The Captain's Wallflower

by Audrey Harrison

  “Come in,” Amelia said quietly, wondering what state his greatcoat must be in and whether his clothes would ever be clean again. Luckily, the greatcoat had protected his frock coat and cravat. Amelia moved from the chair where she had been seated to allow Richard access to his friend.

  “How is he?”

  “I don’t really know. He wouldn’t let us send for our own doctor, but there’s been no further communication.”

  “Stubborn mule,” Richard said shaking his head.

  “Doctor Johnson?” Alexander asked his eyelids flickering before a wince of pain caused them to close once more.

  “I’ve sent an express with strict instructions that if he doesn’t immediately start out for Charmouth, he is to be kidnapped. Is that acceptable?” Richard asked, his usual mocking tone subdued.

  Alexander smiled slightly, but he winced at the movement. “Thank you,” he whispered.

  “Who is Doctor Johnson?” Amelia asked, seating herself on a chair on the opposite side of the bed from where she had previously been seated. It was not as close to Alexander as she wanted to be, but she accepted that his friend had the right to be closest.

  “He’s the man who treated Alex on his return to England after his injury. He is a specialist with regards to dealing with eyes, although what he can do here goodness knows; it’s clearly a head wound,” Richard said, looking at yet another bloody scar on his friend’s forehead.

  “It’s so near the other wounds,” Amelia responded.

  “This is so like you, Alex, a damned—please excuse my language, Miss Basingstoke—pain in the rear. Why we couldn’t just have had Christmas in London goodness only knows! Oh no, we had to trek half way across country with a mad dog!” Richard said, worry making him unfairly exasperated.

  “Shut up,” Alexander croaked.

  Richard sighed, running a hand through his hair. It was as dishevelled as the rest of him. “If you’ll excuse me, Miss Basingstoke, I shall leave now. I would like to remove our belongings from the Admiral’s House. I need to be closer to my friend.”

  “My parents will gladly make room for you,” Amelia offered, but actually wondered where they would fit Richard in their soon-to-be-overcrowded house.

  As if Richard had read her mind, he spoke quickly. “That’s very kind, but while Alex seems to be willing to inconvenience just about everyone, I’m not. Is there a suitable inn in Charmouth that would be suitable?”

  “The Golden Lion is the best inn and only a mile away,” Amelia replied.

  “Perfect. If you both will excuse me, I shall remove to the Golden Lion and then return. I think it is wise to allow Peterson to accompany me. He is Alex’s valet and has been with him a long time; I think it would be a benefit for him to be here to act as nurse for Alex.”

  Although she wanted to refute the need for the valet’s help, Amelia was realistic enough to know she could not administer to all Alexander’s needs so acquiesced to Richard’s will.

  Amelia was once more left alone and returned to the seat nearest Alexander. She placed her cool hand on his forehead and was reassured he was still a normal temperature. How he had not lost consciousness she could only wonder; she was sure the fall would have killed a lesser man.

  If Amelia had been able to read Alexander’s thoughts she might not have been so calm. He had never felt as much pain since the injury in the battle of Trafalgar, and that had been a living hell. Sheer will was keeping him conscious; he needed to speak to the doctor and, if he allowed the darkness to envelop him, he was not sure he would come out again. He had focused on Amelia’s hands touching him gently; it was almost as if she had not touched him at all, but he concentrated on the feel of her, as if she alone could keep him safe.

  When Richard left, Alexander once again felt the blackness try to engulf him. He took slow breaths, trying to ward the darkness away. He sensed Amelia sitting on the chair and with a great effort he reached out to her.

  Amelia was surprised at the movement and hesitated. It was when Alexander whispered “Please,” that she placed her hand in his.

  Alexander squeezed Amelia’s fingers gratefully and lay his arm on the bed, keeping hold of her hand. If he could feel her, there was no chance of him losing consciousness. She anchored him, and he clung to the feeling just as he had clung to the need to get his men to safety. That had kept him alive then, and Amelia was keeping him focused now.

