Seasons of War 2-Book Bundle (20 page)

“Where’s Dr. Braden?” Fly asked the cook when his boot-clad feet were firmly planted on the hospital floor.

“In with thee wee lass, sir.”

“You are rather subdued, Biscuit.”

Biscuit hung his orange head. “Outta respect for thee lass, sir.”

Fly waved his arms in a dismissive gesture at the men lingering round the galley entrance, and in a muted voice ordered them away. “Back to work, back to work, all of you vagabonds. The last thing the doctor needs is to have you all underfoot.”

“Mr. Austen, you’ll let us all know how she fares?” pleaded an old sailor.

“I will. Now out you go.”

Fly waited for the “vagabonds” to clear out before making his way to the canvas curtain where Leander, having heard him come in, stood ready to greet him. It did not escape Fly’s notice that his friend appeared haggard and uncharacteristically dishevelled, that his brow was furrowed in worry, and that his lips were set in a grim line. “Come in,” said Leander quietly. “It’s all right. She’s in a deep sleep.”

Fly stared down at the quiet form in the cot. There was a hideous blue-black bruise on her face and the reddened imprint of fingers on her neck. “Does she have similar injuries elsewhere on her body?” he asked, finding himself unable to cease blinking.

Leander, his fist held to his mouth, turned his gaze from Emily and glanced up at Fly over his spectacles and nodded. Neither man spoke for a while. Beyond the open gunport, the wind had picked up and a low rumble of thunder could be heard in the distance. Above their heads, the bell sounded three times. Fly stepped closer to Leander and spoke as softly as he could so that the vigilant sailors lying in the hospital could not hear his words.

“You must know, my friend … she was
not
Lindsay’s intended victim.”

“What?” Leander gave Fly a bewildered stare.

“Evidently,
he
had not been informed that our little sail maker was wounded and lying here … in the protection of your hospital. He all but made an outright confession. Perhaps it was his distraught mind speaking … perhaps he figured his punishment would be more lenient if James and I knew the truth.”

Leander seethed with revulsion. “I’ll kill him! I swear I’ll kill him!”

“Most every man on this ship will harbour the same sentiments once they have heard of Mr. Lindsay’s exploits. But I believe it best we tell no one else of this sordid intelligence, leastwise Emily. For now, I need you to put down your fighting scabbard and come with me to the captain’s cabin.”

“Can it not wait until later? I cannot leave here just now.”

“I have brought with me a marine sentry to guard Emily in your absence.”

Detecting Fly’s concerned expression, Leander asked, “Has something else happened?”

“James has come down with a fever.”

4:00 p.m.

(Afternoon Watch, Eight Bells)

WITH AN AIR OF IMPORTANCE, Biscuit dished up bowls of mutton stew for his mates seated around his mess table on the upper deck.

“I tell ya, it was Octavius Lindsay that done it. I was there in thee wardroom when Gus told thee cap’n, and I heared it from Morgan, him havin’ seen thee mischief with his own eyes.”

“And what did the cap’n ’ave to say?” asked Bailey Beck.

“Not a word,” replied Biscuit. “Went pale as a white whale and stormed from thee wardroom with Mr. Austen in tow.”

“They’ll be stringin’ Mr. Lindsay up on the yard for his crime. That I’ll be wantin’ to see,” said Jacko, rubbing his mountainous naked belly in anticipation of his meal.

Bailey let out a snort. “No way the cap’n will give ’im death what with his aristocratic connections.”

“A floggin’ with a cat o’ nine tails would be too lenient,” Biscuit growled.

“It’ll come to court-martial,” said another of their mates.

“Nay! No time for court-martiallin’ out here,” said Jacko. “Stranded in enemy waters, in a broken-down ship? And where would we be findin’ enough British captains and admirals to do the court-martiallin’? Nay, we’ll be days fixin’ up the
Isabelle
just to git her sailin’ agin.”

