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(one.)
“What the fuck,” said Red, “is that.”
Belle blinked and looked down at the fish she had served. “It’s – fish,” she said, faltering. “Salmon. It’s perfectly good, I promise – it was made by the cook, not me, so it’s not like I had an opportunity to ruin it.”
Red wrinkled her nose and prodded it. “Why does it smell like that?”
Belle looked at the fish again and then over her shoulder at Jack. He scratched at his chin, looking at the ceiling instead of meeting her eye, but she still caught the flash of humour in his face. She turned back to Red and said, “It always smells like this?”
“It always -” Red broke off and looked at Tim. “It always smells like this.”
“They get the fish shipped in from England,” said Jack. “Salted to hell and back so it’ll last the trip.”
Red poked at the salmon again listlessly. Her voice was bitter as she said, “Take our land, tell us its theft to use our old hunting grounds, but they’d still rather eat four-month-old fish than eat from the land they stole from us.”
Belle clasped her hands together and rallied. She said, “You need to get your strength up. If you want to get out of here sooner rather than later -”
“Sooner,” put in Red.
“Then you must eat,” said Belle. “I’m sorry that this is different to what you typically eat, but it’s all I can get for you, and the food provided for Jack simply isn’t enough for both you and him.”
Red took a bite of the fish and made a face. Tim stroked her shoulder comfortingly.
"Well," said Belle. "I suppose if that's -"
“How did you get the fish?” asked Red.
Belle shifted, twisting her fingers together cagily. “Miss Wheeler cooked it.”
“And did you tell her that she was cooking it for a dead woman?” asked Red. She cocked her head like a hound scenting prey. “Did your father give you leave to take food to a dead woman?”
Belle scowled. “I didn’t elaborate on what I wanted the fish for, no.”
“So I suppose you could say that this was theft,” said Red, eyes mockingly wide. “Lady Belle. I don’t know if I consent to this. Thievery is thievery!”
Belle caught a flash of a smile on Tim’s face as he hid his face in Red’s shoulder. She flushed and took a step back. Her step carried her backwards, bumping into Jack. His hands slipped around her waist, steadying her. There were too many layers to feel the warmth of them, truly, but it still thrilled through her with more heat than any suitor her mother had introduced her to had ever produced.
She cleared her throat. “Jack and I should be getting to the hospital. Are you sure there is nothing I can do for you?”
“I’m fine,” insisted Red. "We're fine."
"Well then," said Belle. She twisted in Jack's grip and headed for the door. She heard Jack say something behind her, but she didn't bother to wait for him.
He found her, ultimately, in the yard to the hospital, sitting on the back steps and hugging her knees to her chest. She scrambled to her feet when he came out the door, brushing down the skirts of her dress.
Jack smiled, taking a step towards her. "Hello again."
“I’m not a thief,” said Belle. “I’m not.”
Jack blinked and leaned back against the wall. Slowly, he said, “Alright.”
“Just because I didn’t tell anyone what I was doing with the fish doesn’t mean I stole it,” said Belle. She watched him consider the words and hated it. “Just say it,” she said. “All of it.”
Jack sighed. "If it had been Miss Wheeler who had taken that fish to feed her sister," he said, "Captain Gaines would treat her very differently to how he would treat you."
"Yes, well," said Belle, and stopped. Janet Wheeler was a convict; she had a history of these things. And now, so did Belle - helping to snatch a body, of all things, surely worse than anything Miss Wheeler had done.
Jack watched her thought process and half-smiled, some of the humour returning to his face. "There can be more important things than the letter of the law, Belle. You know my first loyalty is to medicine."
"Yes, but you love it," pointed out Belle. "You know that it's dangerous, you know that you shouldn't, but you enjoy being cleverer than everybody else. In surgery and in Fagin's gang."
Jack made a face. "I wouldn't really call it a gang."
"You're biased," said Belle, crossing her arms.
"And you aren't, Lady Belle?" said Jack.
Belle scowled. "Don't call me that. You don't need to call me that."
"Alright," said Jack, leaning forward and sliding his hands on to her waist. His voice dropped. "Belle."
(two.)
