Читать книгу The Surgeon's Lady - Carla Kelly - Страница 10

Perhaps I will see Surgeon Brittle again, Laura thought, as she walked to the administration building. The Marine at the entrance to the complex had pointed it out as a good place to begin searching for one little boy.

Neat walkways, well-tended courtyard … She didn’t know what she had expected, but it hadn’t been this. She counted ten substantial buildings connected by covered walkways of Italianate style. That’s intelligent, she thought. Patients with contagion can be isolated in distinct buildings.

The administration building appeared to be a warren of small offices and cubicles, staffed by a flotilla of clerks. Other than a glance or two in her direction, none of the men she passed seemed interested in offering help, so she continued down the hallway to a large desk, where another clerk sat.

“Good afternoon. I am looking for Matthew Pollock, a powder monkey from the Tireless,” she said, determined not to feel intimidated by the way he looked at her over the rim of his spectacles.

“Are you a relative?” the man asked.

“No. I …”

“Then there are no visitors.”

The clerk turned his attention to the ledger in front of him, as though she had already vanished. When he looked up again and saw her still standing before him, he even appeared surprised.

“I can’t disappear like an apparition,” Laura told him. She set down her valise. “I still want to see Matthew Pollock.”

A door opened down the hall and a man came out, resplendent in blue, with gold bullion and lace on his sleeves and collar. The clerk stood up at once.

She didn’t know his rank, but his appearance indicated someone considerably more exalted than the clerk. She wanted to speak to him, but he surprised her by striding directly to her and standing too close for comfort.

“You’re a day late.” He sniffed the air. Laura resisted a powerful urge to slap his face. “You don’t smell of gin, at least. You were to report to the clerk in room 15. Are you illiterate, as well as tardy? Well?”

He was too close. She was a tall woman, but she stepped back, reminded too much of her own father and Sir James, with their shouting and demands. She wanted to turn and run down the corridor and out into the quadrangle. Not this time, Laura, she told herself. Not ever again. Putting her hands behind her back so he would not see them tremble, she stood her ground, not moving an inch.

“You have me confused with someone else.”

The clerk gasped. Obviously no one else had ever contradicted this exalted personage before. It’s high time someone did, she told herself, even as her stomach began to churn.

“I don’t make mistakes.” He bit off each word like a dog snapping a bone for the marrow.

“I never knew that the Lord Almighty wore a naval uniform,” she snapped back.

She heard a strangled sound from the clerk, but knew better than to take her eyes off the man intimidating her. Maybe this was what she had wanted to say to her own father. Maybe she had stored it up in her heart and mind, waiting for the opportunity.

“I’m sacking you before you even begin!” the officer roared, perhaps thinking he was on a quarterdeck of a most unfortunate ship and she was his lowliest powder monkey.

“You think I came here for employment?” She pitched her voice deliberately low, so he was forced to listen. “I wouldn’t work for you if I was starving, and I most certainly am not.” She unclenched her hands from behind her back and brought them around to her front, so she could fish in her reticule.

She yanked out a sheet of paper. “My brother-in-law, Captain Oliver Worthy of the Tireless, thought I might need this. I told him it wouldn’t be necessary, but he insisted. Obviously he knows you better than I do.”

With a loud exhalation of air, the officer stepped back, as though propelled by his own breath. With a thunderous look at his clerk, he grabbed the note and read it.

Laura jerked the strings of her reticule together, wishing they would make a loud noise like a thunderclap, instead of a harmless little whish. Maybe I am like my sister, tough as a Cornish tin-pit pony, she thought. Wasn’t that what Lt. Brittle said about Nana? Couldn’t I use a champion, about now?

No champion appeared, but none was necessary, not after Captain Worthy’s brief note apparently. As the officer’s complexion turned from red to a mottled gray, she felt her own composure returning. She didn’t know what Oliver had written, but she suspected the note involved Lady Taunton, rather than plain Mrs. Taunton.

“Lady Taunton, a mistake was made,” the officer had the grace to say. It wasn’t much of an apology, but couldn’t have been easy, not with his clerk right there. “We must be so careful here.”

“I understand completely,” she replied, in what she hoped was her kindest voice. Then she could not resist. “I imagine there are female spies who attempt to weasel their way into naval secrets by talking to powder monkeys. Wise of you to be so cautious.”

She assumed what her late husband used to call her “pudding face,” and smiled at the officer, who wasn’t quite certain if he had just been held up to ridicule. Pudding face, indeed. Even her late husband—he who only complained—would have been impressed with the bland face she presented to the stuffed shirt in epaulets harassing her now. “Sir, I wish to know whom I have been addressing.”

