The Storm-Grey Sea

Chapter Seven - Mea Rosa Habet Spinas

Stephen was lying back in his hammock, considering his recent interaction with the delightful Miss Marlowe, who was proving herself to be just as charming and remarkable as Isaac had described. He had recently come from a most pleasing encounter where he requested her as a tutor and she had accepted.

He had listened to her words, yes, had even learned a few things, but he had been most preoccupied with watching her. She sat with perfect posture, and spoke with sharp wit and a pleasant voice. She reminded him most strongly of what little he had seen of Vice-Admiral Marlowe, and it made him smile to see the similarities between father and daughter.

She was very pretty, Stephen knew, but it was not only that that he liked about her. He liked her spirit, liked her quick wit, and her elegance.

Stephen smiled. Yes, Miss Marlowe was certainly the creature that Isaac had described. She was no ordinary woman, as he had said. Yes, she had all the desireable feminine graces that men lacked and that made them boors; she was elegant and beautiful, and softly gentle. But she had too much of the Vice-Admiral in her to be anything but steely, too. Most women were, in Stephen's experience, creatures composed of muslin and lace and ribbons. Miss Marlowe was something else entirely - she was a being of steel and iron and bright gunpowder sparks.

Yes, she was quite something. He would like to know her better.

There came a knock on his door and he, not caring to stand, simply sat up and called: "Come in!"

In came a young man - Mr. Grey, a midshipman, if Stephen remembered - stumbling in too quickly and tripping over his feet. Removing his hat, he saluted Stephen, which irked him and made his tone sharp when he spoke. He did not want to be treated like an officer. He despised perfunctory shows of obedience.

"Yes, what is it?" he snapped.

"The doctor sends his compliments, sir, and wonders if perhaps he could beg of you that you would pay a visit to his sick bay, sir? He says he has heard of you, sir, says you're a renowned physican," said Mr. Grey.

Stephen sat up immediately. He had not been invited to the sick bay yet, and he was eager to see what kind of medicine was practised upon the ship. Isaac, going somewhat pale when Stephen had mentioned it back in Taunton, had said:

"Oh, Dr. Hayley is a surgeon, Stephen, not a physician like you. I had him remove a gigantic splinter from my leg once. It was not a pleasant experience. It festered, you see, and the doctor I saw in Portsmouth said it had been butchered."

As the young midshipman lead Stephen into the sick bay, he noted how dingy the place was, poorly lit and smelling of rot and feces. He would have been ashamed to have been a doctor in such a place.

"Dr. Byrne!" cried a voice, a weak, warbly voice, from the corner. Two figures approached him, presumably the surgeon and his mate.

As he came into the dim light of the lamps, Dr. Hayley proved to be a sickly little creature, shockingly pale and very skinny. His assistant, the surgeon's mate, was no better, a little taller but equally sallow and pallid. Both were eyeing Stephen with a fair degree of nervousness.

"Dr. Byrne," said Dr. Hayley, the moment he and his mate spotted Stephen entering the sick bay. He grasped Stephen's hand and shook it and Stephen drew back, revulsed, for the man's palms were slick with sweat and worse, possibly. "I am honoured - flattered - humbled by your visiting us. Such a physician of such renown! Thank you, doctor."

Stephen nodded absently, noting how the sick bay was empty. That was a blessing, at least, for the men who were on board.

"Of course, Dr. Hayley," muttered Stephen.