By the time the Surety reached Captain Thompson's vessel, the horizon had almost swallowed the sun. It took nearly two hours to bring the ship within range without causing the Pelican to list sideways from the Surety's powerful wake, so the ship's crew was forced to carry out rescue maneuvers by the light of the moon.
To keep from worrying myself silly, I focused on my work, although my thoughts were on how I might learn the names of the injured soldiers when they were ferried over from the battle-torn flagship. I would have to do this without drawing attention to the fact that I was concerned for one soldier in particular. Somehow, I needed to get myself into the infirmary.
Based on the gossip circulating below deck, the Pelican had been rendered unfit for service, and steps were being taken to escort the ship back to the Port of London. Some even speculated it might not make the long journey home, having lost all but one sail with multiple breaches to the hull from cannon fire.
My gut seized every time I imagined the scene; men racing around the deck, dodging bullets as they defended their ship from the enemy. It felt surreal when compared to the pampered life I had become accustomed to.
"Ye daydreamin' over there?" Gunther's bellow shook me from my thoughts, and I looked up from the steaming tub of lye where I had been stirring a pot of towels well past the recommended time.
"No... Well, maybe a wee bit." I hurried to transfer the towels into a tub of boiling water, coughing on the fumes as they billowed upward.
"That's dangerous business. Ye gotta keep yer wits round this lye. Tis powerful poison."
He grabbed a stick and helped me with my chores. We worked silently, rinsing the towels and getting them hung on the line. When the work was done, I sat in the single chair provided to our small staff of four and stretched out my legs. Gunther went about stoking the furnace for the next batch, eyeballing me over his shoulder.
"What's on yer mind, Rosie? Ye worried about them fellows they're bringin' on board?"
"I suppose that's it. I hadn't expected to feel this helpless."
"We're doin' these men a great service. If it weren't for clean linens, they'd be sufferin' from sepsis. Infection can kill a man as easy as a bullet."
I smiled at his back. His simplicity made him charming. "You're right. I'm behaving poorly. I apologize."
"Aw, no need to..."
"Boy, am I glad I found you here!" Bernice arrived in a flurry, sliding through the door on her heels. When she looked at me, my heart sank. The only time she needed me was to do something unpleasant, like telling a boy she wouldn't sleep with him until he bathed. "I need your help, Rose."
Of course, you do.
"What is it, Bernice?" I didn't move a muscle as she eyed the chair. She had been running, that much was clear, but my charity wore thin when it came to my two female laundry mates. They were lazy and selfish.
"Jasmine spilled the towels before she could deliver them to Matron Orwell. The matron is in a livid state. They're having a kerfuffle right now."
"So, what do you need me for?"
"The matron wants us to deliver another crate of clean linens. She can't use those now that they've touched the floor. And I am not going to do it. I dropped the bloody linens last week, and she hates me like arsenic."
"She doesn't like me much better. But I'll deliver them just the same." I wasn't about to tell her that I'd been needing an excuse to visit the infirmary. Not that it would have made a difference to her. She'd have asked the favor even if I'd been shot in the foot and required a crutch.
"You're brilliant, Rose." Her enthusiasm dropped a notch as she tucked her disheveled hair into her bun and made to leave. "I'll be back after I've seen a man about a horse."
Gunther was already packing a fresh load of towels into a crate as I walked over to help. "I think we ought to find a more secure method for transporting the linens," I told him. "Or Matron Orwell might start planning ways to choke us in our sleep."
"I don't think she'd go that far. But she does have access to arsenic."
While Gunther chuckled to himself, I glanced around to see what we had that might keep the linens inside the crate even if one of us tripped along the way. I spied a pile of tatty but clean towels that had been retired. I snatched one and began tearing it into a long strip.
"What're ye plannin' there?"
"I thought we could use these as straps. We can tie them on one side of the crate then pull them tight over the top of the towels and tie them to the other. They should hold everything in place while we carry them to the infirmary. I expect three will do the trick."
Gunther's lye-bleached brows lifted to meet the wrinkles in his forehead. "Now that's a brilliant idea. Ye'd make someone a fine wife. But I expect ye hear that all the time."
I knew he meant well by his comment, and I liked him too much to share my honest opinion about his misguided, simpleminded views about women. I just managed my task and left.
As I traversed the long corridors, I thought about Captain Thompson. Had he been injured? Was he already on board the Surety? If I spoke to him, would there be talk of my true intentions for joining the crew? And what if he wasn't on board? What if a worse fate had befallen him?
The route to the infirmary took me past Colonel Smith's office. I didn't expect to see him inside. I thought he would be on deck shouting commands at his cadets. When I heard a name I recognized, I hesitated beyond the open door.
"...the one they call the Behemoth, Sir. I knew you'd want to know, given your interest in the sport."