Reminded so gently of his dereliction, he bowed again. “Admiral Sir David Carew at your service,” he replied. “I am chief administrator and physician.”

She curtsied again, thinking that if he could make a better beginning, she could, too. “Sir David, can you kindly direct me to the office that knows where such a little powder monkey might be found? He serves … served … on the Tireless.”

The physician indicated a door back down the corridor. “Room 12, my lady,” he said. “Let me escort you there.”

“I needn’t take you from your work,” she said, not wishing his escort at all.

“It is of no consequence,” he assured her.

She had no choice. She did manage to catch the look that passed between the clerk and admiral; the admiral gave the poor man such a glower that Laura was almost certain that no word of what had just happened would ever leave the clerk’s lips. The poor clerk would probably be set adrift in a lifeboat on the Amazon River at the mercy of headhunters, Laura thought, as she reassumed her pudding face.

The clerks in room 12 appeared astonished to see their chief administrator, which made Laura suspect Sir David seldom did his own legwork. And why should he, she thought. He is the Lord Almighty, after all. She managed to turn her laugh into a cough.

Flip, flip went the pages in a ledger, while another clerk ruffled through a stack of cards in a small wooden box as though his life depended on it.

“He is a new arrival,” Laura offered, not wishing to have so many men in pain on her behalf, not with the admiral standing there, looking ready to pounce. “The Tireless sank in Plymouth Sound on Sunday night,” she added, remembering what Oliver had told them that morning over breakfast.

“Ah, yes,” one of the clerks said, and turned to another ledger. He ran a trembling finger down a column. “Ward Block Four, second floor, Ward B, ma’am.”

“Just point me in the right direction.”

Again, Sir David would have none of that. “I will take you there, Lady Taunton.”

In the corridor, she looked down to see her valise, which—perhaps not wanting to be abandoned in such a place—must have crawled after her or been deposited there by a clerk. She knew this was a dilemma for the admiral. If she were to pick it up, he would be forced to take it from her. And from the looks of him, he did not carry parcels and certainly not valises. She hoped he was not one to carry a grudge, either.

He stared at the valise as though someone had dumped out a chamber pot right at his feet. For the sake of his staff, Laura put him out of his misery.

“Let me leave it here, Sir David. I will fetch it when I leave.”

That way he only had to pick it up and set it inside, which seemed to suit him completely. In fact, he even smiled when he offered her his arm again, as though he had already forgotten that earlier scene, and assumed that she would, too.

You, sir, are a pompous fool, she thought as she smiled and took his arm. Apparently I am to suffer you gladly.

He did provide some useful information, once outdoors. “The buildings are numbered in clockwise fashion from this block,” he said, as they walked along the covered colonnade. “You’ll observe they are separate, which helps to keep down contagion and noxious odors.”

He stopped in front of Ward Block Four. “Lady Taunton, are you certain you wish to visit this ward? I can have what’s-his …”

“Matthew.”

“… brought to the administration building.”

“I would never require that,” she said, shocked at his eagerness to move an injured patient just so she could be accommodated. “I am completely comfortable with this.”

He tried again. “Madam, these are uncouth men.”

“They are injured men,” she replied, and decided on some plain speaking, since she was beginning to understand his degree of discomfort. “I am a widow, Sir David. I recently nursed my late husband through his final illness. I doubt anything in this—block, you call them?—will surprise me.”

He shook his head. “These are battle injuries, Lady Taunton. I cannot guarantee you will not be shocked.”

“I expect no guarantee, Sir David,” she said, trying to keep her voice serene. She took a deep breath, and wished she hadn’t. Under a strong odor of carbolic, it was hard to ignore corruption. Take a shallow breath now, she advised herself, but only one or two.

Heads popped out of rooms as they walked to the stairs, which made her wonder how often Sir David visited the wards.

Perhaps he read her thoughts. “Sick and hurt officers are housed in separate blocks,” he explained, as they mounted the steps. “That is where I am usually in attendance.”

She didn’t think powder monkeys often came to his attention. “Who takes care of these men?”

“My surgeons. I have two, and each has four assistants, as well as orderlies.”

He took her to the next floor and opened a door. “B Ward, Lady Taunton. Let us find, er …”

“Matthew,” she said patiently. You would remember if he was an officer, she thought.

“Matthew. I will locate the surgeon. As you can see, we are overcrowded. Let us blame Bonaparte.”

