Ahoy, Capitan!
It was a particularly beautiful afternoon here at Woodstone manor. The sun was shining, a lovely spring breeze rustling the trees. All of the ghosts were enjoying the outdoors, aside from Hetty, who seized the opportunity to sit in the shaft for the afternoon, just in time for her bi-weekly solo ponder. Feeling completely at ease, the normally restless Hetty began to relax, the warmth across her face lulling her into a light doze.
Until the commotion from outside caused her eyes to snap open.
Irritation began to prickle at the base of her spine as Hetty strolled through the front door, wondering what on Earth could make the group explode in such discourse.
“What on Earth could possibly be going on out here that requires such a deafening cacoph-“
Oh my.
The stranger was… striking. Rags aside of course. He was leaning against the stone banister at the bottom of the front steps like he owned the place, one boot propped casually on the cool stone, his arms crossed in a manner far too relaxed for someone standing on her property. His hair a mess of unruly ginger curls haphazardly tied back, a tricorn hat tilted low over his brow. And that shirt! It hung open in the most disgraceful fashion, exposing a wholly inappropriate amount of chest. Hetty felt her cheeks begin to flame, heat pooling deep in her belly.
Hetty pressed a hand to her throat, willing herself to maintain composure. “And… who, pray tell, are you?” she demanded, her voice sharp and authoritative—though she cursed herself for the slight tremor at the end.
The man lifted his head, and when his eyes met hers—green, glittering like sea glass—she felt her resolve wobble. His face was an infuriating blend of ruggedness and delicate beauty . Freckles dusted his skin in a pattern far too charming for someone so indecent, and a faint scar cut across his lip in a way that suggested he had no qualms about dueling like a common ruffian. Worse still, when he smiled, there was a gap between his teeth that only added to his roguish allure. It was absolutely unacceptable.
He tipped his hat with an easy, lazy motion, as he swept into a low bow. “Aye, you must be the lady of the house.” he said, his voice smooth and warm with the lilt of Ireland winding through it. “Jo O’Malley- pleasure to make your acquaintance, love.” His gaze flicked down the length of her, lingering just long enough to make her spine tingle. “Very much a pleasure.”
Hetty gasped audibly. “I- well I never-”
His grin only widened as he pushed off the banister, the belts at his waist clinking softly as he moved. The rapier hanging at his side swung with a practiced ease—a sword, of course. Just when she thought he could not get any more scandalous. “Ah, you’re fun,” he said, as though she were nothing more than a passing amusement. “I think I’ll stick around.”
And with that, he tipped his hat again and sauntered—sauntered!—through the front door leaving Hetty a stuttering mess.
———————————
Hetty Woodstone was in crisis. A full-blown, lace-tightening, pearl clutching, moral-panic-inducing crisis.
And the cause of said crisis? None other than that pirate.
For weeks now, Capitan O’Malley had been an unbearable presence in her afterlife. Always lounging about with that ridiculous swagger, flashing that roguish smile, and speaking in a voice that—heaven help her—was far too smooth for someone so deeply improper. Every time he called her love, she felt something inside her unravel. It was becoming intolerable.
Finally, when she could no longer bear it, she sought out Isaac in the library. Surely, of all the ghosts in the house, he would understand the sheer indecency of the situation.
“I cannot take it any longer!” Hetty declared, storming into the room. “That pirate—that man—is an absolute menace to propriety! And yet… and yet, despite his appalling behavior, I find myself—oh, this is so humiliating—I find myself drawn to him!” She shimmed, proverbial feathers rustled. “I cannot—will not—allow myself to become… smitten by some unkempt, half-dressed, sword-carrying brigand!”
Isaac tilted his head. “Well, I’ll grant you the sword is compelling.”
Hetty began to turn scarlet once again, a mixture of indignation, embarrassment, and well… something else entirely.
Isaac shrugged, remarkably nonchalant. “Oh, come now, Hetty. You must admit, the Captain is quite… dashing.” He gestured vaguely with his hand. “The jawline alone is a marvel of nature. And those eyes? Positively smoldering.”
Hetty’s mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water. “I- you- !”
“I’m not blind, Henrietta.” Isaac said matter-of-factly. “If circumstances were different—well, if she were different—I might be inclined to ‘shoot my shot’, as the youth say.”
Hetty immediately began to scoff, before coming to a screeching halt.
Wait.
Hetty blinked rapidly, her entire worldview teetering on the edge of collapse.
“…she?”
Isaac gave her a puzzled look. “Yes. She. Captain Johanna O’Malley is a woman, Hetty.”
Hetty felt like all the wind had been knocked out of her non-functioning lungs.
“You mean to tell me that the near shirtless, swashbuckling man I have been addressing as sir is, in fact, a woman?!”
Isaac stared at her in surprise, immediately raising his hands in a placating gesture. “To be fair, I assumed you’d piece it together yourself. It’s not as though she’s hiding it—Flower and Alberta have known for weeks. Frankly, I thought your fixation on her was more… deliberate.”
Hetty practically squeaked. “I am not deliberately attracted to-“ she looked around, voice dropping to a sharp whisper. “to a lady pirate!”
“Well, your subconscious clearly didn’t get the memo.”
Hetty sank into a chair, fanning herself weakly.
“I—I am utterly scandalized!” Hetty huffed. “This is the most indecent thing to have ever occurred in this house!”
“I don’t know,” Isaac mused. “You did marry your cousin.”
“That was different!” Hetty snapped, her face blazing red.
“Oh, Hetty. Just admit it—woman or not, you are absolutely besotted with the good Captain. And now that you know the truth…” He arched a knowing brow. “What will you do about it?”
Hetty opened her mouth to retort—only to realize she had absolutely no idea.