Castaway Dreams

by Darlene Marshall

  Alexander looked down at the two helpless creatures that were now his responsibility. Out of the thousands of people with whom one could choose to be marooned, Miss Daphne Farnham would be at the bottom of his list.

  No doubt there were men who would be thrilled at the idea of being castaway with a nubile young miss, but Alexander would gladly have traded her for a tough old salt who knew how to navigate and rig a sail. He would not be so pretty to look at, but he would be much more useful.

  He sighed and adjusted her beneath his arm. She murmured something and went back to sleep, not knowing how close they were to disaster.

  To her credit, she'd brought supper. He looked at the annoying animal in her lap, who farted in his sleep, growled, and settled back down.

  Alexander followed the dog's example--at least so far as to close his eyes and settle down--and tried to snatch what sleep he could before dealing with the next problem.

  * * * *

  "But I do not understand, Dr. Murray," Daphne Farnham said the next morning, looking like a sleep-tousled kitten, her rosebud mouth pursed. "Surely someone will realize we are missing and come after us?"

  "We can hope that will happen, but the reality of life at sea is ships sometimes sink. No one knows when this occurs unless they happen to be cruising nearby."

  He was trying to rig a line to dangle over the side and see if he could catch them some breakfast. He'd seen a school of silver fish swim by that he thought might be sardines or sprats, or something similar. Alexander raided his medicine chest for line, but found nothing to put at the end of it.

  Miss Farnham had taken care of her morning business, and the dog's, and was watching him.

  "What are you trying to do, Doctor?"

  Alex suppressed a sigh. He did not want to chat with her, not when there was food to be sought, but he paused. If he was going to be stuck in a boat with Daphne Farnham for the foreseeable future, he needed to work harder at being pleasant, because the last thing he wanted to deal with was a moping, maudlin miss.

  Though to her credit, he had to acknowledge, she'd been even tempered so far.

  "I saw some fish swim by earlier, Miss Farnham. I hoped I could find a way to hook one, but I need a hook to do that."

  "Wouldn't a net be better for small fish?"

  "Of course it would!" he snapped, his temper frayed by the ridiculous question. "But I do not have a net."

  "I do."

  "What?"

  "I have a net."

  She smiled brightly at him, as if what she just said made sense. When he found himself still speechless, she dragged her valise over to her and began rummaging through it, pulling out a length of pink fabric.

  It was indeed a net, made of tightly knotted silk. He took it between his hands and pulled, but the powerful silk cord didn't tear.

  "It is a hair net," Miss Farnham said. "It's not a large net, of course, but maybe you could catch a small fish in it?"

  "Miss Farnham, you are amazing," Alexander said, and he meant it. "What else is in that bag of yours?"

  Daphne Farnham had not eaten in over a day, she was sitting in a boat somewhere in the Atlantic, her nose was turning the same shade as her rosy hair net, but she glowed at his words. Alexander remembered all the times his mother had patted his head and told him what a good boy he was, what an intelligent boy, what a capable boy, and he'd grown to take her praise for granted. Did no one ever praise Miss Farnham's qualities beyond what was reflected in her looking glass?

  Now she was pulling items from her valise, her voice apologetic.

  "A shawl, my hairbrush, ribbons to tie my hair, salve for my lips, a mirror, hair pins..." She paused. "I do not know why I packed them because I cannot pin my own hair. Oh well. I also have stockings"--she blushed at mentioning such an intimate item--"a night rail, extra corset strings, tooth brush and powder, hand cream, a sewing kit, and some, um, rags. In case I need, um, rags. Oh, and this. Oh dear."

  The last item she pulled from her valise was a straw bonnet, sadly chewed at the edge of the brim. She looked accusingly at Pompom, who ignored her as he licked himself. Alexander marveled at the treasures spread out before him.

  "Miss Farnham, you are the heroine of the day."

  "I am?"

  "Do not sound so surprised. The items you packed are wonderfully useful. For example, that lip salve. You can put it on your lips, your nose, your cheekbones and your chin. It will help keep those areas that are most vulnerable to sunlight from being badly burned. And your hat may not be fashionable enough for Mayfair, but it will keep you from sunstroke. Put it on now, please."

