Becoming Lady Lockwood (4 page)

It was two days later
when Amelia awoke and felt a curious sensation in her stomach. The constant nausea was replaced by the welcome rumblings of hunger pains. Tentatively she sat up on the pallet Dr. Spinner had procured for her and waited for the dizziness that had plagued her. But the light-headedness was conspicuously absent.

Dr. Spinner had attended her regularly, and she was grateful for his ministrations and the ginger tea he had brought, which had been the only thing that her stomach hadn’t rejected.

She stood and walked to the small basin of water the doctor had left for her, and with a cloth she cleaned herself as completely as she was able. It felt wonderfully refreshing to wash off the sticky sweat and smells of sickness. She dressed in a fresh gown and brushed her hair, fastening it in place on top of her head.

A small mirror hung on the wooden bulkhead above her traveling trunk, and she stepped around the cannon, which occupied the majority of the space in the small cabin, to peer at her reflection. Aside from a bit of paleness, she was pleased to see that she looked much the same as she had before she had taken ill.

Once she was presentable and her cabin straightened as much as possible, Amelia felt a bout of indecision. If she went in search of breakfast, she might happen upon Captain Drake. The memory of their last encounter filled her with the deepest embarrassment. She couldn’t get the image out of her mind of the shocked and repulsed expression he’d worn as he had watched her befoul his boots. But what was her other option? She couldn’t hide in her cabin for the next few months. Finally, her hunger made the decision for her.

With a fair amount of trepidation, she opened her door and peeked out.

Corporal Ashworth stood outside her door. When he saw her, he thrust his rifle to arm’s length in front of him and then pulled it back to his shoulder quickly, snapping his heels together.

“Good morning, Corporal,” Amelia said. “Do you know where I might find something to eat?”

“If you’re feeling better, miss, I’m to show you to the officers’ wardroom. You’ll find Dr. Spinner there, taking his breakfast.”

“Thank you.” Amelia followed the marine, grateful for the railings on the sides of the wet stairs in the companionway. The boots she wore had a difficult time finding any traction, and she slipped more than once.

Corporal Ashworth stopped outside the door when they reached the wardroom. He again presented his rifle and clicked his heels as he took up his position.

“Aren’t you coming in, Corporal?”

“No, miss. Aside from the surgeon, only commissioned officers eat in the wardroom. But I assure you, you’ll be quite safe.”

Amelia smiled, amused at the corporal’s assumption that she was afraid. “I thank you for your concern.”

“Just following orders, miss.”

And what orders might those be?
she wondered.

A few officers and Dr. Spinner were seated at the large table that took up nearly the entire room. They stood when she stepped inside.

“Miss Becket.” Dr. Spinner stepped toward the door. He escorted her to the table and held a chair out for her. “I am so pleased to see that you are feeling better.” Dr. Spinner was probably near the same age as Amelia’s father. His gray hair was beginning to thin on his crown, and he wore it pulled back and tied at the nape of his neck. His thick glasses magnified his eyes, giving him the appearance of someone who was constantly surprised.

“Thank you, Doctor,” Amelia said.

Once she was seated, he introduced her to the other men who sat around the table, and while they exchanged greetings, a steward placed a basket of biscuits and a plate of eggs and sausage in front of her.

The officers returned to their meals, and the silence was uncomfortable, as if they had been interrupted by Amelia’s arrival and now hesitated to return to their former conversations. They had removed their gold-buttoned blue coats and hung them upon the backs of their chairs. Many of them had loosened their collars and rolled up their sleeves, but the mood of the room was definitely not in accordance with the men’s casual appearance. Amelia felt as though her presence had made them self-conscious.

As the daughter of an admiral, she was aware that many sailors considered it bad luck to have a woman aboard the ship. It would probably take some time for the men to feel at ease with her, but it would be a long, awkward voyage if everyone aboard continued averting their eyes and avoiding her company.

Amelia picked up a biscuit from the basket. She noticed the officers hitting their biscuits against their plates before biting into them. When she asked Dr. Spinner about it, he explained. “A few solid raps should shake out any weevils making their home in the biscuits.”

