Sail Away (12 page)

"Not many, no. It is rare to have the opportunity to practice such extreme measures."

Opportunity
seemed a strange way to view the occasion. “I suppose not. How many have you done?"

It was the doctor's turn to frown. His air of professional authority slipped for the blink of an eye, and Kit realized that he was younger than he seemed, probably no older than thirty. “Including yours?"

"Well, yes."

"One.—But I assure you,” he hastened to add, “I trained with the best surgeons in Paris."

For a moment Kit was stunned, then he felt laughter bubble up. “My dear sir, you could have trained with a woodcutter, for all of me. I do not mean to complain! If the rest of your patients are as pleased with your skill as I, the line outside your surgery will stretch for miles down the street."

A flush of pleasure touched the doctor's pale complexion. “Thank you. Would you care to join me on deck? A bit of fresh air may improve your outlook."

Still a trifle under the weather, Kit declined. Some hours later, he joined Zoe and the two physicians in the captain's cabin. Zoe was beautiful, as always, and seemed to be completely comfortable at sea. She had on her reserved, social face, so he gave her only the most polite of greetings. How fine it would be when he could acknowledge her as his lady!

While the others were being seated, he noticed that one or two of the officers were looking at him, then at each other. He thought nothing of it until he took the chair offered and glanced at the officer sitting across from him. The young man, who was taller than St. John but had to be within a year or two of Kit's own age, was frowning at him, but said nothing. When he realized that Kit was aware of his scrutiny, he said, “I beg your pardon, sir. You remind me—"

He was interrupted by the entrance of the ship's captain. That was the strict etiquette of the Navy, Kit knew. When the captain was present, no other officer might speak unless invited to participate in conversation. As all the Navy men and male visitors scrambled to their feet, Zoe alone retained her seat and offered a charming smile.

"As you were, gentlemen,” the captain began, then spotted St. John. “Good God!"

Kit looked to the doctor, wondering if he had committed some horrible breach of Naval etiquette, but that gentleman appeared equally bewildered. “Captain, my apologies if I've—"

Captain Smith recovered his aplomb. “No, no. My apologies, Mademoiselle, my lord. I was taken aback, sir, by your startling resemblance to one of my officers."

Kit glanced round the table, but no one present fit that description.

"Considering the resemblance, I think it possible he might be a relation of yours,” Smith went on. “Midshipman Archer—"

"David?” He'd received several letters in the year or so since David had gone to sea, but now he knew why the captain's name had sounded familiar. “Yes, of course, my cousin. He's written to me, Captain. He was delighted to be transferred to your command. This is His Majesty's Frigate
Calypso
, is it not?"

Smith smiled. “It is. I'm forgetting my manners, gentlemen. Pray be seated.” When they were ranged around the table and the sailor serving the table had poured wine, the Captain explained. “We very nearly lost your cousin, my lord. We had a fever aboard this past month—no danger of contagion now, I assure you—but Mr. Archer was the last to be taken ill, and he was very ill indeed."

"He's on the mend, then?” Kit asked.

"Oh, yes. Our surgeon has only just allowed him up on deck, and for only a few minutes at a time. I hope to see him on limited duty in a week or two."

"It must gall him to be inactive,” Kit said. “David is one of the liveliest men I know. May I visit him later?"

"Certainly. I expect your presence will do him good."

"Thank you, Captain.” He made the expected polite responses while Smith introduced his officers. The man across from him who had been so nonplussed was one William Marshall, someone David had described as a friend and fellow midshipman. Marshall had come up in the world since that last letter—he was now an Acting Lieutenant.

Kit managed to finish his soup, but a few sips of wine made him dizzy, and his head began to ache. When the table was cleared in preparation for the main course, he looked in mute entreaty at the doctor, who nodded.

"Captain,” the physician said, “I fear my patient is in need of rest. Like his cousin, he is still convalescing from a serious illness. I believe it would be best if he were to return to his bed."

"Certainly, Doctor. Baron, I do apologize."

"Not at all, Captain. I apologize for startling you and your men. My cousin and I are much alike, I know; my father's sister married my mother's brother, and we're like pups from the same litter."