  She did, asking him to hold her mirror while she concentrated on tying her ribbons. Then she followed his instructions, putting rose-tinted salve on her face, though the end result left her in giggles.

  "I look like a red Indian from America, Doctor!"

  He put the mirror in his coat pocket.

  "This mirror will be useful in signaling a ship if we spot one, Miss Farnham. Your hairpins are about to become fish hooks, the corset strings are fishing line, and your net will, I hope, allow us to gather the fish that we will use to bait those hooks and give ourselves something to eat."

  "But how will we cook the fish in the boat, Doctor?"

  "Do not worry about that yet. First, let us catch the fish. Give me the bucket."

  He filled the bailing bucket a third full with seawater and then set to his task. Boredom was the enemy when cast adrift nearly as much as lack of food and water, and Alexander looked at the morning with a new enthusiasm. He leaned over the gunwale dragging his net while Miss Farnham shifted to starboard.

  "Come here, ye wee buggers," he said beneath his breath.

  The sun beat down on his bare head, but he knew patience was the key to success, the net drifting in the water like an unthreatening clump of seaweed, until the school of silver fish came by, closer, closer, and....

  "Caught them!"

  He pulled his small net up and a dozen, maybe fifteen, of the fish were caught and dumped in the bucket, where they swam in confusion. The others darted in the water, but not too far, and soon he had a second catch, and there were plenty of nourishing fish shimmering in the morning light as Miss Farnham clapped her hands and the dog barked, jumping back and forth on the thwarts next to his mistress.

  "Well done, Dr. Murray! You caught us some food." She looked in the bucket, and her smiles changed to a frown of puzzlement. "But how will we eat them? There is no fire and no way to smoke them like kippers."

  She wouldn't like what he was going to say next, but just as she'd learned to perch her bottom off the bow, she'd adjust to this, too.

  "We are going to eat them raw, Miss Farnham."

  She gulped, and put her hand on her throat.

  "Raw fish?"

  "Needs must, Miss Farnham. We have to obtain sustenance, and they're here for us." He didn't tell her the water butt was not as full as he'd hoped. If they were desperate enough and caught a seabird, they'd be eating its raw flesh and drinking its blood for liquid. And then there was the dog...

  "I do not know if I can--"

  "You can and you will, Miss Farnham. Now, let me prepare them."

  Alexander pulled a folding knife from his pocket and quickly beheaded, deboned and cleaned the fish, leaving some swimming for bait. The small pieces of seafood gleamed in the sun when he was done, and Miss Farnham held back her dog, who was lunging at them with no qualms at all about raw fish.

  "See? Your dog knows they are safe to eat."

  "My dog would eat cat droppings if I let him," Miss Farnham said with asperity as she wrestled with the hungry animal. "Let me feed him first, then he will settle down."

  She scooped up a handful of fish, checked it for bones, then let the dog eat from her palm. He did, with an intensity that Alexander could only admire. Then the animal thoroughly licked his mistress's hand and would have leapt up to give her fishy kisses had she not restrained him.

  "A little water for you,
Pompom, and then you go lie down."

  After the dog was finished, she rinsed her hands in the ocean and looked at him. Alexander had to keep from snickering at the oh-so-fashionable Miss Farnham. Her hair was a tangled mess, red paint was streaked and smeared on her face like a doxie after a particularly busy night, and her lucent eyes were narrowed as she waited for him to explain how she was going to eat raw fish.

  He felt almost...he hesitated because it was so odd as to defy description...almost lighthearted. Then Miss Farnham's stomach growled in a most insistent fashion.

  "Now, this is what we are going to do, Miss Farnham," Alexander said firmly. "Have you ever eaten oysters on the shell?"

  She blinked and looked at him.

  "Yes, of course."

  "Then you know how it is done. You sip the oyster off its shell, taste it, chew a bit and then let it slide down your throat."

  She looked down at the fish pieces on the bench.

