people.
Following behind Dr. Murray gave Daphne a view that surprised her. Given Dr. Murray's years she would expect a belly or a spreading form beneath his conservatively cut coat. Instead, what she saw was solid but not padded. Broad shoulders and back, average height, and he seemed remarkably preserved for his age. His linen shirt was mended at the collar and at the seam behind his arm, but it was clean. She'd noticed that about the surgeon. He kept himself scrupulously clean, and unlike many of the other men aboard ship--or Mrs. Cowper--smelled mostly of soap, not stale sweat.
The hair that was not silvered in back was a warm russet and it curled at the nape of his neck. From the wet air, she thought, no different from others in that regard. Somehow she thought he'd be distressed if he knew his hair was out of place, normal though it might be.
They were at the privy now--"head," he absently corrected her--and Dr. Murray rapped sharply on the door.
"Mrs. Cowper, are you ill?"
There was no answer, and he pushed on the door, but it was stuck and would only open scant inches.
"Hold the lantern over my shoulder please, Miss Farnham."
Daphne rushed forward to make herself useful, that quality Dr. Murray prized above all others. Her view inside was restricted and the odor was strong, but she held the lantern up, steadying it with one hand beneath. Mrs. Cowper appeared to be slumped over against the wall. Dr. Murray put his hand inside and rested it on the older woman's neck. He took his hand out a few minutes later.
"Mrs. Cowper is dead, Miss Farnham."
"Dead? That is not possible! Are you certain?"
He looked at her.
"There is no heartbeat. I have long observed that when there is no heartbeat, people cease living. So yes, I am quite certain, Miss Farnham, that Mrs. Cowper is dead."
Daphne knew she was blushing, and she was angry, more at him than at herself for saying such a foolish thing. Of course an experienced ship's surgeon knew when someone was dead, but this was not a normal occurrence for her!
"Return to your cabin, Miss Farnham. I will inform the ship's officers of what has happened."
"Is there...is there something I should do?"
"What do you suggest?"
What Daphne wanted to do was burst into tears. Not because of any fondness for Mrs. Cowper, who'd been her jailer more than her companion, watching her, criticizing her constantly and writing notes for her report to Daphne's father. But this was another complication in Daphne's life, a life that had had far too many complications lately to suit her.
Dr. Murray was still observing her, unfazed by being a foot away from a corpse. These things must happen to him all the time. His craggy face was lightly stubbled with the day's growth, but he looked alert and not at all as if being up in the middle of the night was an issue, or a new experience.
"I will write a letter to her family expressing my regret at Mrs. Cowper's passing," Daphne finally said. There. That was something useful she could do.
"You are the only other woman aboard ship. Did it occur to you, Miss Farnham, that you might be useful laying out Mrs. Cowper for her burial? Do not drop that lantern, it would start a fire."
He took the lantern from her nerveless fingers as Daphne stared at him.
"I could never do that, Dr. Murray! How you could even ask--"
She knew from his expression that she'd fallen even further in his esteem, if such a thing were possible.
"It was more in the nature of a suggestion, Miss Farnham. I knew better than to ask." He sighed. "Return to your cabin. I will see to it."
Daphne turned and walked blindly back to her cabin. Pompom greeted her and jumped into her lap when she sat on her bunk, staring at the empty covers of the bunk across from hers. Pompom licked her hand and Daphne put her head down next to the warm body snuggled into the crook of her arm.
"At least you love me just the way I am, Pompom," she whispered to the bichon.
* * * *
Alexander logged the time of
Following behind Dr. Murray gave Daphne a view that surprised her. Given Dr. Murray's years she would expect a belly or a spreading form beneath his conservatively cut coat. Instead, what she saw was solid but not padded. Broad shoulders and back, average height, and he seemed remarkably preserved for his age. His linen shirt was mended at the collar and at the seam behind his arm, but it was clean. She'd noticed that about the surgeon. He kept himself scrupulously clean, and unlike many of the other men aboard ship--or Mrs. Cowper--smelled mostly of soap, not stale sweat.
The hair that was not silvered in back was a warm russet and it curled at the nape of his neck. From the wet air, she thought, no different from others in that regard. Somehow she thought he'd be distressed if he knew his hair was out of place, normal though it might be.
They were at the privy now--"head," he absently corrected her--and Dr. Murray rapped sharply on the door.
"Mrs. Cowper, are you ill?"
There was no answer, and he pushed on the door, but it was stuck and would only open scant inches.
"Hold the lantern over my shoulder please, Miss Farnham."
Daphne rushed forward to make herself useful, that quality Dr. Murray prized above all others. Her view inside was restricted and the odor was strong, but she held the lantern up, steadying it with one hand beneath. Mrs. Cowper appeared to be slumped over against the wall. Dr. Murray put his hand inside and rested it on the older woman's neck. He took his hand out a few minutes later.
"Mrs. Cowper is dead, Miss Farnham."
"Dead? That is not possible! Are you certain?"
He looked at her.
"There is no heartbeat. I have long observed that when there is no heartbeat, people cease living. So yes, I am quite certain, Miss Farnham, that Mrs. Cowper is dead."
Daphne knew she was blushing, and she was angry, more at him than at herself for saying such a foolish thing. Of course an experienced ship's surgeon knew when someone was dead, but this was not a normal occurrence for her!
"Return to your cabin, Miss Farnham. I will inform the ship's officers of what has happened."
"Is there...is there something I should do?"
"What do you suggest?"
What Daphne wanted to do was burst into tears. Not because of any fondness for Mrs. Cowper, who'd been her jailer more than her companion, watching her, criticizing her constantly and writing notes for her report to Daphne's father. But this was another complication in Daphne's life, a life that had had far too many complications lately to suit her.
Dr. Murray was still observing her, unfazed by being a foot away from a corpse. These things must happen to him all the time. His craggy face was lightly stubbled with the day's growth, but he looked alert and not at all as if being up in the middle of the night was an issue, or a new experience.
"I will write a letter to her family expressing my regret at Mrs. Cowper's passing," Daphne finally said. There. That was something useful she could do.
"You are the only other woman aboard ship. Did it occur to you, Miss Farnham, that you might be useful laying out Mrs. Cowper for her burial? Do not drop that lantern, it would start a fire."
He took the lantern from her nerveless fingers as Daphne stared at him.
"I could never do that, Dr. Murray! How you could even ask--"
She knew from his expression that she'd fallen even further in his esteem, if such a thing were possible.
"It was more in the nature of a suggestion, Miss Farnham. I knew better than to ask." He sighed. "Return to your cabin. I will see to it."
Daphne turned and walked blindly back to her cabin. Pompom greeted her and jumped into her lap when she sat on her bunk, staring at the empty covers of the bunk across from hers. Pompom licked her hand and Daphne put her head down next to the warm body snuggled into the crook of her arm.
"At least you love me just the way I am, Pompom," she whispered to the bichon.
* * * *
Alexander logged the time of
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