by Carla Kelly
Right angle lines, Mrs. Six. Come now. You want to raise your own baby. It must be Euclid this time. Shivering, swallowing more water, Meridee turned on her back, spread out her legs and arms at right angles like a starfish and floated. Never mind now that everyone on the dock could see her nearly naked splendor. She breathed, shivered, sank a little, panicked, and righted herself, but she floated.
For how long? She shivered as the cold waters did their best to claim her. The sun went down, bathing the dock in weird twilight. Or maybe it was lanterns now. Able. Euclid. I can’t do this much longer, even though I want to with all my soul.
She closed her eyes, serene in the face of death, wishing for one more glimpse of the man she adored and the baby she cherished. Did women die with those thoughts foremost, thoughts that went beyond self-preservation? Did her body always belong to others, and she only realized it as death came calling?
It was too much. She sank below the dark water, trying to move her frozen legs and arms and starting not to care. Her eyelids were too heavy to open. All she had to do was breathe in water, which was beginning to sound almost irresistible.
Instead, she heard a splash. It annoyed her for a brief second and then jolted her back to life as someone wrapped his hands in her hair and yanked her to the surface.
“Breathe, Meri, by God, Meri, breathe.”
She tried, and coughed instead, but never mind. Able lay on his side, put his arm under her breasts and pulled her onto his body. Using a sidestroke, he swam them both to the dock, where more lanterns glowed now. He held her high as someone else grabbed her under her armpits and unceremoniously hauled her up. Just as quickly, her other rescuer wrapped her in a blanket and held her close.
“You’ll be all right now, Mrs. Six.”
She opened her eyes to see Walter Cornwall, the Landport Gate constable, holding her as tenderly as she held Ben. In the deepest part of her heart and brain, she saw Betsy MacGregor running to Able, then running to Landport and the constable, a man who terrified her like no other. She owed Betsy MacGregor her life, and would owe her until she died in some distant year, and not mere minutes.
Constable Cornwall rocked back and forth with her, then relinquished her to other arms, Able’s arms, as her husband climbed onto the dock and pulled her onto his lap. He sobbed into her neck and she cried, too, both of them wailing like babies. She felt another blanket drape over Able’s shoulders and envelop her. Cocooned in the darkness of wet wool, she shivered and shook, and breathed.
She heard murmurs around her, something about going for a surgeon, and Able saying, “Send him to my house across from St. Brendan’s,” and then, “Have you a carriage or a cart, Walter?”
“John Mark,” she managed to say. “Oh, please.”
“He’s right here, my love,” Able whispered in her ear. “A little battered, but more upset.”
She grabbed Able’s sodden shirt. “What those men were doing! My God, Able, stop them!”
“What men?”
Meridee sat up and looked around, pulling the now-soaking blanket closer. All she saw now on the dock were men dressed like the constable, and Royal Marines bearing lanterns. She searched the dock, then pointed to the two kegs.
“They must have been prisoners trying to escape.” She sobbed and tried to get to her feet, even though she was nearly bare. Able held her down. “They forced them back into the kegs and drowned them!”
She closed her eyes against the awful screech of crowbar against wood as the nails gave way and the lids popped off. She heard gasps from hard men who probably weren’t surprised by much of anything, and covered her face with her hands as if to blot out the sight in her mind. She felt John Mark burrowing close to her, and knew he was seeing what she couldn’t.
“Would you be able to identify the workers?” Walter Cornwall asked. “I’ll haul them in.”
“That would be an exercise in futility,” said a Royal Marine with gold epaulets. He said it with some finality, giving Meridee ample proof – as if she needed any – that the fate of Frenchmen in a prison hulk or murdered on a dock was of no concern to Englishmen. “The rascals that work on this dock should probably all be transported themselves.” He smiled, and it wasn’t a pleasant sight. “But frankly, madam, I do not mind if two more Frenchmen are taken out of the conflict.”