  "I generally eat my oysters off of fine china with a silver fork, a squeeze of lemon and plenty of champagne," Miss Farnham said.

  He scooped up some of the fish in his hand and said, "Close your eyes, Miss Farnham."

  She did, sitting very still as their boat rocked gently on the silent water.

  "Now, imagine you are dining with friends. Perhaps it is after an evening at the theater. You have arranged for a late supper and there are oy--"

  "There should be music." Her eyes popped open and she looked at him accusingly. "If we arranged for a late supper, we would arrange for musicians. You could hum, perhaps?"

  "Close your eyes, Miss Farnham. Now."

  "Oh, very well," she grumped, but she closed her eyes. And started humming.

  "Miss Farnham."

  One eye popped open.

  "You cannot hum and eat at the same time. No, do not even think of trying it."

  She sighed resignedly and settled herself back down, eyes closed, lips pursed.

  "Open your mouth, Miss Farnham."

  Her mouth with pink salve darkening her already luscious lips opened, just a sigh's worth, and Alex brought the fish to her lips. She nibbled it off his fingers, swallowing rapidly, then her eyes flew open and she put her hand over her mouth.

  "Daphne, what is your favorite color?" he barked.

  "Pink! Oh, I need some water!"

  He gave her the flask and she swallowed, and while she looked a bit pale, she kept her stomach's contents intact. His distracting question had done its job.

  She took a deep breath.

  "I did it, Doctor. I ate the--"

  "Do not say it, do not think about it."

  "It was not so bad, Doctor. We may be onto something here."

  "No one is going to eat raw fish if they can possibly help it, Miss Farnham. Now, close your eyes."

  She did, obediently opening her mouth like a fledgling in the nest, and he fed her more tidbits. His fingers brushed against her moist lips as she took the food from him, her warm breath caressing his sensitive finger tips. Now he was trying not to think about it, what it felt like to have this beautiful woman take his fingers into her mouth, lightly sucking at them as she pulled in the firm, salty morsels, her delicate throat working to swallow, her eyes closed and an intense look of concentration on her sweat-dewed brow.

  "One--" He cleared his throat and tried to speak again. "One moment, please--no, do not open your eyes!"

  He grabbed his coat and pulled it across his lap, even though the day was hot and growing hotter. The last thing he needed was for her to open her eyes and see him sitting inches away with his compass pointing north.

  "What are you thinking about, Doctor?"

  "Involuntary responses."

  He managed to cram more fish into Miss Farnham, then ate some himself. It was far from the worst thing he'd ever eaten, and it did the trick, making his body behave. It wasn't enough to satisfy, but it was enough to let him focus on bending the hairpins into hooks and setting out with bait fish to catch something more substantial for their supper.

  "Miss Farnham, if you would stop twitching, I could do this more easily."

  She stopped her squirming on the seat and sighed.

  "I am sorry, Dr. Murray, but I am not used to sleeping in my corset and now..." She rolled her shoulders and frowned. "It is not comfortable. I am itching."

  He stopped what he was doing. The sun beat down full on them, and it was unlikely he'd catch more fish in the heat of the day. Better to try again late in the afternoon when the sun was setting. For now, it made more sense to have shade to rest in during the hottest part of the day, and to give Miss Farnham some relief. He needed to keep her out of the sun as much as possible. Her skin was not leathery like his from exposure to the elements, hers was soft, and white, and so delicate he could see the tracery of veins in her neck where her dress was torn and her skin showed through above her shift--

  "Dr. Murray? Are you going to help me out of my clothes like you did on the Magpie?"

  He put up his line and said, "Take off your hat and turn around, Miss Farnham."

  She did, and Alexander began to undo the tapes of her dress.

  "You will want to put your dress or some other garment back on when I am finished, Miss Farnham, otherwise you will be sunburned."

  "My night rail has been drying in the sunshine. I could put that on."

