Chapter Text
On a very nondescript late Friday evening, in the mid-eighteenth century, the shipping port of Providence Rhode Island was calm. The sun was falling slowly in the sky, the amber rays bouncing off of the still waters; a stark contrast to the chaos of the day just finished. Sailors and dock workers had returned home for the night, to their wives or their mothers. After modest dinners some chose to stay at home, spending time with their families, while others headed for one of the few taverns the area had to offer.
Everyone had their routines, and as expected for a shipping port, these were largely influenced by the weather. On days of rain and choppy seas you could feel the tension seep into the very bones of the town. You could almost hear the women holding their breath as the men returned home to dinner on the table. Wind and rain meant difficult working conditions which almost always meant poor moods. However, on this evening the weather was serene. The climate was slowly morphing into something resembling summer. Business was booming and the area was still a few decades away from the British imposed taxes that would destabilise the economy. There was a sense of ease in the air that perfectly complemented the still waters of the ocean.
Squeals and laughter of children headed for bed were familiar sounds on nights like these. In more than one house these children would settle in for the night listening to tales of the ocean. Of creatures buried deep beneath the surface, of sailors lost to the seas searching for treasure and of phantom ships manned by terrifying and ruthless buccaneers. These children would stare wide eyed in awe as they were told about the adventures of sailors past. They’d listen intently, soaking up every bit of lore shared. Almost always these stories would end with a lullaby; a sea shanty hummed or sung softly, carrying the children off to a land of slumber filled with ships on the ocean and adventures worthy of sea captains all over the world.
Away from the homes of the sailors, their ships and boats were docked for the night, and beyond a few vocal seagulls basking in the sun’s rays, the ocean seemed empty at first glance. If anyone had cared to focus their eyes on the waters on this particular evening, they might have noticed the slight blemish that appeared on the horizon. Almost like it was hiding in the blinding reflection of the sun, it approached silently. If a sailor had spotted the ship, they’d have shaken their head and sighed at the tardiness of the arrival into port. But no sailor did see the approaching vessel that night. As the town’s residents settled for the evening none of them heard the very distinctive sound of an anchor being lowered – still far from the dock. Far enough away that no flag could be distinguished, meaning no captain could be identified.
As the town continued to bask in the relative tranquillity of the evening, the door of a small but well-kept house opened. A figure slipped silently through the gap and turned, shielding their eyes from the setting sun. They spared a glance for the chicken coop tucked around the side of the property and began their journey down the uneven path in front of them. As they reached the main road, they turned one final time as if checking whether someone was following. In doing so they missed the slight dip in terrain, causing their left ankle to roll. They fumbled for something to keep them upright but the branch they grabbed offered little solace, snapping almost instantly, sending them flying into the dirt.
‘Shit.’ The figure exclaimed as they hit the ground, swallowed up by the fabric of their outfit. Layers of petticoat broke most of the fall, but the ridge of a corset dug in uncomfortably.
The woman’s cheeks flushed almost instantly. She glanced around fearing embarrassment and sighed in relief when she realised she was very much alone. No one had witnessed her spectacular tumble. The woman slowly got to her feet, stretching and testing each limb as she did. Once she was convinced her range of movement had not been impaired, she smoothed out her dress and continued on her way. The dress was practical for the times, although still uncomfortable. Sleeves cut at the elbows, a modest bust line and a full skirt coloured in grey. The corset sat on top of a ruched linen shirt – the cuffs of which peaked out under the grey sleeves of the dress. Not for the first time she cursed the small heel on her shoes. Paired with the uneven terrain the shoes were a recipe for disaster, particularly for someone as clumsy as her. But like the corset, the shoes were unfortunately a requirement for any respectable lady in the town. She spared a moment of thought for the shoes she’d worn in her childhood, which although uncomfortable at times had at least been flat.
