Alexis Carew: Books 1, 2, and 3

by J. A. Sutherland

  The woman smiled and slid the hatch fully open. “Of course, dear, come in.” Alexis entered into a nicely appointed sitting room and the woman slid the hatch shut behind her. “What did you have in mind?”

  Alexis felt herself sway, possibly the last glass of port catching up with her, and she closed her eyes to a wave of dizziness. “Just something nice for the night, before I have to go back aboard ship.”

  “Something nice?” the woman asked and Alexis opened her eyes to find her smiling curiously. “Nothing more specific for me to work with, dear?”

  “Well, no, I suppose. It’s just for one night, after all.”

  The woman reached out and took one of Alexis’ hands in hers. “Is this your first time, dear?”

  Alexis blinked. “I suppose it is, yes. I went straight from home to aboard one ship or another, and haven’t spent much time in port, you see. Is that somehow important?”

  The woman’s face softened. “Oh, dear, yes, I think it is.” She smiled. “But you just trust old Chelsea here, I’ll see you right.” She turned to a screen hanging on the bulkhead which showed rows of red and green circles. “Yes, that’ll do nicely,” she said, tapping one and changing it from green to red. “The whole night, you said?”

  “Yes, I’ve to be back aboard for the Forenoon Watch.”

  “All right, then. One pound seven and we’ll see you on your way in time to meet your ship.”

  Alexis stared at her in shock. A full pound and seven shillings for a night’s stay in a room? Well, I did ask for something nice, I suppose. She’d never before even priced a room, so had no idea what it should cost. And she was definitely feeling the effects of the drink, her head felt stuffed with cotton and she wanted nothing more than to lay her head on pillow and sleep the night away.

  And it’s not as though I’ve aught else to spend my pay on otherwise. Without taking new stores aboard ship with her, and there was only so much she could eat and drink in port on those rare occasions she was allowed off Hermione, her accounts had accumulated a tidy sum on top of her earlier prize money. She’d also saved what she would have spent that night, what with Williard treating her to a fine dinner and finer drink. Nodding, she pulled out her tablet and made the payment.

  “Compartment seven, dear, just at the top of the stairs there.”

  “Thank you.”

  Alexis climbed the stairs and slid the hatchway open on room seven. Though space was at a premium on board stations, it wasn’t so bad as aboard ships, and the compartment she entered was, perhaps, four meters square — a large compartment aboard station. Softly lit, with chairs and an inviting divan. The bed itself was larger than the entire midshipman’s berth she shared with Timpson. And all to myself. There was another hatch on the opposite bulkhead, which she assumed led to a private head. She smiled widely and slid the hatch shut behind her, then tossed her beret onto a chair and shrugged out of her uniform jacket and tunic. A real bed again, she thought, tossing her trousers after her jacket and climbing onto the bed in her underthings. And a proper bath in the morning. She spread her arms and legs to the corners, reveling in the space and the softness of the mattress.

  “So y’ave me fer the night entire, eh, lass?”

  Alexis sprang up. There was man standing in the now open hatchway to the head. The light silhouetted him from behind. He wore a towel wrapped around his waist and nothing else. A short towel. His long, curly, dark hair was tied back and his teeth shone brightly against his tanned skin. Muscles rippled under his skin as he stepped toward the bed and raised one leg to kneel on it. A very short towel …

  “Oh … dear.”

  Five

  Alexis came awake slowly and reluctantly. Her eyes felt filled with grit and her head pounded. She moved her mouth slowly, grimacing at the feel of her coated tongue. She clenched her eyes shut and burrowed her face into the smooth, warm body next to her.

  Her eyes flew open, blinking.

  Her cheek was pressed against someone’s chest and she was looking down an expanse of brown, muscle-rippled skin to where her arm was draped over a blanket-covered waist. Her own legs were pressed against bare skin, one of them thrown over the man next to her.

