Sea Change (17 page)

"I swear, Captain, you are as cat-footed as Pirate. Is there something you need?"

He didn't say anything for a long, drawn-out moment, his eyes going from Charley to Henry, who was doing his best to look as expressionless as his older brother.

"No, Dr. Alcott. There is nothing I need from you." He turned to Henry. "When you are done here, come see me in my cabin. I have some papers for you."

He turned and exited, leaving the door to sick bay ajar. Henry smiled ruefully and said, "He suspects something, Charley. Be on your guard."

"Always, Mr. Fletcher," Charley said, and shook his hand goodbye.

It was hard for David to avoid the doctor in the confines of his own ship. He knew Charley knew he was avoiding him. It hurt when Charley looked at him with a wounded expression in those soft eyes, like David had kicked his puppy. Even Mr. Bryant, who was about as sensitive as a spar, asked if the captain and the doctor had a falling out.

"Mr. Bryant, I have a ship to command and the doctor is busy with his sick bay, and that's as it ought to be," he snapped out.

"Aye, sir," Bryant said, but looked at him strangely.

The doctor only took meals with the captain when the others were present, and there were no more late night sessions in the captain's cabin.

And David missed it. Desperately. He wanted to talk about a book he was re-reading...and there was no one to talk to. He had thoughts on expansion in the United States after the war, and what would happen in France, and the future of the China trade. He never knew how alone he was until now, with Henry gone and Charley unavailable to him.

David wandered through his ship during the middle watch, unable to sleep. There was a sliver of light coming from beneath the sick bay door, and he softly pushed it open.

The doctor's bunk was occupied, but not by the doctor. And the hammock hung for his use was empty.

Dr. Alcott sat next to the bunk, wringing out a wet cloth and speaking in a soothing voice to Wells, laid low by a fever. The doctor put the cloth on the restless man's forehead while he spoke to him. The compassion and care for his patient radiated from Charley's face like an additional light in the dim cabin. David closed the door quietly and returned to his own cabin, but there was no sleep for him that night as he thought about how to deal with this problem.

"Doctor, we need to talk. Come with me."

Dr. Alcott pushed himself to his feet. He'd been sitting with Jenkins, watching the man knotting string for macramé.

"It is good to see the salve is helping your rheumatism, Jenkins. Use it each night to keep your fingers supple."

"And it's making my hands soft, too, Doctor," Jenkins said with a wink. "The ladies will appreciate it."

"A better side effect than some of my other medications," Dr. Alcott acknowledged. He followed David to the stern, where they could have some privacy without David having to be in a room alone with the doctor. The doctor squinted as his eyes adjusted to the bright sunlight after the shaded spot where Jenkins sat, and waited for David to speak.

David had had enough restless nights. He was going to take care of Charley, and put an end to his problem.

"Doctor, we are going to be stopping at the island of St. Martin soon, and there's something I want you to do there."

Dr. Alcott looked at him sharply. "That is a French island, is it not?"

"It was. French and Dutch. At one time a friendly port for Americans. Now, well, it's still friendly, we just have to be more careful because the Royal Navy has a presence there as well."

"Is there someone on the island who's ill?"

"No, not that I know of." David took a deep breath. This was more difficult than he expected it would be.

"There is a lady there I want you to visit. A Mrs. Cornelia Olifiers. You will like her," he added quickly. "She's friendly, and outgoing, and...friendly."

Dr. Alcott was watching him with a strange expression on his face.

"And I am visiting Mrs. Olifiers because...?"

In for a penny, in for a pound. Or in this case, a fee to be paid in good American dollars.

"Madame Cornelia operates an establishment where a young man like you can meet ladies and spend the evening with them."

Dr. Alcott was young, but he was not stupid. "You are taking me to a
brothel
?"

"Not so loud, or they'll all want to go!" He took off his hat and ran his hand through his hair. This should have been simple. As usual, where the doctor was involved, it was anything but.

"Madame Cornelia's house is exclusive--not like some where the whores are as common as barber chairs. You know--no sooner is one out than another one is in. Look, I have made up my mind. You will accompany me to Madame Cornelia's house."

