Castaway Dreams (3 page)

"Mrs. Cowper, are you ill?"

There was no answer, and he pushed on the door, but it was stuck and would only open scant inches.

"Hold the lantern over my shoulder please, Miss Farnham."

Daphne rushed forward to make herself useful, that quality Dr. Murray prized above all others. Her view inside was restricted and the odor was strong, but she held the lantern up, steadying it with one hand beneath. Mrs. Cowper appeared to be slumped over against the wall. Dr. Murray put his hand inside and rested it on the older woman's neck. He took his hand out a few minutes later.

"Mrs. Cowper is dead, Miss Farnham."

"Dead? That is not possible! Are you certain?"

He looked at her.

"There is no heartbeat. I have long observed that when there is no heartbeat, people cease living. So yes, I am quite certain, Miss Farnham, that Mrs. Cowper is dead."

Daphne knew she was blushing, and she was angry, more at him than at herself for saying such a foolish thing. Of course an experienced ship's surgeon knew when someone was dead, but this was not a normal occurrence for her!

"Return to your cabin, Miss Farnham. I will inform the ship's officers of what has happened."

"Is there...is there something I should do?"

"What do you suggest?"

What Daphne wanted to do was burst into tears. Not because of any fondness for Mrs. Cowper, who'd been her jailer more than her companion, watching her, criticizing her constantly and writing notes for her report to Daphne's father. But this was another complication in Daphne's life, a life that had had far too many complications lately to suit her.

Dr. Murray was still observing her, unfazed by being a foot away from a corpse. These things must happen to him all the time. His craggy face was lightly stubbled with the day's growth, but he looked alert and not at all as if being up in the middle of the night was an issue, or a new experience.

"I will write a letter to her family expressing my regret at Mrs. Cowper's passing," Daphne finally said. There. That was something useful she could do.

"You are the only other woman aboard ship. Did it occur to you, Miss Farnham, that you might be useful laying out Mrs. Cowper for her burial? Do not drop that lantern, it would start a fire."

He took the lantern from her nerveless fingers as Daphne stared at him.

"I could never do that, Dr. Murray! How you could even ask--"

She knew from his expression that she'd fallen even further in his esteem, if such a thing were possible.

"It was more in the nature of a suggestion, Miss Farnham. I knew better than to ask." He sighed. "Return to your cabin. I will see to it."

Daphne turned and walked blindly back to her cabin. Pompom greeted her and jumped into her lap when she sat on her bunk, staring at the empty covers of the bunk across from hers. Pompom licked her hand and Daphne put her head down next to the warm body snuggled into the crook of her arm.

"At least you love me just the way I am, Pompom," she whispered to the bichon.

* * * *

Alexander logged the time of death, then woke Captain Franklin with the news that one of his passengers was no longer among the living.

The captain was not happy.

"You are a surgeon, couldn't you have done something for her?"

"Certainly. I could have told her to stop drinking port, eat a more moderate diet and try not to have heart failure, but I doubt she would have listened to me."

Captain Franklin scowled at him, and ran his hand over his bearded face.

"Send Mr. Carr to me. And I will want to see you in the morning--later in the morning, after breakfast."

Alexander did not want to volunteer, but he felt obligated.

"Do you need me to lay her out?"

"Would Miss Farnham be willing to help? No, I thought not." Captain Franklin sighed. "Mrs. Cowper won't keep in this heat. Yes, do what needs to be done when the sun's up. The sailmaster will sew her up and we will do the burial service later today."

"Miss Farnham did say she would write to the woman's family."

Captain Franklin grunted.

"It will be logged here as well, and that should satisfy everyone. Good night, Mr. Murray."

Alexander returned to his cabin, and made some quick notes in his own journal, then dropped off to sleep, a skill perfected over years of being awakened in the middle of the night. A passing thought almost kept him awake: Miss Farnham did not have hysterics or swoon over Mrs. Cowper's death. That was the only bright spot in this evening's events.

The next morning, or later the same morning, depending on how disgruntled one was over interrupted sleep, Alexander sat at breakfast with a subdued Miss Farnham. They were the only ones left at table, the ship's officers busy at their tasks, and the steward in the galley. He observed her over the rim of his coffee cup.

