Alexis Carew: Books 1, 2, and 3

by J. A. Sutherland

  Oh, this’ll not go well. The lad had flown into Port Arthur the day before and would have had to rent transport to arrive at the holding, but if Alexis were the one visiting, she’d have rented a horse and ridden. Mayhap the lad thinks to squire her on a ride ‘round the countryside.

  Denholm leaned against the gatepost and waited for the buggy to arrive. He closed his eyes for a time and enjoyed the warm sun and the sounds of the farm behind him. He was curious to meet the lad, Daviel Coalson’s first son, as Denholm had not had much contact with the Coalsons since the colony ships had landed sixty years before — when the time had come to divide the system’s land, Denholm had drawn the position just before this boy’s grandfather, Rashae. It seemed that every round where Denholm chose first, he’d chosen the plot that was atop Rashae Coalson’s list, and the other man’s anger had grown with every turn.

  By the end of the choosing, Coalson’s rage had been obvious to everyone, the man seeming to take each of Denholm’s picks as a personal affront. Even the off-planet parcels Denholm chose infuriated the other man, claims in the system’s asteroid belt where it would be decades, if not generations before the colonists could begin exploiting. Some had even been concerned that Rashae might call Denholm out and the colony would have its first duel before they’d ever set foot on the planet. That first duel had come eventually, but not with Rashae — another holder had called Denholm out for some imagined slight, one of Rashae’s cohort. Denholm had always suspected that the elder Coalson had put the other man up to it.

  Well, Rashae’s long dead, but Daviel’s done his bit of carrying that grudge. Must’ve been fifteen years or more since ever I spoke to the man.

  And so it had been quite unexpected when he’d received a polite, if brief, note expressing Daviel’s understanding of the situation. Him suggesting, perhaps, it might be time for the two families to bury their differences, and wondering if his son, Edmon, might call upon them.

  Never had no differences to bury, for my part — and there’s not so many young men her age as are unattached.

  Soon he heard the hoof beats and the creaks and rattles of the buggy approaching and opened his eyes.

  Oh … dear.

  “Hoy! You there!” The young man driving the buggy pulled back on the reins to stop it. “I’m looking for the Carew estate — they told me in the village that it was up this road, have I missed it somehow?”

  Denholm studied him closely. A young man, only seventeen, but tall and slim, probably handsome in a way — and that was the last of anything Alexis was likely to appreciate. As for his elaborately curled blond hair or his dress, a long scarlet jacket over a rich brocade waistcoat in a startlingly bright green, if Alexis didn’t like the dress Denholm had gotten her, then he couldn’t imagine her being impressed by this lot.

  Not a bit of it made here on Dalthus, I’ll wager.

  While the colony had a thriving textile industry for local consumption, it was mainly plain cottons and linens, not the richer fabrics this young man wore. Denholm himself dressed not that much differently from his workers, preferring the rough, sturdy fabrics he’d worn when first settling the world.

  “Are you deaf man? The Carew estate, if you please!”

  “You’ve found it, lad,” he said, stepping forward briskly. “And himself, as well.”

  The young man looked around, bewildered. “Mister Carew?”

  Denholm laughed, extending his hand up into the buggy. “Not what you expected, lad?”

  “Well, no, sir.” He grasped Denholm’s hand. “Edmon Coalson, sir. I do apologize for my tone — I… well, your dress, sir.” He cleared his throat.

  Aye, and you’ll take that tone with a common farmhand easily enough. But much as he might not like it, Denholm knew it had become a common trait amongst the younger holders and their families. “No harm, I suppose — and you’re welcome, lad. The house is just across the yard. I’ll have someone see to your horse and buggy.”

  “Ah,” Coalson said. “The house is behind that barn there, then?”

  Denholm sighed. “No, lad. That would be the house.”

  Edmon flushed.

  “I know it’s not the great stone piles your father and his like prefer, but it’s been just Alexis and myself for many years.” He eyed the small house, decades old now and showing some wear, but still neatly kept. “And it’s full of memories for me.”