The Thomas Arbuthnot had sat in harbour for three days before her passengers were allowed to disembark. This was quite an impressive amount of time, but still enough for Jack to get hold of the passenger lists. Unhelpful, usually, but the Thomas Arbuthnot carried free settlers instead of convicts and there had been persistent rumours of some toff being on a tour of the colonies.
The viscount in question was unmistakable as he made his way off the ship. He mopped his forehead with a spare handkerchief and staggered, just a little, on the gangway as he made his way off the ship. In spite of the way the heat was obviously affecting him, he hadn't so much as unbuttoned his frock coat.
"Tonic?" offered Jack to every passenger that streamed off the ship. To the few that stopped, he readily introduced himself as a trained surgeon on an unfortunate and unplanned sabbatical who'd take a look at any ailments at a fair rate. He wasn't so stupid to only approach the target, and more than a few of the free settlers were underfed from the blight in Scotland. This was an opportunity for more than one reason.
The viscount caught sight of the proffered refreshment and ambled over, hand gripped tight on his cane. "Refreshments?" he said. "I say, this is a damn sight better than Moreton Bay was."
"Tonic, sir?" said Jack.
The viscount shuffled, looking nervous. "There's not malaria here, is there? I wasn't warned that -"
"No, sir," said Jack. "It's quite refreshing, actually." He lowered his voice conspiratorially. "Particularly with gin."
The viscount cracked out a laugh. "Navy or Company boy?"
"Navy surgeon," said Jack, firmly not reacting to the condescension. "Been in Port Victory for about three years now."
"Ah," said the viscount. He took a long drink and looked around before asking, "Do you ever get used to the heat?"
It was still the height of summer, but the heavy, damp air had dissipated over the past few days. The air no longer felt like the hottest room of a bath house every time the breeze dropped. The punishing sun was, in comparison, entirely tolerable. He would learn.
"Never," said Jack with a grin. He nodded at the carriage pulling up across the square and said, "I imagine that's yours, then?"
"Ah, yes!" said the viscount. "Thank you for the refreshments, doctor. I'll sing you praises."
Jack's smile gained an edge of genuine humour, imagining Jane Fox's lips pursing at the first mention of his name. "No need. The governor and his family are already quite familiar with my work."
"Nonetheless," said the viscount, pressing a shilling into his hand. "They shall hear it, in baritone!"
Jack leaned back against his makeshift stall to watch the carriage clatter away, the viscount's pocket watch satisfyingly heavy in his right pocket. The square was beginning to quieten as the new arrivals were shepherded away to Customs House.
“He was meant to be my newest suitor, you know.”
Jack blinked and turned to look at Belle, standing with her hair cloaked by a hood. He crossed his arms as he walked over to her. “Your newest suitor…” he repeated. “Shouldn't you be in a receiving line back at the Governor's House?”
“Yes,” said Belle. She looked up at him through her eyelashes at let some of that impishness creep into her smile, the brashness that had charmed and irritated him and equal measures when he first met her. “But I've decided I'm on strike, you see.”
Jack raised his eyebrows. “On strike.”
“I will not meet one single suitor until you are allowed back into the hospital,” said Belle. “I will not speak with one until you are pardoned.”
Glancing over his shoulder to see if anyone was watching them, he drew her into one of the side alleys. “Is that so?” he asked, one hand on the crook of her elbow.
“You’ll notice,” said Belle, tilting her head up to his, “that at no point have I agreed to seriously entertain any suitors.” Safely out of sight of the street, she took hold of his lapels and tugged him closer. “When I have secured your pardon, I will have you, and no other.”
And that was hardly fair to say while they were in a public place, with evidence of Jack’s sticky fingers still in his pocket. There was no storage cupboard to drag her into here.
“Even after seeing that?” asked Jack, even as his hands found their way to her waist.
“I am coming to adjust my views on theft, somewhat,” said Belle. She fisted her hands in his lapels and looked him in the eye when she said, “I love you, Doctor Dawkins or Dodger.”
“Belle,” breathed Jack, crowding her back against the sandstone bricks. She craned her face up towards him and he threw caution to the wind as he leaned down to meet her. Belle let go of his shirt to sling her arms around his neck, tugging him closer still.
In the square, a door slammed. Jack and Belle both jerked back at once. Belle huffed as she straightened her dress.