Not far from the woman’s home stood an unremarkable building. An unlit lantern hung on the corner. If it had been aflame someone might have been able to notice the peeling paint and cracks appearing in the foundations. However, the frequenters of this location were more concerned with its interior. The Ocean’s Office was one of the few taverns boasted in this port town. With an exterior painted in sea green - and a sign with letters coloured gold the tavern was the perfect location for after-hours business to be conducted – hence the name. An agreeable looking balding gentleman sat on the bench rested against the building with a newspaper in hand. He doffed his invisible cap to anyone who passed and often went completely unnoticed. He kept a weather eye on the horizon watching for signs of trouble both on the ocean and in the tavern. He offered a quiet type of support and reassurance to the establishment’s owner and had earned the approval of the Ocean’s Office regulars over the years. He kept the peace and enforced the rules, if necessary, with minimal fuss.
The gentleman stood as the woman in the grey dress approached, and reached for the door.
‘Miss.’ He nodded to her. She smiled kindly at the fellow, eyes to the floor as she ducked inside. He settled back down on his bench. As the man once again looked to the water his eyebrows rose as he spotted an approaching rowboat. He squinted and covered his eyes slightly with his palm. It was impossible to identify the occupants from this distance, but his vigilance increased, nonetheless. It never hurt to be on your guard – especially since it looked like the rowboat had been lowered from a ship anchored a fair distance from the port.
Inside the tavern the woman in grey took a moment to let her eyes adjust to the change in light. Most tables were occupied by sailors, some of whom seemed to be holding court with an audience of other sea-faring men and multiple adoring women. She approached the bar towards the back of the room and nodded politely to those who waved in her direction. A group were beginning to set up instruments in one corner, and the tone of a fiddle being tuned soon filled the air. She sighed as she reached the bar and all but collapsed onto one of the stools. She inhaled the familiar fumes of ale and leaned onto the bar top, head resting on her left palm.
‘Tough day?’ The bartender asked with a raised eyebrow, placing a tankard of ale in front of her.
‘Only the usual Vi.’ The woman replied with an eyeroll and glanced at the owner of the bar.
Vi had built a reputation in this town over the years. Many didn’t like her because of the very unladylike way in which she conducted her business, but Vi leant into this and embraced it. Her tavern was the most affordable in town when it came to ale prices, and over the last two decades she had built it from the ground up. She wore a light-coloured shirt with the sleeves rolled up, practical breeches, black boots and an apron around her waist. Her hair was cut short – much shorter than what was deemed appropriate, and she had a cloth draped over one shoulder. Vi’s eyes widened as she watched the other woman gulp down the drink she’d poured.
‘Hey, take it easy Carson. We’re not going to run out!’ Vi reached over and pulled the tankard from the younger woman’s hands.
‘Sorry.’ Carson apologised with a smirk indicating no remorse whatsoever. ‘I’ve got to maintain my reputation as the wayward daughter somehow.’ She added with a wink.
Vi tried to look unamused but the twinkle in her eye betrayed her real feelings.
‘You know when you say things like that you sound just like your mother.’ Vi smiled.
‘Really?’
‘Yeah, she couldn’t hold her alcohol either.’
Carson reached across the bar and pulled the cloth from Vi’s shoulder, swatting it across her face. ‘I’m offended on her behalf.’ She smiled. But her smile didn’t quite widen to the point of genuine. There were traces of sadness, and perhaps longing in her expression.
Carson Taylor had lived in Providence her entire life. Born and raised in the same home she lived in now. Vi had been a permanent fixture in her life since before she was born. She’d grown up with Carson’s mother and the two had remained firm friends for decades. When Marie Taylor had fallen pregnant with her girls, each time it was Vi who found out before her husband. It was Vi who’d held her hand through both births, and it was Vi who looked out for Carson now.
Marie’s husband wasn’t a bad man by any stretch. He supported his family as best he could, earning a wage that was always enough to keep a roof over their heads, however Jonathon Taylor wasn’t a regular presence in his girl’s lives as they grew up. A busy work schedule with the Town Council meant he rarely saw the children before they went to bed. This was common for families in Providence, and it worked well for the Taylors in the beginning. Marie had Vi’s support, the children were well cared for, and they never went hungry.
