The Surgeon's Lady (3 page)

She did. They spent the evening knitting. Under Nana’s gentle questions, she was even able to talk about her marriage and Sir James Taunton.

“He wanted an heir, and reckoned his first wife had been at fault,” Laura said, her eyes on her knitting. “After a year of trying, he had a stroke and left me in peace.” She knew that was enough to tell Nana. “I…I do have a lovely estate in Taunton.”

Nana didn’t look convinced.

“It’s lovely,” Laura repeated. “If I never see it again, it wouldn’t be any loss to me. Life is amazingly dull when you want for nothing.”

Nana did smile at that. She leaned back and rested her hand on her abdomen. “Please don’t tell Oliver, but life moved faster at the Mulberry, when I was hauling water up and down stairs, placating our few lodgers, and sweeping hearths.”

“You’ll be busy soon enough.”

“So I will.” Nana leaned forward and took Laura’s hands in hers. “Oliver’s all right, isn’t he?”

If she hadn’t felt so confident in Lt. Brittle’s comments, Laura knew she could not have spoken. “I do believe he is, this captain of yours. You’re a goose, Nana! No wonder everyone loves you.”

Laura shared Nana’s bed that night, because Nana insisted she did not want to be alone. She saw that Nana was comfortable, touched by the way she matter-of-factly pulled the boat cloak over her side of the bed and tucked what would be Oliver’s pillow lengthwise to her. Laura smiled at that and got her own pillow from the other bedchamber.

She knew her sister was tired, but Nana had another question. “Laura, who raised you before you came to Miss Pym’s? I had Gran.”

I had no one,
she thought.
My mother, whoever she was, had no interest in me.
“When I tell you, you’ll understand a little more about our dear father.”

Nana gave an unladylike snort. She giggled then. “Laura, I almost said something I’ve heard Oliver say when he didn’t know I was listening, but I would probably lose all credit with you.”

You could never do that,
Laura thought. “As I was saying, when you so rudely interrupted—there you go again!—our dear father’s problems with money began with the fourth Viscount Ratliffe, who was as dissolute and spendthrift as our loving parent. Nana! Your manners!”

“Sorry,” came Nana’s meek reply in the dark, followed by a barely suppressed laugh, probably smothered in the folds of her darling’s boat cloak.

“Lord Ratliffe Number Four was hell-bent on a flaming career as London’s greatest ne’er-do-well when one
of the Wesley brothers—John, I believe—took him on as a project, after John’s return from Georgia. Nana, are you awake?”

“Of course I am,” came the sleepy reply.

“I’ll move along. Dear Grandpapa renounced his evil ways, turned to Methodism, and set up his own illegitimate daughter—our beloved Pym—as the headmistress of a female academy. I spent my earliest years in a Wesley orphanage.”

Nana reached under Oliver’s pillow and took her sister’s hand. “Laura,” was all she said.

“If you don’t know any better, what is the harm?” Laura said. “You know the rest as well as I do. After Grandpa died, our father was forced by some curious honor we scarcely knew he possessed, to maintain Pym’s school and keep us in it. Of course, he found a way to make us pay, didn’t he? Nana, I’m so ashamed I did not have your courage.”

Nana pushed aside Oliver’s pillow and her voice was fierce. “Laura! Listen to me! You had no one to help you and nowhere to go.” She held Laura by the shoulders. “You have us now. You always will.” Her grip relaxed. “Heavens, you’ll think I’m ferocious.”

“You are, sister,” Laura said, drawing a shaky breath. “Did you terrify that French officer in Oliver’s prison?”

“Probably,” Nana said, her tone kindly again. “He deserved it, though, for getting between me and my love.”

And that is that,
Laura thought, as her sister found Oliver’s pillow again and stretched it out.

She thought Nana slept, but then: “Laura, please say you’ll stay here. I need you.”

“I’ll stay.”
I need you more,
she thought, as her eyes closed.

Laura woke a few hours later, because she heard the bedchamber door open. She sat up, alert, to see the tall form of Lt. Brittle—what had Nana called him? Phil?—holding up a lantern similar to one she had used in James’s sick room, with its sides slatted to allow only a little light, enough to see a patient by.

He could see that she was sitting up in bed, but he didn’t pause at the door. He came closer in stockinged feet, to kneel by her.

“Is she all right?” he whispered.

“She’s fine,” Laura whispered back, leaning close to him, unwilling to wake Nana. “We’ve been catching up on our lives.”

