Читать книгу The Surgeon's Lady - Carla Kelly - Страница 8

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.

Luncheon 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.”

“Certainly.” He nodded to her. “Just leave the side door open. I’ll lock it when I come in, if you and Nana have already gone to bed.”

When she returned to the sitting room, Nana was awake and knitting by the window. She held up her work. “Soakers. Mrs. Brittle says I can never knit too many. Do you knit, sister?”

She did. They spent the evening knitting. Under Nana’s gentle questions, she was even able to talk about her marriage and Sir James Taunton.

“He wanted an heir, and reckoned his first wife had been at fault,” Laura said, her eyes on her knitting. “After a year of trying, he had a stroke and left me in peace.” She knew that was enough to tell Nana. “I … I do have a lovely estate in Taunton.”

Nana didn’t look convinced.

“It’s lovely,” Laura repeated. “If I never see it again, it wouldn’t be any loss to me. Life is amazingly dull when you want for nothing.”

Nana did smile at that. She leaned back and rested her hand on her abdomen. “Please don’t tell Oliver, but life moved faster at the Mulberry, when I was hauling water up and down stairs, placating our few lodgers, and sweeping hearths.”

“You’ll be busy soon enough.”

“So I will.” Nana leaned forward and took Laura’s hands in hers. “Oliver’s all right, isn’t he?”

If she hadn’t felt so confident in Lt. Brittle’s comments, Laura knew she could not have spoken. “I do believe he is, this captain of yours. You’re a goose, Nana! No wonder everyone loves you.”

Laura shared Nana’s bed that night, because Nana insisted she did not want to be alone. She saw that Nana was comfortable, touched by the way she matter-of-factly pulled the boat cloak over her side of the bed and tucked what would be Oliver’s pillow lengthwise to her. Laura smiled at that and got her own pillow from the other bedchamber.

She knew her sister was tired, but Nana had another question. “Laura, who raised you before you came to Miss Pym’s? I had Gran.”

I had no one, she thought. My mother, whoever she was, had no interest in me. “When I tell you, you’ll understand a little more about our dear father.”

Nana gave an unladylike snort. She giggled then. “Laura, I almost said something I’ve heard Oliver say when he didn’t know I was listening, but I would probably lose all credit with you.”

You could never do that, Laura thought. “As I was saying, when you so rudely interrupted—there you go again!—our dear father’s problems with money began with the fourth Viscount Ratliffe, who was as dissolute and spendthrift as our loving parent. Nana! Your manners!”

“Sorry,” came Nana’s meek reply in the dark, followed by a barely suppressed laugh, probably smothered in the folds of her darling’s boat cloak.

“Lord Ratliffe Number Four was hell-bent on a flaming career as London’s greatest ne’er-do-well when one of the Wesley brothers—John, I believe—took him on as a project, after John’s return from Georgia. Nana, are you awake?”

“Of course I am,” came the sleepy reply.

“I’ll move along. Dear Grandpapa renounced his evil ways, turned to Methodism, and set up his own illegitimate daughter—our beloved Pym—as the headmistress of a female academy. I spent my earliest years in a Wesley orphanage.”

Nana reached under Oliver’s pillow and took her sister’s hand. “Laura,” was all she said.

“If you don’t know any better, what is the harm?” Laura said. “You know the rest as well as I do. After Grandpa died, our father was forced by some curious honor we scarcely knew he possessed, to maintain Pym’s school and keep us in it. Of course, he found a way to make us pay, didn’t he? Nana, I’m so ashamed I did not have your courage.”

Nana pushed aside Oliver’s pillow and her voice was fierce. “Laura! Listen to me! You had no one to help you and nowhere to go.” She held Laura by the shoulders. “You have us now. You always will.” Her grip relaxed. “Heavens, you’ll think I’m ferocious.”

“You are, sister,” Laura said, drawing a shaky breath. “Did you terrify that French officer in Oliver’s prison?”

“Probably,” Nana said, her tone kindly again. “He deserved it, though, for getting between me and my love.”

And that is that, Laura thought, as her sister found Oliver’s pillow again and stretched it out.

She thought Nana slept, but then: “Laura, please say you’ll stay here. I need you.”

“I’ll stay.” I need you more, she thought, as her eyes closed.

Laura woke a few hours later, because she heard the bedchamber door open. She sat up, alert, to see the tall form of Lt. Brittle—what had Nana called him? Phil?—holding up a lantern similar to one she had used in James’s sick room, with its sides slatted to allow only a little light, enough to see a patient by.

He could see that she was sitting up in bed, but he didn’t pause at the door. He came closer in stockinged feet, to kneel by her.

“Is she all right?” he whispered.

“She’s fine,” Laura whispered back, leaning close to him, unwilling to wake Nana. “We’ve been catching up on our lives.”

“You’re a welcome distraction,” he said. “She needs you.” She could see him distinctly now in the subdued light. “I like to ward walk before I sleep. Good night, Lady Taunton.”

Laura nodded and lay down again, grateful for his reassuring presence, even if he did nothing more than shine a light and let her know he was there. To her unspeakable pleasure, he tugged the coverlet up higher and patted her shoulder, before he got to his feet and left the room as quietly as he had entered it.

She put her hand where he had touched her, closed her eyes and slept.