  Alexis froze, trying to make sense of the previous night. She remembered most of the dinner clearly, but things became quite … blurry thereafter. She remembered looking for a room and following a boy who’d promised her something nice. And wasn’t that a brilliant thing to do. A vague recollection of falling into a soft, warm bed. And, curiously, a towel, which made little sense. She blinked again and the clearer view of the swathe of skin she rested against brought a much more vivid image of the towel, as well as a flush of heat to her face.

  She pondered, for a moment, how she might gather her clothes, she still seemed to be wearing her underthings, at least, and escape without waking …

  Oh … my … did I ever learn his name, at least?

  “Awake, lass?”

  Alexis clenched her jaw and swallowed as the blood drained from her face. So much for that, then. Now all she had to do was decide if she’d be less likely to die of embarrassment by sitting up and looking him in the eye, or staying where she was. The man shifted position and the blanket started to slide down his waist. Alexis bolted upright, spinning her legs around to face the wall behind the bed’s headboard. Her eyes widened and her mouth dropped open at the sight of the man’s face.

  Black, curly hair framed a rugged face with a strong chin. For a moment, she focused on his eyes, a deep, brilliant blue that drew her in, until he smiled and her gaze dropped to his mouth and his even, white teeth surrounded by full lips.

  He raised an eyebrow. “Something, lass?”

  Alexis felt herself blushing again. “Um, yes, last night …”

  “A bit muddle-headed aboot things, are ye?”

  Alexis nodded.

  The man smiled again. “It were a bit awkward at the first, I’ll admit, but after the cryin’ and the carryin’ on were over, it’s settle in to a fine evening, we did, lass.”

  Alexis felt herself blanch, the blood draining from her face. And if it would only pick a place and stay there, instead of ever moving about, I might find a way through this.

  “I … that is to say, we … and, by that, I mean you …”

  The man threw his head back and laughed. “We talked, lass. After you explained yer … misunderstandin’.”

  Alexis swallowed again. For as dry as her mouth was, she seemed to be doing a lot of that. “Talked?”

  “Well and it’s you who did the talkin’, fer the most part, and me the listenin’. We’re right good at that bit, we are.”

  “We?”

  “Us who work the houses.”

  Alexis flushed again. Oh, sweet heavens, he said it. I spent the night in a house, there’s no denying now. But talking?

  “What … did I …” She couldn’t imagine what she might have said, about Captain Neals or Hermione, perhaps, and what might happen if anyone found out.

  “A bit o’ this and a bit o’ that. It’s nae a happy ship yer aboard, an’ that’s the truth.” He brought his arms up and laced his fingers behind his head and Alexis found her eyes drawn from his face to the very interesting things this did to his chest muscles. “Lass?”

  Alexis shook her head, tearing her eyes away. She bit her lip. “I … should not have spoken so, I think.”

  He reached out and wrapped his hand around one of hers. “Nae fear, lass. Were us in the houses to speak aught o’ what were cried into our bosoms, the Navy’d come a’screechin’ to a halt, an’ that’s no lie.” He smiled as her eyes widened. “What? And it’s thinkin’ yer the first midshipman to find a bit o’ comfort an naught else? Nor lieutenant nor captain, neither, come to that.”

  Alexis glanced sideways at the bosom in question. And was that a fancy or is there aught I’ll wish I could remember clearer?

  “So …” Alexis cleared her throat and glanced away. “So, we didn’t …”

  “
Nae, lass, yer Philip-lad’s nae to worry aboot.”

  Alexis froze, eyes wide again. What on earth else did I say last night? Philip Easley from Merlin was a friend and nothing more. Yes, there’d been a moment or two and a bit of thought, but they’d never so much as spoken about anything more. He was far away, on another ship — and if they ever did again serve on the same ship, well, nothing could come of any feelings that might exist, for such things were forbidden between officers serving together.

  A chime started sounding, gradually increasing in volume.

  “That’s my tablet.” Alexis slid off the bed and dug through her uniform for the tablet. “It’s time I went back to the ship.” She started dressing quickly, blushing as she saw the man watching her. “Must you?”

  The man laughed and slid off the opposite side of the bed. He was, Alexis was relieved to note, wearing a bit more than the towel she remembered from the night before, then her gaze rose to his back and she gasped. The expanse of brown skin was marred with a crisscross mass of scars. He turned and saw her shocked look.

