Seasons of War 2-Book Bundle

by CHERYL COOPER

  At length, he replied, “I am sure much has changed since then.”

  Gus’s eyes shone. “I will go see the captain straightaway.” He dashed off before Leander could stop him.

  “Doctor,” said Emily, hoping to steer the conversation in a new direction, “might it be possible for someone, other than Mrs. Kettle, to lend me some clothes?”

  Leander smiled broadly as he took off his spectacles. “I believe Mr. Austen has asked Magpie to sew something together for you.”

  “Magpie?”

  “Our sail maker. He’s brilliant with a needle and thread.”

  “You are all very kind.”

  “I would advise you against taking exercise in my nightshirt.”

  Emily smoothed the muslin shirt she wore. “I thought this might belong to you.”

  Unable to hold her gaze, Leander examined the ceiling boards above his head.

  “I could see you writing a letter at your desk,” said Emily.

  “Could you?”

  “Were you writing to someone back home?”

  “I was, as a matter of fact.”

  Emily tried to urge him onward with her eyes, but she did not meet with success.

  “Is there someone to whom you would like to send a letter?” he asked. “I could arrange for you to be given parchment and ink.”

  Emily shook her head. “No.”

  “Right, then, I’d better return to it while we await the captain’s word.” He left her abruptly.

  No sooner had Leander reinstated himself at his desk than Gus, breathless from his errand, rushed into the hospital shouting, “Dr. Braden, sir!”

  “Mr. Walby,” Leander scolded, “please remember my patients here require peace and quiet.”

  Mr. Harding piped up. “You kidding? We haven’t had a moment’s peace since that woman moved into your hammock.”

  “You’re not complaining now, are you, Mr. Harding?” asked Leander. From his pillow the sailing master gave him a wink and a cluck. Leander turned back to Gus.

  “Captain Moreland said it was fine, sir.”

  “Did he now?”

  “On one condition,” Gus added.

  “And that condition is … ?”

  “He said that if one man falls from the rigging and breaks his neck, Emily’s to be sent packing below deck for all time.”

  In her corner, Emily laughed out loud.

  9:30 a.m.

  (Forenoon Watch, Three Bells)

  GUS'S NEXT ERRAND was a visit to the sail room on the orlop deck to see whether Magpie had completed his task. He found the young sail maker sitting cross-legged on the floor amongst his tools and yards of canvas. His tiny room, crammed with rolls of fresh sails, was poorly ventilated and illuminated with only one lantern. It amazed Gus that Magpie could do such wonderful work in such small quarters.

  Magpie set aside the sail he was stitching and looked up hopefully. “Have ya come fer the clothes, sir?”

  “Captain Moreland said she could go for a walk on the weather decks, but not in Dr. Braden’s nightshirt.”

  “I bin waitin’ fer someone to come fetch ’em. I had ’em all done yesterday, sir.” Magpie sprang to his feet and carefully picked up the neatly folded bundle on his stool. “Did the cap’n say I could meet her, sir?”

  “I didn’t ask him, but I don’t see why not.”

  “Should I wash up first, sir?”

  “You’re quite presentable as you are.”

  Magpie plucked his flute from the jumble of blankets on his bed and held it up. “Do ya suppose I could play her a tune? She might like knowin’ I ’ave a bit o’ refinement.”

  Gus shook his head. “Music is forbidden in Dr. Braden’s hospital. Come along then.”

  Tingling with excitement, Magpie followed Gus up two decks, through the animals’ stable, the grog room, the sailors’ galley, and the mess before reaching the hospital ward. As there were still some sections of the Isabelle he had never seen before, his eyes were open to everything around him. When Gus and Magpie entered the hospital, Mr. Harding called out, “Magpie, I hope illness is not forcing you to join us.”

  “No, sir. I’m quite well. I do hope yer foot’s feelin’ better.”

  Mr. Harding breathed in and exhaled sadly. “As my foot is swimming in the sea, I’m certain it is feeling better than it ever has before, unless, of course, it’s been chewed upon by a hungry shark.”

  “Won’t be no shark chewin’ on yer foot,” called out the sailor in the neighbouring hammock, “so long as it spotted Mr. Crump’s tasty leg first.”