“This is maddening,” she said. “I miss you. I hate only stealing a few moments with you when we’re able to cross paths.”
It was maddening, but he’d had this, and he’d had Belle’s blood crusting into flakes on his skin, and he knew which one he preferred.
“I will take this,” said Jack. “I will take whatever moments I may be able to have with you, and I will cherish them.”
Belle's face softened. She checked over shoulder before stepping closer again, close enough that her breath ghosted over his cheek. Belle’s hand slipped into his pocket and he froze until she withdrew with the pocket watch in hand. She inspected it carefully, flicking it open and checking the time. “What is the plan with this, exactly?”
“Some men coming from the goldfields want to look the part quick,” said Jack. “They’re not particularly fussed on finding out where their new kicks are coming from; they just want to look rich when they step foot in England again. This has no engravings or marks pointing to a particular owner, so it’s easy to sell on.” He shrugged, ducking his head. “So long as I do something small like this, it’ll keep Fagin from dragging me into anything ridiculous.”
“Mother would be delighted to have you shipped to Port Arthur,” said Belle. She used two fingers to push his chin up so he looked her in the eye. “Be careful, Jack.”
(three.)
"Jack!" Belle's voice rang out with her hand banging on the door. "Jack, I need to speak with you, now."
Red's hand immediately went to the pistol tucked into her belt. Jack glared at her and hissed, "I can get rid of her. She wouldn't say anything that incriminating, anyway."
"For you, maybe," said Red. "For the old coot, even, since you're his responsibility right now. Me?"
In a lower voice, Belle said, "Fagin, Red — just let me in."
Red's eyes shot over to the door, jaw clenching. "Let her in."
"She won't say anything," repeated Jack, meeting Red's eyes. He unlocked the door and Belle pushed her way in immediately, taking in the scene with her arms crossed.
"You're all up to something," she said.
"I thought we were friends, Fancyskirts," said Fagin, clapping a hand over his heart, at the same time as Red scoffed and turned away.
"You got my father drunk last night at the pub and then I saw Red sneaking in here this morning," said Belle. "My mother has a vested interest right now in pinning any crime on Jack. I would like to know what he's actually getting into."
"If he wants you to know, he can tell you himself," said Red. "Till then, you're just going to have to live with it, Fancyskirts."
Fancyskirts, Belle mouthed. She set her jaw before turning to look at Jack. "The plan is to rob the House, isn't it?"
Jack sighed. "Yes."
"Dodge!" said Fagin, aghast.
"She'd already guessed!" said Jack. "What, did you think she was going to let it go if I said no?"
"She is still here," said Belle acidly. "So, a heist in the Governor's House - jewels, I suppose?" Red snorted. Belle's eyes narrowed. "Not jewels, then. Maybe something we've just received a shipment of, though the only thing I can think of is wine —" She paused as she noticed Fagin's twitching stop. "Alcohol?" she said. "Why? The new captain is no champion of the temperance movement, you know."
“I’ve got a partner, see,” said Fagin. “Don’t look at me like that! He’s reliable, old Magwitch. He’s set himself up as the owner of overnight stop on the second day of the coach service to Ballarat.”
Belle frowned. "And he needs you to supply his alcohol why?"
“Well, the price of a licence is a pretty penny,” said Fagin. “So Magwitch needs a bit of help getting his supplies. It’s easy enough for us to send what he needs and get a bit of the cut - so long as the colony’s most wanted bushranger doesn’t steal all our gold on the road.” He sent an irritated look at Red, who looked thoroughly unrepentant. "The toffs in the coach are so eager to drink to forget their day on the road they're willing to overlook the mark up, so works out great for everyone."
“But you just said it,” said Belle. “Alcohol isn’t illegal in Port Victory. Why do you need to steal it?”
Fagin huffed. “Well. The thing is, I had a deal with Mr Monks. Then the wet lettuce ran off with all that gold, and Monks is still expecting some cash, and Magwitch doesn’t pay that well, especially now Red’s wanting a cut as well.”
Belle looked unimpressed. “So you are attempting to convince Jack to help you pull off a large heist while he is still a convict on thin ice with my mother and your pardon only just held up following Captain Gaines’ death.”
“Well,” said Fagin again. He shuffled, fixing his coat. “When you say it like that.”