"You are not eating, Miss Farnham. Starving yourself will not bring Mrs. Cowper back."

Miss Farnham's head jerked up. She did not look as neatly put together as she usually did, and it occurred to Alex that without another woman in the cabin Miss Farnham had no one to help her dress in the mornings.

"Why do you not have a maid, Miss Farnham?"

He didn't know why he asked. He really did not care.

"We had a girl hired to come with us, Dr. Murray. She became ill the day we were to sail, and Mrs. Cowper would not wait for another ship." Miss Farnham swallowed. "She said she was under strict orders to fetch me back to England on the first ship out, and she was worried she would not be paid her full amount if she delayed."

"You are not mourning Mrs. Cowper then."

Miss Farnham looked up from her plate and the ghost of a smile hovered around her mouth. She needed no cosmetics to add color to her lips or cheeks. Only someone in close contact with her might notice the slight shadows beneath her eyes. Oddly, the small flaw did not detract from her appearance, but made her seem more human and less like a china fashion doll.

"Mrs. Cowper and I were not on good terms, Dr. Murray. But she is dead now, and I lost an opportunity to become friends with her."

Alexander set down his coffee cup. It was clear to him why this chit needed a keeper. Anyone who was such a poor judge of humanity would be as easily led astray as her yappy little animal, wagging its tail and doing tricks in the hopes of a treat.

He almost said something, but stopped himself. It was not his concern. In a few weeks, maybe less if the weather held, they would be in England and he could move on with his life. Miss Farnham, now crumbling a ship's biscuit between her manicured fingers, would no doubt be whisked off to her proper social setting and he need never give her a thought again. A baseborn Scotsman who labored as a ship's surgeon was not going to cross paths with the likes of Miss Daphne Farnham.

"If you will excuse me, Miss Farnham, there is work I must do before the burial service today."

"Burial--Mrs. Cowper isn't going to be buried in England?"

"No, Miss Farnham. There is no way to preserve Mrs. Cowper's body for burial, and in the tropics it is best to deal with these situations as quickly as possible. The heat and the humidity bring on rapid decomposi--"

He stopped. She'd gone slightly green, and while up to now Miss Farnham had proved herself a hardy sea voyager, he had no desire to put it to the test.

"There will be a burial at sea." he finished up. "Captain Franklin will ensure that all is handled properly."

"Oh!" She looked intrigued. "I will include the information about the burial in my letter to her family. It will ease their pain to know all was done in accordance with the customs of the sea."

"You do that, Miss Farnham."

Miss Farnham dipped her dainty little chin in farewell, then resumed eating her breakfast with more appetite. Alexander hesitated at the door because she looked so alone, but he had matters to attend to, the deceased Mrs. Cowper being chief among them.

Late in the morning the crew and passengers assembled as Captain Franklin read the service for burial at sea, four sailors standing by the larboard rail where the canvas-wrapped body awaited its final destination.

No one wept, though Miss Farnham sniffled a time or two and wiped her eyes. Mrs. Cowper had not endeared herself to the crew with her constant complaints about the rigors of sea voyaging. Alex studied the faces of the men. Most were bored, but some were intrigued, as a break in routine was always a welcome diversion. Some looked at Miss Farnham speculatively. He resumed listening to Captain Franklin, who was wearing his best coat for the occasion. This was the point where he'd seen things go horribly wrong in the past, so he paid attention.

"We therefore commit her body to the deep, to be turned into corruption, looking for the resurrection of the body, when the sea shall give up her dead and the life of the world to come, through our Lord Jesus Christ, who at his coming shall change our vile Body, that it may be like his glorious Body, according to the mighty working, whereby he is able to subdue all things to himself."

Captain Franklin nodded to the sailors standing by at the board, where the body rested. The sailors picked up the inboard end, and the body smoothly slid off its platform and into the cold waters of the Atlantic, sinking out of sight. Alex let out a breath. He'd seen more than his share of burials at sea and knew without proper preparation, the body could end up bobbing after the ship, an unpleasant
memento mori.