She looked closer at the doctor, trying to judge whether he was joking, but the eyes behind his thick glasses were serious. Amelia examined her biscuit and hit it against her plate, watching to see if anything tumbled out before she was finally satisfied and took a small bite. If she hadn’t been so hungry, the idea of weevils in her food would have banished her appetite. As it was, she found that even though the hard biscuits were bland, a bit of marmalade made them quite palatable. The eggs tasted fresh and warm, but she avoided the sausage. Her stomach was not ready for such a thing. “Dr. Spinner, tell me how you came to be on the crew of the HMS
Venture
?”

The doctor pressed his cloth napkin against his mouth before he replied. “It was nearly four years ago, during the battle of Cape Ortegal. I served aboard the HMS
Euphrates
with Captain Drake, although at the time he was still Lieutenant Drake.”

Amelia noticed the other men in the room listening, some of them nodding as if they remembered.

Dr. Spinner continued. “In an altercation with a French battleship, the captain was hit by a round shot and killed. Lieutenant Drake assumed command immediately. It was his strategy to lure the French ship within the range of a British squadron under the pretense of fleeing. In the heat of a spectacular battle, Captain Drake led the charge, boarding the ship, and after fierce fighting, the French ship was defeated.

“During the battle, Captain Drake was wounded on the shoulder by a bayonet but refused to leave his men and retreat for medical care. He lost so much blood that he nearly died. Lieutenant Drake not only retained his promotion to captain but was knighted by the prince for his bravery.”

Dr. Spinner reached out and lifted his wooden cup. “I treated his wound directly after the battle, and weeks later when he had fully recovered, Captain Drake sought me out and requested that I be the surgeon aboard his ship, the
Venture.
And after sailing under him, I shall never sail under another.”

Amelia tried to imagine Captain Drake fighting in a sea battle with a bleeding shoulder wound and found it was not too difficult. Whatever her other feelings toward the captain were, the idea that he lacked courage had never entered her mind.

“I have heard of the Battle of Cape Ortegal, of course, but I had no idea Captain Drake was involved,” she said.

“He was more than involved, Miss Becket. It is the opinion of many, including myself, that the captain is responsible for the eventual shift and victory in the battle of Trafalgar.”

She considered this appraisal of Captain Drake. He was a war hero; however, that didn’t make him any more likeable. But she felt that she was alone in her opinion. And did the captain’s dislike for Amelia affect the other officers’ opinions of her? Or were they just unaccustomed to a woman aboard the ship? Amelia tried to engage some of them in conversation. They answered politely enough, but their discomfort was still evident. She pursed her lips in frustration.

She finally turned back to the surgeon. “Dr. Spinner, I thank you again for the care you gave me these past days. I truly appreciate it, and the ginger tea was the perfect thing to soothe an uneasy stomach.”

“You can thank the captain for the tea. He insisted it would help, although I myself do not hold to such outdated remedies.”

“Perhaps the captain hopes for his boots to smell like ginger when we next meet,” Amelia said.

One of the officers snickered, followed by another, and when Amelia giggled, the entire room erupted in hearty laughter. The interactions between Amelia and the officers throughout the remainder of the breakfast meal became much friendlier, and it didn’t take long before they were telling her their own stories and asking about her home in Jamaica.

Amelia began to think that it might be possible to win the favor of her shipmates and change the reputation that she had unfortunately earned in her first hour on the decks. The first order of business, however, would be to convince them that she was an asset instead of just the admiral’s spoiled daughter.

The sound of the ship’s bell ringing eight times sent the officers grabbing their jackets, tying their cravats, and hurrying to their second watch duties. Amelia left the wardroom with Dr. Spinner.

“How are you planning to spend the rest of the day?” The doctor asked her as they walked toward the companionway stairs.

Corporal Thorne had replaced Corporal Ashworth outside the door. He presented arms in a salute, and Amelia waved to him before she answered. “I’ll admit I hadn’t given much consideration to how I’d pass my time aboard. I should very much like to learn more about the workings and management of the ship. And to assist in any way I am able. Perhaps I’ll venture—”

Her words were cut off when they encountered a group of sailors hurrying down the stairs. Two men were being carried as gently as possible by their companions. Based on the pained looks on the faces of the men being carried, they were injured.