“You’re a welcome distraction,” he said. “She needs you.” She could see him distinctly now in the subdued light. “I like to ward walk before I sleep. Good night, Lady Taunton.”

Laura nodded and lay down again, grateful for his reassuring presence, even if he did nothing more than shine a light and let her know he was there. To her unspeakable pleasure, he tugged the coverlet up higher and patted her shoulder, before he got to his feet and left the room as quietly as he had entered it.

She put her hand where he had touched her, closed her eyes and slept.

Lt.
Brittle left before breakfast. Laura thought she might have to bully her sister to sit still and eat, in her anticipation for the captain to arrive, but admonition was unnecessary. After the meal, Nana went to the kitchen to plan the week’s menus, while Laura went to the book room to write a letter to Taunton.

Writing the letter was a simple matter. Laura wondered what her butler and housekeeper would say when they learned she planned to stay in Torquay for the immediate future. She wanted to recommend holidays for them all, but knew that would be a shock to the system for her retainers, none of whom was younger than fifty.

She was sealing the letter when she heard the front door open, then firm steps in the front hall. He’s here, she thought. Nana will never hear him from the kitchen. She stood up, wondering whether to go to the kitchen or into the foyer to introduce herself. Shyness kept her from doing either, but it didn’t matter.

“Nana?”

Captain Worthy’s voice wasn’t loud, but it carried, even though probably not far enough to reach the kitchen.

Laura hadn’t known her sister long. Certainly she had no reason to appreciate how close a bond between husband and wife could be. She opened the bookroom door just as Nana sped past her, arms open wide.

Their embrace was wordless, but the intensity of it made Laura catch her breath. She opened the door enough to see her sister caught in the arms of a tall man made even taller by the fore and aft hat he wore, which was cocked slightly to the side to accommodate a bandage around his head.

Before he kissed his wife, he removed his hat. Nana’s hands were gentle on his neck, careful not to touch his ear as he kissed her, kissed her again, and once more after that, until Nana ducked and asked him when he had last shaved.

That seemed a good note for Laura to open the door wider and meet her brother-in-law, except that she stood where she was, transfixed by what followed. Oliver dropped to his knees and rested the undamaged side of his head against Nana’s belly. With a sob, her little sister laid her hands on him like a benediction.

Laura softly closed the door as her heart pounded. All she could think of to do was thank the Almighty for tender mercies and count slowly to one hundred before opening the door again.

She found the Worthys in the sitting room, looking out the window at the bay, the captain standing behind Nana, his arms around his whole family. He appeared to be resting his chin on Nana’s head.

I still shouldn’t be here,
Laura thought, embarrassed. She turned to go, but the captain looked around and smiled
to see her. He let go of Nana and walked toward her. She thought he might bow, but he didn’t bother. Taking her by both arms, he kissed her forehead.

“Life’s too short to stand on much formality, sister,” he said. “Start by calling me Oliver.”

What could she do but agree? “I am Laura Taunton,” she replied, “and most heartily pleased to meet you.”

He was handsome in a seagoing way, with a myriad of wrinkles around his eyes that were probably caused by years of facing into wind and water. His lips were thin as a Scotsman’s and his nose full of character. Still, none of his features registered as much as his brown eyes, so warm and kind, probably only because he was in the presence of the person he held most dear in the world. On the quarterdeck, she did not doubt he was absolute monarch. At home, her sister ruled, even though she probably did not know it.

Laura took all this in, understanding her brother-in-law completely before she had said more than a sentence to him. How strange life was. In two days she had gone from having no family in the world, to the possession of a sister and a brother. Maybe there really was a God in Heaven.

Nana stood by Oliver now, making him sit down on the sofa, then putting a pillow behind his head.

“My love, would you humor me and let Philemon Brittle look at your ear?” Nana asked.

Laura knew her brother-in-law would refuse his wife nothing. In his world of war over which he had no control, any gesture of kindness to his wife must have felt like the greatest gift he could give. He nodded.

“I’ll get him,” Laura said.

She took the well-traveled path between the two houses.
So his name is Philemon, and not merely Phil,
she told herself.
It has been a long time since I have read that particular book of the New Testament. I wonder if anyone reads it.

Lt. Brittle came to the door, his shirtsleeves rolled up. “Just helping me mum with the dishes,” he said. “Come in. Did I see a chaise pull up with Captain Worthy?”

