The Surgeon's Lady (7 page)

“Two of the burns died last night,” he told her.

She was already getting used to the clinical, almost cold way he described wounds. A glance at his eyes told Laura a different story. “The third one?”

“Barring infection, I think he’ll make it.”

The teapot was near her elbow. He held out his cup and she poured. “Ta,” he said.

She almost hated to ask. “How is Davey?”

“Surprisingly cheerful,” he said, to her great relief. “He said if he wasn’t being a cheeky son of a gun, he wanted to wish you good morning.”

He set down his cup. “Lady Taunton, I am going to take a nap now.”

“A
real
one?”

“A climb-in-my-rack one. I’m aiming for four hours, but I never know. When I am done, I am going to take Davey Dabney outside into the bright sunlight, tilt his head back and try to see that artery. I just know it’s nicked and I want to throw in a stitch or two. The light just isn’t good enough inside. I’ll try to trim away dead matter, if I can. The chief surgeon will assist, and surgeon’s mates will be there.”

Then he did a funny thing. He tapped the edge of her shoe with his shoe. It was a low-bred, casual gesture, but it connected them for that brief moment.

“Lady Taunton, Davey wants you to be there to hold his hand. That’s all he wants. Call me names, but I assured him you’d be delighted.”

She was silent a moment until she knew she could speak without a quaver in her voice. “I was going to visit Matthew this morning, wait for my other dress to dry, and return to Torquay.”

“I know.”

“Of course I’ll be there,” she said quietly.

“Thank you.” He took her hand and kissed it, then poured himself another cup of tea. He looked at the cup. “No, Lady T, this won’t keep me up. I have one more request.”

“Ask away. It can’t be any more presumptuous than the last one,” she said, amused.

“It is! I was quizzing you two days ago when I asked it, but I’m in deadly earnest now. Will you work for me?”

“My God, sir!” she said, startled. “You can’t be serious.”

“Never more so. I know you have no formal training, but you kept alive a husband you didn’t particularly care for, and probably ran his estate.”

She nodded, unable to speak.

“I need a matron for Block Four to oversee laundry, victuals, cleanliness and sanitation. My chief surgeon’s mate is in charge of the nursing staff, such as it is. You will circulate throughout the building, making sure all is well.” He chuckled. “In your spare time, you have my permission to walk on water and turn water into wine. You will do this six days a week, from the forenoon watch to the end of the first dog watch. For this I will pay you the magnificent sum of twenty-five pounds each year.”

“I spent more than that on a gown once,” she com
mented. She wanted to appear calm, but he could probably see the pulse pounding in her neck, or maybe even her heart jumping about in her chest.

“Oh. I forgot. You will receive rations and a place to sleep in Block Four.”

“Thank goodness,” she said. “I was on the verge of turning you down.” She stood up, too uncomfortable to remain seated. “I may have nursed an old man through apoplexy, but I know nothing!”

She looked out on the kitchen yard, with its neat rows of lettuce, carrots and beans. He joined her at the window and stared at the same view.

“You’re wrong there, Lady T, with all due respect. The men didn’t notice how little you knew. What they saw was how much you care. They’re still talking about it this morning. And Matthew? He feels better just because he was able to help, too, by finding me. He’s not as sick as he was, because he was needed and useful.”

She turned to face him. “I just don’t know.”

“Will you think about it?”

She nodded. He smiled, yawned hugely, and left the room. Laura sat down at the table again, weighed down by the enormity of what a man she barely knew was asking of her. She had been offered a job no lady of quality would ever consider. What would people think if Lady Laura Taunton, widow of a baronet, went to work as a matron in a naval hospital?

It troubled her to no end that her few tumultuous days at Stonehouse had led her to put her mind and heart on the line for all to see. In some strange way, she felt engaged in battle. The war, so abstract before, now loomed
like a monster. All she wanted to do was run away; she doubted she had the courage of Lt. Brittle or his patients.

And yet she had to admit that something about being in this terrifying place seemed to compel her to honesty, and force her to consider things previously left unmentioned. Perhaps the issue wasn’t really what people would think if a baronet’s widow went to work as a hospital matron.

“Maybe I am wondering if I have the kind of courage such a job requires, working with such brave men,” she whispered. “I do not see how I can.”

