stowaway || j. norrington

11

One night, before they went up to their rooms, Theodore broke the silence between him and his sister.

"Frances, you've been getting fewer social calls lately, after your... time at sea. And I want to see you happy. I know you're missing Elizabeth and I think that it would do you good to find someone to help with that. Not Gillette, but someone you actually like. Someone I approve of, someone we trust."

She could see exactly where this was going. "No, Theodore. A definite no. You know that I am no longer pining after him, I moved on many years ago. It was a teenaged fantasy and I have since seen reality. I am not going to marry anyone, especially not right now. I would much appreciate it if you wouldn't bring the topic up, we have many more things to worry about."

"If you opened your eyes you would see that you are wrong, and I am right. As per usual, I may add. You're 22 years old, Frances. You know that I don't believe you an old maid, but suitors may start to."

"Goodnight, Theodore," Frances rolled her eyes, trying to ignore her brothers words.

She laid awake in bed. He was right, she needed to marry. It was high time, and maybe she could find someone close to Beckett that may provide information.

The next day, Lord Beckett called her to his office again. It was becoming a daily occasion; she would wake up, eat breakfast, take a carriage to the fort, have tea with Lord Beckett, then take the carriage home to spend the rest of her day doing nothing until dinner with Theodore and Norrington.

She stepped out of the carriage and was escorted by two soldiers to Beckett's office.

Once she sat in her usual chair, Beckett called for the tea. "So, Miss Groves. Your brother, how is he feeling about your return? Glad to see you alive, angry of your involvement with the pirates?"

Frances smiled. "He is relieved that I am alive, and glad to see me safe, back here where I belong. He is not angry with me, because he knows that it is not my fault. He is most angry with Sparrow and his crew."

"As he should be, they are despicable," Beckett smirked. The expression worried Frances, making her wonder if she was somehow telling him what he wanted to hear.

She took a sip of her tea, waiting for the next interrogation question. Beckett only watched her in silence, perhaps trying to get her to crack. She wouldn't.

She spent hours in that room, drinking tea and eating biscuits. Hours of silence, staring at each other, waiting for one to break. It was exhausting and horrible, but Beckett eventually grew bored and dismissed her after four in the afternoon.

•

Once she returned home, she ran up to her room right past her brother.

"Frances! What's happened?" He called after her, but she had already slammed her door.

If only she'd never snuck onto the Interceptor. If she had just stayed where she belonged, she would still be going to parties and galas without a care. If Elizabeth had never been kidnapped, they would both be — however unhappily — married and moved into new houses, right next to each other like they'd planned as children so that they could keep playing together for their whole lives.

How childish. That never should've been a fantasy that lasted past age eight.

A quiet knock sounded on Frances' door. "Frankie?" Her brother called out softly.

"I want to be alone," She said, her voice muffled by the pillow she was holding over her face. Theodore took it as an invitation to open the door and sit in a chair across from her bed.