Shocked by Emily’s insult, Mr. Harding choked and dribbled his mouthful of wine down the front of his dark-blue uniform. James looked annoyed, but made no comment; instead, he simply handed the sailing master a handkerchief. Not accustomed to being spoken to in such a manner – especially by a woman – Octavius shot forward in his chair and grasped the edge of the oak table, an expression of contempt on his homely face.
But Emily did not care. She gave Captain Moreland a beseeching look. “Sir, please, I am not a leper. And Magpie, of all people, I should like to see and speak with again.”
“Magpie must learn to stay and sew his sails in his dark hole on the orlop,” said Octavius, in a low, threatening voice.
Emily stood up quickly, swaying in pain as her injured foot hit the floor. “Perhaps we wouldn’t be having this conversation at all, Mr. Lindsay, if you had minded your own business in the first place, and kept your eyes and thoughts on your sea watches and not on me.”
“Sit down, Emily,” ordered James. He turned on Octavius. “And you, Mr. Lindsay, not another word.”
“I will not, sir,” cried Emily. “Do you not see? You will have every man on this ship despise me for this … this madness. Why, you might as well just string them all up on the Isabelle’s yardarms until their necks have broken.”
The weary lines on James’s face dissolved in red anger. A deathly silence descended as if an unseen force had dropped a suffocating shroud upon the oak table. When James next opened his mouth his voice was frighteningly chilly. “We are currently fighting a war, and I have spent more of my time on your damned affairs than I have on fulfilling my orders from the Admiralty. Mr. Austen, summon Mr. Walby and have her taken back to her hospital cot. Madam – you are dismissed.”
The moment James finished speaking, the Isabelle resounded with raised voices.
“Sail ho!”
“Four points off the larboard.”
“What does she look like?”
“A large vessel, standing towards us!”
“Clear the ship for action.”
The drums sounded to beat to quarters. Emily’s head hurt so much it seemed to her that every drumbeat was a blow to her skull. Almost instantaneously, there came a knock at the door. Fly moved swiftly to answer it.
“There’s been a sighting, sir.”
“British or Yankee?” asked Fly.
“Too soon to say, sir.”
“Thank you, Mr. McGilp. Have the men lower the boats. If lead is about to fly, we don’t need their scattering splinters killing us.”
“Gentlemen,” said James, trying to regain his composure. “To your stations, then. This cabin must be cleared for action.” He watched the three officers make their hasty departure, Octavius’s fiery gaze once again falling upon Emily when he rose from his chair. As they were leaving the room, James spoke again, this time, very calmly. “Under the circumstances, Emily, I will ask that you find your own way back to the hospital. Go to the hatch on the fo’c’sle. The ladder down will bring you to your destination.”
* * *
EMILY WAS ABOUT TO MAKE her painful way down the ladder when she spotted Gus on his way up. Clutching his bicorne hat and cutlass, he beamed up at her, his eyes swimming with excitement. “There’s been a ship sighting, Em. Dr. Braden asked me to find you. He wants you to get back below.”
“Do we know yet? Is it an American warship?”
“We can’t be sure. Please! Just get below. The worst place to be is above deck.” He scurried off, securing his hat upon his blond head.
Emily stepped back as dozens of men now began pouring up the ladder, tripping over one another in their haste and articulating a variety of emotions:
“Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name …”
“Goddamned Yankees.”
“We’ll slice ’em up nicely.”
“Thy Kingdom come, thy will be done …”
“Move along. Git yer arse out of me face.”
“England expects every man to do his duty. England expects every man …”
“Now let ev’ry man drink off his full bumper, and let ev’ry man drink off his full glass; we’ll drink, be jolly and drown melancholy …”
“On earth as it is in Heaven …”
“And here’s to the health of each true-hearted lass …”
Once safely returned to the hospital, Emily found Leander and Osmund clearing away the clutter on the desk. Osmund, his thick tongue hanging out of his mouth, grabbed a roll of bloodstained cloth and plunked it down hard on what would now become the operating table. Leander opened it and began arranging his surgical equipment. He glanced up when Emily entered.
“What can I do?” she asked quietly.
Leander spoke rapidly. “Sit down on the floor in the corner. Make certain the gunport is closed up and stay clear of it.”
Emily slid the straw hat off her head, her wheat-coloured hair tumbling down around the shoulders of her checked shirt. Feeling faint and headachy, she limped towards the canvas curtain.
“Doctor Braden,” pleaded Crump from his hammock, “please let me get up, sir. I’m willin’ to fight.”
“Mr. Crump, you have just lost your leg. You must wait until Mr. Evans has time to fit you up with a new one.”
Mr. Crump grumbled like an active volcano, cursing saints Peter and Paul.
“Emily …”
She whirled about to find Leander holding out a pistol to her. “Take this. If it’s an American warship, you may need it.” Catching her expression of anxiety, he softened his tone. “I suspect you know how to use it.”
6:30 p.m.
(Second Dog Watch, One Bell)
CROUCHED ON THE FLOOR of her small corner, as far away as was possible from the gunport, Emily heard the echo of one bell. It had been some time since Fly Austen climbed down the ladder to the hospital to inform Leander that it was indeed a Yankee frigate and to make ready for the wounded.
“Fly, as there are only two of us here,” Leander had said, peering over his spectacles at his friend, “please try to make short work of it.”
“Shall I send in Biscuit? He claims to know something of medicine.”
“I forbid it. His smell alone will surely do me in.”
Fly had laughed as he ascended the ladder to the fo’c’sle deck.
Emily was surprised they could joke at a time like this, especially when her own heart had been thumping uncomfortably for the past two hours. Her legs were already cramped from crouching, and her ankle throbbed. The waiting was agony. Why weren’t the guns firing?
Leander suddenly pulled aside the curtain and held up a lantern. “Are you all right?”
“I’m terrified.”
“I have a shot of rum here for you. It might help.” He bent his long frame to hand her a small cup.
Emily downed it, ignoring the burning sensation as it passed to her stomach. Leander shook his head as he looked down upon her. “I’m afraid by the time we reach Halifax, you will not only be a laudanum addict, you will also have developed a fondness for grog.”
“And