“Morgan says Lord Lindsay didna succeed in his intentions, if ya catch me meanin’,” snickered Biscuit, handing Jacko his bowl. “And here I thought he fancied thee lads.”

“Oh, aye!” laughed his mates.

“Our Emily,” Biscuit continued, “she fought him off like a true seasoned sailor, though he knocked her about somethin’ fierce. Word is her head was bleedin’ all over thee sails and her face has an awful mean wound on it.”

Jacko punched his right fist into his left palm. “I’d like to git me hands on the bastard. I’d kill ’im with one snap o’ the neck.”

“Not before I would roast him in me galley stove,” said Biscuit, his bad eye rolling about in excitement.

“If justice ain’t dished up, why we’ll dish it up ourselves,” said Bailey. “We’ll wait til Mr. Lindsay’s on the night watch and we’ll give ’im a Jonah’s lift into the sea.”

“Or a ball o’ lead durin’ the next battle with them Yankees.”

The men raised their mugs of grog and said, “Hear, hear.”

“Who’s Emily?” asked their newest messmate. The men all turned to gape at him – a giant of a man with muscular arms and a long copper-coloured ponytail that fell a long way down his back. Biscuit cackled and placed his puny arm around the man’s thick neck. “Lads, meet Bun Brodie. Off thee Yankee
Liberty,
but don’t ya be holdin’ it against ’im, ’cause he’s a Scotsman. And with young Magpie losin’ half his face, he’s gonna fill in fer maker o’ thee sails.”

The men nodded politely in Bun Brodie’s direction. “Pleased to meet all o’ yas,” he said before asking again about Emily.

“She’s thee fair lass we plucked from thee sea a week or so ago,” Biscuit explained. “She’d jumped off a Yankee frigate that went by thee name o’
Serendipity
whilst we was doin’ battle with her.”

“Thee
Serendipity,
ya say? Ya mean Captain Trevelyan’s frigate?” asked Bun before shovelling a hunk of stew into his mouth.

“One ’n’ thee same.”

Jacko smiled. “Our Emily, she’s a right spirited girl. Why, two days ago she joined us at this very table for a cup o’ beer.”

Biscuit laughed suddenly, spewing bits of stew about. “And you, Jacko, thought she was a man. Mr. George, hah!”

Red colour flooded Jacko’s squashed-nosed face. “Aye! I did think it a bit queer him wearin’ them blue silk shoes.”

“She fooled the lot o’ us,” said the sailor with the swarthy complexion and bloodshot eyes.

“Well, not me, and I don’t s’pose she fooled young Morgan either,” said Biscuit gleefully.

“Where is Morgan?” Bailey asked Biscuit. “It was him that was s’posed ta be on mess duty.”

“Probably back in Dr. Braden’s hospital, still pretendin’ to be needin’ medical attention so’s he can keep an eye on Emily.”

Bun Brodie spoke up while the men laughed. “And would ya be knowin’ this Emily’s last name?”

Jacko angled his big head and squinted at his new mate. “How come yer so curious ’bout Emily? Ya won’t get far with her, man. Mr. Lindsay already tried.” The table of men broke into grog-laced peals of laughter. “But … but we do ’ave Meggie Kettle fer ya. She’ll look after ya real nice-like in yer cot.”

“I was on thee
Serendipity,
” said Bun solemnly. The men quit chuckling and lowered their mugs to stare at him. “I was on thee
Serendipity
whilst ya was battlin’ it out.”

“Oh, nice,” said Biscuit. “So ya was takin’ shots at we Isabelles, killin’ thee lads, was ya now?”

“Ach, no, I was chained up in her hold doin’ some prayin’.”

Biscuit glanced around at his mates before settling his good eye upon Bun Brodie. “So, what d’ya know ’bout our Emily?”

“I was told there was only one lass on thee
Serendipity
. Her name was Mrs. Seaton. She was Trevelyan’s prisoner on account he didna fancy her father.”

“Who might her father be?”

“And what was his crime?”

Bun looked around placidly at his attentive messmates as he chewed away on his mutton stew. “I ’aven’t a goddamn clue.”

