The Surgeon's Lady. Carla Kelly

was no subterfuge anywhere, just the raw edge of a wife who has heard her man was in danger, even if safe now. Laura dropped to her knees by the sofa and put her cheek against her sister’s.

      “Whatever my failings—don’t stop me, I have many—I am an excellent guest, and possibly even more of a tyrannical big sister than you ever imagined.”

      Or than I ever imagined, Laura thought, as she shushed Nana, kissed her and sat on the floor by the

      sofa until her little sister slept. When Nana was breathing evenly, Laura went outside, paid the coachman and dismissed him.

      Luncheon was Cornish pasties so crisp and brown that she salivated as Mrs. Trelease served them. After a leisurely cup of tea in the breakfast room—windows open, seagulls noisy—Laura went upstairs to find her few dresses already on pegs in the dressing room and her brush and comb lined up on the bureau.

      Before she went downstairs to find the book room, she walked quietly down the hall, past what must be Nana and the captain’s room. She saw the boat cloak thrown across the foot of the bed. I wonder if Nana wraps herself in it at night, she asked herself. What must it be like to love a man so often gone?

      The next chamber was the future nursery. Already there was an armchair there with padded armrests, pulled close to the open window and the view of the bay. She went to the window, watching the ships swinging on their anchors. At this distance, the smaller boats darting to and from them looked like water bugs.

      There was a cradle, too, one that looked old and well-used. Something told her, how, she did not know, that it must have come from the Brittles’ house, which must be the pale yellow one next door and a little lower down the hill.

      As she stood there, she noticed Lt. Brittle standing on the side lawn, looking out to sea, hands in his pockets. He must have felt her scrutiny, because he turned slightly, then waved to her.

      She waved back, knowing Miss Pym would be shocked at such brazen behavior, but not caring in the least. She couldn’t keep staring at him, so she looked out to sea again, content to watch the boats come and go. When she glanced at the side lawn again, he was walking inside his mother’s house, whistling. The sound made her smile.

      Lt. Brittle came to the house again that night after dinner was long over, and Nana was starting to yawn in the middle of sentences. She looked up when the surgeon came into the room.

      “Is there a cure for sleepiness?”

      “Most certainly,” he told her. “In your case, give it about five months. Of course, then you’ll be tired because of two o’clock feedings. You’re a no-hoper.”

       How is it he knows just the right tone to strike with my sister? Laura asked herself, as she listened to their delightful banter. I am in the presence of an artist.

      It was a beguiling thought. Nana, who had been reclining on the sofa, tried to sit up, but the lieutenant shook his head and she stayed where she was. To Laura’s surprise, he sat on the floor right by her sister, tucking the throw a little higher on her shoulders against the cool evening breeze blowing in from the Channel.

      His eyes on Nana’s face, he took a note from his uniform jacket and opened it. Laura noticed the suddenly alert look on Nana’s face. Nana took hold of the surgeon’s hand as he tried to unfold the note, stopping him.

      “It’s all right, Nana, it’s all right,” he said, his voice soothing. “It came to me about an hour ago from Captain Worthy himself. Hey, now. He wanted you to know he’ll be here tomorrow, but he also wants you to be prepared.”

      Laura found herself on the floor by the sofa, too, her arm around her sister in a protective gesture she never would have imagined herself capable of, only that morning in Plymouth.

      “He sustained an injury to his ear,” the surgeon said. “Read it yourself.”

      Nana snatched the letter from his hand, her eyes devouring the words. She took a deep breath when she finished. “Listen, Laura: ‘My love, I am not precisely symmetrical now, but I trust you will still adore me.’ Oh, Phil! What else did he write to you in the other note you are not showing me?”

      “You know your man pretty well, don’t you?”

      “Beyond degree. Confess.”

      “It was a splinter.” The surgeon shook his head at Laura’s expression. “Not those aggravating ones you get under your fingernail. This is when pieces of the railing and masts go in all directions during bombardment.” He looked at Nana again. “From his description, I think he lost his earlobe and maybe part of that outer rim. Could be worse. If you want, I can look at it before I leave for Stonehouse tomorrow.”

      “You know I want that,” Nana replied. She put her hand on the surgeon’s arm. “We’re lucky, aren’t we, Phil?”

      “Unquestionably. My father said Captain Worthy knew the Tireless was going down, so he offloaded his most seriously wounded onto a passing water hoy headed to Plymouth and sent a message requesting aid. The rest of the wounded he put into the ship’s small boats and towed them behind the Tireless, so he would not have to get them out in the general confusion. He thought of everything. No wonder crews like to sail with Captain Worthy. So do you, eh, Nana?”

      She burst into tears, great gulping sobs that tore at Laura’s heart. Laura cradled her sister, thinking about her own husband’s welcome death; how she had closed his eyes without a tear.

      The surgeon let Nana have her cry, offering his handkerchief so she could blow her nose. He appeared to have all the time in the world. He took the note from Nana’s hand.

      “You’ll see here he wants me to stay the night. He doesn’t know that your sister is here, but I’m still inclined to stay. The sofa in your book room will do.”

      Nana shook her head. “I won’t hear of that. Laura, could you make up the bed in the room across the hall from you? I’m afraid this is Mrs. Trelease’s night out.”

      “Of course I can, dearest,” she said.

      On Nana’s instructions, Laura found the linen, happy to have something to do. Even though it was July, there was a chill on the room which she remedied with a small fire in the grate that the surgeon could extinguish, if he felt too warm. She shook out a bottom sheet.

      When she lowered it onto the bed, Lt. Brittle was standing on the other side to straighten it. “I thought I’d leave her alone for a few minutes,” he said, as he tucked in his side of the bed, with even more razor-sharp corners than hers.

      He noticed her glance and gestured for her to hand him the other sheet. “I’m a surgeon, Lady Taunton,” he said. “Nothing exalted like a physician. I’ve been known to give a good shave and haircut and empty slops. The air isn’t too rarefied around me.”

      There was no mistaking his common touch. True, he was in uniform, but there wasn’t anything crisp about him. His hair was short, as short as men who wore wigs usually wore their own hair, but she doubted he owned a wig.

      She found a light blanket while he pulled a case onto the pillow and fluffed it at the head of the bed. She held out the blanket and they settled it on the sheets together. When it was smoothed out, she looked at him and chose to say more.

      “The air may not be rarefied, but you are a good surgeon.”

      “Thank you,” he said simply.

      “In fact, I wish you had been at my late husband’s bedside. I …” She stopped, her face warm.

      He didn’t say anything, but the look of sympathy in his eyes made her brave enough to continue. “He suffered a stroke four years ago, and I nursed him through three years of …”

      “Thirty-six-hour days?” he asked quietly.

      “Precisely,” she said, relieved that he understood. “I listened to all manner of wisdom from his physicians, and …”

      She