Marie was already out of bed and Ferrau, though awake, wasn’t crying. He’d worked his way over to the bars of his crib and was staring at Alexis with wide eyes, a string of drool running down his pudgy chin, and no more sound than the occasional giggle.
Quite the thing, my singing.
“Let every man here drink up his full bumper!”
“You’ve managed that, sir, no doubt. Just give me the bottle then,” Isom said.
Alexis let him take the bourbon from her hand, it was nearly empty as it was and she was quite ready for bed.
“Let every man here drink up his full bowl!”
“Again?” Marie asked.
She and Isom began working at removing Alexis’ uniform.
Alexis thought she should object to that. Her grandfather was here and she didn’t think he understood the sort of close quarters spacers lived and worked in. The breath went out of her in a loud oof that interrupted her singing as the two sat her down and pushed her back onto the bed to remove her boots and trousers.
At least my boots will be clean in the morning, with that vile creature locked up back aboard Nightingale.
“And let us be jolly and drown melancholy!”
“And you say this is common?” Denholm asked.
Alexis felt she wasn’t quite able to get the proper volume to do the song justice as her bed was wonderfully soft and warm. As soon as her trousers were off she rolled away from the others, burrowing into that warm softness, and felt blessed darkness come over her.
“Drink a health to each jovial an’ true-hearted soul,” the last verse came out in a whispered murmur.
Isom said. “Not the worst she’s been and not the best.” He paused. “The singing’s a new bit, though.”
Twenty-Two
1 November, Carew Farmstead, Dalthus System / 5 November, Port Arthur, Dalthus System
The next morning was not as Alexis had envisioned her homecoming would be.
Her head and stomach rebelled against the treatment of the night before, and she was forced to admit to herself that she’d taken on more drink than was usual.
No one said a word, but the raised eyebrows and silent questions in those glances made her flush whenever her grandfather or Julia looked her way. She was used to such things from Isom, less so from Marie, but to receive them from her family gave her pause.
It’s the idleness. Too much time for thoughts of the past.
She told herself that, as she was aware she’d felt the same aboard the packet from Lesser Ichthorpe to Zariah. Nightingale had given her a welcome set of tasks, keeping her days and thoughts full enough that she didn’t feel the need to dull them in other ways — at least not so much as she did when idle.
That made her planned stay at the family holdings more difficult, though, as she’d be nothing but idle here, and she made a sudden decision over breakfast to avoid that.
The looks on her grandfather’s and Julia’s faces when she announced that she wouldn’t be staying after all were painful, but she thought it best.
She and her crew would leave that very day and be about Nightingale’s business of visiting the other settlers.
Isom gave her a look also — reproving, she thought, but her mind was made up. More so as she saw Isom and her grandfather in some discussions as the boat was being loaded with supplies. She couldn’t think what they might have to talk about but her and wished to be away before any more secrets were shared.
The crew grumbled at the news, as they’d been looking forward to a bit of leave, but they brightened when Alexis said she’d bring a new boat crew down from Nightingale with each visit to a farmstead. Just the chance to breathe fresh air that didn’t smell of half-a-hundred men crammed together in too little space was a treat and most of Dalthus’ holdings were willing to put on a meal in exchange for news and the sight of fresh faces.
She only needed a bit of time, she thought, to busy herself with Nightingale’s business and settle all those thoughts which had disturbed her the night before firmly in their place. Then she could come back and enjoy a visit, perhaps even explain to her grandfather that her behavior wasn’t so bad as he might think.
For now, though, it was on to the other settlers, then a final night in Port Arthur and Edmon Coalson’s promised dinner.
Lavish.
That was the only description Alexis felt worthy of Edmon Coalson’s Port Arthur home and dinner party.
From the house itself — set back from the newly cobbled street in growing Port Arthur and surrounded on all sides by a high, spike-topped wall — to the meal set before her in the dining room, all was lavish.
So lavish, that Alexis wondered at the expense and how Coalson, who had no access to the vast sums pouring into Dalthus from the gallenium mines, could afford it.
His family’s banned from the most profitable export we have, yet he can spend like this?
The table was local — made from varrenwood, she noted wryly, as the Coalsons had no tracts of the wood and would have had to purchase it from her grandfather or one of his friends — but the tableware was all imported. China plates and dishes beyond the means of Dalthus’ current craftsmen. Cutlery of gold, which no one on Dalthus bothered to mine, as it had little local use yet and wasn’t worth exporting.
No fewer than seven servants waited on the twenty guests seated around the table, one of whose purpose seemed to be solely standing to the side and glaring at the others.
He can have his indentures do as he likes, I suppose, but it does seem an extravagance.
Alexis glanced at Coalson from the corner of her eye as one of the servants removed her finished plate. The food, at least, had been locally grown — Dalthus had been colonized long enough for full variety to take root in gardens and fields.
She was seated to Coalson’s right. Villar was seated near the table’s far end, as befit his rank, though he’d looked unhappy about it until Marie was seated across from him.
Across from Alexis was Lilian Scudder, who Coalson seemed to be wooing, or at least escorting for the dinner. Or possibly it was Coalson’s younger brother Herne, seated to her left, who was doing the wooing — Alexis had a bit of trouble keeping it straight, as the woman appeared to be flirting with both men equally.