“You did,” she said, walking with him to the kitchen, where Nora Brittle was up to her elbows in soapy water. “Good day, Mrs. Brittle. May I help?”

The surgeon handed his dish towel to her. “You finish. I’ll get my pocket instruments and some wadding.”

Laura took the plate Mrs. Brittle handed her, wondering when she had last dried a dish.
In the last day, I have been hugged and cosseted, and cried over and touched,
she thought, as her eyes prickled.
People need me. If I am ever alone again, it will be my own fault and no one else’s.

“Are you feeling all right, Lady Taunton?” Mrs. Brittle asked quietly.

“Never better.”

After sitting Oliver Worthy in a straight chair, draping a towel around his neck and advising Nana to recline on the sofa out of view of the injury, Lt. Brittle took out a pair of long-nosed scissors from his packet of instruments, then handed the rest to Laura.

“I should ask—are you up for this?”

He seemed to expect no answer but yes, so she did not disappoint him. It wasn’t the place, not with Nana looking so anxious, but perhaps later she could tell him that she actually was curious.

Laura noticed that Nana was looking more distressed by
the moment. In fact, she was getting ready to leave the sofa for a look of her own. Obviously, her husband felt unwilling to subject her to that kind of stress.

“Stay there, m’dear,” Oliver said. “I am in good hands, as you well know. Laura, you should ask the surgeon to tell you of the time he stitched a teat back on a cow’s udder.”

Well done,
she thought, even as she laughed, and Nana relaxed on the sofa again. “You must tell me, Lieutenant.”

Brittle had finished unwinding the bandage. After folding the blood-dappled portion inward so Nana could not see it, the surgeon handed it to Laura. He snipped at the hair around Oliver’s ear.

“Oh, that cow. You would remind me, Captain. That was when I voyaged with you as surgeon’s assistant on the
Chrysalis,
wasn’t it? As I recall, you were a lieutenant, and determined to assure your captain that I could patch a cow’s teat.”

Laura asked. “On a ship?”

“It’s common enough,” Nana said. “You’d be amazed what some officers will take on board, as they prepare for a long voyage.”

“Pigs, cows, chickens…it’s a regular Noah’s ark,” Oliver said. “Due to my mismanagement, Captain Fitzgerald’s little Jersey sustained an undignified injury when a crew under my command swung her into the hold.”

“Nana, your husband promised me all kinds of perquisites if I would but take a needle and thread to the bovine,” Brittle said as he calmly snipped away.

“Did you succeed?” Laura asked, as the surgeon indicated Oliver’s mangled ear, which looked remarkably like liver.

“Succeed? Aye. Earned a prodigious kick to my ass, though.”

You are so composed,
Laura thought, as Nana laughed.
I can be, too,
she told herself as she forced herself not to show any disgust at the sight before her. After the first inward quiver that evidence of raw mortality seemed to invite, she found herself more interested than squeamish.

“Hmm.”

Brittle stood by the captain, hands on hips, lips pursed.

“That is not edifying,” the captain said.

“Perhaps not to you, sir,” Brittle replied. “Your surgeon on the
Tireless
is still Joseph Barnhart?”

“Yes,” Oliver said, sounding wary.

“He did a fine job. When it heals, you’ll look a little lopsided, but I promise you, you won’t frighten children. Not even your own.”

Captain Worthy gingerly touched what remained of his ear. “Just as long as I still terrify midshipmen.”

“You will, sir. Lady Taunton, observe how well it is granulating.” He pointed at the raw rim. “Barnhart threw some nice blanket stitches on the lobe, or what’s left of it.”

She looked closer, because he seemed to expect it. As she gazed at the injury to her brother-in-law’s ear, it suddenly occurred to her that a common surgeon with the preposterous name of Philemon Brittle was treating her as an equal. She thought how appalled Sir James Taunton would have been by her even being in the room, much less in Torquay visiting a sister as illegitimate as she was. The sheer audacity of it all made her smile.

“It
is
funny-looking,” Brittle said, which made the captain grin.

“I’m not laughing at your ear, Oliver,” Laura protested. “Lt. Brittle, I might tell you later what was amusing me.”

“Very well,” he said, holding out his hand. “Give me that same pad, please, and then the bandage. I’ll reuse it now, but you should replace it tomorrow with a length of gauze I will leave you.”

