Seasons of War 2-Book Bundle (53 page)

Perhaps encouraged by the slight curling of her lips, Fly pressed his fingertips together and wrinkled his brow. “I wonder, Emily, are you feeling up to greeting a few visitors?”

“You are now going to tell me who lives so that I shall know who we have lost? Will I be able to bear it?” she whispered, gripping the arms of her chair.

Fly closed and opened his eyes in an exaggerated nod. “I believe so.” He called out to those apparently waiting behind the cabin’s door. Given the signal, they burst open the door, wreaking havoc on its fragile hinges. In sauntered Biscuit, carrying a large tray. He had cleaned up nicely since Emily had last seen him; his thatch of orange hair was combed off his forehead and his prominent chest hair buttoned up respectably inside a smart muslin shirt.

“Wee lass,” he cried out, one eye looking at her, one eye looking for her, “I brung ya a pot o’ tea and a pile o’ fresh biscuits to celebrate yer safe return.”

Emily laughed. “Baked with a pinch o’ sugar and a shot o’ rum, I hope?”

“Ach, ’tis thee only way.” Biscuit set the tray upon Captain Prickett’s polished table and stepped aside to make way for the next visitor, who swooped down upon Emily like a ghost in the trailing tails and balloon-sleeves of a shirt that had obviously not been tailored to fit him. He moved so swiftly towards her chair that her brain could not make a positive identification until he was in her welcoming arms and hugging her fiercely.

“
Magpie!”
she cried, embracing him in return, her cheek pressed against his thick dark curls. “My little Magpie,” she cooed, rocking him gently, as the men looked on, visibly moved by their joyful reunion, Biscuit dashing away a few stray tears.

When at last Magpie lifted his head to look up at her, his young face was fluttering with excitement like topgallant sails in a fresh breeze. “Do ya like me eye patch, Em? Do I looks like a pirate?”

Emily caressed the reddened, puckered skin beneath the black patch. “Not at all. You look like the hero of an epic tale …
my
hero.”

Magpie beamed from ear to ear, his smile warming Emily like the descending sunlight that poured into the cabin, and he threw himself into her arms for another embrace, holding on to her for such a long while that Fly had to clear his throat. Magpie’s curly head shot up again, his face overspread with a blush. “Oh, Em,” he said, jumping back, “we got another surprise fer ya.”

“What is it?” she asked, excited by the boy’s infectious enthusiasm.

Together Fly, Biscuit, and Magpie all turned on their heels and shot broad smiles at the open door. Emily’s brilliant eyes followed theirs. A gurgle of emotion erupted from her lips as she slowly rose from her chair. Standing before her in the doorway was a stocky, pudding-faced man she had never seen before. But in his arms he carried Gus Walby.

10:00 p.m.

(First Watch, Four Bells)

EMILY HESITATED before stepping into the
Amethyst’s
narrowing forepeak, where Leander was lying in a low cot next to the open gunport.The space was a poignant reminder of the corresponding forepeak on the
Isabelle
where he had once had his hospital, and where she had once been his patient. At his bedside stood Fly Austen, Joe Norlan, and two other men she did not know – though one looked familiar – conversing with one another in hushed, reverent voices.

Emily recalled the bittersweet hours she had just spent in the company of Magpie and Gus, delighting in their happiness at being reunited with her, awestruck by their miraculous rescue at sea, and marvelling at the tales they recounted of Prosper Burgo and his salty band of ruffians. In their exuberance, neither boy had asked questions about her final imprisonment on the
Serendipity.
Perhaps it was intentional on their part, or perhaps they simply possessed too many exciting stories of their own to relate; either way, she was grateful, for she needed no reminders of Charlie Clive, her marriage to Trevelyan, the loss of Jane Austen’s book, and the gun blast that had hastened an end to Octavius Lindsay’s short life. Though the lads’ stories had proven to be a wonderful diversion, Emily had stiffened every time footsteps echoed near their private corner lest it be a bearer of bad news. Yet Fly, when he had finally looked in on their little party of three, had been quick to allay her fears with a significant nod of his head and the words, “He’s awake and asking for you.”

