HMS Nightingale (Alexis Carew Book 4)

by J. A. Sutherland

  “Pulls back,” Alexis agreed. “Yes, I’ve noticed that.”

  “And always he looks to you as he … pulls back, yes? But it is not that he pursues you instead.”

  “I should hope not.” That would be more awkward than she’d like to deal with, if her first officer were to have such an interest in her.

  “It has seemed to me that he fears you,” Marie said, frowning.

  “Perhaps my disapproval,” Alexis mused. “It’s not quite proper for him to pursue you aboard Nightingale, after all, where he has other duties.”

  “Hmph.” Marie pouted again.

  Denholm shared a look with Julia. “I gather we’re missing a bit of information about this conversation.”

  Julia stood and snorted. “You might be, but I followed it well enough.” She patted Marie on the shoulder. “Give it time, girl. Some men take longer to get through to than others …” She frowned, lifted the teapot and filled Denholm’s cup. “‘course then there’re those dense as any stone.”

  Twenty-One

  31 October, Carew Farmstead, Dalthus System

  The evening was pleasantly cool with the slightest hint of a breeze — just the perfect evening Alexis remembered from her childhood. The afternoon had been pleasant as well — sunny and clear. Tomorrow Nightingale’s watches would come down for leave, port in the morning and starboard in the afternoon, but for tonight it was still only Alexis and the boat crew visiting her home.

  That boat crew was making the most of it. The Carew farmstead and village might not be a Naval station or frequent liberty port, but the people were friendly, the food was plentiful, and, if Alexis had cautioned them with regard to drink and how they conducted themselves here, there was more than one bottle being shared.

  Quite a few more than one, if the shouts and laughter from the indenture barracks were any indication; but both were still friendly, so Alexis had no worries. No worries about that at least.

  Without a word she rose and eased away from the group on the farmhouse’s porch. Her grandfather, Julia, and Marie were discussing something — likely some embarrassing event from Alexis’ childhood, as her grandfather liked to share — and she felt a sudden need for solitude.

  She settled herself onto the rough seat of a rope and board swing hanging from a tree midway between the farmhouse and indenture barracks. It seemed as stable as it had been before she left home, though perhaps the tree had grown some.

  She took a drink from the bourbon bottle Isom had brought down with her things and closed her eyes as the liquor burned its way down her throat. There’d been wine with dinner, but she felt the need for something more — glad as she was to see home again, the familiar, peaceful surroundings seemed to only remind her of the darkness she’d both witnessed and been part of since leaving.

  “Will you need anything else, captain?”

  Alexis turned to find Isom near the tree’s trunk. Behind him, she could see the others still on the porch. Villar had joined them for dinner and she could see him engrossed in conversation with Marie.

  “No, thank you, Isom,” she said. “Why don’t you go and bed down for the night?”

  Isom nodded, his eyes darted toward the bottle in her hand and he seemed about to say something, but then he nodded again.

  “Good night, then, sir.”

  “Good night.”

  Alexis turned away again to look out over the fields. Marie’s laughter rang through the night and Alexis felt her jaw and stomach clench. She drank from the bottle again to ease both.

  Villar’s pattern had continued through the evening. He was clearly taken with Marie, but would suddenly break off and become stiff and formal with worried glances at Alexis. It clearly frustrated the French girl, and, for Alexis’ part, she wished the man would get over whatever it was that was bothering him.

  Marie’s laughter rang again and Alexis tensed. She had to admit that when the two were enjoying each other’s company it did bother her. Not because she had any designs on Villar herself, or begrudged Marie a moment’s happiness, but because it reminded her too much of her own worries.

  With still no word from the fleet which had torn off into Hanoverese space under Admiral Chipley, there was no word either from the Berry March fleet or Delaine Theibaud. No word — and as time went on, less and less hope that the fleet, and all those manning it, hadn’t been taken or killed by the enemy.

  She drank again and stared up at the stars through the tree’s leaves. Somewhere out there, possibly in dire straits, was the man who could make her laugh as Marie was, and there was nothing she could do to find him or keep him safe.

