Only a Hero Will Do

by Susan Lodge

  Oh no, what had she done now? A square grating above revealed the night sky. She must have been unconscious for hours. She peered through the gloom to the nearest body, a young man holding his head in his hands.

  “Where are we?” she whispered.

  He slowly lifted his head. “In hell!” He wiped his sleeve across his face, obliterating what she suspected was a tear. Then he turned his head to the side and threw up.

  Hetty wrinkled her nose in disgust. Then, to her horror, the gentle sway of this new world made her insides surge in the same way. She felt something warm and wet lick the back of her neck and let out a high-pitched yelp of terror. Recovering her senses, she brought her arm up and batted away the attacker. As her fist collided with warm, coarse hair, she swivelled around in surprise. A pair of indignant blue eyes looked back at her.

  Goats! For heaven’s sake! She was sharing her accommodations with goats.

  The man finished retching and turned back, peering at her in the darkness. “Bit young for this, ain’t you? You’re hardly out of leading strings, if my ears don’t deceive me.”

  Hetty cursed silently. She had forgotten to disguise her voice. She had pretended to be a young man on several occasions, and she was rather good at it. But in the seriousness of being seduced by a goat, she had forgotten to use the usual low tones of her male counterpart.

  She shook her head and corrected her pitch. “I’m old enough.”

  Miserably, she took stock of the situation. Should she just holler for the nearest officer and divulge her identity? That would instantly result in being removed from this hideous place. Where was the wretched ship going, anyway? Could she use the situation to her advantage? She had at least gotten away from Stark. If she returned to Portsmouth, he would almost certainly be looking for her. Perhaps she should stay where she was.

  She had read a novel once about a woman who was disguised as a man and served on a frigate. Could she do it? She averted her eyes when the man across from her viciously scratched his groin. No, perhaps not.

  The thought of sharing such an intimate space with these men made her shudder. It would be much better to declare herself as a female under an assumed name. Yes, that was what she would do. But not just now.

  Closing her eyes, she concentrated on making herself as invisible as possible. She only brightened a little when she realised she still had her winnings in her possession.

  ***

  Robert Withington surveyed the expanse of the grey channel from the quarterdeck of the HMS Resolve, a seventy-gun man-of-war. Captain Albert Derwent had finished his account of his last action with two French frigates and now complained about the lack of prizes likely to come with his new orders. He was to proceed to Gibraltar and relieve the convoy, dispatching Robert to the newly-converted hospital ship where there was desperate need of a physician to accompany a large cargo of wounded back to England.

  In his early forties, the captain was a good deal rounder and a few inches shorter than he was. Robert had attended him several times in a professional capacity, even sewing his right leg back together after a battle three years ago.

  “It’s good to have you aboard, Withington, even if it is only for a short time. You wouldn’t believe the incompetence of the surgeon I had to endure last year. I swear he didn’t know one end of my guts from the other. Thank God for a proper physician. They will be glad of your arrival in Gibraltar.”

  “I understand you have Dr. Franklin with you this trip. I worked with him years ago. A competent man, as I remember,” Robert replied.

  “Indeed he is,” the captain said, “but he looked in worse shape than his patients when I saw him earlier. He is getting too old to still be at sea, but he prefers the life.”

  Robert understood the sentiment. He loved the sting of the salty wind and the large expanse of nothingness. He had travelled on many naval ships as a surgeon and, being always stationed below in battle, had survived, unlike many of his friends. Since he was made Physician to the Fleet, he had spent more time on shore, advising the medical board and overseeing his research at the hospital.

  “Your home, have you managed to retain it yet?” the captain asked.

  “I intend to finalise the matter on my return. The house is in a sorry state, but I should be able to complete the renovations soon. I intend to spend a lot more time there after Napoleon is finally put to bed.”

  The captain lowered his voice. “A strange position to be in – a physician and now a title.”

