Alexis Carew: Books 1, 2, and 3

by J. A. Sutherland

  Alexis started to answer, but the bailiff entered and called the court to order. She stood with the others as the captains entered and took their seats, then sat herself. She turned to tell Humphry that Grandy had been going to speak to Williard about his testimony, but there was no time.

  “You may proceed, Lieutenant Lonsdale,” Crandall said.

  “Thank you, sir. Lieutenant Adam Williard, Lord Atworth, if you please.”

  Alexis tried to catch Williard’s eye as he took the stand and swore the oath, but his gaze never wavered from the rear of the compartment. He didn’t look to the captains standing judge, nor even at Lonsdale when the questioning began.

  “Lieutenant Williard, you were, until the death of Lieutenant Dorsett during the mutiny, Second Lieutenant aboard Hermione?”

  Williard paused for a moment before answering. “I was.”

  “And you were Second Lieutenant aboard Hermione at the time Captain Neals took command of the vessel, is this correct?”

  Again the pause. “Yes, that is correct.”

  “So,” Lonsdale said. “It would be a fair statement that you witnessed the entirety of Captain Neals’ tenure aboard the ship, as well as that of Carew?”

  This time, Williard’s pause was longer. “I was aboard and Second Lieutenant during that time, yes.”

  “And as Second Lieutenant, it was your responsibility to oversee the midshipmen, correct?”

  Williard’s brow furrowed. “It is generally the responsibility of all the officers and senior warrants to oversee the midshipmen, as to their training and education.”

  Lonsdale frowned. “But as Second Lieutenant, it fell to you to oversee the midshipmen’s berth. You would have spent the most time with them?”

  “I kept details neither of my own time spent with the midshipmen nor that spent by the other officers, so could not truthfully say who spent the most.”

  Alexis lowered her head and closed her eyes. Williard was clearly determined to put as little meaning into his testimony as possible. While he might not condemn her, it was certain he had no plans to contradict Neals either. Lonsdale was plainly frustrated with him, and even the three captains were regarding him with furrowed brows, but she didn’t see how that would help her. He’d been her last, only, chance. Perhaps if Humphry were to press him, but when she turned to her counsel to suggest it, she saw that Humphry wasn’t even listening to the testimony, he was engrossed with his tablet and barely paying attention.

  Lonsdale soon allowed Williard to step down, seeming to have elicited nothing from him but that he had, indeed, been aboard some ship which may have been called Hermione. Williard stalked out of the compartment without looking at anyone, his eyes steadfastly forward.

  “Midshipman Coleman Bushby, please,” Lonsdale called when Williard had stepped down.

  And that’s it for me, there’s not a one of the midshipmen who’ll say aught in my favor.

  “Mister Bushby,” Lonsdale asked, “are you familiar with Carew, there?”

  “I should say so!” Bushby said. He caught Alexis’ eye and grinned broadly. “She tried to poison me!”

  Lonsdale’s eyebrows rose, as did those of the three captains. “Poison you, sir?”

  “Indeed. Didn’t know it was her, at first, but there were tainted stores brought aboard. Burned my gut something fierce. Canion, there, got the worst of it — almost died, he did. Had to be dragged to the surgeon barely able to breathe!”

  “I see,” Lonsdale said. “And you’re certain it was Carew that was responsible?”

  “In cahoots with the gunroom steward, yes,” Bushby said. “He’s one of the crew came back with her to cause more trouble. He had access to all our stores and she was quite … close to him.”

  “So you concur with Captain Neals’ belief, sir, that the mutiny along with these poisonings were deliberate acts on Carew’s part?”

  “No doubt in my mind. First she weakened us, you see — the officers — then she and the crew were better able to take over. She was never a real part of the berth with us — not a proper officer at all — but it was only once we were captured that I realized what she’d been up to. When she and her Hannie friends beat Timpson.”

  “Beat him, you say?” Lonsdale asked. “Along with the Hanoverese?”

  “She did the beating, mind you. Had her Hannie partner stand by so the rest of us couldn’t stop her and there was nothing Timpson could do but take it. Would’ve been shot by the Hannie if we’d done aught to stop her.”

