Come Looking for Me. Cheryl Cooper
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was so heavy that no farther sadness could be gained …’”
“Gus, could I ask you to stop your reading for now?” Emily pleaded from her bed.
Beyond the canvas curtain, Leander paused in his letter writing.
“Are you tired?” asked Gus.
“Tired? How could I be? I’ve done nothing but sleep for the past several days. No, I am not tired, but this part in the novel is so sad.”
“Shall I come back this evening before my watch?”
“Please do. You read so well. I am sure I could not read that well when I was your age.”
Gus reluctantly closed the book. “Who taught you to read, Em?”
Emily thought a moment before answering. Crooking her finger, she invited Gus to come closer and whispered, “Am I correct in believing – nay, in hoping – that our conversations are just between you and me?”
Gus was taken aback. “Of course they are!”
“Well, then, I shall tell you. Would you believe a string of tutors and governesses taught me to read?”
“Why so many? Were you a naughty child?”
“No, it was my father. He had a cruel streak in him, and being a man of great wealth figured he could exercise it upon my poor teachers. They were all wonderful, but that didn’t stop him from dismissing them at will.”
Gus angled his head. “Perhaps your father, being a man of great wealth, knew Lord Lindsay’s father, as he is the Duke of Belmont.”
“I am sure he must have. My father travelled in many circles, Gus.” Suspicious that Leander would be straining to lend an ear to their quiet conversation, Emily called out to him. “Doctor? May I trouble you a moment?”
She smiled at the scrape of his chair.
His auburn head peeked around the canvas. Even behind his round spectacles, the doctor had striking eyes, Emily thought.
“Doctor, I’ve been deteriorating in your cot far too long … not that I don’t appreciate you giving up your cot … but I wondered if I might walk above deck to air my lungs … and exercise my one good leg. It would be nice to see Bermuda before we leave.”
“I’m afraid I’d have to consult with Captain Moreland.” Leander stepped farther into her little corner. “Women are not usually allowed to move freely above deck at sea.”
“He may give his consent, Doctor, as we are anchored,” said Gus. He looked back at Emily and added, “Although the sight of you on the weather decks might cause the men to fall from their yardarms.”
Emily laughed, but Gus was quite serious.
“If I were fitted out with a walking stick and maybe a pair of Biscuit’s old trousers? A straw hat would hide my hair … then again, I do recall seeing men with hair longer than mine when first I came on board. Surely, if appropriately outfitted, no one would guess my identity.”
While Gus regarded him anxiously, Leander tried to hide his amusement with one freckled hand.
“As your doctor, I would strongly recommend fresh air and exercise; still, I must seek permission from the captain.”
Emily was disheartened. “I recall being allowed to wander freely on the weather decks of ships when I was a child – ” She caught herself, and for a moment stared at Leander, praying he had taken no notice of her incautious words. Seeing him raise an inquisitive eyebrow, she looked away and said no more on the subject.
At length, he replied, “I am sure much has changed since then.”
Gus’s eyes shone. “I will go see the captain straightaway.” He dashed off before Leander could stop him.
“Doctor,” said Emily, hoping to steer the conversation in a new direction, “might it be possible for someone, other than Mrs. Kettle, to lend me some clothes?”
Leander smiled broadly as he took off his spectacles. “I believe Mr. Austen has asked Magpie to sew something together for you.”
“Magpie?”
“Our sail maker. He’s brilliant with a needle and thread.”
“You are all very kind.”
“I would advise you against taking exercise in my nightshirt.”
Emily smoothed the muslin shirt she wore. “I thought this might belong to you.”
Unable to hold her gaze, Leander examined the ceiling boards above his head.
“I could see you writing a letter at your desk,” said Emily.
“Could you?”
“Were you writing to someone back home?”
“I was, as a matter of fact.”
Emily tried to urge him onward with her eyes, but she did not meet with success.
“Is there someone to whom you would like to send a letter?” he asked. “I could arrange for you to be given parchment and ink.”
Emily shook her head. “No.”
“Right, then, I’d better return to it while we await the captain’s word.” He left her abruptly.
No sooner had Leander reinstated himself at his desk than Gus, breathless from his errand, rushed into the hospital shouting, “Dr. Braden, sir!”
“Mr. Walby,” Leander scolded, “please remember my patients here require peace and quiet.”
Mr. Harding piped up. “You kidding? We haven’t had a moment’s peace since that woman moved into your hammock.”
“You’re not complaining now, are you, Mr. Harding?” asked Leander. From his pillow the sailing master gave him a wink and a cluck. Leander turned back to Gus.
“Captain Moreland said it was fine, sir.”
“Did he now?”
“On one condition,” Gus added.
“And that condition is … ?”
“He said that if one man falls from the rigging and breaks his 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