Sea Change (19 page)

"Really?" Charley was oddly flattered, after years of being told she was plain and unpretty, to know that someone would find her attractive.

"The evening is yours, Doctor, if you want to pursue that option. In the meantime though, would you be willing to take a look at some of the girls with medical issues?"

"Absolutely," Charley said, glad to be on safe ground. "If you have a well-lit room where I can examine them in privacy, I am at your disposal. However, there is one service I would like to request before I begin my examinations."

Madame Olifiers raised her brows and waited.

"May I have a bath? A real bath with hot water, and soap, and a chance to soak the salt out of my skin?"

Madame Olifiers chuckled. "Believe it or not, that isn't so unusual a request in this house. Yes, I will have a bath prepared for you. With salts and soft towels as well."

"Oh, Madame, you have made me the happiest woman alive!" Charley said passionately. Madame just chuckled and rang for Lasalle, giving him orders to prepare the bath in her room.

Thirty minutes later Charley was soaking in a fragrant cloud of steam and blessedly fresh water, her eyes closed as she leaned back.

Madame herself washed Charley's hair and trimmed it close to her head to enhance her disguise. Afterward, dressed and feeling cleaner than she had in ages, Charley was ushered into an empty bedroom in the upper floor of the house. Again, there were no salacious paintings or red velvet, simply a bed hung with mosquito netting, a wash basin with clean cloths stacked neatly beneath, and a small balcony that opened to the night. Charley removed her coat, rolled up her sleeves and washed at the basin.

"Come in," she said to the light rap at the door.

Madame returned with a young woman about Charley's age, black curls clustered about her head and an inquiring look in her bright eyes. Her dusky skin bespoke her mixed heritage, and she asked Madame a quick question in French.

"Claire wants to know if you need her to take off her clothes, but I hardly think that is necessary for you to examine her throat," Madame Olifiers said dryly.

"No, she may leave her clothes on," Charley said. "But please, have her sit over here near the lamp. And if you could stay to translate...?"

Madame spoke to Claire and motioned her to the chair. A quick examination determined that the young lady was suffering from nothing more than an inflamed throat, and was prescribed a regimen of soothing teas.

"...and remind her to avoid talking overmuch or doing anything else that will put a stress on her throat until she's healed," Charley added at the end.

After the girl left Charley said, "I do not understand. Why did she look downcast at my orders?"

Madame cleared her own throat. "Claire's particular specialty is offering oral gratification. She will earn less money while her throat heals."

"Good Lord," Charley murmured to herself. Until tonight she hadn't thought about the reality of some of the Latin terms she'd learned over the years.

Over the course of the evening Charley's education was expanded exponentially. After treating various venereal disorders, an irritated bladder, a common sprain, and an examination of a new mother who proudly showed off her baby boy, Charley gratefully accepted Madame Olifiers offer of a break in the ladies' parlor. There were no clients allowed in this room, and those women whose services were not engaged or entertaining in the main parlor gathered there. The girls took Charley's male attire in stride, and were not shocked at her masquerade. Charley worried briefly about her secret being revealed, but the
Fancy
sailed in the morning and she would be away from danger.

The girl with the baby prompted Charley's first question to the experts.

"I would imagine that preventing conception is a concern in a business such as this. What steps do you ladies take to avoid conceiving?"

"Bear in mind," Madame Olifiers said dryly, "that you have seen firsthand evidence this evening that no method is foolproof."

"That is true, Madame, but there are some methods that are better than praying nothing will occur," said Marie Denise with a smile. "Most of us use sponges, Doctor, soaked in vinegar. They're subtle and hard for the gentlemen to detect."

"I like lemons," said Dawn in her husky voice.

The two girls, called "Dawn" and "Dusk" by the others, sat together on a settee, their arms around each others' waists. Madame said they were the biggest earners in the house, and Charley could see why. Dawn was as pale as new milk, with hair like cornsilk flowing down her back to her waist. Dusk was as shiny and dark as a blackberry, her hair cropped close to her head. And yet, there was a resemblance between the two in their cat-like slanted eyes and lush mouths. Men paid a fortune to spend the night with the "twins."