  “And did Carew, at any point—”

  A klaxon began sounding from the compartment’s speakers, harsh and grating.

  “That’s the invasion alarm,” Crandall said, standing. “Marines! Get the prisoner back to her cell — the court’s in recess!”

  Alexis remained alone in her cell for two days after the alarm, with no visitors and no word of what was happening. After the initial alarm, there had been no others, so perhaps it wasn’t an invasion, but she had no way of knowing. A marine guard slid the hatch open three times a day to deposit of plate of food — a spacer’s portion of vat-grown beef and plain ship’s biscuit, a tot of watered rum, and no more. She ate what she was given, mindlessly, barely noticing how bad it was.

  Lieutenant Humphry did not visit her to discuss the case, nor did Mister Grandy. She suspected that Grandy had, at least, tried to do so. Why he would be turned away now, and why Humphry would not bother to come at all, she didn’t know.

  It was almost a relief when the hatch slid open on the third day and a marine informed her that the court was prepared to resume her trial. She straightened her jumpsuit as best she could, fingers lingering for a moment at the collar where her rank tabs had once been, and followed the marine to the courtroom.

  “Are you prepared to resume, Lieutenant Lonsdale,” Crandall asked.

  “I am, sir,” Lonsdale said, standing. He picked up his tablet and came out from behind his table. Alexis looked to Humphry, hoping for some sign of encouragement, or even acknowledgment that he was paying attention. “If it please you, sirs, I should like to resume the prosecution’s case with evidence, rather than testimony.”

  “Sirs!” Humphry said, rising, the first reaction Alexis had seen from him in the entire trial. “I renew my objection to this … this evidence! Its providence is suspect, to say the least!”

  Renews? Alexis looked at him in shock. He’d barely spoken the entire trial, much less objected to anything that Lonsdale or the witnesses had said. Something must have happened while she was in her cell.

  “Your objection has been heard, Mister Humphry,” Crandall said. “It is denied. Mister Lonsdale, you may proceed.”

  “Sirs, for the presentation of this evidence, I should like Captain Neals returned to the stand for corroboration.” Neals rose in the gallery, a puzzled look on his face, but made his way to the witness stand. “I remind you, Captain Neals, that you remain bound by your earlier oath.”

  “I understand, lieutenant.”

  “Very well, Lieutenant Lonsdale,” Crandall said, “for the record, please tell the Court the nature of your evidence.”

  “Thank you, sir,” Lonsdale said. “The prosecution shall now enter into evidence the ship’s log of H.M.S. Hermione.”

  Twenty-Three

  If anything, the outcry from the gallery at Lonsdale’s announcement was louder and more prolonged than at any point in the trial. All of the watchers knew that Hermione’s log had been lost, turned over to the Hanoverese by the mutineers, along with the ship itself. Alexis looked to Humphry, but he stared straight ahead, face fixed and unhappy.

  “Wherever did he get the ship’s log?” Alexis whispered to Humphry.

  “It doesn’t matter,” Humphry whispered back. “I tried to keep it out, but failed.” He shook his head. “Only Lonsdale’s actually seen it, but you can’t even clamor for mercy now, Carew, they’ll see everything you did shortly.”

  What did I do? Alexis wanted to scream it. What on earth would
Hermione’s log show she’d done that was so horrible? She thought back over the months aboard ship.

  “Captain Neals,” Lonsdale said, “I wish you to cast your memory back to April third, some three days after Midshipman Carew came aboard Hermione.”

  Alexis looked up, startled. It was the first time since she’d returned to New London and Neals had demanded her arrest that anyone had referred to her as a midshipman. She could tell from the look on Neals’ face that he’d taken note of it as well and didn’t like it.

  Neals nodded, and Lonsdale continued. “I will now show a portion of your ship’s log from Captain’s Mast on that date.” He ran a finger over his tablet and a screen to the side of the courtroom illuminated with a view of Hermione’s mess deck. Alexis gave a startled gasp and covered her mouth with her hand. She hadn’t expected to react so, but the image, with the faces of so many men she’d never see again, shocked her. The scene played out and she averted her eyes, remembering the day and her first taste of life aboard Hermione under the hand of Captain Neals. The grating was rigged and the cat brought out, she remembered. A harsh sentence for a stupid, meaningless offense.

