Castaway Dreams

by Darlene Marshall

  Her eyes narrowed in anger and her hands, fisted now in her lap, trembled.

  "You think you know everything, Alexander Murray, but you do not! I am sure you can tell me all the pieces of my heart, the names in Greek and Latin, but you only know parts of me. Your head is stuffed full of natural philosophy and it has squeezed out the rest of your gray matter, the important bits about butterflies and flowers and love! You do not know my heart and you do not know your own heart! I love you, Alexander, and I know you love me, too, even if you will not say it."

  She was so sure of what she was saying, but what did she know? Daphne had always been sheltered from the cruel ravages of the world around her, first by her father, then by Tyndale, then by him. That is as it should be. A woman like Daphne needed to be cared for and pampered, not made old before her time by too much work and too little money.

  The dog barked then, scratching at the door, and Alexander was grateful to have their painful conversation interrupted.

  "See to your animal, Daphne. He needs you."

  Daphne looked at him, then shook her head.

  "At least Pompom knows what he needs in life and is willing to say so."

  She rose from the bunk, wincing as she put her rough footwear back on in the silent cabin. Grabbing her cold weather gear, she took the dog's lead and carried him out.

  Alexander followed soon after, going to his surgery and looked around the narrow cabin. He took comfort in knowing his skills had been needed, and appreciated. If it was a far cry from a Royal Navy third rate, it was still his domain. He sat and took out his tools, cleaning and polishing them, sharpening the blades. The space around him smelled of vinegar and sulfur and blood, the sweat of scared men and the salt of the ocean. Soon he would have a workspace that didn't shift and move, and a proper cabinet to store his instruments, but the battered surgical chest would always hold a special spot in his home and in his heart.

  He pulled out the miniature of Moira, and looked at it for a long, long, time before putting it back. She, too, would always have a place in his heart, but it was no longer the nut-brown girl he saw in his dreams at night. The boy's love had been trumped by the man's soul and passions.

  * * * *

  The Prodigal Son docked at Portsmouth flying proper British colors. There was no hue and cry of "pirate!" from the docks, all of the paperwork was in order, and Captain St. Armand came ashore to see his passengers off at Portsmouth Point.

  "I hope your voyage with us was everything you wanted it to be, Miss Farnham."

  Daphne was looking not at the pirate, but at Alexander as she replied, "Yes, Captain St. Armand, I will never forget this trip."

  Then she did turn her face to him, her hair blowing around her eyes as it came loose from her braid, the braid still tied off by the now sadly faded ribbons Alexander made for her so long ago. She brushed a piece of hair out of her face. The day was blustery, with clouds scudding across the sky, and the light moved in and out as the sun hid itself, then reappeared. Daphne hugged her ugly but serviceable coat closer. There was something to be said for function over fashion, but really, there was no good reason she could not combine the two, was there? Maybe now that she was home, she would work on changing the fashions for ladies to make them pretty, but more practical.

  "So I must take my leave of you now, my dear Miss Farnham..."

  "Mrs. Murray."

  The pirate looked at Alexander, a long assessing look. Then he turned back to Daphne.

  "It is time to stop pretending, is it not? You are safe in England once again, not on the high seas. You are returned to your home, Miss Farnham, where you belong. Au revoir, lovely lady."

  She jumped when he took her hand and bowed over it to kiss it, and instead of kissing the air above like a proper gentleman he licked her and she frowned at the forward fellow. He simply smiled a cat-like smile, eyelids heavy over those pretty blue eyes.

  "Goodbye to you also, Murray. You were a valuable asset on this voyage and I was glad to have you aboard."

  "Not au revoir?"

  "I hope not. But if I ever need a skilled surgeon, I will look for you first."

  "You will need a skilled surgeon if you do not release Miss Farnham's hand, St. Armand."

  The pirate let go of Daphne's hand and Alexander tucked it into the crook of his arm, holding Daphne close to his side.

  Daphne made sure Pompom's leash was secure. He was so excited to be back on land, sniffing everything and leaving his mark to let the world know he'd returned to England. He trotted by her side as she and Alexander strolled along Broad Street, and Daphne clutched at the surgeon's arm.

