Sea Change (6 page)

"I need to examine you, Mr. Fletcher. Did you pass water today?"

He nodded.

"Good. I will be as careful as I can, but it will hurt. You can take laudanum afterward."

"I will not need it," he said, but sweat was springing out on his forehead as even the small stresses of the examination caused him pain.

"You will," Charley said, as she undid the bandages and checked the site for suppuration and excessive bleeding, then bandaged him back up.

"We will fashion a sling for protection for your limb while it heals. I strongly encourage you to return to normal duties as quickly as possible, while keeping your arm immobilized."

"What use is a one-armed sailor aboard a privateer?"

"Privateer? I thought you were pirates. At least, that's what Captain Fletcher said when he kidnapped me."

Henry looked surprised. His was a softer version of his brother's face, its youthful lines edging into manhood, but the resemblance was strong.

"David told you we were pirates? You did not come willingly?"

"Why would I leave a perfectly good English merchantman to come aboard an enemy American ship?"

Now Henry looked angry.

"He did it for me, the fool! He swore he would find a doctor, but taking one as a prisoner--"

He looked fretful and he had enough on his mind, so Charley tried to reassure him. "Pirate or privateer, I am sure Captain Fletcher and I can work this out. And I am glad he took me aboard the ship to help you. What is the name of this vessel, anyway?"

"You are aboard the
Fancy
, Doctor, the finest schooner to ever sail out of Baltimore."

"The
Fancy
, eh? It does not look very fancy to me."

"That is because you have not seen her in action," said a deep voice.

Charley jumped and looked behind her. She hadn't heard David Fletcher enter the cabin, not surprising since he was barefoot and moved with a cat's sinewy grace. She wrenched her thoughts away from those dangerous waters and frowned at him.

"We must talk, Captain," she said sternly, but turned back to Henry.

"As I said, I am glad I could be of assistance to you, Mr. Fletcher. Right now, that is what is most important. Captain," she said, without looking at him as she finished up her examination, "I need a piece of sturdy cloth suitable for a sling. When Mr. Fletcher returns to duty, he needs to minimize any further trauma to his arm until I take the sutures out."

"How long do the sutures stay in?" Henry asked.

"Ideally, they should stay in at least a month if you are healing well. You will have them removed and the stump examined by another doctor when I am gone from this vessel."

Henry looked over her shoulder at his older brother, then back at her. Whatever he saw on his brother's face led him to keep further questions inside.

"Drink as much water and tea as you like, but no strong drink. I want your head clear and your balance unaffected as you learn to adjust to your new circumstances. Rest and eat lightly for two days, and if you have no problems, we will return you to a normal diet. You will be in pain, and that is to be expected. But if all goes well you will soon be on your feet and back on duty."

Behind her she heard Captain Fletcher give the orders for suitable cloth to be found for a sling. Inside she was fuming. American privateers were the bane of British shipping, but they still operated under a code of conduct that set them apart from pirates--at least in theory. She knew from dinner conversation aboard the
Lady Jane
that privateers didn't keep prisoners longer than it took to get them to port, and she certainly wasn't a military threat to them to be kept prisoner indefinitely!

Her thoughts were interrupted by Captain Fletcher handing her some sturdy calico that she fashioned into a sling and adjusted it around Henry's neck, easing his arm inside.

"Excellent," she said, studying her handiwork, then took it off him. "Later today we will put this on and you can walk about some. For now, you will take your medicine and rest. Your body has a great deal of healing ahead of it."

She mixed the opiate and watched as, grimacing, Henry Fletcher drank it down.

"I will check on you later, Mr. Fletcher, but you send for me if you need me."

"Aye, Doctor," Henry said, his words already slightly slurred as the medicine began its work.

When she closed the cabin door behind her, Captain Fletcher was talking to Mr. Lewis and she waited, trying not to tap her toe impatiently on the deck.

"We need to talk, Captain."

Fletcher turned and scowled down at her. He was wearing a blue linen shirt open at the collar and the loose trousers favored by sailors. It did not matter that he was dressed the same as any of his crew, there was no mistaking who was captain of the
Fancy
, a point he brought home to her.