  Robert frowned. “I would rather you kept that information to yourself, Captain. It would only cause confusion and embarrassment amongst the men. I prefer to stay a physician for now.”

  He had only recently inherited the empty-pocketed title of Earl of Chedbury upon the death of his elder brother, Stephen. Only with his uncle’s inheritance, a few prizes from naval battles, and careful investments, had he been able to plan to recover Longwood.

  The captain nodded. “Of course, Doctor, as you wish. Still, I’m damn glad you’re here. I could do with a decent chess partner.” The captain winced slightly and rubbed his hand along his right thigh.

  “Is your leg giving you trouble?” Robert enquired.

  “No, not really. Only when the sea is cruel. Like a damn barometer, it tells me the weather before it happens.” He paused and stared aloft then shouted an order for more sail. “God knows, I struggle to find a crew that understand their duties these days.”

  Robert glanced at his pocket watch. “Speaking of duties, I think I will go down and speak to Dr. Franklin – see if he needs any assistance.”

  The captain sighed. “Yes, indeed. There is a new bunch to look over, gathered up yesterday. The usual mix of lily-handed, reluctant landsmen, no doubt, although occasionally there is the odd one who can reach the cross trees without pissing himself.”

  Robert frowned. He hated the practice of pressing men into service. The men were often not suited to a life at sea and were wrenched from their homes and livelihoods, sometimes leaving their dependents to certain poverty.

  “I know you have strong thoughts on the subject, Doctor,” the captain continued, “but the service wouldn’t be manned without the pressed men. I think they’re a lucky bunch with you aboard to attend them. On shore they wouldn’t be able to afford a physician, now, would they?” He laughed heartily.

  Robert smiled as he went below. Truth was, he often practised for no reward. He did not turn away patients who couldn’t pay, and he knew he never would.

  ***

  “Breathe in again.” Robert listened to the man’s chest rasp then straightened as far as he could while avoiding the beams. At six feet tall, he was continually stooped in the confined space between decks. He had taken one look at the ailing Dr. Franklin and sent the man to his bed before taking over examination of the new crewmen.

  “This man for light duties,” Robert instructed the midshipman who stood ready to assign the new recruits to their posts.

  “Next!” He sat down at the desk. The new patient arrived, and Robert turned to the delicate youth who stared at him with abject terror. His voice softened. “Don’t worry, lad. I just need to examine you to see if you are fit for duty. Take off your shirt and lower your breeches.”

  Chapter Three

  Hetty almost fainted with terror. She had meant to reveal herself at dawn but she hadn’t been able to find quite the right moment. It had to be now, but she stood as if glued to the spot as the oddly familiar man issued oddly familiar orders. He advanced toward her.

  Good heavens! She pulled her jacket tighter around her and looked at him with desperation.

  “Come on, now.”

  His voice had taken on that impatient tone and his hand descended to commence his examination. She stepped back with a squeak, and his eyes locked with hers. He stared hard at her, and then his brows rose and he cursed under his breath.

  She was slightly shocked. That wasn’t the sort of vocabulary a physician should use in the presence of a lad
y, even if she was in disguise. His eyes surveyed her from head to foot, visually peeling away the layers of her disguise. His frown intensified and he turned to his servant, who had been watching the scene.

  “Perkins, take this lad and keep him isolated in the treatment room. I don’t think he is fit for duty, but I will examine him more extensively later.” Perkins gazed at Hetty with a blank look of ignorance and gestured her to follow him, which she did like a rabbit freed from a snare.

  ***

  “So, would you like to explain, Miss Avebury? It is you, isn’t it?”

  He pulled the hat from her head, revealing the tell-tale copper hair, which had been fashioned into a queue. Partly free of its ties, a few curls danced around her head like a fiery halo. She took a step back, fearful of what his hands would reveal next, but she knew it was pointless to continue the charade.

  “My disguise usually has more success. How did you know?”

  “Your attempt at impersonating the male form is, frankly, unconvincing.”

