The Surgeon's Lady. Carla Kelly

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?

       Chapter Five

      She ran to the patient’s bedside. Blood streamed from his neck and mouth and his eyes were wide with terror. Disregarding everyone in the room, Laura raised her dress, untied her petticoat and stepped out of it in practically one motion, then crammed the white muslin against his neck.

      “Who can walk?” she shouted.

      One seaman tried to pull himself into an upright position, then slumped to his pillow again, exhausted by that puny effort.

      “I can walk, mum.”

      She turned around to see Matthew, wobbly but upright, holding his injured arm with the good one, trying to keep it level.

      He could barely stand, but she had no choice. “The surgeon said he was going to the second floor. Find him!”

      I won’t watch him go, she thought. I won’t think about what he is doing to his own injury. I won’t think about anything except this poor man. He was breathing better, but barely, searching her eyes with his own. Her heart went out to him, someone she didn’t know, a man who would probably never, on a normal day, come into her sphere at all. But this was not a normal day. He was suffering and casting all his hopes on her.

      She watched his face as she pressed on his neck, praying she wasn’t doing him more injury. The room was silent, except for his labored breathing. She noticed then that he was glancing sideways, looking into her eyes, then glancing again.

      “You’re trying to tell me something,” she said.

      He nodded, then looked again. She glanced in that direction, toward the small table between the two beds. She saw a pasteboard box with the word styptic written on it in large letters. Next to the box was a gauze pad.

      “Styptic. Styptic,” she muttered, then remembered white powder in a ceramic box by her husband’s shaving stand. She leaped up and grabbed the box with her slippery fingers, dumping it onto the gauze and turning back with it to place it over the opening in his neck where the blood still flowed.

      He flinched when the caustic touched his skin, and his breathing slowed, which took her own breath away at first, until she realized he was calming down. She pressed gently on the gauze pad, relieved to see the blood was no longer pouring through her fingers.

      She spoke to the others in the room without turning around. “If any one of you is near an open window, can you shout for help?”

      Someone yelled “Fire!” which struck her as strange, until she realized that someone always comes when you yell fire.

      The bleeding slowed. Laura sprinkled more styptic on the man’s neck. Probably only a minute or two had passed since the whole ordeal began, but she had never known time to suspend itself, as it did in that ward.

      Then, blessed sound, someone came thundering up the steps. “Thank God,” she whispered.

      Philemon Brittle couldn’t have come in the room fast enough to suit her. He was carrying Matthew, whom he deposited on his cot. With just a moment’s observation, he bumped her aside with his hip and sat in her place.

      “Hand me that box,” he ordered, and she did, aware how bloody her hand was, and how it shook. Some of the powder spilled on the floor. “Get another pillow.”

      Three