She looked around the spacious, well-lighted room with windows on both sides to let in the sea air. She counted twenty beds, each with an occupant, plus two cots. A thin woman with a permanent frown between her eyes was seated at a desk. Eyes popping out of her head, she rose when she saw the admiral, and smoothed down her stained apron.

“We’re looking for Matthew.”

“Pollock,” Laura said. “He’s eleven.”

“Go get the surgeon,” the admiral ordered. The woman scurried from the room.

Then Laura saw Matthew, the youngest one in the room, lying propped into a sitting position, on one of the two cots. He had looked up when he heard his name, hope in his eyes. When he did not recognize her, he looked away.

It was impossible to overlook the misery in the room. Men had limbs missing, and some were lying still, as if any movement was painful. Some had that inward expression she recognized from tending her dying husband.

She sat on a stool beside Matthew Pollock’s cot and touched his good arm. “Nana sent me,” she said. “She’s expecting a baby, and Captain Worthy didn’t want to tire her. I’m her sister, Mrs. Taunton.”

The boy looked at her and released a shaky breath, as though he had been holding it for days. He was small for his age, and she had to remind herself that he was a veteran of the Royal Navy. Oliver had said Matthew had been a powder monkey for three years, one of two little boys on the Tireless whose sole duty was to carry powder from the magazine to the gun deck.

He was pale, which was no surprise, considering the insult to his system. He didn’t look overfed, either, although there was an uneaten bowl of mush on the table by his cot. His eyes were a crystal blue that made her think what a handsome man he might become someday. The skin was stretched taut across his face, which seemed to throw his nose into prominence.

She could not overlook his empty sleeve, with its bloodstains. It was rolled back to expose the thick bandage that made the rest of his body seem much smaller.

“May I call you Matthew?”

He nodded.

“Speak up, lad, when you’re addressed,” the admiral ordered. “You don’t nod at ladies.”

“He’s but eleven, Sir David, and wounded,” Laura reminded the admiral.

She heard smothered laughter from one of the other beds, and knew she should not have spoken out of turn, not in front of this powerful man. “I’m sorry,” she said contritely. “I should not presume to know what is best for him.”

She knew it was on the tip of the admiral’s tongue to agree with her, but he refrained, perhaps remembering the fool he had made of himself earlier. He was saved from further comment by firm footsteps, and then a comfortable laugh.

“As I live and breathe, Lady Taunton. You’re a sight for sore eyes, and we have plenty of those here!”

Laura glanced at the admiral’s face, whose sudden relief had just as soon turned to outrage, and then at Lt. Brittle, who came into the room in front of the woman sent to fetch him.

“Lieutenant! I’ll have you remember your manners, too!” the admiral exclaimed in a loud voice, which caused two of the bed-bound men to moan and stir restlessly.

Brittle went to one of the men and touched his face, keeping his hand there until he was still again. He nodded at the other one and winked, which seemed to settle him down.

“Beg pardon, Sir David,” he said, his eyes on Laura now. “It happens I know Lady Taunton.” He bowed in her direction. “How are the Worthys?”

“I left Nana in complete charge of the captain,” she told him.

She couldn’t help but notice the interest this conversation created among the invalids. All these men must be from the Tireless, she thought. “I’ll have you know she is a worse tyrant than your captain,” she said, addressing the room. “He hasn’t a prayer of leaving that house until she says so.”

Several men laughed, and one cheered feebly. The admiral looked around, obviously out of his depth, not knowing if he should reprimand them all or leave well enough alone. He chose the latter, backing toward the door ever so slightly.

To Laura’s gratification, Lt. Brittle played his superior like a violin.

“I know Captain Worthy’s men are deeply grateful for your kindness in bringing his sister-in-law here, Sir David,” Brittle said. “We all know how busy you are. With your permission, I’ll see to Lady Taunton now, and make sure these tars behave.”

“You do that,” Sir David snapped, looking around the room again. He left without another word.

Some of the tension went with him. Brittle nodded to the silent woman standing by the desk and she sat down again. He perched on the edge of Matthew’s cot, one knee on the floor, careful not to overbalance it. “Matthew, you’re the luckiest tar in the room, as far as I can see, with a visit from a pretty lady.”

A series of emotions crossed the powder monkey’s face. His lips trembled and he closed his eyes, exhausted with pain. “I wanted to see Nana,” he whispered, and then began to cry—not loud tears, but the hopeless kind, the kind she was familiar with.

Laura wanted to touch his face. She glanced at the surgeon, and he nodded his approval. She touched Matthew’s face, cupping her hand against his hot cheek, and then moved closer to circle her other arm around his head. Matthew turned his face toward her arm, which told her that she could console him.