  Hetty was puzzled; she had carefully researched her disguise, and until today it had been sufficient to escape detection. The man really was very disagreeable. After a few moments of awful silence, Hetty realised she had to offer an explanation.

  “I didn’t intend to come onto the ship. But once I had been caught by the press-gang I couldn’t decide what was best to do. I have to get to the Isle of Wight, you see.”

  “Isle of Wight!” he bellowed in exasperation.

  Her heart sank a little further at his tone. “It was by a series of unfortunate mistakes, sir, that I found myself here.” She tried to say the words with dignity, but they sounded so inadequate that her voice faded. She gave a long, desperate sigh. “I suppose this ship is not bound for the Isle of Wight, is it?”

  He raised his eyebrows and ran a hand through his hair. “You seem to make a habit of surprising me, Miss Avebury, in the most outrageous fashion. At our first meeting, I overlooked your conduct as reckless and eccentric. This time I find it totally insane. What exactly had you planned, dressed in this way? Or did you simply fall out of another tree into the hands of the press-gang?”

  She remained silent. Whatever she said would only lead to further complications. He should know as little as possible about her circumstances. He would almost certainly try to return her to her family and the odious Lord Stark.

  “Well?” he prompted. That impatient air was back again, but this time it was laced with anger. He really did have the most unappealing manners. She opened her mouth then shut it, opened it again, then shut it. This sorry situation could not be explained with a few words.

  Suddenly, the ship rolled and she struggled to control the rising nausea. She felt a moment’s relief as a bowl was swiftly placed under her chin just before she cast her accounts.

  ***

  Robert leaned back in his chair and studied his latest patient. She looked like a bedraggled waif with that copper hair glinting around her delicate – albeit grubby – face. How in God’s name had she landed in his lap twice in a matter of days?

  Robert was angry for being drawn into her problems. Lord Stark might even be part of them and, having met the man, he had some sympathy for the girl. Nevertheless, her behaviour was bizarre.

  Her face had turned an unappealing colour, and she continued to retch at regular intervals. He was used to treating seasickness; had even suffered from it in his early days in the service. It raised hopelessness in people, and he felt a wave of pity even as she splashed his second-best coat with vomit. Her strange penchant for male attire had certainly landed her in a coil. Exactly what sort of coil he would no doubt find out in time, as it looked like they were doomed to be travelling companions.

  He frowned and hoped to God they did not encounter any action from the French.

  ***

  Hetty felt more wretched than she could ever have imagined. Even the thought of life with Stark was not so appalling compared to enduring the roll of this ship. She wanted to die. And constantly throwing up in front of this particular disagreeable man was infuriating. He must think her a complete and total imbecile. She was beginning to feel like one.

  He knew who she was, and he would have to inform the captain of her presence and identity. Hopefully, the ship possessed an understanding captain. After all, she was a respectable woman underneath her disguise. Surely he would be compelled to give her safe passage, but to where?

  The doctor had seated her in a corner of the cabin with the bowl, which she clutched like a lifeline and used at frequent intervals. He settled back at his desk and busied himself with a sheaf of papers, no doubt deciding she was in no state to continue the inquisition. She would have to answer his questions sooner or later. If only she could stop her insides from tumbling long enough for her to think. But half an hour later, when he finished his notes and turned to face her, she still had no plan.

  “Now, I realise, Miss Avebury, that the last thing you feel like doing is talking.” He tugged the bowl from her hands and replaced it with a clean one. “But I have to inform the captain of your presence.”

  She nodded, unable to speak without heaving.

  “Is there anything you want to tell me first? Something that I could offer to the captain by way of explanation for your being on his ship? Were you intent on running away, perhaps?” His voice changed and the impatient tone had lost its edge.

  She was grateful for his presence. Feeling as wretched as she did, a medical man seemed not a bad companion.

  She nodded again. “I appear to have made a bit of a hash of it, haven’t I?”

