Castaway Dreams (12 page)

"It is better to believe that will happen than to worry over what we cannot affect, Miss Farnham. In the meantime we still have needs aboard this boat."

With renewed enthusiasm Daphne asked what she could do to help.

"I will prepare a line for you, Miss Farnham. Two fishermen are better than one."

Daphne left her hat off as the sun was lower and she did not want her vision obscured. Dr. Murray needed her help, and she was going to be there for him. He thought she was useful. Or at least someone who brought useful items to a shipwreck.

"Be a good boy, Pompom, and Mummy and the nice doctor will catch you some supper."

She placed the dog in her valise, and he scratched around and grumbled as he tried to make himself a bed, finally throwing himself down with a heartfelt sigh.

When she looked up, Dr. Murray was watching her.

"Do you have indigestion, Doctor?"

"When you address your animal as if he were a baby it makes my stomach hurt."

"Oh. Would some of my ginger cure your pain?"

"Miss Farnham, a massive infusion of rum would cure this pain, but unfortunately that is not an option."

Poor Dr. Murray! Here he was doing so much to keep them alive and he was in pain. When they were on land she was going to make sure her father knew how much he had done for them. Papa would arrange a pension for the surgeon, and he could retire and rest after all his labors.

He prepared a line for her and put one of the small, glimmering fish from the bucket at the end of the line. Daphne winced, but she understood they needed to eat and the little fish would soon be gone.

"Make yourself comfortable in the bow, Miss Farnham. I will be here in the stern."

Daphne made a cushion with her now-dry dress and set her valise next to her. Pompom poked his head out, realized there was no food or entertainment for him, and went back to sleep.

"What do I do, Doctor? How will I catch a fish?"

"You never fished, Miss Farnham?"

Daphne giggled at the idea.

"Oh, Doctor, I can just imagine what my governess would say if I came in browned from the sun and smelling of fish. And I had no proper clothing for fishing." She frowned. "What does one wear for fishing? A morning dress? A walking dress?"

"One wears old clothes, Miss Farnham, clothing that can handle some soaking and contact with fish."

"Right there I would be handicapped, Doctor. My maid always whisked my clothing away when it was worn, or past its season." She leaned closer to him. "Confidentially, I think she was selling the dresses as soon as she could."

He turned his head from where he was tying his line and looked at her.

"You did not mind your maid taking your clothes and selling them that way? One could say it was close to theft if you did not give them to her. People are transported for stealing a kerchief, much less a gown."

Daphne blinked at him.

"If Hattie did not sell my clothes, where would she find extra funds to support her mother and sister? Her sister was run over by a cart and has difficulty walking."

"Couldn't you pay her a higher salary?"

"My father would never agree to such a thing, and I could not simply give her money from my own purse. Hattie has her pride. It is the customary arrangement for women in her position to dispose of their mistresses' clothing when it is worn. This way she could sell it and earn more money."

Dr. Murray watched her for a moment longer as if she were some exotic species he had never encountered before. And perhaps he never had. By his own acknowledgment he admitted he was not used to drawing rooms or society or what occurred in the homes of the gentry.

The sun was much lower now, and it was cooler on the water without the rays beating down full on them. Daphne dropped her line over the side, maintaining a tight grip on it.

"If you feel a tug on your line, Miss Farnham, do not yank on it. Let the fish grab the hook firmly before giving the line a steady pull."

"Are you sure I can do this, Doctor?"

"I am sure you are going to try, Miss Farnham."

Daphne bit her lip, adjusted herself on the seat and watched her line. It floated in the water, nothing happening around it, but if Dr. Murray said she should fish, she was going to do her best.

It soon became apparent fishing was a dreadful bore.

"Do you think we will be at that island by tomorrow, Doctor? What kind of towns will there be? I wonder if I can buy some shoes? Shoes would be nice. Oooh, maybe it is a French island and they will have the latest fashion journals from Paris! Maybe a hat, too, somethi--"

"Miss Farnham."

"Yes?"

"Cease chattering," Dr. Murray said mildly. "You will disturb the fish."

