The Surgeon's Lady (11 page)

Thinking of what Philemon had just said, she put her hands on his shoulders and kissed the top of his head. “That’s from Nana,” she said. “You know she would do that if she were here.”

Delighted at Matthew’s appearance, she looked at Philemon.

“He’s fast becoming my star patient. He’s also discovering how much he can do with one hand.”

“The doctor’s going to have a hook made for me,” Matthew said.

“Only if you promise to be a force for good,” Philemon warned. He looked over his shoulder. “Here’s my other star pupil.”

She turned around to see Davey Dabney smiling at her. He was still propped halfway into a sitting position, but the wan look had been replaced by what she could only describe as a hopeful expression. Startled, she looked at the
other men. That was what was different about the ward. She looked back at Philemon, a question in her eyes.

“Pierre Gagon has only been here two days, but, gentlemen, can we safely say that he has already raised the dead? Who would have thought a soufflé could have come out of that kitchen?”

Laura clapped her hands in delight. “He has wasted not a moment!”

“I wouldn’t have believed it myself, if I hadn’t seen it. You’re right, Mrs. Taunton. He’s a treasure.”

He said something else, but Laura wasn’t listening. She was looking at the cot beyond Davey, where the man with the amputated leg used to lie. Someone else was there now. She turned back to Philemon and saw the sadness in his eyes. She waited by Matthew until the surgeon finished talking to the orderly at the desk, leaving his instructions for the night.

He went to the door then. She said good-night to Matthew, promised them all she would return in the morning, and left the room. Philemon stood on the landing, looking at his notes, almost as if he was ashamed to see her.

“What happened?” she asked, as gently as she could.

“His leg was septic, with great red welts shooting into his groin. I…I just couldn’t help him enough.”

She could almost reach out and take hold of his sorrow. Instead, she applied his own remedy and put her arm around his waist. He put his arm across her shoulder and they walked slowly down the stairs together.

By the time they reached the ground floor, he was in control again. “Now you need to see the miracles in that dungeon of a kitchen I tried to foist on you.”

She smelled what was going on even before he opened the door. “Pierre is making profiteroles,” she said with a sigh.

“We call it manna. I’ve been prescribing it for everything from glaucoma to hemorrhoids.”

She laughed out loud and walked into the kitchen. All was neat, scrubbed, swept and tidy, with food on the shelves. There were even curtains at the windows. She looked closer. They were remarkably like the curtains from the kitchen at Taunton.

Pierre bowed and whisked out a platter of the delicacies in question. Philemon took two.

“I feel a slight tickle in the back of my throat,” the surgeon said. “Here, Laura, you look a little jaundiced. Oh, wait, no. That is the lantern reflecting off your cheekbones.”

“Wretch.”

She took a profiterole as Mrs. Ormes came out of the scullery. “It appears that you have all been making yourselves completely indispensable,” Laura said.

“I believe we have, Lady Taunton,” the housekeeper replied. “Lt. Brittle has already said that he will throw himself under a brewer’s wagon if we ever leave.”

“I will, too,” Philemon said cheerfully. “Laura, I even offered to marry her, but she said her tastes don’t run to youngsters, and she prefers to remember Mr. Ormes.”

The housekeeper pinked up nicely at his teasing. “Lady Taunton, I should warn you about the navy.”

“My sister already did, I assure you.”

Her eyes practically twinkling, Mrs. Ormes leaned closer. “Is she the one in the family way?”

“Yes, alas, she did not take her own advice.”

While Philemon talked to the chef and made some no
tations on a chart listing all the patients, Laura followed her housekeeper into the rooms, exclaiming over the brimming pantry, inspecting the pots and pans in the scullery, and admiring the table and chairs in the small servants’ hall. She smiled to herself; the rug in there looked familiar, too. She could have sworn it was last seen in her butler’s parlor. Poor Taylor; how he had wanted to come along, too.

“Here is Monsieur Gagon’s room, then mine. The pots and pans girl had a little alcove off the scullery.” Mrs. Ormes lowered her voice. “After the maids finished cleaning, I sent them back to Taunton. Too tempting for the patients, I vow.”

“Mrs. Ormes, these are sick or wounded men.”

The housekeeper just clucked her tongue. “They’re still the navy, Lady Taunton, begging your pardon.”

They stopped before the last door. “Is this my room?” Laura asked.

Mrs. Ormes opened the door. Laura saw scrubbed walls, her desk from her personal sitting room, a rug from her bedchamber, and her favorite chair and ottoman. The bed had no mattress.

“Lt. Brittle said he has a feather bed in his quarters he will have sent over tomorrow for you,” she said.

“I’m sure that isn’t…”

“He insisted, and I don’t really think he likes to be contradicted, Lady Taunton.”

