Gus’s cheeks reddened. “You’d better not, Em. You caused quite a stir this afternoon.” He reached for the stool at the foot of her hammock and sat down upon it. “When you didn’t return to the hospital, Dr. Braden asked me to look for you, as he had his hands full stitching up the head of a sailor that’d fallen from the shrouds. But I couldn’t find you anywhere. I was mad at myself for leaving you, but I never thought Magpie would have led you to the mess.”
“Magpie did no such thing! When it was time for him to return to his duties, I told him I was quite capable of finding my own way back to the hospital. I soon discovered I was quite lost and not capable at all.”
“Is it true, Em? Were you really drinking beer with Biscuit and his mates?”
“Did Dr. Braden tell you that?”
“Oh, no.” Gus lowered his voice to a whisper. “I was invited to dine with the officers this evening and it was there that Mr. Lindsay announced he’d been informed you were drinking beer with a group of men that were saying lewd things to you. All Dr. Braden said was it was obvious the men had no idea they were in the presence of a lady; otherwise, they wouldn’t have been so vulgar.”
Emily leaned closer to Gus. “Is this Mr. Lindsay the same man that teaches you writing?”
“Aye, he’s a first lieutenant.”
“Fascinating!” Emily said, more to herself than to Gus.
“Were you quite offended by the men’s remarks?”
“Not at all. I’ve had occasion to hear far worse. It’s not just men on the sea who misbehave.”
Gus looked embarrassed. “I shouldn’t have said anything at all …” His voice trailed off when Dr. Braden entered the hospital. In one brisk action, Gus opened Jane Austen’s novel and randomly began to read.
In the lamplight, Emily could see Leander’s shadow stop next to his desk, where he raised his head and stood unmoving as if listening to Gus’s reading. For a full chapter, he stayed in that position, and when it was complete, he called out, “It’s late, Mr. Walby.”
“Good night, Em. Sleep well. I hope we can continue tomorrow.”
Emily replied with a silent nod.
When Gus was gone, she lay swinging in her hammock, listening to the wind howling through the tiny cracks in the ship’s timbers and the sea crashing as the Isabelle battled her way through the waves. Periodically, a bell sounded, an order was shouted, a whistle was blown in the distance, but the rest of the ship was eerily silent. There was no entertainment above deck this night. Near Emily’s head, the gunport was closed up, and her little corner was dark and lonely. She hoped Leander might check in on her, might be in the mood for some conversation, but the only sounds outside her canvas curtain were the moans and snores of the wounded men in their cots, and the scratch of a pen. Emily closed her eyes and waited for sleep to come.
The first crash of cannons sounded in the early morning before light. Emily sat upright in her hammock and blinked in the blackness of the lower deck. As yet, no lanterns had been lit in the room where they all slept. Through the cracks in the ship’s timbers, she could see flashes of light that were followed by thunderous outbursts of guns. The hits to the hull of their merchant ship rattled Emily’s teeth and landed her on her back as she scrambled out of her cot. There was confusion and chaos above her head as the crew raced to defend themselves with their guns. In the darkness of the large cabin the women started screaming and the children began to wail. Emily could not see a thing as she groped her way to the next hammock and, with trembling hands, felt around for the terrified child who lay there. She scooped up the youngster and shouted to the other women to grab their children and take them to the corners of the room. But no one answered her. No one seemed to hear her. All around the ship the explosions and ensuing battle cries were deafening.
Before long, the American captain ordered his men to lash the ships together for boarding. As she crouched down in a gloomy corner, Emily could smell the stale stink of the enemy seamen as they crept through the decks with their pistols cocked and cutlasses in the ready position. She held her breath, hoping somehow they would not find her, and calmed herself by rocking the unknown child in her arms, feeling its soft hair against her cheek, wiping away its tears, but it was impossible, as the women and children sitting in the darkness next to her were hysterical. Voices – frantic voices – called out her name, over and over again. Suddenly, the silhouettes of three men came upon her and lifted a lantern to her face. The tallest one wore a cocked hat. He tore the child from her arms and held his pistol to her breast …
Emily awoke and cried out. Her heart pumped madly in her tightened chest and she gasped for air, her dark thoughts dragging her into an abyss where there was only oppressive sadness. Feeling icy cold, she began to shudder.