He wasn't watching her as he said this, but concentrated on watching his line in the water. So he didn't see Daphne make a face at his back as she went back to being unutterably bored watching her line in the water.

She feared she would nod off sitting there with her line in her hand, but her fishing companion said something beneath his breath and moved back to the bait bucket.

"What happened?"

"It took my bait, but not the hook."

"You were hoodwinked by a fish?"

"Do not sound so surprised, Miss Farnham. It has happened to wiser men."

He re-baited his hook and returned to his seat, and silence reigned again. She looked to the horizon and the line looked darker, and longer. Perhaps there would be theaters at that island. Even if a play was in French she could still enjoy it, because after all, one did not go to the theater to watch a play, one went to the theater to be watched and commented upon. But who would escort her to the theater? The very idea of Dr. Murray in his rumpled coat and gray hairs escorting her made her giggle, a sound quickly stifled so she would not annoy him again, although why he thought her conversation would disturb anythi--

"Eep!"

Daphne grabbed her line and held on with both hands.

"Doctor! Something is happening!"

Dr. Murray rushed over and the rocking of the craft nearly caused Daphne to lose her grip, but she clung to her line and braced her feet against the side of the boat.

"You've caught something."

"What do I do?"

"Do not panic and do not let go. Here, let me help."

He seated himself behind her and put his arms around her, grabbing hold of her wrist with one hand to brace it, while the other hand moved in front of where she gripped the line and held on. Daphne immediately felt the reassurance of his strength added to hers and anchoring them.

"You won't escape, fish!"

"That's the spirit, Miss Farnham, show him you are more intelligent than he is," he said right next to her ear. "Now, let me help you play him in."

Daphne concentrated, but when Dr. Murray shifted forward, his bristled cheek brushed against hers and she tried hard not to jump at the contact. The fish was important but she was vividly aware of the strong arms wrapped about her, his body pressed to hers. He was still in his shirtsleeves, and the thin layer of linen allowed her to feel the muscles of his chest against her back, her own body separated from his only by the material of her chemise and the night rail. His body was sun-warmed and his head blocked some of the light, shading her in the late afternoon.

Neither of them smelled fresh at this point but rather than be offended, Daphne found Dr. Murray's scent oddly stimulating. It wasn't sweet like George's cologne, but smelled musky and male and she wanted to wiggle back farther into his lap, much as Pompom enjoyed doing in hers.

But there were fish to catch. Dr. Murray was speaking in low tones, his Scots burr more pronounced as he instructed her.

"Follow my lead, Miss Farnham. When I begin to pull, exert pressure and pull back with me, but in a steady movement, not jerkily. Be prepared to play out the line if I tell you."

"Wouldn't it be better for me to pass you the line?" Daphne whispered, not wanting to alert the canny fish to their plans.

"Too much risk of losing him. This is your catch, Miss Farnham. You will bring him in."

His matter-of-fact voice soothed her, and she sat up a bit straighter, basking in the confidence he displayed in her abilities. It also moved her a fraction away from his distracting torso and allowed her to concentrate.

Dr. Murray's hand covered hers, his a much richer color, and she felt calluses and roughness from where he'd gripped saws and instruments and the tools of his trade over many years. The only other times she'd felt a man's hand in hers, the hand had been properly gloved or smoothly pampered and manicured, not the sinewy hand of someone who worked hard at his craft.

His other hand was over her wrist.

"Your pulse is racing, Miss Farnham."

He played out some of the line as he said this, and Daphne felt the tug of the sea creature, unseen beneath the waves, but beginning to fight back against the humans.

"It is so exciting!" Daphne said in a low voice. "I am catching a fish!"

"Do not fry your fish before it is caught, Miss Farnham. We still must be patient, and calm."

Daphne nodded once, but even as she followed his lead and began to pull on the line, she wondered what it would take for Dr. Murray to lose his composure and not be so calm and unruffled.

"Now, Miss Farnham, we are going to bring this laddie closer."