She leaned out the window and rested her elbows on the sill, regarding the carrots seriously as their feathery tops waved in the breeze. She didn’t want to even consider the surgeon’s offer. She snatched up her bonnet from the hook by the front door where someone had left it last night, and let herself out of the house quietly.
I will visit Matthew,
she promised herself,
hold Davey Dabney’s hand during surgery, then leave for Taunton. I could no more serve as a hospital matron than forgive my father for ruining my life.

T
he patients in B Ward must have been waiting for her to walk through the door. They cheered and she blushed like a maiden. She had to respond in the right tone, so she put up her hand in an imperious gesture that made the seamen settle down again.

“You’re still miscreants and rascals,” she scolded.

“You forgot layabouts, mum,” someone said, and the others laughed.

“That, too,” she agreed. “How could I ever forget?”

Laura nodded to the orderly at the desk, who looked as captivated as the men under his care. She went first to Matthew and brushed the hair back from his forehead, which made the seaman in the next bed sigh in a dramatic gust. She glared at the men.

“If there is a worse set of villains in this entire nation, I do not know who they might be,” she declared.

“That’s us, mum!” “On the nail,” “Too right,” were the replies she hoped for, because they told her much about the general state of B Ward.
It would be too easy to become
attached to you mongrels,
she thought.
Thank goodness my plans do not extend beyond holding Davey Dabney’s hand through a surgery.
And considering her terror of yesterday, she was having second thoughts about that.

“How are you, Matthew?” she asked.

“Better, mum.”

“Did you eat your breakfast?”

He made a face. “We ate better on the
Tireless.
”

“I don’t doubt that.” She glanced around, noting bowls of uneaten food by bedsides. “Is there anything I can do for you?” She asked it softly, not wanting commentary on that particular query from the others.

He thought a long time, and it touched her heart, because she knew his life had no luxuries. He probably had no idea what to ask for. “There is one thing,” he said finally.

“Ask away.”

“Last November, I stayed at the Mulberry for a week.”

“Nana told me you were very helpful in the kitchen.”

He nodded. “In the evenings, she read to us from a book about a bloke stranded on a deserted island. And then I went to sea again.”

For some odd reason that artless statement felt as sharp as a blow between her shoulder blades.
You have so little,
she thought, feeling her eyes well with tears,
and I so much.

“England needs you, Matthew,” she said when she could command her voice. “Are you speaking of
Robinson Crusoe?
”

His face lit up. “That was it! Please, mum, I want to know what happened. Could you finish the book for me and me mates?”

What do you do now, Laura?
she asked herself.
Do you
lie and tell him you will be happy to keep reading where Nana left off, and then do a runner like the poor woman yesterday? Do you tell the truth that you are going back to Torquay and then Taunton, where life is easy? Or do you just tell him no?

“I am going to return to Torquay after noon,” she said. “Matthew, I cannot do what you wish.”

If he had turned away then and refused to look at her, she would have felt better than what he did, which was to keep smiling at her. “That’s all right, mum,” he told her. His kindness made her feel as though Satan himself was dragging burning hot fingernails down her back.
Shame on you, Laura Taunton,
she thought.
Shame on you.

“I will be back, though,” she told him. “I promised Nana I would look after you.”

He nodded, but he seemed less certain now. He closed his eyes.

Fiercely disappointed in herself, Laura rose and looked around the room. The men watched her, interest in some eyes, pain in others.
You all ask so little,
she thought, then looked at Davey Dabney, who stared straight ahead. She sat by his bed.

He turned his head toward her, and she knew it was an effort, considering his wound. “I’m afraid, mum,” he whispered.

“I am, too,” she replied. “I would be lying if I said otherwise. I’ll hold your hand.”

He nodded and closed his eyes. When she was certain he slept, she went to each bed, trying to do out of kindness what she had done for her husband out of duty. She knew how painfully little this was, but the men didn’t
seem to see that; or at least, they were too polite to mention it.

After she made her slow circuit of the ward, the orderly, red-faced, whispered to her that he needed to be excused for a few minutes. “I drunk too much tea at breakfast,” he said.

“I’ll be fine here,” she told him, forcing down her fear of being the only able-bodied person in the room.

