and by now she had to be completely drunk. Her eyes were glittering absently but Elizabeth knew that she would still be able to draw some comfort out of what she was saying, even if she didn't get the words anymore.

"Yes. I swear that every word I am going to tell you now is true. I left him behind when I came to England. It has been fifteen years now but I can still remember the way he talked, recall the twinkle in his eyes when he laughed and the simple fact that he had the longest lashes I've ever seen on a human being. If I want to, I can even remember the way every single one of his scars felt when I ran my fingers over it."

"And… it doesn't hurt?"

"Yes, it does, immensely. But that's not what it's all about – I've gotten used to thinking of him in a way that helps me to move on, to look at the future as a little brighter than I would have done without him. Yes," she nodded emphatically. "I definitely think that remembering him makes my world a better place. It reminds me that there's always a way out and nothing as important as to realize that you can do the things you want to do just because you want it. The mere thought of him sets me free."

Charlotte looked impressed and confused. Obviously, Elizabeth pondered, she hadn't understood a word of what she had just said. The girl was smart, no question, but there was still too much of a child in her, a naïve, overly romantic spirit staunchly believing that she had just met and lost her one true love. Elizabeth looked at the wide eyed girl, seeing a younger reflection of herself in her big blue eyes. She had been the same, once, a long time ago. A warm smile spread across her face when she thought of Will. William Turner, the handsome, brave and devoted companion of her childhood and beyond, the boy she had rescued from the sea. How she had loved him. How she had spent nights and nights awake, thinking about him, writing letters in her head she never dared to put down to paper the next morning. She had fought for him, had won his heart – but in the end, fate intervened. And along came Jack …

Yes, she decided, the girl definitely needed some good advice and all evidence pointed to the fact that she was exactly the right person to act as her advisor.

"We should go to bed now and get some rest," she said. "But I'd really like to continue this little chat tomorrow. There is a time for everything – and for me, the time has come to finally face the truth…"

tbc