Come Looking For Me

by CHERYL COOPER

  “You must know, my friend … she was not Lindsay’s intended victim.”

  “What?” Leander gave Fly a bewildered stare.

  “Evidently, he had not been informed that our little sail maker was wounded and lying here … in the protection of your hospital. He all but made an outright confession. Perhaps it was his distraught mind speaking … perhaps he figured his punishment would be more lenient if James and I knew the truth.”

  Leander seethed with revulsion. “I’ll kill him! I swear I’ll kill him!”

  “Most every man on this ship will harbour the same sentiments once they have heard of Mr. Lindsay’s exploits. But I believe it best we tell no one else of this sordid intelligence, leastwise Emily. For now, I need you to put down your fighting scabbard and come with me to the captain’s cabin.”

  “Can it not wait until later? I cannot leave here just now.”

  “I have brought with me a marine sentry to guard Emily in your absence.”

  Detecting Fly’s concerned expression, Leander asked, “Has something else happened?”

  “James has come down with a fever.”

  4:00 p.m.

  (Afternoon Watch, Eight Bells)

  WITH AN AIR OF IMPORTANCE, Biscuit dished up bowls of mutton stew for his mates seated around his mess table on the upper deck.

  “I tell ya, it was Octavius Lindsay that done it. I was there in thee wardroom when Gus told thee cap’n, and I heared it from Morgan, him havin’ seen thee mischief with his own eyes.”

  “And what did the cap’n ’ave to say?” asked Bailey Beck.

  “Not a word,” replied Biscuit. “Went pale as a white whale and stormed from thee wardroom with Mr. Austen in tow.”

  “They’ll be stringin’ Mr. Lindsay up on the yard for his crime. That I’ll be wantin’ to see,” said Jacko, rubbing his mountainous naked belly in anticipation of his meal.

  Bailey let out a snort. “No way the cap’n will give ’im death what with his aristocratic connections.”

  “A floggin’ with a cat o’ nine tails would be too lenient,” Biscuit growled.

  “It’ll come to court-martial,” said another of their mates.

  “Nay! No time for court-martiallin’ out here,” said Jacko. “Stranded in enemy waters, in a broken-down ship? And where would we be findin’ enough British captains and admirals to do the court-martiallin’? Nay, we’ll be days fixin’ up the Isabelle just to git her sailin’ agin.”

  “Morgan says Lord Lindsay didna succeed in his intentions, if ya catch me meanin’,” snickered Biscuit, handing Jacko his bowl. “And here I thought he fancied thee lads.”

  “Oh, aye!” laughed his mates.

  “Our Emily,” Biscuit continued, “she fought him off like a true seasoned sailor, though he knocked her about somethin’ fierce. Word is her head was bleedin’ all over thee sails and her face has an awful mean wound on it.”

  Jacko punched his right fist into his left palm. “I’d like to git me hands on the bastard. I’d kill ’im with one snap o’ the neck.”

  “Not before I would roast him in me galley stove,” said Biscuit, his bad eye rolling about in excitement.

  “If justice ain’t dished up, why we’ll dish it up ourselves,” said Bailey. “We’ll wait til Mr. Lindsay’s on the night watch and we’ll give ’im a Jonah’s lift into the sea.”

  “Or a ball o’ lead durin’ the next battle with them Yankees.”

  The men raised their mugs of grog and said, “Hear, hear.”

  “Who’s Emily?” asked their newest messmate. The men all turned to gape at him – a giant of a man with muscular arms and a long copper-coloured ponytail that fell a long way down his back. Biscuit cackled and placed his puny arm around the man’s thick neck. “Lads, meet Bun Brodie. Off thee Yankee Liberty, but don’t ya be holdin’ it against ’im, ’cause he’s a Scotsman. And with young Magpie losin’ half his face, he’s gonna fill in fer maker o’ thee sails.”

  The men nodded politely in Bun Brodie’s direction. “Pleased to meet all o’ yas,” he said before asking again about Emily.

  “She’s thee fair lass we plucked from thee sea a week or so ago,” Biscuit explained. “She’d jumped off a Yankee frigate that went by thee name o’ Serendipity whilst we was doin’ battle with her.”

