Free Cherished Enemy by Patricia Veryan Page A

and, unable to regain his balance, toppled with a shout. His fall sent another gentleman reeling who, reaching out desperately, clutched the fat lady so that, screeching, she fell with him, much to the resentment of her husband. Their tumble knocked down a young nursemaid who did not relinquish her grip on her open umbrella as she went down. The umbrella netted a lady who had spent several hours arranging an ornate coiffure so as to impress the admirer who waited on the dock. Temporarily blinded both by the umbrella and her tumbling coiffure, she threw up both arms, shrieking. Her wrist caught a mincing macaroni under the chin, causing that already afflicted gentleman’s eyes to cross as he sagged to his knees. Grabbing out for support, he caught the skirts of a nearby lady of rather flamboyant dress, who had been so taken with Dr. Victor that she’d not noticed the macaroni. She turned without hesitation to the gentleman beside her and slapped his face. His wife, incensed, demanded to know what he’d been doing to “that hussy.” The “hussy” objected. Physically. Those striving to separate them stumbled over the fallen and began to quarrel. Everyone was tired and cross from the rigours of the journey, and within seconds the situation had deteriorated into widespread chaos.
    Trapped in the midst of a shouting, outraged mob, the very development he had striven to avoid, the First Officer vented his fury on Dr. Butterworth and informed him this was all his doing and he’d be fortunate indeed not to lose his situation. With decidedly vulgar explicitness, the doctor told the officer just what to do with the position of Ship’s Surgeon, then sprang at Victor and shot out an unexpectedly efficient fist.
    The right jab caught the young doctor by surprise and squarely on the nose. He saw stars, dropped his baggage yet again, and staggered.
    A strong arm was about him. After a blurred but painful moment he found himself sitting on a secluded bench, with Roland Fairleigh holding a handkerchief to his streaming nose. “What…?” he gulped dazedly, trying to wipe away involuntary tears.
    Sorenson came up with a kerchief he had soaked in the scupper. He wrung it out, made it into a pad and held it behind Victor’s neck. “If you will put back your head, sir,” he said quietly, “I think the pad is sufficiently cold as to help stop the bleeding.”
    Victor thanked him rather thickly. Fairleigh sent his man off to help Mrs. Porchester and Miss Albritton with their luggage and to hire a carriage for them. He then sat beside the casualty and after a minute or two asked if he was all right.
    Victor felt his nose cautiously. “Thanks to you.”
    His lips twitching, Fairleigh enquired, “Is it broke?”
    â€œI—don’t think so…” Victor saw laughter in the dark eyes, and protested, “You may find this amusing, sir, but—” He broke off and was unable to hold annoyance. “Devil take the little gamecock,” he said ruefully.
    â€œWhat set him off?”
    Lifting his head without dire results, Victor drew out his own handkerchief, and proffered it. “Here, friend. I’ve about ruined yours, I’m afraid.”
    A distant roar caused them both to glance in the direction of the continuing altercation. “If ever I was in a more embarrassing mess,” groaned Victor.
    â€œI rather thought that. An exceeding angry little man! I wonder you did not toss him overboard.”
    â€œI should have! Who’d have dreamt the pip-squeak would deal me such a leveller?” He clapped Fairleigh on the back. “Or that you’d come bravely through that horrid imbroglio to rescue me? You’re a jolly good fellow. I do thank you!” He chuckled. “Did you see the poor lady trapped inside the umbrella?”
    Removing his glance from the initials “RVM” on Victor’s handkerchief, Fairleigh said