He was quite certain that none of this was fresh news to the Russian lady but she listened intently to every word, seeming to value his first-hand report.
He told her how pleased the ship’s doctor had been with the patient’s progress. The best food the galley could provide, fresh air, exercise and the stimulation of a late summer’s cruise along the coast of Norway had almost restored her to full physical health. The captain was careful to explain that the ship had been conveying back home a consular family who had gladly lent one of their maids as nurse cum chaperone so all the proprieties had been observed.
The Russian acknowledged this with a tilt of the head and an understanding smile.
But it was the girl’s mental state that he needed to lay out for her future guardian. ‘She has suffered unbelievable hardship … torture would not be too strong a word … and three years of unremitting squalor. Anyone less strong and tenacious of life would not have survived. But it will be some time before she’s fully recovered. It’s possible that the services of an alienist might be called upon with advantage.’ A radical suggestion, but the princess seemed not to be offended. She even nodded in acceptance and Swinburne felt emboldened to press his point. ‘There are physicians in London with certain skills acquired in the war … Anna’s condition is in some ways similar to what I have witnessed in men experiencing the prolonged terrors of the battlefield. And, survivor that she is, she deserves the appropriate treatment. I would like you to be aware of this. I will not leave her in any situation that I do not judge to be capable of responding to her condition.’
He knew he was going too far. His stewardship was officially at an end; he had to recognize the superior authority of the noble lady to whom he was daring to dish out advice and demands. But Captain Swinburne was not a man to retreat from a position he’d taken up, whether his feet were on the deck of a gunboat or on a silken rug in a douce London drawing room.
She looked up at him sharply, scanning his weatherbeaten features and standing firm before the challenge in his very English blue eyes. He steeled himself to receive the set-down he’d merited.
But the princess’s response when it came was thoughtful. ‘Captain, it occurs to me that losing your support could constitute yet another blow to Anna’s well-being.’
‘I did what I could. Believe me, ma’am, it was her choice to break the bond we have established.’ The words stretched between them, vibrating with a resentment he had not intended. He hurried to add: ‘But an encouraging sign, I’m sure you’ll agree. She’s ready to move forward. She recognizes now that she has a future and I do believe she is making plans for it.’ He broke off, unwilling to say more, and indicated that he was ready to bring her in.
As he turned to leave the room, Swinburne’s attention was caught by a photograph, the one at the forefront of a cluster of silver-framed portraits arranged on the grand piano. He exclaimed and went to examine more closely a group of five or six earnest-looking young women dressed in nurse’s uniform, a flutter of angels gathered in a semiformal pose around a bed in a hospital ward. The wounded soldier at the centre of their attention looked suitably overawed.
‘There she is! That’s Anna! Good Lord. She actually was a nurse. So much she didn’t tell me …’ Responding to the invitation in the Russian’s expression, he smiled, his eyes returning to the photograph. ‘One of my crew was careless enough to cut his leg to the bone on a day when our doctor was ashore in Trondheim. They brought him to me, dripping blood and swooning, and Anna, who was with me on deck, snapped out of her torpid state and had the chap sedated, stitched up and bandaged with all the skill of a medic in no time. Saved the leg, I reckon.’