Within seconds a hospital lantern was lit and Leander stood next to her bed. “It was a dream … just a dream,” he said gently, pulling the blankets she had cast off in her fitful sleep up around her shoulders. “Breathe in deeply and exhale slowly through your mouth.”
Emily closed her eyes and tried concentrating on her breathing. “It was so black,” she mumbled on her pillow.
“Keep breathing – slowly and deeply. I’ll be right back.”
Fighting the temptation to revisit her nightmare, Emily lay there alone, trying to restore her breathing and heart rate with pleasant memories of her childhood home in England. It had been such a lovely house: three storeys high, stucco and beam, full of cosy corners, secret cupboards, and happy people. And the surrounding gardens had been so fragrant, all riotous colour, humming with tiny creatures. Father was there, smiling and waving to her as she played near the pond under the willow trees …
But it was no use. The haunting sounds of sobbing women and children, and the delirious voices of her unseen companions as they ran about, calling out to her in the shadows, kept interrupting her images of England … kept echoing through the corridors of her mind. Where were they now? Caught in the ship’s remains, their scattered bones lost in the ocean’s dark depths? Try as she might, Emily could not flee from her fear and her guilt that somehow … she had been responsible for their fate.
Leander returned quietly with a lantern and cup of water for her. “There’s a tincture of laudanum in it. It will help you sleep.”
Longing for nothingness, Emily greedily drank the contents.
Leander hung the lantern on a hook by the head of her bed, then pulled up the footstool and sank down upon it, watching her as he did so. She wore his muslin nightshirt, which hid the curves of her breasts. Her pale hair was damp with sweat, and bits of it curled around her face. Her cheeks were flushed and tears clung to her lashes, making her look more like a frightened young child than the self-assured woman of eighteen years he had been used to seeing. A wave of intense feeling swept through him and he longed to hold her in his arms.
When Emily’s heart had slowed, she opened her brown eyes and looked at Leander as if seeing him for the first time. He was dressed in a blue-striped, open-necked nightshirt; his rumpled hair stood up in small tufts on the crown of his head, and a shadow of auburn stubble was visible around his lips.
“Would it help to talk about it?” he asked, resting his elbows on his thighs.
Emily exhaled through her open lips. “Thank you, but no … not yet.”
He nodded and gave her a half smile. “The sea is calmer now. Shall I open the gunport? A bit of fresh air might help.”
“Please.”
Emily’s eyes followed him as he stood up and walked around the foot of her bed – his head and shoulders sloped forward to avoid hitting the ceiling – then slowly they dropped below the hem of his nightshirt as he worked to unlatch the gunport. His calves and ankles were well turned out and she took pleasure in the bone structure of his feet. A breeze, making its way through the open gunport into Emily’s corner, ruffled his nightshirt, outlining his slim form. Her eyelids grew heavy as a surge of warmth spread throughout her body.
Leander ret
raced his steps to the stool and sat patiently in the event she needed anything. For several minutes, with his head leaning on an upturned fist, he looked upon her quiet face and closed eyelids, and was therefore startled when her lips suddenly twisted into a grin and one of her eyes popped open.
“Doctor Braden,” she whispered, “you have a lovely, fine nose.”
Leander lifted his head and raised his eyebrows, uncertain that he had heard her correctly. He opened his mouth to question her remark, but her breathing had steadied and her features had relaxed. He knew she was sound asleep.
5
Monday, June 7
11:30 a.m.
(Forenoon Watch, Seven Bells)
BEFORE NOON THE NEXT MORNING, Meg Kettle waddled through Emily’s curtains, balancing a washbasin on one hip. Her thick face was scarlet and there were enormous sweat stains in the armpits of her beige calico dress. “Git up, git up. It’s Monday. Wash day fer ya.” She dropped the basin next to Emily’s hammock and stood, hands on her hammy hips, huffing and puffing.
Emily sat up in her bed and wiped the sleep from her eyes, unable to decipher Mrs. Kettle’s ensuing mumbled irritation as the woman headed towards the gunport, her backside swaying like a prodigious pendulum.
“We’ll ’ave to close this up,” she said gruffly. “We’re hove to, so Captain Moreland and his men kin ’ave their wash in thee sea, and it wouldn’t do fer ya to have a peek at their bare behinds. Mind ya, Mr. Austen looks fine without his britches. What I wouldn’t give ta …”
Emily’s hands shot up in surrender. “Thank you, Mrs. Kettle. I’m up then.”