When the orderly returned, she sat by Davey again, awake now, and alert to every footstep on the stairs. “Dr. Brittle said he is going to explore my neck outside, where the light’s better,” he told her. He sighed. “I’d almost give the earth to be outside. Is it warm today?”

“Yes. Quite nice, in fact.”

She could tell he was straining his voice, but he wanted to talk. “I am a foretopman,” he told her. “On a sunny day, there’s nothing finer than sitting in the crosstrees, a hundred feet above the deck.”

“I’d be afraid.”

He looked at her, surprised. “Gor, mum, I wouldn’t have thought you could be afraid of anything. Not after yesterday.”

It was a compliment of real weight and heft, and she knew it. “Thank you, Davey.”

He only smiled and reached for her hand, which she gladly offered. He was dozing again when Lt. Brittle came into the room, in shirtsleeves and wearing his surgeon’s apron. She felt her heart plummet into her stomach as she saw him. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows and he was ready to work.

Instead of coming into the room, he leaned against the door frame, watching Davey.
What are you thinking?
she wanted to know.
How does a person go about preparing
for this?
As she watched, he closed his eyes. She wondered if he was praying.

Lt. Brittle looked up, took a deep breath and came into the ward. He spoke to the orderly, who nodded and went out the door. In a moment, two men came in carrying a chair.

By now Davey was awake. The surgeon went directly into his line of sight, so he would not have to strain.

“Ready?”

“Near as ever, sir.”

“I’m going to lift you into this chair, tie you to it and then tip you back so the orderlies can carry you below deck.”

“I’d rather use the piss pot first.”

“Wise choice. Glad to know I haven’t already scared it out of you.”

Everyone was awake and watching now.

“Mrs. Taunton, go below please and hold open that outside door. I left an apron for you at the bottom of the stairs.”

Without a word, she did as he said, completely unnerved by the thought of what was coming. She hurried down the stairs, wanting to keep running. But there was the apron—one of Brittle’s, she thought—draped over the stair rail. She put it on. Top to bottom it fit. Side to side, she ended up wrapping the ties around and knotting them in front. Her fingers felt almost numb, so it took her several tries.

She heard the men on the stairs and opened the door, holding it wide as the orderlies carried Davey Dabney carefully into the sunlight. They set him down by a table covered with a cloth, where another surgeon stood, then reclined the chair back slightly and locked it in place.

“Captain Brackett, this is Mrs. Taunton, who has agreed to hold Dabney’s hand,” Lt. Brittle said, speaking to the
other surgeon. “He thought she would be a better distraction than Matron Willett in Block Six.”

Dabney managed a smile, which quickly froze when he saw the small table. A slight wind had ruffled the cloth, revealing hardware that made Laura wince, too.

Lt. Brittle quickly stepped in front of the table, blocking the view. He gestured to Laura. “Sit there close to Davey, will you? Davey, I’m going to turn your head so you can admire her beautiful green eyes. Oh, my, she’s even going to blush for us. Prettiest green eyes
I’ve
ever seen. That’s good. Hold still. Capt. Brackett is going to lash a bandage across your cheek and under your chin just so and anchor it to the chair back so you won’t move. Laura, do what you can.”

He said the last in a lower voice, as Davey began to shiver. Without giving it a thought, she stood as close to the foretopman as she could get, one hand on his head and the other across his chest and holding him tight until he was breathing normally again. As Capt. Brackett expertly bound him to the chair, she rubbed Davey’s chest, then pulled up a blanket that an orderly had draped across the man’s legs.

He opened his eyes. “Sorry for that,” he murmured.

“Nothing to be sorry for,” she told him.

“Davey? Should I secure your hands?”

“No,” he said, his face muffled by the bandage. “Not if mum will hold them.”

“I will.”

“Very well.” Lt. Brittle glanced at the sun. “Captain Brackett, let us imagine a day when an operating theatre will be this light indoors.”

The surgeon and orderlies chuckled.

Other men came closer now. “These are two of my surgeon’s mates, Davey,” Brittle said. “Everyone here does what I tell them. I’m going to widen the entrance wound a little and see what I can see, out here in God’s light. You’ll feel grippers on your neck. That’ll be my mates pulling back the edges of the wound with tenacula so I can get a good look. Are you ready? We’ll go fast. Captain, a smaller bistoury, if you please.”