  “I, ah, see.” Edmon climbed down from the buggy while Denholm called over one of his hands to see to the horse. “I’m sure it will be a pleasant place for you to spend your declining years. Once you’ve turned the weight of the holding’s management over to someone younger, yes?”

  Denholm raised an eyebrow as they walked toward the house. “Wasn’t thinking of declining anytime that soon, lad.”

  “I… of course not, sir. Of course not.” He gestured at the farmhouse. “I simply meant it is a… comfortable place. Quite the thing, I’m sure.”

  Denholm nodded, though he doubted the lad had truly thought that. He’d seen some of the new houses the other holders had been building the last few years and heard of how the Coalsons led the pack — great stone edifices with every possible activity having its special room.

  And armies of indentures adding to their debt for the privilege of working the “great house”.

  “Well lad, let’s go and introduce you to Alexis, shall we?”

  “Well?” Denholm asked as Julia returned to the kitchen.

  Julia looked unsure. “They stopped talking when I went in. But they did seem a bit… flushed.”

  “‘Flushed’?” He set his tablet aside.

  “A bit red in the face and perhaps breathing heavier than they should.”

  “Well, then,” Denholm chuckled, pleased with himself. “Maybe the lad has some qualities she finds attractive after all.”

  Julia pursed her lips. “I wouldn’t get your hopes up, Denholm. There’s a fair distance between meeting and marriage.”

  A sudden screech of outrage came from the other room, followed by the crash of breaking china and a masculine, or at least, slightly lower-pitched screech.

  A moment later, Edmon burst into the kitchen, hair wet and tea streaming down his face. “Mister Carew! I really must protest this treatment! It is entirely unaccepta—”

  “Grandfather!” Alexis yelled, bursting through the door close behind him and shoving past Edmon. “Do you have any idea what this, this person has said?”

  “Alexis Arleen Carew!” Julia yelled. “Have you just thrown your grandmother’s best teapot?!”

  “Enough!” Denholm bellowed.

  Alexis stepped back to the doorway, but Coalson stepped forward.

  “Sir,” he began.

  “Said, enough!” Denholm bellowed again, causing the boy to back up. Denholm moved to put himself between Alexis and Edmon. “Now, Alexis, would you please explain why our guest has tea all over him, and please tell me you did not throw your grandmother’s best teapot at the boy.”

  “Of course not, I would never do that. I just dumped the tea on him.”

  “You see, sir!” Edmon yelled. “She admits to this most deliberate act!”

  Denholm held up his hand. “Lad, you will have your chance to speak your piece, but please let me hear from my granddaughter. Now Lexi, why?”

  “Well, grandfather, we started our conversation with a bit about how we’d each spent the day so far, and after a truly boorish and disrespectful—”

  “Lexi!” Denholm warned as he saw Edmon preparing to object again.

  “—description of the inadequacies of Port Arthur’s lodgings and buggy rentals. I acquainted Mister Coalson with my trip to the logging camp this morning. To which he responded that no proper lady should ever find herself in such a place and that. Certainly, his lady-wife would be forbidden such, for fear the sight of the lower-classes might ‘awaken her animal passions’.”

  “Lad?” Denholm asked in disbelief.

  “Sir, it is a well-known fac
t that the gentler-sex is quite prone to indiscretion and must be protected from temptation!”

  Denholm rubbed his forehead and sighed. “Two generations here and we’ve gone right ‘round the bend,” he muttered. “So then you threw the tea at him, Lexi?”

  “No, grandfather, I simply said —”

  “What she said, sir,” Edmon interrupted, then paused. “Well, what she said is scandalous, spurious, slanderous and libel, sir!”

  “Such nice alliteration,” Alexis said sweetly, “but then it went right out at the end.”

  “Sir!”

  “Lexi!”

  “And, sir,” Alexis continued, “libel and slander are the same, saving the one’s written. Shall I get my pencil and put it down for you, sir?”

  “And enough!” Denholm yelled again before Edmon could respond. “Lexi, what on earth did you say to the lad?”

  “Simply that, perhaps, his figurative lady-wife would have no need of strong, shirtless, sweaty laborers if she had more than a mewling child in her bedchamber!”

