After my conversation with Colonel Smith and Hugo the Behemoth, I had to take a moment to collect my thoughts. To have any hope of convincing Matron Orwell to let me visit the Pelican, I needed a solid plan. Rumors spread quickly on board a ship. Captain Boucetta and I had already been pronounced a couple, and I feared I would be battling vicious gossip as well as a cantankerous matron.
I returned to my barracks, but only to retrieve the maritime telescope. I would find no peace there, and the nurses chatting in their bunks didn't even notice I'd come and gone. The only place I had ever found silence was on the ship's deck, which is where I headed.
A nearly full moon and a pleasant breeze accompanied me as I walked around the perimeter in search of a secluded spot to rest. The watchmen on duty were busy, leaving me to enjoy my moonlit promenade in solitude. I stopped at the bow and spent a few moments observing the night sky and how the waves lifted and lowered the horizon.
A good ten meters away, the Pelican floated like a lame duck. A large hole gaped on the port side, and the main mast had been snapped in two with only the bottom half remaining. Despite the lack of proper light, men moved about the deck, and I watched them for a time through my telescope. They appeared to be using the top half of the mast as material for repairs.
Their orchestrated movements had me thinking of my staff back in London. I could not ask for a better team to keep my household running smoothly, although Clara and I had a number of tense encounters when I first arrived. Being two decades my senior, she assumed her knowledge of life and household affairs greatly overshadowed mine. We eventually came to an accord once she realized that I was worth more than a well-paid roll in the hay. Perhaps, I needed to approach Matron Orwell in the same manner.
As I came to the conclusion about how I would manage the Surety's matron, I spied through my telescope a soldier standing at the bow of the Pelican, hands clasped behind his back, unperturbed by the activity around him. While there was no way of making out facial features, the confident stance of the man had a distinct familiarity to it. Was it Jules? Or was my heart tricking me into believing it was him?
Whoever it was, he stared determinedly across the sea separating our vessels, looking as if he might be contemplating his future. If he knew it was me standing here, would his future look different to him? Would he return home and stay there? On a whim, I waved, watching carefully through the telescope. For a moment, I thought he might return the gesture. Then he tugged the brim of his hat over his eyes and walked away.
The man could have been anyone's son, but I chose to believe it was the son of Admiral Willis Thompson. I took this hopeful thought with me as I returned below deck and made my way to the infirmary. I found Matron Orwell standing in front of the linen cabinet, checking items off her list.
"Matron Orwell, may I have a word with you?" Knowing the matron despised nurses who were timid, I imagined her as a member of my staff, addressing her with even confidence.
She turned around, scolding me with her eyes, and I nearly lost all the nerve I'd built up on my way. "What are you doing here? Don't think I didn't see you harassing Midshipman Joseph earlier."
It took me a moment to determine that Midshipman Joseph must have been Hugo. "He is familiar with a friend of mine aboard the Pelican, Matron. I thought he might know something about my friend's status."
Her scowl deepened. "Indeed. I take it this friend did not receive injuries to warrant treatment. Otherwise, he would be on our roster, which I expect you have had your bunkmate confirm for you."
"Yes, Matron. I promised his family I would learn what I could of his status should our two ships cross paths."
"Hmmff. You will both be arriving back in London at the same time. They will find out for themselves. Now, if that is all you wished to bother me with, I have linens to count." She turned around, and I took in a fortifying breath.
"In fact, that is not all. Midshipman Joseph has reported that this friend is suffering from typhus and sepsis, but he refuses to leave the Pelican to get proper treatment." I was forced to speak to her back as she continued her chores.
"Well, that is his choice now, isn't it?"
"Yes, but I am worried he might be in a...in a compromised state of mind. Midshipman Joseph believes he is using his illness as a form of torture. He may have lost his will. I believe I might be able to bring him round."
"And you expect me to break protocol and let you board the Pelican to do this? That is absurd."
She said nothing more, but she also did not dismiss me. I took it as a sign and pressed on. "Have you ever been in love?"
The question had her craning her neck to give me a sidelong look. "I am busy, Mistress Hayes. And your question is not appropriate."
"But it is. I, myself, have never been in love. I thought I was an anomaly, until I met someone who amuses me as much as he frustrates me. I am still trying to work it out. I thought you might have experienced something similar and could...empathize."
This got her attention, and she slowly turned to face me, a look of sour confusion on her face. "Firstly, I am not going to share my personal affairs with the likes of you. And secondly, I cannot say I am surprised you have not found love. It is not the sort of situation a person in your profession could abide, lest you put yourself out of a job."
I expected such a response, and I reacted with calm dignity – as much as I could abide. "Certainly, you have felt love for a parent. A sibling. Perhaps, a dear friend. At the very least, you can relate to the lengths we will go to protect them."
"I know what you're about," she said coldly. "I hear everything and then some. You have put yourself aboard this ship to find a man you have foolishly given your heart to. Although, I would say a foolish love affair is far better than giving yourself to any man who is willing to part with his coin."
Despite the cruel insult she paid me, she also did not deny the fact that my foolish feelings for Captain Thompson were of some merit. I needed to play that to my advantage. "You're right. And I have been wrestling with the idea of this foolish love affair with regards to my profession. Perhaps, it could change the course of my future."
While I worked hard to swallow my pride, I watched the matron process my confession, hoping desperately that she would find the empathy she had relished on the poor man with the burns.
Saints be praised. That was it!
"I understand why you have chosen this profession, Matron," I went on. "Whether or not you have been in love, I expect you find connections through the patients you treat. Your kindness and empathy appears natural when you tend them. I suppose, in a way, I feel similarly for the men who seek my company. Many of them suffer from pains of a more emotional nature, which are hidden from public view. A man's ego is often his worst enemy. You seem to understand that."