He seemed to take for granted she would tend Captain Worthy. “I will if Nana lets me,” Laura replied. “After all, this is
her
ear.”

Both Worthys laughed and exchanged glances that told Laura she was going to busy herself somewhere in the house that afternoon, far from their bedroom.

Lt. Brittle finished his work. “Take good care of him, Nana,” he said. “If he tries to leave the house in less than three days, you have my permission to shoot him.” He replaced the scissors and pocketed his instrument envelope. “Captain, when you return to Plymouth for your court martial, drop by Stonehouse. I’ll compound a salve for you. G’day now.”

She followed him into the hall. “Court martial? What do you
mean?
”

“Every captain who loses a ship goes through a court martial,” the surgeon explained, as she walked with him. “It’s routine, and from what my father said in his letter this morning—he’ll be here in a few days—the captain was as brave and coolheaded as anyone could wish. He will have another ship quite soon. My da said he already convinced the admiral of the port to keep his crew together and not disperse them to other warships in the harbor.”

It was afternoon now, and Mrs. Brittle had mentioned how her son had to be on his way immediately to Plymouth. Still, he seemed to slow down as he approached the
door, giving her all his attention. He put his hand on the knob, but just held it there.

“What were you smiling about?”

“I had the distinct feeling that you were treating me as an equal. Sir, I know nothing about medicine.”

“I disagree,” he replied.

Still he stood there. She put out her hand, which would have astounded her proper butler, and shook the surgeon’s hand. “Thank you for that marvelous performance in there. Nana didn’t have any choice but to relax, did she?”

“No. Under ordinary circumstances, Mama tells me Nana is as tough and resourceful as a Cornish tin-pit pony,” he said, still holding her hand. “Let’s just say I like to handle expectant mothers gently.” He looked into the distance. “Something I learned at university, and most decidedly not at sea.”

“Where you physic cows and cut hair, on occasion?”

“Aye.”

She thought he would release her hand, but he tightened his grip instead and his eyes had gone deadly serious. “Nana knows better than any of us that one half inch to the right, and that splinter would have taken off her husband’s head.”

Laura could think of nothing to say to his candor, but she didn’t have to say anything. He stood even closer, his hand on hers, the sheer size of him reassuring her.

“We all fight Boney in our own way, even Nana.”

She nodded, absurdly wanting to burrow in close to him, because he seemed so sure of himself, so capable.

He released her hand and opened the door. “Now it’s time to kiss my mother adieu and return to the grind. Take a good look at the captain’s ear tomorrow, if you please. If
there are red streaks or he is feverish, send Joey Trelease for Mr. Milton.” He hesitated, then plunged ahead. “When you get tired of being a widow, Lady Taunton, I can offer you gainful employment at Stonehouse. What a cheeky tar I am. Goodbye.”

She couldn’t have heard him correctly. After a moment to allow her high color to return to normal, she walked toward the sitting room. The Worthys were already at the top of the stairs. Nana leaned across the banister.

“Laura, Oliver declares he will not lie down and rest unless I am there,” she said.

Laura laughed and blew them both a kiss.
You would not let him out of your sight, even if he wanted you to, which he does not,
she thought. She went into the sitting room and was standing there, looking out the window a half hour later, as Lt. Brittle left his house, shouldered his sea duffel and started for the harbor.

“I suppose you will take the mail coach,” she said out loud, admiring the pleasant swing of his hips, something she had already noticed in Plymouth, while observing the seagoing fraternity. It must be the loose walk of the deepwater sailor, used to shifting balance on a heaving deck. Whatever it was, she watched him until he was only a small speck, heading down the hill. She doubted she would see him again.

Mrs. Brittle didn’t seem surprised when Laura knocked on the side door. “Come in, dearie,” she said. “I suppose you are a fifth wheel next door right now.”

“Decidedly so,” Laura agreed. “Have you something useful I can do?”

“I do. Phil told me to give you some gauze and wadding for Captain Worthy.”

She followed Mrs. Brittle upstairs to a small bedroom tucked under the eaves. “Watch your head,” the woman advised. “My boys can’t come home often, but I like to have their beds ready.”

She reached under the bed and pulled out a small chest, which contained rolled bandages, and a batt of lint. She set the items on the bed between them, and reached into the chest again, this time pulling out a well-worn case. She opened it, and Laura gasped to see several knives and a saw. Mrs. Brittle touched the dark-stained cloth band on the tourniquet, then closed it again.