  They sat in silence for hours but maintained their connection. Amelia still checked Alexander’s forehead for any sign of fever, but she never removed her hand from his. A slight knock on the door made her try and pull away, but Alexander gripped her hand slightly, and she relaxed. If he needed the contact, she could not refuse him.

  Mr Basingstoke walked into the room and noticed immediately the reason for the flush on Amelia’s cheeks. He was wise enough to hold his counsel; a sick room was not the place to start lecturing about etiquette. He approached the bed and looked down at the young man lying there.

  “Is there any change?” he asked quietly.

  “No, not yet. There’s no fever.”

  “That’s a good sign.”

  “Papa, when do you think his doctor will arrive?” The worry in Amelia’s voice clear.

  “I have no idea. It depends on too many things to be able to guess. The journey would be easier without snow.”

  “I hope he rides instead of taking a carriage,” Amelia said.

  “That would be wisest for speed, but very uncomfortable at this time of year,” Mr Basingstoke responded. He was concerned that no doctor would see his unexpected guest for days.

  Amelia sat with Alexander all through the night. Peterson had arrived during the evening, but Amelia had sent him to bed, assuring him she would hand over control once Alexander had got through the night. Amelia did not want a fever to take hold when she was not there to immediately send for the doctor; at the moment she was reluctant to allow anyone else to take over her role. Samson remained under the bed not moving or making a sound as if he knew how serious the situation was. Amelia slept fitfully, laying her head on the high-backed chair that was brought in to help make her more comfortable. Throughout the dark hours her hand remained in Alexander’s, only withdrawing when it was absolutely necessary. She had the feeling that Alexander had not slept at all, but he was very quiet.

  *

  If Amelia had realised just how closely Alexander was clinging to consciousness she would have been even more uneasy. He had been told that it was probably pure will that had helped him survive his initial injury, and he was determined he was not going to die now. For the first time in a long time, he had too much to live for.

  Amelia was the most important person in his life, and he had nearly lost her. He was not about to slip into unconsciousness and die at this point. He cursed the gods; he was due some good luck for goodness sake! He was terrified of falling asleep and, although he realised lack of sleep would weaken him, he forced himself to stay awake. It should have been easy with the throbbing pain in his head, but it was not.

  The night seemed to last forever, but Amelia kept hold of him, her grip only easing when she fell asleep. Over the weeks since he had last been in her company Alexander had often thought of times when he would be able to lie next to her as she slept, but his dreams had not quite predicted the present scene. In those he had been holding her, tracing his fingers along her face and body in an effort to imprint them on his memory. Instead, here he was clinging to her hand as a drowning man clung to a piece of wood.

  He wanted to open his eyes, to let her know he was conscious so she would talk to him, but opening his eyes caused so much pain and confusion he was not sure he could cope with it just yet. Dr Johnson would know what to do; that was the mantra Alexander repeated time and again throughout the night and long into the following day.

  *

  Amelia heard the arrival of Dr Johnson before Alexander realised what it was. It was very late evening of the second day, and Alexander was becomi
ng weaker. He still held her hand, but it was not the firm grip of the day before.

  Dr Johnson was led into the room by Mr Basingstoke. Amelia noticed the unkempt look of the Doctor and immediately smiled in appreciation of his efforts. It was obvious he had travelled virtually non-stop since he had received the missive from Richard. He had in fact started out in the middle of the night and had covered one hundred and fifty three miles in less than twenty-four hours. His clothes looked travel weary as did his expression, but he entered the room and started speaking in an authoritative voice as soon as he was through the doorway.

  “Now, Captain, what’s all this I hear? You’ve had better days, I believe?”

  “I have,” Alexander responded quietly, not opening his eyes.

  “Mr Basingstoke, Miss Basingstoke, I need to examine my patient. Would you be kind enough to leave us? I promise as soon as I have examined Captain Worthington, I will allow you entry once more. I find it easier on the patient to be able to show what they are really feeling without being brave in front of family and friends.”