This changed about ten years after Carson was born. Vi had been unlocking the doors of the tavern when the young brunette ran towards her and asked if she’d seen Marie – expression wide in hope. It had been years since this interaction and Vi could still picture the way Carson’s whole body had wilted when she’d responded with ‘no’. Marie had vanished – like a thief in the night. Jonathon had been out of town on business, which was a regular occurrence, so it had just been Marie and the girls at home. She’d put Carson and her older sister Meg to bed one evening and when morning came the girls woke to an empty house. To this day the town was still confused by the mystery of the missing Marie Taylor.
Many assumed she’d had an affair and had run off with a sailor aboard a ship, but Vi didn’t believe it. She knew Marie better than that. They’d been friends for too long for Marie to be able to hide that from her. Marie loved her children dearly, never spending more than a few hours away from them, so Vi knew for certain whatever had happened to stop her from returning home must’ve been serious.
Nearly two decades had passed since Marie’s disappearance and Vi was convinced each time Carson came into the tavern her eyes scanned the familiar room for signs of her mother. Vi’s heart clenched in sorrow for the poor girl. To lose your mother at any age was terrible but to lose her so young with no explanation was devastating. Still, Vi did what she could to help the Taylors. Jonathon continued working for the Town council and Meg did her best to raise Carson under Vi’s watchful and caring eye. There were only four years between the pair, but that was enough to create a clear sister dynamic. Vi helped the girls learn to be as self-sufficient as they could be. While Meg favoured the traditional path of cooking, cleaning and finding a nice man to settle down with, Carson had always had more of a taste for adventure. It was like she was always itching to explore something new.
Although it wasn’t quite as adventurous as sailing the seven seas or travelling across the country, Vi taught Carson how to tend to the small piece of land attached to the Taylor’s house. It gave her a focus and a purpose, with a physical outlet for all the pent-up frustrations that came with being a passionately opinionated woman in the 1700s. Carson raised chickens, grew crops and even set up a small but regular trade with some local businesses – providing eggs and vegetables in exchange for money. Vi felt a kinship with the young brunette, perhaps because of her eagerness to dive straight into a challenge, or perhaps because she noticed another similarity between the two of them. Vi had never settled down with a husband, and from the clear disinterest and sometimes obvious disdain Carson displayed towards any gentleman suitors introduced, it seemed unlikely she would either.
Vi spared a glance for her second in command further down the bar – a taller woman named Edie with well tamed curls that sat above her shoulders. They locked eyes and shared a smile. To the rest of the world Edie and Vi were great friends, Edie living with her husband – a sailor – in Vi’s spare room upstairs. What the world didn’t know was that only one person slept in the spare room each night, and it wasn’t Edie or Vi. Vi was fairly certain some of her more loyal patrons had come to understand their arrangement but she trusted in them that they wouldn’t share the information. Just like she wouldn’t share what she witnessed in her tavern – for the most part.
While Vi and Edie had been sharing a loving glance Carson managed to slide her tankard of ale back towards herself. Vi just shook her head when she noticed.
‘Fine, but I’m not carrying you home lady.’
‘That’s alright, I’ll just stay here with you.’ Carson threw her a cheeky smile. Vi was about to respond when she heard three distinct knocks against the front window of the tavern. A signal invented between Vi and her trusted security outside. Three knocks meant ‘could be trouble’.
Vi kept her eyes locked on the door as Carson turned to locate the source of the knocking. Like most portside taverns the Ocean’s Office had a colourful history, with disagreements between captains often spewing into the surrounding streets. They had become rarer these days, however, given the loyalty Vi had built with her customer base. People knew if they started trouble, they should take it elsewhere or they would risk being barred from the establishment entirely.