  “Oh, aye, spent a bit of time afore the mast, I did.” His face split in a wide smile. “Then found I were far too pretty to spend my days in a vacsuit.” He pulled a loose, white shirt from a drawer and slid it over his head. “I’ll say this aboot our talk, lass. Your lieutenant’s a worse man than that Captain Neals you told me of.”

  Alexis froze in buttoning her uniform jacket. Had he really just suggested that Lieutenant Williard was worse than Captain Neals?

  “That captain? He don’t know what’s wrong, or flat don’t care. The lieutenant, though? He sees the wrong and does nae a thing? How much worse is that?”

  Alexis frowned. “No lieutenant can stop a captain doing as he likes on his own ship.”

  “Nae what I’m saying, lass. Nae at all.” He pursed his lips in thought. “A man meets yer captain,” he said finally, “and he’s the worse fer it. Same man meets yer lieutenant, is he the better?” He frowned. “His way seems t’be just givin’ up. I dinnae ken givin’ up in the face o’ that. Fightin’ what y’can, e’en a wee bit, that I ken.”

  Alexis considered this. She wasn’t entirely sure that she remembered Lieutenant Williard’s words at dinner all that clearly, but she did recall being uncomfortable with them at the time. So much of what Williard had suggested to her seemed to be about protecting himself until he was in some better position to do something, with little thought to helping others, such as the crew, who had no such option. Still, she wasn’t at all certain what she could do.

  “I’ll think on that, thank you.” She smoothed her jacket and set her beret atop her head. “And thank you, as well, for … listening.”

  He came around the bed and slid the hatch to the hall open. He met her eye and grinned. “You paid for the time, lass. How we spend it’s up to you.” He raised his eyebrows. “Though, perhaps, next time …”

  Alexis flushed and hurried through the hatch and down the stairs. In the main room, she saw the woman she recognized from the night before speaking to another woman, younger and looking uncertain, dressed in the jumpsuit of a merchant shipping line. Alexis caught the younger woman’s gaze and they each looked away quickly as she hurried to the hatch back to the corridor.

  “Lass!”

  She turned at the hatchway to find the man from upstairs — now wearing a long robe, but having left it untied — on the stairs.

  “Cort,” he said, grinning broadly at her look of confusion. “Cort Blackmon. Case you were wonderin’ … or fer next time yer in port, if you come askin’.”

  The chandler eyed the list of stores she’d transferred to his tablet and nodded.

  “Aye and I’ve most of this lot I can have aboard afore your ship sails, but not the last bit. Not if it’s the actuals you’re after,” he said.

  “The actuals?” With still several hours before she was due back aboard Hermione, Alexis had stopped into one of the many chandleries to have personal stores sent aboard. If they were to be pilfered by the others in the midshipman’s berth, then they’d be pilfered, but she’d no longer allow them to make her change her ways over it — or, at least, not in the way they might want or suspect. Fight what I can and not give up, aye.

  “Is it the actual Scotch whiskey you’re after? I’ve bourbons aplenty, rye if you want it, and Irish — well, anywheres there’re two brogues and a copper pot there’ll be the Irish made. But the Scotch now that’s different — there’s but three places it’s made, do you see? The home province back on Earth, a few areas of New London, and New Glasgow, a’course.” He ran his fingers over his tablet. “Now there’s Hendly & Sons, planet-side, they import a bit of it, but I’m not sure I could have it brought up a’fore your ship sails.” He paused and looked Alexis over. “Meanin’ no offense, sir, but it’d be right dear. An hundred or more pounds the bottle for the least …”

  Alexis raised her eyebrows, eyes wide. An hundred pounds for a single bottle? That was outrageous. A bottle of perfectly fine claret cost less than a pound, though she knew there were many vintages that would cost more. Still she’d never heard of anything that cost so much as that.

