have liked. “I’m afraid I have no money.” She took another sip of beer, this time a larger one, and grimaced as it went down. It tasted as if it had been brewed with Biscuit’s bath water.
The men roared.“You! A mid! Wearing silk shoes, and ya say ya ’ave no money?”
“Young fella like you must ’ave a rich family.”
“Don’t tell me they sent ya to sea without a shillin’ to yer name?”
Emily gulped down more beer and confirmed the sailors’ remarks with a nod of her head.
“But lads, ain’t Mr. George a pretty boy?” said Biscuit, raising his beer mug. “Maybe he could earn his silver buckles. Ha, ha, ha!”
“Jacko here’s fond o’ pretty boys such as yerself,” said a sailor with a swarthy complexion and bloodshot eyes.
“Mind ya’d have to keep it quiet from thee cap’n,” said Biscuit. “Cap’n Moreland don’t stand fer no mischief. If he catches ya, he’ll have ya strung up on thee yardarm.”
Morgan watched the colour drain from Emily’s face. “Pay them no heed, Mr. George.” He smacked her playfully on her right shoulder. An agony of pain tore through her body and she doubled over, but rather than cry out she hid in her beer mug and choked down the contents.
“You there, boyo.” Biscuit snapped his fingers again at the servant boy who stood nearby. “More beer fer our friend here.”
When Emily’s pain subsided and she’d caught her breath, she set down her drink and glanced up to find Dr. Braden standing over the mess table.
“Doc, what brings ya to this part o’ thee world?” asked Biscuit, his bad eye rolling in his orange head.
Dr. Braden slid his spectacles down his nose and gazed upon Emily with a look of incredulity. All eight of the sailors stared at her as she sank lower on the bench, trying to disappear behind Jacko’s mountain of flesh. “I’ve come to fetch an errant patient of mine,” he said coolly.
“Ah, but as Mr. George here’s off duty, he was gonna have another beer with us,” said Biscuit.
Dr. Braden frowned and looked around the table at each of the men. “Mr. George?”
Jacko put his slippery arm around Emily. “I’m gonna make ’im a new pair o’ black leathers so he won’t look such a fop in them silk shoes.”
Leander’s face relaxed. “Oh, I see. Mr. George. You threw me off, gentlemen, since I know Mr. George by another name.”
Emily opened her mouth to explain herself and instead emitted a magnificent burp. The men crowded around her rocked with convulsive laughter.
Morgan grinned. “We’ll have him toughened up in no time, Doc.” In disgrace, Emily pulled the rim of her straw hat down over her eyes.
Above deck, the bell rang out and a shout was issued. “All hands, sails aloft.”
The men swilled their drinks, gathered their cards, quit their benches, buckets, and sea chests, and hurried towards the nearest hatches. While Emily watched in remorse as they scattered, she noticed Mr. Lindsay, the young officer with the challenging stare, standing rigidly to one side of the door through which she had entered the mess, his beady black eyes locked on her. She shuddered.
“We’ll be leaving Bermuda, sir,” said Morgan to Dr. Braden. Then to Emily, “Come have a beer with us lads again tomorrow, Mr. George, sir.” He put a fist to his woollen hat in salute. Emily sat there, red-faced, and said nothing.
When the mess had almost cleared, Biscuit turned to Dr. Braden. “Seein’ as his ankle’s troublesome, shall I carry him back to thee hospital fer ya, Doc?”
From under her hat Emily ventured a peek up at Leander and saw his jaw working. In her woozy state, she could not be sure whether it was a flash of anger or twinkle of enjoyment she detected in his sea-blue eyes. Pushing herself up from the bench with the aid of her walking stick, she answered for herself. “Certainly not, Biscuit. Just … just lead the way, if you please.”
7:30 p.m.
(Second Dog Watch, Three Bells)
“ARE YA AWAKE, MISS?”
Against the dim light of the hospital lanterns, Emily could see the silhouette of Osmund Brockley, standing outside her curtain, holding her supper in his hands.
“I am, Mr. Brockley. Come in.”
He stooped low as he passed through the canvas, carefully cradling her bowl of jellied green soup. “Biscuit sends the pea soup with his compliments and wants ya to know he made a special pudding fer yer dessert.”
“How kind of him,” Emily said, inching her body up against her pillow. “I didn’t hear the supper bell.”
Osmund pulled a wooden spoon from his pocket, wiped it off on his apron, and dropped it into the bowl before handing it off to Emily. “Supper was over long ago, Miss. Ya been sleeping awhile.”
“Where is Dr. Braden?”
“Dining with Captain Moreland and his officers in the wardroom,” he said, rolling his thick tongue around his cracked lips.
No doubt the men’s supper conversation was colourful, thought Emily. What she wouldn’t give to have been a fly on those walls! She suddenly became aware of the rise and fall of the ship. “We’re at sea, Mr. Brockley?”
“Aye, we pulled anchor hours ago, Miss.” He pulled in his tongue to give her a grin. “Yer exercise above deck must have tuckered ya out.”
“It did indeed,” she said, avoiding his bright eyes. “Thank you for the soup.”
“Holler when ya want yer pudding.”
Osmund gawked at her a moment, then left. Emily dipped the spoon into the thick green muck and slowly brought it to her mouth, banishing all thoughts of its cook and his crumby whiskers.
Later on, as she finished the last of her pudding and contemplated a dull, restless evening, she heard tentative steps approaching. Gus Walby cleared his throat.
“Come in. Please.”
Gus slipped through the curtain into her corner and stood by her hammock holding Sense and Sensibility. Emily could see that his blue eyes were full of excitement.
“Have you come to rescue me from my boredom?”
“I promised to come and read to you before my watch.”
“But the First Watch has already begun, has it not?”
“My watch begins at midnight. I’ve never done the Middle Watch before. Captain Moreland must have confidence in me for we’ll soon be entering enemy waters again.”
“May I watch with you? I’d give anything to be away from this bed.”
Gus’s cheeks reddened. “You’d better not, Em. You caused quite a stir this afternoon.”