7

Friday, June 11

1:00 a.m.

(Middle Watch, Two Bells)

IT WAS SOME TIME LATER that Leander found an opportunity to speak to Emily alone. He had attended to her injuries and periodically given her tinctures of laudanum to ease her pain and help her to sleep, but few private words had passed between them. On the day of her attack in the sail room, Captain Moreland had fallen ill with a fever and much of Leander’s time had been spent making sure he was comfortable, as well as assuring the men that their leader had not contracted typhus or yellow fever or some such sickness that would most likely result in half the ship coming down with it. Many of Leander’s patients still required plenty of attention, being in grave danger as a result of their wounds. Moreover, with the crew working around the watch to repair the
Isabelle
while her anchor was dropped off the coast of Cape Hatteras, several minor injuries – from cuts to falls to hernias – required his professional services.

At two bells in the middle watch, Leander was writing notes in his medical journal when an ensemble of stentorian snores finally resounded around his hospital. Long before midnight, he had sent Osmund and the loblolly boys to their beds on the orlop, and the marine who had been ordered to stand watch by Emily’s bit of canvas whenever the doctor was not present in the hospital was not due back until Leander left again for his breakfast in the wardroom in roughly six hours’ time. As he peeled off his spectacles to rub his tired eyes, a familiar voice called out softly to him.

He found Emily in distress, sitting up in her hammock with one hand clutched to her chest. Her long hair fell forward in damp waves upon her muslin nightshirt, and her troubled face was flushed, partially concealing the purple wound on her cheek.

“You’ve had another dream, Emily?”

She closed her eyes and nodded. “May I trouble you for a cup of water, Doctor?”

“By all means. Shall I put something in it to improve its taste?”

“Aye! Plenty of rum, if you please.”

Emily drew in deep breaths to calm herself while Leander quietly went to work preparing her a concoction from the small glass vials in his medical chest.

“Here, drink this, then lie back,” he said upon returning.

“I am in less discomfort when I sit up,” she said with a forced smile, taking the cup and draining its contents.

Leander stood awkwardly by the canvas opening. “Is there anything else I can do for you?”

“You are leaving?”

“It’s 1:00 a.m. I thought it wise to retire so I will be of some use to you and the others in the morning.”

Emily stared down at the empty cup in her hands. “Would you stay awhile?” She looked up at him. “Please?”

Leander sank down upon the stool without hesitation, his eyes never leaving her face as he waited for her to speak again. She gave him a small, grateful smile. “Where did you put Magpie?”

“On the other side of the hospital, as close as was possible to the galley entrance, so he may benefit from the warmth of Biscuit’s stove.”

“And he is doing well?”

“As well as can be expected. His own injuries are healing nicely, but the little fellow blames himself for
your
injuries. He confessed to us all that he was the one who asked you to go to the sail room for him.”

“No! He only asked for his special blanket …
I
offered to fetch it for him.” Emily pressed her lips together. “Does he have his blanket with him now?”

“He does, and sleeps all the better for it.”

“I am most anxious to see the dear boy. Does anyone keep him company?”

“Gus has come twice each day to read to him, and Morgan Evans visits him whenever he can to give him the ship news, and bring him his soup. And each time they come, they make a point of asking after
you.
Morgan feels tremendous remorse for your misfortune. It was him I put in charge that morning.” To himself, Leander added,
But then I am the one to blame as I never should have left your side that day,
and was about to give voice to his thoughts when Emily let out a great sigh.

“Poor Morgan. He has hardly had time to heal from the loss of Mr. Alexander. I cannot imagine the guilt he must feel. But what happened to me, Doctor, is no one’s fault. The truth is, I was elated to have escaped from this corner, if only for a brief time. I am not accustomed to wasting away in a hospital bed, being dependent upon men to dress me and bring me food and help me cope with my nightmares.” She lay back against her pillow and studied him a minute. “Not a one of you has told me outright the identity of my assailant.”