  “Do you have any orders for the men, sir?”

  Alexis turned again, this time to find Villar by the tree trunk. She must have been staring at the sky far longer than she thought.

  “Orders?”

  “I thought I’d check on them — head off any trouble as the night wears on.”

  “I’m sure Mister Ousley and his mates have things in hand,” Alexis said. “You should enjoy yourself and rest. Lord knows we’ve little enough opportunity for such things.”

  Villar cleared his throat. He glanced back at the porch, then at Alexis.

  “I think it’s best if I check on them, sir, if you don’t mind.”

  Alexis shrugged.

  “As you will, Mister Villar.”

  “Thank you. Good night, sir.”

  “Good night.”

  She sighed and drank again. The bottle had grown lighter and she felt as though she might just have a dreamless sleep tonight. That was easiest when there was work to do — when she could concentrate on the ship’s business until her eyes grew so heavy she could barely keep them open, then drop onto her cot. Barring that, the bourbon helped.

  “Alexis? Are you well?”

  Marie passed the tree trunk and moved to the swing’s side.

  “As well as may be,” Alexis said. “Are you?”

  She could imagine the girl would be anxious at the thought of Alexis leaving her in this new place.

  Marie sighed. “The aspirant, he … to say, confuses?”

  Alexis nodded. “Yes, confuses would describe it well, I think.”

  “He makes to me the confuses,” Marie said firmly.

  Alexis hid a smile. “To me, as well, though likely for different reasons. I’m not at all sure what you see in him to begin with.”

  As she said it, Alexis realized it was none of her business, really, and wished she could recall the words, but Marie didn’t seem to take offense.

  “’e is a good man,” Marie said, her accent becoming a bit more pronounced.

  “I suppose.”

  “’is family has little wealth and he has joined your Navy to make ‘is way. The brother will inherit what there is and this world he is from ‘as little else for him.”

  Alexis raised an eyebrow. That was more than she herself knew of Villar’s past — and it explained a great deal. Without family wealth and connections, advancement in the Navy was difficult — she herself had advanced only for having been in the right, or wrong, places for significant events to occur. For others … well, the wardroom toast “to a bloody war or a sickly season” quite summed up what those without connections needed for advancement.

  It explained both Villar’s still being a midshipman at his age and his initial, perhaps ongoing, resentment of Alexis.

  “How do you know all that?”

  Marie shrugged and frowned. “I speak with ‘im,” she said.

  Alexis felt a twinge of guilt at that. Despite dining her officers in quite often on the sail from Zariah, she’d spent little time simply speaking with either Villar or Spindler — she didn’t include Poulter in that number, as the surgeon spoke with her quite a bit more than she’d otherwise prefer. He seemed as intent on speaking to her about her past as Lieutenant Curtice had been back on Lesser Ichthorpe, and she dearly wished to avoid him for that.

  Nevertheless, she should get to know her two midship
men better — as more than simply two cogs in the machine which was HMS Nightingale. It wouldn’t do to become overly friendly or personal, that wasn’t done, but she should have been aware of what had brought Villar to the Navy, at least.

  The most basic thing I think my first captain ever taught me — I can’t imagine how I’ve forgotten that.

  Marie yawned. “I will go to my bed, I think.” She raised her eyebrows. “Tú?”

  “I’ll sit a bit longer,” Alexis said. “Until I’m more tired.”

  Marie pursed her lips, eyed the bottle in Alexis’ hand, then sighed and walked back to the farmhouse.

  It was some time later, Alexis had lost track of how long again, before she heard footsteps behind her once more. She sighed and took another drink from the bottle’s neck, resisting the urge to turn and snap at whoever it was to just leave her be so that she could find a way to get through the night.

  “It’s a lovely night, Lexi-girl.”

  Alexis sighed, more glad that she hadn’t turned and snapped, as her grandfather didn’t deserve that.

  Sir, Captain, Lieutenant, Miss, Lexi-girl — I'm having to be far too many people to fit it all in my head. A bit of space to get it all sorted out for once wouldn’t do me any harm.