In another moment, she had changed places with the surgeon, who moved to the stool. Careful not to bump his arm, she gathered Matthew close and let him cry.

The moment passed quickly. She took the damp cloth Lt. Brittle held out and wiped Matthew’s face. “Maybe I can wash your hair tomorrow,” she told him, keeping her voice matter-of-fact. “I always feel better when my hair is clean.”

She didn’t know what to say then, but the surgeon took over. He ran a practiced hand over Matthew’s upper arm, feeling for swelling. His eyes on Matthew, he spoke to Laura.

“What a brave son of a gun Matthew is, Lady Taunton. I had to take him to my surgery yesterday morning and smooth away some of Barnhart’s work—bless the man, he was even working in the dark at one point, wasn’t he, Matthew? I never heard a peep out of Matthew. Captain Worthy only has brave seamen on the Tireless.”

He knew just what to say. Matthew’s eyes brightened as he mentally seemed to reach inside himself and draw up.

I know what they want, she thought. She spoke loud enough for the other Tireless crew members to hear. “He’s doing well. Lt. Brittle examined his ear yesterday in Torquay, and said that although he was no longer symmetrical, he could still keep all of you in line. He’s in good hands, Matthew, and you’re kind to ask. I’ll send him a letter tonight and make sure he knows how you all are doing.”

“He said he would visit us, mum,” said a man in the next bed.

“Then I know he will,” she answered. She looked back at Matthew, who was watching her face, maybe looking for some resemblance to his beloved Nana.

“We don’t look alike, except for our hair,” she told him.

“Your eyes are greener than the ocean,” Lt. Brittle said, almost to himself. His face reddened, but he did not lose his aplomb. “I am observant, Lady Taunton.” He returned his attention to Matthew. “D’ye have any questions for me, Matthew? Now’s the time to ask.”

She didn’t think he would speak. She knew these men were trained not to speak to a better unless spoken to, but the surgeon had asked.

“What can I do now?” the boy questioned.

“You can come with me to Torquay, when you are able,” Laura said.

Matthew frowned. “Mum, I’m in the navy.”

“So you are, Matthew,” Brittle said. “I’m not sure yet, but I do know this—you still have your elbow and two inches more of forearm. You can still rule the world if you have an elbow.”

“The gunners won’t want me now,” he reminded the surgeon.

“No, they won’t,” Brittle said frankly. “Give it some time and thought. When your arm heals, we can attach a device. Maybe a hook.” He rubbed the boy’s head. “You’ll be the terror of the fleet and Boney’s worst foe.”

He stood up then, looking around the ward. “Can I trust you seamen with this fine lady? I need to patch up a cook on the second floor who’s not half as sweet as you darlings.”

The men laughed. The surgeon nodded to Laura. “Stay as long as you like. Are you planning on spending the night at the Mulberry?”

“I think I will.”

“I’ll come back in an hour, and at least escort you to the main gate, Lady Taunton. I’d escort you all the way, but I’m on duty tonight.” He touched Matthew’s head again. “If you’re not too tired, tell her about some of the places you’ve been, Matthew.”

“Aye, aye, sir.”

She moved to the stool the surgeon had vacated, watching him stop at one or two of the other beds to bend over and assess the patient, and then spend a moment with the woman at the desk. When he left the room, she turned back to Matthew.

“You’re in good hands, Matthew,” she said.

She knew he was in pain, but he seemed to relax and wriggle himself down into a more comfortable position.

She tugged his pillow down to help, and tucked the light blanket across his middle.

“I’m going to the Mulberry tonight,” she told him. “I’ll tell Gran, Sal and Pete to come visit you as soon as they can.”

Before he left, Lt. Brittle had whispered to her to get Matthew to drink more water. She picked up the cup, but he was looking over her shoulder, his eyes wide.

“Mum, do something!” he gasped.

Startled, she turned around to see what he was looking at and sucked in her breath, then leaped to her feet, spilling the water on the floor.

Sitting propped up with pillows, a seaman clawed at his throat, blood pouring down his nightshirt. The man in the next bed, the stump of his leg encased in a wire basket, reached for him. “Please, mum!” he begged.

Laura looked at the desk, but the woman was gone. My God, she thought, my God. There’s no one to help but me.

She could tell there was no time to scream and clutch her hair, or faint like a lady would—or should. She forced herself to dig down deep into a place in her heart and mind she hadn’t even known existed. A life depended on her and her alone. For the life of her she didn’t understand it, but her next thought propelled her into action: what would Lt. Brittle do?