Miss Farnham had shown a modicum of common sense and left her small dog in her cabin. Mr. Carr came over to speak to her, and she smiled wanly at him.

"Mr. Murray!"

Alexander turned to find Captain Franklin at his side, scowling at his mate and at his passenger.

"Come to my cabin. We must talk."

Alex cast another glance at Miss Farnham, then followed the captain below. The captain went to a sturdy chest, unlocked it, and pulled a bottle of rum out. He poured himself a tot, and after a slight pause, poured some for Alexander.

Captain Franklin did not offer him other refreshments, but seated himself at the mahogany table serving as his desk. The captain's cabin was only slightly larger than that of the senior crew and passengers, but Captain Franklin was not parsimonious when it came to his own comfort. The seats were generously cushioned and the bunk was commodious, far better than the furnishings the passengers enjoyed.

"I will be blunt with you, Murray," the captain said. "Having that Cowper woman drop dead like that, it's not good. Not good at all."

"I am sure Mrs. Cowper would agree with you, were she able to."

"Do not try my patience, Murray!" Captain Franklin leaned back in his chair and eyed his passenger.

Alexander thought they'd had a reasonable rapport on this voyage. Still, after a near lifetime in the Royal Navy, the laxness of the merchant ship chafed at him like clothing rinsed in saltwater. The
Magpie
was a 220-ton brig and a solid vessel, making good headway after a successful venture to the West Indies. With the war over and Napoleon banished to St. Helena, shipping in the Caribbean resumed with a vengeance. The Americans and British were back to competing in the marketplace rather than with guns, and ships plied the sea lanes at will without having to wait for convoys and escorts.

Alex never thought he would miss the navy, but it had its standards and he was already missing that. His last posting on the
Caeneus
was an especially sharp contrast to his current situation. Captain Doyle ran a tight ship and the men in his command served with zeal and dedication. Aboard the
Magpie
there was always a slight air of sloppiness, of items not squared away, and Alex suspected there was more concern about the cargo and profit than about maintaining the ship and its crew. He'd already had an argument with Captain Franklin in Jamaica over conditions aboard the
Magpie.
The sailors who'd served in the past with the tight-fisted Franklin knew they had the surgeon to thank for their heavy weather gear and better victuals on this voyage.

Alex wondered if his good deed was about to be punished as the captain took a drink of his rum and scowled into his glass.

"This has created a problem for me, Murray. With that Cowper woman dead, Miss Farnham is alone and unattended. This is not a good situation."

"I cannot imagine what your concerns have to do with me, Captain."

Alex set his untouched glass on the table and rose to leave.

"Take that seat, Mr. Murray, or I will have you confined to your cabin for the rest of the voyage."

"On what grounds?"

"Do not be tedious. You have been at sea long enough to know I can do whatever I damn well please aboard my own ship."

Alexander sat. He almost picked up the rum, but forced his gaze back on the captain.

"I will come right to the point, Murray. For the duration of this voyage, I am making you responsible for the Farnham chit."

The silence in the cabin was deafening.

"You cannot make me the chaperone for a young woman."

"I just did," Captain Franklin said with an unpleasant smile. "And while I do not need to explain myself to you, I will anyway."

He began ticking points off on one hand, a hand whose ring finger was missing the last two joints. But he was still able to count.

"You are the only other passenger. The crew have their own duties and cannot be spared to play nursemaid. You are a surgeon, and agreed to be responsible for the health of all aboard this ship. All means all, and I assure you my mental well-being is an issue here if that girl is not under control. Finally, your age makes you less of a threat than youngsters like Mr. Carr, who I guarantee would have that girl's skirts tossed over her head in about the amount of time it takes Stubbs to play 'Fiddler's Green' on his fiddle. How old are you anyway, forty-five? Fifty?"

"Thirty-five."

"What?"

"I am thirty-five years old, Captain Franklin."

"Truly?" the captain peered at him. "I never would guess that. Regardless, it is all to the good."

Alexander's palms were sweating. Odd, that never happened during surgery. He had to make one more effort at stopping this madness.