"How badly is he injured?"
"A superficial bullet wound to the thigh. He'll be sidelined three weeks, according to his nurse."
"Too bad. I suppose I'll have to pay him a visit. You know... Share my regrets personally."
I listened to them chuckle, but my thoughts went back to Jules. It appeared he and his trainer were on board the same ship. It made more sense now why Jules had left so abruptly. He knew he would be able to train properly while at sea. I couldn't decide if this made much difference to me, knowing his hasty decision may have been prompted by this fact.
"What are you doing here, Mistress Hayes?"
I nearly jumped out of my boots when the colonel's wife appeared beside me. She held her lips so tight I wondered how she was able to speak through them
"I heard a name I recognized as I passed. I was curious to know the man's condition."
"Maybe that information is none of your business."
"That could very well be. But it cannot stop me from caring."
Her mouth remained puckered, like she might be experiencing a particularly troubling bowel movement. "I expect you've been eagerly awaiting a new selection of men to fondle and flirt with. You say you care about the injured, but we both know what you really care about."
I wanted so badly to put this bitter woman in her place. I had done it before to other uppity women with big mouths. But we were comrades on a ship, and there was nowhere to escape should I never wish to see her again.
"I did consider remaining in the comfort of my Palladian home in London. I have a number of benefactors who hated to see me leave. The Earl of Oxford was particularly upset, although his cousin, the Duke of Norfolk, was quite proud to see me make this perilous journey. And, as I told the Prince Regent, if I did not experience life from the perspective of a disabled soldier of war, I could not call myself a champion for those brave men."
While I had not personally spoken with Prince George about my decision to join the crew of the Surety, I did have an audience with him, which could be corroborated by a number of sources. Despite that small detail, my speech delivered the intended result, unhinging Marjorie's lips until they hung lose over her somewhat wobbly chin.
It was at this point in our tenuous exchange that I felt a swift departure would keep the conversation from deteriorating further. "I really must deliver these clean linens to Matron Orwell. The dear woman has a lot of work ahead of her."
Admittedly, I had trouble keeping the scowl off my face as I spoke of Matron Orwell in such a complimentary tone. Her sour disposition nearly outmatched that of the colonel's wife. As I turned my back to hurry away, I heard Marjorie click her tongue. I had endured worse treachery.
When I arrived at the infirmary, I had already fixed a smile to my face. It wouldn't do to bring more suffering to the wounded. And, indeed, I found many wounded as I entered with my crate of linens. The smell of medicinals hit me first thing. Then the noise. Even Matron Orwell's rants about her supply cabinet being out of order could not match the cacophony that met me. As I walked between the cots, I made a point of smiling at the men who were not sedated. Only a few smiled back, and one man pleaded for something to cure his pain.
Matron Orwell treated a man who appeared to have sustained burns to one side of his body. His moans carried quite far, and I felt compelled to follow his cries despite my desire to avoid the matron at all costs. Still holding onto the crate, I stopped at the end of the man's bed and watched the matron apply a medicinal burn salve to his arm. What took me by surprise was how softly she spoke to him as she worked.
"The pain will abate in a few days," she said kindly. "I have treated many soldiers with wounds worse than yours, and they all recovered."
Although the man appeared lost in his own anguish, her gentle comment seemed to calm the fear in his eyes.
"What do you want, Mistress Hayes?"
Speaking of eyes, I had become convinced the matron had at least one in the back of her head. "I brought a clean crate of linens, Matron."
"Why are you telling me? You know where they go."
"Yes, but I thought you might need a few for this injured soldier. I noticed you're applying Carron oil to his burns. Since the linens are made of cotton, I can tear strips for his wounds, like I did with these." I pointed to the strips holding the clean linens in place, but Matron Orwell was already scowling.
"We have prepared linens for our burn victims." She eyeballed the crate in my arms. "What's all that about?"
"Oh, the strips? They keep the linens secure. I wanted to be sure we didn't have another mishap delivering these from the laundry. I'll let you get back to tending your patient. Sorry to disturb."
I hesitated as the matron's eyebrows rose. Was she impressed by my inventiveness? Surely, not. More likely, she suspected I was up to something. After carefully stacking the linens in their proper place, I took my time walking toward the infirmary exit, catching the eye of the occupant of each cot I passed.
After walking the length of every row, I failed to recognize Captain Thompson. However, I did conclude that the large man whose sickbed was surrounded by no less than five officers, one of them being Colonel Smith, had to be the boxer they called the Behemoth. Perhaps, he would know where I could find my captain.
In the meantime, I managed to get Collette's attention, who met me at the supply closet without Matron Orwell noticing our covert encounter.
"Ye bring clean linens, Rose?" she asked as she counted out cotton swabs and stuffed them in her apron.
