The Storm-Grey Sea

Chapter Ten - Drs. Marlowe and Byrne

Author's note: Ten chapters in already! This is a long (and important) chapter. Hope you like it. If you do, it would mean the world to me if you would like and comment!

Stephen had been troubled and quite unable to sleep for the past week and a half. He had not slept well for the first two weeks they had been at sea, had been kept awake by the shouting and singing of rowdy sailors, and when that used to subside in the early hours of the morning, the creaking of the ship’s timbers.

But now he tossed and turned in his hammock, wide-awake in the middle watch, staring into the darkness of his cabin and wishing for a bed and a candle and dry land.

He wondered whether it was boredom that made it so difficult to sleep. After all, there had been very little excitement since they had embarked. The most diverting thing he had done thus far was flirt partially unintentionally with the only woman for hundreds of miles, and flirt rather badly.

Even the ship’s sickbay was of little interest. Mostly its patients were troubled with the usual ailments, and were very dull. Even Dr. Hayley could not possibly have gone wrong with them, making it dreadfully boring work for Stephen to inspect the sickbay.

The only thing he had not found boring was Miss Marlowe. But with a wordless growl, he turned over and tried to put any thought of her out of his mind. He saw her daily, dined with her often, and dreamed about her enough that he did not need to fill his waking thoughts with her.

But after only a moment of trying to focus by listing the anatomy of the eye, his mind shifted of its own accord to using Miss Marlowe’s grey-blue eyes as a model for the ideal oculus.

He gave a snarl and leaped out of his hammock. He would rather sit up awake in the light than toss in turn in a fruitless attempt to sleep. Snatching up his coat and cravat and dressing himself as well as he could, he also tripped on a loose board, stumbled, and whacked his head on a low-hanging timber.

Cursing in language that would have done the sailors proud, he managed to grab a random medical text and stagger into the corridor. Was he allowed in the wardroom at this hour? He wasn’t sure. Nor did he care.

The ship was astonishingly quiet as he lurched down corridor, his footfalls punctuating the stillness with a rapid and insistent beat. He had expected, as a result, that he could sit in silence in the wardroom, with a candle and his book, and try to find some peace.

It was not to be, however, for seated at the table by candlelight was Mr. Browne.

“Sir,” said Stephen.

Mr. Browne looked up and smiled. “Good morning, Dr. Byrne.”

“I had not expected to find anyone here,” said Stephen, sitting down across from Mr. Browne. He passed his gaze over the book before the lieutenant, and noted the quill in his hand. A journal, evidently.

“I have the morning watch, and like to be up early for it,” explained Mr. Browne. “And yourself, sir?”

“I could not sleep.”

Mr. Browne nodded. “Then you will not mind if I scratch away here for a few more minutes?” he asked, gesturing to his quill.

“So long as you allow me to read,” replied Stephen.

Mr. Browne gave one of his endearing smiles, all white teeth and glowing eyes, and bowed his head once more. The sound of his quill against the paper was very soothing as Stephen opened his book.

He slammed it shut very quickly, for it turned out not to be one of his medical texts but instead a handbook on seamanship that Miss Marlowe had lent him. The sharp sound made Mr. Browne look up and arch his brows in concern.