Emily massaged her face, hoping to exile her worry lines and inject some colour into her pale, swollen complexion, then she swept into the forepeak, her eyes latching at once onto the cot. Without a word, the four men tiptoed past her, Fly offering a smile of encouragement and the
familiar
one, an impudent grin painted upon his weatherbeaten features, conducting a head-to-toe inspection. When they had departed, Emily sank down upon a wooden cask already positioned next to Leander and brooded over his ashen complexion and wisps of auburn hair curling upon his damp forehead. Her eyes fell to his shoulders – bare with the exception of the bandages – and traced his slim, freckled arms that lay at his sides, continuing down the lines of his long legs visible beneath a light linen sheet. Her desire to lie beside him was so strong that she was certain he must have heard her sharp intake of breath. Blushing, she returned her gaze to his face and the look in his eyes – so full of affection – warmed her insides and deepened her spreading colour.

She laughed unsteadily. “Were they common butchers, or did they fix you up nicely?”

“Between the three of them, they fixed me up nicely,” said Leander, his voice husky. “Thank goodness for the man they call Prosper Burgo.”

“He’s the one who rescued Magpie and Gus from the sea and took care of them,” said Emily, examining his bandages.

“I should like to hear all about it.”

“I
will
tell you … only later, Doctor, not now.”

Leander lifted his right hand and felt his left shoulder. “I suppose Trevelyan wished his ball had struck lower or had found his
intended
victim.”

No,
Emily thought sadly, her eyes filling with compassion,
Trevelyan knew that in striking you he was dealing me a deadly blow.
“I worried you would bleed to death before someone was able to help you. Did the ball splinter bone or take in a fragment of your shirt?”

Leander smiled up at her, perhaps impressed by her knowledge, but he soon grew solemn. “We can’t be certain, though infection is always a concern.”

Not wanting to dwell on the subject, Emily cheered her voice. “Well, then, Doctor, once you are up and around, I will offer you
my
left shoulder to lean upon.”

“And how is your right one faring?”

“Aside from occasional achiness, it is quite well.”

“I am glad of it. And that ankle of yours?”

Emily sighed. “In order to heal it properly, I’m afraid I’m going to have to rest for weeks on end.”

“That won’t be easy for you, though you
are
welcome to stay here with me. Perhaps we could employ Prosper Burgo to provide us with his own special tonics to ease our complaints.”

“Of all things, Doctor, I should like that … I should like to stay.”A tear started making its way down Emily’s cheek and, for a time, she could not speak. “Mr. Austen has informed me that, first thing in the morning, we shall be sailing for Bermuda. It is believed that my Uncle Clarence is there, awaiting news of me.”A slight frown appeared between Leander’s eyebrows, but his eyes never left her face. “I must return to England to testify against Trevelyan. He will have to answer for the
Amelia
and the
Isabelle.”

“And for his treatment of you.”

Emily turned her face from him. “Mr. Austen assured me that if I go to England, my uncle would do everything in his power to secure an annulment for me. But I told him that I would not leave until I knew for certain that you were going to live.”

“I will live, Emily.”

She took a deep breath. “You say that, yet I must be certain.”

“You
must
return to England, if not for yourself, then for all those that lost their lives at the hands of Thomas Trevelyan.”

Overcome with restlessness, Emily suddenly leaned forward on her wooden cask. “You once told me that I had been spared from perishing in the sea because I had a great deal of living left to do.”

“I have no doubt that there are a legion of adventures awaiting you, for
you
seem to thrive on them and
they
seem to find you. You are an extraordinary woman. I’ve never seen your like before and probably never will again.”

“Do you not see, Doctor?” she said with a whine in her tone that she detested. “I am afraid of returning to England.”

