by Lynn Bryant
“Along with a bath and new clothing, sir,” Lieutenant Swanson said coming in through the door.
“I’ll see to it in the morning,” Hugh said, returning his salute. “Mr Swanson, thank you, you’ve done a remarkable job here, the navy is very much in your debt.”
“Just following orders, sir.”
Hugh shook his head. “You’ve done a lot more than that and you know it. But look, I need to ask an odd question. Have any of these men mentioned a woman being aboard the Flight at all? She’d have been…”
“Yes, sir,” Swanson said immediately and Hugh felt his stomach lurch in fear.
“Dead?” he managed.
“No, sir. She’s alive, we brought her ashore. Private Carter realised when he lifted her out of the cart. That’s where P…where the major has gone. He’s taken her up to the inn to see if they can find her a room. I doubt they’ll be keen, they’ll all know about the fever, but he’ll get his way. He always does. How did you know, sir?”
“I had a letter about her. Been sitting on my desk, I only just opened it. I wasn’t sure it was the Flight, but it just seemed…I need to get over there.”
“Yes, sir. Look, take the major’s horse, he left her for me. I’ll be here a while yet, we’ve organised supplies from the inn and I want to wait with Mr Ward until they’re here. I can walk up.”
“You’ve a horse?” Hugh said blankly and Swanson grinned.
“Hired,” he said placidly. “Major van Daan hired them from the innkeeper, thought it would make things easier. She’s in the stable, one of my lads is over there, Private Cooper, tell him I sent you.”
Hugh recognised the solid piebald mare from his first meeting with Major van Daan. She was not fast or elegant but it was still faster than walking. She knew the path well and Hugh allowed her to lead, pulling up at the well lit inn. He left the mare with a groom and went though into the tap room to find the young army major involved in a conversation with an unhappy innkeeper. It was not going well, probably because they had no more than a dozen words of common language between them, but Hugh suspected that Swanson had been right. The innkeeper had the look of a man who was going to cave in rather than continue the exhausting fight.
“Major van Daan.”
Paul turned in some surprise and saluted. “Captain Kelly. I thought…”
“The woman. You brought a woman up from the ship. Where is she?”
“Sick woman!” the innkeeper said, waving his arms, clearly under the impression that he had found an ally. “Not good. Not good for inn.”
Paul ignored him, the blue eyes on Hugh’s face. “In the front parlour at present; my orderly is with her. I’m trying to get her a room…”
Hugh went past him towards the door he had indicated and opened it. They had laid the woman on a hard wooden settle with a cushion and covered her with an army greatcoat. She was shivering, her face white and thin, the dark curls matted and filthy, but it was undoubtedly Roseen Crellin.
Hugh went forward and dropped to his knees beside the settle. He took one of her hands in his, noticing with a pang the broken nails and rough skin.
“Roseen. Roseen, can you hear me?”
Behind him, Major van Daan said:
“She’s been conscious. Brown had a look at her, thinks she’s over the worst, she’s not hot any more. But she’s very poorly. Captain - who is she?”
“Her name is Roseen Crellin, she’s the daughter of my business partner on Mann. Went out on a fishing boat with some local lads apparently - bit of a prank. They got hauled over by the impress service and she got knocked out in the scuffle. They carried her aboard. They left a couple of men to take the boat in, they told her father. He’s frantic; wrote to me to see if I could trace her. I only just opened the damned letter, it’s been sitting on my desk.”
“So you didn’t know she was here?”
“No, but it made sense. Why else wouldn’t she have told them who she was and got herself home before now, unless she couldn’t because she was too ill?”
Paul came forward to stand beside Hugh, looking down at the girl. “She looks very young,” he said softly.
“She’s twenty-one. No - must be twenty-two by now.”
“And very pretty.”
“Yes,” Hugh said. He had no desire to explain himself to a man he barely knew. To his immense surprise, the young major put a hand on his shoulder.
“Do you want to take her back to the ship?”
Hugh nodded. “Yes. I’ll need to…”
“Don’t worry. Jenson?”