Smith nodded. “When you're feeling more yourself, I'll arrange a visit with your kinsman. For now, I'll have you escorted—"

"Sir?” It was Marshall, his face expressionless. “Captain, I would be happy to show our guest back to his cabin."

Another nod. “Thank you, Mr. Marshall."

With a nod and apologetic smile to Zoe, St. John followed Marshall out. He didn't really require an escort; he was familiar enough with shipboard arrangements that he could have found his way back to his cabin. But he appreciated the thoughtful gesture, and it was clear that, although he'd said little, Marshall was concerned about something.

"Thank you, Lieutenant,” Kit said as they reached the cabin door. “I'm pleased to have met you, after hearing of your exploits from my cousin. He thinks very highly of you, I know—"

Oddly, Marshall frowned. “He's probably had time to revise his opinion by now, my lord."

"I don't understand..."

"If it hadn't been for me, Mr. Archer would likely not have fallen ill. Please excuse me.” He turned abruptly and clattered up the steps to the maindeck.

The seasickness that had been plaguing Kit proved endurable when the sea was calm. Zoe came and sat with him for an hour or so, and her conversation did him more good than the doctor's medicines. He fell asleep finally; she was gone when he awoke. He found his way up onto the deck into the early evening sunlight and was invited to sit on the poop deck at the rear of the ship. He saw Lt. Marshall on the main deck below, inspecting some work being done on one of the big guns, but the gentleman never looked up and Kit was reluctant to do anything that might distract him from his duty.

The doctor came up to join him and said that David had been awake for a little while during St. John's nap. “He wrote a short note for you. I believe he should be awake again soon."

"Greetings!” said the note, in his cousin's neat hand. “If you can stagger down to the Midshipman's Mess, and I use the term descriptively, you are most welcome to join me in a bowl of gruel. Bring Mr. Marshall with you if possible, the bowl is large enough for three."

"That's David, for certain,” Kit said. “How is he, Doctor?"

"Weak as a kitten, but mending. Their surgeon believes it was gaol-fever, brought aboard when they captured a slaver. Captain Smith is lucky that he lost only two of his officers. Mr. Marshall's promotion filled one of those positions."

"He seems a capable officer,” Kit said, observing the obvious respect of the men with whom Marshall was working.

"Indeed. And a compassionate gentleman, as well. Mr. Archer is not actually in the midshipmen's quarters, however. He has ‘slung his hammock’ in Mr. Marshall's cabin, at that gentleman's request."

"I expect he could not resist the pun,” Kit said. “When we were younger we both took such delight in them that our parents forbade their use in company. I imagine an officer's quarters would be more comfortable."

"The cabin is the same size as the one you're in—barely room for two hammocks, but space enough when the other occupant is gone much of the day. Once the danger of contagion had passed, that was a much better place for him to rest and recover than a small chamber crowded with noisy youngsters."

That information added to Marshall's cryptic remark made Kit excessively curious, but he could not in all courtesy ask how it could have been Marshall's fault that David fell ill. Instead he made some innocuous remark about the weather, which appeared to be lowering, and then asked about the accommodations for the other members of their party. Captain Smith, it appeared, had nobly abdicated his own sleeping chamber for their fair passenger, and ousted his First Lieutenant, who in turn slung his hammock in with the Second Lieutenant.

"I'd no idea we would create such an upheaval,” Kit said. “Where did you and Dr. Colbert wind up in all this to-and-froing?"

"Down in the cockpit with the surgeon,” the doctor said. “Mr. Atkins keeps the place as clean as anyone could wish, and Captain Smith tells me it will only be for a few more days. We should be in England within a week."

"I shall be glad to have solid ground beneath my feet once more.” He would be glad to see his home, as well, and to reassure his mother that he was well. What he was not looking forward to was explaining to her that although her hope for a daughter-in-law would be realized, it might not be in quite the way she had expected.

