Castaway Dreams (9 page)

He was alone. Daphne grabbed the surgeon's coat and put it around the shivering man, then she looked around her. They were both alone out on the ocean. If the
Magpie
was still there, it was hidden behind a wall of thundering water. Dr. Murray worked in the bottom of the boat, hauling out a piece of canvas and yelling to be heard over the rain.

"We will cover ourselves to keep the rain out of the boat. Use that bucket to bail out the bottom!"

He ran rope through grommets on the cloth and tied it down over the boat while Daphne bailed. Within minutes her arms were aching and blisters were rising on the soft skin of her hands, but she dared not stop, not when there was still water in the boat.

Dr. Murray took the bucket from her and began bailing, more quickly than she'd been able to do. At his direction, Daphne ducked under the cloth awning. It cut off most of the light but kept the rain from pounding on her bare head. She opened her valise and made herself as comfortable as she could in the dimness and the damp, shivering inside her coat. It was not freezing out, she thought they were still in the tropics, but even so she was chilled from her exposure to the elements. She had no way of knowing how much time passed while the doctor bailed, but finally he stopped and crawled under the canvas with her.

"The sky is lightening and it appears the rain is tapering off," he said hoarsely. It was too dark to see his expression, but she saw the movement of his hands flexing. Then he glanced at her and in the dim light his eyes honed in on her skirts.

"What is
that
doing here, Miss Farnham?"

She refused to be intimidated, even though with Dr. Murray around that was no small feat.

"You told me to pack those things that are absolutely necessary, or what I would preserve at all costs. Pompom is very necessary to me, Dr. Murray, and I will not abandon him." She looked down at the wet dog shivering in her arms, and clutched him closer. "Pompom loves me and needs me. How could I leave him behind?"

"He will eat and drink our supplies."

"Pompom is a tiny scrap of a thing, Doctor, and I will share my ration with him."

"He is a useless burden."

"To listen to you,
I
am a useless burden, but I will not let you heave me over the side either, Doctor," Daphne said firmly. "Pompom stays."

She looked down at the smelly bundle of fur in her lap and removed his pretty red leather collar, the one where his name was spelled out in brilliants. The leather might tighten as it dried and hurt his little neck. Pompom shivered less now as she petted him, and after some time she realized the doctor was correct. The rain was not coming down as fiercely as it had, and eventually it tapered off almost completely while the boat's two occupants sat in their own silence.

Without speaking to her, Dr. Murray moved back out into the air, rocking the boat, but Daphne held onto her seat with one hand and Pompom with the other.

"If you can put that pup down for a moment, Miss Farnham, I need your assistance."

Daphne found an area at the edge of the small craft that seemed less awash than the bottom, and opened her valise, popping Pompom inside. The dog was content to rummage through the damp clothes and make himself a nest, settling down with a sigh. She wished she could join him, but the doctor needed her help.

She poked her head out from under the canvas and blinked. The rain was now just a smattering, more of a heavy mist, and the black clouds that loomed on the horizon yesterday appeared to be behind them. She had no inkling of where "behind" them was, where they were, or where they were going. At least they seemed to be moving away from the storm.

But the sea around them was empty. No sign of the
Magpie
, no sign of life at all.

Dr. Murray sat in the bow waiting for her.

"We need to take stock of our supplies and talk about our situation, Miss Farnham. Moving around will be better for you than sitting." She must have looked confused, because he continued speaking.

"If you sit with your feet in the water and do not move around, you will develop immersion foot. Your limbs will swell, your skin will become ulcerated, infection and gangrene will set in and you will die. Take off your boots now while you still can pull them off your feet."

This was said in the same calm voice that he used when asking for the coffee to be passed to him at supper. Daphne knew she was staring when he sighed and said again, "Your boots, Miss Farnham."

Daphne sat on the wet bench, hastening to remove her boots and stockings. In the meantime the doctor cautiously moved around in the boat, examining the water butt stowed there. His own feet were bare and his trousers rolled up. Daphne tried not to stare at his muscular calves, but they were there, and they were well-shaped. The doctor would not be padding his stockings with sawdust when he wore knee breeches.

