“Magpie!” she cried, embracing him in return, her cheek pressed against his thick dark curls. “My little Magpie,” she cooed, rocking him gently, as the men looked on, visibly moved by their joyful reunion, Biscuit dashing away a few stray tears.
When at last Magpie lifted his head to look up at her, his young face was fluttering with excitement like topgallant sails in a fresh breeze. “Do ya like me eye patch, Em? Do I looks like a pirate?”
Emily caressed the reddened, puckered skin beneath the black patch. “Not at all. You look like the hero of an epic tale … my hero.”
Magpie beamed from ear to ear, his smile warming Emily like the descending sunlight that poured into the cabin, and he threw himself into her arms for another embrace, holding on to her for such a long while that Fly had to clear his throat. Magpie’s curly head shot up again, his face overspread with a blush. “Oh, Em,” he said, jumping back, “we got another surprise fer ya.”
“What is it?” she asked, excited by the boy’s infectious enthusiasm.
Together Fly, Biscuit, and Magpie all turned on their heels and shot broad smiles at the open door. Emily’s brilliant eyes followed theirs. A gurgle of emotion erupted from her lips as she slowly rose from her chair. Standing before her in the doorway was a stocky, pudding-faced man she had never seen before. But in his arms he carried Gus Walby.
10:00 p.m.
(First Watch, Four Bells)
EMILY HESITATED before stepping into the Amethyst’s narrowing forepeak, where Leander was lying in a low cot next to the open gunport.The space was a poignant reminder of the corresponding forepeak on the Isabelle where he had once had his hospital, and where she had once been his patient. At his bedside stood Fly Austen, Joe Norlan, and two other men she did not know – though one looked familiar – conversing with one another in hushed, reverent voices.
Emily recalled the bittersweet hours she had just spent in the company of Magpie and Gus, delighting in their happiness at being reunited with her, awestruck by their miraculous rescue at sea, and marvelling at the tales they recounted of Prosper Burgo and his salty band of ruffians. In their exuberance, neither boy had asked questions about her final imprisonment on the Serendipity. Perhaps it was intentional on their part, or perhaps they simply possessed too many exciting stories of their own to relate; either way, she was grateful, for she needed no reminders of Charlie Clive, her marriage to Trevelyan, the loss of Jane Austen’s book, and the gun blast that had hastened an end to Octavius Lindsay’s short life. Though the lads’ stories had proven to be a wonderful diversion, Emily had stiffened every time footsteps echoed near their private corner lest it be a bearer of bad news. Yet Fly, when he had finally looked in on their little party of three, had been quick to allay her fears with a significant nod of his head and the words, “He’s awake and asking for you.”
Emily massaged her face, hoping to exile her worry lines and inject some colour into her pale, swollen complexion, then she swept into the forepeak, her eyes latching at once onto the cot. Without a word, the four men tiptoed past her, Fly offering a smile of encouragement and the familiar one, an impudent grin painted upon his weatherbeaten features, conducting a head-to-toe inspection. When they had departed, Emily sank down upon a wooden cask already positioned next to Leander and brooded over his ashen complexion and wisps of auburn hair curling upon his damp forehead. Her eyes fell to his shoulders – bare with the exception of the bandages – and traced his slim, freckled arms that lay at his sides, continuing down the lines of his long legs visible beneath a light linen sheet. Her desire to lie beside him was so strong that she was certain he must have heard her sharp intake of breath. Blushing, she returned her gaze to his face and the look in his eyes – so full of affection – warmed her insides and deepened her spreading colour.
She laughed unsteadily. “Were they common butchers, or did they fix you up nicely?”
“Between the three of them, they fixed me up nicely,” said Leander, his voice husky. “Thank goodness for the man they call Prosper Burgo.”
“He’s the one who rescued Magpie and Gus from the sea and took care of them,” said Emily, examining his bandages.
“I should like to hear all about it.”
“I will tell you … only later, Doctor, not now.”
Leander lifted his right hand and felt his left shoulder. “I suppose Trevelyan wished his ball had struck lower or had found his intended victim.”