  "I feel like I am falling over!"

  He stopped.

  "You need time to regain your land-legs, Daphne. Do not move too quickly. You will adjust soon." He looked into her eyes. "I will make sure you do not fall. Stay close to me, for this is not the most savory area of town."

  She looked at him as the traffic of the busy port bustled around them. Then a startled guffaw of laughter whipped her head around.

  "You are correct, Jameson, that is the most amusing thing I have seen today."

  Two tulips of the ton emerged from a noisy tavern and were watching them, one peering through his quizzing glass as he took in their mismatched, mismeasured, and mixed-up wardrobes. Daphne wore her quilted coat, lovingly sewn by Mr. Sails to keep her warm on the voyage. Her palmetto hat sat atop her head, faded and battered from the elements, while her braid snaked out from beneath it, the worn ribbon resting on her chest. Her sailor's trousers were in sight at the bottom of the coat, and her stiff and ugly shoes covered her feet in their men's heavy wool stockings.

  Alexander fared no better in his worn coat with its stains and holes, his too short trousers, his bare head. The surgical chest hanging from its strap looked every bit as battered as the rest of him.

  The beaus having a laugh at their expense had put a great deal of effort into their wardrobes. One wore a Polish style redingote with a rich fur collar and cuffs, full-skirted and trimmed with braid on the front and back, Hessian boots and a beaver hat. The other had sacrificed comfort for style, appearing elegant but chilled in a sky blue frock coat with outrageously padded shoulders over a primrose waistcoat, and sported yellow Cossack trousers. He was the one using the quizzing glass to study Daphne and Alexander.

  "Good heavens, Jameson, is that Daphne Farnham? I heard she was dead!"

  "If it is the soiled daffodil, better she be dead than be seen dressed in that fashion. Did I say fashion? Clearly I misspoke."

  "No, Alexander, do not do anything!"

  Daphne gripped her companion's arm, not for support, but because he'd taken a step toward the young men, and the look on his face froze her blood. He shook her off and she panicked, throwing herself into his arms, there on the public street as bold as a dockside strumpet, holding him back, digging her heels in as Pompom yapped and wrapped his lead around their legs. Passersby laughed at the dog's antics but Daphne ignored them, clutching Alexander, her face buried in his coat.

  "Do not, Alexander, they are not worth it," she whispered, her limbs shaking as she held onto him.

  The dandies moved off, still laughing, and after an eternity, Alexander's hand rose and rested on the back of her neck. He took a deep breath, held it, then let it out.

  "You can let go now, Daphne."

  I don't want to, but she did as he said.

  He took her arm and walked with her, his face as calm and placid as ever, but his eyes tracked where the fops disappeared to.

  "I know them," she said dully. "Randolf Jameson danced with me often, and I thought him a witty fellow. His companion, Conrad, sometimes made up theater parties with us. I thought they were my friends."

  He did not offer her sympathy, false or real, or any words of consolation over another bit of her sheltered life shattered like a teacup dropped on the cobblestones.

  "Do you know, Dr. Murray, I believe I now prefer the company of Norton, and Mr. Fuller, and
even poor Arnold with his guts hanging out than I do those two."

  "Arnold was more entertaining."

  Daphne giggled at this, the tension of moments before dissipating, though she still clung to his arm. "I have developed a strange sense of what is amusing, Dr. Murray, and I suspect it is your fault."

  "I will accept the blame for that one, Miss Farnham. Spend time with naval surgeons and your idea of what constitutes humor will undergo a sea change for certain."

  She hugged his arm and straightened her back, not caring who might see her. Let them talk! She was not the same girl who'd left their company so many months back, she was a new person, a stronger person, a useful person.

  She was loved as well, she knew that, even though the words had never been said. That gave her strength like nothing else did.

  Their inn was far enough from the water to be less attractive to the roistering sailors and their doxies, but it was still a seaman's haven. The aroma of roasting meat filled the space and set Daphne's mouth to watering.