With a bang, Mrs. Kettle shut the gunport. She wheeled about and with her squinty eyes sized up Emily in her crumpled nightshirt.
“Well then, it’s wash day fer yer clothes as well. Gimme yer shirt and whatever’s underneath and that what Magpie made ya. I’ll ’ave ’em all back ’fore thee supper bell.”
“The supper bell? And what shall I wear in the meantime?”
Mrs. Kettle snorted. “A pair of thee doctor’s boots fer all I care.” She grabbed Emily’s jacket and trousers, which were hanging from a hook, ignoring Emily’s protests that her new clothes hardly needed cleaning at all, then trudged through the curtain, shouting over her plump shoulder, “Toss me what yer wearin’ now onto thee floor and ye can hide yerself under thee blankets for thee day.”
Out in the hospital room Emily heard Leander’s warm voice. “Being your usual solicitous self, are you, Mrs. Kettle?”
“I’m washin’ that woman’s clothes only on yer account, Doctor. If ya want me opinion, I would ’ave – ”
“As a matter of fact,” said Leander, elevating his tone, “I do not.”
With hands on her hips and a scowl between her eyes, Mrs. Kettle pounced upon Dr. Braden’s patients with a loud warning. “Ye lads keep yer trousers on whilst that woman’s walkin’ naked amongst ya.” Their heads bobbed obediently on their pillows. She waved a fat finger at Leander. “And you, Doctor – be sure to tie thee lads down in their beds while she’s ’avin’ her wash.”
“I assure you I have rope ready for just such a purpose.”
With a grunt, Mrs. Kettle bent over to scoop up Emily’s discarded clothes lying on the floor by the curtain. When she was done, she growled, “Fer all thee trouble that woman’s bin causin’, woulda bin plenty easier if we’d just pitched ’er overboard in Bermuda.”
Leander laid his slim, freckled hands on her shoulders and steered her gently towards the exit. “Mrs. Kettle, with bated breath we shall await your return at suppertime with our clean clothes.”
Sitting in her hammock with the blankets pulled up to her neck, Emily could hear not only the older woman’s cursing as she passed from the hospital into the galley, but the subsequent snickers from the men as well. Of them all, Osmund Brockley possessed the noisiest laughter, braying like a possessed animal, and when finally he had laughed himself dry, he asked of Leander, “May I take in her breakfast now, Doctor?”
“No,” came the terse reply.
Leander was soon standing before her curtain. “May I come through, Emily?”
“By all means, Doctor.”
Leander sidled in, his back to her, carrying a bundle of clothes.
“Good morning,” he said, holding the clothes up for her to see. “I managed to get these for you from the ship’s purser, Mr. Spooner. I’m afraid they won’t fit well, but they’ll do for Mondays.”
“I am quite decent, Doctor.”
There was a shy look of uncertainty on Leander’s face as he laid the new clothes by her feet and turned towards her.
“I was beginning to worry you would not speak to me again after finding me with Biscuit and his messmates.”
Leander quickly cleared his throat. “Yes, well.” He looked at her over his spectacles, his blue eyes meeting hers, and drew in breath. “But – do you not remember anything of last night?”
“Last night?” Emily angled her head. “What happened last night?”
Leander hesitated, uncertain how to proceed. “You – you had a nightmare.”
His words hung in the humid air of her little corner. Emily’s eyes shifted past him to stare absently at the closed gunport.
“Perhaps I – should not have reminded you …”
“No, I remember. And you gave me some water and laudanum.” She looked back at him. “If you are not careful, Doctor, you will surely waste your entire supply of laudanum on me. And here Mrs. Kettle thinks I am nothing more than an idler. Perhaps we should tell her that you perpetually have me in a drug-induced slumber.”
Leander moved closer still to the head of her hammock. “We will tell no one of it.”
The ship rolled and he raised his slender arms to steady himself on the boards above his head. He grew suddenly sombre. “After breakfast, Captain Moreland would like to have a word with you in his cabin.”
“Am I in trouble for yesterday?”
“I cannot be sure. He said little to me, only that he wished to see you.”
Emily sighed. “Do you suppose he will banish me to his gaol cell in the bowels of this ship with the ever-affable Mrs. Kettle as my protector?”