No, Emily thought sadly, her eyes filling with compassion, Trevelyan knew that in striking you he was dealing me a deadly blow. “I worried you would bleed to death before someone was able to help you. Did the ball splinter bone or take in a fragment of your shirt?”
Leander smiled up at her, perhaps impressed by her knowledge, but he soon grew solemn. “We can’t be certain, though infection is always a concern.”
Not wanting to dwell on the subject, Emily cheered her voice. “Well, then, Doctor, once you are up and around, I will offer you my left shoulder to lean upon.”
“And how is your right one faring?”
“Aside from occasional achiness, it is quite well.”
“I am glad of it. And that ankle of yours?”
Emily sighed. “In order to heal it properly, I’m afraid I’m going to have to rest for weeks on end.”
“That won’t be easy for you, though you are welcome to stay here with me. Perhaps we could employ Prosper Burgo to provide us with his own special tonics to ease our complaints.”
“Of all things, Doctor, I should like that … I should like to stay.”A tear started making its way down Emily’s cheek and, for a time, she could not speak. “Mr. Austen has informed me that, first thing in the morning, we shall be sailing for Bermuda. It is believed that my Uncle Clarence is there, awaiting news of me.”A slight frown appeared between Leander’s eyebrows, but his eyes never left her face. “I must return to England to testify against Trevelyan. He will have to answer for the Amelia and the Isabelle.”
“And for his treatment of you.”
Emily turned her face from him. “Mr. Austen assured me that if I go to England, my uncle would do everything in his power to secure an annulment for me. But I told him that I would not leave until I knew for certain that you were going to live.”
“I will live, Emily.”
She took a deep breath. “You say that, yet I must be certain.”
“You must return to England, if not for yourself, then for all those that lost their lives at the hands of Thomas Trevelyan.”
Overcome with restlessness, Emily suddenly leaned forward on her wooden cask. “You once told me that I had been spared from perishing in the sea because I had a great deal of living left to do.”
“I have no doubt that there are a legion of adventures awaiting you, for you seem to thrive on them and they seem to find you. You are an extraordinary woman. I’ve never seen your like before and probably never will again.”
“Do you not see, Doctor?” she said with a whine in her tone that she detested. “I am afraid of returning to England.”
“What is it you fear?”
“I fear the empty, meaningless existence that awaits me there. I will be placed in my uncle’s guardianship or, worse still, he’ll hand me over to my grandmother, and every waking moment of my life will be mapped out for me.” Emily pressed her hands between her knees and began rocking back and forth. “The moment I am released from my fraudulent marriage, every effort will be made to marry me off again. My mornings will be spent playing the pianoforte and learning my French lessons; my afternoons will be passed in the company of hairdressers and dressmakers; and my evenings in salons and assembly halls. I am not interested in being celebrated for my elaborate hairstyles and exquisite gowns.”
Amusement curved Leander’s lips. “It sounds like a life most women would relish.”
“If you were not injured, Doctor, I would throw something at you.” Emily’s words were playful, but her feelings were not. “Why is it so easy for you
to pretend you do not understand what I am trying to find the words to say?”
He angled his head on his pillow, as if hoping for a better view of her.
“If I return to England now,” she continued, one hand covering her mouth, “I fear I will never see you again. You left me once before, Doctor, with hope burning in my breast. If you would only give me that hope again – if I knew you wanted me to return – I would find the ship that would bring me back to you.”
Leander reached out to touch her free hand, which lay in a fist on her lap. “Emily, the reality is, I am a ship’s surgeon, a lowly doctor in the Royal Navy. I have nothing to my name. I possess no land, no house, no family wealth – ” He gave a sarcastic laugh. “Not even these few articles of clothing are mine. I do not have the means to offer you the life you deserve.”