  “Of course,” Mr Basingstoke responded. “Amelia, I think now is a good time to take the opportunity to freshen up.” His daughter looked almost as crumpled as the doctor did and, although understandable in the circumstances, it was time she washed and changed her clothing.

  Amelia stood and reluctantly let go of Alexander’s hand. She wanted to kiss his cheek, but she could not be so forward in front of the doctor or her father, so she had to content herself with a squeeze of his hand before she released it. She managed to persuade Samson to follow her. The dog needed to be let outside; he had not moved all night or day. Samson once again surprised her; when she expected him to offer resistance, he followed meekly leaving the room with just one glance back, his tail still between his legs.

  When the door closed, leaving Alexander and the Doctor alone, Doctor Johnson opened his bag. He had set it down on the chest of drawers next to the four-poster bed. “Now, Alexander tell me everything that has happened.”

  “I can see,” came the quiet response.

  Chapter 11

  “Well, that is news indeed,” Doctor Johnson replied calmly. “And why are you not joyous at such a development?”

  “I’m terrified to move in case I lose it again. Every time I open my eyes, I’m expecting to be blind once more, but so far that hasn’t happened,” Alexander admitted.

  “Let me have a look at what is going on,” Doctor Johnson said. He examined Alexander as much as he was able, examining both his head and his eyes. All the time he was asking Alexander questions. “Describe your sight,” the Doctor instructed.

  “It’s as if I’m looking down a dark tunnel, but only in one eye, my left. The other eye is unchanged. It’s almost like looking through a telescope, but the wrong way round. If that makes sense?”

  After a thorough examination and more questions, Doctor Johnson sat on the chair Amelia had vacated. “I think the headache will ease with time; it is because things inside have obviously moved. You were very unlucky with your initial injury in that two pieces of metal embedded themselves in your head, putting pressure on both of your optic nerves. As I’ve said before, if only one had rested where it does, you would have sight in one eye. You were peppered with debris and because of that both your eyes were affected. It appears that the piece of debris on your optical nerve that controls sight on the left has moved slightly because of the blow to your head. The obvious good news is that, by releasing the pressure on the optical nerve, it has given you some sight.”

  “It sounds as if there is a ‘but’ in that sentence,” Alexander said, still trying to keep his talking to a minimum; his head still pounded, made worse by movement.

  “I’m not happy that a piece of metal has been dislodged from its resting place inside your head. There is no guarantee it will stay in its new position.”

  Alexander let out a long breath. “It could do worse damage than causing me to go blind.” It was not a question but a statement of fact. He was intelligent enough to realise what the doctor was telling him.

  “Yes, if it reaches the brain, there is no telling what damage it could cause. While walking around you could be at any moment at risk of the splinter affecting something in the brain that would kill you, very likely without warning.”

  “And yet, it’s no life to be permanently lying in bed afraid to move,” Alexander said. “Can you operate?”

  Doctor Johnson took a moment before he replied. “I could, but it does not come without its own risks. I’d want to perform the procedure in London with a doctor who specialises in this type of operation, but there is no guarantee you would even survive the journey. Operating on the head carries more risks than any other; the chances of dying during the operation are very high, and there could be untold damage even if you survive. The brain is a complex organ to start delving around in.”

  “You aren’t selling this,” Alexander said wryly.

  “I want you to be aware of all the pitfalls. There are too many for me to hide anything from you. It wouldn’t be fair if I weren’t completely honest with you,” Doctor Johnson replied seriously.

  “I could die if I do have the operation and die if I don’t,” Alexander said grimly.

  “I’m afraid so,” Doctor Johnson responded. He knew Alexander was a strong man, but operating on the brain was still in its infancy and held many risks, even for the strongest in society.

  “I think I need time to think everything over,” Alexander finally said. “I’m too tired to be able to think straight.”

  “Would you like me to give you a draught to help you sleep?”