The door opened and a shadow cast across the entryway. The patrons immediately hushed as they watched the shadow grow in size. Carson felt her stomach turn in anticipation. She heard heels click slowly against the uneven wooden flooring of the room and had to strain her neck to identify a tall figure walking forward, their face shielded by a distinctively shaped hat.
Carson's mouth opened almost involuntarily as she stared. She took in the brown leather of laced up boots that finished just below the figure’s knees. Her eye line rose and caught a glimpse of shocking red beneath the shadow of what she identified as a tricorn. The figure reached a hand upwards to remove it and suddenly Carson found her eyes locked with another’s.
Whispers travelled around the tables as people realised the individual who had so confidently entered the tavern was a woman. A tall woman with red locks falling to just above her elbows. Her stance exuded power. Confidence. Her chin remained parallel to the floor, and she looked down at Carson. She wore tight black breeches tucked into her laced-up boots, a white shirt not dissimilar to the one Carson wore under her dress, and a brown leather corset laced in the front, accentuating her waist. Carson couldn’t move her gaze – still locked in a silent battle with the other woman. She squinted slightly, trying to work out what colour the eyes she was staring into were but it was too dark to tell. She felt Vi shift behind her, rounding the bar to stand at her side – arms crossed.
‘So.’ The woman’s voice was smooth and commanded the attention of the whole room. She looked to her right and left at the others who had filed in dutifully behind her. Carson took a moment to cast her eyes across the space and spotted some of the patrons pointing towards the baldric hung over the red haired woman’s shoulder – carrying a blade of some sort. The stone in the handle matched the red of her hair perfectly. Carson couldn’t help but let her gaze linger on the curve of the bust sitting above the corset, and she visibly swallowed – her mouth having gone incredibly dry. Her eyes snapped upwards again at the sound of a throat being cleared.
The woman wore a smirk on her face and Carson blushed at being caught out. She raised an eyebrow in a silent challenge and Carson lifted her chin in response.
‘Can I buy anyone a drink?’ She asked the room but kept her gaze firmly on Carson. She winked.
Carson’s brain worked to piece together what she knew of this woman, the knocks against the window, the outfit, and the immediate command she gained of the tavern. As her heart rate increased, her stomach began to flip. There was no question.
This woman was a pirate.
It was like the entire tavern inhaled a breath together. Vi moved strategically to place herself between Carson and the crowd who walked in. This forced the woman – who was unmistakably dressed like a pirate – to shift her gaze. They sized each other up and Vi subtly flexed the muscles in her crossed arms. The redhead reached to her side and multiple people winced, expecting her to draw the bladed weapon stored there. Instead, she reached for a drawstring bag hanging off the baldric behind the weapon holder. She detached it and threw it to Vi who raised an eyebrow as she felt the weight of the currency inside.
‘We don’t want trouble.’ The woman stated in a low voice only intended for Vi to hear.
‘Good.’ Vi took a coin from the bag and made a point of holding it to the light for inspection. Once satisfied she pulled the drawstring shut and tossed the bag behind her. In a move that many would argue must have been rehearsed, Edie grabbed it without blinking. ‘Drinks on you then.’ Vi nodded to the pirate and relaxed her body language – subtly informing the patrons of her establishment that everything was okay. The tall woman turned to survey the rest of the room, wearing a slight smirk.
‘You heard the owner. Drink up.’
The tavern’s occupants didn’t need telling twice. The noise picked back up with renewed vigour as everyone began downing their current beverages, before resuming their conversations again.
Carson had watched the interaction between Vi and the new arrival with interest, she was always impressed by Vi’s ability to appear unshaken and sturdy in the face of what could turn into a ruckus, and this was another example of that. She turned back towards the bar and could see in the reflection of a small decorative mirror the redhead briefly addressing the rest of her group. Carson watched as the group gave the woman their full attention. They nodded and murmured agreement to whatever she said, with some even offering a small salute. It was clear that not only was this woman a pirate; she was also the captain. The captain of what Carson now realised was a crew made up entirely of women. For some unknown reason the thought of a pirate ship manned only by women sent a shiver rolling down her spine. It seemed almost mythical for a group of women to exist in a world usually exclusively consisting of men.