He began pulling on the line with a steady but gentle pressure and Daphne worked with him. The fish fought back but they held on, even though the line cut into Daphne's hands and she knew she would not be able to hold the sea creature without assistance.

"Be ready, Miss Farnham. Whatever we've landed may be armed with sharp teeth. I need to take over at this point and you should slip back in the boat."

"What can I do?"

"I'll take the line, you hold my knife."

He released her wrist, and one-handed opened his clasp knife and passed it to her, and Daphne held on to it with a firm grip. Pompom poked his head up to see what the excitement was, and with her free hand Daphne pushed him back into the bag and latched it--the pup would be safe in there for a few minutes, and not able to attack--or be attacked by--their supper.

Dr. Murray concentrated, pulling it in, his hands steady, and she saw a flash of movement beneath the surface.

"Now, Daphne!"

He pulled the line straight up and a fish jerked at the end of it, thrashing and bobbing in the air. Dr. Murray tossed it into the boat and said, "The knife!"

Daphne passed him the knife, handle first, and he did something to the fish that stopped it from thrashing. She swallowed, but she could not keep the pride from her voice.

"My fish! What have I caught?"

Dr. Murray picked it up and put it on the seat and studied it. The fish was about eighteen inches long, its body an iridescent blue-green on the upper part, the lower body silver. It had spots on its side, splashes of bronze that gave it a festive appearance.

"I am no expert, but I would guess this is a member of the mackerel family."

Daphne clapped her hands, and laughed.

"I caught a mackerel! I don't know anyone who has ever done that!"

"If you ever go fishing off of Cornwall you might catch another," the surgeon acknowledged. "Assuming when you return to Britain you wish to continue being a fisherwoman."

"It is a useful skill," Daphne said, hugging herself with glee. "Because of my efforts we will not go hungry tonight."

Dr. Murray looked at her and it was the strangest thing. He did not smile, she knew what a smile looked like, but nonetheless she knew he was smiling. At her.

It made her stomach flutter in a way that had nothing to do with the idea of eating raw fish again.

"Well done, Miss Farnham. Now you can tell fish stories at supper with the best of them."

Daphne remembered when men dining with her father had told stories of the trout and salmon they'd fished for.

"Wait, before you cut it." She took her hands and put them on each end of the fish, measuring it, then held her hands up to see how far apart they were.

"I want to remember how big this mackerel is for the re-telling, Doctor."

"I find that the size of the fish in question tends to expand over the telling, Miss Farnham."

"I have no need to exaggerate," Daphne said loftily. "This is a noteworthy fish all on its own."

There was a muffled noise from her valise and she remembered the third member of the crew and released her dog, who jumped over to sniff at the new item.

"Keep the animal away and I will clean this for our supper."

"I wish I knew how to do that."

Dr. Murray looked up from where his knife was poised over the mackerel, his eyebrows raised.

"You want to clean fish?"

"It is my fish. I caught it. I should know how to clean and prepare it."

"An admirable attitude, Miss Farnham. For now though it is better if I do it given our primitive facilities."

Daphne was relieved, but meant what she said. While the idea of cleaning a smelly, slimy, cold dead fish did not appeal to her, she enjoyed learning new things and if she was ever shipwrecked again it might not be with someone as knowledgeable as Dr. Murray and then who would people look to for useful skills? Daphne Farnham, that's who!

So she tucked her knees up beneath her chin and watched, humming to herself.

"Musical accompaniment with dinner, Miss Farnham?"

"I find that singing makes the time pass, Doctor. Not gloomy songs, but cheerful ones. Don't you know any songs? Isn't there some Scotsman named Brown, or Bowen who wrote some songs?"

He stopped cleaning the fish and looked at her with an expression of deep pain.

"Might you be referring to Rabbie Burns, the bard of Scotland?"

Daphne thought about it for a moment.

"That sounds right. He wrote a song about a red rose, and one about a hag." Her brow scrunched. "Though why someone would want to write a song about a hag is beyond me."

Dr. Murray closed his eyes, then opened them and looked at her.

"Not a hag, Miss Farnham, a haggis. A haggis is a dish enjoyed by the people of Scotland."