  “You see, sir!” Edmon yelled. “She admits it! Libel, I tell you!”

  “That’s the one what’s written, you ignorant divvy!” Alexis spat.

  “Alexis!”

  “I’m sorry, grandfather.”

  “No, you’re not, and you’ve still not explained the tea!” He turned his attention to Julia who stood in the doorway behind Alexis, hand to her mouth. “And no laughing, you!”

  “Then, grandfather, this… young gentleman you’d have me marry, suggested that a good thrashing might set me to rights.”

  Denholm turned to the boy, who had the good grace to look uncomfortable, and raised an eyebrow. “Lad?”

  “Well sir, it is the duty of the head of house to correct its members, is it not?”

  Denholm shook his head sadly. “Lad, what’re they teaching you over on the coast? You’ve gone clean off your nuts, you have.” He took a deep breath. “Well Lexi, I can’t blame you for the tea.”

  “That’s not when I dumped the tea on him, grandfather.”

  “No, sir!” Edmon asserted. “That is when she threatened to assault me! Grave assault, sir!”

  “Well, you’d just threatened to thrash her, you daft bug…” Denholm broke off, clenching his teeth. “What’d you threaten to do to the lad, Lexi?”

  “I threatened nothing, grandfather,” she answered. “I merely informed Mister Coalson that were he to thrash someone such as myself, he’d best sleep lightly behind a well-barred door, else his future lady-wife would have more dire need of those shirtless laborers.”

  “Grave assault, sir!”

  Denholm closed his eyes, dreading the answer. “And then?”

  “And then Mister Coalson informed me that I had confirmed what he had been told of me by others. That I was shrewish, plain and common.”

  Denholm shook his head. “Oh, lad.”

  Edmon straightened his shoulders and tried to smooth his damp hair. “I was sir, I admit, much put out and not myself at that time.”

  “Oh, I think you were yourself, lad. Much yourself, I’m sure. And then it was the tea, Lexi?”

  “Well no, grandfather. I informed Mister Coalson that I should be happy to consider his evaluation of me when, perhaps, he had gotten some new spectacles. For, as evidenced by his clownish attire, he is quite color blind and not at all well-sighted, you see.”

  “And then, sir,” Edmon interrupted in a wounded tone, “I, seeing that our discourse had gone horribly and bizarrely awry, you understand, I attempted to set things a’right.”

  Denholm covered his face with his hands. “What’d you say, lad?” he muttered.

  “Why sir, I simply told Miss Carew that I could not, truthfully, return such an insult in kind, for I did find her own attire most becoming and quite charming.”

  “And then I dumped the tea, grandfather.”

  Denholm turned to stare at her in shock, while Alexis glared past him at Edmon, eyes narrowed.

  “He liked the dress.”

  “I’m sorry about the tea, lad,” Denholm told Edmon as they waited in the farmyard for the Edmon’s buggy to be brought around. “And I’ll speak to your father about the costs of your travel.”

  “I apologize as well, sir. I’m afraid your granddaughter and I have some… incompatible views of the world. I fear I did lose my temper, as well.” He paused thoughtfully. “But, despite the inauspicious start, I had thought to stay in Port Arthur a few days longer. Perhaps, after some time for she and I to… cool down, as they say, I might return?”

  Denholm eyed him skeptically. “Even after the tea?”

  Edmon laughed. “My father is quite in favor of this match, sir. And Miss Carew is not altogether unattractive.”

  Denholm clenched his jaw.

  “Though she’s willful,” Edmon continued, “she’s still young. I’m sure a good, strong hand would see her guided out of that.”

  “‘A good, strong hand’?” Denholm cocked his head to one side.

  “You have, I think, indulged the girl, sir,” Edmon said as one of the farmhands arrived with his buggy. “But a husband will see her straight.”

  Denholm shook his head. “Best you leave now, lad, before any more’s said. It’s very clear you and my Alexis would make no match of it.”

  Edmon made no move toward his buggy, instead staring off into the distance. “I do wish you would reconsider, sir.”