As Carson allowed her mind to explore this concept further, she was oblivious to the approaching woman behind her. She silently took the stool on Carson’s right and rested a heeled boot on the bar connecting two of the legs.
‘Hi.’
‘H-hi.’ Carson gasped in shock to see the captain so close to her.
‘Hi.’ The woman was wearing an almost teasing smile. Carson’s mind went blank.
She had no clue what to say in response, so she elected to take another swig of ale. However this said swig of ale managed to travel down the wrong pipe causing her to choke in a very ungraceful manner. As she coughed and sputtered – drawing the attention of those nearest – a firm hand repeatedly whacked her on the back to help clear her throat. It took almost a full minute but eventually she managed to regain her composure. She waved away Vi and Edie, gesturing that she was fine. She wiped at her eyes that had been streaming, and silently cursed herself for not possessing a single ounce of the confidence the woman next to her displayed. She exhaled slowly leaning into the hand now rubbing soothing circles on her mid-back. It felt amazing. The relaxation only lasted a few moments before she tensed. When she realised the soothing hand belonged to the woman sitting next to her. She shifted and cleared her throat again.
‘Thanks.’ She gulped – looking at her saviour.
‘You’re welcome.’ The redhead withdrew her palm from Carson’s back and leaned forwards, resting on her elbows with her fingers linked.
‘Rum?’ Vi interrupted the pair – a pleased expression on her face. Carson watched in amusement as the other woman’s face twisted in disgust.
‘God no.’ The pirate shuddered. ‘I’ll have what she’s having.’ She nodded her head towards Carson. Vi sent her a look of approval and moved along the bar to make her drink.
‘A pirate who doesn’t like rum.’ Carson mused, staring directly ahead. If she had turned to look at the other woman, she’d have noticed the way her tongue dipped between her teeth, and how her eyes sparkled with something that resembled delight.
‘What makes you think I’m a pirate?’
Carson felt a slight panic shoot through her. Had she misinterpreted the situation completely? Was this woman not actually a pirate? ‘I mean – well what I meant was – I guess…’ She was fumbling for an excuse when she noticed the amused grin the other woman wore.
‘Oh relax.’ She chuckled. ‘You were right. I am.’ She picked up her own tankard from the bar, offered Vi a silent toast in thanks and took a large gulp. ‘God that is incredible. Stale rum loses its appeal quickly at sea. Particularly when it’s the only option.’ She took another slow sip and Carson could see how the woman relaxed as she let the ale travel down her throat. A throat that Carson definitely wasn’t staring at. The pirate coughed slightly again, and Carson’s gaze rose. Caught once more. ‘If you’re going to keep staring at me like that, we should probably be introduced.’ The woman teased but offered a hand. ‘Captain Gill.’
‘Carson.’ She willed her arm not to shake as she reached to clasp the other woman’s hand. ‘Carson Taylor.’ Their palms met and Carson could feel the slight calluses marking the skin of the other woman. They felt weathered but still so soft. Carson thought of all the stories those hands could tell. How many places they must’ve been. She went to withdraw her hand, but Captain Gill held on. She pulled slightly, twisting Carson towards her.
Before Carson knew what was happening the woman’s other hand had reached up to her face. Slender fingers came to rest beneath her chin as a thumb brushed across the skin. Gently at first, and then with more pressure. Carson couldn’t breathe. As soon as it began, it ended. The hand was pulled back and Carson let her mouth open again in shock.
‘Sorry.’ Captain Gill’s eyes crinkled slightly at the confusion on Carson’s face. ‘You had some dirt on your face. I saw it when I first walked in, and it’s been bothering me since.’
‘Ah.’ Carson offered a toothless smile. ‘Thanks again I guess.’ She almost felt disappointed. She wondered if that was the only reason the captain had struck up a conversation.