  “No! You know I hate that stuff. As long as I think I’ll wake up, I will have no problems in falling asleep. I was afraid I was going to die if my eyes closed in sleep, but it seems it could happen whether I sleep or not.”

  “Sleep will not harm you at this point; you have done the right thing by staying stationary, but I suggest that, when you are awake, you open your eyes,” Doctor Johnson said gently. “Your brain needs to get used to receiving signals from your eye once more.”

  “It felt as if my head was going to explode,” Alexander admitted.

  “I can only imagine what the pain and confusion was like, but you must try.”

  “I will.”

  “I’ll settle into the nearest inn and call on you in the morning,” Doctor Johnson said. “I think you need to have made your decision by then; delaying will not help.”

  “I’ll have an answer for you,” Alexander promised.

  *

  Amelia and Mr Basingstoke had spoken to the doctor, offering him refreshments before he made his way to the inn. They were not told of the conversation that had occurred between doctor and patient, Doctor Johnson sensing that Alexander would be the one to tell others some sight had returned.

  Amelia opened the bedchamber door quietly and walked in. Alexander was lying still, but his face had lost some of the strain that had been visible, and it was only a few moments before Amelia realised Alexander was in fact sleeping.

  She sat on the seat next to him and watched him as he slept. She unconsciously reached out and touched his hair, gently brushing it away from the new wound. She reasoned that it would not do to have his hair touching the gash, but deep down she knew it was just an excuse; she had longed to touch him since the first time she had seen him. Alexander moved slightly at her touch, which stilled her hand, but he sighed and continued to sleep.

  Her heart ached for the strong man reduced to being an invalid. He had been such a delight to watch when he danced: light-footed for one so tall and well-built. He had looked fine in his blue naval uniform, which he was no longer allowed to wear. It was not just the uniform that made him look fine although it added to his appeal certainly; every girl appreciated a man in uniform; but he was as fine a gentleman in frock coat and breeches as he had been in his Captain’s garb. Amelia had to put her feelings aside; she had to concentrate on caring for h
im. If she allowed herself to be overcome by pity for all he had suffered, she would be of use to no one.

  Alexander woke just as the watery winter sun was peeping through the curtains. He opened his eyes slowly, almost afraid to see the world after so much darkness. He blinked to try to focus. The sight in his left eye had not altered from the terrifying moment when the fall had occurred, and it had been clear that something severe had happened. He was almost overcome by having vision after so much darkness. It should have felt exhilarating but, due to the pain, it had been a terrifying moment.

  He took his time to slowly look around the room, carefully taking in every detail of the small but well-furnished room. He forced himself to give his brain time to process each item it was seeing after over a year of darkness. It was still as if everything were a long distance away, but he surmised that it was because only his central vision was working that caused the strange effect.

  The fire was low in the grate, and a small mantle clock ticked away the seconds. A chaise longue was set beside the fireplace. A screen covered the opposite corner. He presumed it provided washing facilities for the resident of the room. The furniture looked slightly worn, but was obviously well cared for.

  As his head slowly moved around on his pillow, he was wary of moving too fast. His eyes alighted on the sleeping form of Amelia. She was curled up on the chair next to the bed, her feet tucked up beneath her, her shawl wrapped around her tightly. Her head rested on the wing of the chair with her hands tucked under her chin as if to make herself as comfortable as possible.

  It was the first time Alexander had seen the girl who had been in his thoughts for weeks now, and he allowed himself to take his fill of her. Her skin was pale and unblemished; her curls, although unruly now due to sleep and lack of attention, sagged a little at the side of her face, but her hair was a rich chestnut in colour. Her features were pleasing rather than handsome, her nose a little small and her lips not the full rosebud that was so much admired, but he could not take his eyes off her. To him she was beautiful. The face seemed to match her personality completely, and he could not help the smile that formed as he finally was able to see her. Since he had known her given name she had existed as ‘his Amelia’ in his thoughts. Now he had a picture of his Amelia, and he was not disappointed.