  “Thee Serendipity, ya say? Ya mean Captain Trevelyan’s frigate?” asked Bun before shovelling a hunk of stew into his mouth.

  “One ’n’ thee same.”

  Jacko smiled. “Our Emily, she’s a right spirited girl. Why, two days ago she joined us at this very table for a cup o’ beer.”

  Biscuit laughed suddenly, spewing bits of stew about. “And you, Jacko, thought she was a man. Mr. George, hah!”

  Red colour flooded Jacko’s squashed-nosed face. “Aye! I did think it a bit queer him wearin’ them blue silk shoes.”

  “She fooled the lot o’ us,” said the sailor with the swarthy complexion and bloodshot eyes.

  “Well, not me, and I don’t s’pose she fooled young Morgan either,” said Biscuit gleefully.

  “Where is Morgan?” Bailey asked Biscuit. “It was him that was s’posed ta be on mess duty.”

  “Probably back in Dr. Braden’s hospital, still pretendin’ to be needin’ medical attention so’s he can keep an eye on Emily.”

  Bun Brodie spoke up while the men laughed. “And would ya be knowin’ this Emily’s last name?”

  Jacko angled his big head and squinted at his new mate. “How come yer so curious ’bout Emily? Ya won’t get far with her, man. Mr. Lindsay already tried.” The table of men broke into grog-laced peals of laughter. “But … but we do ’ave Meggie Kettle fer ya. She’ll look after ya real nice-like in yer cot.”

  “I was on thee Serendipity,” said Bun solemnly. The men quit chuckling and lowered their mugs to stare at him. “I was on thee Serendipity whilst ya was battlin’ it out.”

  “Oh, nice,” said Biscuit. “So ya was takin’ shots at we Isabelles, killin’ thee lads, was ya now?”

  “Ach, no, I was chained up in her hold doin’ some prayin’.”

  Biscuit glanced around at his mates before settling his good eye upon Bun Brodie. “So, what d’ya know ’bout our Emily?”

  “I was told there was only one lass on thee Serendipity. Her name was Mrs. Seaton. She was Trevelyan’s prisoner on account he didna fancy her father.”

  “Who might her father be?”

  “And what was his crime?”

  Bun looked around placidly at his attentive messmates as he chewed away on his mutton stew. “I ’aven’t a goddamn clue.”

  7

  Friday, June 11

  1:00 a.m.

  (Middle Watch, Two Bells)

  IT WAS SOME TIME LATER that Leander found an opportunity to speak to Emily alone. He had attended to her injuries and periodically given her tinctures of laudanum to ease her pain and help her to sleep, but few private words had passed between them. On the day of her attack in the sail room, Captain Moreland had fallen ill with a fever and much of Leander’s time had been spent making sure he was comfortable, as well as assuring the men that their leader had not contracted typhus or yellow fever or some such sickness that would most likely result in half the ship coming down with it. Many of Leander’s patients still required plenty of attention, being in grave danger as a result of their wounds. Moreover, with the crew working around the watch to repair the Isabelle while her anchor was dropped off the coast of Cape Hatteras, several minor injuries – from cuts to falls to hernias – required his professional services.

  At two bells in the middle watch, Leander was writing notes in his medical journal when an ensemble of stentorian snores finally resounded around his hospital. Long before midnight, he had sent Osmund and the loblolly boys to their beds on the
orlop, and the marine who had been ordered to stand watch by Emily’s bit of canvas whenever the doctor was not present in the hospital was not due back until Leander left again for his breakfast in the wardroom in roughly six hours’ time. As he peeled off his spectacles to rub his tired eyes, a familiar voice called out softly to him.

  He found Emily in distress, sitting up in her hammock with one hand clutched to her chest. Her long hair fell forward in damp waves upon her muslin nightshirt, and her troubled face was flushed, partially concealing the purple wound on her cheek.

  “You’ve had another dream, Emily?”

  She closed her eyes and nodded. “May I trouble you for a cup of water, Doctor?”