Belle crossed her arms. She looked at Fagin, then Red, then Jack. At last, she said, “You are going about this all wrong.”
“Oh?” said Red. “Monks isn’t going to let Fagin and Dawkins go just because you ask nicely.”
“No,” said Belle. She let out a frustrated rush of air through her teeth and said, “Fagin, you and Jack can’t do it. Mother will have the two of you watched like hawks, and Red, you may be able to move less conspicuously since so few saw your face and those who did think you’re dead, but surely you cannot do it by yourself. A crate of wine and spirits is considerably harder to move than the soldiers’ pay.”
“Then what do you suggest?” said Jack.
“That I help take it,” said Belle. She lifted her chin up and stared at Fagin. “And when the time comes, Fagin will owe me a favour.”
“Hang on,” said Fagin. “You want to steal something?”
“I don’t want to steal something,” said Belle. “I want Jack to answer for a deal you made, sent to a different penal settlement, or on the gallows even less.”
“And what makes you think you can even steal it, huh?” said Fagin. “Dodge’s got some of the quickest fingers I’ve ever seen.”
“I’m the governor’s daughter,” said Belle. “I don’t need quick fingers. If someone notices me taking it, they’ll assume I was meant to have it.”
Jack crossed the room. Belle blinked up at him as he stepped up to her, blocking Fagin and Red’s view, and rested his hand against her cheek.
“Are you sure about this?” he asked quietly. “Your parents will protect you if you're caught – you won’t need to worry about being sent to the Female Factory. But that doesn’t mean they won’t send you off to some relative out of sight.”
“I’m certain,” she said, equally quiet. “I will not have you take on all of the risks. I can do this much for you.”
For a moment, the world condensed down to the two of them. Belle’s eyes met his, tender but with an undercurrent of steel. He rested his forehead against hers, noses brushing. He wished he had not dragged her into this, that they had found some way to run earlier. If there was some way to deny her once she had set her mind to something, he had yet to find it, and even though this was not her world – even though the only thing she had stolen before was a piece of fish from her own kitchens – he trusted her with anything.
Behind them, Red was hissing to Fagin, “Are we even sure she won’t just turn us in?”
“Yes,” said Jack, loud enough for Red and Fagin to hear. He dropped his hand and turned, putting the barest amount of space between him and Belle. “She’d already worked most of it out. She could have easily gone to her parents or to the guard before. If she says she’ll do it, she’ll do it.”
"When were you planning?" asked Belle. "It really should be tonight. Mother has arrived another suitor to arrive next week so if you leave it any longer, the house will be busy at all hours either preparing or hosting -" her nose scrunched up in distaste - "Mr Barnes."
"I can do tonight," said Red, distrust still threading through her tone. "Kiera's already with the aunties."
"Wonderful," said Belle. "Let's get this over with."
In the evening, Fagin dragged Jack to the Cat and Bagpipes, jabbering in his ear the whole way that the whole point of this is that we're above suspicion, Dodge, you really going to let your fancyskirts down by getting accused just because you wanted to sulk at home? It was, regrettably, a point.
By the time Jack and Fagin staggered back up their front steps, Jack was well on his way to drunk and half-hoarse from competing with Flashbang and Aputi to find a version of Drunken Sailor filthy enough to finally make the priest up and leave.
Fagin slipped downstairs to the kitchen as soon as they were through the door. His well-developed and newly-funded sweet tooth was doing terrible, terrible things to his teeth, but it did have the benefit of leaving Jack standing alone in the entryway when he noticed a lit kerosene lantern through the doorway into the dining room. He followed the light, shrugging his coat off as he went.
Belle sat at the table, hands clasped around an unopened bottle of wine. When Jack stepped into the doorway, she looked up, smile lighting up her face.
"Are you also taking a cut from Fagin now?" said Jack, swaggering closer. "Because I don't know how much more he can lose out of this deal."
"Well," said Belle. "I thought if I was risking so much to help, I should at least get some benefit from it." She picked up the wine and held it out to him. "I will have to be back before too long, but for now - I thought we could share it."
Jack ignored the bottle to catch her by the waist, hitching her close. His nose nudged up against hers as he said, "God, Belle - how on earth did I find you?"