The image of this blunt-spoken surgeon gaining admittance to a venue like Almack's made her smile. She could imagine him telling the patronesses a thing or two about their health or habits without pausing to weigh the consequences.

"We are fortunate the crew of the
Magpie
prepared the boat before the storm," he said now. "It would be better if we had a sailing craft, but at least there is some water."

"What about food?"

"No food, but that is less of an issue than drinking water, at least initially. Let us take one crisis at a time, Miss Farnham."

Daphne could see the wisdom in that, but then another issue occurred to her.

"Um, Dr. Murray?"

He stopped doing whatever he was doing with the rope he held and looked at her.

"What do we do when we need to...when we have to go..." She stopped, unable to put it into words.

"Are you asking what to do when you need to relieve yourself?"

She nodded, her face burning. She almost thought he smiled, but it was only a lessening of the tension around his mouth.

"I will tell you, but you are not going to like it, Miss Farnham. If you were one of the sailors you would just aim over the side. Not into the wind, of course. However, since you are not equipped to do that, and for other requirements, I will rig the lines for you to hold onto while you perch in the bow, hanging out over the water."

She stared at him.

"I never could! With you sitting there?"

He raised a damp, but still effective, eyebrow.

"I am a surgeon, Miss Farnham. Are your parts the same as any other woman's? Then you will not be showing me anything I have not seen before, so it need not worry you."

Daphne was still certain she'd never be able to do what she needed to do with him sitting there, but that, too, was a worry for later.

"The rain stopped," Dr. Murray said, looking about them. "Give me the bucket and I will bail some more."

Not knowing what else to do, Daphne passed him the bucket, then sat sideways on the seat that stretched across the boat, her legs thrust out before her. Her gown was ruined, sodden and torn from her exertions, but it was an older gown anyway and she did not let it fret her.

Her stomach growled, and she put a hand over it.

"I am afraid you will go to sleep hungry tonight, Miss Farnham. Though I'm told in China they eat small dogs..."

"Dr. Murray!"

"Tomorrow we will see about catching some fish, provided this weather holds."

Daphne looked about her at the sun low in the sky, red tinged clouds passing before it and coating the ocean with a deep color. The rest of the sky was clear and untroubled, and stars were already glinting in the east. It was a sight Daphne would have enjoyed more from the deck of a large, stable vessel. Or, even better, from shore.

But it could be worse. She had Pompom. There was water. And best of all, she had someone with her who would make sure all turned out well.

She could not help but contrast Dr. Murray with poor George. George knew everything about the latest fashions, he knew all the gossip, he was a popular and witty dinner guest, and he would have been a total disaster in this disaster. Where Dr. Murray was calm and thoughtful, George would have been panicking, looking for someone to save him.

Daphne frowned. She was not much different. She had already been branded not useful, and she knew right now, in this situation, it was a true statement. She had to depend on Dr. Murray to keep her alive, for without him she would not know how to do anything to save herself. She did not even know how to open the water barrel that Dr. Murray was examining now.

But perhaps she was not so useless after all...

"Dr. Murray?"

He looked at her, his normally neat hair disheveled and curling around his face. She wiped her hand against her torn skirt, because she had been tempted to reach across and smooth the hair back from his forehead.

"There is something in my valise that may help."

He cocked one of those brows and waited for her to continue. Instead of speaking, Daphne pushed aside Pompom from inside the bag. He grumbled in protest, but she needed to hold him over the side--or something--before they settled in for the night, so it was just as well he woke up.

"Look!"

Daphne held up her treasure, and Dr. Murray reached out for it.

"Why, Miss Farnham, how very useful."

Daphne preened under his praise. The doctor's compliments were rare, but all the more appreciated. Then a frown pinched between her eyes. He was praising the item, not her.