It couldn’t be fast enough for me,
Laura thought. Davey stared at her, his eyes desperate now, and she knew she had to keep her expression calm.
Focus on Davey,
she told her brain.
Don’t even think about what is going on just inches from you. Don’t let your expression reveal anything except the brave mum he thinks you are. When this is over you can go home to Torquay and Nana.

Davey’s eyes widened and he groaned as Capt. Brittle deftly sliced into the wound and murmured, “Sponge.” Davey flinched when the tenacula went into place to hold the wound open wider. All it took was a tiny glance to convince Laura she would concentrate on the foretopman, who clung to her hands with a grip she had not expected.

She wished she could have appreciated the speed with which Lt. Brittle operated, widening the wound, then peering inside that cramped space for as good a look as he could get.

“Probe, Captain,” he said, then delicately reached inside with the long instrument Brackett slapped into his open hand.

Laura’s fingers ached from the strength of Davey’s grip, but she returned the pressure and hoped she sounded rational as she babbled about summertime and green leaves, and how nice that it wasn’t blustery and cold, and how on earth did he keep from getting seasick on the top of a swaying mast.

Lt. Brittle probed some more, then Davey closed his eyes and went slack.

“Excellent,” the surgeon murmured as he stepped back and his mate dabbed at the wound. “Stay unconscious, my friend. It’s a better world. Keep a hand on him, Laura.”

She was only vaguely aware he had used her first name. She kept her eyes focused on the sailor, free momentarily from pain. She glanced at Lt. Brittle, who had stepped back and was talking with his colleague. She wondered why he was operating, and not the surgeon who outranked him. She focused on Philemon Brittle then, seeing him for what he was, an enormously talented surgeon brave enough to try something unorthodox to keep a man alive.

How can you do this?
she thought.
How can you be so calm?
She watched the surgeons, Brackett nodding, his hands in his pockets, and Brittle now wiping the probe on his apron.

“We agree then, Captain. Find me the smallest bistoury on the table. That one will do. Brian, swab away, lively now.”

The mate dabbed again at Davey’s neck, and then Lt. Brittle continued, talking in a low voice to the other mates. It dawned on her that he was teaching them.

“The artery wasn’t nicked after all. The biggest problem seems to be that necrotic tissue was pressing against it and wearing it down. I will trim it.”

She winced as he quickly flipped a strip of black matter onto the grass, and another. He took a wad of gauze and held it against Davey’s neck as the foretopman groaned and came to again. Laura tightened her grip on his hands.

He groaned only because he hadn’t the strength to scream, but in another few seconds, the mates released the tenacula and the surgeon reached for short strips of ad
hesive as fast as Captain Brackett handed them over. Davey watched her, his eyes tortured, but his breathing slowing, as he sensed the unendurable was winding down.

“I prefer adhesive to sutures, mates,” Lt. Brittle said, continuing his lecture in the sunlight of the Stonehouse quadrangle. “It’s less of an insult in places like this. I would do the same around genitals. The body’s full of interesting nooks and crannies.”

Then he was done. The whole thing couldn’t have taken more than ten minutes.

Laura let out a sigh and glanced up at Lt. Brittle. To her surprise, he was watching her. He didn’t say anything, but his eyes seemed to speak his thanks.
You’re welcome,
she wanted to tell him, except that her mouth wouldn’t move.

With the last strip in place, Lt. Brittle wiped his hands on his apron then took it off before he walked around to the other side of his patient, still lashed to the chair. He squatted on the grass by Laura’s stool. She could see the perspiration on his face, and knew it had been more of an ordeal than he had let on.

“I would like to climb again, and give Boney what for,” Davey said, his eyes on the surgeon.

“No promises, Davey,” Lt. Brittle said. “I’ve done all I can.”

He did something then that Laura never in the world would have expected. He rose to his feet, leaned forward and kissed the sailor on his forehead. “Do your best now, lad,” he murmured, then nodded to the orderlies to pick up the chair.

Laura sat there, dumbfounded by what she had just witnessed. She was barely aware that Lt. Brittle now leaned his hand on her shoulder, as though he was suddenly more tired
than fifty bricklayers. She wanted to say something—what, she didn’t know—but suddenly a bell down by the creek that flowed behind the administration building began to toll.