The Surgeon’s Lady

by Carla Kelly

  “Dragon, is it?” Mrs. Walters said as she picked up Laura’s valise. “He always was a cheeky boy and I can still pound him. Come along, my dear. I have a bath ready for you, and I intend to wash your clothing. I hear you were pitchforked into physicking.”

  There didn’t seem to be any point in arguing. Despite her bone weariness, Laura couldn’t imagine arguing with Mrs. Walters. There also wasn’t any point in arguing when Aunt Walters scrubbed her back and washed her hair, as she sobbed in the tub.

  “He bled and bled. I didn’t know what else to do,” Laura said when she could speak.

  “What you did worked,” the woman reminded her. She picked up the sponge and rubbed Laura’s back. “Hippocrates and his stupid oath! Those Greeks! I’d pit an English-woman against them any day. You did what you could and without flinching.”

  “I’m crying now,” Laura argued.

  “The crisis is past so you’re allowed to cry all you want. You did what you could,” Aunt Walters repeated.

  I did, Laura thought, as she let Aunt Walters help her from the tub and wrap her in a towel that was blessedly warm. The woman left her to dress, taking the bloody clothes with her. “I think your petticoat is unsalvageable,” she said. “Come down when you’re dressed, Lady Taunton. My nephew is coming in a few minutes for supper.”

  Lt. Brittle was sitting at the dining table when she came downstairs, her hair wet but pinned up on her head. He stood up when she entered the room and pulled out her chair for her. He had removed his surgeon’s apron, thank goodness.

  The food was plain and ordinary, but every morsel was delicious. She hadn’t eaten since tea and toast hours ago in Torquay, and hoped she didn’t look like a famished pensioner as she downed sausages and mashed turnips, then sat back, satisfied.

  “I don’t know when I’ve been so hungry.” She glanced at the clock. “My word, it is nine o’clock. I suppose I will be awake all night, after that feast.”

  “I doubt it.”

  “I do not,” she contradicted. “When I close my eyes, I know I will see Davey Dabney.”

  He nodded, but offered no platitudes that would only have made her uncomfortable. Instead, “Was today the worst day of your life, Lady Taunton?”

  His question startled her, but she thought about it in a different light. “No, sir, it was not,” she said finally, “not by a long chalk.”

  She was telling the truth. He didn’t say anything, but something seemed to snap within her. Maybe it was the sympathy in his eyes.

  “It wasn’t when my husband died. I shall be honest. I was grateful when that happened.” The words seemed to spill out of her. She put her hand to her mouth. “Oh, what you must think,” she murmured.

  “Go on,” he coaxed.

  “He had suffered, and I was glad that ended. I will not leave the ill untended.”

  “I know,” he interjected, but quietly, so she would not be too distracted to continue.

  “All my husband wanted was a son. He reckoned it was his late wife’s fault that he was not a father. He was determined to get a child off me.”

  How can I be saying this? she thought in horror, but could not make herself stop. “After months and months, he gave up. There never was a woman more relieved than I.”

  “Understandable,” was the surgeon’s only comment.

  She was looking into his eyes now, for some reason beyond her knowledge, not afraid to speak to this kind man of her trouble. Do they teach that in Edinburgh? She asked herself. I think not.

  “Those were not my worst days.” To continue required a deep breath, and she took several. I am gulping like a goldfish, she thought. She was hardly aware of the surgeon holding her hand now. She didn’t even know when he first touched her, but there she was, clinging to him.

  “It was the day my father…” She couldn’t help herself; she practically spat out the word. “My Father told me what I had to do to repay him for my education. Nana has probably told your mother, so perhaps you know already.”

  “She only mentioned her own circumstances.”

  “Then you know Nana left Bath because she would not let our father sell her to the highest bidder to pay off his creditors.”

  Lt. Brittle nodded.

  “I was the older sister who succumbed. I was almost eighteen and I didn’t know what to do.”