“What happened?” asked the doctor, checking one man’s leg.

“Rope snapped,” a sailor answered, grunting under the weight of his injured shipmate. “Loose barrels smashed into the two of them.”

“They’ll both need to be conveyed to the operating theater immediately.” Dr. Spinner led the group down the stairway.

Amelia watched them for a moment, and when she turned to continue to the upper decks, she saw a boy with his hand pressed against his other arm, looking disoriented. Blood seeped between his fingers and dripped onto the deck. She rushed to him and put her hand on his shoulder to steady him. “You’ve been hurt too.”

The boy’s expression was confused.

She gently pulled his hand away to reveal a deep gash. Amelia began to lead him carefully down the stairs, following the same direction the doctor had taken. “Do you know where the operating theater is?” she asked Corporal Hurst, who stood in the companionway.

“Orlop deck, aft,” he answered. “Follow me.”

“Come,” she said to the boy. “Dr. Spinner will mend your arm right away.”

The orlop deck, it turned out, was below the lower gun deck. And also below the waterline. With no windows for light, the deck was cast in shadow. When they all arrived in the operating theater, the doctor was splinting one of the injured men’s legs. The other man lay upon a table. Swaying lanterns hung from the ceiling, giving the room its only light.

“Dr. Spinner,” Amelia said. “This boy has been injured.”

The doctor looked up for a moment. “Have him sit. And apply pressure to his wound. I’ll tend to him when I’ve finished with these two.”

Amelia led the boy to an overturned half barrel that sat against a bulkhead. She helped him sit. She searched the room and returned with a clean-looking rag, which she pressed against his arm. Sitting on a barrel next to him, she studied his face for a moment. He was quite pale, and she worried that he was in danger of fainting. He looked so young, and she determined to remain nearby to care for him.

“What is your name?” she asked him.

The boy looked at her blankly for a moment before his eyes focused. “Riley.”

“My name is Amelia Becket. Pleased to meet you.”

“Miss Becket. You . . .” He seemed to be searching for words. “The captain’s boots . . .”

Amelia laughed. “Yes, one of my more humiliating moments. Thank you for reminding me, Master Riley.”

His mouth turned up in a weak smile. “Just Riley, miss.”

“Then you must call me Amelia.” She moved the cloth and checked his injury. It was dark and quite deep. It still bled but not nearly as heavily as before. She’d had some experience treating wounds on the plantation and knew that one of the things she should be most concerned about was the boy losing consciousness.

“Riley, I think your wound will probably require stitches.” Seeing his face get even paler, she continued. “Did you know that Captain Drake had an injury on his shoulder? Similar to yours, I would imagine. And Dr. Spinner stitched it up for him so nicely that the captain asked him to be the surgeon aboard this ship.”

Riley blinked and raised his eyebrows. “Is that true?”

“True as I’m sitting here. I heard it from the doctor himself.” She put her finger in front of her lips and leaned closer, as if to share a confidence. “And though a proper lady would never speak of such a thing, I myself required stitches once.” She lifted her curls and pointed to a scar on her hairline.

Riley’s eyes moved to her forehead.

“The scar is quite faint now, but at the time, it bled so much that my mother was convinced I would die before we could reach the doctor.” Amelia proceeded to tell him about the day she had taken one of the worker’s machetes, determined to harvest some of the sugarcane herself. The machete had become stuck in a heavy stalk, and she had pulled so hard that when it was finally freed, the handle had struck her in the head. “Luckily I was not strong enough to injure myself very severely,” she said.

When the doctor finished setting the broken limbs, Amelia watched as he sutured Riley’s wound. Dr. Spinner complimented her on the fact that she hadn’t broken down into hysterics upon seeing the blood. Amelia laughed at the notion. She had seen plenty of injuries among the workers who harvested the sugarcane with sharp blades. While she helped the doctor clean the injury, she distracted Riley with more stories of Jamaica.