“The life I deserve, Doctor? I chose to leave behind all the trappings and comforts of my life as the granddaughter of King George when I boarded the Amelia for Upper Canada all those weeks ago.” Emily slid off the cask and knelt beside Leander’s bed, entwining her fingers with his long slender ones. “All that I ask is to have the life I hunger for – one that is far away from London. I long to become a learned woman as you are a learned man. I want you to be my teacher and allow me access to your library of medical books. Let me – let me train as your assistant and help you with the men when they are ill or wounded, and if my home should be on the sea, it makes no difference, so long as I may lean on you and feel your arms around me whenever I am in need of comfort.”
Leander gaped at her as if he expected her to laugh and proclaim her words to be nothing more than a salve to speed his healing. After a time, he raised his head from his pillow. “Is this truly what you wish for, Emily?”
“Those hours, those days on the Serendipity, Doctor, when I thought you had gone down with the Isabelle, they were the worst of my life. You must know; I cannot bear to live forever wondering where you are, whether or not you are safe.”
The intensity in Leander’s eyes startled her. “And, you must know, Emeline Louisa Georgina Marie, that, above all else, I completely… love and adore you.”
17
Friday, July 2
4:00 p.m.
(Afternoon Watch, Eight Bells)
Aboard HMS Amethyst
PAUSING BEFORE THE LOOKING GLASS nailed upon the wall of Captain Prickett’s great cabin, Emily contemplated her reflection. She hardly knew herself. It had been a long time since she had curled her long hair and adorned her head with a bandeau – in this case a blue one to match her blue-and-white-striped morning dress. Magpie had sewn it for her from the fine yards of fabric Prosper Burgo had produced from the hold of the Prosperous and Remarkable, stolen a while back, he had smugly admitted, from some “fat, forgotten merchantman.” As usual, the young sail maker had done wonders with his needle, making pretty little puffs on the long-sleeved gown that tightly wrapped her from neck to wrists, but fell loosely below her bosom. His creation had left Emily speechless and certain the lad could become a sought-after dressmaker once his naval career ended; her suggestion had awakened a dreamy glow in Magpie’s eye. Though she would have preferred to wear loose-fitting trousers and a short jacket, she doubted her uncle would recognize – or be pleased to find – her dressed like a sailor, with her hair an untamed tangle completely at the mercy of the capricious winds.
Through an open gunport, she could see her uncle’s ship, its sails furled, its myriad pennants – including the flag of the Duke of Clarence – flapping in the Bermuda breeze from the highest points on its three masts. In the clear turquoise waters around it lay anchored a flotilla of smaller ships, and beyond, the grey rocks and dark green wind-swept shrubbery of Ireland Island. She took in great gulps of sea air, then glanced around Captain Prickett’s cabin, where she had taken up a pleasant residency for the past week – at least during the hours when she was not found in the forepeak, supplying food and affection to its one precious occupant who, with each passing day, grew stronger under her watchful eye.
Full of regret and trepidation, she left the great cabin and made her way towards the break in the larboard rail where a row of men had formed, like a receiving line at a ball, to speak their parting words to her before she was taken the short distance across the harbour to her uncle’s waiting ship. Hundreds of heads swivelled the moment she was spotted crossing the quarterdeck, the men stopping in their tracks to mark her steps, some of them raising their hats to her, some bestowing a naval salute. By now she was accustomed to their eager displays of curiosity and felt such goodwill towards each and every one of them – regardless of whether he was a true compatriot or had been born on this side of the Atlantic – that she wished they could all return to England with her.
Amazed that her wobbly knees were able to carry her, she walked slowly, acknowledging as many as she could, so pleased whenever she recognized a face she had once known upon the Isabelle. There was Osmund Brockley, Lewis McGilp, Jacko, Mr. Stewart, the red-haired midshipman, and Maggot and Weevil – all of them beaming their biggest smiles. Prosper Burgo was there too, his arm still draped around a complacent Meg Kettle, which astounded Emily, for the man had now been acquainted with “thee affable lady” for a full week. Emily had hoped that – somewhere in the crowd – she might see Mr. Crump, Mr. Harding, Bailey Beck, Bun Brodie, Captain Moreland, and even Octavius Lindsay, but she never did.