"Lemons?"

Dusk chuckled. "You take a small lemon, Doctor, and remove the meat from it. Then you insert the lemon inside yourself and it acts as a little cap to prevent babies."

Charley blinked as she assimilated this information. "Oh my. I can see how that would work. What an astounding contraceptive, Miss Dusk!"

Dusk just smiled her sleepy smile and leaned her head against Dawn's fair shoulder. "There is much we could teach you, Doctor. If you would like more lessons, Dawn and I are at your disposal."

"No." Charley cleared her throat. "I am learning so much this evening just sitting here with you all...and that reminds me," she said, reaching into her satchel. "If you ladies are talking, I should be taking notes! Now, tell me if you will, what do you use to relieve cramping during your menses?"

And like brightly colored birds of paradise the ladies chatted and drank coffee, and compared methods, sometimes ducking out to entertain clients, with others coming in to add to their store of knowledge.

As the night lengthened and the clients went home or slept beside their partners, more guavaberry liquor was fetched and the potent drink helped ease Charley past her remaining shyness, drawing her from the medical realm into the more personal.

"What I would also like to know, ladies, while I'm here, is if you can suggest anything that might make a man...more satisfied...when he's with a woman. Any particular skills that might be useful."

"Honey, a man would be happy sticking his cock into the knothole of a tree if it's the right height!"

"Or a sheep!"

"Or his shipmate's bum!"

"Yeah, and they all want to believe they're the greatest thing you've ever had in your bed," said American Sal.

"'Ooooh, my darling, I have never seen one that big! What an amazing lover you are!'" Marie Denise sang out in a high falsetto, and the other women fell over themselves laughing.

"A better question is, what can he do for you that will make you happy?" chimed in Laurel, an English girl. "See, a man's like flint and tinder. Show him a pair o' tits or a glimpse of cunny and it's like a striking a spark and up the fire flares! But a woman? We're more like an ember you have to coax and blow on and be careful of to get a nice blaze going."

"Which is one reason why some of us prefer each others' company," Dusk said with a kiss on Dawn's pale cheek. "We know what we would like, and we give that to our lover."

"Men aren't very bright, Doctor. A wise woman can lead a man by his cock or his stomach, and the wisest lead them by both," said Sal with a wink.

"Of course, there are exceptions," said Marie Denise. "Like Black Davy Fletcher."

Some of the ladies sighed in remembrance.

"I'm so sorry he's not staying tonight," said Sal. "All men have the same equipment, but that man knows how to use his cock for something more than taking a piss!"

Charley knew she should not feel jealous that these prostitutes had what she could never have. But telling herself she shouldn't feel that way did not drive the feelings away.

"But when all is said and done, Black Davy is just a man," Dawn said. "And as such, is prone to let his little head do all the thinking for him when he's with a woman."

"Oh, but he's considerate of his crew, and he's very funny and smart..." Charley's voice trailed off as she saw how the women looked at her, with looks ranging from mild amusement to pity.

"He wants what all men want," Dusk said. "He is no different in that regard. He will want a wife who can give him meals in a warm home, and children, and when he is away he will want a whore to ease the ache in his balls."

This gave Charley much to ponder as the sky lightened and the ladies trundled off to their beds. Charley stretched out in the empty room where she'd done her examinations, but sleep eluded her, so she got up and sat reviewing her notes from the night before.

Someone else was having a sleepless night. David Fletcher roamed the narrow spaces of the
Fancy
, the news from America keeping him from his bunk.

But it was more than that, he thought as he stood outside of the quiet and empty sick bay. He wondered how Charley was doing. Not that he had a prurient interest in the doctor's nocturnal activities, he told himself, but a natural interest in seeing the boy set on the right track.

Poor lad, he looked so nervous when they abandoned him to the tender mercies of Madame Olifiers. Likely he was wondering if he would measure up, especially when compared to older, more experienced men who'd been in the house a time or two.