Dr. Alcott was looking at him with something like horror on his young face, but David would not be gainsaid on this. He had a duty to his men--all of his men--to properly maintain morale aboard ship, and in his experience, nothing did more for a man's morale than an evening in a bawdy house. In Charley's case it could be damned therapeutic as well, quashing any tendencies the boy might have to look for his pleasure elsewhere.

"Do not be missish, Charley. Honestly, you are acting like a debutante being asked to part with her maidenhead! This experience will do you good. It will be educational. And close your mouth, you look like a grouper with it gaping open that way."

Charley's teeth snapped shut. "I have no doubt it will be educational, Captain, but this is not a good idea! What is more it offends my sense of morality to pay someone for sexual congress!"

"Dr. Alcott, this is a privateer, not a monastery. I know what is best for my crew, all of my crew, and as the commanding officer of the
Fancy
, I must insist."

"I am not part of your crew. I am your prisoner! Do you insist all of your prisoners go to brothels with you? Is this some secret American plan to undermine the Royal Navy, because I have no doubt if you offer free tokens for whores some of the sailors would cheerfully desert king and country!"

"Do not take that tone with me, sir!" David said through his own teeth. Part of the problem in dealing with this young chub was he had no sense of appropriate behavior with the ship's commander. However, clapping him in irons, while personally satisfying, would not solve the problem of Charley's misplaced desires. If Charley was ever to regain David's trust, he would have to prove himself a man--in all ways.

Charley was still looking too much like a gaffed fish.

"I cannot talk you out of this?"

"No. And if you fear disease, Madame Cornelia will sell you a French letter for your protection."

Sweat broke out on Dr. Alcott's smooth forehead, and he stuck a finger inside his neckcloth, loosening the tight fabric. Finally he gulped and said, his voice higher than usual, "If you insist, Captain, then I suppose there is nothing I can do about it."

"That's the lad, Charley! The experience will make a new man of you!"

"Very possibly," Alcott muttered.

David left him to contemplate his future, and walked off with a lighter step. Someday the boy would thank him for this.

The more the wind drove them toward St. Martin, the more Charley fretted. Could she fake illness and miss out on the excursion ashore? It wouldn't be hard to do, as much as her nerves were stretched thin already, but she was afraid she was just putting off the inevitable. At least on an island she would have the opportunity to run. There had to be some kind of English presence there, since they'd taken the island from France, and her best hope might be in making a bid for freedom away from the Americans.

She could only imagine how her story would be received by British officials, but it beat being exposed by Captain Fletcher as a fraud, or worse.

When they neared the island Captain Fletcher dug a Spanish flag out of the locker and ran the false colors up.

"Won't it be obvious if we're stopped that this is not a Spanish vessel?"

"There are plenty of American Loyalists who fled south to Spanish Florida, Doctor. It is an excellent ploy."

She hadn't thought about that, but their ruse wasn't put to the test as they dropped anchor at Marigot Bay. Despite her fears, Charley was intrigued by this new stop and studied the approaching land. St. Martin wasn't as green and lush as Santa Rosa, but the town of Marigot was lively, with a definite French flavor, the Fort St. Louis looming over the city like a broody hen guarding her chicks. Charley saw the crew look longingly at the town and its pleasures as the sun sank below the horizon, but the captain made it clear that with the Royal Navy looking for the
Fancy
, they would stay aboard and be prepared for action.

If there was already a British presence on St. Martin, it was minimal. Having finally defeated the French in the West Indies by taking Guadeloupe, the Royal Navy's attitude was that it owned the oceans, with only the occasional American, or pirate, or American pirate, to keep them busy.

Speaking of which...

"How do you know this woman? Other than in the biblical sense?"

"Droll, Charley. I know Cornelia from Baltimore. She married Olifiers and he took her to the islands, and when he died she established herself in business here. I bring her news of home, and she acts as, you might say, a postmistress for me. Letters can be directed here while I'm at sea."