  Mr. Crump grumbled his displeasure at the lot of them making jokes at the expense of his lost leg, shut his eyes, and pretended to be asleep.

  Leander folded up his letter and rose from his desk to greet the little sail maker. “She’s just beyond that curtain, Magpie.”

  In the dimness of the hospital, Magpie’s eyes sparkled as he followed Gus.

  Emily was sitting up in her cot. The moment she saw Magpie, surprise transformed her features.

  “Mornin’, ma’am,” he said, thrusting out his small right hand. “They call me Magpie on account o’ me black hair, and ’cause I talk all the time and get into trouble a lot.”

  “What is your real name?” Emily asked, taking his hand in hers. There was a half-moon of grime under each of his fingernails.

  “Haven’t a clue, ma’am. I never had no family to give me a proper name. Only name I ever bin called is Magpie.”

  “How old are you?”

  “When they measure me against Mr. Walby here, they figure I’m about ten.”

  “And you’re a sail maker?”

  “Aye, ma’am … learned the trade from old Beck Bailey, who was hankerin’ fer a promotion. He wanted to be a bo’s’n, but he don’t read none. The cap’n – not Cap’n Moreland mind – promised him work above deck if he’d teach me the sail makin’. First learned it when I was seven.”

  “Seven? That young? And you can make clothes too?”

  “Aye, ma’am. I make ’em and I repair ’em. I hope ya like ’em.” He proudly held out his little bundle.

  As she accepted them, Emily thought her heart would burst. “I’m sure I will.”

  “We’ll wait outside, Em,” Gus said, jabbing Magpie with his elbow.

  “And if ya be needin’ any alt’rations, ma’am, I’ll be standin’ by.”

  Emily took a deep breath when they had closed up the curtain. For a time she fingered the workmanship of the jacket and trousers, her dark brown eyes fixed upon the sea beyond the open gunport, then with a determined shake of her head, she called out, “Dr. Braden? Are you still out there?”

  “I am.”

  “May I ask you something?”

  He poked his head round, catching her brushing away a tear.

  “I have no interest in seeing Mrs. Kettle again, but I do require some assistance. Would you help me?”

  Fully aware that an audience of men and boys stood eavesdropping a few yards away, Leander gave her a quick nod. He took a step towards her then stopped, not certain where to begin.

  She looked up at him questioningly, and quietly said, “Should we take off the nightshirt while I’m still in the cot?”

  “Of course.” He smiled uneasily as he came closer.

  Trying her best not to cry out in pain, Emily eased the shirt up around her legs. She took another deep breath. “Can you take it from here, Doctor?”

  “Do you feel up to this, Emily?”

  She attempted to smile. “Up to what, Doctor – taking exercise on the weather decks or having you take off my nightshirt?”

  The hospital walls thundered with the mirthful howling of its occupants. Leander turned scarlet.

  “If there is any more laughter out there,” he yelled over his shoulder, “I’ll give you all a shot of laudanum that will put you out for days.”

  Instantaneously, a hush descended upon the hospital.

  “Well done, Doctor,” Emily whispered.
/>   Knowing her shoulder was still raw, Leander slid the nightdress over Emily’s head as carefully as he could. Underneath, she wore her chemise and his eyes passed over her breasts. His hands shook slightly. The feel of her soft hair, those dark expressive eyes of hers, the interesting curves of her face … she was beautiful. He picked up the blue jacket that Magpie had sewn for her and helped her into the sleeves one at a time, certain he could hear the men’s laboured breathing in the distance. Once Emily had done up her jacket’s brass buttons, he leaned over her cot and murmured, “Now, I’ll pull the trousers on over that ankle of yours.” She shuddered as he touched her feet.

  He turned his head towards her. “Did I hurt you?”

  “No, I’m … quite fine.” Emily held her breath while he gently hiked the trousers up her legs.

  “Now, I hope you can finish the last bit.”

  He walked over to the open gunport, his back to her as she struggled with the trousers. Pulling them over her hips and up to her waist, Emily had to stifle the urge to laugh when she noticed the flap front. Then, kicking off her blankets, she hooked her legs over the side of her hammock. “Ready for step two, Doctor.”