‘Any particular reason you had dirt there? Do you like the taste of it or something?’
Carson snorted. ‘Not exactly.’ She looked down and continued when she noticed the questioning glance the captain sent her way. ‘I fell over on my way here… I was a little distracted.’
‘Distracted hey? That sounds salacious.’ The captain wiggled her eyebrows. ‘Tell me more, Taylor.’
‘By a chicken.’ Carson couldn’t help but grin when she heard the bark of laughter that leapt from Captain Gill’s mouth. There was something satisfying in knowing that she caused it.
‘Okay hang on. Let me get this straight, you were on your way here and a random chicken distracted you so much that you tripped and fell into the dirt?’
‘No, not a random chicken. My chicken. Well – one of my chickens. I have a few. They make eggs.’ Carson willed herself to stop talking. Of course this mysterious sea captain knew what chickens did. ‘I sell them. Plus vegetables. For money.’
It looked like Gill was trying to hold back a laugh, but she continued to listen politely to Carson’s rambling thoughts and learnt of the local businesses who bought her produce. In far more detail than needed.
‘So you’re a farm girl who sells vegetables to your local shops? Sounds a little boring to me.’ The captain spoke whilst picking at her nails as Carson finished her lengthy description of the weekly harvests she delivered.
‘It’s not boring.’ Carson felt her hackles rise. ‘In fact for a woman in this town it’s rather revolutionary.’ She felt the need to prove herself to Gill. Her eyes narrowed when the captain shrugged her shoulders. ‘What?’
‘You do realise you’re talking to a female sea captain? A pirate? Growing and selling vegetables doesn’t exactly compare to my life, farm girl.’ Gill noticed how Carson’s shoulders slumped at this. ‘Don’t you want more? Don’t you want to see the world?’ The captain enthused; her eyes bright with excitement. She picked up her hat and began spinning it between her hands. It was Carson’s turn to shrug.
‘I guess I’ve never really thought about it.’ She knew the redhead would see through her lie in an instant, but Gill saw something in Carson’s expression that stopped her from pushing. She gave a small nod before tossing Carson the hat.
‘Try it on for size. Who knows – maybe there’s a captain inside you itching to escape.’ She gestured to Carson to put it on. Carson did what she was told, ignoring the butterflies flying around her stomach as she did. Suddenly her senses were engulfed. She felt the coarse fabric of the tricorn against her skin and allowed her eyes to adjust to the slight shadow created by the rim. She inhaled the scent of the ocean, and of something deeper. Something fruitful and intriguing. She tipped her head up to try and get closer to the scent and in doing so made the hat tip forward to cover her eyes completely. ‘Or maybe not.’ Gill sniggered and reached to pull the hat from Carson’s head. She set it down on the bar again and turned to survey the room.
‘Who were the people you came in with?’ Carson enquired, spotting them split across the tavern.
‘My crew?’ The captain leant back against the bar. ‘Let’s see.’ She pointed towards two pirates sitting amongst a group of sailors. She gestured towards a round faced brunette currently inhaling a cigarette. ‘That’s DeLuca, my first mate. Next to her is Garcia.’ She gestured to the darker haired woman next to DeLuca. Both women appeared to be rinsing the sailors dry at cards. ‘At the other end of the bar – that’s Chapman.’ Carson craned her neck and spotted Chapman challenging another sailor to some kind of drinking game. ‘That sailor is in for a rough ride. Never challenge Chapman – she’ll drink you under the table.’ Gill chuckled to herself. ‘Then over there we’ve got –’ The captain’s introductions were interrupted at that moment by the sound of a fiddle.
The band began playing a tune familiar to Carson and she looked over to their makeshift stage. She nudged the captain and pointed in surprise at the blonde pirate sitting amongst the band, fiddle under her chin. ‘Who’s that?’
‘Ah that’s McCready. She’ll take any opportunity to play. Decent voice too.’ The pride Captain Gill had in her crew did not go unnoticed by Carson.