“They were held down in those kegs like…like rats and drowned,” Meridee said. “It was cruel beyond belief.”
“You have said it, Mrs. Six: rats.”
The lieutenant looked at his men and shrugged his shoulders, which made Meridee feel more vulnerable than even the fact that she was nearly naked and wrapped in a blanket.
He bowed to her, and she felt Able stiffen at the condescension. “When you know something of war, madam, then we will talk.”
“Able, take John Mark and me home,” she said.
Walter Cornwall must have found a cart from somewhere. No. She was tired, so tired, and unable to stop shivering. It was Sir B’s town carriage.
“How did he know I needed him?” she asked her husband, as he carried her to the vehicle.
“When Betsy raised the alarm, we knew what to do,” he said, then buried his face in her neck. “Meri, you came so close. In God’s name, what kept you alive?”
She put her fingers in his damp curls, thinking of the times his hair was wet with sweat from making love with her. There would be more days and nights like that, for which she was grateful beyond all reason.
“You did, and Ben, and someone else.” She tugged on his hair. “Able, don’t laugh. Euclid.”
He laughed.
— Chapter Twenty —
To Able’s infinite relief, Nathan Laing, one of Haslar’s young surgeons, was knocking on his front door when the carriage pulled up to their home. Right behind him was a familiar, smaller figure: Davey Ten, who carried the surgeon’s satchel.
Laing hurried down the steps and climbed inside the carriage, not wasting a moment.
“She’s so cold, Nathan, and she won’t stop shivering,” Able said. “Davey, lend John Mark a hand, will you?”
It was then that he noticed Piers, the silent child from the block pulley factory, the one Meri knew she was also feeding with John Mark’s greatly expanded lunch pail. He cowered close to John, his eyes huge in his face, silent, but with a silence that spoke of hard times and tribulation the equal of any old eyes in the fleet, maybe even Able’s own eyes.
“Master, he showed up at the water kegs, maybe even before I did,” John said. “Should I take him back to the factory?”
“Where is he sleeping?” Able asked, diverted momentarily from his wife’s needs. “Do you know anything about him?”
John shook his head. “He doesn’t talk.” He glanced at the smaller boy and put his arm around him. Obviously John had no intention of sending Piers back, if that was even his name. Able had his doubts. “He did show me where he sleeps.”
“I’m almost afraid to ask.”
“It’s a pile of old rags under a staircase that no one uses,” John said. His sigh said more than words could, except words that Able understood completely. “Master, we were better off in the workhouse.”
“Then he’s not going back to the factory until he goes with you after morning classes tomorrow,” Able said decisively. “We can add a cot to the room you share with Nick.”
John nodded. “I don’t know how to tell him that, but I think he’ll follow me inside.”
“You are a leader, John.”
“Am I?” John asked, gratified.
“Most certainly. Get along inside now, and hold the door open for me.”
“Able?”
With all the love and worry in his heart probably showing on his face, Able looked down at the dear woman he held, and he saw her fear.
“I hurt eve
rywhere.”
The surgeon crouched there in the carriage. “We’ll get you to bed and warm you up. You won’t hurt so much,” he assured her, then spoke to Able in a low voice. “She must be rubbed down until she protests.”
At his words, Meri nodded, closed her eyes and forgot to breathe. Laing gave her a shake and then another, more urgent one. “Mrs. Six! Breathe handsomely now.” He climbed out of the carriage and gestured to Davey. “The ammonia,” he ordered.
Davey found the brown bottle. Not waiting for instructions, the boy opened it and held it under Meri’s nose. She opened her eyes in surprise and started breathing again.
“Inside. Now,” the surgeon ordered. “Fast as you can, Master Six.”
Able darted from the carriage, running past John Mark, who held the door open, shouldering aside Mrs. Perry and taking the stairs two at a time. Meri was no burden.
“Towels!” the surgeon shouted to Mrs. Perry over his shoulder, then, “Heat some dry rice in bags, if you have it. If not, find something else.” He looked around. “These boys are underfoot.”
