style="font-size:15px;"> “Aye, ma’am … learned the trade from old Beck Bailey, who was hankerin’ fer a promotion. He wanted to be a bo’s’n, but he don’t read none. The cap’n – not Cap’n Moreland mind – promised him work above deck if he’d teach me the sail makin’. First learned it when I was seven.”
“Seven? That young? And you can make clothes too?”
“Aye, ma’am. I make ’em and I repair ’em. I hope ya like ’em.” He proudly held out his little bundle.
As she accepted them, Emily thought her heart would burst. “I’m sure I will.”
“We’ll wait outside, Em,” Gus said, jabbing Magpie with his elbow.
“And if ya be needin’ any alt’rations, ma’am, I’ll be standin’ by.”
Emily took a deep breath when they had closed up the curtain. For a time she fingered the workmanship of the jacket and trousers, her dark brown eyes fixed upon the sea beyond the open gunport, then with a determined shake of her head, she called out, “Dr. Braden? Are you still out there?”
“I am.”
“May I ask you something?”
He poked his head round, catching her brushing away a tear.
“I have no interest in seeing Mrs. Kettle again, but I do require some assistance. Would you help me?”
Fully aware that an audience of men and boys stood eavesdropping a few yards away, Leander gave her a quick nod. He took a step towards her then stopped, not certain where to begin.
She looked up at him questioningly, and quietly said, “Should we take off the nightshirt while I’m still in the cot?”
“Of course.” He smiled uneasily as he came closer.
Trying her best not to cry out in pain, Emily eased the shirt up around her legs. She took another deep breath. “Can you take it from here, Doctor?”
“Do you feel up to this, Emily?”
She attempted to smile. “Up to what, Doctor – taking exercise on the weather decks or having you take off my nightshirt?”
The hospital walls thundered with the mirthful howling of its occupants. Leander turned scarlet.
“If there is any more laughter out there,” he yelled over his shoulder, “I’ll give you all a shot of laudanum that will put you out for days.”
Instantaneously, a hush descended upon the hospital.
“Well done, Doctor,” Emily whispered.
Knowing her shoulder was still raw, Leander slid the nightdress over Emily’s head as carefully as he could. Underneath, she wore her chemise and his eyes passed over her breasts. His hands shook slightly. The feel of her soft hair, those dark expressive eyes of hers, the interesting curves of her face … she was beautiful. He picked up the blue jacket that Magpie had sewn for her and helped her into the sleeves one at a time, certain he could hear the men’s laboured breathing in the distance. Once Emily had done up her jacket’s brass buttons, he leaned over her cot and murmured, “Now, I’ll pull the trousers on over that ankle of yours.” She shuddered as he touched her feet.
He turned his head towards her. “Did I hurt you?”
“No, I’m … quite fine.” Emily held her breath while he gently hiked the trousers up her legs.
“Now, I hope you can finish the last bit.”
He walked over to the open gunport, his back to her as she struggled with the trousers. Pulling them over her hips and up to her waist, Emily had to stifle the urge to laugh when she noticed the flap front. Then, kicking off her blankets, she hooked her legs over the side of her hammock. “Ready for step two, Doctor.”
Leander spun around, knowing his face was still flushed, and observed her figure in the sailor’s clothing as discreetly as possible.
“Ah, you’ll be needing shoes!” He dashed to a cupboard in the wall and opened its door to reveal three shelves on which he had neatly arranged his own hats, shirts, and cravats. He pulled out a straw hat and her blue silk slippers. “Before you went for your swim the other day,” he said, holding up the slippers, “you smartly tucked these into your jacket.” Kneeling down, he placed them onto her feet.
“I don’t know how well they’ll wear climbing the ship’s rigging and spars,” said Emily, “but they do match my new jacket.”
Leander looked at her thoughtfully. “I have never known a farmer’s daughter who was able to climb the rigging and spars of a ship.”
“In another lifetime, Doctor, I – ” She forced a smile rather than finishing her sentence.
Leander held out his straw hat to her. “Maybe we could save spar climbing for another day.”
Emily gathered up the long waves of her hair with the stronger of her two arms. When she was done, Leander popped the hat on her head.
“Right, now, lean forward a bit,” he whispered.
As she did so, he moved in so close to her face that she could smell the pleasant muskiness of his shirt. He placed one of his slender arms around her back and eased her out of the hammock and onto the floor.
“Mr. Walby,” he called out, “we’re ready for you now.”
Gus burst through the curtains as if on cue, waving a walking cane. Reaching across the hammock, Leander took the cane, handed it to Emily, and stood back to watch as she hobbled like a happy child towards the curtain. Gus held it open for her. In the hospital room, the men looked on from their hammocks with a curiosity to rival a group of elderly women observing couples at a ball.
“Emily,” said Leander, avoiding his patients’ stares, “the winds are strong on deck. Mind the hat.”
11:00 a.m.
(Forenoon Watch, Six Bells)
“SIR, THE DOCTOR has allowed that woman to wander freely above deck.”
Octavius, whose pimply face was red and puffy from the hot Bermudian sun, interrupted James as he conferred next to the capstan with Mr. Harding, who, following Emily’s example, had obtained from Dr. Braden a crutch and an admonition against over-exerting himself, and left his hospital cot to resume his duties. There was much to discuss, as the Isabelle would be leaving Bermuda later that day.
Jerking his head up, James squinted into the sun to search the decks within his sight. “I cannot see her anywhere, Mr. Lindsay.”
“She’s standing with Gus Walby and Magpie – of all people – by the fore ladders.”
James looked again. “I see Mr. Walby and young Magpie, but by the stars, I see no woman dressed in a corselet and chemise.”
Octavius compressed his lips in annoyance. “Sir, the Admiralty clearly states that no woman, be she an officer’s wife or a cook, appear above deck while at sea.”
