The Surgeon’s Lady Page 2

  Laura remembered Pym’s determination to give Eleanor Massie a well-bred accent, and her pique at never quite erasing the burr from the pretty child’s voice.

  Her words were for Nana only, so she whispered them. “Sister, it took me three months to work up the nerve. What a fool I was.”

  Nana drew a shuddering breath, then held herself off to look at Laura, from her stylish bonnet, to her impeccable traveling dress to her elegant half boots, then back to Laura’s hair, the color of her own. She gave it a gentle tug.

  “When we were at the academy, I used to think you were the most beautiful creature in the whole world,” Nana said. She laughed out loud, a delightful sound that traveled to every corner of Laura’s heart. “I should have known we were related!”

  Laura couldn’t help laughing. “You’re still a scamp,” she said, taking her sister’s hand.

  Just then Nana remembered the others in the room, the man still standing.

  “Mrs. Brittle, Surgeon Brittle, this is my sister, Lady Taunton.”

  Suddenly, it was too much. Laura felt Nana sag, but the man was quicker. In a moment he had seated Nana on the sofa, and stepped back so Laura could join her. He poured a glass of water and handed it to her sister.

  “Drink that and lean back,” he told her. “Deep breath.” Nana obeyed him without question.

  Laura looked from the man to his mother, which served to give Mrs. Brittle leave to speak.

  “My son is a surgeon,” she said. “He’s newly arrived from Jamaica.”

  That would explain the handsome tan. She wouldn’t have called him good-looking, but the mahogany of his complexion seemed determined to cover the defects of sharp nose, thin lips and hair so short she wondered at first if he was bald. On the other hand, if Lt. Brittle was not the most handsome man she had ever seen—even in his glory days, her late husband was worth a second look—the surgeon had magnificent shoulders, the kind commonly associated with road-mending crews. Laura was impressed and puzzled, in equal shares.

  “They came in force to bring me bad news,” Nana said in her forthright way.

  “No, merely it-could-be-worse news,” the lieutenant contradicted. “The good news is that Captain Worthy can swim.” Nana relaxed further under the calmness of his gaze.

  Laura watched him, interested, as the sheer force of his personality seemed to steady them. Mrs. Brittle said he was a surgeon. For years, she had seen many a physician up close, but never had she observed a better example of bedside manner, and from a mere surgeon in the Royal Navy. So much for the day’s surprises.

  “Swim?” Laura asked. “I am in the dark.”

  Nana took her hand and started to speak, but couldn’t. She looked at Mrs. Brittle, who took up the narrative without a pause.

  “My husband is the sailing master on the Tireless, Lady Taunton,” she said. “He sent us a message by way of a coastal ship. The Tireless was on the receiving end of a real donnybrook by Ferrol Station.” Her voice hardened. “It wasn’t a fair fight, but Captain Worthy never backs away. The Tireless limped into Plymouth Sound and sank last night.”

  “My God!” Laura exclaimed, and felt her face go pale.

  She barely sensed his fingers at her throat, but in a few seconds, the surgeon had removed her bonnet and was waving her with it. “Deep breaths,” she said, and he smiled.

  “Oliver can swim,” Nana said, her voice dogged.

  “Apparently even with a wounded man on his back,” Lt. Brittle added, returning the bonnet to Laura. “He insisted my father deliver the news to Torquay as soon as possible, so Mrs. Worthy wouldn’t hear it from someone else. That is why we are here.”

  “The others? Your father?” Laura asked. “How are they?”

  Mrs. Brittle reached across Nana and touched Laura’s hand. “You sound like a West Country lass yourself, to care about jack-tars.”

  “I care,” she said softly.

  “You’ll watch over your little sister?” the surgeon asked, his voice matching hers for calmness in a way that utterly beguiled her, she who had listened to too many physicians blather.

  My little sister. “Aye. I’ll watch over my little sister.”

  Chapter Two

  After the Brittles left, Laura and Nana each burst into tears, then started to laugh, which only led to more tears and laughter.

  “I could not believe you wanted to see me, so I did not open your letter until two days ago,” Laura confessed.