  Her words seemed to hang in the air like a noxious fog. “That was my worst day, sir. I had no advocate and no resources of my own.” She sighed. “Nana is five years younger than I. At the time, I had no idea she was my sister. If I had known, I would have told her.” Her voice broke. “I could have warned her!”

  He continued the thought. “And she would have sent you straight through to Plymouth and Gran.”

  Laura nodded. “If I had known…” she repeated, when she could speak. She couldn’t look at him now. She released his hand. “But I did not, and there the matter will ever remain. I should never have told you.”

  “It will go nowhere,” he replied, and took her hand again. “You really have had worse days than Davey Dabney. If you consider the matter, I doubt you are afraid of anything now.”

  She had never thought of it in that light. “As to that, I am not so brave. It took me three months to get up the courage to respond to Nana’s invitation to visit.”

  “But you did.”

  “I did, didn’t I?”

  She sat back, exhausted, and Lt. Brittle released her hand. He opened his mouth to speak, but the doorbell jangled. He rose quickly, and was gone a long time. Not sure if she was exhausted more from the events of the day, or her avalanche of words, Laura felt her eyelids begin to droop. I should get up and walk around, she told herself, but that suddenly sounded like too much exertion. She heard Aunt Walters in the kitchen. I should help, she thought, as she moved aside her plate. I will do that after I rest my arms just a moment. Just five minutes.

  She woke hours later in a dark bedroom, with only the vaguest recollection of someone carrying her upstairs and depositing her on this bed, which was comfortable beyond belief. She was dressed only in her shift, and someone had taken the trouble to put a towel under her head and spread her damp hair across the pillow. She hoped it was Mrs. Walters, but Laura also had the distinct impression someone had taken her pulse. Dear me, she thought, as she turned onto her side and closed her eyes again. I wonder if he takes a person’s pulse when she lies down as a matter of course. If he ever marries, he will be the despair of his wife.

  When Laura woke again, she smelled bacon. After a quick wash, she put on her remaining dress and petticoat and brushed her hair. She knotted it on top of her head in a style so casual she was almost embarrassed, but she suspected this was not a household that stood on much ceremony. Besides, there was that aroma of bacon.

  Following her nose, she found the breakfast room with no trouble, a sunny spot with windows wide-open. She stood outside the room, wondering whether after all she had said last night, she should be embarrassed to even look at the surgeon, much less eat with him. The bacon won out, finally.

  Lt. Brittle, looking worn-out, had already helped himself from the sideboard. He waved his fork in that direction.

  “Thought I’d pop ’round for breakfast,” he told her. “If I’m lucky, maybe a nap.”

  She grazed across the sideboard, gathering food until her plate felt heavy. “I should be embarrassed at the amount of food I am eating,” she told him as she sat down. He had pulled out her chair from where he sat, but did not rise, which made her feel completely at home. She knew it was proper for a gentleman to always rise for a lady. Indeed, her husband had always done that, even at the breakfast table. Lt. Brittle’s complete lack of pretension struck her as more natural. More than that, nothing about him indicated he thought any less of her for yesterday’s confession.

  He reached behind him and speared another rasher of bacon from the sideboard. “Excuse my manners. I never waste a movement at meals because I never know when I’ll be interrupted. And I
never know when I’ll eat again.”

  It sounded perfectly logical to her, and she told him so. He returned her comment with a raise of his eyebrows and kept eating. After another piece of toast and more tea, he sat back. In seconds, he was asleep, sitting upright.

  Amused, and not a little touched, she continued eating, careful not to clink her fork against the plate. Wondering how long he would sleep that way, she glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece. Five minutes, then five more.

  Fifteen minutes after he had closed his eyes, Lt. Brittle opened them, blinked a few times, and looked around. “That was pleasant,” he said, not in the least embarrassed. “I hope I did not snore or drool.”

  “You did mutter the secret formula for curing lice and ringworm,” she said with a straight face.

  “Lady Taunton, you are a wit! If I should, in future, reveal a cure for malaria during that nap I laughingly call slumber, do write it down. We shall make our fortune.”