It would also be a wrench to lose the chance to see Zoe every day. It had been bad enough to see an end to their sojourns in the Portugese countryside, but even aboard ship they were able to enjoy one another's company when Kit felt well enough. Back in England—where did Zoe's father plan to settle? London, one would hope, but as far as Zoe knew her father had not made up his mind. Kit had no idea how long it would take to make the arrangements for their wedding; even a week was longer than he wanted to wait. The proprieties they would have to observe, the announcements in the newspaper, the chaperonage, introducing her to the entire family ... He would be lucky if the crowd of aunts, uncles, and cousins of all degree did not send her running for the hills. It might be months before he would have the chance to be alone with her.

And it was so wonderful to be alone with her. The memory of Zoe lying naked on their picnic blanket, screened from the surrounding countryside by a convenient clump of shrubbery, was enough to distract his mind from the bustle on deck. Once Zoe was assured of his honorable intentions, she had been even more passionate and abandoned than she had in that cramped little room in France. She had learned well and truly what happened between a man and a woman, and was an enthusiastic and diligent student.

She had taught Kit something as well, something very important—that while sex with an agreeable partner was a fine and pleasant pastime, that same act within the bond of love was something altogether different, two souls joining in one flesh. In all but the formalities, they were already man and wife.

And what a wife! Zoe was not just a beautiful, sensual girl, though she was all that. In the larger world she was well-spoken, gentle, patient, and intelligent, not too proud or dainty to work hard if that was required. She would be a wife he could be proud of. And in private, they could laugh over the silliest things. If this was what his parents had had together, Kit now understood why his mother had never remarried. He could not imagine feeling this way about anyone but Zoe Colbert.

No, that wasn't right. She would be Zoe St. John. Lady St. John, Baroness Guilford. And when they went about together, he would be in the company of the most beautiful woman in the world.

"Do you know if Miss Colbert will be on deck soon?” he asked the doctor.

"Before supper, I expect. I believe she's helping her father practice his English."

Dr. Colbert, Zoe had said, was concerned about making a new life in England. Kit suspected that Dr. Colbert was also trying to keep his daughter from becoming too attached to his former houseguest. Since Kit had not yet formally asked for her hand, he could hardly tell her father that there was no need to worry on that account. He really must get that matter settled, and the sooner the better.

But what if Dr. Colbert said no? France and England might be at war now, but that would not last forever. What if he were determined to go home one day, and take Zoe with him?

"I think I'll look in on my cousin,” Kit said. “Surely he must be awake by now.” He could talk to David about this situation, and with any luck get some help screwing his courage to the sticking-point. David had always been the closest of his cousins, in terms of personality as well as age and appearance; he didn't patronize the way Phil sometimes did.

Lt. Marshall's cabin was near the middle of the ship, just opposite Kit's own cabin. He knocked lightly on the thin wooden door, and a voice bade him enter. When he did, he was so startled by how poorly his cousin looked that for a moment he could not find anything to say.

"Well, you look like hell on a half-shell,” David said with a weak but cheerful grin. “So do I, I'm sure. Have a seat!” He waved a casual hand at the sea-chest with “W. Marshall” carved into its surface. “What do you think of
Calypso?"

"I've never seen a finer vessel,” Kit said honestly. “Of course, I'd say that if she were a rowboat, so long as she was bound for England. How do you feel?"

"Better than I look, I'm sure.” David, normally robust and bursting with energy, looked worn. His face bore the perpetual tan of a mariner, but his eyes were sunken and he was thinner than Kit had ever seen him. “It's only that my guts won't handle real food, and I can't seem to stand without wobbling."

"The doctor agrees with your surgeon that you're out of danger, though."

"Oh, I know. But I'm infernally tired of being tired. I'd be happier if I could get something more interesting to eat than broth, barley-water, and porridge, but Atkins seems to know his business and your physician seconded his decrees. What disaster overtook you?"

"A Frenchman with a pistol,” Kit said. “If you think this is bad, you should have seen me a few weeks ago, head shaved like a convict and stitches everywhere. God, I hate politics."

"Join the Navy,” David suggested. “Apart from the inconvenience of having perfect strangers trying to blow you to Kingdom Come—and the noise—it's refreshingly simple."