  “Silly you.”

  Nana placed Laura’s hand on her belly. Laura held her breath as she felt the tiny motion under her fingertips.

  “The first time it happened, I thought it was my imagination,” Nana said. “It felt like a butterfly trapped on the other side of my shimmy.” She laughed. “Lt. Brittle said to give Baby Worthy a few months, and he, or she, will feel like a prisoner rattling a tin cup along the iron bars of the brig.”

  “The lieutenant’s a common one,” Laura said before she thought.

  “We’re all common, Laura,” was her sister’s quiet reply.

  It was not a rebuke; even on their short close acquaintance, Laura didn’t think Nana had a rebuke in her entire body. Hers was a statement of fact; they were a common lot. Laura felt another layer of self-deceit slide away.

  “Common we are.” She removed her hand. “I think you should lie down now.”

  If Laura expected mutiny, she got none.

  “I agree. The Brittles and I already had luncheon. I expect you haven’t, unless travel has suddenly become much more convenient.”

  “You know it hasn’t,” Laura said with a laugh. “Direct me to your housekeeper, and I will…” She went to the window. “My stars, I forgot about the chaise.”

  Nana was already settling herself on the sofa, her hand tucked against her belly. “Send them away, Laura.”

  “I don’t want to inconvenience you…” Laura began.

  “I’ll be more inconvenienced if you leave.” She gave Laura a look that was as calculating as it was a bluff. “Ladies in waiting are to be humored. Lt. Brittle told me so.”

  “He did no such thing,” Laura teased. “He looks far too practical for that.”

  “All the Brittles are practical,” Nana said, perfectly complacent to be found out and corrected. “Do you have pressing business in Taunton demanding your immediate attention?”

  She said it so gently that Laura felt the tears start in her eyes again. Since Sir James’s death, there had been not one demand on her time. If she showed up next week in Taunton or never again, no one would really care, except the servants she supported.

  “I have no business anywhere. I didn’t bring many clothes, though.”

  Nana sighed when Laura covered her with a light throw. When she replied, her voice was already drowsy. “In the bookroom, Mrs. Trelease will show you, there are paper, pens and ink. Write a note to your staff, tell them to collect more clothing, and hand the note to Joey Trelease. He’s a scamp but he loves to post letters quayside. Heaven knows he’s posted enough of mine.”

  Laura hesitated, and Nana narrowed her eyes. “I am she who commands.”

  “You and who else?” Laura teased. It was the mildest of banter, but she almost shivered with the pleasure of sharing it with a sister.

  Nana yawned. “If Oliver were here, you would snap to. He would say, ‘Lively, now, madam,’ and the earth would tremble.”

  She began to cry, and there was no subterfuge anywhere, just the raw edge of a wife who has heard her man was in danger, even if safe now. Laura dropped to her knees by the sofa and put her cheek against her sister’s.

  “Whatever my failings—don’t stop me, I have many—I am an excellent guest, and possibly even more of a tyrannical big sister than you ever imagined.”

  Or than I ever imagined, Laura thought, as she shushed Nana, kissed her and sat on the floor by the sofa until her little sister slept. When Nana was breathing evenly, Laura went outside, paid the coachman and dismissed him.

  Lu
ncheon was Cornish pasties so crisp and brown that she salivated as Mrs. Trelease served them. After a leisurely cup of tea in the breakfast room—windows open, seagulls noisy—Laura went upstairs to find her few dresses already on pegs in the dressing room and her brush and comb lined up on the bureau.

  Before she went downstairs to find the book room, she walked quietly down the hall, past what must be Nana and the captain’s room. She saw the boat cloak thrown across the foot of the bed. I wonder if Nana wraps herself in it at night, she asked herself. What must it be like to love a man so often gone?

  The next chamber was the future nursery. Already there was an armchair there with padded armrests, pulled close to the open window and the view of the bay. She went to the window, watching the ships swinging on their anchors. At this distance, the smaller boats darting to and from them looked like water bugs.

