Free The Surgeon's Lady by Carla Kelly

lamp there, too, like the one Philemon Brittle had used when he checked on Nana Worthy.
    “I usually see what I can do on the deck below,” the orderly said. “If you need anything, just go to the stairwell and sing out.”
    She didn’t want to just sit there. She went from bed to bed, making sure everyone was covered. Before he left, the orderly had given sleeping draughts to those who were prescribed for it. She sat beside Matthew again, putting her hand against his forehead, which was cool now.
    “It hurts, miss, in a strange way,” he whispered. “It’s like I can feel my fingers, and they’re stuck with pins.”
    “We’ll have to ask Lt. Brittle about that,” she said.
    “Aye, mum.”
    She thought he would sleep then. He closed his eyes. She started to release her grip, but he tightened his hand on hers.
    “Mum, what am I going to do for the rest of my life?”
    I am asking myself that same thing, she thought. She sat there until he slept.

Chapter Six
    L aura dozed, exhausted from a day that had begun early in Torquay, and showed no signs of ending. She thought of Taunton, with servants everywhere. There was no one in B Ward except herself and the occasional orderly.
    She asked herself how she could possibly help the men lying around her. She sat by Matthew, stupefied with exhaustion, wondering why she had ever told Nana she would check on the little powder monkey.
    Someone was crying. She thought it was Davey Dabney at first, and who could blame him, but it was Tommy, the seaman with one leg gone, in the next bed. She extricated herself from Matthew’s slack grasp and went first to the water basin. She squeezed out a cloth, went to his bed and wiped his face.
    “There, now. Can you sleep?”
    “The pain’s bad, miss.” His voice was tight, that of a proud man trying not to cry.
    “I haven’t authority to give you anything, but I’ll tell Lt. Brittle when he returns.”
    He seemed to understand. She wiped his face again, then held his hand, because there was nothing else she could do. She thought she should close the window, now that the sun was gone, but the sounds outside gave her comfort. Below in the quadrangle, she heard men walking, and farther away, laughter.
    “Would you like to be at sea?” she asked, then kicked herself because his sea days were probably over, and she was only reminding him.
    He didn’t take it that way, to her relief. “Aye, mum. Much rather. I never feel comfortable-like on land.”
    His voice was drowsy now, without the tension, and all she had done was wipe his face and hold his hand. When he slept finally, she felt the tiniest spark of satisfaction. She did not release his hand. Whether he knew it or not, and how could he, he was giving her comfort, too.
    She was nearly asleep herself when she felt a hand on her shoulder. When she started, the pressure increased and kept her silent because she knew who it was. Lt. Brittle bent down to whisper in her ear.
    “I’m sorry I am so late. Ward Block Three is also my bailiwick, and there are burn cases from an explosion.” He squatted by her stool. “The night orderly is coming now. Let me take your valise and walk you to my house.”
    “Oh, but…”
    “The Mulberry’s too far, and are you as tired as I am? I’ve sent word for my housekeeper to prepare a bath for you, and dinner’s probably ready.”
    “I’m sorry to put you to trouble,” she whispered.
    “I rather think you were the one put to trouble today.”
    Standing by the door, she watched him as he went toevery bed, looking, touching, covering, and in one case, kneeling in conversation that ended in low laughter. She remembered the amputee, who slept now, and told him about the man’s pain. Lt. Brittle nodded and wrote a note for the orderly, prescribing laudanum, should the man wake before morning.
    He carried her valise down the stairs and she followed, still stiff from sitting. On the colonnade, he offered her his arm and she took it. As she