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 couldn’t find the words to continue, but he seemed to know. “… and you wanted someone to give you concrete advice?”
“Precisely so again,” she said, and sat down. “I wanted to know how long he would live, but hadn’t the courage to ask so callous a question.”
“It’s not callous. I’d have answered it,” he told her. “Typical expectation might be eighteen months. Apparently you are a superior nurse, if he lasted three years.”
“He was my husband,” was all she said. “Why aren’t there more doctors like you?”
He sat down, too. “I don’t know what Nana has told you about us, but we Brittles are as common as marsh grass. I always knew I would be a healer of some sort. For a time, when I sailed as a loblolly boy, I pined for proper medical schooling. After that first battle at sea, I knew I could be more useful.”
She nodded. There was no denying he looked like the most capable man on the planet. He also was built like a road mender. She had never met anyone like him.
“Did all your education come at sea?”
“No. Surgeons require degrees. Captain Worthy paid tuition, room and board for three years at the University of Edinburgh.”
“He strikes again. Nana has been telling me all about her captain this afternoon.”
“Contrary to what she has said, he doesn’t really walk on water. After Scotland, I spent nearly two years as a ward-walker in London Hospital. I should have been another year there, but man proposes and Boney disposes, apparently. I passed my viva voce, got a license—two, in fact—and found myself back at sea, this time with Lord Nelson at Trafalgar. We all know how that came out.”
She shouldn’t have been sitting on a bed with him. He must have had the same thought, because they both got up at the same time. She wanted him to tell her more about his life at sea, but surely he had better things to do.
Laura looked around the room, then drew the draperies. “Is there anything else you might need?”
“No, you’ve thought of everything. I’m going to go next door and finish packing, but I’ll be back.”
“You mentioned Stonehouse.” Heavens, Laura, she told herself, let the man be. He’s trying to go home.
He seemed in no particular hurry. “I started my duties there last week after returning from Jamaica.”
He must have noticed the question on her face. “Stonehouse is a Royal Naval Hospital between Plymouth and Devonport. By the dockyards. I am one of the two staff surgeons to some eight hundred patients, depending on Boney.”
She couldn’t have heard him right. “So many! How can you possibly get away?”
“Not often,” he said as she walked him to the door. “I did insist on seeing me mum, however. After Jamaica, she was pining after my careworn visage.”
“Is there no Mrs. Brittle?”
“Not