“I’ll get the lads to bring the cart round, sir, they’ve probably not even unhitched it yet. Want me to drive it?”
“Would you? Stay with her, Captain. I’m going back to the landlord to inform him that my requirements have changed. I’ll get you some clothes for her, one of the maids must have something.”
Hugh got up, still holding Roseen’s hand. “Thank you,” he said. “I’ll pay…”
“I’ll deal with it. You can pay me back.”
The practicalities of getting Roseen back to the Iris occupied Hugh’s attention and kept his terror under control. Aboard the ship he carried her down to his cabin, calling out orders to his servant. Brian scuttled away in search of hot water and Hugh laid Roseen’s unconscious form on the long dining table. She had not shown any signs of consciousness and he found himself repeatedly checking her pulse to reassure himself that she was still alive.
There was currently no woman aboard the ship. Warrant officers sometimes brought their wives with them and Hugh did not discourage it although it was not officially allowed. His bosun had chosen, this time, to leave his plump wife at home to care for their two children and Hugh regretted it now. Without female help he dismissed Brian and set himself to do what needed to be done himself, hopefully before she awoke.
It took time to strip off the filthy clothing and wash her. He was patient and careful, wanting all traces of the fever ship gone from her before she awoke. Her hair was the most difficult but he managed it, holding her head up with one hand and pouring water to wash away the dirt of her ordeal.
She murmured a little and he moved faster, not wanting her to wake up like this. When he was done he dried her gently, smelling now of the lemon soap Voirry’s mother made, dressed her in the shapeless linen nightgown that the innkeeper’s wife had provided, and carried her to his bunk.
He had spent sleepless nights imagining Roseen in this bed but in very different circumstances. Hugh tucked her in as warmly as he could and summoned Brian to clear the mess he had made in the dining cabin. Brian’s eyes were wide and astonished and Hugh went for a glass of wine which he felt he had thoroughly earned.
“Sir. Excuse me, sir. But is that…?”
Hugh sighed and drank half a glass without pausing for breath. He poured more.
“Yes, Brian, it’s Miss Crellin. She was aboard the Flight and she’s very poorly. Look - where’s Mr Durrell?”
“In his cabin, sir. Just got back from the Flight, he’s been dealing with the remainder of the crew.”
“I hope he gave them a shitty time!” Hugh said grimly and his cabin boy grinned.
“Morley said he shoved them all under the pump stark naked and got them all dressed in the worst he could find from our purser’s store. He’s going over there at first light to get them started on scouring that ship from top to bottom.”
“I am more and more beginning to realise that I did not make a mistake with him,” Hugh said. “I hope he’s been lecturing them as well.”
“If he has they won’t understand much of it, sir, the way he talks. Sir, Dr Brown is still on shore with the sick men.”
“Never mind, I don’t need him. But will you send Mr Durrell down when he’s washed and changed, Brian. And get me some food, will you? I’ve missed so many meals I’ve lost count.”
He had just cleared his plate, sitting alone at the dining table, when Durrell appeared. He saluted and Hugh waved him to a seat and poured wine for hi
m.
“Mr Durrell. I’m told you’ve been extremely efficient today. Well done, and thank you.”
His first lieutenant looked somewhat surprised. “Sir. I was doing my duty.”
“I know. Still, thank you. I am sure you know, since everybody knows everything on this ship, that we’ve an unexpected guest.”
“Yes, sir. A young woman, I believe.”
“A young lady, Mr Durrell. Her name is Miss Roseen Crellin and she’s the daughter of my business partner back in Mann. I had a letter from him asking for help in finding her, it appears she got mistaken for a lad and carried aboard an impress sloop unconscious.”
He saw the complete bewilderment on Lieutenant Durrell’s face and gave a tired smile. “She was dressed as a boy; she told me she used to go out on the fishing boats with her brother when she was young. I’m guessing this was some kind of prank gone badly wrong.”
