The Storm-Grey Sea

Chapter Three - A Farewell to Taunton

Author's note: A shorter chapter, but a necessary one. The next one's a whole lot longer, I assure you. Please vote and comment if you liked it, it means the world to me! Also: Irish history. Don't panic, when reading it and if you need clarification, I'll be happy to explain!

It had been three days since the ball, and Stephen had spent those days in measureless content, mostly devoid of company, a marked and very welcome contrast to the business of social setting.

Of course, Mr. Cuthbert - Isaac - had called twice, once two mornings previous and once the day before, whereupon he and Stephen had had a spartan but very agreeable dinner. Stephen quite liked Isaac, as he was not only good company, but he was also keenly interested in medicine and very happy to listen to Stephen talk about it.

He was a good man, with a firm intellect and only a natural interest in women. He was not the sort of man who blathered incessantly about the fairer sex - Stephen could not abide the types who seemed focused only on women - usually speaking of only one such lady. She was a very elegant creature named Rosalind Marlowe, apparently, and the daughter of Vice-Admiral Marlowe, as Isaac never failed to point out.

Stephen had discovered it was the elegant Miss Marlowe whom he had encountered on the terrace, but, based only on that short encounter with her, could only commend her beauty, and not her lively personality, or her great spirit, as Isaac did.

Now, Stephen was seated in the windowseat of the little parlour, poring over one of his medical texts, which he intended to lend to Isaac.

He glanced out the window periodically, enjoying the view. The cottage was small, to his taste, and seated on the edge of the sloping lawns of Westleigh. He had rented it from Lady Beckett, who let several cottages on her land to various and respectable gentlemen.

She was a dutiful landlady, he noted, and provided him with a housekeeper who took excellent care in keeping the cottage clean and tidy.

Stephen had just decided that he would pay Isaac a visit - he rented rooms in Taunton, some distance from Westleigh - when said housekeeper entered the parlour.

"A letter for you, Dr. Byrne," she said, holding one out. Stephen barely glanced at it, already making for the door, the book in hand.

"I shall read it when I return, Mrs. Lansdale," he replied, waving it away.

"Please, doctor, it begs an answer," she said. "The servant who delivered it said it was most urgent."

Giving a sigh, he took the letter from Mrs. Lansdale and broke the seal. Opening it, he began to read, recognizing the handwriting with some unhappiness, as it was the writing of Lord Henry Wentworth, the man who had been Stephen's patron in Stephen's first years as a doctor, providing him with necessary medical supplies and helping him to build a reputation.

Though he had been generous, Lord Wentworth was very heavy-handed, often treating Stephen like a footman, not a doctor of reasonable fame and exemplary skill. And so it was with much trepidation that Stephen opened the letter from his former patron.

Dear sir, 

I hope all is well with you and that you are in good health and pleasant company. I am writing today to ask of you a favour, one which I hope that you will oblige me by carrying out.

My good friend Sir John Tilley, the Governor of Jamaica, has lately fallen ill. Gravely ill, I am afraid, and he requires immediate medical action if he is to live. Unfortunately, there is no physician in all of Jamaica sutied to the task, and so I put forward your name when enquiries were made in search of a suitable doctor to treat him.