  “Would you tell us the man’s name, Captain Neals,” Lonsdale was asking, “and the offense for which he was flogged on this date?”

  Alexis clenched her ears shut against the sharp crack of the bosun’s cat coming from the room’s speakers.

  “I do not recall exactly, lieutenant,” Neals said. “I am certain it was recorded in the log.”

  Alexis bit her lip. Batterton, topman on the mizzen. Made the mistake of whistling in the hold where Neals could hear him.

  “I see, Captain Neals, no matter,” Lonsdale said.

  No, no matter, you bastards all. Alexis wanted to scream at the court. Just a man beaten bloody for whistling, damn you all.

  “And this scene, captain?” Lonsdale asked. “Some four days later, April seventh? The name and offense, if you recall?”

  “I do not. I’m sorry, lieutenant.”

  Alexis opened her eyes and looked at the screen. Sartin. Twelve lashes. Last down from the mast.

  “I see, captain,” Lonsdale said. “And this? April twentieth?”

  The scene changed again. The same location, Hermione’s mess deck. The same participants, the crew crowded around the rigged grating while the officers stood by. Alexis stared at her own image, wanting desperately to leap back in time and shake herself out of the stunned inaction she remembered feeling. Stop it! Do something! Standage, his bloody bunk wasn’t closed up early enough, and this was reason to beat him?

  “I fail to see the point of this, lieutenant,” Neals said.

  “I must say,” Captain Barks said from the bench. “I fail to see the point as well.”

  “If you’ll indulge me, sirs,” Lonsdale said. “I believe my point will become clear with just a bit of leeway.”

  “Carry on, Mister Lonsdale,” Crandall said, “but please, do get to this point you speak of.”

  “Thank you … Captain Neals?” There was silence broken only by the crack of the cat from the compartment’s speakers. “Captain?”

  “Was there a question, lieutenant?” Neals asked.

  “The man’s name and offense, sir.”

  “I’ve told you, lieutenant,” Neals said, clearly irritated. “I do not recall every instance of punishment. The details are in the log!”

  “Thank you, Captain Neals,” Lonsdale said. “I beg you to bear with me.”

  Alexis buried her face in her hands, not wanting to face any more of it. She heard the change from the speakers as the scene changed.

  “And this, captain? Some seven days later on April twenty-seventh?”

  “Leachman, topman, last down from the mast.” Alexis looked up into the silence that followed, unaware for a moment that she’d spoken aloud.

  She looked at Neals first, seeing his dismissive, angry face. Then at Lonsdale who stared back at her impassive and then at the three captains who were staring at her in shock that she’d spoken. She shrugged off Humprhy’s hand as he grasped her shoulder to quiet her. She looked at Lonsdale again. He was looking back at her, almost expectantly, and the man’s calm infuriated her. How dare he? How dare he drag these up again to somehow discredit her, when it was Neals who’d ordered it. Rage built in her, both at Lonsdale and at herself, for standing by and letting it happen to begin with.

  “You want their names?” she asked. “Next will be Isom. A bloody legal clark with no business aboard ship, but he got a round dozen for stepping back into Timpson’s path.” She started to rise, but Humphry’s hand on her shoulder pulled her back down. It bothered her how easy it was to remember them, each of the floggings she’d witnessed. She’d thought that they would all run together in her memory, one long endless horror, but found that she remembered them all, every one.

  “After him was Standage — two dozen for … for no better reason than that Neals’ pet bastard Ledyard wanted to see a man’s back bloody. Langwell, twelve for shirking, though he’d wrenched his shoulder the previous day and been to the surgeon. Twyford, three dozen for swearing at a bosun’s mate, and Lain would’ve seen to it with a cuff and a strong word if left to handle it himself.” She shook off Humphry’s hand and stood.

  The captains were staring at her in shock, but Alexis didn’t care about them. She turned her gaze to Neals, wanting him to acknowledge her words. Infuriated that he wouldn’t even name the men who’d served aboard Hermione.

