“If ’twere me, I doubt ya’d be puttin’ me to bed in thee captain’s cot. In thee hold with thee shingle and barrels of grog would be more like it.”
Fly glanced over the woman’s form. She had a massive bosom and hips as wide as the ship. Her greying hair was pulled severely from her meaty face and there wasn’t an ounce of charm in her thick features.
His reply was not immediate. “Well now, Mrs. Kettle, the captain has ordered that a bath be prepared for our guest.”
“A bath? We ain’t in a fancy London hotel.”
“We can spare her a bit of our fresh water,” Fly said firmly.
“Thee lads on this ship ’ave to wash in saltwater.”
Feeling impatient with the woman, Fly stood up. “We replenished some of our stores of freshwater recently in Bermuda, Mrs. Kettle. Freshwater will do.”
Mrs. Kettle grunted as she folded her arms over her breasts.
“And then there’s the matter of clothes,” Fly continued, unable to meet her cold eyes. “She’ll need a nightdress. Could you find something for her?”
“I only ’ave one and I ain’t givin’ it to her just ’cause she’s some fancy lady.”
“Could you maybe sew something together for her?”
“I cleans thee clothes, I don’t make ’em.”
“Very well then. I’ll ask Magpie to take on the job.”
“Magpie? He sews sails!”
“Aye, and he’s very good with a needle. I’m sure he could sew together a bit of flannel for her.”
Mrs. Kettle snorted like a hog.
“Well, see to the bath, please.”
“And will ya be hangin’ ’round while she bathes?”
“The bath, if you please, Mrs. Kettle.”
There was a knock at the door.
Fly opened it, putting his finger to his lips.
The officers’ cook tiptoed in with a tray. He had a shock of orange hair, and one eye that was askew as a result of a fall from a yardarm years ago. Although he did possess a proper Scottish name, no one could remember it, or ever bothered to ask; instead, he was simply addressed as Biscuit by officers and seamen alike.
Upon seeing the tray, Mrs. Kettle rolled her eyes. “Oh, nice, and we’re served supper in bed as well.”
“That will be all, Mrs. Kettle,” said Fly, showing her the door.
She waddled out, muttering to herself.
“I have a bit o’ porridge for thee dear lass, sir,” said Biscuit, setting down his tray and trying to steal a peek through the canvas. “And some of me best biscuits.”
“They’re not full of maggots, are they?”
“Not at all, sir. These are some of me finest … reserved only for thee captain and his officers, and for lovely lassies pulled from thee rollin’ waves.”
Fly laughed. “I must admit, when they’re not full of maggots 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.”