“I would imagine so, sir,” Durrell said quietly and Hugh saw both understanding and a surprising sympathy in the turquoise eyes. “Will she be all right?”
“I hope so. The fever has broken and Major van Daan tells me she was briefly conscious as they moved her but she hasn’t been since. I’m keeping her here for now; I owe it to Crellin to look after her. She can use my bunk and I’ll get Brian to sling a hammock in the day cabin for me.”
“You can take my cabin if you would like, sir, I can move in with the midshipmen for a while.”
Hugh was touched. “Thank you, Lieutenant. We’ll see how it goes. While she’s still so ill I want to be close by.”
“She should have a woman with her, sir.”
“She should, but we don’t have one.”
“I wonder if any of the fleet does?”
Hugh had not thought of it. “It’s an idea, Mr Durrell. Sadly, I think it’s unlikely this time. Admiral Gambier is known to disapprove of women aboard ship.”
“Especially if they are not legally married, I believe, sir,” Durrell said, without expression. “It occurs to me, though, that it may be worth making enquiries.”
“Would you do so?”
“Yes, sir. And also…what about the army? It is possible that one or two of the men might have brought wives with them.”
Hugh smiled. “They might,” he said. “Thank you, Lieutenant. Try the navy first, but I’ll bear that in mind. In the meantime, will you make sure that the rest of the officers know what is going on?”
“Yes, sir.” Durrell got up. “I will ensure that both they and the crew are made aware of Miss Crellin’s status aboard ship and that she is to be treated with the utmost respect.”
Hugh masked a smile. The young face was completely serious and he had no desire to mock the boy. It had not occurred to him that his crew might interpret Roseen Crellin’s presence in his bed as anything other than an act of compassion but he realised suddenly that Durrell was right and he felt a rush of gratitude.
When Durrell had gone, Hugh went back to Roseen. She had thrown off the blankets in restless sleep and he covered her up and drew the big armchair through from his day cabin. Lighting the lamp he settled himself with a blanket around him and sat watching the white face.
Since reading Crellin’s letter, every moment had been spent searching for Roseen and then ensuring her safety. He had not had time yet to think about how she came to be here but with nothing more to do for the remainder of the night he sat holding her hand. It was her left hand and there was no ring on it. There had been no mention in either of Crellin’s letters about Roseen’s marriage and none of his other Manx correspondents had mentioned it either.
It had not occurred to Hugh that she would not be wed by now. He had assumed that Lieutenant Barton had either taken her with him to his new posting or left her behind with her father while he was at war. He wondered now what on earth had gone wrong. After that very public scene at the castle Hugh could not believe that Barton would not have made an offer and under the circumstances Crellin would surely have accepted it. The young couple’s attachment had clearly survived their separation and although Crellin had understandably wanted better for his only daughter he did not need her to marry money.
Instead she appeared to be unwed, running wild once again with the lads she had known since childhood and it must have been Crellin’s worst nightmare to learn that her unorthodox behaviour had finally caught up with her. There was no possibility of keeping this scandal quiet; the men who had sailed the fishing boat back home would have told what had become of the rest of their crew and would have been unlikely to withhold the shocking news that Josiah Crellin’s black haired daughter had been taken aboard a Royal Navy impress schooner. Even if she had been discovered and sent back immediately, her reputation would have been in tatters. No man would believe in her innocence after this.
As it was, judging from the date of Crellin’s letter, she had been at sea for around three weeks and it was impossible to know what had happened to her during that time. Hugh could not imagine why she had not made herself known to the officer in charge the moment she regained consciousness but it was pointless to speculate. All he could do was wait and pray for her recovery.
Settling himself back in the chair with a pillow from the bunk, Hugh closed his eyes. He was more tired than he could ever remember being in his life but below the anxiety and the fear for Roseen he was conscious of a deep vein of happiness. She was here. She was alive and whole and safe with him. And she appeared, despite all reason, to be still unmarried. That was a conversation they could have when she was well again. Listening to her breathing in the darkness, Hugh slept.