  Leander spun around, knowing his face was still flushed, and observed her figure in the sailor’s clothing as discreetly as possible.

  “Ah, you’ll be needing shoes!” He dashed to a cupboard in the wall and opened its door to reveal three shelves on which he had neatly arranged his own hats, shirts, and cravats. He pulled out a straw hat and her blue silk slippers. “Before you went for your swim the other day,” he said, holding up the slippers, “you smartly tucked these into your jacket.” Kneeling down, he placed them onto her feet.

  “I don’t know how well they’ll wear climbing the ship’s rigging and spars,” said Emily, “but they do match my new jacket.”

  Leander looked at her thoughtfully. “I have never known a farmer’s daughter who was able to climb the rigging and spars of a ship.”

  “In another lifetime, Doctor, I – ” She forced a smile rather than finishing her sentence.

  Leander held out his straw hat to her. “Maybe we could save spar climbing for another day.”

  Emily gathered up the long waves of her hair with the stronger of her two arms. When she was done, Leander popped the hat on her head.

  “Right, now, lean forward a bit,” he whispered.

  As she did so, he moved in so close to her face that she could smell the pleasant muskiness of his shirt. He placed one of his slender arms around her back and eased her out of the hammock and onto the floor.

  “Mr. Walby,” he called out, “we’re ready for you now.”

  Gus burst through the curtains as if on cue, waving a walking cane. Reaching across the hammock, Leander took the cane, handed it to Emily, and stood back to watch as she hobbled like a happy child towards the curtain. Gus held it open for her. In the hospital room, the men looked on from their hammocks with a curiosity to rival a group of elderly women observing couples at a ball.

  “Emily,” said Leander, avoiding his patients’ stares, “the winds are strong on deck. Mind the hat.”

  11:00 a.m.

  (Forenoon Watch, Six Bells)

  “SIR, THE DOCTOR has allowed that woman to wander freely above deck.”

  Octavius, whose pimply face was red and puffy from the hot Bermudian sun, interrupted James as he conferred next to the capstan with Mr. Harding, who, following Emily’s example, had obtained from Dr. Braden a crutch and an admonition against over-exerting himself, and left his hospital cot to resume his duties. There was much to discuss, as the Isabelle would be leaving Bermuda later that day.

  Jerking his head up, James squinted into the sun to search the decks within his sight. “I cannot see her anywhere, Mr. Lindsay.”

  “She’s standing with Gus Walby and Magpie – of all people – by the fore ladders.”

  James looked again. “I see Mr. Walby and young Magpie, but by the stars, I see no woman dressed in a corselet and chemise.”

  Octavius compressed his lips in annoyance. “Sir, the Admiralty clearly states that no woman, be she an officer’s wife or a cook, appear above deck while at sea.”

  “I’m well versed in navy rules, thank you. Need I remind you we are anchored in port?”

  The first lieutenant pointed towards the mainmast’s yardarm. “See how the men pause in their chores to watch her.”

  James and Mr. Harding both looked up, shading their eyes from the bright sun.

  “They are doing a fine job keeping their eyes in their heads and on their tasks,” Mr. Harding said, shifting his weight about.

  “Which is more than I can say for you, Mr. Lindsay.” James stared at him long and hard until Octavius looked away.

  “Sir! The men don’t have to look at Meg Kettle in the darkness of their cots. We are not all true gentlemen here.”

  Aware of the men toiling nearby, James dropped his voice. “We may have beggars and thieves from Newgate prison on board, but as far as I know there are only honourable men among us.”

  “Captain Moreland, I fear … I fear you are growing soft.” No sooner had he uttered the words than Octavius regretted them, as he watched James’s face change colour.

  “Mr. Lindsay,” James hissed through his teeth, “I will not make a scene here. Meet me in the wardroom at two bells.”

  Octavius opened his mouth, but said no more. He saluted and swiftly strode off.

  Mr. Harding waited until James’s complexion had regained its normal pallor. “Forgive me, sir … that young man … I know you’re well acquainted with his father, but that bold tongue of his deserves a flogging.”