  He made a noise of assent as he worked on the corset strings, knotted and stiff from their soaking. He did not want to cut them, knowing they might need the string, so it took longer than he wanted, his fingers brushing against the fine linen of her shift, the skin beneath it warm and rosy with health. She had a tiny mole just beneath her shoulder blade, which made him wonder if there were other interesting marks on her body. At that point, the knot came unraveled and he loosened the strings while Miss Farnham took a deep breath.

  "Dr. Murray, that feels so good."

  She arched her back and stretched, and he looked steadfastly out to sea, trying to think of the woman with him as just another collection of skin and sinew, bone and organ, no different from any other human he'd had his hands on over the years.

  It wasn't working. Here he was, in the middle of the ocean, and his unruly body was sending him urgent messages. He knew why, he'd seen it before with men after battle. When you come close to death, there is a drive to procreate, to prove yourself alive. It was not that he was attracted to Miss Farnham per se, simply that she was here, with him, and she was the right gender to bring his more primitive urges to the fore. That's all.

  "Do you know what would be perfect, Dr. Murray?"

  Yes, as a matter of fact he did, he'd seen it demonstrated at a brothel in Naples...

  "If you would scratch my back, because it is so itchy."

  And that wasn't it. But it was probably a better idea than what he was fantasizing about, so he said, "Lean forward and I will loosen this some more, Miss Farnham."

  She did, and he pushed the sides of her corset apart, the shift beneath looking bedraggled as it clung to her skin in the tropical heat. He lifted the fabric off her back and she sighed, and then she moaned in contentment as he lightly scratched at her delicate skin.

  "I wish there was something I could do for you to return the favor, Dr. Murray."

  Don't say it, do not say it, he told himself firmly.

  "Thank you, Miss Farnham, but I am doing well." He'd stripped down to his shirt earlier, and she craned her head over her shoulder and said, "You men have such an easy time of it, your clothes are so simple compared to women's clothing.

  "Of course, there is the dandy set," she went on. "George was like that. He would spend all morning with his valet, having his cravat tied in a style that would make a statement."

  "What was the statement?"

  She blinked and turned her body at an angle to look at him.

  "I do not understand."

  "If someone spends an entire morning on something as frivolous as tying a neckcloth to make a statement, then what is the statement
he is trying to make?"

  She stared at him, opened her mouth, closed it, then opened it again.

  "Perhaps the statement is that clothes make the man?"

  "Do they, Miss Farnham?"

  "They did for George. That is what he was known for--always being properly turned out and prepared for any social situation."

  "Let me ask you a question, Miss Farnham. When you die, do you want people to remember your life by saying, 'She was always properly turned out and prepared for any social situation'?"

  "I never thought about it."

  "No, I imagine it is not a question that would arise in your social set."

  "I think being shipwrecked is making you cranky, Dr. Murray."

  "It does have that effect on me, Miss Farnham. Now, I suggest you try to rest during the midday heat. I will do the same, and then we will try to catch some supper."

  "We?"

  "This is a joint venture, Miss Farnham. You brought the equipment, I bring the skill."

  He turned around to pull the canvas into a shape where it would shelter them from the sun without stifling them, while Miss Farnham made noises behind him that indicated she was wiggling out of her corset and putting on her night rail. When he turned back to her she looked modest enough, the long sleeved garment buttoned up to her chin, but the fabric was sheer, and he could see her shift beneath it, and beneath that, shadows of two nipples that he had not had the pleasure of seeing but if he had to guess, he would say they were rosy pink, just like the rest of her.

  Focus, Alexander, he told himself. Letting his imagination run wild only made it worse.

  "Give me your dress and I will put it on top of the canvas to dry out."

  She passed him her dress, sadly faded and salt stained, and he spread it out to dry, pulled the canvas to the side for an impromptu awning and settled himself next to her. The dog wedged itself between them, which was probably just as well.

  The heat of the day and the rocking of the boat combined with his restless night to send his eyes drifting shut. The warm body of the woman next to him, even with her cur separating them also relaxed him. Miss Farnham might not be the perfect companion in a shipwreck, but she was another soul adrift on the seas and her company was welcome. He had no desire to be like Robinson Crusoe, alone and friendless until he found his savage Friday.