***
Roseen was dreaming about Hugh Kelly. She had dreamed about him often; twisting and turning as the fever gripped her, sweating on the hard boards and muttering in her sleep. In her dreams he was always out of reach; walking or riding ahead of her over the soft green of the Manx hills, but moving away from her, not looking back.
In this dream they were inside somewhere, a soft light burning in a dark room and his hand holding hers. He had held her hand at every opportunity, she remembered, and he was doing it now, but loosely as though his mind was elsewhere. Still it felt good to touch him again and she wondered, confusedly, if this new and kinder dream was a sign of either recovery or impending death. The dream was good in other ways too; it involved a comfortable bed instead of hard boards, and the smell of some kind of soap, a sharp fresh lemon scent. Roseen opened her eyes.
The light hurt them at first although it was dim enough, a lantern hung from a hook on a wooden beam. She could feel rough blankets around her and a real pillow beneath her head. Her hair was slightly damp as if it had been washed and Roseen turned her head to sniff it on the pillow, smelling the lemon scent again.
“Roseen.”
It was the first time he had spoken in a dream and the sound of his voice, saying her name, shattered her composure. She twisted on the bed, moving violently to shake off the cruel hope and bring back reality and his hands were on her, one holding her still and the other stroking her hair.
“Shhh. Hush, lass, be easy. You’re safe. You’re safe and you’re with me. Roseen, it’s me. It’s Hugh. Can you hear me?”
The words made no sense to her but she could see him now, bending over her, the grey eyes on her face, anxiously scanning her. The image did not disappear and after a moment Roseen stilled under his soothing hands.
“Hugh,” she said, and the word came out an ugly croak, her throat dry and cracked. He touched her lips very gently.
“Wait, I’ll get some water.”
He put his arm about her to lift her up as she drank and Roseen leaned against him. When the cup was empty he lowered her and Roseen reached out to him.
“No. Don’t go. Don’t leave me.”
“I’m going nowhere, love.” He shifted closer, stroking her hair and then her face. Roseen raised her hand and touched his and then felt her cheek. The skin was dry but she was clean.
“Who bathed me?” she asked. It was th
e least important question in the world but the sense of being clean again was so overwhelming that it seemed to matter that somebody had taken trouble over it.
“I did. I’m sorry lass. You were in a state and I didn’t think you’d mind…”
“I don’t. I’m grateful.” Even talking was exhausting but Roseen wanted to hear his voice again. “Where am I?”
“In my cabin aboard the Iris. We’re anchored just off Copenhagen, waiting for orders. Your father wrote to me, told me you were taken and I’d just been involved in getting the sick men off the Flight. I’d no idea you were one of them.”
“There was a man,” Roseen said, struggling to remember. “Fair haired. A soldier, I think. He shouted a lot.”
Hugh laughed. “Major van Daan. Army man, he was helping with the sick. When his men realised there was a woman among them he took you up to the inn he’s billeted in and I found you there and brought you back last night. It’s almost dawn.”
“I thought I was dying,” Roseen said, and she could feel tears coming. “They all died, the lads with me. One by one. I thought it was my turn.”
“I’ve no idea how you lived through that, I’m just glad you did,” Hugh said softly. “Roseen, at some point I’m going to have to go. Mr Durrell can manage the ship, but I need to go and see the Admiral, give him my report about last night. Your young army major is about to find himself up to his elegant neck in trouble over this, he broke so many rules yesterday I can’t even begin to count them. I don’t know how much I can help, but I need to try.”
“Of course you do,” Roseen said. “Go, I’ll probably sleep all day anyway.”
“You need to. As soon as Dr Brown gets back I’ll get Durrell to send him to see you. And Brian will stay here with you. If you need anything at all you’re to ask him and he’ll see it’s brought to you. But it’s early yet, I can stay awhile. Could you eat anything?”
Roseen shook her head. “Just thirsty.”
He rose and brought more water. Drinking it was tiring and she lay afterwards with her eyes closed and then suddenly realised to her horror that she needed to relieve herself.