neck, Emily’s to be sent packing below deck for all time.”
In her corner, Emily laughed out loud.
9:30 a.m.
(Forenoon Watch, Three Bells)
GUS'S NEXT ERRAND was a visit to the sail room on the orlop deck to see whether Magpie had completed his task. He found the young sail maker sitting cross-legged on the floor amongst his tools and yards of canvas. His tiny room, crammed with rolls of fresh sails, was poorly ventilated and illuminated with only one lantern. It amazed Gus that Magpie could do such wonderful work in such small quarters.
Magpie set aside the sail he was stitching and looked up hopefully. “Have ya come fer the clothes, sir?”
“Captain Moreland said she could go for a walk on the weather decks, but not in Dr. Braden’s nightshirt.”
“I bin waitin’ fer someone to come fetch ’em. I had ’em all done yesterday, sir.” Magpie sprang to his feet and carefully picked up the neatly folded bundle on his stool. “Did the cap’n say I could meet her, sir?”
“I didn’t ask him, but I don’t see why not.”
“Should I wash up first, sir?”
“You’re quite presentable as you are.”
Magpie plucked his flute from the jumble of blankets on his bed and held it up. “Do ya suppose I could play her a tune? She might like knowin’ I ’ave a bit o’ refinement.”
Gus shook his head. “Music is forbidden in Dr. Braden’s hospital. Come along then.”
Tingling with excitement, Magpie followed Gus up two decks, through the animals’ stable, the grog room, the sailors’ galley, and the mess before reaching the hospital ward. As there were still some sections of the Isabelle he had never seen before, his eyes were open to everything around him. When Gus and Magpie entered the hospital, Mr. Harding called out, “Magpie, I hope illness is not forcing you to join us.”
“No, sir. I’m quite well. I do hope yer foot’s feelin’ better.”
Mr. Harding breathed in and exhaled sadly. “As my foot is swimming in the sea, I’m certain it is feeling better than it ever has before, unless, of course, it’s been chewed upon by a hungry shark.”
“Won’t be no shark chewin’ on yer foot,” called out the sailor in the neighbouring hammock, “so long as it spotted Mr. Crump’s tasty leg first.”
Mr. Crump grumbled his displeasure at the lot of them making jokes at the expense of his lost leg, shut his eyes, and pretended to be asleep.
Leander folded up his letter and rose from his desk to greet the little sail maker. “She’s just beyond that curtain, Magpie.”
In the dimness of the hospital, Magpie’s eyes sparkled as he followed Gus.
Emily was sitting up in her cot. The moment she saw Magpie, surprise transformed her features.
“Mornin’, ma’am,” he said, thrusting out his small right hand. “They call me Magpie on account o’ me black hair, and ’cause I talk all the time and get into trouble a lot.”
“What is your real name?” Emily asked, taking his hand in hers. There was a half-moon of grime under each of his fingernails.
“Haven’t a clue, ma’am. I never had no family to give me a proper name. Only name I ever bin called is Magpie.”
“How old are you?”
“When they measure me against Mr. Walby here, they figure I’m about ten.”
“And you’re a sail maker?”
“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