  “Like his father, Mr. Lindsay is hotheaded and impulsive.” James’s glance locked on the young sailor who limped alongside Magpie and Gus Walby. “But he is right.”

  “How so, sir?”

  “I am growing soft.”

  * * *

  ONCE GUS HAD HELPED Emily negotiate the ladder to the fo’c’sle deck, he apologized to her. “My lesson with Mr. Austen begins shortly. I must leave you here. But you’ll be quite safe with Magpie.” His eyes brightened. “Today we’re studying the signal flags and communications at sea. It’s my most favourite subject of all.”

  “Then you must go. I’m not concerned for my safety, although I had my doubts trying to get out of the doctor’s hammock.” She gave a satisfied glance around the ship. “Just tell me, is there a quiet place where I may sit with Magpie and enjoy this fresh air?”

  “Aye, on the poop deck. You’ll find it quiet there this time of day. Unfortunately, it’s at the very back of the ship and it will mean more ladders to climb. The quarterdeck is closer, but if you’re caught loitering there, you’ll most likely be ordered to ‘shove off,’ as only officers and midshipmen may stroll there during their leisure hours. Shall I escort you to the poop deck before I go to class?”

  “Thank you, I’ll manage with Mr. Magpie.”

  Hobbling along the fo’c’sle deck with her walking cane, Emily drew no stares. The doctor’s straw hat hid her long, fair hair, and the baggy trousers and waist-length jacket Magpie had fashioned for her disguised her female form. She had supposed her blue silk shoes would be a dead giveaway, but no one seemed interested in her feet. Moreover, Gus had assured her that several of the men were new to the Isabelle, and thus many faces were still foreign to one another.

  As if reading her thoughts, Magpie piped up, “Ya’ll get away with it today, ma’am, but tonight at supper they’ll be askin’ me the name of the sailor I was walkin’ with at noon.”

  “Do you not get leisure time?”

  “Aye, but they don’t usually see the likes of Magpie up on the poop deck.”

  “In that case, let’s just sit here.”

  Emily and Magpie perched themselves upon two overturned barrels alongside the starboard railing of the ship’s waist, and there fell quiet to appreciate the scenes around them. The decks were teeming with sailors – toiling, talking, taking leisu
re – reminding Emily of a busy street in London minus the coiffed ladies in their bonnets and redingotes. High on the yardarms, the men stood precariously on their footropes, letting down the sails in preparation for their return to the sea. Those on the mast platforms watched the empty horizons for enemy sails. They were like birds in a mountain nest, isolated and free. She longed to be up there with them and determined she would be once her ankle and shoulder had healed.

  Following Magpie’s gaze out over the square, stone buildings in the dockyard and the low, mossy-green hills of Ireland Island, Emily noticed there was only one other ship in port beyond the Isabelle, a small two-masted vessel with an unusually bright red hull. HMS Amethyst and the three East India merchantmen, of which she’d overheard Dr. Braden speaking to Mr. Harding in the hospital earlier, must have departed, she thought. Emily had hoped to catch a glimpse of the Amethyst’s Captain Prickett and First Lieutenant Bridlington, as their manners and fondness for the Isabelle’s food had apparently provided Captain Moreland with a good amount of entertainment.

  Pulling her eyes away from the thickets of mangrove and hedges of oleander that lay beyond the naval buildings, Emily was surprised to find Magpie studying her face with interest, much as Captain Moreland and Fly Austen had the night of their interrogation. Quickly he looked away, furtively slipping a gilded object into his trousers pocket, and turning his attention to the stretch of new canvas that whispered above his head.

  “What is that you have there?” Emily asked, referring to her tantalizing glimpse of gold.

  “Aw, it ain’t nothing,” said Magpie, still looking at the sail. He pointed upwards. “Ain’t she a beauty, ma’am? I sewed her meself.”

  “Yes,” Emily said absently. It was her turn to study him. His eyes were almond-shaped, fringed with long black lashes, and his dark curls blew with abandon in the warm breeze. His little fingers were stained black and his leather shoes had lost their heels, but his trousers, shirt, and red necktie were all clean, and the stitches around the patches were neat and even. There was a catch in her throat as she asked, “Where did you live before joining the navy, Magpie?”