"It may have escaped your notice, Dr. Alcott, but I have a ship to command. Go eat your breakfast, hold your sick call, and we will speak later."

"I do not want to wait until later, I want to talk--"

"Later, Doctor. And do not argue with me again."

He turned on his heel and left. When she turned toward the captain's cabin, Lewis was watching her with something like awe on his face.

"Not many men brave enough to go up against Black Davy Fletcher."

Charley almost smiled at the idea of "Black Davy Fletcher," but realized Lewis was completely serious.

"Oh? Captain Fletcher has a reputation?"

"It's not for me to talk, Doctor, but there's not a fiercer privateer afloat, nor one as canny."

Charley wisely kept her opinions to herself and entered the captain's cabin. Lewis left to fetch her breakfast, so Charley studied the captain's quarters, trying to get a feel for her captor. They were spartan accommodations, and she felt a twinge of disappointment that the notorious "Black Davy" Fletcher didn't have the heads of his enemies mounted on the wall, or the swag and booty of his raids festooning the space. The cabin had a bunk, larger than hers but not decadently so, with a quilted cover neatly tucked in. The desk was bare, but the railed shelf above it contained a grouping of framed miniatures. One was of an older woman with jet black hair and Henry Fletcher's eyes, and alongside it, a man whose face, had it not been covered by a flowing white beard, might bear a strong resemblance to David Fletcher. He looked stern and weathered, his skin sun-darkened to the shade of the oak of the shelf. The other miniature made her pause, and she picked it up and angled it to the light coming in from the stern window.

It was a young woman, a breathtakingly beautiful blonde. Artists sometimes exaggerated the good qualities of their subjects for a flattering portrayal, but Charley suspected this woman needed no additional help beyond Nature's gifts. The hair curling around her head looked like golden floss, falling in lush ringlets over her shoulder. Her neck was a graceful column and her pert nose was balanced by two rosy cheeks and a delicate little chin. Charley had no doubt the rest of her was equally lovely.

She set aside her curiosity and the miniature when she heard a noise outside the cabin, and the door opened to Lewis carrying a tray for her. There were eggs and ham, biscuits that gave her teeth a workout, and her cup was kept filled with strong coffee by Lewis, who waited on her with skill and dexterity.

"You have nimble hands, Mr. Lewis. Would you like to assist me in sick bay?"

Lewis's nimble hands fumbled the coffeepot. "Oh no, Doctor, I am not suited to that work! Blood makes me queasy. When someone throws up, it makes me throw up, too. Besides which," he pointed out with relief, "the captain needs me here and helping Mr. Fletcher."

"Tending Mr. Fletcher does not bother you? The blood on his bandages doesn't make you queasy?"

"That's odd, but you're right, Doctor." A gleam of a smile split Lewis's thin face. "Maybe it's because I have known the Fletcher boys since they were lads. That is why I followed them to sea rather than stay ashore in Baltimore."

"Is it usual for brothers to go privateering together?"

"Well, it's not
unusual
, Doctor. After all, a privateer--whether British or American--is a businessman, and shipping is a family business. The
Fancy
was re-fitted for privateering after the Embargo Act for this very task, fighting for America."

Charley said nothing as she sipped her coffee, mulling over the steward's words. She suspected Captain Fletcher had more of the pirate in him than his loyal crew was willing to acknowledge, and knew he would play fast and loose with the truth when it suited him.

And right now she feared having a doctor aboard until it pleased him to let her go suited him just fine.

The question was, should she reveal herself, and see if he'd put her ashore? Or should she maintain her disguise and hope for the best?

"First, do no harm..."

Henry Fletcher needed her. Leaving now would harm him, and she could not do that with a clear conscience.

Having resolved at least part of her dilemma, whether or not to reveal her sex, Charley's mind moved ahead to sick call and she attacked her breakfast with renewed appetite. Nothing stirred her quite like being able to tackle the mysteries of diagnosis and treatment, and who knew? Perhaps a crew of privateers would offer some new and exotic indispositions not seen aboard the
Lady Jane.

