Castaway Dreams (33 page)

"Thank you for breakfast, Hill. Have you seen Dr. Murray?"

"He was by earlier to fetch himself a bite, and some biscuit for your little dog."

That dear man! Taking such good care of her Pompom! She needed to find both the males in her life and wish them a good morning.

* * * *

"Here's another shilling on the rat!"

"I'll take that, Norton. That doggy's a bruiser!"

The crew lucky enough not to be at their duties were enjoying the action in the hold. Mrs. Murray's little pooch was proving to be a scrapper, and a valuable addition to the crew. Their voices rose as the betting became fierce, and Pompom seemed to love the attention. Perhaps it reminded him of when he'd been a working dog and not a lapdog, and that even fluffy furballs could be useful.

Alexander pulled a biscuit from his coat pocket to give the bichon another small bite for his latest prize. There were four corpses at his feet, their necks broken from a vigorous shaking.

Now the animal was staring down the king of the hold, a low growl rumbling up from his chest. The dog hunkered down, shoulders bunched, waiting for the right moment. He had scratches on his muzzle and his tail stood straight.

The rat looked near as big as Pompom. It crouched, beady eyes darting, not daunted by the cries of encouragement from the wagering sailors.

The dog prepared to spring when a shriek tore through the space. Pompom ignored this, leaping into action when the rat jumped, startled by the high-pitched sound. It was the last move the rat made as Pompom grabbed him and shook his head, snapping the rat's neck. The sailors--at least the ones who'd bet on the canine--cheered mightily at their champion's prowess.

"What are you doing with my precious baby? Dr. Murray, I demand to know what is going on here!"

All heads turned toward the ladder, where Daphne stood, perched on the lowest rung, her blue eyes narrowed in anger.

"Good thing she's your wife, Murray. You handle this," St. Armand said, slinking away.

"Dr. Murray!"

Daphne advanced on Alexander, but was halted by her pup prancing up to her, tail high, a corpse clutched between his teeth.

"Oh, my darling, did you fetch that for me? What a good boy you are, what a fierce hunter!"

She crouched down to pet him, wincing at the fuzzy body dropped at her feet. Meanwhile, the pirates deserted the surgeon like rats fleeing a sinking vessel, easing away from the couple and mumbling excuses as they exited the hold.

Daphne looked up from where she was tickling Pompom under his chin and rose to her full height, tapping her bare foot on the deck, hands on her shapely hips. Hips that were outlined amazingly well by her garments, Alexander couldn't help but notice.

"Well?"

"It seemed to me the animal is less likely to end up in the stewpot if he earns his keep."

"Dr. Murray!"

She looked so adorable in her anger. Her protectiveness of her animal sparked something in Alexander's chest, a feeling that she'd be as protective of anything she loved, whether it was a dog, or a child, or even possibly a surgeon.

He ignored the rats and stepped over to her, taking her by the elbows. She craned her head back to look at him, a frown putting lines between her brows. He put his thumb over the lines and gently erased them.

"Do not frown, Daphne. You don't want to end up all wrinkled like me, do you?"

"You are not so wrinkled, Dr. Murray. Just a little"--she thought about it--"weathered from being in the sun too much. Like a leather shoe left out by mistake."

"Exactly," he said. "It occurs to me, Miss Farnham, I did not teach you a new word today."

She sniffed, her delightful little retrousse nose making even that rude gesture endearing.

"That is because we did not see each other this morning. You, sir, have been busy corrupting my dog."

The dog in question sniffed hungrily around the rats. If midshipmen would eat them, then the dog was not above such behavior. Watching her precious Pompom devour rats would not improve her temper, so Alexander sighed, kissed Daphne on her unlined forehead and set her away from him.

"My word for the day, Dr. Murray?"

He scooped the animal up in his arms, and scratched the proud pup behind his ear. He'd clean the animal's scratches so Daphne wouldn't rail at him again.

"Your word, Miss Farnham? I believe the word for today is...osculation."

She shaped it out with her mouth, which he watched with interest, then she said it aloud.

"Osculation...but what does it mean?"

"Never fear. I will demonstrate for you later."