  "Dr. Murray!" the man behind the counter wiped his hands and stumped out on a leg and a peg to greet his guests.

  "This is your missus? Who would have thought I'd ever see the day when Dr. Murray would settle down."

  Daphne would have corrected the man regarding her status, but Alexander spoke up first.

  "This is indeed my wife, as I mentioned in my note, Daphne Murray. My dear, this salty dog is Nick Pyle, a fine gunner but an even better cook. His salmagundi was the talk of the fleet and made our vessel the envy of others."

  "I had to become a good cook, didn't I, if I wanted to stay afloat?"

  Pyle was a big man, built like one of the barrels at the back of the taproom, his sandy hair still tied back in a tarred queue.

  He looked at her now, and didn't seem at all fazed by her odd wardrobe.

  "Heard you was shipwrecked, missus. My old woman and my gal said they'd take you to the shops, get you outfitted so you can get underweigh."

  "I don't want to be a bother, Mr. Pyle."

  "'S no bother at all. I owe Dr. Murray plenty." His voice lowered and he pointed at the length of wood poking out at the bottom of his trousers. "I begged him to splice me instead of dock me aboard the Caeneus, but he said this was the only way if I wanted to see my wife and gals again."

  "Have you been well since then, Nick?"

  "Aye, that I have, Doctor," the big man beamed. "And the old lady don't mind none at all. Says I can't run from her so fast now that I'm on timber. Scares me to death, she does."

  The "scary old lady" emerged from the kitchen then, and Daphne hid a smile behind her hand. Mrs. Pyle only came as high as her husband's chest and it would take three of her to make one of him. And she was not old, though her face bore the marks of years waiting for her man to come home from the sea.

  She smiled now at Dr. Murray, and the introductions were made.

  "Rosie will show you to your room, Mrs. Murray. Will the dog stay with you, or do you want him outside tonight?"

  "Pompom stays with us, Mrs. Pyle. He will be no trouble at all."

  "Very well, Mrs. Murray. After luncheon my girl will take you to the shops. I sent word ahead based on Dr. Murray's notes, and the seamstress should have something there you can take with you."

  She leaned closer.

  "You're not the first lady to show up without her bags, and Miss West keeps some frocks on hand just needing alterations to be sold."

  Daphne wanted to eat lunch in the public room, full of people and lively discussions, but Dr. Murray insisted they eat in their room, explaining once they were in there and the door was closed.

  "I've arranged for trays, Daphne." He stood with his hands clasped behind his back and looked at her sternly. "The less people see you before you're returned to London the safer it is for you and your reputation."

  His look softened then and he took her chin in his hand. He was watching her face as if he hoped to memorize her features.

  "You don't want your father to receive rumors of your rescue and not know for certain, do you? It is probable he thinks you drowned, Daphne, and your returning could be a massive shock. This is why I bought passage on the mail to London, so we can travel to town as quickly as possible."

  He looked down at the dog.

  "Will Pompom stay in your bag during the trip?"

  "Of course," she said, scooping up her fluffy companion. "He's my darling widdle boy and I know he'll be good for his mum-mums."

  "I'll tip the coachman extra just in case," he muttered, then ran his hands through his hair. He paused, looked around the room, then back at her.

  "Will you be comfortable here? It is just for one night."

  Daphne looked around at their lodgings. The bed was covered in worn linens that smelled clean and sunshiney, not mildewed like ship's linens. It wasn't a large bed, but it was larger than their bunk, and a table with two chairs sat beneath the window. A fire burned in the grate and Pompom made himself comfortable, stretching out on the hearthrug. Sounds from the busy streets below filtered up through the window glass, but Pyle assured them that it was quiet enough at night.

  "This room is perfectly splendid, Alexander."

  "I know it's not what you are used to."

  "You are correct. It is not a cramped ship's cabin or a hut on a desert island or a surgery or a pirate's den, but I believe I will do well enough here."

  He gave her that smile that wasn't really a smile, except to her.

  "You are becoming pert, miss."

  "It must come from spending time with pirates and surgeons."