"Yes. You should have enough to last the night."
"Did ye hear about Jasmine's tongue lashing? The matron really let her 'ave it."
"Bernice told me. She asked if I would deliver this batch so she wouldn't have to face the matron's wrath."
Collette smiled. "Ye be a goodly soul, Rose."
"I don't have much time before the matron notices I haven't left. Can you tell me if a Captain Jules Thompson has been brought on board? He's the brother of a dear friend. I know he sailed out of London on the Pelican."
"Sure thing. Just stick right 'ere and I'll look at the patient log."
I tried to remain inconspicuous while Collette disappeared to the nurse's station. The crowd around the Behemoth had dwindled to one, a nurse who appeared just as impressed with him as the officers. Although, I guessed it was due to his remarkable physique and dark, exotic features.
Collette returned looking harassed. No doubt, the matron had questioned her. "Yer Captain Thompson is not on our patient logs. But some men didn't receive dire injuries. They're being treated by the Pelican's medics."
"Oh. I suppose that's good news, then."
She glanced over my shoulder at the blank wall, and I got the impression she didn't want to meet my gaze. "Well, there were twelve men who didn't survive their injuries. But we don't 'ave the names of the deceased yet. I expect they'll be brought on board before we return to London."
I bit my lip. This was the part I did not want to think about. "Let's hope he's not among them. I appreciate you checking on that for me, Collette. I will see you back at the barracks."
She reached for my arm, stopping me as I turned to leave. "Would ye like me to find out about yer Captain Thompson? I don't want ye walking around worried sick."
Although I had been distracting my mind from wandering in that direction, I nodded my agreement. "Thank you." I glanced at the Behemoth. His nurse was packing up her supply kit, preparing to leave. "Could you get me a few minutes of time with that man over there? I believe he's a friend of Captain Thompson's."
Collette followed my gesture, and a smile grew on her face. "Are ye sure it isn't to get a look at his bare chest? He's a brilliant specimen, ain't he? From the West Indies, I heard. There's been a few feathers ruffled between the nurses over that one. They all want a go at him."
Despite her need to tease me, she waved me to follow her, taking a roundabout way to stay out of the matron's peripheral view. The nurse had just left the man's bedside when we showed up, and he looked ready to doze off. Indeed, his green eyes were striking when he noticed us.
"I'm sorry to bother ye," Collette said. "My friend, Rose... That is, Mistress Rosalind Hayes. She has a captain who might be acquainted with ye. She was hoping to 'ave a word."
The man gave me a long once-over, like he needed to be sure I wasn't the enemy. While his hard gaze spoke of many battles fought, I noticed a relaxed curiosity in the way his lips quirked. "Aye. That'd be fine."
I settled into a chair that had been left beside the man's bed and set the crate at my feet. "I'm sorry to disturb your rest. I am sure you're tired after entertaining all those officers. It seems you are quite the celebrity."
"I take it you are not here to discuss my win against Carl 'the hulk' Mulligan?" He chuckled as if he knew plenty well that wasn't why I'd come to visit.
I smiled politely. "No, sir. A dear friend of mine sailed out on the Pelican, and I know him to be a student of yours. A boxer. His name is..."
"Captain Jules Thompson?" He grinned, exposing a gap from a missing molar.
"How could you know that?"
"Jules talks about you in his sleep. It took him a while to admit it, but I finally broke him. The bloke is completely bonkers over you."
Bonkers? Indeed.
"Well, I do not see how the man could be bonkers over me if he chose to put an entire ocean between us."
"Excuse my boldness, Mistress. But, according to Jules, you coldly rebuked his proposal of marriage."
"I daresay, it was not as cold as he has made it out to be. There are...extenuating circumstances that prohibit us from entering into such a binding contract. But that is not why I have come to see you, Sir."
I had no interest in expounding on those extenuating circumstances, which he surely knew about based on the grin growing on his face. "Please, call me Hugo."
I blinked at him. How had someone grown into such a fitting name? "Very well, Hugo. I have come to care for Captain Thompson and his family. I promised them I would search for him should our two ships cross. I have not found him on the patient logs, and I was wondering if you knew what his physical status is."
Hugo stared at me for a long moment, as if he wanted to tell me something that wasn't true, and all the air left my lungs. "You will not find him on the patient logs here. He has decided to remain in the medic's quarters on the Pelican."
I pressed my hands to my gut, breathing in fresh oxygen. That's when I realized my fingers were trembling, and I tucked them discretely into my apron. "I am happy to know he is still among the living. What sort of injury did the captain sustain?"
The man chuckled. He actually chuckled. "It is not an injury a proud man such as your captain would like to admit to. Jules has not been himself since he returned to his company. We train, but his heart is not in it. In fact, his actions have been mighty reckless. 'Specially during battle. I would not be surprised if he wishes to succumb to his illness. 'Course it could be the passing of his mother that has..."
