Cut and Run: The Fourth Book in the Fighting Sail Series (18 page)

      
Elizabeth briefly considered a spell of knitting, but the bed was far too welcoming, and she climbed in, wriggling herself comfortable and wondering vaguely if continuous rebuttals and the occasional slap were not a worthy price to pay for this nightly luxury. It was a proper bed, not a cot, not a bunk, but one as might be found in any well-to-do house. It had cotton sheets that tucked under a real mattress, feather pillows and several woollen blankets to place on top. And it was hers.

      
But, she could still sense him, which was the strange part of it. Even now, even in her most intimate moments, he always seemed to be there. She closed her mind to the problem and blew out the candle. It must be close to ten o'clock. After that unpleasant experience on the first night, she wanted to give no further reason for him to come and tap on her door. He claimed to be checking that Company rules about lights in cabins were being obeyed, but it had taken almost half an hour, and finally one determined push from her, to be rid of the beast.

      
A movement from the room next door made her turn her head. Clearly the captain was less concerned about enforcing the ten o'clock lamp curfew on himself. She could see several small points of light through the thin deal partitioning, but there was one crack large enough to illuminate her own room slightly. As she considered it, the hole went suddenly dark. She watched, fascinated, as it reappeared, followed by the sound of footsteps close by. Slowly she pushed the covers back and climbed out of bed. Standing on the cold deck in her bare feet, she stepped over her knitting bag and crept closer to the bulkhead. It was really quite a large opening, about half an inch across, although she had not noticed its existence in daylight. Intrigued, she pressed her eye to it and gave a sharp intake of breath.

      
There was the captain's cabin, well lit and on show for her; and there was the captain, slumped in front of his desk, drinking from an overlarge balloon of brandy. He had taken off his jacket and looked far more slovenly in an unbuttoned waistcoat and britches. As she watched the man gave out a belch, lent to one side, and scratched his behind. The sight, along with the realisation that her cabin must be equally exposed, caused Elizabeth to shift her weight slightly, making the deck beneath her creak.
 

      
She held her breath as Rogers turned, and it was all she could do to contain a small instinctive shriek when he rose up from his chair and began to walk towards the spyhole. Thinking he had spotted her, she drew back and stood to one side. The light from the hole was still visible, but she, hopefully, was not. He could be heard as he drew close, and even the smell of his breath was apparent. The room dimmed slightly; his face must be barely inches from hers, with only a thin wood partition separating them. A thin wood partition, with him looking through, seeing into her private world. No doubt he had looked before, probably several times, over the last few days. A wave of revulsion all but overcame her. She felt both uncommonly angry and physically sick when she fully realised the outrageousness of his crime and reaching for the knitting needle, so conveniently placed in her bag, her hand was shaking quite violently.

Chapter Eight

      
The scream alerted everyone, from the officers on the quarterdeck to the watch below, just two hours into their caulk. Even the lookout, cold and lonely at his perch on the snugged-down ship, even he was aware of the commotion, and none of the passengers in the great cabin or further away in steerage could have remained asleep, while the noise spread easily throughout the wooden vessel. Drayton, abed in his roundhouse cabin, emerged, blinking and pulling on a silk dressing gown. He was followed by his wife, hair in papers and face pasted, who carried a bemused Bella for general encouragement and interest. Elizabeth's cabin door remained shut, although it was her name that was called when Rogers staggered out into the cuddy, a hand clapped firmly over his right eye.

      
“Bastard Hanshaw woman!” he yelled as he crashed into the dining table and slumped forward. “The blower! The bitch! The whore!”

      
Drayton regarded the captain with apparent curiosity as he leant over the table and continued to moan.

      
“I'll see her thrown off this ship, and—and flogged at the grating.”

      
Luck, the captain's servant, appeared dressed in a nightshirt. “Are you hurt, sir?”

      
“Hurt?” Rogers reared up, his hand still covering half his face, although there was a slight trickle of blood seeping from underneath. “That drab has put my damned eye out!”

      
“Is she in your cabin?” Drayton asked peering, none too subtly, through the opened doorway.

      
“No, she blasted well is not,” Rogers roared. “And neither will she ever be; accursed witch that she is. I'll see her off my ship!”

      
Drayton regarded him seriously. “So you have already said. But I fail to see how Miss Hanshaw did you any damage when she does not appear to have been in the same room.”

      
Rogers appeared to think for a moment. “Damn it man, I need a surgeon, Get me to sickbay. Luck!”

      
The servant collected his master, holding him awkwardly under the shoulder. “Very good, sir. We'll take you to see Mr Keats; I'm sure he will effect a cure.”

      
Drummond entered the cuddy and looked about. He was midshipman of the watch and had been sent to see what all the noise was about. The captain, clearly wounded, was being helped towards the door by Luck. Mr Drayton, presumably the instigator of the injury, appeared bemused, while his wife, the only other occupant of the room, seemed more interested in consoling her dog.

      
The lad looked from one to the other. “What's going on here then?” he asked, without any hope of an answer.

* * *

      
A light tap came at the door. Elizabeth jumped and looked up. Her face was strained, and she had clearly been crying.

      
“Who is it?” she all but whispered.

      
“Nichols, ma'am; fourth officer.” He paused and, feeling slightly foolish, added, “George.”