“We will humor him, then,” Laura replied, amused. “And Mrs. Ormes, I am to be addressed as Mrs. Taunton here. I don’t want to give even the appearance of putting on airs, because believe me, I am here on sufferance. The administrator is not looking on this venture with a kindly eye.”

“Perhaps that is best,” Mrs. Ormes said doubtfully.

“It is,” Laura assured her. “I will move in tomorrow.” She thought a moment. “Did Peters return to Taunton with the housemaids?”

Mrs. Ormes shook her head, her eyes lively again. “Not her, Lady…Mrs. Taunton. True as Lt. Brittle said, she’s assisting the head matron now, and had slapped even more fear into the orderlies than the surgeons!”

“Amazing,” Laura murmured. “She always frightened me. Now it’s for a useful purpose.”
Good for you, Amanda Peters,
she thought.
Your nephew, dead in the snow on the retreat to Corunna, is not the family’s only patriot.

She protested when Lt. Brittle insisted on walking her back to his quarters before continuing with his rounds. “It’s only across the quadrangle, and I know how busy you are.”

He made no reply, but offered her his arm, which she took, after making a face at him that made him smile. He seemed to read her mind then. “I can spare a feather bed for you, make no mistake. There’ll be nights when you’ll be so tired you won’t even bother to remove your shoes, but at least you can sprawl in comfort. It’s one concession I make for myself, too.”

“You’re such a sybarite.”

“Indeed I am. Three years’ duty in Jamaica ruined me from ever wanting to be a cold bath, porridge kind of Englishman again. Ah, Jamaica.”

“I believe it was a fever hospital,” she reminded him. “Lots of death and drudgery and probably an administrator as obstructive as Sir David.”

He opened the door and ushered her in. “Wrong there. He died while I was recuperating. You would like Jamaica.
If we can ever eliminate yellow fever from the island, I’ll book you passage on the next ship out. Until then, never. As for now, all I can offer is my bed.”

He must have realized what he said, because he chuckled. “You know what I mean! Good night, Mrs. Taunton.”

He left, hurrying back across the quadrangle. She knew she was tired, and she tried to sleep, but her eyes didn’t close until he was home again, three hours later, and in his own room.
Dear man,
she thought,
dear man.

L
aura slept long and well, aghast with the lateness of the hour when she woke. She dressed quickly in one of the new dresses Mrs. Walters had left in her room, then noticed the surgeon’s apron hanging on the doorknob. There was a note in the front pocket.

She had obviously missed ward walking, so Laura went to the kitchen first, amused to see all the surgeon’s mates eating porridge and drinking the fragrant orange-flavored
tea she remembered from her own breakfast room at Taunton. She smiled inwardly at their guilty looks in her direction, but no one abandoned breakfast.

She went from ward to ward. Philemon had left notes for her, asking her to check on one patient or another, detailing what to look for. Remembering yesterday’s lesson, she sat with another powder monkey in far worse shape than Matthew, digging into her reserve of nonsensical chatter to distract him from pain. She doubted her success, but made a mental note to send Matthew to sit with him.

She spent more time with the blind and deaf man, holding his hand, stroking it and talking to him.

“Tar can’t hear ye, mum,” said the man in the next bed.

“I know. It just makes me feel better,” Laura told him, not taking her eyes off her patient.

“Ye can come hold my hand.”

She frowned and looked at the man. He licked his lips, and she turned away. She still felt his eyes boring into her back.

“As you were, gunner.”

Philemon stood in the doorway, glaring at her heckler. The man turned away, unwilling to face quiet authority with a world of hurt in it.

“Address her as Mrs. Taunton, gunner, and give me no cause to mention it again.”

Philemon pulled up another stool and sat beside the patient, putting his hand on his chest and then his forehead. The patient smiled. “Sir, her hands is softer.”

Philemon took Laura’s other hand and put it on the man’s chest.

“After a few minutes, give him a pat, then come upstairs
to B Ward,” he said. “Someone wants to see you.” He stood up, his eyes shifting to the other bed. “Let me know if anyone—
anyone
—is smart with you.”

She sat a few more minutes, wishing she could communicate with her patient. She glanced at the other bed, where the impudent gunner still stared at her. She said nothing to him, but forced herself not to hurry from the ward.

“I’ll keep an eye on him, Mrs. Taunton,” the orderly said, as she passed his desk.

She nodded and hurried up the stairs to B Ward, where her brother-in-law was chatting with one of his men. “Oliver!” she exclaimed.

In a moment, she was in his arms for a hug and a kiss on her forehead. “Has Nana given up on me?” she asked. “I took a detour in Plymouth, where…”

“…where you have been pressed into His Majesty’s service,” Oliver concluded. “That hug and kiss were from her. I am under orders, too.” He turned to Philemon. “Now, Lieutenant, I am yours,” he said, as he seated himself.

Laura sat by Matthew as the surgeon removed Oliver’s bandage.

