Seasons of War 2-Book Bundle (8 page)

“How many weeks back did this occur, gentlemen?”

“Four perhaps,” said Captain Prickett, just then discharging a tremendous fart. “Good Heavens, excuse me, gentlemen. It must have been that exquisite cut of beef.”

Mr. Bridlington giggled. But James took no notice. He leaned back thoughtfully in his red-velvet chair and studied the rich colour of his wine.

4

Sunday, June 6

9:00 a.m.

(Forenoon Watch, Two Bells)

“‘… She played over every favourite song that she had been used to play with Willoughby, every air in which their voices had been oftenest joined, and sat at the instrument gazing on every line of music that he had written for her, till her heart was so heavy that no farther sadness could be gained …’”

“Gus, could I ask you to stop your reading for now?” Emily pleaded from her bed.

Beyond the canvas curtain, Leander paused in his letter writing.

“Are you tired?” asked Gus.

“Tired? How could I be? I’ve done nothing but sleep for the past several days. No, I am not tired, but this part in the novel is so sad.”

“Shall I come back this evening before my watch?”

“Please do. You read so well. I am sure I could not read that well when I was your age.”

Gus reluctantly closed the book. “Who taught you to read, Em?”

Emily thought a moment before answering. Crooking her finger, she invited Gus to come closer and whispered, “Am I correct in believing – nay, in hoping – that our conversations are just between you and me?”

Gus was taken aback. “Of course they are!”

“Well, then, I shall tell you. Would you believe a string of tutors and governesses taught me to read?”

“Why so many? Were you a naughty child?”

“No, it was my father. He had a cruel streak in him, and being a man of great wealth figured he could exercise it upon my poor teachers. They were all wonderful, but that didn’t stop him from dismissing them at will.”

Gus angled his head. “Perhaps your father, being a man of great wealth, knew Lord Lindsay’s father, as he is the Duke of Belmont.”

“I am sure he must have. My father travelled in many circles, Gus.” Suspicious that Leander would be straining to lend an ear to their quiet conversation, Emily called out to him. “Doctor? May I trouble you a moment?”

She smiled at the scrape of his chair.

His auburn head peeked around the canvas. Even behind his round spectacles, the doctor had striking eyes, Emily thought.

“Doctor, I’ve been deteriorating in your cot far too long … not that I don’t appreciate you giving up your cot … but I wondered if I might walk above deck to air my lungs … and exercise my one good leg. It would be nice to see Bermuda before we leave.”

“I’m afraid I’d have to consult with Captain Moreland.” Leander stepped farther into her little corner. “Women are not usually allowed to move freely above deck at sea.”

“He may give his consent, Doctor, as we are anchored,” said Gus. He looked back at Emily and added, “Although the sight of you on the weather decks might cause the men to fall from their yardarms.”

Emily laughed, but Gus was quite serious.

“If I were fitted out with a walking stick and maybe a pair of Biscuit’s old trousers? A straw hat would hide my hair … then again, I do recall seeing men with hair longer than mine when first I came on board. Surely, if appropriately outfitted, no one would guess my identity.”

While Gus regarded him anxiously, Leander tried to hide his amusement with one freckled hand.

“As your doctor, I would strongly recommend fresh air and exercise; still, I must seek permission from the captain.”

Emily was disheartened. “I recall being allowed to wander freely on the weather decks of ships when I was a child – ” She caught herself, and for a moment stared at Leander, praying he had taken no notice of her incautious words. Seeing him raise an inquisitive eyebrow, she looked away and said no more on the subject.

At length, he replied, “I am sure
much
has changed since then.”

Gus’s eyes shone. “I will go see the captain straightaway.” He dashed off before Leander could stop him.

“Doctor,” said Emily, hoping to steer the conversation in a new direction, “might it be possible for someone, other than Mrs. Kettle, to lend me some clothes?”

Leander smiled broadly as he took off his spectacles. “I believe Mr. Austen has asked Magpie to sew something together for you.”

“Magpie?”

“Our sail maker. He’s brilliant with a needle and thread.”

“You are all very kind.”

“I would advise you against taking exercise in my nightshirt.”

Emily smoothed the muslin shirt she wore. “I thought this might belong to you.”

Unable to hold her gaze, Leander examined the ceiling boards above his head.

“I could see you writing a letter at your desk,” said Emily.

“Could you?”

“Were you writing to someone back home?”

“I was, as a matter of fact.”

Emily tried to urge him onward with her eyes, but she did not meet with success.

“Is there someone to whom you would like to send a letter?” he asked. “I could arrange for you to be given parchment and ink.”

Emily shook her head. “No.”

“Right, then, I’d better return to it while we await the captain’s word.” He left her abruptly.

No sooner had Leander reinstated himself at his desk than Gus, breathless from his errand, rushed into the hospital shouting, “Dr. Braden, sir!”

“Mr. Walby,” Leander scolded, “please remember my patients here require peace and quiet.”

Mr. Harding piped up. “You kidding? We haven’t had a moment’s peace since that woman moved into your hammock.”

“You’re not complaining now, are you, Mr. Harding?” asked Leander. From his pillow the sailing master gave him a wink and a cluck. Leander turned back to Gus.

“Captain Moreland said it was fine, sir.”

“Did he now?”

“On one condition,” Gus added.

“And that condition is … ?”

“He said that if one man falls from the rigging and breaks his neck, Emily’s to be sent packing below deck for all time.”

In her corner, Emily laughed out loud.

9:30 a.m.

(Forenoon Watch, Three Bells)

GUS'S NEXT ERRAND was a visit to the sail room on the orlop deck to see whether Magpie had completed his task. He found the young sail maker sitting cross-legged on the floor amongst his tools and yards of canvas. His tiny room, crammed with rolls of fresh sails, was poorly ventilated and illuminated with only one lantern. It amazed Gus that Magpie could do such wonderful work in such small quarters.