To her own right was Charles Warriner, heir to a family suspected of being involved with the Coalsons in their illegal gallenium mining, but never proven so.
With Marie and Villar seated so far away, Alexis felt as though she was treading waters filled with sharks.
Sharks and a particularly vapid remora, she thought, as Scudder tittered at something Herne Coalson whispered too low for Alexis to hear.
While she’d grown quite used to Marie playing the coquette, she knew the girl was still very bright and only playing at it. With Scudder, she wasn’t entirely certain — and the dinner conversation had done nothing to inform her. Though Coalson had said he invited Alexis to discuss matters to do with the colony, they’d stayed with the convention of not discussing business over the meal.
Instead Alexis now had a more thorough knowledge of the Port Arthur social set than she ever thought she’d need — though the knowledge that the town now had a decent theatre company was good to hear. She’d picked up an interest in live theatre on her last commission, but most of the shows performed on Naval stations were aimed at the tastes of the common hands — rough, bawdy bits — so she’d had little chance to indulge.
That kept her from engaging in much of the conversation, as well, for she was certain a description of the sorts of shows Penduli Station put on for the common spacers would give Miss Scudder the vapors.
The sound of pleased gasps drew her attention back to the table, where Coalson was grinning widely at his guests’ reactions.
What they were impressed by was a levitating disk which had just entered the room. It slowly made its way down the table, starting with Coalson, and deposited a fresh glass in front of each guest, then filled it with wine.
; Alexis had seen these servers before in her travels, but it was new on Dalthus. Perhaps one or two of the others had traveled far enough coreward to have seen such things, but the others hadn’t, and the display of wealth and ostentation for Coalson to have had the serving unit shipped here was impressive to everyone.
The looks on the faces of the indentures who’d served the meal were another thing entirely, and Alexis could tell they were none too pleased to see the technology enter their realm.
It was odd, really. On Dalthus, and other worlds with lower technology bases, the human servants were the norm and the mechanical was a sign of wealth — while on worlds like Penduli, where the machines could readily be manufactured, it was the opposite, with clubs like Dorchester’s employing exclusively humans to serve their wealthy clientele.
“Ah! It’s arrived, Edmon, good for you!” Warriner exclaimed as his glass was filled and the device moved on. He waited until everyone was served then raised his glass to Coalson. “First on Dalthus, a real coup for you.”
Coalson beamed and nodded as the other guests raised their glasses in turn. Alexis sipped politely, though she really didn’t see what honor there might be in ordering a device and having it shipped to you.
“I was the one told Edmon about these, you know?” Warriner went on. He sat straighter and took a deep breath. “After my last visit, to Tunstead, it was. Quite the thing there. Dinners at Dorchester’s every night — family’s a member, you know —” He waved a hand dismissively. “Distant cousin, but family all the same, yes?” The hand now waved wildly about his head, causing Alexis to edge away for fear of being struck. “Bloody things buzzing all about — could hardly straighten in one’s seat for fear of being struck.”
I quite know how that must have felt, Alexis thought, edging farther away while trying not to appear rude, as Warriner’s fingertips brushed past her face.
“In any case, I told Edmon about that and straightaway he determined he was to have the very first on Dalthus for himself. Good show, man!” Warriner raised his glass again and drained half of it. “Honored you invited me to its debut!”
Alexis raised her glass to sip again, unable to keep the amusement from her face.
“Do you not find the device impressive, Miss Carew?” Warriner asked.
In truth, Alexis didn’t — well, she had when she’d first seen one, so she supposed she couldn’t fault the guests for feeling the same, but she didn’t recall being quite as impressed as the others made out. Nor did she find it at all impressive that there was now one on Dalthus, what with there being an entire space station being built above their heads at this very moment.
“It is a fine device, Mister Warriner.” She nodded to Coalson, giving him that at least. “And an impressive feat to bring one to Dalthus only two generations after our founding, I’m sure, Mister Coalson.”
Coalson nodded back and Alexis supposed she should leave it at that, but it was the third time during the meal that Warriner had referred to her as “Miss Carew”, entirely ignoring her Naval rank. Even Coalson had used her rank and Warriner’s failure to do so, despite hearing it from others, irked her more than it really should for some reason. Possibly more because it seemed to indicate a dismissal of the Service itself, rather than any slight to her personally.
Her jaw tightened and she tapped her collar where her lieutenant’s insignia, parallel bars crossed with the fouled anchor of New London’s Navy, were pinned.
“And it’s ‘lieutenant’, if you please, sir,” she said, keeping her voice pleasant with an effort. “Or ‘captain’, if I’m acting in my capacity as commander of Nightingale, come to that.”
Warriner raised an eyebrow.
“Lieutenant and captain?” he asked, then laughed and ran his eyes over her. “Seems that would be too many people to stuff into so slight a package.”
“Charles,” Coalson said, a bit of sternness in his voice.
Warriner drank again and the floating device came over to refill his glass as he set it down.