Dr. Murray turned the wine flask he'd given her on the
Magpie
over in his hands.

"We can use this instead of the bucket to get drinking water out of the water butt. This will be the perfect solution, Miss Farnham."

"As you said, it is useful, Dr. Murray."

He looked at her, his face hard to read in the gathering dusk.

"Yes, but you did a useful thing bringing it along, Miss Farnham."

"Does that make me a useful person?"

"Perhaps it depends on what else you thought worth stowing in your valise?"

Oh dear.
Daphne bit her lip, not at all sure he would approve of her choices. She quashed the impulse to wring her hands together.

"I have an idea, Doctor. Let us wait until morning, when there is more light, and I will share with you what I packed. Just as you are waiting to tell me the tale of your shipwreck."

"Fair enough, Miss Farnham. In the meantime, we are both exhausted, and hungry. Take care of yourself and your animal, then we will open this flask and drink some of the restorative watered wine and settle in."

Daphne took care of Pompom, who'd already anticipated her and lifted his leg against the side of the boat, but he was a small thing and there was already bilge awash in there so she did not think about it. But to her amazement, when he made to squat, he allowed her to perch him in a tight hold at the bow of the boat and managed to do what he needed to do, earning a great deal of cooing praise from his proud mistress.

"If you two are quite done, Miss Farnham."

"What a good boy you are, Pompom. What an intelligent boy! I am sorry, my little puppy-wuppy, there is nothing for you to eat. Tomorrow, Dr. Murray will find you food."

"Not if you call that animal 'puppy-wuppy' again I won't."

Daphne ignored this and washed her hands in the ocean before taking the flask from Dr. Murray, Pompom still perched on her lap. As the cool liquid flowed down her throat she thought nothing had ever tasted as good, even though normally the ship's drinking water was a necessary evil, but nothing more. She poured some into her hand for the dog, and he lapped at it eagerly.

"That is enough," Dr. Murray said, reaching for the flask. "You will make yourself ill if you drink too much. You can have more water tomorrow."

He did as he had promised--or threatened--and rigged a line for her to hold onto while she sat off the front of the boat--the bow, he reminded her--and necessity finally drove her to do what needed to be done. To her relief, she was dampened, but not dunked, and survived the experience.

Her eyes were adjusting to the night darkness, helped by a half moon that cast a soft light over the empty ocean. A breeze picked up, nothing like the earlier wind, but enough to make her huddle in her damp coat. Thank goodness Dr. Murray had thought to force it on her. He was a stiff and curmudgeonly old man, but right now there was no one she would rather have sitting across from her.

Daphne shivered in her coat, and he noticed the movement.

"We can conserve body heat by huddling close together, Miss Farnham. Stay where you are."

So saying, he moved across the small space separating them until he was close to her side. He arranged the canvas into a bundle stretched across the benches in the stern, leaving a flap he could lift. He sat next to her and opened his coat.

"Inch yourself over here, Miss Farnham. And yes, bring that animal. He gives off heat."

If it had been anyone else Daphne would suspect it a ploy to woo her, but it was Dr. Murray, so she snuggled up against his left side, Pompom in the crook of her arm. The pup seemed quite content to be close to the two humans, and with a sigh kneaded his front paws into her skirt, then settled down. Daphne wanted to sigh herself as she put her head on the surgeon's chest. He took the edge of his heavy coat and pulled it over her, told her to grab the canvas and pull if over them, too, then stretched his legs across until his feet were perched on the far bench. Daphne followed his example, her feet just making it to the improvised footstool.

"Put your legs across mine, Miss Farnham. I can support you as you sleep and your feet won't fall into the water."

"Can you sleep sitting up, Doctor?"

"I have done so far too often, Miss Farnham, and I can lean back against the canvas. But you should try to rest now. In the morning, we will take stock of our situation."

"Yes, Doctor," Daphne murmured, her eyes already closing. She could feel the strong beat of the surgeon's heart beneath her cheek as she drifted off to sleep between the two warm male bodies.