  “Then Worrick, a dozen for being last down from the yards, your favorite sport, you bastard!” She longed to throw herself over the table and strike Neals, all of her rage and frustration welling up inside her. She pointed at the screen. “You can’t be bothered to look at the log and put a name to their faces?” Her anger at Neals overwhelmed her. “They were yours! You were supposed to take care of them!”

  Her vision blurred. She’d never understand why Neals had been allowed to command a ship, command men who were willing to fight and die for their kingdom, yet asked so very little in return.

  “You are unworthy to command such men … I should have let them kill you.”

  Now the captains reacted, Crandall calling for her to resume her seat, but she ignored him and the sounds erupting from the gallery behind her.

  “Should’ve left you behind on Giron!” She did start forward then, but strong hands on her shoulders shoved her back into her seat. She hadn’t even been aware of the two marines who’d approached her. “God forgive me for not killing you myself!”

  “Order! Damn your eyes, order! Or I’ll have the lot of you in chains!” Crandall shouted.

  The marines pressed her firmly into her chair and Humphry leaned close to her ear. “Shut up, Carew! You do yourself no credit!”

  The courtroom quieted again. Through it all, Neals sat, face impassive and calm. Alexis found Lonsdale staring at her, an odd look on his face. The three captains huddled together for a moment, whispering.

  “Mister Lonsdale,” Captain Barks said after some time, “I believe we understand the difficult conditions Captain Neals faced with an unruly and near mutinous crew.” Alexis almost spoke again, but the warning pressure of Humphry’s hand on her shoulder kept her silent. “Is this really necessary?”

  “I simply wish the court to fully understand conditions aboard Hermione — to put Midshipman Carew’s actions into context.” He consulted his tablet. “For the record, sirs, Mister Carew accurately described the floggings I’ve yet to show you.”

  “Is there much more of this?” Barks asked. “Do you intend to show every flogging aboard that ship?”

  “I do, sir.”

  “Well, how much more, Lonsdale, as I, for one, have had enough of watching this.”

  “Until the events starting the day before the mutiny? Thirty-six, sir.”

  The courtroom was silent.

  “Thirty … six.” Crandall glanced at Neals briefly. Neals calmly poured himself more water and took a drink. “Well, Capta
in Neals had been in command near a year. That is not so terribly out of reasonableness for a ship with an unruly crew.”

  “You misunderstand me, sir,” Lonsdale said. “Thirty-six is the number of floggings ordered only during Carew’s time aboard Hermione. Some —” He consulted his tablet. “— one hundred seventy-four days.”

  Captain Hazlewood narrowed his eyes. “What were the total floggings for Captain Neals’ time in command, lieutenant?”

  “Eighty-five, sir,” Lonsdale said immediately. “And three men dead of it. That was the count immediately before the events that ended in mutiny.”

  There was silence for a moment, then Crandall spoke. “I believe we do not need to see each and every one, Lieutenant Lonsdale. Nor,” he said, with a look first at Neals then Alexis, “do we require their names and offenses recited here in court.”

  Lonsdale nodded. “Of course, sir.” He consulted his tablet. “By that do you mean to say that you do not wish to see the additional twenty-two floggings carried out the day before the mutiny?”

  Silence followed Lonsdale’s question, save for a single outburst from the gallery, “Sweet Jesus.”

  “No,” Crandall said, face white. “No, I do not believe we need to view that.”

  Captain Barks stared at Lonsdale for a long moment, eyes narrowed. “I begin to question your purpose in this, lieutenant.”

  “My purpose, sir?”

  “Yes, your purpose!” Barks nodded toward Alexis. “I think you forget, sir, who it is your task to convict! Captain Neals is not on trial here!”

  Lonsdale squared his shoulders and raised his chin. “My task, sir, is to fulfill my oath to the Court. Justice and the best interests of the Service, sir. The same as your own, if I may remind you.”

  “You may not, Mister Lonsdale!” Barks yelled, his face red. “You impertinent —”

  Crandall held up a hand, cutting Barks off. “Tempers are high, gentlemen, I understand. But I’ll have none of this bickering.” He took a deep breath and looked around the courtroom. “Mister Lonsdale, what do you intend to present next?”