Carla Kelly – The Surgeon's Lady (страница 8)

Reminded so gently of his dereliction, he bowed again. “Admiral Sir David Carew at your service,” he replied. “I am chief administrator and physician.”

She curtsied again, thinking that if he could make a better beginning, she could, too. “Sir David, can you kindly direct me to the office that knows where such a little powder monkey might be found? He serves … served … on the Tireless.”

The physician indicated a door back down the corridor. “Room 12, my lady,” he said. “Let me escort you there.”

“I needn’t take you from your work,” she said, not wishing his escort at all.

“It is of no consequence,” he assured her.

She had no choice. She did manage to catch the look that passed between the clerk and admiral; the admiral gave the poor man such a glower that Laura was almost certain that no word of what had just happened would ever leave the clerk’s lips. The poor clerk would probably be set adrift in a lifeboat on the Amazon River at the mercy of headhunters, Laura thought, as she reassumed her pudding face.

The clerks in room 12 appeared astonished to see their chief administrator, which made Laura suspect Sir David seldom did his own legwork. And why should he, she thought. He is the Lord Almighty, after all. She managed to turn her laugh into a cough.

Flip, flip went the pages in a ledger, while another clerk ruffled through a stack of cards in a small wooden box as though his life depended on it.

“He is a new arrival,” Laura offered, not wishing to have so many men in pain on her behalf, not with the admiral standing there, looking ready to pounce. “The Tireless sank in Plymouth Sound on Sunday night,” she added, remembering what Oliver had told them that morning over breakfast.

“Ah, yes,” one of the clerks said, and turned to another ledger. He ran a trembling finger down a column. “Ward Block Four, second floor, Ward B, ma’am.”

“Just point me in the right direction.”

Again, Sir David would have none of that. “I will take you there, Lady Taunton.”

In the corridor, she looked down to see her valise, which—perhaps not wanting to be abandoned in such a place—must have crawled after her or been deposited there by a clerk. She knew this was a dilemma for the admiral. If she were to pick it up, he would be forced to take it from her. And from the looks of him, he did not carry parcels and certainly not valises. She hoped he was not one to carry a grudge, either.

He stared at the valise as though someone had dumped out a chamber pot right at his feet. For the sake of his staff, Laura put him out of his misery.

“Let me leave it here, Sir David. I will fetch it when I leave.”

That way he only had to pick it up and set it inside, which seemed to suit him completely. In fact, he even smiled when he offered her his arm again, as though he had already forgotten that earlier scene, and assumed that she would, too.

You, sir, are a pompous fool, she thought as she smiled and took his arm. Apparently I am to suffer you gladly.

He did provide some useful information, once outdoors. “The buildings are numbered in clockwise fashion from this block,” he said, as they walked along the covered colonnade. “You’ll observe they are separate, which helps to keep down contagion and noxious odors.”

He stopped in front of Ward Block Four. “Lady Taunton, are you certain you wish to visit this ward? I can have what’s-his …”

“Matthew.”

“… brought to the administration building.”

“I would never require that,” she said, shocked at his eagerness to move an injured patient just so she could be accommodated. “I am completely comfortable with this.”

He tried again. “Madam, these are uncouth men.”

“They are injured men,” she replied, and decided on some plain speaking, since she was beginning to understand his degree of discomfort. “I am a widow, Sir David. I recently nursed my late husband through his final illness. I doubt anything in this—block, you call them?—will surprise me.”

He shook his head. “These are battle injuries, Lady Taunton. I cannot guarantee you will not be shocked.”

“I expect no guarantee, Sir David,” she said, trying to keep her voice serene. She took a deep breath, and wished she hadn’t. Under a strong odor of carbolic, it was hard to ignore corruption. Take a shallow breath now, she advised herself, but only one or two.

Heads popped out of rooms as they walked to the stairs, which made her wonder how often Sir David visited the wards.

Perhaps he read her thoughts. “Sick and hurt officers are housed in separate blocks,” he explained, as they mounted the steps. “That is where I am usually in attendance.”