  There was a cradle, too, one that looked old and well-used. Something told her, how, she did not know, that it must have come from the Brittles’ house, which must be the pale yellow one next door and a little lower down the hill.

  As she stood there, she noticed Lt. Brittle standing on the side lawn, looking out to sea, hands in his pockets. He must have felt her scrutiny, because he turned slightly, then waved to her.

  She waved back, knowing Miss Pym would be shocked at such brazen behavior, but not caring in the least. She couldn’t keep staring at him, so she looked out to sea again, content to watch the boats come and go. When she glanced at the side lawn again, he was walking inside his mother’s house, whistling. The sound made her smile.

  Lt. Brittle came to the house again that night after dinner was long over, and Nana was starting to yawn in the middle of sentences. She looked up when the surgeon came into the room.

  “Is there a cure for sleepiness?”

  “Most certainly,” he told her. “In your case, give it about five months. Of course, then you’ll be tired because of two o’clock feedings. You’re a no-hoper.”

  How is it he knows just the right tone to strike with my sister? Laura asked herself, as she listened to their delightful banter. I am in the presence of an artist.

  It was a beguiling thought. Nana, who had been reclining on the sofa, tried to sit up, but the lieutenant shook his head and she stayed where she was. To Laura’s surprise, he sat on the floor right by her sister, tucking the throw a little higher on her shoulders against the cool evening breeze blowing in from the Channel.

  His eyes on Nana’s face, he took a note from his uniform jacket and opened it. Laura noticed the suddenly alert look on Nana’s face. Nana took hold of the surgeon’s hand as he tried to unfold the note, stopping him.

  “It’s all right, Nana, it’s all right,” he said, his voice soothing. “It came to me about an hour ago from Captain Worthy himself. Hey, now. He wanted you to know he’ll be here tomorrow, but he also wants you to be prepared.”

  Laura found herself on the floor by the sofa, too, her arm around her sister in a protective gesture she never would have imagined herself capable of, only that morning in Plymouth.

  “He sustained an injury to his ear,” the surgeon said. “Read it yourself.”

  Nana snatched the letter from his hand, her eyes devouring the words. She took a deep breath when she finished. “Listen, Laura: ‘My love, I am not precisely symmetrical now, but I trust you will still adore me.’ Oh, Phil! What else did he write to you in the other note you are not showing me?”

  “You know your man pretty well, don’t you?”

  “Beyond degree. Confess.”

  “It was a splinter.” The surgeon shook his head at Laura’s expression. “Not those aggravating ones you get under your fingernail. This is when pieces of the railing and masts go in all directions during bombardment.” He looked at Nana again. “From his description, I think he lost his earlobe and maybe part of that outer rim. Could be worse. If you want, I can look at it before I leave for Stonehouse tomorrow.”

  “You know I want that,” Nana replied. She put her hand on the surgeon’s arm. “We’re lucky, aren’t we, Phil?”

  “Unquestionably. My father said Captain Worthy knew the Tireless was going down, so he offloaded his most seriously wounded onto a passing water hoy headed to Plymouth and sent a message requesting aid. The rest of the wounded he put into the ship’s small boats and towed them behind the Tireless, so he would not have to get them out in the general confusion. He thought of everything. No wonder crews like to sail with Captain Worthy. So do you, eh, Nana?”

  She burst into tears, great gulping sobs that tore at Laura’s heart. Laura cradled her sister, thinking about her own husband’s welcome death; how she had closed his eyes without a tear.

  The surgeon let Nana have her cry, offering his handkerchief so she could blow her nose. He appeared to have all the time in the world. He took the note from Nana’s hand.

  “You’ll see here he wants me to stay the night. He doesn’t know that your sister is here, but I’m still inclined to stay. The sofa in your book room will do.”

  Nana shook her head. “I won’t hear of that. Laura, could you make up the bed in the room across the hall from you? I’m afraid this is Mrs. Trelease’s night out.”

  “Of course I can, dearest,” she said.

  On Nana’s instructions, Laura found the linen, happy to have something to do. Even though it was July, there was a chill on the room which she remedied with a small fire in the grate that the surgeon could extinguish, if he felt too warm. She shook out a bottom sheet.

