“Nay, just a wee bee sting.” He tried to smile, but his eyes were wet with tears.
“Dr. Carson,” I said. He looked at me, and I pointed at the laudanum. Wasn’t this the time to use it?
“Save it for the really bad cases.”
There are worse ones than this? I thought with a shudder.
After dressing Sam’s arm, we headed down the hall to a tiny room—the sick bay, Dr. Carson called it. It was a hot, windowless area with three bunk beds jammed so close together they almost touched. The place was meant to be where the injured and ill crew sought refuge, the closest thing to a hospital on board the ship, and it was in miserable condition. For their part, the men seemed grateful to see a nurse in their midst and nodded respectfully to me as I passed by.
Dr. Carson bent over one of the bottom beds, where a man was groaning in pain. I looked down to see his leg. While it was set firmly in a wooden splint, it was purple and swollen to twice the size of his good leg. Stiches had been sewn into the skin where it appeared a broken bone had once protruded.
“Casper broke his leg during the storm,” Dr. Carson explained. The sailor had been at the animal pens, using a rope to secure the cow and prevent her from sliding across the deck with each roll of the ship, but the rope had become tangled around his leg. When a huge wave hit the vessel, the cow lost her footing and landed on top of him. “I set his leg last night, but he needs something for the pain. Can you pass me the laudanum?”
“Of course.” I fumbled for the bag, my cheeks burning with shame as I realized just how badly these men needed the laudanum. I hoped Hari would be able to wean herself off quickly before Dr. Carson’s supply ran out.
I handed Dr. Carson a vial, and he administered it to the seaman, and within seconds, he quieted. His eyelids briefly fluttered then closed, and I was glad we could bring him some peace.
“We’ll check on him again later to see how he’s doing,” Dr. Carson whispered, then he beckoned me to follow him. We moved into a small private examination room next to the sick bay, where a young woman in a large cloak waited.
I had seen her before when we were boarding—she was the woman from the Columbia Emigration Society who had stumbled on the upper deck. She was quite lovely, with dark hair and eyes, and a clear golden-brown complexion. I guessed her to be of French or Spanish ancestry, her family likely from Breton or perhaps they were Basque.
Dr. Carson shut the door behind us. “You must be Sarah Roy,” he said. “I’m Dr. Carson and this is Miss Charlotte Harding.”
“Hello,” I said. “I remember seeing you on deck yesterday. It’s nice to meet you.”
As she turned towards us, her cloak fell open, revealing her late-stage pregnancy. I tried not to let my surprise play on my face.
“Thank you for seeing me privately, Dr. Carson,” Sarah said. “You see, to get on the brideship, I didn’t tell the whole truth, and now the Burks are trying to make an example of me.”
So this was what Reverend Burk was referring to at dinner. Was she unmarried? Or widowed? I wondered. I didn’t see a ring on her finger. A thought struck me. Perhaps she had been attacked like me but hadn’t escaped. I shuddered to think how close I had come to being in Sarah’s shoes—alone and pregnant headed for an unknown world. My heart went out to her.
“How are you feeling?” Dr. Carson asked, bringing me out of my reverie. “Having any light contractions yet?”
“Yes, a few,” Sarah said.
I tied to appear nonchalant as Dr. Carson gently ran his hands across her belly. “Ah, there’s a fine kick. This little one’s getting ready to make an entrance—any time now.” He looked up at me. “Good thing I’ve got your extra hands.”
I felt my knees weaken—I had seen Dr. Boyd birth foals on our estate, but I knew little about human births.
Sarah gave me a small smile. “Thank you ever so much, ma’am.”
She must be so nervous, I thought. I placed my hand on her arm. “Please call me Charlotte.”
“Charlotte, then,” she said, and her shoulders relaxed.
“Come here the same time tomorrow. I want to monitor you daily so you can be as prepared and comfortable as possible when labour starts,” Dr. Carson said. I nodded to Sarah and then followed Dr. Carson out and on to the next patient.
By the time we got back to the surgery, I was hungry and exhausted, but I felt a warmth from within at the thought of all the men I had helped that day. This was honest work, and I got much more enjoyment out of tending to the patients than making polite conversation with ladies of society. I looked down at my dress—it was a bit dirty and creased. I hoped Harriet wouldn’t notice. All I wanted to do was find something to eat and crawl into bed, but waiting by the surgery door was John Crossman with a well-worn brown leather satchel in his hand.
“Dr. Carson, Miss Harding!” He smiled, displaying a fine set of strong white teeth. “I didn’t expect to find you both together.”
I felt my palms dampen and ran them across the folds of my gown, smoothing the lines and wrinkles. What if the reverend mentioned something to Lady Persephone at dinner one night? “Dr. Carson has been good enough to give me a few lessons, first aid and that sort of thing.”
John’s eyebrows shot up. “I’m impressed. Everyone else in first class is having a good long lie-in after last night’s storm. You’re very serious about learning more about medicine, then?”
“Purely as a point of interest,” I said. “I doubt I would ever be