  His remark touched her, because he was implying a future. I wonder if he even knows what he just hinted, Laura asked herself as she wiped her mouth and sat back. It was ridiculous, of course, but comforting.

  She hoped he would not leap up now and leave. To her delight, he poured himself another cup of tea, and after an inquiring look, poured another for her, too. He leaned forward and drank it, resting his elbows on the table. Miss Pym would have cringed at his manners, but Laura found herself amazingly stirred by the intimacy of his casual ways.

  “Two of the burns died last night,” he told her.

  She was already getting used to the clinical, almost cold way he described wounds. A glance at his eyes told Laura a different story. “The third one?”

  “Barring infection, I think he’ll make it.”

  The teapot was near her elbow. He held out his cup and she poured. “Ta,” he said.

  She almost hated to ask. “How is Davey?”

  “Surprisingly cheerful,” he said, to her great relief. “He said if he wasn’t being a cheeky son of a gun, he wanted to wish you good morning.”

  He set down his cup. “Lady Taunton, I am going to take a nap now.”

  “A real one?”

  “A climb-in-my-rack one. I’m aiming for four hours, but I never know. When I am done, I am going to take Davey Dabney outside into the bright sunlight, tilt his head back and try to see that artery. I just know it’s nicked and I want to throw in a stitch or two. The light just isn’t good enough inside. I’ll try to trim away dead matter, if I can. The chief surgeon will assist, and surgeon’s mates will be there.”

  Then he did a funny thing. He tapped the edge of her shoe with his shoe. It was a low-bred, casual gesture, but it connected them for that brief moment.

  “Lady Taunton, Davey wants you to be there to hold his hand. That’s all he wants. Call me names, but I assured him you’d be delighted.”

  She was silent a moment until she knew she could speak without a quaver in her voice. “I was going to visit Matthew this morning, wait for my other dress to dry, and return to Torquay.”

  “I know.”

  “Of course I’ll be there,” she said quietly.

  “Thank you.” He took her hand and kissed it, then poured himself another cup of tea. He looked at the cup. “No, Lady T, this won’t keep me up. I have one more request.”

  “Ask away. It can’t be any more presumptuous than the last one,” she said, amused.

  “It is! I was quizzing you two days ago when I asked it, but I’m in deadly earnest now. Will you work for me?”

  “My God, sir!” she said, startled. “You can’t be serious.”

  “Never more so. I know you have no formal training, but you kept alive a husband you didn’t particularly care for, and probably ran his estate.”

  She nodded, unable to speak.

  “I need a matron for Block Four to oversee laundry, victuals, cleanliness and sanitation. My chief surgeon’s mate is in charge of the nursing staff, such as it is. You will circulate throughout the building, making sure all is well.” He chuckled. “In your spare time, you have my permission to walk on water and turn water into wine. You will do this six days a week, from the forenoon watch to the end of the first dog watch. For this I will pay you the magnificent sum of twenty-five pounds each year.”

  “I spent more than that on a gown once,” she commented. She wanted to appear calm, but he could probably see the pulse pounding in her neck, or maybe even her heart jumping about in her chest.

  “Oh. I forgot. You will receive rations and a place to sleep in Block Four.”

  “Thank goodness,” she said. “I was on the verge of turning you down.” She stood up, too uncomfortable to remain seated. “I may have nursed an old man through apoplexy, but I know nothing!”

  She looked out on the kitchen yard, with its neat rows of lettuce, carrots and beans. He joined her at the window and stared at the same view.

  “You’re wrong there, Lady T, with all due respect. The men didn’t notice how little you knew. What they saw was how much you care. They’re still talking about it this morning. And Matthew? He feels better just because he was able to help, too, by finding me. He’s not as sick as he was, because he was needed and useful.”

  She turned to face him. “I just don’t know.”

  “Will you think about it?”