  It wasn’t entirely beyond her means. She still had over a thousand pounds on account from her time aboard H.M.S. Merlin and the Prize Court’s odd accounting of the captured pirate ship Grapple. Though Merlin had taken the prize, Alexis had been in command of the small prize crew that was sailing her back to port. The pirates left aboard to sail the ship had managed to retake her during a darkspace storm, making Alexis and the three surviving Merlins captive. One of them, Robert Alan, had pretended to go over to the pirates, and only through his actions were Alexis and the others able to retake Grapple a second time and sail her into port.

  The Prize Court, in reading about the taking, retaking, and then reretaking of the ship, had so bollixed up the events that they’d thought Alexis had been in command of a ship named Grapple that had taken a second ship, also named Grapple. They’d then awarded all of the prize money for the capture to Alexis and the three others, though Robert Alan’s award had been to his estate, as he’d been killed in fighting.

  Mister Gorbett, Merlin’s elderly sailing master, the surviving spacer, Peters, and Alan’s estate had each received over four hundred pounds in the award, while Alexis, having been placed in command, had received over two thousand — the three eighths of the award normally given to the commander of a ship under Admiralty Orders and not part of a fleet, as well as the two eighths that would have gone to any midshipmen or junior warrant officers aboard. Those two eighths she’d gotten the crew of Merlin to accept as their due, since they were the ones who’d originally taken Grappel, but the three-eighths remaining had still amounted to over twelve hundred pounds.

  Even after making sizable donations to the families of two marines who’d been killed aboard Grappel before she was retaken, and thus received no award from the Prize Court, Alexis had been left with a considerable sum. Added to that was her share, quite a lot smaller, of the other ships Merlin had taken while she was aboard.

  And the ships Hermione’s taken add up to a tidy sum, as well. Though the Prize Courts, after a shocking display of alacrity just as the war with the Republic of Hanover had begun, had reverted to their more normal course of spending months in deliberation before rendering a judgment on each prize. Neither Alexis nor any of the other crew of Hermione had seen aught but promises and dreams from the frigate’s captures. Naught but a stack of drafts promising a share of some future decision, though that doesn’t stop the crew from selling theirs at pennies on the pound to any prize agent they come across. Perhaps the one bright point to Captain Neals’ habit of confining his crew to the ship was that they weren’t to be so easily cheated out of their future awards by the temptations of a moment’s pleasure.

  “Sir?” the chandler prompted.

  Ah, yes, temptations. And a ‘dark path’, indeed, Lieutenant Willard. She considered the number of glasses that had been poured in Do
rchester’s the night before. Baron must pay quite a bit better than lieutenant.

  “Could you, perhaps, recommend something?” she asked. “That would be a bit dear, but I was only introduced to this last evening — I fear I have no experience at all with whiskeys.”

  “Aye, now there’s a fine bourbon from right here on Penduli that I could recommend. Three shillings the bottle — not the least cost, but a decent drink and not the dearest, neither.”

  “I’ll be guided by you then. A bottle of that and I’ll return for more if it’s to my liking.” The chandler’s eyes lit up at the prospect of repeat business, but dimmed at her next words. “Please send it along with the other items to Hermione, will you? To the bosun’s attention, as he’ll be seeing to my packages for me.” Alexis had learned early in her life aboard ship to not trust pursers or chandlers, and the threat of the bosun, who wasn’t bound by the niceties of an officer, finding things amiss always kept them closer to honest.

  “Of course, sir.”

  “And if I may, a bit of time alone with the things I’ve ordered before you send them off?” She shrugged. “I realize it’s unusual —” She made as if to leave. “— if you cannot accommodate it, perhaps another —”

  “No, sir, not necessary.” He furrowed his brow at her request, but was clearly unwilling to lose a customer. “No trouble at all. I’ll just put things together for you and leave you to it, yes?”

  Alexis hurried back to the ship and found Boxer storing deliveries for the other officers in the pantry. She glanced quickly around to ensure they were alone in the gunroom and then slipped into the pantry with him. The empty shelves where her stores should have been made her clench her jaw. All the others had bottles of wine, canisters of tea or coffee, packages of biscuit, and a dozen more items, but hers were bare. And the gunroom’s freezers would be the same. Well, that’ll be changed shortly.

  “Sir?”