His heart grateful, Able saw Betsy come forward and pull John Mark into her arms. Without hesitating, she reached out to the little ghost from the factory who crowded close to the Gunwharf Rat.
Free to concentrate on Meri, Able sat her down on their bed. Her eyes opened when she heard Ben crying. “He needs me.”
“Not now, Mrs. Six,” the surgeon said, which only made Meri narrow her eyes and fix him with a slow-burning stare. “Well, well, you must come first,” he added lamely.
“You’re not a father, are you, Surgeon?” Able asked as he yanked off Meri’s sodden chemise. “Ben’s going to be the carrot on this stick. Hand me a towel and stand back.”
He had seen this trauma before, a cold body slowly turning to ice because the innards weren’t warm enough to resist. He and the surgeon dragged Meri to her feet and held her upright. He started to rub Meri’s front vigorously, even as she protested and cried for Ben.
“You’ll get him once you’re warm, Meridee Bonfort Six,” he told her in his sternest voice. “And you will breathe deeper, damn it.” She gave him such a hurt look at all three names, and the tears welled in her eyes. “I mean it. Breathe!” He didn’t want to use his master-in-a-typhoon voice, but he wasn’t sure how much she could hear.
The surgeon took the other towel and began rubbing Meri’s back.
“You’re hurting me!” she shrieked. “Both of you!”
“I don’t care!” Able yelled back. “I’ve seen cold men die, Meridee Six, and you’re not going to do that while I’m standing this watch!”
“What watch?” she blubbered, even as she tried to breathe deep.
“The marriage watch, you silly twat,” he growled at her, which only made her more angry. Perfect. She was breathing deep out of her mouth now, ready to hurl any number of invectives in his direction, if her tired, oxygen-starved brain could think of any. He rubbed harder, trying to convince her blood to circulate.
He caught the surgeon’s eye. “Anything else we should do?” he said quietly.
“Not yet,” Laing said. “Do you see the finger marks on her waist? They were ready to use her sorely.”
“There are times when I hate Portsmouth. Good girl, Meri. Keep breathing.”
He hated to make her cry and rage and plead for her son, but her brain was clearing and she could form coherent sentences now. Hopefully when she felt more like herself, she would forget some of the names she called him. He doubted she would forgive “twat.”
Held upright between two men as they bullied and pummeled her cold body, she opened her eyes finally. She took low and slow breaths, her chest rising and falling regularly now, even though she continued to shiver. The surgeon stopped toweling her and rested his ear against her naked back, listening.
“Better. Better,” he said. “She’s still too cold. Master Six, take off your clothes and get in bed.”
Able didn’t hesitate. He stripped and climbed in bed, holding out his arms for Meri. The surgeon helped her to bed and maneuvered her against him until they were back to front. Able held his wife close, his arms and legs around her, his hands pressed against her middle.
“Here you are.”
Mrs. Perry held out towel-wrapped bags of rice, heated on the Rumford. The surgeon pressed them against Meri’s stomach and nether parts. He spread the last one against her feet, and pulled bed covers over the two of them.
“I want my baby,” Meri whispered. “Oh, please. I’ve been ever so good.”
Able couldn’t help his tears. “You have, my love. Mrs. Perry, get that squalling baby in here. We’ll find a way.”
Foggy, dull, shivering, she reached for her son when Mrs. Perry brought him to her. Able helped her tuck Ben against her arm and guided her nipple toward his mouth. Famished, Ben latched on and Meri closed her eyes, her relief nearly palpable.
The surgeon sat next to her on the bed, eyes alert, breathing along with her, which touched Able’s heart. He wondered if the doctor was even aware. Surgeon Laing rested the back of his fingers against the pulse in her neck, held still a moment, then nodded. “Not so thready,” he said. “I’ll be much happier when she stops shivering.”
“That’s my job,” Able said.