  She nodded. He smiled, yawned hugely, and left the room. Laura sat down at the table again, weighed down by the enormity of what a man she barely knew was asking of her. She had been offered a job no lady of quality would ever consider. What would people think if Lady Laura Taunton, widow of a baronet, went to work as a matron in a naval hospital?

  It troubled her to no end that her few tumultuous days at Stonehouse had led her to put her mind and heart on the line for all to see. In some strange way, she felt engaged in battle. The war, so abstract before, now loomed like a monster. All she wanted to do was run away; she doubted she had the courage of Lt. Brittle or his patients.

  And yet she had to admit that something about being in this terrifying place seemed to compel her to honesty, and force her to consider things previously left unmentioned. Perhaps the issue wasn’t really what people would think if a baronet’s widow went to work as a hospital matron.

  “Maybe I am wondering if I have the kind of courage such a job requires, working with such brave men,” she whispered. “I do not see how I can.”

  She leaned out the window and rested her elbows on the sill, regarding the carrots seriously as their feathery tops waved in the breeze. She didn’t want to even consider the surgeon’s offer. She snatched up her bonnet from the hook by the front door where someone had left it last night, and let herself out of the house quietly. I will visit Matthew, she promised herself, hold Davey Dabney’s hand during surgery, then leave for Taunton. I could no more serve as a hospital matron than forgive my father for ruining my life.

  Chapter Seven

  The patients in B Ward must have been waiting for her to walk through the door. They cheered and she blushed like a maiden. She had to respond in the right tone, so she put up her hand in an imperious gesture that made the seamen settle down again.

  “You’re still miscreants and rascals,” she scolded.

  “You forgot layabouts, mum,” someone said, and the others laughed.

  “That, too,” she agreed. “How could I ever forget?”

  Laura nodded to the orderly at the desk, who looked as captivated as the men under his care. She went first to Matthew and brushed the hair back from his forehead, which made the seaman in the next bed sigh in a dramatic gust. She glared at the men.

  “If there is a worse set of villains in this entire nation, I do not know who they might be,” she declared.

  “That’s us, mum!” “On the nail,” “Too right,” were the replies she hoped for, because they told her much about the general state of B Ward. It would be too easy to become attached to you mongrels, she thought. Thank goodness my plans do not extend beyond holding Davey
Dabney’s hand through a surgery. And considering her terror of yesterday, she was having second thoughts about that.

  “How are you, Matthew?” she asked.

  “Better, mum.”

  “Did you eat your breakfast?”

  He made a face. “We ate better on the Tireless.”

  “I don’t doubt that.” She glanced around, noting bowls of uneaten food by bedsides. “Is there anything I can do for you?” She asked it softly, not wanting commentary on that particular query from the others.

  He thought a long time, and it touched her heart, because she knew his life had no luxuries. He probably had no idea what to ask for. “There is one thing,” he said finally.

  “Ask away.”

  “Last November, I stayed at the Mulberry for a week.”

  “Nana told me you were very helpful in the kitchen.”

  He nodded. “In the evenings, she read to us from a book about a bloke stranded on a deserted island. And then I went to sea again.”

  For some odd reason that artless statement felt as sharp as a blow between her shoulder blades. You have so little, she thought, feeling her eyes well with tears, and I so much.

  “England needs you, Matthew,” she said when she could command her voice. “Are you speaking of Robinson Crusoe?”

  His face lit up. “That was it! Please, mum, I want to know what happened. Could you finish the book for me and me mates?”

  What do you do now, Laura? she asked herself. Do you lie and tell him you will be happy to keep reading where Nana left off, and then do a runner like the poor woman yesterday? Do you tell the truth that you are going back to Torquay and then Taunton, where life is easy? Or do you just tell him no?

  “I am going to return to Torquay after noon,” she said. “Matthew, I cannot do what you wish.”

  If he had turned away then and refused to look at her, she would have felt better than what he did, which was to keep smiling at her. “That’s all right, mum,” he told her. His kindness made her feel as though Satan himself was dragging burning hot fingernails down her back. Shame on you, Laura Taunton, she thought. Shame on you.