"And it doesn't hurt that she runs the finest house in the islands," Mr. Purcell added with a wink. He was in the boat with them, rowing them ashore to the lights of the town. Captain Fletcher had explained that Purcell had a woman at Madame Olifiers with whom he maintained a steady relationship. Charley thought that was odd, but rather sweet, and she was just as glad as not that the rest of the crew stayed behind with Mr. Bryant aboard the
Fancy.

If she was going to have to escape in the dark, it would be easier avoiding two men than a dozen.

They approached the brothel on foot up a sandy road, with Purcell holding his lantern. Charley had her medical satchel slung over her shoulder, standing firm against the captain's protests that this wasn't a business call.

"I do not go anywhere without the tools of my profession, Captain, anymore than you go out without that knife in your boot."

Charley came to a sudden stop, nearly tripping Mr. Purcell.

"Mr. Purcell, bring that lantern closer, please. Captain! This is a guaiac tree." Charley put her hand on it and looked up into the glossy leaves. "The guiacum powder I use to treat the pox comes from this resin!"

She turned to him with a hopeful lilt in her voice. "Surely I could do your crew more good if I stayed here and harvested some bark...?"

"Keep marching, Doctor. That's an order."

"Aye, sir," she muttered darkly and they resumed walking.

She wasn't sure what she was expecting, but the house on the quiet road outside of the city was neat and looked well-maintained and prosperous, if tropically colorful. It was wood, three stories with balconies and shuttered doors, some of the doors thrown open for the occupants of the rooms to enjoy the evening breeze. Torches placed in the front gave off a welcoming glow, illuminating the bougainvillea that rioted around the steps of the wide veranda. The fuchsia leaves battled with the red blossoms of a geranium tree for most eye-catching display, and there was a strong fragrance of jasmine as they approached their destination.

Charley's fervid imagination had conjured up images of red velvet and an overabundance of gilt, and perhaps some diaphanously clad houris, but truly, there was nothing to distinguish Madame Olifiers house from the others around it on this tropical island.

That may not have been quite accurate. Perhaps the other houses here didn't boast ladies on the veranda in low cut gowns, languidly fanning themselves and checking out the visitors with interest. When the trio came into the light there were glad cries of recognition from the ladies, and one hefty brunette dashed off the porch and threw herself into Purcell's arms, nearly causing him to drop the lantern. But he managed to catch her, set down the lantern and swing her around, bussing her soundly on her carmined lips.

"Jeanette, my lass! It's good to see you, too!"

Jeanette chuckled throatily. "It has been an age since you have visited me, Asher Purcell! I have missed you most dreadfully."

The wiry carpenter tossed a squealing Jeanette over his shoulder and slapped her on her well-padded bottom. He turned to his captain and the doctor, who watched this performance with a tinge of awe--who would have thought the carpenter could so ably tote such a substantial load, but then, he was highly motivated, wasn't he?

"Captain, I have what I came for. I will see you in the morning!" And to the cheers of the ladies on the veranda he hustled into the house.

"Well," Charley said, clearing her throat. "That was interesting."

"Ah, Charley me lad," the captain said, picking up the lantern, "I have no doubt that is only the first of many interesting things you will see tonight."

"I fear you may be correct," Charley muttered.

The footman at the door who'd made way for Purcell and his lady was an enormous hulk, with an ear that resembled a mass of cauliflower and a grin for the captain.

"As I live and breathe, if it ain't Black Davy Fletcher! We ain't seen you in ages, Cap'n!"

David Fletcher grinned at the doorman and handed him his hat.

"You remember how it is, Taylor, ships to stop, cargoes to rob, a privateer's work is seldom finished."

"Aye, Cap'n. You should consider taking yourself a softer berth ashore. There's much to be said for life where the ground don't move beneath your feet."

"The company here smells and looks better than the crew aboard the
Fancy
, I know. But I believe I'll stay where I am, and if you decide to come back we'll hang a hammock for you."

Taylor guffawed. "Leave the ladies for that lot of pirates? Thank ye, but no, Cap'n Fletcher."

The big man grinned again at his former captain, then spotted Charley, who was trying to look small and unobtrusive.