* * * *

"Ah, Mr. Murray! So good to see you survived your experience in the ship's hold."

Captain St. Armand was all smiles when they came above, and Alexander turned to Daphne.

"I need to speak with the captain about my sick bay. I will see you at luncheon?"

Daphne nodded, and it was all he could do not to take her in his arms and retreat to their snug berth, but duty called. He passed her the dog.

"And wear your hat, Mrs. Murray. The sun is strong out here."

"Yes, Dr. Murray," she said with a sunny smile of her own. He watched her walk away, her trouser clad bottom drawing his eyes nearly as much as her tight fitting shirt did. He was not the only male to watch Daphne stroll, but when he turned back to the captain, the captain was watching him.

"I have concerns about my wife's safety aboard this vessel, Captain St. Armand," he said bluntly.

"I run a tight ship, Mr. Murray. The men know the punishment would be severe, and likely permanent, if they offered Miss Farnham--pardon, Mrs. Murray--any insult. Ah, here is Mr. Fuller to show you your space in the hold. I will see you at luncheon, Mr. Murray."

With a nod the captain turned away, but not in the same direction as Daphne, so Alexander relaxed a fraction and turned to the mate.

"Come with me, Mr. Murray," Fuller said.

The space in the hold was cramped, but not impossibly so. Most of the room was taken up by a table in the center, and Alexander looked at it critically.

"I need restraints for this table, a brazier, and plenty of lanterns."

Fuller grunted his assent.

"What else do you need?"

"Bring me Captain St. Armand's medicine chest and anything else you have aboard this vessel for dealing with the ill and wounded. I will inventory it. I'll also need bandages. Clean ones, and vinegar and soap."

He did a quick survey of the space, judging the size of the cabin against his need to be flexible in his movements.

"Finally, place a drop-down desk and a chair, and install a locked cabinet on the bulkhead."

"The carpenter will take care of it," Fuller said.

"Have you been with Captain St. Armand long?"

"Aye."

Alexander waited, but the man held onto his information about the captain as tightly as a spinster guarded her modesty. If he wanted information, he would have better success with the crew. Nervous men chattered, and a trip to sick bay was usually enough to make any strong man break out in nerves.

"Sick call will be after I eat my breakfast. I need journals to record information about the men."

"Sounds like a lot of bother," Fuller grumbled. "Never had a surgeon before."

"No, and I imagine there are dead or injured sailors who wished there had been a surgeon aboard. Who cared for the ill and injured?"

Fuller shrugged.

"The cook, or captain, or sometimes the carpenter."

"I assure you, Mr. Fuller, the men will be gratified there is a competent surgeon to deal with their ills, rather than the carpenter." He peered around at the space. It could use a good scrubbing, and he said so to the mate.

"There's not much here normally except cargo, so it isn't cleaned as much as the rest of the vessel," Fuller acknowledged, and said he would see that it was done before the next morning.

Alexander had to admit Captain St. Armand ran a tidy ship. No one was sitting around drinking, the ship was clean, the men appeared healthy, and even the rat population was normal for a vessel of this tonnage.

"I will begin tomorrow morning then. Good day, Mr. Fuller."

* * * *

Daphne breezed into the cabin on the heels of Dr. Murray, who was washing his hands when she entered. She set Pompom on the deck and her parcel on the bunk. The dog immediately ran to the surgeon, rolled over on his back, and presented his furry belly to be rubbed.

Now, if only Alexander would do that for her!

Daphne smiled to herself at the thought, but clearly Dr. Murray had other matters on his mind, though he obligingly rubbed the dog's belly and asked how her morning was.

"Oh, lovely, Dr. Murray. I have been talking with Mr. Sails. He is going to take fabric and make me up some dresses to wear aboard ship, and he found this coat for you in ship's stores. Look!"

It was a brown heavy weather coat. There was a hole in the chest with some rusty stains around it.

"Thank you, Daphne, that's a useful item. Though I believe I will have it cleaned and patched. That hole looks too much like a target."

"I knew brown was your favorite color, and the more I've thought about it, the more I believe it is a good choice for you, Dr. Murray. It flatters your coloring and hair."

