Seasons of War 2-Book Bundle. Cheryl Cooper

harshly.

      “Sir, as passage was booked for me, I did not concern myself with the ship’s name.”

      James drew nearer to her cot. “Would you perhaps remember the name of this unknown ship’s captain? Surely you were acquainted with him. If you could provide me with this detail, I may then be able to deduce – ”

      At that moment, Leander placed his hand gently on James’s shoulder and said, “Sir, I think we best allow Emily more rest.”

      James rubbed his eyes, causing the baggy bits to redden. “For God’s sake, might we at least know who you really are and why you were on a British merchant vessel?”

      “Sir, I have told you,” Emily said in a tone that pushed the boundaries of civility. “I am from Dorset. My parents’ names were Henry and Louisa George. They are now both deceased. My father was once a farmer. I was on – what I believe was – a merchant ship. We were bound for Upper Canada. If I have displeased you, I am sorry, but I do not know Trevelyan’s reasons for attacking my ship, or why I was taken prisoner.”

      James gave Emily a cold stare. “I find it hard to believe, young lady, that you are the daughter of a Dorset farmer.” He threw aside the curtain and stalked out.

      With frustration etched on his face, Fly followed, shooting a glance at Leander and mumbling, “We have learned nothing at all of importance.”

      From their hammocks, the sailors – those who were conscious – followed with interest the captain and the commander as the two of them marched across the hospital room and stomped up the ladder.

      “Doctor,” Mr. Crump called out, “I swear this be more excitin’ than doin’ battle with thee French. It does wonders to ease thee pain of losin’ me leg.”

      “Aye,” said the sailor swinging next to him, “a bit o’ melodrama makes me not mind missin’ out on me can o’ grog, bein’ in here.”

      The wounded sailors craned their necks in an effort to see the patient lying in the cot beyond the canvas. Leander studied the two of them over his spectacles with consternation and heard them grumble their disappointment when he yanked shut the crack in the curtain.

      * * *

      EMILY SENSED LEANDER standing next to her cot long before he spoke. “I would like to re-dress your wound when you’re feeling up to it.”

      “Now is as good a time as any,” she said despondently, turning over so he could reach her bandages. Slowly, his skilled hands removed her soiled dressings and cleaned away the blood and ooze. She closed her eyes to the warmth of his freckled hands on her skin and listened to the Isabelle as she cut through the roiling waves, almost forgetting the searing pain where the ball had entered her body.

      “If I’d been left in the sea yesterday, Doctor, I would not have minded.”

      Leander gazed at her long hair, the golden waves spread across the white blankets of her bed reminding him of a field of wheat.

      “Well, perhaps you have a great deal more living to do.”

      She said nothing more until he had finished applying fresh bandages.

      “May I speak plainly … as patient to doctor?” She rolled over to look up at him. Leander peeled off his spectacles and placed them in the top pocket of his black apron. “Is there any reason … any reason at all why I must tell you every last detail about myself?”

      Surprise registered on his handsome face. He lowered himself upon the stool that the captain had earlier occupied and pulled it closer to her cot.

      “Not unless you’re a spy for President Madison or you’re working for Napoleon himself.”

      “I assure you I am neither, Doctor.”

      “And your presence on the Isabelle will, in no way, harm the crew.”

      “I cannot think how it could.”

      “If you could recall the name of your ship or its captain, it would certainly assist Captain Moreland.”

      She met his gaze steadily.

      “Otherwise, you may keep your history to yourself.” He rose to leave, then paused by the curtain. “But you should know this: Captain Moreland plans to put you ashore the moment we arrive in Halifax harbour. And if that is not agreeable to you, you must decide how you will answer him.”

      3

      Thursday, June 3

      11:00 a.m.

      (Forenoon Watch, Six Bells)

      ALMOST TWO DAYS after her encounter with the USS Serendipity, the Isabelle dropped anchor in the deep waters off Ireland Island, Bermuda, alongside a privateer with a blood-red hull, three merchant ships, and one British ship-of-the-line called the Amethyst. The winds and tides had been in Captain Moreland’s favour, and his crew had easily steered clear of the dangerous reefs that surrounded the Bermuda Islands. In the past, many ships had not been as lucky; they had been ripped open on the shoals and sunk in the turquoise waters. Under the sunny Bermudian sky, their wooden skeletons could be seen rotting in the sand, constant reminders to passing sailors of their fate should their course not be accurate.

      Once the Isabelle’s crew had been fed their breakfast, they fell to work on the repairs that could not be achieved at sea. For a few hours now, the sounds of hammering and good cheer had reverberated around the ship as it bobbed gently on the clear waters.

      “Sir, what about a new figurehead?” asked Mr. Alexander as Captain Moreland, in the company of Octavius Lindsay, surveyed the ongoing repairs to the ship’s waist. “Shall I ask Morgan Evans to carve you a new one?”

      “I think not, Mr. Alexander. There isn’t time for fixing a new one, and besides, I find them rather ostentatious and outdated. Just smooth out the sides where our figurehead once rested.”

      “What about painting, sir? The ship needs painting,” insisted Octavius.

      “I thought you were in a hurry to see Halifax, Mr. Lindsay. Painting will only further delay us.”

      “But, sir, we don’t want the Americans to think our navy is old and inferior.”

      “But, Mr. Lindsay, we are old and rapidly becoming inferior.”

      “With all respect, I never expected to hear you say such a thing.”

      “Mr. Lindsay, we’ve lost more sea battles and men in this new war than I care to count. Too many years of war are taking their toll. If we’re not quick and attentive, the Serendipity will come upon us again and this time there will be no retreating.”

      “What would Lord Nelson have said, sir, if he’d heard you utter such defeatist words?”

      “Young man,” said James, inspecting his new mizzenmast, “Nelson has been gone for eight years.”

      Octavius’s face fell as the older man brushed by him to look over the rails. A pinnace from the Amethyst, which was anchored nearby, was approaching the Isabelle carrying four officers.

      “Now come with me, Mr. Lindsay, to greet our guests,” shouted James. “Let us find out what news is about in the few days since we were last here. Prepare for their landing, lads. Down with the ladders.”

      * * *

      AT THE END of the forenoon watch, the bell sounded eight times. Leander and Fly sat on the poop deck bench by the stern and taffrail, drinking cups of black coffee as they observed the sailors climbing down from their four-hour watch on the new mizzenmast and topgallant. As the winds blowing from the south were warm and humid, both men had shed their jackets.

      “I much prefer my coffee with milk,” said Fly, grimacing before he gulped his hot drink.

      “I overheard Biscuit threatening to hang himself if he cannot find a goat in Bermuda.”

      Fly