  “Don’t expect I’ll be doing that, lad — and near certain Alexis won’t.”

  “That is… regrettable. As I said, my father is much in favor of this match. He wishes to see our two lands joined.”

  Understanding dawned and Denholm laughed ruefully. “Is it still all about those damned parcels for you Coalsons? Sixty or more years and you can’t let it go?”

  Edmon’s shoulders stiffened. “I’ve heard what you did, sir. Somehow discovering which parcels my grandfather would choose and taking them to spite him.”

  Denholm’s jaw dropped, then he chuckled. “Three generations you’ve told that tale? Lad, I had my own list of what I wanted, just like every other one of us. Near a hundred-thousand parcels to choose from and settle, between the planet and the belt, and only three-thousand of us choosing each round? There was plenty to go around.”

  “Then how, sir, with so many to choose from, did your choices so closely coincide with my grandfather’s?” Edmon turned to him, eyes narrowing. “Without some prior knowledge of his preference?”

  Denholm managed to control his temper, but just barely. He was far too old and the incident far too long passed for him to care about it, but being accused of something nefarious was not a thing he’d tolerate long. “I don’t know, lad. Mayhap it was chance or just similar tastes between Rashae and me… but it should make no difference now, and certainly not where Alexis is concerned.” He sighed. “I think it’s best you not return.”

  Edmon clenched his jaw tightly. “I believe you should reconsider your position, sir. And your granddaughter’s.” He gestured at his tea stained clothing. “She already has a reputation. When word of this gets out — and I assure you it will — you may find even fewer have interest than before. As time passes, her options will become more constrained — perhaps severely so.”

  “And what do you mean by that, lad?”

  “Simply sir, that a marriage to me now would mean an amiable settlement. After producing an appropriate number of children, she could live as she chooses … well, bound by propriety, of course. Later … perhaps my family will not be so generous. After all, your lands will become available upon your death, and Alexis will see none of it.”

  “I’ve no plans to die soon. Might be a long wait for that.”

  “Perhaps… and perhaps not. Accidents do happen, Mister Carew, as your family is so regrettably aware.”

  “Again, make clear your meaning, boy,” Denholm said.

  “I’m no boy, sir. I’ve fathered two bastards amongst the indentures on my father’s land
s, both healthy and strong. My meaning is simple. Between your granddaughter’s reputation and the risk of my family’s enmity, who but me do you think will have her? And, should something untoward happen to you, as it did to your son, what will happen to your Alexis then? Your lands will be sold, likely to my family, and she’ll be left a destitute tenant. Penniless in that village down there, beholden to the new landowner — who shall, in all likelihood, be myself. You must ask yourself which future you should wish for her.”

  “Can’t hold my lands if you’re dead, boy,” Denholm said quietly.

  “I…” Edmon turned to look at him finally. “What?”

  Denholm met his eyes. He could feel his face stiffen as his jaw clenched again. “Some might call what you just said a threat. Certainly not right — saying things like that to a man in front of his own home. Been a few years since I fought a duel, I admit, but, you’ll note, of those I fought it’s me standing here today. Your grandfather’s friend Gerner learned that lesson before we ever landed. Surprised you don’t pass down that tale as well.” He nodded toward the buggy. “So best you be off, before more’s said by either of us. Or, if you’ve more to say, I’ll know where my man can find you… and if you’ve aught to object to in me, then yours can surely find me here.”

  Edmon stalked angrily to the buggy and climbed into the seat. “You will regret this, sir!” he called back as he snapped the reins and drove off.

  Denholm watched the buggy drive away, eyes narrowed and considering. He’d known the Coalsons didn’t much like him, but hadn’t thought the hatred had run that deep or bitter. To come here and hide it, courting his granddaughter with that vast spring of bile inside — Denholm couldn’t fathom it. There’d be trouble, sure enough, when the boy returned home and told his father all that had happened.

  With a resigned sigh, Denholm walked back to the farmhouse and into the kitchen. Alexis sat at the table, head bowed with Julia’s comforting arm around her shoulders.