‘That’s quite the bunch you’ve got there. Where did you find them?’
‘We’re from all over.’ The captain replied and Carson wondered whether the evasive answer was intentional. ‘They all have different stories of how they ended up with our crew, but those stories aren’t mine to tell.’
‘What about your story?’ Carson probed. The captain shrugged, clearly not willing to divulge anything more. ‘Okay what about your name?’
‘I’ve told you my name.’ Gill looked confused.
‘No – you told me your title. What’s your actual name?’ Carson frowned when the captain stayed silent. ‘It’s only fair – I told you mine.’
‘What’s it worth Taylor?’ She challenged.
‘I don’t understand.’
‘I tell you what Carson.’ Gill drained her tankard, brushed her hands on her knees and stood. She removed her baldric and tossed it beside her hat. ‘I’ll tell you my name. On one condition.’
‘What?’ Carson looked sceptical.
‘Dance with me.’ She offered out her hand again in a confident flourish.
‘Was that a command, Captain?’ Carson didn’t recognise the thickness to her own voice. It felt like a small ball of fire had settled in the pit of her stomach that the butterflies began dancing around. Gill wasn’t the first captain who asked her to dance. She was however the first one Carson fully considered saying yes to.
‘Not a command no. A challenge maybe.’ The captain’s arm softened slightly, and her voice did too. ‘Will you rise to it?’
Carson played with the handle of her tankard for just a moment. Then she stood and became very aware of the height difference between the two of them. She took a breath and then reached to bring their hands together once again. Except this time their fingers intertwined, with their thumbs fighting for dominance. Carson worried the heat she was feeling would manifest itself into sweat on her palms, and her brain went into overdrive analysing every small movement she made as they walked towards the cleared space near the band. What if she tripped? What if she stepped on the captain’s toes? What if she forgot how to dance?
The rambling thoughts stopped the instant she turned to face her.
‘Relax Carson.’ She smiled down at her and guided one of her hands to her waist. ‘Hold on.’ She murmured as her eyes twinkled. Carson reached up the taller woman’s back, to above the corset line. The only thing separating her palm from feeling the warmth of skin was the pirate’s linen shirt. Their other hands were clasped, and the captain pulled them close to her chest. Her free hand reached to rest at the dip of Carson’s hip just where her corset ended. Despite the many layers of petticoat Carson could feel the weight of it completely. The captain’s thumb brushed in delicate patterns and made Carson’s mind foggy. ‘Are you ready?’ She asked. Carson nodded – and they danced.
They were surrounded by other dancing pairs all moving in a synchronised waltz, and for the first time in a long time Carson felt herself letting go. She laughed as they stumbled, her face wide in a gleeful smile. They found their rhythm almost instantly, neither exactly leading but neither willing to follow either. They were completely together. As the music picked up pace, so did they. They held on to each other as they span across the floor – moving as one. Carson could hear the captain humming the melody quietly beneath her breath and was captivated. She was close enough now to see that the eyes she’d been staring into so intently earlier were a rich chocolate brown. Every now and then the captain’s tongue would peek between her teeth to wet her lips. Carson couldn’t work out if the move was deliberate or unconscious. Either way it was causing chaos to erupt in the pit of her stomach.
All too soon the music ended, and they broke apart to applaud the brilliant musicians. When they turned to face each other again, both breathing heavily, Carson felt the blush travel up her neck.
‘Time to pay up.’
The captain bent slightly so her mouth was level with Carson’s ear. She brushed the hair covering it away, fingers grazing against Carson’s cheek as she did.
‘My name is Greta.’ She whispered.
‘Greta.’ Carson repeated in an awed tone. ‘It’s nice to meet you.’ The music shifted to something slightly slower in pace and this time it was Carson who reached to link their hands. With a confidence to rival the woman in front of her she resolutely bowed. ‘Another dance, Captain?’
‘Another dance, Carson.’ Greta replied, inclining her head and pulling her just a little closer this time.