  “Indeed you have,” he agreed.

  ***

  “Well, madam, you have put me in a right pickle.” Captain Derwent sat behind his desk, glaring at Hetty as if he would like to throw her overboard. He reached for his snuff box and took a heavy pinch.

  She didn’t answer. Frankly, the man terrified her.

  Hetty sat with her hands in her lap, straight-backed and attempting to look demure. Aunt Amelia would have been pleased with the way she was sitting, if nothing else. She thought guiltily about her aunt, who would be worried; the only person in the world who would be, except her loyal maid, of course.

  She should never have involved poor Annie in her stupid escape plan. They had known each other almost all their lives and had a closer relationship than would normally exist between servant and mistress. Hetty knew the girl would try to find her, and she looked toward the window, almost expecting to see her intrepid maid swimming through the foaming wake of the ship’s path.

  The captain now knew her name and where she resided. She had not mentioned Lord Stark and, to her relief, the doctor had not either.

  Under cover of her long eyelashes, she stole a glance at Doctor Withington seated by the stern window, watching her. He did not look quite as disapproving as he had earlier. In fact, he studied her as if she was a particularly curious specimen he was trying to classify. Good heavens, he made her skin creep. Stark made her skin creep as well, but that was in a different way altogether. Neither sensation was comfortable. One made her feel cold and the other warm – quite warm indeed.

  The captain’s voice shattered the temporary lull in the conversation.

  “Miss Avebury, I will assign you the best accommodation I can find, but bear in mind this is a fighting ship. You will please restrict yourself to your cabin as much as possible. It is unfortunate you have no abigail, as I have no other women on this ship.” He eyed her garments. “At least I believe I do not. Is perhaps your companion also under disguise?” He shuddered. “Am I to expect an entourage of pressed men who will turn out to be females?”

  Hetty shook her head. “Unfortunately, I was parted from my maid at Portsmouth. She was dressed as a woman – because she is a woman, that is. I have no idea what became of her.”

  The captain leaned back in his chair, staring at the wooden beams above his head, as if to assess the problem. “Hmm… In the circumstances, Doctor, I think Mi
ss Avebury should be put under your guardianship until I can arrange for her to be returned home. It is probably the most correct arrangement – you being a medical man.”

  The crease in Robert's forehead deepened. “I hardly think that appropriate, Captain. I am not a substitute for a young lady’s abigail.”

  The captain sighed. “But you are already acquainted with the lady and her family. I really cannot think of any better arrangement.”

  The doctor’s expression turned from alarm to reluctant acceptance.

  “Very well, Captain. I will make Miss Avebury my responsibility until we can return her home.”

  The doctor turned and gave her a look that held a distinct warning. She did not like that the impatient doctor would be in charge of her. Would he assist her, unfastening her gowns and brushing her hair?

  She gave herself a mental shake, thankful that her male attire didn’t require help.

  ***

  Lying in the cabin that had been vacated for her, Hetty drew the coarse blanket under her chin, trying to figure out how to proceed. Stark and her father would be livid about her disappearance but not as much as her stepmother. Having spent her father’s fortune, Diana was now intent on selling his daughter. Oh, the triumph knowing she had upset the plans of the woman!

  Losing her mother to scarlet fever five years ago had been bad enough, but afterwards her father’s affection for her died as well. The love had been chipped away since his marriage to Diana. Perhaps it had never existed as all.

  As a child, she had taken her father’s love for granted, but he never said he loved her – not in so many words. Some fathers didn’t. Regardless, she’d been looked after, well clothed, and educated.

  Her second Season had been very eventful. She had met the dashing Lieutenant Samuel Caulder, who had asked her father if he might call on her. And he had refused his permission! According to her father – or more likely Diana, whose commands came via her father – Lieutenant Caulder did not have the proper credentials. She had been heartbroken. The young officer had brought fun into her life, something that had been missing since she had lost her mother.