"I am glad it meets with your fashionable approval. Speaking of which, what about you, Daphne? What will you wear when the weather turns cold?"

"We took care of that. Mr. Sails will use the wool from the cave to make me a quilted coat that he says might not be the first state of fashion, but it will serve."

"I am not sure I approve of Sails measuring you for garments, Daphne."

She giggled, then walked over to put her hand on his arm.

"Dr. Murray, Mr. Sails was a tailor before he went to sea. We talked about clothing, and fashion and I assure you his interest in me is only as a form for his designs."

"You are sure?"

"This is an area where
I
am experienced, Dr. Murray. Yes, I am sure."

Alexander pulled out his surgical chest, saying he needed to return to his sick bay. Daphne sat on the bunk, playing with Pompom, tossing a red cloth ball for him to fetch. After Alexander left the cabin it was quiet, and she realized something was bothering her. It took her a few moments to put her finger on it, but then she figured it out.

She was bored.

On their island she'd been busy from sunup until sundown, but there was no place for her on this pirate vessel. She was useless. An ornament, again, just sitting on a shelf like a china doll waiting to be admired. And that wasn't right.

She was a different person than before the shipwreck. Butterflies were lovely, but sometimes you needed to be not a butterfly but a bee--busy, busy, busy.

A deep "Enter" was the response when Daphne knocked at the door that a sailor told her was the new sick bay.

Alexander looked startled to see Daphne inside his workspace, but he only said mildly, "I am glad I did not have a sailor in here with his trousers down, Daphne. I was not expecting you."

"Would you say 'enter' if you were in the midst of examining one of the men?"

Alexander thought about this for a moment, a frown creasing his brow.

"I spent so many years in the navy it would not occur to me to be concerned for the privacy of the men I treated. I see I will have to give new consideration to how I deal with patients when I practice in England."

"You see? I am being useful to you again. That is why I am here," she added briskly. "On the
Magpie
you insisted I help you in your sick bay. There is no reason why I cannot be useful here, rolling bandages or something."

"You enjoyed being useful," he said, and there was a gleam in his eye, and she thought he was laughing at her.

"Exactly!" She crossed her arms over her chest, trying for a stern glance. He did it so much more effectively. Maybe she just needed to practice more.

"You are thinking back to our conversation, Dr. Murray, the one we had just before Mrs. Cowper passed on."

"You must admit, my dear Daphne, if one were keeping score of such things, then one would be forced to concede I won that argument."

"Good thing no one is keeping score, Dr. Murray, because then I would need to keep track of all your fashion disasters just to keep the game fair."

He watched her still, and she'd swear the corners of his mouth were higher than they'd been a few minutes earlier. Alexander called her his "dear Daphne," which made her feel all warm inside, like she'd just had a drink of chocolate. He was looking at her chest where her arms were crossed, and he looked at ease as he talked with her--dare one call it bantering? She'd been dreading him returning to his old Dr. Murray ways once they were off the island. She relaxed as she realized their relationship was still a special one, even away from their paradise.

"I do want a task, Dr. Murray. It will make me feel better."

"I think we can accommodate your needs and mine, Daphne. Do you write a fair hand?"

Daphne clapped her hands together in joy.

"Yes! My former governess praised my handwriting and still mentions it when I write her."

"If that is the case, I could use someone to transcribe my notes on my patients into a more readable form. You could be my amanuensis."

"I would be a man?"

"No," he said with a shake of his head. "Amanuensis means one who takes down the words of another in writing. Like a clerk or a secretary."

"Oh!" Daphne said, sounding out the syllables of the new word. "Amanuensis. Oh my, Dr. Murray, you taught me a new word. Now we can save osculation for later. You will not forget, will you?"

The corners of his eyes crinkled, matching that newfound curl at the corner of his mouth.

"Never fear, Daphne. I will not let us forget osculation."

Daphne hummed to herself as she copied Dr. Murray's notes that afternoon and took down his words into the journals from the
Prodigal's
stores. She enjoyed this, keeping track of what Alexander was doing, updating lists, making notes. It was all so interesting!