  “By all means. Shall I put something in it to improve its taste?”

  “Aye! Plenty of rum, if you please.”

  Emily drew in deep breaths to calm herself while Leander quietly went to work preparing her a concoction from the small glass vials in his medical chest.

  “Here, drink this, then lie back,” he said upon returning.

  “I am in less discomfort when I sit up,” she said with a forced smile, taking the cup and draining its contents.

  Leander stood awkwardly by the canvas opening. “Is there anything else I can do for you?”

  “You are leaving?”

  “It’s 1:00 a.m. I thought it wise to retire so I will be of some use to you and the others in the morning.”

  Emily stared down at the empty cup in her hands. “Would you stay awhile?” She looked up at him. “Please?”

  Leander sank down upon the stool without hesitation, his eyes never leaving her face as he waited for her to speak again. She gave him a small, grateful smile. “Where did you put Magpie?”

  “On the other side of the hospital, as close as was possible to the galley entrance, so he may benefit from the warmth of Biscuit’s stove.”

  “And he is doing well?”

  “As well as can be expected. His own injuries are healing nicely, but the little fellow blames himself for your injuries. He confessed to us all that he was the one who asked you to go to the sail room for him.”

  “No! He only asked for his special blanket … I offered to fetch it for him.” Emily pressed her lips together. “Does he have his blanket with him now?”

  “He does, and sleeps all the better for it.”

  “I am most anxious to see the dear boy. Does anyone keep him company?”

  “Gus has come twice each day to read to him, and Morgan Evans visits him whenever he can to give him the ship news, and bring him his soup. And each time they come, they make a point of asking after you. Morgan feels tremendous remorse for your misfortune. It was him I put in charge that morning.” To himself, Leander added, But then I am the one to blame as I never should have left your side that day, and was about to give voice to his thoughts when Emily let out a great sigh.

  “Poor Morgan. He has hardly had time to heal from the loss of Mr. Alexander. I cannot imagine the guilt he must feel. But what happened to me, Doctor, is no one’s fault. The truth is, I was elated to have escaped from this corner, if only for a brief time. I am not accustomed to wasting away in a hospital bed, being dependent upon men to dress me and bring me food and help me cope with my nightmares.” She lay back against her pillow and studied him a minute. “Not a one of you has told me outright the identity of my assailant.”

  “Let us not speak of him tonight.”

  “I do know, Doctor. I have heard the men in their hammocks whispering his name.”

  Leander averted his gaze momentarily and when he looked back at her, her eyes glistened with tears. “My bruises will heal. I know I will be fine; however, I – I long to see Magpie. Is that possible, Doctor?”

  “I will arrange it for you in the morning.”

  “What will become of Mr. Lindsay?”

  Leander’s reply was cold. “His punishment will be decided when Captain Moreland has fully recovered. I expect it will be a harsh one. In time, he may hang or be shot. At the present, he sits clapped in irons on the gun deck, with no more regular company than a single marine sentry – and Mrs. Kettle, who delights in provoking him as she sits with her mending.”

  Feeling sick upon hearing this, Emily rolled her head around on her pillow to look out upon the gusty night through the open gunport and listen to the calming murmur of the waves breaking upon the Isabelle’s anchored hull. Unencumbered by curious onlookers and jealous quips from the other men, Leander gave her a lingering look. But Emily took no notice. A long time passed, and when there was no further conversation, Leander wondered if his concoction of water, rum, and laudanum had taken effect. Overhead, he heard the haunting peal of three bells, and beyond the canvas curtain came snores and soft groans as the men slept on. He was about to leave when she looked back at him, an impish expression tugging the ends of her mouth. “If I thought I could get away with it, I should like to climb to the top of the Isabelle’s mainmast to seek out the stars and stay there until the sun rises.”

  Leander leaned in closer to her, amusement playing upon his handsome features. “Does that mean your head and back injury, to say nothing of your broken ankle and shoulder wound, are all much improved?”

  “If I tell you I am much improved, will you come climbing with me?”

  Leander smiled. “I would surely fall. And if I were spared immediate death, I would find myself without anyone to take care of my injuries.”