"For heaven's sake. What is wrong with Captain Thompson?"
"He has typhus."
"Typhus? Oh, dear. That is quite serious. How far has it progressed?"
"Do not worry. He will survive to fight another day."
"How did he succumb to such a fate?"
"Now, that is where he would likely clobber me. If I was to reveal the origin of his illness to the woman he loves..."
"What do you mean?"
He stared across the room, speaking as if to himself. "Hmm. He did admit you had become a friend he could confide in. Perhaps, it would not be too terrible to tell you."
"He said that? He said he believed us to be confidants?" This cheered me, given that my relationships with men centered heavily on what I could do for them in the bedroom. "Please, I need to know. For my own piece of mind."
"Very well. Captain Thompson has been fraternizing with the loose women on board the Pelican, and he contracted a nasty case of pubic lice. This developed into typhus and a bout of sepsis. Although, in his defense, I believe he was using the women to mend his broken heart."
Anger and hurt rose behind my chest, and I fisted my hands inside my pockets. How could Jules claim to love me while he sought pleasure in a whore? Did he truly believe our relationship was hopeless? I had traveled all this way to show him how much I cared. Granted, he didn't know I was out here in the middle of the ocean because of him. I would have to make sure he knew this, and swiftly.
"I cannot say which I fear worse, the typhus or the sepsis. I would very much like to speak with him. I expect he will be traveling back to London aboard the Pelican, then?"
Hugo scrutinized me, then his eyes wrinkled as he laughed outright. "Do not tell me you have come all this way to rescue your lovesick captain."
I felt a presence behind me and turned to find Colonel Smith standing there. "Do you want to tell me what you're doing here, Cadet Hayes? But first, explain to me who this lovesick captain is. I hope he is not aboard the Surety."
Oh, bother.
"Colonel Smith, Sir. I was just speaking with Hugo about a captain who trains under his tutelage. The captain's family are friends of mine, and I promised to bring back word if I learned of his status."
The Colonel did not look convinced, and I didn't expect him to. "I see. And would you be the cause of this captain's...sickness?"
Hugo snorted out a laugh, which made me want to clobber him. "The captain did profess his interest in me prior to joining his company on the Pelican, but –"
"But you were not interested in catering to just one fellow." The Colonel spoke through a stiff smirk, and I was on my feet in a second, putting very little space between us.
"With respect, Colonel, I am a successful, respected businesswoman who supports herself and a full staff without the help of a husband. And I have put my sovereignty at great risk to embark on this mission of mercy to support my countrymen; all of whom fight for my right to maintain that sovereignty. I ask that you, at the very least, refrain from passing judgement on me without knowing anything of my lifestyle or the difficulties I endured to secure my independence."
Nearly all the air had fled my lungs when I finished ranting into Colonel Smith's face, which he held in a fearsome position as he glared at me.
"Are you quite finished, Cadet Hayes?"
While I immediately wished to apologize, given that this man could easily throw me into the brig with Captain Boucetta and his crew, to back down now would likely lose his respect altogether.
"Yes, Sir."
After a few tense moments, his gaze dropped to Hugo, who pretended to be interested in the bandages around his leg. "Midshipman? Are you familiar with this captain Cadet Hayes speaks of?"
"Aye. I have been training him for more than a year. He is a good fighter."
"And where is this captain now?"
"He is being treated for typhus and sepsis on the Pelican, Sir."
"Indeed?" The Colonel turned his judgmental gaze back to me. "I suppose you want someone to travel back to the Pelican and insist the captain board the Surety so you can confirm his welfare?"
"Jules will not budge from his bed," Hugo said.
"But I am sure he will receive better treatment on board the Surety," I offered.
"I am sure you are right. But he is using his illness as some sort of punishment. I have not seen that old spark in his eyes since we left London."
"What if we tell him that I am on board the Surety?"
"He would not believe it. He is as stubborn as a jackass."
"Are you in love with this jackass?" the colonel asked.
As I glanced between the two men, I made the decision to opt for an honest answer. "Apparently, I am, Sir."
The colonel's lips formed a hard line, and I gripped the back of the chair as I prepared for a tongue lashing. "Ever since you boarded this ship you have questioned my authority and made suggestions of your own devices. Whether it is hubris or disobedience, I have not yet determined. But I have found that most successful naval officers exhibit some amount of hubris, so I will give you one last chance to prove which it is. I will permit you to visit the Pelican and meet with your captain on one condition."
Hope rose in my chest, and I involuntarily blurted my reply. "Anything, Sir."
"You must convince Matron Orwell to let you make the trip."
Heaven have mercy.