An Officer but No Gentleman

1



1808

Pressing back into the leather wing chair, Charlie propped his booted feet on the desk built into the corner of his quarters. He took a draw on his cigar as he eyed the woman sprawled drunkenly in his bunk. From the outside looking in, this was the epitome of his life: the woman, the brandy, the cigar, and the second mate’s quarters. At twenty-two any man should have loved this life. Absently, Charlie stroked the lapel of his burgundy dressing robe, feeling the cool flawless plane of the silk beneath his calloused fingers. It was all an act, he thought, as the calluses on his fingers snagged the silk. It had been three years since he became second mate and he found himself in a no man’s land between the crew and the senior officers. He was not allowed to socialize with his friends in the crew and although he spent time with his father on Sundays, it was not enough to fill his need for social interaction. Bringing women back to his cabin, even if they only talked, was an attempt to show some sort of normalcy. Charlie did it because he thought the men expected it of the second mate.

Annoying his father was just an added bonus.

Charlie drew on the cheroot again and watched the smoke curl through the air as he exhaled. His life was so much simpler as a child. Now as an adult, he questioned his life. This life was chosen for him when his father brought him aboard after the fire and he didn’t know how to get out of it.

Charlie emptied the brandy snifter, but held the empty glass mindlessly. He wished the alcohol would make it all go away. He tried that route more times than he cared to think about, but getting drunk just left him hung over and emptier than before.

A fix was beyond his reach.

Charlie lived the majority of his life at sea. He loved the sea, the travel, the sway of the boat on the water. But when he thought about someday being the captain of the ship for the rest of his life, it seemed more like a prison. He thought about his father’s life and his isolation and knew he wanted something more. Most captains balanced work and home, but the ship was John Sinclair’s home since the fire. Charlie felt shackled by his circumstances. How could he live on shore when all he knew of land were the docks, warehouses and taverns?

A rap sounded at the heavy wooden door.

“Enter!”

Short and concise the way an order should be given.

Through the haze of gray cigar smoke, Charlie watched as the captain entered.

John Sinclair’s weathered brow furrowed at the sight that greeted him. When he spied the sleeping form sprawled across the Charlie’s bunk, his face contorted into a deep scowl.

Charlie, amused by his reaction, grinned roguishly, placed the cigar between his teeth and poured more brandy in his glass. He hadn’t intended to have another, but seeing his father’s disappointment in him made him want to antagonize him further.

“May I offer you one, Captain?” Charlie asked, emboldened by the brandy.

“So, I’m to deal with the devil-may-care son tonight?” he asked closing the door. “I’m glad your mother’s not here to see this. She wanted you gently reared as befits your station. I don’t doubt she’s rolling over in her grave at this moment.”

“Necessity. Must keep up appearances.”

Charlie took a slow, deliberate drag on the cigar and schooled his expression to cover his hurt over the casual mention of his mother. He barely remembered her, but her death left a huge void in Charlie.

John Sinclair placed his hands behind his back and rolled forward on the balls of his feet—a gesture Charlie had seen a million times before. It was useless to argue a moot point.

“You know we sail with the tide,” he said indicating the woman with a movement of his head.

“I’ll have her off the ship in time.”

“See that you do.” He moved closer to Charlie and poured himself a glass of brandy. “You know I don’t approve of you bringing these harlots aboard like this.”

“You want your crew to know your son likes women, don’t you? Besides, she’s better off with me for the night than she would be on the docks.”

“Granted. But I suggest you get her off my ship now, because if you’re not back by the time we sail, I’ll sail without you.”

Charlie thought that that would be all right with him. “Aye-aye, Captain. Will there be anything else?”

“Aye. Rent the wench a room where she can sleep off her alcohol.”

The wench in question suddenly opened her eyes, shot bolt upright and retched, the shoulder of her blouse falling down exposing most of one breast. Exchanging the snifter for the basin, Charlie quickly rushed to her side. Only when she finished, did she become aware of her surroundings. She groaned as she slumped back into the pillows. Charlie wet a cloth and bathed her face with tepid water.