“Nana’s been taking good care of you,” Philemon said at last. He touched Oliver’s ear. “Let’s leave the bandage off now and let the air get to it.” He took a jar from his apron pocket. “I compounded this for you. Apply it twice daily, and give Boney hell.”

Oliver nodded as his men cheered. “First things first! Lads, the court martial went our way, and we have been given a new ship, the
Tangier,
a 46-gun frigate.”

“Moving up in the world,” Philemon said, pleased.

“Aye, but not to the Channel.” There was no mistaking the admiration on his face as he looked around the ward at his men. “Not with some of my best gunners here! We have orders to take the
Tangier
on a shakedown cruise to Washington, D.C., United States. We’re to drop off a diplomat. When I come back, I expect to find all ready to serve.”

“We can see to that,” Philemon said. “They’ll be fit for duty.”

“Except me,” Matthew said to Laura in a whisper.

“I heard that, Matthew,” Oliver said, coming now to sit beside his powder monkey. “My ugly ear still works.” His voice was kind. “You’re afraid there is no berth for you on the
Tangier?
”

Too miserable to speak, Matthew nodded.

Oliver pulled no punches, speaking to the boy as though he were an equal.
Maybe this is how leaders lead,
Laura thought. She glanced at Philemon, who was watching her.
That is how you lead, too.

“Your gun deck days are over, Matthew, but I have a proposal. I can either discharge you from the navy and you can go to Torquay and work for Nana. Or you can join me on the
Tangier
as my steward. Nana says I need someone to watch after my clothes and see that my sleeping cot is made. You’d serve my meals, too.”

“I can do that, sir?”

“That and more.” Oliver patted his shoulder. “Not this trip, though. I expect you to mind the surgeon and heal as fast as you can. I don’t know why you can’t continue in my service, especially since I need you.”

We are in the hands of a master,
Laura thought.
The beauty of it is he means every word.
She looked at the men,
all of whom were absorbing just what that message was, and for all she knew, resolving to get better sooner than any wounded crew that protected England.

“It’s your choice, Matthew.”

“Aye, aye, sir. I’ll sail with you.”

“Excellent. I require one more thing of my steward. He must read and write.”

“I dunno how, Captain.”

“You have about three months to learn.”

“I can teach him.”

Oliver turned to look at Davey Dabney, who, like the others, had been listening to the exchange. “You’re not from the
Tireless.
What’s your ship?” he asked.

“I’m foretopman Dabney of the
Excelsior,
which sunk off Basque Roads.”

“After a stiff fight, according to the
Chronicle,
” Oliver replied. “I knew your late captain well. You can read and write? Of course you can. Everyone knows foretopmen are the brightest men in the service.”

“Aye, sir.” Davey smiled at the praise, and turned his head slowly to look at Philemon. “Lieutenant, if I’m teaching one, I can teach more.”

“That can be arranged.” Philemon nodded to Laura. “Mrs. Taunton, I’ll provide the storeroom on this floor, and requisition tables and chairs, if you can unearth books and paper.”

“Aye, sir,” she said. “When we’re ready, I can make the announcement throughout Block Four.”

“It appears then that we will have a school, thanks to foretopman Dabney,” Philemon said. “Matthew, I know you will become proficient in three months.”

The boy grinned, then glanced shyly at his captain. “Sir, maybe I can learn to cipher.”

“I will insist upon that, too, then,” Oliver replied. “But the reading and writing come first. Lads, good day to you all. I expect nothing but good conduct and fast healing from all of you before I return from the United States. Mrs. Taunton, walk with me. As you were, men.”

She took him to the kitchen. Oliver was a different man over a bowl of soup, telling her about her sister’s precarious days at the Mulberry Inn, when Gran would send Nana on made-up errands to the other inns so they would feed her. Laura was again reminded how much she could have done for Nana, if only she had known of her existence sooner. She said as much to her brother-in-law, who listened with great sympathy, but shook his head.

“Laura, I must be selfish. If you had swept my beloved away to Taunton, I would never have met her. Sometimes, the best things come from the worst things.”

“Perhaps you are right, but I remain skeptical,” Laura admitted. “I fear I can never see our father as anyone but a dreadful man.”

“He’s incarcerated in Spain. It cannot be pleasant.” Oliver put down his napkin. “I am back to the docks. There is much to do before we sail.” He kissed the top of her head. “Laura, forgiveness is a virtue.”

“Has Nana forgiven him?” Laura asked bluntly.

“Not yet. I am convinced that if you do, she will.” He took another slice of bread from the plate. “Go see her if you can. She gets lonely.”

She nodded, struck by the longing in his voice. “I’ll visit, Oliver. As for the other, I cannot promise a miracle.”

