The Surgeon’s Lady

by Carla Kelly

  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. D
on’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.

  When Nana was on an even keel again, Laura and Matthew returned to Plymouth to scour the shops for paper, pencils and primers. That day ended successfully, and not a moment too soon, because Matthew was looking the worse for wear, although he would never have admitted it.

  “I’m afraid I wore him out,” she told Philemon that evening, after supper was over and he was in his workroom, making plasters. He had assigned her to scraping lint and gathering the soft fabric into bags.

  “He’s young. He’ll recover. I think the others on B were envious he escaped.” Philemon mixed lead monoxide with pork lard. “Hand me the olive oil behind you. Ta.” He added it slowly.

  “What are you making?”

  “Plasters. I’ll add water and stir until it’s white, then store it until I add medicine.” He shook his head. “Maybe it even does some good when I warm it and spread it on a wound.”

  There was something in his voice. Laura touched his arm. “Who died?”

  “Our blind and deaf friend.” His expression hardened. “He told me to tell you ‘thank’ee.’”

  She swallowed, blinking back her tears. “How do you do this?” she asked, when she could speak.

  “I must admit it’s not easy.” Without a word, he picked up her hand resting on his arm, kissing her palm and then her wrist.

  She felt her breath coming faster. Tentative, she leaned forward and kissed his cheek right next to his ear, not sure she should, but knowing she must. Somehow, this was different from the peaceful night they had spent together, the one she seemed unable to erase from her mind. That kiss before she left for Taunton hadn’t been her imagination, either, but still, this was different.

  “Laura,” he said. “Laura, help me,” and kissed her lips this time.

  She was as little skilled in kissing as he was, but it didn’t matter. All she wanted to do was remove some of his burden of constant worry and decisions a lesser man would never make. If a kiss would help, she would do her best.

  His arms went around her then, pulling her close as he continued to kiss her. His canvas apron was stiff against her, but she could feel his body stirring underneath it, even as she knew hers stirred in ways that Sir James had never touched.

  They both heard running steps on the stairs at the same time. “Lt. Brittle!” someone yelled. Philemon pulled away from her, quickly removed the pot from its small flame and left her without a backward glance, running up the stairs.

  Her arms were empty. He might never have been there at all.

  Chapter Twelve

  Laura wanted more from Philemon Brittle, but events conspired to fill every hour the surgeon possessed. After a restless night, she woke to the clang of the jetty bell. Instantly alert, she hurried into her clothes, calling to Pierre to prepare more porridge than usual.

  She ran to the jetty, almost dreading the sight of so many jolly boats. So many mother’s sons, she thought, as she plunged into the dockside chaos.

  Philemon gestured to her with a bloody hand and she ran to his side, kneeling there. He nodded toward a canvas bag.

  “It’s full of
compresses. Sling that over your shoulder and follow Brian. He’ll tell you what to do.”

  She grabbed the bag even as she asked, “Am I ready for this?”

  “Beyond it, Laura. You’re one of my mates now.”

  He had no idea how that terrified her, but he had already turned away. She found Brian Aitken, Philemon’s chief mate, by the water’s edge. Before today, she had only been able to understand one word in ten of his thick Scots brogue. She discovered how quickly spurting blood could clear the intellect.

  His face speckled with blood, Aitken hummed as he worked, probably to take his mind off what lay before him. He worked as efficiently as Philemon—probably had been trained by him—and she had no trouble keeping up. After an hour, she found some clean water and mopped the blood from his face. He surprised her by returning the favor. She had no idea she looked as ghoulish as he did.

  At midmorning, when she had a second to look around, she noticed Amanda Peters, her former dresser, kneeling beside Captain Brackett. She waved to her, and Peters nodded, her hands too occupied to wave. We’ve changed in a few weeks, Laura thought. I used to be terrified of her, and she used to fuss if my cap was set slightly askew. Imagine.

  She imitated the more experienced matrons as they turned their bloody aprons around and tied them again, then hurried back to their own blocks as the work continued indoors: shaving heads to prevent spread of lice, washing the men, finding nightshirts and beds for them, then porridge for those who could eat. Mrs. Ormes and even the scullery maid—shy at first, then useful—came upstairs to feed the wounded.

  By midnight, the butcher’s bill was tallied and Philemon, his eyes burning like coals in his head, gave her permission to go below. She collapsed on her bed without even removing her shoes or her bloody apron, then leaped up at dawn when the jetty bells clanged again.