The Surgeon's Lady. Carla Kelly

the stool. Careful not to bump his arm, she gathered Matthew close and let him cry.

      The moment passed quickly. She took the damp cloth Lt. Brittle held out and wiped Matthew’s face. “Maybe I can wash your hair tomorrow,” she told him, keeping her voice matter-of-fact. “I always feel better when my hair is clean.”

      She didn’t know what to say then, but the surgeon took over. He ran a practiced hand over Matthew’s upper arm, feeling for swelling. His eyes on Matthew, he spoke to Laura.

      “What a brave son of a gun Matthew is, Lady Taunton. I had to take him to my surgery yesterday morning and smooth away some of Barnhart’s work—bless the man, he was even working in the dark at one point, wasn’t he, Matthew? I never heard a peep out of Matthew. Captain Worthy only has brave seamen on the Tireless.”

      He knew just what to say. Matthew’s eyes brightened as he mentally seemed to reach inside himself and draw up.

      I know what they want, she thought. She spoke loud enough for the other Tireless crew members to hear. “He’s doing well. Lt. Brittle examined his ear yesterday in Torquay, and said that although he was no longer symmetrical, he could still keep all of you in line. He’s in good hands, Matthew, and you’re kind to ask. I’ll send him a letter tonight and make sure he knows how you all are doing.”

      “He said he would visit us, mum,” said a man in the next bed.

      “Then I know he will,” she answered. She looked back at Matthew, who was watching her face, maybe looking for some resemblance to his beloved Nana.

      “We don’t look alike, except for our hair,” she told him.

      “Your eyes are greener than the ocean,” Lt. Brittle said, almost to himself. His face reddened, but he did not lose his aplomb. “I am observant, Lady Taunton.” He returned his attention to Matthew. “D’ye have any questions for me, Matthew? Now’s the time to ask.”

      She didn’t think he would speak. She knew these men were trained not to speak to a better unless spoken to, but the surgeon had asked.

      “What can I do now?” the boy questioned.

      “You can come with me to Torquay, when you are able,” Laura said.

      Matthew frowned. “Mum, I’m in the navy.”

      “So you are, Matthew,” Brittle said. “I’m not sure yet, but I do know this—you still have your elbow and two inches more of forearm. You can still rule the world if you have an elbow.”

      “The gunners won’t want me now,” he reminded the surgeon.

      “No, they won’t,” Brittle said frankly. “Give it some time and thought. When your arm heals, we can attach a device. Maybe a hook.” He rubbed the boy’s head. “You’ll be the terror of the fleet and Boney’s worst foe.”

      He stood up then, looking around the ward. “Can I trust you seamen with this fine lady? I need to patch up a cook on the second floor who’s not half as sweet as you darlings.”

      The men laughed. The surgeon nodded to Laura. “Stay as long as you like. Are you planning on spending the night at the Mulberry?”

      “I think I will.”

      “I’ll come back in an hour, and at least escort you to the main gate, Lady Taunton. I’d escort you all the way, but I’m on duty tonight.” He touched Matthew’s head again. “If you’re not too tired, tell her about some of the places you’ve been, Matthew.”

      “Aye, aye, sir.”

      She moved to the stool the surgeon had vacated, watching him stop at one or two of the other beds to bend over and assess the patient, and then spend a moment with the woman at the desk. When he left the room, she turned back to Matthew.

      “You’re in good hands, Matthew,” she said.

      She knew he was in pain, but he seemed to relax and wriggle himself down into a more comfortable position.

      She tugged his pillow down to help, and tucked the light blanket across his middle.

      “I’m going to the Mulberry tonight,” she told him. “I’ll tell Gran, Sal and Pete to come visit you as soon as they can.”

      Before he left, Lt. Brittle had whispered to her to get Matthew to drink more water. She picked up the cup, but he was looking over her shoulder, his eyes wide.

      “Mum, do something!” he gasped.

      Startled, she turned around to see what he was looking at and sucked in her breath, then leaped to her feet, spilling the water on the floor.

      Sitting propped up with pillows, a seaman clawed at his throat, blood pouring down his nightshirt. The man in the next bed, the stump of his leg encased in a wire basket, reached for him. “Please, mum!” he begged.

      Laura looked at the desk, but the woman was gone. My God, she thought, my God. There’s no one to help but me.

      She could tell there was no time to scream and clutch her hair, or faint like a lady would—or should. She forced herself to dig down deep into a place in her heart and mind she hadn’t even known existed. A life depended on her and her alone. For the life of her she didn’t understand it, but her next thought propelled her into action: what would Lt. Brittle do?