  Before she could say anything, her grandfather was behind her, rough hands grasping the swing’s rope and gently pulling it back. Alexis tucked the bottle between her legs and grasped the ropes herself as she had so many times when she was a child.

  Well, without the bourbon then, at least.

  He pushed the swing in gentle silence for a time, then said, “I missed this even before you went away.”

  “I did too, I think,” Alexis said. The motion was somehow settling and peaceful. Perhaps I should have a hammock mounted in my cabin, it might ease my nights. “But I’d stopped being a child, even then.”

  “Oh, aye,” Denholm said. “There’s times I wonder if you ever were a proper child, what with my dragging you about the holding every day.”

  “I learned a great deal, grandfather.”

  Alexis’ head was spinning a bit now. She thought she was speaking clearly, but her lips were numb. She took a deep breath. She didn’t want her grandfather to know how very much she’d had to drink — tonight or any of the other nights.

  He’s not Navy — he wouldn’t understand that it’s a part of our life, a bit of a wet is.

  “It’s late, the others have all gone in.” Her grandfather let the swing slow and offered her a hand.

  Alexis took it and stood, suddenly quite grateful for the hand as her head spun more and her legs wobbled. She’d been sitting for so long that she hadn’t felt the full effects of the liquor and it came on her all of a sudden. So much so that she almost dropped the bottle she grasped in her other hand.

  Her vision swum and she reached out to take hold of one of the swing’s ropes in order to steady herself more, but missed it and staggered. She might have fallen if someone — Isom she saw — hadn’t appeared at her other side to take her arm and help prop her up.

  “Thank you, Isom,” Alexis said, feeling very proud of herself for managing it after she realized just how difficult it suddenly was to form words.

  “Of course, sir. To bed, is it?”

  Alexis nodded, then regretted what it did to make her head spin more. She clenched her jaw and swallowed hard — the last thing she wanted was to spew in the farmyard on her first night home. Her grandfather might worry and certainly wouldn’t understand.

  He’s not Navy — he wouldn’t understand how very much a part of our life a bit of a wet is, she thought again.

  “Just a bit of a wet,” she said out loud for her grandfather’s benefit. “Missed Up Spirits while I was pressing those two miners in Port Arthur.”

  “This way, sir,” Isom said, “there’re steps to the house and stairs, but no challenge after a ship’s companionways, eh?”

  “No, no challenge at all,” Alexis said, allowing Isom to lead her.

  “Is she often like this?” her grandfather asked.

  Alexis heard the concern in his voice and felt both guilt that he worried for her and annoyance.

  As though three years in the Navy haven’t taught me to handle my drink!

  “Just a bit of a wet,” she repeated. She thought to pat his arm reassuringly, but couldn’t raise a hand, both arms still being held as the two men helped her back to the house.

  “More often since Giron, Mister Carew,” Isom was saying. “Better since she went aboard Nightingale — there’re troubles enough to keep her busy well into the night.”

  “I see,” Denholm said.

  Far too worried, Alexis thought. Isom wasn’t at all reassuring, but he wasn’t entirely a spacer himself. Just a pressed clerk who she’d been unable to get out of the Service despite her best efforts. I should write to Mister Grandy again and see if there’s a solicitor he recommends on Zariah — get Isom released so he can go home.

  “I shall write to Mister Grandy, Isom,” Alexis said, turning her head toward Isom so he’d know she was speaking to him. Her foot caught on a tree root and she stumbled, but Isom and her grandfather kept her upright. “Reverse your impressment, if we can.”

  “No need, sir, as I’ve said before. I’m satisfied.”

  Alexis shook her head. “No, no, it’s dangerous aboard ship for you — I should like to keep you safe.”

  “Thank you, sir, perhaps we’ll discuss it in the morning, then?”

  “Yes, very well. Remind me, shall you?”

  “I will, sir, thank you.”

  Alexis resumed moving toward the farmhouse, eyes alternating between her feet and the upcoming steps. She didn’t want to stumble again and worry her grandfather further.

  “Safe?” Denholm asked.