  When she lowered it onto the bed, Lt. Brittle was standing on the other side to straighten it. “I thought I’d leave her alone for a few minutes,” he said, as he tucked in his side of the bed, with even more razor-sharp corners than hers.

  He noticed her glance and gestured for her to hand him the other sheet. “I’m a surgeon, Lady Taunton,” he said. “Nothing exalted like a physician. I’ve been known to give a good shave and haircut and empty slops. The air isn’t too rarefied around me.”

  There was no mistaking his common touch. True, he was in uniform, but there wasn’t anything crisp about him. His hair was short, as short as men who wore wigs usually wore their own hair, but she doubted he owned a wig.

  She found a light blanket while he pulled a case onto the pillow and fluffed it at the head of the bed. She held out the blanket and they settled it on the sheets together. When it was smoothed out, she looked at him and chose to say more.

  “The air may not be rarefied, but you are a good surgeon.”

  “Thank you,” he said simply.

  “In fact, I wish you had been at my late husband’s bedside. I…” She stopped, her face warm.

  He didn’t say anything, but the look of sympathy in his eyes made her brave enough to continue. “He suffered a stroke four years ago, and I nursed him through three years of…”

  “Thirty-six-hour days?” he asked quietly.

  “Precisely,” she said, relieved that he understood. “I listened to all manner of wisdom from his physicians, and…”

  She couldn’t find the words to continue, but he seemed to know. “…and you wanted someone to give you concrete advice?”

  “Precisely so again,” she said, and sat down. “I wanted to know how long he would live, but hadn’t the courage to ask so callous a question.”

  “It’s not callous. I’d have answered it,” he told her. “Typical expectation might be eighteen months. Apparently you are a superior nurse, if he lasted three years.”

  “He was my husband,” was all she said. “Why aren’t there more doctors like you?”

  He sat down, too. “I don’t know what Nana has told you about us, but we Brittles are as common as marsh grass. I always knew I would be a healer of some sort. For a time, when I sailed as a loblolly boy, I pined for proper medical schooling. After that first battle at sea, I knew I could be more useful.”

  She nodded. There was no denying he looked like the most capable man on the planet. He also was built like
a road mender. She had never met anyone like him.

  “Did all your education come at sea?”

  “No. Surgeons require degrees. Captain Worthy paid tuition, room and board for three years at the University of Edinburgh.”

  “He strikes again. Nana has been telling me all about her captain this afternoon.”

  “Contrary to what she has said, he doesn’t really walk on water. After Scotland, I spent nearly two years as a ward-walker in London Hospital. I should have been another year there, but man proposes and Boney disposes, apparently. I passed my viva voce, got a license—two, in fact—and found myself back at sea, this time with Lord Nelson at Trafalgar. We all know how that came out.”

  She shouldn’t have been sitting on a bed with him. He must have had the same thought, because they both got up at the same time. She wanted him to tell her more about his life at sea, but surely he had better things to do.

  Laura looked around the room, then drew the draperies. “Is there anything else you might need?”

  “No, you’ve thought of everything. I’m going to go next door and finish packing, but I’ll be back.”

  “You mentioned Stonehouse.” Heavens, Laura, she told herself, let the man be. He’s trying to go home.

  He seemed in no particular hurry. “I started my duties there last week after returning from Jamaica.”

  He must have noticed the question on her face. “Stonehouse is a Royal Naval Hospital between Plymouth and Devonport. By the dockyards. I am one of the two staff surgeons to some eight hundred patients, depending on Boney.”

  She couldn’t have heard him right. “So many! How can you possibly get away?”

  “Not often,” he said as she walked him to the door. “I did insist on seeing me mum, however. After Jamaica, she was pining after my careworn visage.”

  “Is there no Mrs. Brittle?”

  “Not besides me mum,” he said cheerfully, as he walked down the stairs with her. “Any woman I’m to court will have to come to Stonehouse and empty slops.”

  Laura laughed. “And probably wash smelly bandages.”