“Oh, just a bit of a joke, Edmon.” He nodded to Alexis. “I’m sure Miss … I mean, Lieutenant … that is, Captain Carew has thick enough skin, what with her time in the Navy and all.”
“Quite,” Alexis said quietly, taking a much smaller sip of her own wine. “I’ve heard the like from the impressed hands, or even a bosun, aboard ship often enough.”
Alexis set her glass down in the sudden silence, not looking at Warriner, but instead catching Coalson’s eye. If she wasn’t mistaken, she saw his lip twitch a bit, and when she ran her eyes down the table she definitely caught Villar covering his mouth with a hand. She didn’t need to look at Warriner, as she could see his face redden from the corner of her eye.
While she’d agreed with him, she’d also compared his comment, and effectively himself, to not only the common hands aboard ship, but those caught up by the Impress Service — drunks and criminals from the gaols, mostly — and not the officers who were gentlemen.
She let the silence build for a moment, then, as she saw Warriner’s mouth open, she spoke again before he could.
“Now when I was at Dorchester’s on Penduli, the dinner was served by an entirely human staff with nary a robotic server in sight. Odd how the more developed worlds like that have eschewed the robotics in the finer establishments, while the younger ones, such as Tunstead where you visited, Mister Warriner, have them all the rage.”
Alexis raised her glass to Coalson, not wanting to take from his pride in bringing the device to Dalthus with her dig at Warriner. He was her host, after all, and had really been quite proper since she’d returned home. Perhaps he was changed from when she’d last encountered him — it had been three years, after all.
“I do find it lovely how Mister Coalson has merged both fashions,” she said, waving her glass at the device and the human servants along the wall. “Quite innovative, don’t you think, Miss Scudder?”
Across from her, Scudder jumped as though suddenly shocked. Her eyes widened.
“Yes,” she said. “Oh, yes. Best of both worlds, yes!”
“So your family is a member of Dorchester’s, lieutenant?” Warriner asked.
Alexis repressed a sigh. She’d rather suspected a man like Warriner wouldn’t like being one-upped like that and almost felt sorry for him, because she’d prepared her response to the question she’d known would come at the same time she’d mentioned the exclusive club. It galled her to play this game, but damned if she’d let the man insult the Navy and get away with it. If he wanted to wade farther in, she’d let him.
“Oh, no, Mister Warriner. Not the Carews here on Dalthus, at least.” She supposed the families her grandparents had left behind on New London when they’d come to found the colony might be members — they were quite wealthy, after all — but she knew little of them other than that they hadn’t approved of her grandparent’s choice to colonize and they’d become estranged.
She turned her attention back to Warriner. “No, I was a mere midshipman at the time — a ‘snotty’ in the parlance of the Navy.” She smiled tolerantly. “One more persona stuffed into my package, I suppose.”
Warriner flushed.
“So some Naval function then?” he asked, his tone dismissive.
Alexis raised her glass to sip again. If you’d only stop the questions, it would end, Mister Warriner, she thought, then aloud, “No, sir, I was dining with Lord Atworth.”
The silence, as she’d expected, enveloped the table. While there were one or two families on Dalthus, like Warriner, who were distant branches of some peerage, most had simply acquired enough wealth to buy into the colony corporation at its start. For the younger generations here, who’d likely never leave the planet, much less the system — though that might be changing with the growing gallenium processing in orbit — the lords and ladies coreward were like some untouchable myth. Despite his family’s relation, Warriner had not likely met anyone with an actual title when he traveled.
“You din
ed with a peer?” Lilian Scudder asked, awe fairly dripping from her voice.
“Only a baron,” Alexis said, then frowned, “though I did read in the Gazette that his father, the Earl, was ill.”
Alexis didn’t feel the need to tell them that she considered Lieutenant Williard, Lord Atworth, a bit of a whingey prat. The second lieutenant aboard Hermione had done nothing to offset the vile Captain Neal’s treatment of her or the crew, nor bothered to stand up for them during their trial for mutiny upon returning to New London space. The best she could say of him, in fact, was that he hadn’t joined that captain and other officers in their lies and attempts to paint Alexis as an enemy provocateur who’d instigated the mutiny.
“Well,” Coalson said with a sharp look at Warriner, “perhaps I’ll now set a fashion of having both and we’ll see that make its way back to the Core!”
Several of the guests laughed at that, far more than the jest warranted as it was clear Coalson simply wanted to head off further confrontation, and Warriner glared at Alexis.
If you had ever told me Edmon Coalson would not be the most offensive person at a table, I’d have scorned you for a liar — yet here he’s met his match and more.
As the laughter faded, Lilian Scudder stood, one of the servants pulling her chair back.
“At that, ladies,” she said, “I believe it’s time for us to withdraw and let the men get on with their tedious discussions of business matters. If you’ll —”
She broke off and frowned, looking at Alexis.
“That is, we … um …”
Alexis looked from Scudder to Coalson, who was frowning with consternation as well. It might be the norm on Dalthus now for the women to withdraw to another room for a time after dinner, allowing the men time with their port and business conversation about their lands, but that didn’t take into account what to do when the one you wanted to discuss business with was one of the women.
HMS Nightingale (Alexis Carew Book 4) Page 16