Arriving at the place where she was to descend to the Amethyst’s launch, Emily found two sailors strapping Gus Walby and his splints into the bosun’s chair. He alone would be making the journey with her. The thought of his dear company in the weeks ahead had sustained her during the darker moments of the past few days. At the rail stood the forlorn figure of Magpie, watching Gus as he was lowered to the rocking launch. Overwhelmed by the woeful scene, Emily turned away from it to address the waiting men.
Biscuit stood at the nearest end of the farewell procession. He placed a paper bundle in her hands and winked his straight eye at her. “I baked ’em fresh this mornin’. Ya won’t find nothin’ like ’em on thee admiral’s ship.”
“Thank you, Biscuit. Thank you for everything.”
He bowed low and clumsily before her, and upon straightening himself up, said, “Stay well, lass.”
Beside the Scottish cook, shifting from one foot to another, was Morgan Evans, a new knitted hat sitting at a jaunty angle upon his head. “Mr. Evans,” Emily said, fighting to compose her voice as she extended her hand to him, “I am so glad we were able to rewrite that letter to your sisters. Have you passed it off to the mail boat?”
“I have, m’am.”
“I hope you will soon see your family again.”
“I hope so too. And don’t worry,” he said, his cheeks reddening, “I’ll look out for Dr. Braden and Magpie for you.”
“I will be forever grateful. And thank you … thank you for pulling me from the sea – twice.”
“It was my pleasure. You … well … you brightened up our simple lives,” he stammered, quickly adding, “Mr. George … sir.”
Emily gave Morgan a warmhearted smile, then, proceeding down the line, gazed up at Fly Austen. Like Biscuit, he too had a gift for her.
“I received a packet of mail when your uncle’s ships dropped anchor and was delighted to find amongst the letters a new offering from my sister, Jane. It’s called Pride and Prejudice. As there is still a war to fight and I will soon be given another ship to command, I thought you might like to read it. I hope it will entertain you as well as her first novel did.” He handed her the black, calf-leathered, gilt-banded volumes.
“Thank you, Mr. Austen. I doubt I shall like it as well as Sense and Sensibility,” she said with a reflective smile, “but I can assure you I will look forward to reading it.”
Fly nodded. “Good! And have you Captain Moreland’s letter with you?”
“I do. Rest easy that I will guard it with my life, and that – once back in London – I will make certain it falls
into the right hands.”
“Godspeed, Emily.”
“And you too, sir.”
Emily took a deep breath and looked towards Magpie.
“I don’t know if I kin stand it,” said the little sail maker, struggling to withhold his tears. “Gus were the best friend I ever had.”
Emily sank to her knees before him and took one of his hands in hers. “And he will want you to stay strong so that you can look after Dr. Braden for us. But cheer up! I will tell the Duke that you send your regards and remember well the kindness he and Mrs. Jordan once showed you long ago at Bushy House.”
Magpie made an effort to return her smile. “I wish I could go too. I – I just can’t bear bein’ parted from ya, Em.” His dark eye glistened like a star. “Why … yer like a mum to me.”
Emily squeezed his soot-stained fingers.
“Will ya promise me one thing, Em?”
“What is that, Magpie?”
“When ya come back to find Dr. Braden, you’ll come lookin’ fer me too.”
“I promise,” she said, planting a kiss below his eye patch, but so overcome with emotion she could barely stand again.
Leander was the last one waiting for her. He appeared agitated and embarrassed, like a young lad who has arrived at a birthday party without a present. He was dressed in an open-collared shirt and dusky-blue breeches that looked well on his tall, slim frame, and his complexion was suffused with high, healthy colour. Emily was barely aware that Fly, Morgan, and Biscuit had wandered away, taking Magpie with them.
“You will come back to me, Emily?” Leander asked, his eyes darting over the planks of the deck at his feet.
“I will, as soon as I can,” she said brightly, hoping to gain his dear glance.
“You won’t forget this poor doctor on the seas?”
She laughed. “How could I forget the man that introduced me to rum and laudanum? But you … you may soon forget what I look like.”
Seasons of War 2-Book Bundle Page 38