      
It appeared to be one fluid movement: Elizabeth sprung from her chair, opened the door, reached up and hugged him. The mate tried to pull away, but the grip was too firm and her words, though hardly distinguishable, spilled out like too many cats in a barrel.

      
“Steady, steady.” He found himself rocking her gently as a child, and as a child she told him everything, her sentences long, breathless and unbound. Nichols looked across to the partition. There was no obvious hole, although the room was lit only by the opened door to the cuddy. Her knitting bag lay on the deck. The room darkened slightly as Drayton entered.

      
“Is the young lady all right?”

      
Nichols regarded him over Elizabeth's still sobbing shoulder. “She needs to get away from here,” he said. “She has had a dreadful fright.”

      
“The captain is injured.” Drayton regarded them both quizzically. “He would seem to blame it on her.”

      
“The captain is a pig,” Nichols replied, his voice surprisingly controlled and unemotional. “If there were any justice he would hang.”

      
Drayton considered this for a moment. “My wife is outside and will look after the girl.”

      
“Thank you, sir, but I think she will be better away from the roundhouse. I shall take her down to steerage; I'm sure accommodation can be found for her there.”

      
“Very well, you might seek out my wife's maids, I'm sure they will assist.”

      
Nichols went to go, but the girl held him firm, and he had to gently coax her into moving.

      
“I'm not certain what has been going on here,” Drayton's voice was slow and considered, “but some form of enquiry will be needed; the captain is clearly hurt. We should signal the commodore at first light.”

      
Nichols paused and looked back. “I'm sure the chief officer can take charge, sir.”

      
“Maybe so, maybe so.” Drayton nodded. “But Mr Rogers has the ultimate power in this ship. I think the young lady should be transferred to a different vessel, if only for her own safety.”

      
That made sense, and Nichols was silently glad that one with Drayton's intelligence and authority was present.

      
“You will look after her until first light?”

      
Nichols nodded. “Yes, sir. I will,” he said and ever so gently he began to ease Elizabeth through the door.

* * *

      
“If you will try and keep a little still, sir.” Keats peered at the man's face, pale and sweaty in the dubious light from the lantern. Rogers twisted slightly and winced when the surgeon gently eased back the lid of his eye with his thumb. “Swab, if you please, Mr Manning.” Manning passed a small piece of tow, and the surgeon wiped away some fluid. He then collected the lamp and slowly moved it across Rogers’s line of sight.

      
“It is impossible to say until morning,” Keats replaced the lantern and sat back, wiping his hands on some more cotton waste. “But my guess is badly bruised, no more. The initial impact appears to have been away from the eye; there is a cut to the skin below the
medial canthus
, but no sign of puncture to the orb itself. Though badly bloodshot, it appears not to have been penetrated.”

      
Freed from the surgeon's examination, Rogers’s hand returned to his eye. “Hurts like hell, doctor. You'll have to give me something for the pain.”

      
“Yes, my mate will mix you a draught. Other than that, I will prescribe a cold application at the beginning of every watch; we will undertake that if you wish. Antiphlogistic treatment might be necessary, that will be decided upon later. In the meantime, you must rest. I'll prepare a protective bandage for when you are on deck, but the dressing can be removed below, as long as you are not exposed to bright lights.” The surgeon began to make notes in his pocket book. “Tell me again, this was caused by a pen quill, you say?”

      
“That is correct.” It was the only story he could concoct during the journey to sickbay. “I was writing at my desk.”

      
The surgeon considered him. “The incision was made with some force; perhaps you sneezed?”

      
“Of course!” Rogers's voice rose as if in triumph. “I sneezed, whilst writing, and the next I knew there was this terrible pain.”

      
“At the time you appeared to blame Miss Hanshaw.” It was Drayton's voice, and Rogers opened his good eye in surprise. How long had he been standing there?

      
“Did I?” Rogers appeared confused. “Me'be it were the shock?”

      
“You seemed reasonably certain. Her name was definitely mentioned—several times.”

      
The captain's face cleared as a fresh idea occurred. “I was writing to my cousin, my cousin Elizabeth, that might have been it.”

      
Drayton said nothing.

      
“Have you taken any alcohol?” The surgeon knew the answer, but felt it right to ask the question.

      
“A little wine with my meal, doctor, no more.”

      
“Very well, we will give you a small draught of laudanum. It should help you to sleep, and may even reduce the swelling.”

      
“Will this affect Mr Rogers’s ability to command?” Drayton spoke softly, although all were well aware of the importance of his question.

      
“There should be no commands given while under the medication's influence,” the surgeon said.

      
“Hold fast there,” Rogers’s voice rose up. “I am the captain. It is for me to decide if I am fit and able.”

      
“That is not so.” Drayton's voice remained quiet, although he spoke with authority. “Mr Keats also has a duty to the ship, her passengers and crew. If he feels you unsafe to take charge, it is right that he say so. And, as a member of the Company, I will back him.”

      
Rogers pressed his hand to his eye and moaned slightly.

      
“I am certain your officers can see the rest of the night out, and so there seems no call for you to take charge for the next few hours at least. Mr Keats will examine you in the morning, and a more detailed diagnosis can be made.”

      
The surgeon nodded, although Rogers made no sign of hearing.

      
“You will advise me of your prognosis, Mr Keats?” Drayton asked.

      
“Indeed sir. A light dressing for now and the laudanum should make the captain comfortable. I will attend him at first light and hopefully begin to administer a remedy.”