“What is it you fear?”

“I fear the empty, meaningless existence that awaits me there. I will be placed in my uncle’s guardianship or, worse still, he’ll hand me over to my grandmother, and every waking moment of my life will be mapped out for me.” Emily pressed her hands between her knees and began rocking back and forth. “The moment I am released from my fraudulent marriage, every effort will be made to marry me off again. My mornings will be spent playing the pianoforte and learning my French lessons; my afternoons will be passed in the company of hairdressers and dressmakers; and my evenings in salons and assembly halls. I am
not
interested in being celebrated for my elaborate hairstyles and exquisite gowns.”

Amusement curved Leander’s lips. “It sounds like a life most women would relish.”

“If you were not injured, Doctor, I would throw something at you.” Emily’s words were playful, but her feelings were not. “Why is it so easy for you to pretend you do not understand what I am trying to find the words to say?”

He angled his head on his pillow, as if hoping for a better view of her.

“If I return to England now,” she continued, one hand covering her mouth, “I fear I will never see you again. You left me once before, Doctor, with hope burning in my breast. If you would only give me that hope again – if I knew you wanted me to return – I would find the ship that would bring me back to you.”

Leander reached out to touch her free hand, which lay in a fist on her lap. “Emily, the reality is, I am a ship’s surgeon, a lowly doctor in the Royal Navy. I have nothing to my name. I possess no land, no house, no family wealth – ” He gave a sarcastic laugh. “Not even these few articles of clothing are mine. I do not have the means to offer you the life you deserve.”

“The life I deserve, Doctor?
I
chose to leave behind all the trappings and comforts of my life as the granddaughter of King George when I boarded the
Amelia
for Upper Canada all those weeks ago.” Emily slid off the cask and knelt beside Leander’s bed, entwining her fingers with his long slender ones. “All that I ask is to have the life I hunger for – one that is far away from London. I long to become a learned woman as you are a learned man. I want you to be my teacher and allow me access to your library of medical books. Let me – let me train as your assistant and help you with the men when they are ill or wounded, and if my home should be on the sea, it makes no difference, so long as I may lean on you and feel your arms around me whenever I am in need of comfort.”

Leander gaped at her as if he expected her to laugh and proclaim her words to be nothing more than a salve to speed his healing. After a time, he raised his head from his pillow. “Is this truly what you wish for, Emily?”

“Those hours, those days on the
Serendipity,
Doctor, when I thought you had gone down with the
Isabelle
, they were the worst of my life. You must know; I cannot bear to live forever wondering where you are, whether or not you are safe.”

The intensity in Leander’s eyes startled her. “And, you must know, Emeline Louisa Georgina Marie, that, above all else, I completely… love and adore you.”

17

Friday, July 2

4:00 p.m.

(Afternoon Watch, Eight Bells)

Aboard HMS
Amethyst

PAUSING BEFORE THE LOOKING GLASS nailed upon the wall of Captain Prickett’s great cabin, Emily contemplated her reflection. She hardly knew herself. It had been a long time since she had curled her long hair and adorned her head with a bandeau – in this case a blue one to match her blue-and-white-striped morning dress. Magpie had sewn it for her from the fine yards of fabric Prosper Burgo had produced from the hold of the
Prosperous and Remarkable,
stolen a while back, he had smugly admitted, from some “fat, forgotten merchantman.” As usual, the young sail maker had done wonders with his needle, making pretty little puffs on the long-sleeved gown that tightly wrapped her from neck to wrists, but fell loosely below her bosom. His creation had left Emily speechless and certain the lad could become a sought-after dressmaker once his naval career ended; her suggestion had awakened a dreamy glow in Magpie’s eye. Though she would have preferred to wear loose-fitting trousers and a short jacket, she doubted her uncle would recognize – or be pleased to find – her dressed like a sailor, with her hair an untamed tangle completely at the mercy of the capricious winds.