Laing nodded. “Mine, too. I’m going to sit here as long as I feel like it, with no argument from you.” “No, sir,” Able said. He looked up at Mrs. Perry, who loomed over them all, her expression unreadable, which worried him. In all the many years he had known his late carpenter’s wife, he had felt healthy fear at her expressions. Her face registered nothing now. Able reached across Meridee and held out his hand to Mrs. Perry.
She grasped it and sat down on the bed, too, tears on her cheeks. “John Mark told me what happened.”
“How is he?” Meri asked, which startled Able. She sounded nearly normal, except her voice shook from the trembles.
“Sad mostly, mum, and fearful. Blaming himself because he ran for your help, and terrible things happened to you,” their housekeeper said.
“Bring him in here,” Meri said.
“No, Meri. You need to rest and…”
“Durable Six, don’t you deny me my Gunwharf Rat,” she said in no uncertain terms. “Mrs. Perry, bring him in here. He has to know I am alive and determined to stay that way.”
If he weren’t practically stuck to his shivering wife, Able would have gone to his knees in gratitude. This was the practical, kind and devoted woman coming back to him from the edge of the grave. Even in the passion and fever of their wildest coupling, he had never felt so much bone of her bone and flesh of her flesh. I am the world’s luckiest bastard, he thought.
“Absolutely,” he said. “Bring in John Mark.”
“I’d better move out of the way,” Surgeon Laing said when John Mark, his eyes so anxious, stood in the doorway as if fearful to come closer. “It’s fine, lad. You sit here where I am. I’ll find a spot by the fireplace.”
John came closer. Meridee patted the space the surgeon had vacated. She rested her hand on his arm. “I think the surgeon should look at your head, my dear,” she said. “That man gave you quite a blow, didn’t he?”
“Mam…”
Even though the room was bathed in shadow, Able saw the pain in the little boy’s eyes. He was afraid to come closer, certain it was his fault that the dearest, kindest woman in the world lay so still now.
“John, in no way are you responsible for any of this,” Able said. “Sit there by Mam. She needs to know you are all right.”
Never one to disobey authority, John did as he was told, which gave Meri opportunity to put her hand on his neck and draw him into her wonderful orbit. When she did, he leaned against her hip and sobbed. Meri brushed his hair from his face, even though he was tidy. She touched his face over a
nd over and crooned to him until his tears stopped. Able smiled, thinking of the many times his wife had caressed his face until his wildly active mind was calm.
When she spoke, her voice was firm. “Now, John, you did the right thing to run for me. We tried to keep a monstrous wrong from happening and we failed. But we tried, and I am not really the worse for wear. Turn your head a little toward the light. Surgeon?”
Surgeon Laing may not be a father yet, but his education had grown exponentially that evening, Able reasoned. He came to Meri’s side and peered down at the boy, clucking his tongue. “You were right fierce in your defense of Mrs. Six,” he said. “This cut might need a suture or two. Come to the kitchen with me, and we’ll consider the matter in better light.” He put his hand against Meri’s neck again. “Much, much better, Mrs. Six! I foresee a complete recovery. You have quite a champion in this lad.”
“I am ever grateful,” she said, fully alert. “John, if you hadn’t jumped on that man’s back, I never would have had time to get out my scissors, and where would we be?”
Oh, perfect. John Mark, the quiet, tan-skinned boy who knew something of turmoil, kissed Meri’s cheek. “I wish we could have done better, Mam.”
“So do I, but we tried. That counts for a great deal. Go tend to your wound. Dear me, will this leave a scar, Surgeon?”
“I believe it will. You’re not even in the fleet yet, John, and already with a battle wound.” The surgeon clapped his hand on John’s shoulder. “Lad, you’ll be the envy of St. Brendan’s.”
He motioned Able follow him into the hall. He sent John ahead. “Keep a good eye on her all night, which will probably mean staying awake, because she could stop breathing. I’ll sleep in the sitting room. Sing out if you need me.”