  “Thinks my safety’s on her, Mister Carew,” Isom said. “Mine, those lads from Hermione, their families, Miss Marie —” He grunted as they eased Alexis up the first step. “Well, you’ve seen how it is, sir.”

  Denholm sighed. “Too like her grandmother in protecting her own.”

  “If the lady was like to gut a man who threatens them and blame herself for every hurt and fault, aye,” Isom said.

  “I do not — ow!”

  “Watch your shins, Lexi-girl,” Denholm said, “the stairs’re steep.”

  “Up another, sir,” Isom said.

  Alexis frowned, working her way up the steps to the farmhouse. They’d been saying something she wanted to correct them on, but the what of it had run right out of her head.

  They entered the farmhouse and Alexis eyed the suddenly imposing staircase leading up to the bedrooms.

  No, it wasn’t so steep as a ship’s companionway, but neither had she been required to negotiate one of those after an evening’s drinking. Even without her own cabin as commander, her berth and bunk had been just a few steps from the wardroom or gunroom.

  She twisted to look past Isom.

  “Perhaps we shouldn’t disturb Marie,” Alexis offered. The farmhouse had only the two bedrooms upstairs and a small room off the kitchen for Julia. She frowned. “Did Julia ever get the tea out of the rug?”

  “For the most part,” her grandfather said, urging her toward the stairs. “But up you go, there’s no fair place to lie down here.”

  “I am sorry about that, grandfather,” she said, “but I was quite put out with that Edmon Coalson.”

  “It’s all past, Lexi-girl.”

  “I put his father down,” she said, “for what they did to us.”

  “Did to us?”

  Alexis regretted the words as soon as she’d said them. Oh, bugger — he’s not to know about that. She wracked her brain for what to say — her grandfather was already worried about her and she didn’t want that, nor for him to suspect a thing about what the Coalsons’ true involvement in her grandmother’s and parents’ deaths had been.

  “Bit of a wet?” she offered, hoping to explain things away and let him see that her condition was
simply the natural state of a Naval officer, especially one off the ship and effectively on a bit of leave.

  “What did you mean, ‘did to us’?”

  Well, that didn’t work at all — what would make him forget it and think I’m just a lieutenant blowing off steam with a good bit of drink? What do the hands do when they’re drunk?

  There were several things — though, a brawl was unlikely to improve matters and there were no port-wives come aboard for her to sport with, not that she would.

  Which leaves … I suppose …

  “Farewell an’ adieu to you fair Hso-Hsi ladies,” Alexis sang, trying to keep a cheerful look on her face.

  “What?”

  “Up the stairs, sir,” Isom prodded, “a nice soft bed’ll do you right.”

  Alexis worked her way up the steps, grandfather and Isom assisting, and working her way through the shanty all the while.

  “We’ll rant an’ we’ll roar, like New London sailors!”

  “Do you have any idea what she meant by that?” Denholm asked.

  “She don’t talk about that Coalson much, sir,” Isom said. “And I wasn’t with her when she went into Hanover with that pirate Dansby.”

  “What?”

  “From Penduli to Ichthorpe is …” Alexis tried, louder. Her grandfather wasn’t supposed to know about that, either. All that bloody sneaking about business of Mister Eades of the Foreign Office was to remain as hushed as possible. But she never could remember this verse because she was forever thinking she should calculate the proper distance and make it fit, “… is …. Is too bloody far,” she muttered before moving on to the next verse.

  “There’s more to what she’s done than’s in the Gazette or letters home, Mister Carew,” Isom was saying. “More than I know, even.”

  Alexis reached out a hand to cover his mouth, but missed and stumbled toward the wall before they righted her.

  “Which is why she needs such taking care of.”

  “Dear lord,” Denholm muttered.

  They reached the top of the stairs and eased open the door to Alexis’ room.

  “We stood by our stoppers, we brailed in our spankers!”

  Alexis thought she should probably quit singing now, before she woke Marie or, worse, Ferrau, but she’d started this to distract her grandfather and must see it through. Besides, having started, she suddenly realized she had quite a nice singing voice. And, she saw as they entered her room, she needn’t have worried.