A/N: Prompt Sea Shanties. Posted in original form 5/6/07.

The room is dark, the glory of the Cornish sunset excluded by the heavy curtains that shield the windows. Only a single shaft of light that inveigles its way past the lintel illuminates one narrow strip of the room, including Mama as she sits on the foot of the bed, so pretty in her evening gown. Elizabeth is not tired, not bored of the drawing room and most certainly not happy at having been unceremoniously ejected from said room and banished to bed…but her pillows are downy, her quilts warm and heavy, her mother's voice soft in the gloom, and it is impossible to remain angry for long when luxuriating in such comfort.

Mama sings of a shepherd bringing his flock to pasture, her tone low and reverent, and Elizabeth's mind wanders back out to the park where her uncle's sheep graze, stupid docile creatures that they are, with the lambs that run even faster than she.

For a moment Mama pauses, but when Elizabeth stirs she sings again, this time in Italian. Although she cannot understand all the words, they are warm and affectionate and Elizabeth's imagination carries her to distant, unseen lands of strange hot sunlight and hillsides covered in fruit groves, with white houses basking in the heat like Persian cats before English fireplaces.

Now Mama sings of the sea and Elizabeth has no need to use her imagination, for if she is still, the sound of the waves on the cliffs beneath the house comes up to her ears. Mama's voice is wistful now and sad, filled with regret and other things that Elizabeth does not understand, will only understand when many years are passed and many miles travelled. She frowns, therefore, because everything ought to be happy around her. But before she can voice a drowsy demand that Mama choose a different song, the air changes.

Mama's voice grows stronger, lilting curiously and shaping words Elizabeth has not heard before but which, accompanied by the tune that makes her want to dance, she enjoys.

"…and really bad eggs, drink up me hearties, yo ho!"

As Mama sings the strange wild words, sounding most unlike herself, Elizabeth, caught between sleep and wakefulness, suddenly envisions turquoise skies and tall sails and a dark-faced man with a swagger and a smile that is golden…

Mama ceases singing abruptly and passes a hand over her face. Something in her expression keeps Elizabeth silent and makes her close her eyes. "It is not the life for me," Mama murmurs after a moment, smoothing Elizabeth's hair from her brow. "Nor should it be for you, my little lady. We should be very thankful, Elibet." But she does not sound thankful, only weary, and there is no enthusiasm in her tone when she rises and says softly, "And now I will return to a room full of guests—what a successful evening, to be sure!" She bends and kisses Elizabeth lightly. "Goodnight, dearest."

As she leaves, Mama is singing again, her voice bitter but her face filled with yearning. "Yo ho, yo ho, a pirate's life for me!" She laughs, oddly breathlessly, and the door closes.

Elizabeth dreams, once more, of her pirate.