  "Low company indeed. On that note, I'll be purchasing clothing of my own while you're out this afternoon, Daphne, so I do not frighten the other passengers or the coachman."

  A thought suddenly struck her. She hadn't had to think about such things, not since she ran off with George, but now she was reminded again of her status.

  "Is there money for all of this, Alexander?"

  Thank heaven he did not say, "Do not worry your pretty little head about that," like her father, and George, and every other man she'd ever known. He simply nodded and said, "Yes, I have coins with me, and funds in an account I keep here in Portsmouth."

  There was a knock at their door and a young woman huffed in carrying a heavy tray with delicious smells. Pompom barked once, then sat on his haunches knowing he'd be fed first.

  "Here's your lunch, missus. There's cabbage soup and roast beef and my father's own home-brew and potatoes and fresh bread and butter and cheddar and apple pie my ma baked this morning. If that won't keep you, we also have a shepherd's pie I can bring up."

  "It all sounds wonderful," Daphne said. "I believe this will keep us, but if I can have a pot of tea that would be perfect."

  "Coming right up," the girl said, and went back to the kitchen. Alexander uncovered the dishes and set out plates and silver, and Daphne took a small wooden bowl thoughtfully sent by Mrs. Pyle, gave Pompom a drink of water, then refilled it with some choice pieces from their lunch.

  "I do not want to wrestle that animal for my meal," her less furry companion grumbled, but Daphne just smiled and put the food down for dog. When she was seated, Alexander filled her plate and they ate in silence, giving Mr. and Mrs. Pyle's fare its due.

  The good, plain English cooking helped lift Daphne's spirits until Alexander said, "I imagine you were accustomed to much finer cuisine here in England."

  Daphne put down her fork and leveled her gaze on him.

  "Sometimes you are just silly, Alexander. Do you think my days were filled with only eating fairy cakes and sipping champagne? There were those theater suppers with oysters, yes, but you forget I grew up mostly in the country. Even in London my father preferred to keep an English cook rather than a French chef like many of his friends. I am quite used to fare such as this, and enjoy it."

  Alexander raised his brow at this but said nothing further. Daphne was puzzled. It was as if he were looking for things to distance himse
lf from her, rather than looking for things which would bring them closer, like making fires together, or how they each loved Pompom so much.

  "Is it satisfactory that Rosie Pyle accompany you this afternoon?"

  "I had rather hoped you would want to spend the day sorting through fabrics and ribbons and dresses with me, Alexander." She giggled at his look, then took pity on him. "I was jesting. I never thought I would say this about you, Alexander Murray, but you are useless, at least in this matter. Your helping me pick out clothing would be like me doing a surgery on you."

  "I do not think the two situations are comparable, but I will defer to your knowledge of this area, Daphne."

  "I wish I could come with you. I could help you pick out better clothes than you would pick out on your own. When you return to London, you should see a tailor who will dress you as befits your being a successful surgeon. I could help with that," she said, toying with her pie.

  "Finish up, Daphne. Rosie will be back for the plates."

  Daphne sighed, and set down her fork just as there was a knock at the door. Alexander told Rosie to enter, and the girl said she'd return after she took the dishes down to the kitchen. Daphne shrugged back into her coat, refilled Pompom's bowl, had a promise from Dr. Murray that he'd walk the pup, and prepared to go out.

  "Wait," Alexander said. He came over and retied her ribbon on her braid, then held the length of gold in his hand. "I am glad you did not cut your hair."

  Daphne blinked because her vision had gone blurry, but Alexander did not see as he pulled a purse from his coat and carefully counted out coins.

  "I made arrangements for Miss West to be paid, but here's something for any incidentals you might need, ribbons or what not."

  Daphne looked at the coins in her hand.

  "For a few weeks, Dr. Murray, everything we had was not valued in pounds and shillings."

  "We are back in England, Miss Farnham." He closed her fist around the coins and held it. "Here, wealth and birth are what matter."

  Then he released her hand and the coins felt cold and hard inside her fist.

  "Go now and take care of your errands. We both have a busy day."