Magpie set aside the sail he was stitching and looked up hopefully. “Have ya come fer the clothes, sir?”

“Captain Moreland said she could go for a walk on the weather decks, but not in Dr. Braden’s nightshirt.”

“I bin waitin’ fer someone to come fetch ’em. I had ’em all done yesterday, sir.” Magpie sprang to his feet and carefully picked up the neatly folded bundle on his stool. “Did the cap’n say I could meet her, sir?”

“I didn’t ask him, but I don’t see why not.”

“Should I wash up first, sir?”

“You’re quite presentable as you are.”

Magpie plucked his flute from the jumble of blankets on his bed and held it up. “Do ya suppose I could play her a tune? She might like knowin’ I ’ave a bit o’ refinement.”

Gus shook his head. “Music is forbidden in Dr. Braden’s hospital. Come along then.”

Tingling with excitement, Magpie followed Gus up two decks, through the animals’ stable, the grog room, the sailors’ galley, and the mess before reaching the hospital ward. As there were still some sections of the
Isabelle
he had never seen before, his eyes were open to everything around him. When Gus and Magpie entered the hospital, Mr. Harding called out, “Magpie, I hope illness is not forcing you to join us.”

“No, sir. I’m quite well. I do hope yer foot’s feelin’ better.”

Mr. Harding breathed in and exhaled sadly. “As my foot is swimming in the sea, I’m certain it is feeling better than it ever has before, unless, of course, it’s been chewed upon by a hungry shark.”

“Won’t be no shark chewin’ on yer foot,” called out the sailor in the neighbouring hammock, “so long as it spotted Mr. Crump’s tasty leg first.”

Mr. Crump grumbled his displeasure at the lot of them making jokes at the expense of his lost leg, shut his eyes, and pretended to be asleep.

Leander folded up his letter and rose from his desk to greet the little sail maker. “She’s just beyond that curtain, Magpie.”

In the dimness of the hospital, Magpie’s eyes sparkled as he followed Gus.

Emily was sitting up in her cot. The moment she saw Magpie, surprise transformed her features.

“Mornin’, ma’am,” he said, thrusting out his small right hand. “They call me Magpie on account o’ me black hair, and ’cause I talk all the time and get into trouble a lot.”

“What is your real name?” Emily asked, taking his hand in hers. There was a half-moon of grime under each of his fingernails.

“Haven’t a clue, ma’am. I never had no family to give me a proper name. Only name I ever bin called is Magpie.”

“How old are you?”

“When they measure me against Mr. Walby here, they figure I’m about ten.”

“And you’re a sail maker?”

“Aye, ma’am … learned the trade from old Beck Bailey, who was hankerin’ fer a promotion. He wanted to be a bo’s’n, but he don’t read none. The cap’n – not Cap’n Moreland mind – promised him work above deck if he’d teach me the sail makin’. First learned it when I was seven.”

“Seven? That young? And you can make clothes too?”

“Aye, ma’am. I make ’em and I repair ’em. I hope ya like ’em.” He proudly held out his little bundle.

As she accepted them, Emily thought her heart would burst. “I’m sure I will.”

“We’ll wait outside, Em,” Gus said, jabbing Magpie with his elbow.

“And if ya be needin’ any alt’rations, ma’am, I’ll be standin’ by.”

Emily took a deep breath when they had closed up the curtain. For a time she fingered the workmanship of the jacket and trousers, her dark brown eyes fixed upon the sea beyond the open gunport, then with a determined shake of her head, she called out, “Dr. Braden? Are you still out there?”

“I am.”

“May I ask you something?”

He poked his head round, catching her brushing away a tear.

“I have no interest in seeing Mrs. Kettle again, but I do require some assistance. Would you help me?”

Fully aware that an audience of men and boys stood eavesdropping a few yards away, Leander gave her a quick nod. He took a step towards her then stopped, not certain where to begin.

She looked up at him questioningly, and quietly said, “Should we take off the nightshirt while I’m still in the cot?”

“Of course.” He smiled uneasily as he came closer.

Trying her best not to cry out in pain, Emily eased the shirt up around her legs. She took another deep breath. “Can you take it from here, Doctor?”

“Do you feel up to this, Emily?”

She attempted to smile. “Up to what, Doctor – taking exercise on the weather decks or having you take off my nightshirt?”

The hospital walls thundered with the mirthful howling of its occupants. Leander turned scarlet.

“If there is any more laughter out there,” he yelled over his shoulder, “I’ll give you all a shot of laudanum that will put you out for days.”

Instantaneously, a hush descended upon the hospital.

“Well done, Doctor,” Emily whispered.

Knowing her shoulder was still raw, Leander slid the nightdress over Emily’s head as carefully as he could. Underneath, she wore her chemise and his eyes passed over her breasts. His hands shook slightly. The feel of her soft hair, those dark expressive eyes of hers, the interesting curves of her face … she was beautiful. He picked up the blue jacket that Magpie had sewn for her and helped her into the sleeves one at a time, certain he could hear the men’s laboured breathing in the distance. Once Emily had done up her jacket’s brass buttons, he leaned over her cot and murmured, “Now, I’ll pull the trousers on over that ankle of yours.” She shuddered as he touched her feet.

He turned his head towards her. “Did I hurt you?”

“No, I’m … quite fine.” Emily held her breath while he gently hiked the trousers up her legs.

“Now, I hope you can finish the last bit.”

He walked over to the open gunport, his back to her as she struggled with the trousers. Pulling them over her hips and up to her waist, Emily had to stifle the urge to laugh when she noticed the flap front. Then, kicking off her blankets, she hooked her legs over the side of her hammock. “Ready for step two, Doctor.”