The matron stared at me dumbfounded. This was not an expression she used...ever, and I worried I may have spoken out of turn. Perhaps, I should have stopped before I made comparisons to our professions. After enduring a painful few moments, in which the matron bunched her brows intensely over her eyes, she leveled me in her sights.
"You seem to have given this quest some amount of thought, however ill-conceived it might be. But I am still not inclined to permit an unskilled laundry worker to tend an injured soldier. You may see it as a mission of love, but under royal navy protocol, love is not an acceptable justification for permitting you to leave the Surety and board the Pelican. There are risks involved."
"I am willing to take those risks. Perhaps, I can prove my worthiness. Put my knowledge to the test. I have read a good deal about field surgery."
For the first time since our acquaintance, Matron Orwell appeared intrigued. "What are you suggesting? That I pronounce you a fit nurse if you correctly answer a few questions? If you are as knowledgeable as you claim, then you would know this is impossible."
I glanced around the infirmary, taking note of all the filled bunks. "Do you have any particularly difficult cases? Someone with an injury that isn't healing well, or an ailment you're not sure how to treat?"
Although she seemed more inclined to ignore me, the matron scanned the beds as well. Then she walked over to the nurse's station, forcing me to give chase. When I arrived, she was thumbing through the pages of her notebook.
"Bed twelve. Midshipman Hornsby. Let's see what you make of him." Although her tone held a edge of skepticism, her words rang as confirmation. It seemed a heart did beat beneath that iron ribcage of hers, but I held my smile at bay as I followed her down an aisle. There was still every chance she would crush my hopes like a bug in the pantry.
I was introduced to the young man in bed twelve. He lay prone, looking uncomfortable, and when the matron exposed the red, oozing welts on his arms, legs and torso, I understood why.
"There is nary a spot on his body not affected," Matron Orwell explained. "Sit. I would like to hear your assessment."
I sat in the chair at his bedside and gave the welts a keen examination. "Do they itch?"
"Like the dickens." His face contorted, as if confirming this fact made it so.
"Have you ever had a food allergy?"
"Other than feeling sick after every meal at sea, none." A small smile came to him, and I offered one back. I knew just how he felt.
"On board the Pelican, did you handle any toxic materials?"
"Gunpowder, but I've been handling that since I was a lad with no ill effects."
In my head, I ran through the information in my field surgeon's guide, recalling everything I'd read about skin diseases and the various treatments. If misdiagnosed, improper treatment could be made worse.
"And were you being treated for this condition before the Pelican came under fire? Or after?"
He blushed, although it barely showed against the rash on his neck. "Before. I was in the medic barracks being treated for lice when the fighting started."
I turned to Matron Orwell as I prepared a question for her, and she shook her head. "We already determined this is not an allergic reaction to the lice. He tested negative."
Her smug reply did not deter me, and I continued to make my assessment of the man's unfortunate affliction. "So, this itchy rash came on after you were treated for lice, you say? What is used in that treatment?"
Before he could answer, the matron butted in. "We also determined it was not the topical ointment used to treat the lice. Try again."
Oh, bother. I thought I had it.
"Apart from the topical ointment, was anything else used? Something by mouth? An oral immune suppressant, perhaps?"
This had the matron's brows lifting, and although she tried not to show it, I could tell she was impressed by my thoughtful inquiry.
"I was given nothing by mouth unless you count water. Though, I have my doubts it was completely free of toxins."
This time, his smile reached his eyes, and I got the distinct feeling he was flirting with me.
"And that's all the treatment you received? You came into contact with nothing else while you were in the medic barracks?"
"Nothing, other than the sponge baths. The nurse seemed determined to scrub the rash right off my skin."
"Is that so? An overly vigorous scrubbing could have triggered this severe reaction."
"I already considered that," the matron croaked. "His last bath was over forty-eight hours ago, and his condition would have improved if that were the case."
I held my lips tight, holding in a curse. Before joining this crew, I had no trouble managing my language. As for this young man's condition, I had one idea left. It was weak, but it was my last option.
"Could the soap itself be causing the acute reaction? A boy I grew up with became dreadfully allergic to the soap used to bathe him, and it took nearly a fortnight for his rash to heal once the matron determined what was causing it."
Holding my fingers crossed, I waited for Matron Orwell to share her opinion as she moved around the man's sickbed and lifted his arm to make a close examination. "The seeping could indicate a systemic reaction to the soap they're using on the Pelican. I insisted the Surety's infirmary be stocked with lye-free products. But the naval standard is nearly as harsh as what they use in the laundry."
"How can they justify using such abrasive products for bathing?" I asked.
"Because they're cheap. But, if you're right, I will be writing a strongly-worded letter. And Midshipman Hornsby may be the last man to suffer for their parsimony." She lowered his arm gently and offered him a kind look. I would not have labeled it a smile, but it was damned close. "Mistress Hayes. Follow me."
Her command had me popping out of my seat, and I barely had time to wish Midshipman Hornsby a quick recovery as I followed the matron back to the nurse's station. There, I waited for her to pen something onto a sheet of parchment. When she handed it to me, she did it with a stern eye.
"This will excuse you from your laundry duties for the next forty-eight hours. That will give me time to decide where your aptitudes lie. We should also know by then if your assessment of Midshipman Hornsby is correct. I want you back here with the six AM nursing shift."
A combination of excitement and fear came over me, which had me blinking into her face. There was the urge to thank her, but that did not feel right somehow. I also worried that waiting too long might cause Captain Thompson's condition to severely worsen. Again, I felt it would not be prudent to question her about this. I was being given a rare opportunity by a woman who struck terror into everyone aboard the ship, even the officers.
"Aye, Matron."