"The men like having a sawbones aboard. Gives them hope of help if they're sick or hurt. Is he staying with us?"

Joseph Bryant was serving as mate with Henry injured, and his question was a valid one. David Fletcher looked at the boatswain, who'd sailed with Fletcher's father and filled in the gaps in David's seafaring education after Robert Fletcher died.

"He will stay, Mr. Bryant," David said grimly.

"Willingly?"

"Does it matter?"

Bryant looked at his captain, and shook his head. "Not if you say the doctor is staying, will he or nil he. But do you want a man doctoring us against his will? What if he tries to harm one of us?"

A grim smile touched David's lips as he looked at the older man. "The good doctor is a victim of his own ethical nature, Mr. Bryant. I have observed him enough to believe he could never willingly harm someone he was caring for, whether it's an enemy American or a Frenchman or anyone else."

His expression eased as he remembered how the doctor had cared for Henry following his surgery, wanting to forgo his own comfort and spend the night beside his bunk.

"He's just a lad, Joseph. Given time aboard the
Fancy
, he may decide that a better fate awaits him in the United States. We should coax the doctor to the side of 'fair trade and sailors' rights.' He's a bright fellow and enough time with us may change his loyalties."

"You know best, Captain. As I said, it's good for the men to have a surgeon aboard. Knowing he saved Henry's life will help the men accept him as part of the crew."

David, too, had heard the men chatting this morning at their tasks, discussing what ailments they wanted the young doctor to treat while he was aboard.

Bryant hesitated, then spoke again.

"Will Mr. Fletcher be returning to duty?"

"The doctor thinks so. Or perhaps he's saying that to help Henry recover. Regardless, I want to continue this voyage as long as Henry is recovering, and when we return to Baltimore he can decide for himself."

"Aye, Captain. Are we going to head for St. Mary's or Savannah to sell this cargo?"

David tapped his fingers against his spyglass as he thought. "No," he said slowly, "I do believe we will continue cruising for prizes, Mr. Bryant. These waters are rich with British shipping grown lazy and careless now that the French are driven out. I know people who will give us a good price here in the Indies, who would buy from us so they can avoid King George's tariffs.

"And," he said, looking directly at his boatswain, "I do not want Dr. Alcott in an American port where he can demand his parole or exchange. For now it suits me to have a surgeon aboard the
Fancy
, and this is where he'll stay."

"Aye, Captain," Bryant said.

Later that day, Charley was prepared to acknowledge that if you have seen one sailor's genitals, you have pretty much seen them all.

And she'd seen a lot of men's parts today. At least seeing Stern's circumcised privates was a novelty, but all the others--same equipment, same problems and a sick man was a sick man, no matter what the setting.

The only instance in which the crew of the
Fancy
differed from the crew of the
Lady Jane
, she reflected as she washed her hands, was the higher incidence of venereal disease she'd been called on to treat today. Clearly, these men had never heard that "A moment with Venus may mean a lifetime with Mercury," and she would have to lay in more supplies of mercury salts and guaiacum for whoever would follow her in treating the men of the
Fancy.

She was still thinking about it when Captain Fletcher entered sick bay. "I believe I have seen almost every privateer's privates today, Captain."

"Can you say 'privateer's privates' three times, fast?"

"No," but she was smiling. And then she frowned. She did not need to be getting friendly with her captor.

"You won't be seeing mine, Doctor," the captain said matter-of-factly.

Now, that piqued her curiosity. For purely academic reasons. "Really? And why would that be? Do you not engage in the same activities as your men?"

"I trust you are asking this in your professional capacity, Dr. Alcott. The reason is, I always use a French letter."

"I have heard of such devices, but I have never seen one used!"

"I am not going to demonstrate for you."

Charley tried not to be disappointed. She was only asking in the name of research. "You always use one?"

He looked at her as if gauging how far he wished to continue this conversation regarding his leisure time activities.

"Yes, always, unless I am with widows I know very well. Seeing men pissing blood and pus is more effective than a parson's best hellfire-and-damnation sermon to keep me from boarding the fireships in port."