He heard the thud of a bottle being put down before Belle wound both her arms around him. "As I recall, I was the one to find you."
"Ah, yes, the blackmail," said Jack, so close now his lips were almost brushing hers. "I should have known you'd be a master criminal."
"Jack," scoffed Belle, half indignant and half laughing, and didn't say anything else because Jack finally kissed her. Her hands fisted in his shirt, tugging him closer.
"Jack!" yelled Fagin from the basement level. Jack seriously considered ignoring him but his next words were closer, echoing up from the stairs. "She did it! Your girl came through."
Belle pulled away with a put upon sigh. She had just finished rearranging her dress when Fagin burst through the door, a bottle of rum in one hand and a slush lamp in the other. Jack had never despised being Fagin's convict servant more.
Belle wrinkled her nose. "What is that?"
Fagin blinked at her. "It's rum."
"No, the -" She gestured at the slush lamp, nose wrinkled.
"Oh," said Fagin, blinking down at the cup in hand like it had only just occurred to him that the smell of rendered animal fat mixed with burnt dirt might be offensive. "Got the idea from Magwitch, you know. Knick some candles, melt 'em down, fill a cup with 'em and some dirt, and you've got light for weeks." The lamp sputtered in his grip and he hissed, grabbing at where the hot fat had hit his arm.
"Tallow candles," Jack murmured in Belle's ears, having been in her rooms often enough to know she'd never endured a candle worse smelling than beeswax.
"Come on, Dodge, Fancyskirts," said Fagin, turning to head back downstairs without checking to see if they'd follow.
"…There are actual lanterns down there, aren't there?" said Belle hesitantly. "A reasonable smelling candle, at least."
"At least," agreed Jack, and sighed when Belle stepped away to follow Fagin downstairs.
Three people was arguably three people too many for the kitchen, but Belle crammed herself on to a stool by the counter tops and leaned against Jack when he came to stand next to her. Fagin bent over the crate of spirits, back gnarled and hunched.
"So?" asked Fagin. "How did it go?"
"It was…" Belle trailed off as she considered. "Exhilarating," she decided on. "Getting one over everyone else. I can actually see why you like it." Fagin grinned and snatched up a bottle from the crate before heading to another counter to start pouring.
“I like you, Fancyskirts,” said Fagin. He put a tankard down in front of her and winked. “On the house.”
“Fagin -” started Jack, a warning note to his voice.
Belle blinked, wrapped her hands around the tankard, and drank. She gagged immediately, slamming the tankard back down on the bench and sliding it as far away from her as possible. “What is that?”
“It’s called a blow my skull,” said Fagin cheerfully. “Rum, wine, opium, Cayenne pepper, and Indian berries. One of Magwitch’s best sellers.”
“Indian berries are poisonous,” sputtered Belle.
“But they much improve the drink,” said Fagin. His eyes gleamed as he took Belle’s abandoned tankard and drank.
“Supplying alcohol is one thing – I know it will make its way to the goldfields regardless – but plying unsuspecting miners with a drink that could harm them?” demanded Belle. “This is not what I signed up for.”
“That isn’t a true blow my skull, Belle,” said Jack. “For one thing, we don’t have any Indian berries.”
“Don’t we?” asked Fagin, attempting at innocence but landing more at gleeful. “My mistake.”
"No opium, either," said Jack. "Make her a new one, you old bag."
Fagin gave a put upon sigh. "Two dull your skulls coming right up."
(+ one)
"How is he?" asked Belle.
Hetty sighed, mopping the sweat off Mr Andrews' brow. "He's getting worse. His temperature is rising, his pulse rate is rising. The prof performed percussion of his chest when he was last through - dull on the left side."
Belle shared a look with Sneed. "He needs surgery."
"I can't perform that surgery," said Sneed. "The professor can't perform that surgery. If you're suggesting Dawkins -"
"He's successfully performed heart surgery before," said Belle. "He's the only one on this continent who can say that."
"If your mother catches Jack, she might very well sign his death warrant," said Hetty.
"Then we need to make sure she doesn't know it's Jack," said Belle. "Hetty, can you make sure the theatre is prepped?"
In an hour, Belle was standing back in the place she felt most herself: across the surgical table from Jack. Jack hesitated with his scalpel over the fourth rib.