  “Then you have no faith at all in Osmund and the loblolly boys?”

  “Sadly, no. If left to them, it would be better for all if I broke my neck and was simply slipped over the ship’s side.”

  “A tragic end for the fine physician, Leander Braden.” She angled her head in a jaunty manner. “Do not speak of your death when I believe … you have a good deal more living to do.”

  Recalling his own words to her when she had admitted a desire to be left to die in the sea, Leander grew wistful. “Should I be fortunate enough to have you hand me the occasional cup of water, I would desire to live.”

  Ignoring the intensity of his eyes, Emily laughed. “Oh, I would do more than give you water. I’d give you plenty of rum and laudanum to ease your suffering, and when you wanted recreation, I’d read Miss Austen’s novel to you, especially the chapters that include Colonel Brandon and Miss Marianne. I could chase away from the hospital those that annoyed you, and I’d re-dress your bandages if you would allow me to – ” All vestiges of her merriment suddenly vanished and in the softest voice she added, “dearest Doctor.”

  Leander could not be certain of the true meaning of her words; he could only be certain of the effect they had on him. He started from his stool, heartened and overwhelmed with thoughts of covering her mouth and darling bruised face with his lips. He shifted closer still to her bed, conscious that his pulse had quickened, and his desirous thoughts had caused his face to grow warm. Rather than reaching out for her as he longed to do, his trembling hands gripped the side of her cot and he hovered there, staring down at her as she lay quietly on her pillow, looking back at him, waiting. He felt the ship rise and fall under his feet, and heard her sigh, and, inexplicably, he felt paralyzed. Forcing his hopeful gaze to the floor, he dropped his arms to his sides and mumbled, “Good night” before leaving her to return, with reluctance, to his routine existence outside the canvas curtain.

  4:00 p.m.

  (Afternoon Watch, Eight Bells)

  OCTAVIUS LINDSAY BEGRUDGINGLY dropped his trousers and lowered his half-numb backside onto the seat of the heads in the farthest forward part of the Isabelle, behind the remains of her once-proud figurehead. “I don’t see why I cannot use the officers’ private toilets,” he shouted to the master-at-arms, who stood arms akimbo next to Octavius’s stone-faced marine sentry on the foredeck.

  “There’ll be no special treatment fer condemned
prisoners on this ship,” the master-at-arms bellowed back, following up his words with a great guffaw that was so loud it pierced the ubiquitous din of banging hammers.

  “I’ll remind you that at the present I am not a condemned prisoner. I am an officer and therefore shall be deserving of a just hearing,” said Octavius in a voice rife with indignation. He settled his eyes on the swirling water that slapped the sides of the Isabelle far below his bare feet and muttered, “And I have been treated most abominably.”

  Hoots and jeers dropped down upon Octavius’s ears like an icy rain from the shrouds, sails, and yardarms far above his head.

  “I don’t see no officer. I kin only see some poor lubber with his breeches down round his ankles.”

  “What d’ya know! His Lordship’s arse ain’t all spotted like his mug is.”

  “Well, I vum. It looks much like mine.”

  “And I bet a month’s worth o’ pay Mr. Lindsay is cravin’ a look at yer fleshy backend.”

  “Ha, ha, ha, ha.”

  With hunched shoulders, Octavius bit his lip and silently put to memory the faces of the seamen hurling insults at him. If he were fortunate enough to get an opportunity, he would dispatch each and every one of them. He gleaned tremendous enjoyment from imagining his bloody revenge with sword and pistol and bare hands. Gone was the blubbering idiot he had succumbed to in front of Captain Moreland and Commander Austen. It had been foolish of him to fall apart that way and run off at the mouth. Well, there would be no more of that. Octavius squared his shoulders in his torn, ruffled shirt and sat up higher on the heads. He felt no remorse whatsoever for his actions against that woman. In fact, she deserved a good roughing up. “I bet her ladyship won’t be quite as high and mighty the next time she lays eyes on me.”

  “Hurry up with yer business, Lord Lindsay. The sooner yer done, the sooner we kin string ya up.”