I think I can escape to see my father,
Philemon thought, as he hurried downstairs. If Oliver was in Plymouth, then Dan Brittle was, too. Oliver waited outside, looking like a man with questions.

“Are we going the same way?” the captain asked.

“Only if my da is already on the
Tangier.
Rigging sail, is he?”

“You know he is.”

Oliver didn’t speak for a few minutes, once they left Stonehouse. Philemon glanced at him, amused to see em barrassment on Captain Worthy’s face.
Let me guess,
he thought.
It must involve Nana.

“Hemorrhoids troubling you, Captain?” he joked.

Oliver laughed out loud. “No! I have a question. Don’t know how to ask it.”

“Just come straight out. I doubt you’ll surprise me.”

“I doubt I will. Nana tells me we can…well…”

“Enjoy sexual union, even with a baby on the way?”

Oliver nodded, his face red. “I was more than happy to oblige a time or two in the past week—oh, more than that—but I don’t for the world want to hurt Nana.”

“You won’t. Babies are well-cushioned, Captain.”

“God Almighty, Phil. After a question like that, at least call me Oliver!”

“Aye, aye! Let me add this caveat.” He waited until they passed a group of women carrying baskets of fish. “When you come back, I would advise against it. She’ll be about one month away from her confinement by then, and you can rely on fond memories to get you through.”

Oliver nodded, even as his face turned redder. “After the baby comes?”

“Give her six weeks, but I insist on a month.”

They walked in silence, Philemon enjoying the sun on his face. He felt his shoulders relax; he knew that for a couple of hours, no one would come running to him for help, no one would have a complaint, and he wouldn’t hear any cries of pain. He could walk with a man he considered a friend and let
him
feel the tension for a change, with his questions about love and birth. Maybe he could even ask some questions of his own.
I could do that,
he thought,
except Oliver has more to say, I think.

“Phil, it’s hard to go to sea this time. I never thought I’d say that.” Oliver sat on a low stone fence and Philemon joined him. “When it’s time for me to leave, she loves me even more fiercely, but she never says or does anything to stop me.”

“The perfect captain’s wife.”

“Aye. It’s harder and harder to leave, all the same.”

“Oliver, you know you belong on a quarterdeck.”

“I thought I did. That’s what the right woman can do, I suppose.”

I can understand that,
Philemon thought, as they sat there.
I’d be useless now if Laura Taunton decided to return to her estate. I doubt I could roll a pill.
He shook his head at that absurd notion.
No, I could roll pills, but not happily.

He decided to throw caution to the winds. “I think I’m in love with Lady Taunton.”

“Think? Think?” Oliver chided mildly. “Are you aware how your eyes follow her? You’re beyond the thinking stage. You’re a gone man.”

“It’s wrong, isn’t it? She’s the widow of a baronet, and you know who my parents are as well as I do.”

“This is going to sound cruel, but it’s what Nana lives with, too. Laura Taunton is the illegitimate daughter of a spendthrift. She’s a bastard.”

“Oh, now, wait…”

“I mean it. Only in the last month or so has my darling started to think of herself first as the wife of a captain in the Channel Fleet, instead of as some care-for-nobody’s by-blow. Lord Ratliffe scoured his daughters more than we know, or at least, as I have come to realize, living so intimately with one of them.”

They were both silent as two ranks of schoolchildren passed them, led by a clergyman.

“I didn’t know I was so obvious,” Philemon said at last.

“You are to me, because I’m in love, too. A year ago, when the
Tireless
was my mistress, I probably would have just wondered why you seemed a little distracted, and put it down to bad beef.”

“How do I actually
love
this woman?” Philemon asked, marveling at the absurdity of the situation. He never asked advice of anyone.

“She needs to feel useful and worthwhile. Needed. Just love her, Phil.”

“She might not want to be touched by any man, after her experience with Sir James.”

“Are you sure? Ever tried to be a lover?”

Philemon thought about that exquisite night with Laura, comforting her and feeling completely at ease. He looked at Oliver Worthy and saw every inch of what he was: sea captain of a fighting ship, an iron man commanding the
wooden wall that protected England. Also, under the well-worn uniform was a loving husband and a man eager to be a father.
If he can, I can,
Philemon thought.

“You do know what goes where?” Oliver asked, amused.

“Better than you, Captain. I’ve studied females in medical school and you haven’t.”

Oliver threw back his head and laughed. “Those were cadavers!”

In the weeks after her brother-in-law sailed, Laura knew Philemon had told the truth. He promised her there would be nights when she was too tired to remove her shoes before collapsing on her bed and he was right.

She did manage a quick trip to Torquay with Matthew after the
Tangier
sailed. Nana’s resolve had failed her completely, and she sobbed her heart out in Laura’s arms. Laura held her sister gladly, coming to see that value lay in their sisterhood. The realization was a salve to her spirits, probably greater than the ones her dear Philemon compounded in his workroom.