He pushed open the door to sick bay, and walked over to where he knew a lantern sat, lighting the lamp and bringing the room out of the shadows. Just as he expected, everything was neat and ship-shape, for that was the doctor's habit. Even the notebooks were aligned just so on the shelf, the pens arrayed in a row that looked like they'd been ordered to toe the line.

David gave in to his restless impulse and pulled the doctor's sketchbook off the shelf. There were pictures, excellently drawn, of various wounds and diseases. Fascinated, he turned the pages, examining the finely detailed illustrations of various body parts.

There was a drawing of Henry's stump and he winced and turned quickly past that one. Stern's scabies were on display, and he grinned to see
Señor
Martinez's arse once again, drawn in far too much detail!

But when he reached the pages at the end of the book, he felt like he'd been punched in the stomach, the air knocked out of him.

"Oh, Charley," he whispered.

They were drawings of him. Drawings of him swimming nude at the pool on Santa Rosa. Drawings of him on deck. Drawings of him in his cabin.

Charley had captured him, he could see that at a glance. His expression, the way he smiled, the light falling across him through the trees--the doctor had an artist's eye, but even more disturbingly, he'd drawn Davy with a lover's eye.

And the drawings were achingly beautiful. Far more beautiful than he deserved. Far more loving than he could deal with.

He saw his hand reaching to tear the drawings from the book, shredding them before anyone had a chance to see them, before they could disturb him any further. He stopped, his hand clenching into a fist. No matter how he felt about the wrongness of Charley's feelings, he couldn't bring himself to destroy what Charley had created from his heart.

He closed the sketchbook and put it back on the shelf, and prayed that tonight's events would show Charley the error of his ways and set him onto the right path.

Because if not, David was going to have to put the young doctor off his ship, and out of his life, for both their sakes.

Charley was enjoying breakfast with Mr. Purcell, who looked fresh and rested, when Captain Fletcher showed up.

"Good Lord, Captain, you look like you've been pulled through a hedge backward!" Purcell said, his normal caution dampened by his own good spirits.

"I didn't get any sleep," Fletcher snarled, looking anything but fresh or rested. "Some of us have to keep the
Fancy
afloat and out of the hands of the British, and we don't have time for restful evenings in bawdy houses!"

"No wonder you look so out of sorts," Purcell said, reaching for a cup to pass his commander.

Charley winced at this impolitic speech, and took a sip of her own coffee. Captain Fletcher was watching her, frowning, and she couldn't even begin to guess what might be going through his mind.

"You are awfully quiet this morning, Doctor."

"I didn't get any sleep last night either," Charley murmured, then wished she'd bit her tongue. Heaven knows what they'd make of that comment!

Sure enough, Purcell was looking as proud as if he'd been beside the bed offering advice to the novice, while Captain Fletcher was looking at her...oddly.

"Well?"

"Well, what, Captain?"

"How did your evening go?"

Charley cleared her throat. "A gentleman does not discuss such things, Captain."

Captain Fletcher opened his mouth to argue the point, but at that moment their hostess entered the parlor, and the gentlemen--and Charley--rose to their feet.

"Good morning, Captain Fletcher, gentlemen. Captain, will you stay and have breakfast with us?"

"No, thank you, Cornelia. I have to take these two libertines back to the ship and get under weigh."

Charley knew he wouldn't be in a mood to argue, so she grabbed her satchel, took a last sip of her excellent coffee--she'd miss that--and made her farewells.

"Madame Olifiers, I cannot thank you enough. This has been one of the most enjoyable evenings of my life."

Madame Olifiers flashed Charley her warm smile and said, "You are welcome to return anytime, Doctor. The girls said to tell you they would be pleased to have you settle on the island and visit them regularly."

"I will bear that in mind, Madame," Charley said with a wink.

Charley joined her speechless shipmates and headed out into the sunshine. As they were walking away from the house, voices called out from the balcony. The trio stopped and turned around.

Dusk and Dawn were standing there, arms wrapped around each other's waists, their charms barely covered by their diaphanous nightrails.