“If the captain seeks my counsel, I will recommend you stay where you are.”
“Comforting words; however, do not forget I am only a woman.”
Leander studied the floor.
Seeing his lips move silently, Emily asked, “What is that you say, Doctor?”
He dropped his arms at his sides. “Oh, I … I wondered whether you would be able to make the trip to Captain Moreland’s cabin with that ankle of yours.”
Emily smiled at him. “I cannot leave it here.”
He smiled back. “I will ask Gus to escort you there … and back.” Reaching out to pull the curtain aside, he whispered, “Will you require assistance with your new clothes?”
“As I have lost my underclothing to Mrs. Kettle’s laundry pile,” she whispered back, “I had better try this one on my own.”
2:00 p.m.
(Afternoon Watch, Four Bells)
THE CAPTAIN'S CABIN DOOR swung open, revealing Biscuit’s flaming orange head. Gus took off his hat. “Miss Emily is here. The captain is expecting her.”
Biscuit’s good eye gave Emily a thorough going over, moving from the top of Dr. Braden’s borrowed straw hat down to her bandage-wrapped ankle. She had on a pair of loose-fitting brown trousers, a checked shirt, and a polka-dotted red scarf tied at her neck. On her feet were her blue silk shoes. Biscuit chortled, and then muttered, “New slops, Mr. George?”
Gus peered up at Emily, a puzzled expression on his small face. With her eyes, she entreated that he ask no questions. From within the cabin came Captain Moreland’s insistent voice. “Thank you, Mr. Walby. I will call for you again later. Please come in, Emily. You may keep your hat on.”
While Biscuit stepped aside, Emily passed into the room, holding her breath against his sour stench. With an outstretched arm, the capta
in motioned her towards a red-velvet wing chair at the opposite end of the oak table from him. Fly Austen leaped up to help her settle in, placed her walking cane across her knees, and returned to his own chair on the captain’s left.
Glancing around the table, Emily found four pairs of keen eyes staring at her as if she were a curiosity at a local market. With the exception of the young officer with the bad complexion, the men all had warm smiles for her.
“You have already met Mr. Austen,” said the captain, “and I gather you made the acquaintance of our sailing master, Mr. Harding, in the hospital.”
“Yes, sir,” said Emily with a brief nod.
“But I do not believe you know our first lieutenant, Octavius Lindsay.”
Emily looked his way, feeling his dark eyes attaching themselves to her body like two black leeches. He had thin lips and greasy coal-coloured hair, and the aspect of a person who would not age well. She watched as his lips curled.
“I understand, ma’am, that you lived in Dorset. Perhaps you have made the acquaintance of my family. We have one of many properties in Dorset, my father being the Duke of Belmont.”
As Emily had already developed a distaste for the man, she replied, “How wonderful for you, Mr. Lindsay.”
Octavius raised his black eyebrows in surprise, then looked askance at Captain Moreland. With a nonchalance that irritated the younger man, James held up the decanter Biscuit had brought in for their interview.
“Would you care for some wine, Emily?”
“No, thank you, sir.”
Fly Austen addressed her amiably. “Have Dr. Braden and Mr. Brockley taken good care of you in the hospital?”
“They have both been very kind. You have all been kind to me.” Emily excluded Octavius in her glance.
“And your injuries?” asked James. “You are on the mend?”
“I am much improved these past seven days.”
“Good, good. It is our hope that you are comfortable while you are here on the Isabelle; however, Emily, your safety too is important, and you have given us some anxiety of late. As a result, we have felt it necessary to lay out certain restrictions for the duration of your stay.” James leaned back in his chair, resting his thick, intertwined fingers on the belly of his buttoned-up coat, trying to harden his facial features and inject a note of harshness into his voice. “Henceforth, you will be forbidden to set foot above deck during the day. Should you require exercise, you may take it, but only after the evening eight bells, and only with an escort of my choosing. Secondly, there will be no more mixing with the sailors. The areas on the gun decks where the men take their meals and where they hang their hammocks at night will be off limits to you.” Seeing Emily’s face fall, James felt a twinge of frustration. “You have proven yourself to be an affable young woman, but the men on my ship …” he stopped to choose his words. “I fear they will misinterpret your gregariousness.”
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