She didn’t think powder monkeys often came to his attention. “Who takes care of these men?”

“My surgeons. I have two, and each has four assistants, as well as orderlies.”

He took her to the next floor and opened a door. “B Ward, Lady Taunton. Let us find, er …”

“Matthew,” she said patiently. You would remember if he was an officer, she thought.

“Matthew. I will locate the surgeon. As you can see, we are overcrowded. Let us blame Bonaparte.”

She looked around the spacious, well-lighted room with windows on both sides to let in the sea air. She counted twenty beds, each with an occupant, plus two cots. A thin woman with a permanent frown between her eyes was seated at a desk. Eyes popping out of her head, she rose when she saw the admiral, and smoothed down her stained apron.

“We’re looking for Matthew.”

“Pollock,” Laura said. “He’s eleven.”

“Go get the surgeon,” the admiral ordered. The woman scurried from the room.

Then Laura saw Matthew, the youngest one in the room, lying propped into a sitting position, on one of the two cots. He had looked up when he heard his name, hope in his eyes. When he did not recognize her, he looked away.

It was impossible to overlook the misery in the room. Men had limbs missing, and some were lying still, as if any movement was painful. Some had that inward expression she recognized from tending her dying husband.

She sat on a stool beside Matthew Pollock’s cot and touched his good arm. “Nana sent me,” she said. “She’s expecting a baby, and Captain Worthy didn’t want to tire her. I’m her sister, Mrs. Taunton.”

The boy looked at her and released a shaky breath, as though he had been holding it for days. He was small for his age, and she had to remind herself that he was a veteran of the Royal Navy. Oliver had said Matthew had been a powder monkey for three years, one of two little boys on the Tireless whose sole duty was to carry powder from the magazine to the gun deck.

He was pale, which was no surprise, considering the insult to his system. He didn’t look overfed, either, although there was an uneaten bowl of mush on the table by his cot. His eyes were a crystal blue that made her think what a handsome man he might become someday. The skin was stretched taut across his face, which seemed to throw his nose into prominence.

She could not overlook his empty sleeve, with its bloodstains. It was rolled back to expose the thick bandage that made the rest of his body seem much smaller.

“May I call you Matthew?”

He nodded.

“Speak up, lad, when you’re addressed,” the admiral ordered. “You don’t nod at ladies.”

“He’s but eleven, Sir David, and wounded,” Laura reminded the admiral.

She heard smothered laughter from one of the other beds, and knew she should not have spoken out of turn, not in front of this powerful man. “I’m sorry,” she said contritely. “I should not presume to know what is best for him.”

She knew it was on the tip of the admiral’s tongue to agree with her, but he refrained, perhaps remembering the fool he had made of himself earlier. He was saved from further comment by firm footsteps, and then a comfortable laugh.

“As I live and breathe, Lady Taunton. You’re a sight for sore eyes, and we have plenty of those here!”

Laura glanced at the admiral’s face, whose sudden relief had just as soon turned to outrage, and then at Lt. Brittle, who came into the room in front of the woman sent to fetch him.

“Lieutenant! I’ll have you remember your manners, too!” the admiral exclaimed in a loud voice, which caused two of the bed-bound men to moan and stir restlessly.

Brittle went to one of the men and touched his face, keeping his hand there until he was still again. He nodded at the other one and winked, which seemed to settle him down.

“Beg pardon, Sir David,” he said, his eyes on Laura now. “It happens I know Lady Taunton.” He bowed in her direction. “How are the Worthys?”

“I left Nana in complete charge of the captain,” she told him.

She couldn’t help but notice the interest this conversation created among the invalids. All these men must be from the Tireless, she thought. “I’ll have you know she is a worse tyrant than your captain,” she said, addressing the room. “He hasn’t a prayer of leaving that house until she says so.”

Several men laughed, and one cheered feebly. The admiral looked around, obviously out of his depth, not knowing if he should reprimand them all or leave well enough alone. He chose the latter, backing toward the door ever so slightly.

To Laura’s gratification, Lt. Brittle played his superior like a violin.