Seasons of War 2-Book Bundle. Cheryl Cooper
and weevils, your sea biscuits are very good, very good indeed.”
“It’s thee pinch o’ sugar and shot o’ rum I puts in ’em, but don’t tell no one.” Biscuit tried for another look at their guest. “And I brought her a cup o’ grog. Should bring her round.”
“That’s very kind of you, Biscuit.”
“Oh, and sir, there won’t be no milk in thee coffee tonight.”
“And why not?”
“We lost our goat today. Poor Lizzie. Her legs were clean shorn away by Yankee grapeshot and I had to pitch her into thee drink.” Biscuit lingered, hoping Commander Austen was in a talkative mood.
“She’s not going anywhere, Biscuit. You’ll see her soon enough.”
“Right then, sir, let me know if she needs anythin’ else.”
“Some of your best wine wouldn’t go amiss.”
Biscuit saluted and slipped through the door.
* * *
AN HOUR LATER, Dr. Braden came to the captain’s cabin carrying his black medical chest. Fly, with a glass of wine in his hand, greeted him at the door with a bow.
“Is that allowed when you’re on active duty, Mr. Austen?”
“Probably not, but there’s been no sign of James for hours. It seems he’s turned his quarters over to our lady.”
Leander Braden angled his head towards the washtub in the corner of the room. It contained a few inches of green, brackish water. “Is the tub for her or you?”
“Her, of course, although Mrs. Kettle did make a fuss about having to lug it up here.”
“I am sure she would have.”
“You’ve changed your shirt, Doctor,” said Fly. “The last time I saw you … you were covered in gore from head to toe.”
Leander reddened and moved in through the canvas to stare down at the lady’s pale, sleeping face. “Do you know the extent of her injuries, Fly?”
“James gave me strict orders not to touch her. However, it appears she’s broken her ankle and has a ball of lead in her shoulder.”
“I cannot examine her in the cot. Help me move the desk in here.”
Swiftly the two men cleared James’s desk of his maps and papers, and then pushed it behind the canvas. As they eased their guest out of the cot and onto the desk’s hard surface, Emily opened her eyes with a start.
“Fly, if I’m to operate, I’ll need some sand on the floor – the sea’s a bit rough.”
“Right away, Doctor.”
“And if you could send word to Mrs. Kettle telling her I require her assistance here.”
With a grin, Fly saluted his friend and set out on his mission.
Emily’s dark brown eyes watched the doctor. Despite her condition, she noted that his auburn hair was thick and wavy, and that he wore his sideburns long on his handsome face. Behind his round spectacles, his eyes were intelligent and as blue as the sea.
“Do you have a name?” he asked.
“Emily,” she answered weakly. “And you?”
“Leander Braden, ma’am. I’m the ship’s physician. We have only one other woman on board … Meg Kettle is her name. I’ll need her to help you undress. I’m afraid you’ve taken some lead in your shoulder and I must get it out as quickly as I can. While we wait for her, may I begin cleaning your wounds?”
Emily nodded and watched as he dipped a cloth into the cold water of her bathtub and wrung it out.
“It looks like you scratched yourself badly on some glass.”
She didn’t answer him. Instead, she winced and looked away while he cleaned and dressed the cuts on her hands.
Fly soon returned with sand for the floor. His eyes immediately fell upon Emily.
“This is Commander Francis Austen, Emily,” said Dr. Braden. “However, we all call him Fly, being he’s as annoying as the common housefly.”
Emily was too exhausted to return their cheerful smiles.
Mrs. Kettle came huffing and puffing into the room. “Let’s get this over, Doctor. I ’ave me chores to do.”
The men exchanged knowing glances.
“Mrs. Kettle, I must examine Emily’s ankle and shoulder. Her jacket must be removed as well as her stockings.”
Mrs. Kettle rolled her eyes and planted her puffy hands on her wide hips. “It ain’t in me duties to be undressin’ young ladies for yer examination.”
“Since you are the only other woman on this ship, I have no other alternative.”
Mrs. Kettle yanked the canvas shut behind her. “Off with yer clothes. The doctor needs to be lookin’ at ya.” She pulled at Emily’s blue velvet spencer-jacket, causing her to cry out in pain.
“Careful, Mrs. Kettle, please. She is grievously injured,” Leander called out, wishing he had given more thought to the wisdom in summoning the laundress in the first place.
“I wonder if she’s that gentle with the men in her cot,” whispered Fly.
Leander looked disapprovingly at his friend over his spectacles.
“Right then, Doctor, she’s ready fer ya,” said Mrs. Kettle, coming from behind the canvas curtain.
“Thank you for sharing your invaluable time.”
“S’pose I didn’t ’ave a choice now, did I?” She opened the door. “Make sure ya check her female parts.”
Dr. Braden raised his eyebrows.
“If she’s been roamin’ thee seas with Yankee sailors she’s likely with child. And if she hurled herself overboard, she likely didn’t fancy thee father.”
9:30 p.m.
(First Watch, Three Bells)
OCTAVIUS LINDSAY took his place at the mess table in the wardroom. “Biscuit, it’s terribly late and I’m starving. What have you cooked up for us tonight?”
“Lobscouse, sir.” Biscuit plunked down a pot of unsavoury-looking stew in the middle of the table. “Ya’ll be lucky to get anythin’ tonight, Lord Lindsay. Think of yer buddies we gave up to thee sea this afternoon.”
“It’s all part of the service,” Octavius retorted. “I wouldn’t be surprised we throw your old bones overboard before this war ends.”
“And what would ya do without yer old cook to boil yer porridge for ya and serve up yer rations of grog, eh?”
“Aye, you have a good point there, Biscuit,” said Fly Austen. His eyes were bright and his cheeks flushed as a result of his previous partaking of spirits in the captain’s cabin. “Do try to stay clear of enemy fire.”
“If they come after old Biscuit, I’ll cut ’em up with me cutlass.”
“That’s if you can see them coming,” snorted Mr. Spooner, the stout purser.
“I’ll have me one eye lookin’ at ’im and me other lookin’ for ’im,” said Biscuit, dishing up the mixture of salted meat, potatoes, biscuit bits, onions, and pepper.
The men laughed, then rushed to guzzle a glass of wine before having to taste Biscuit’s supper.
James mentally counted his dinner guests. There were only six seated around the mess table; normally there were eight who dined together. “I know our sailing master, Mr. Harding, having lost his foot, is recuperating in the hospital,