The Surgeon's Lady. Carla Kelly

can do?”

      “I do. Phil told me to give you some gauze and wadding for Captain Worthy.”

      She followed Mrs. Brittle upstairs to a small bedroom tucked under the eaves. “Watch your head,” the woman advised. “My boys can’t come home often, but I like to have their beds ready.”

      She reached under the bed and pulled out a small chest, which contained rolled bandages, and a batt of lint. She set the items on the bed between them, and reached into the chest again, this time pulling out a well-worn case. She opened it, and Laura gasped to see several knives and a saw. Mrs. Brittle touched the dark-stained cloth band on the tourniquet, then closed it again.

      “That’s the set Phil used on the Victory, where poor Lord Nelson, God rest his soul, was struck down. He has a much better set now, but he said he’d never part with this one. I don’t know how he does what he does.” She shuddered. “Through the years, I patched up four little Brittles for this and that, but I could never …”

      Like mother, like son, Laura decided. Without any discernible urging on Mrs. Brittle’s part, she found herself telling the woman all about the last few years of her life, as she had tended her ailing husband without respite.

      “I was grateful when he died,” she finished, “because I was so tired. It was a thankless task.”

      Mrs. Brittle cleared his throat. “Forgive my plain speaking, but Nana has told me much about herself. Are you the eldest of Lord Ratliffe’s daughters?”

      “As far as I know. Another thankless thing.” Laura replied, trying to keep the bitterness from her voice.

      She thought she almost succeeded, except that Mrs. Brittle covered her hand with her own. “Not thankless at all, if you’ll pardon me, Lady Taunton. You have a younger sister who has fought her own dragons, and now there are two of you.”

      “Does she need me?” Laura asked simply.

      “Maybe you need her more,” Mr. Brittle replied, just as honest. “Nights can be long, though, when your man is at sea, and there’s war. She’ll be busy with a baby soon, and I’m next door to help.” She patted Laura’s hand and then released it.

      “Are you telling me I could leave here?” Laura asked, remembering what Lt. Brittle had said before he left. Of course, she may have misunderstood him. Her ears weren’t entirely tuned to the soft speech of the West Country.

      “Only if you don’t go too far.”

      Nana came quietly into the sitting room when the afternoon shadows were starting to fall deep on the lawn. She sat down beside Laura and leaned her head on her shoulder.

      “I trust you made him very comfortable,” Laura teased.

      “That’s never hard,” Nana said, her cheeks rosy. “I asked him once if he thought I was a loose woman, since I enjoyed … him … so much. He just laughed and did it again.”

      Laura couldn’t help smiling at her sister’s artless disclosure. “I suppose every moment is sweeter than the last, since he is not home so much.”

      “It is. Sadder, too. I would like to give Boney a piece of my mind.”

      “You and most of the women of the Channel Fleet.”

      Dinner was eaten in the breakfast room. Laura doubted they ever used the more formal dining room. Oliver ate like a starving man, passing up nothing. He rolled his eyes when Nana patted his middle.

      “Almost as big as yours, love,” he said, which earned him a sharp nudge.

      It was a curious meal. Between the relaxed banter between the Worthys that Laura found herself envying, Oliver told of the fight off Ferrol Station, when he took on a French ship of the line and received a thrashing, even while sacrificing his frigate so two smaller ships bearing vital dispatches could escape.

      “Nana, remember my time in dry dock last November?” he asked. “Well, I think my stern was still vulnerable. The whole rudder sheared off, and we limped here under judicious sail power.” He looked at Laura. “We’d be drowned without Dan Brittle, my sailing master.”

      “Did you conn the helm?” Nana asked.

      “Most of the time. I slept a little on deck, when I could.” He stood and rested his hands on his wife’s chair back as though the room was suddenly too small. “I trust my helmsmen, but I wanted this way to be my blame and not theirs, if we all drowned. I’m sorry, love, but that’s how it is. Hard to say what would have happened, if we hadn’t reached Drake’s Island before we sank.”

      “That’s where the Tireless is?” Nana asked, holding his hand against her cheek now.

      “Just off the island. I lost everything, Nana.” He sat down. “Not quite. I took off the log, charts, orders and dispatches, of course.” He reached into his uniform jacket. “And these. Couldn’t leave you behind.”

      He unrolled two small sketches of Nana and anchored them to the table with a glass and a plate.

      Nana dabbed at her eyes with a napkin. “Does the Admiralty know what a silly romantic you are?” she asked, her voice gruff.

      “Hopefully not. That’s our secret.”

      He rolled up the drawings, but left them on the table. “Fifty men are dead, Nana, and others are wounded.”

      “Mr. Ramseur?” Nana asked. “He’s Oliver’s first mate, Laura.”

      “Hale and hearty.”

      He stirred in his chair and Laura thought he would get up again, to roam the room. “Nana, Matthew was injured badly in the fight.”

      She gasped. “You didn’t tell me!”

      “A splinter on the gun deck took off his arm.” He pulled out a handkerchief and handed it to Nana. “He’s a powder monkey, Laura. He stayed with Nana at the Mulberry once. He’s eleven now.” He leaned closer to his wife and toyed with her hair. “He lost a lot of blood, Nana, and I won’t say I’m not worried.”

      Nana blew her nose and gave her husband a defiant look that told Laura that she was not quite the biddable creature her usual deportment suggested. “I must go to Stonehouse at once. Oliver, he has no one!”

      Oliver shook his head. “I’ll not have you and our baby jouncing over bad roads to tend him in a place that will frighten even you, oh fearless one.”

      This is easily solved, Laura thought, watching the mutiny in her sister’s eyes and the equal firmness on her brother-in-law’s face.

      “I’ll go tomorrow.”

       Why did I say that? she asked herself immediately, even as Nana’s eyes lightened up and Oliver looked relieved. I want to help my sister, she assured herself. It has nothing to do with Lt. Brittle’s offer of employment. I can scarcely imagine being influenced by something so totty-headed. He must think I am truly bored.

      She had occasion to think about that as she composed herself for sleep later. She climbed into bed with her usual feeling of gratitude, even after the past three years, to know that her late husband would never open her door again. It was dark and there was no one in sight to scold her for feeling that way. She could even allow herself a moment to consider Lt. Brittle’s startling offer.

      Laura couldn’t help remembering how Lt. Brittle had tucked up her blanket last night, and patted her shoulder. It was her secret alone: next to Nana’s heartfelt embrace, that was the kindest touch she had ever felt in her life.

      “I will visit a powder monkey and I will return to Torquay,” she said out loud to the plaster whorls in the ceiling. “I would have to be an idiot to even consider what Lt. Brittle is suggesting. No one is that bored.”

       Chapter Four

      Perhaps