"You're certain your mother won't find out about my involvement?" he asked.
"The prof's out upstairs," said Belle. "When he wakes up, we'll congratulate him for his commitment to the progress his medicine, and either celebrate Mr Andrews' survival or commiserate the limitations of surgery depending on his this goes." She met Jack's eyes. "This will all work out, Jack, and there is no one else who can save Mr Andrews' life."
The windows rattled as a boom sounded in the distanced. Jack looked up. "What was that?"
"That was a round of fireworks going off at the docks, designed to sound like cannon fire," said Belle as if she was commenting on the weather. "I wasn't sure how long the surgery would take, so I told Fagin to do it on the hour until you give him the all clear."
Jack shook his head, a flash of a smile showing before he looked back down at Mr Andrws, and made the first incision. He cut eight inches along the fourth rib then a second parallel to it.
"Saw," said Jack. Hetty handed over the saw and Jack took it without looking up. He resected six inches of the rib. Without needing prompting, Belle moved in to tie the intercostal artery.
"There's still too much blood," said Jack. "His pleural cavity's full of blood — let's get him on his side. Aputi?" Belle stood back to make room, and Jack counted down to turn the patient on to his left side.
"He'll need a sponge," said Belle to Hetty, before Jack could ask for it. When Jack looked back up from moving Andrews, Hetty had the sponge and forceps ready for him in one hand.
"Right," he said. "Thanks Hetty." After a moment, Jack dropped the drenched sponge and forceps back into the ceramic dish. "Clear as it can be. We need him back on his back."
When Andrews was lying supine again, Belle took her place opposite Jack. Hetty handed Jack a pair of retractors and Jack closed his eyes as he felt his way through the patient's chest.
"There's a transverse wound of the pericardium, two inches," he said. "Belle, that's never been done —"
"Spanish surgeon, around fifty years ago," said Belle. "Francisco Romero. You can do this, Jack. Has it penetrated the cavity?"
"No," said Jack. "It's about half an inch deep." He opened his eyes. "Belle, we would have to suture his pericardium. Each beat of his heart will cause the pericardium to rise and fall."
"Then you will have to be very careful," said Belle. "Jack. He will die if we do nothing. If you try, he might live."
Jack withdrew the retractors. "Forceps."
Belle hid a grin. Hetty handed over the forceps.
Belle heard the footsteps at a distance. She didn’t look up as they made their way around the outside of the theatre and came to a stop in the stands. Her eyes were too focused on the task at hand, afraid to look away from the surgery and miss something.
"I think I've got it," said Jack, withdrawing the needle holder from Mr Andrews. Hetty went to hand him the needle and thread, but he shook his head and nodded at Belle. “Would you like to do the honours?”
She took the needle and thread from him and began stitching. Her sutures had always been neater than Jack’s or Sneed’s, but she had taken up embroidering with a fervour during her recovery as one of the few practical surgical skills she could practise while still confined to her home.
“Alright,” said Jack as Belle finished. “Alright. That’s it. Hetty?”
Hetty leaned between them and wiped the blood clear before spraying down the wound with carbolic acid. “We have company,” she said in a low voice.
Belle’s eyes met with Jack’s for a moment of panicked realisation before they turned as one to face her mother. Lady Jane Fox sat alone in the stands, watching with a remote expression.
“I am afraid you overplayed your hand, Belle,” said her mother. “Between the commotion at the docks and Fanny’s hysterics, I had to assume something was amiss. If it was one or the other, I might not have thought to check your rooms.”
There was not much she could say to defend herself, not when she had been caught literally red-handed. Nonetheless, she took a step away from the table and said, “Mother -”
“Clean yourselves up,” said Lady Fox. “I will see you in Dr Sneed’s office in five minutes. If I don’t see you both within the five minutes, I will assume Dr Dawkins is attempting an escape, and respond accordingly.” She got to her feet, brushed off her skirts, and swept from the room. Belle, Jack and Hetty stared after her mutely.
“Right,” said Jack when the door swung closed. “Shit.”
“Yes,” agreed Belle numbly.
“Go,” urged Hetty, pushing Belle gently towards the washbasin. “I do not think your mother was joking.”
In the hallway, still wiping his hands dry on a clean rag, Jack hissed, “Two distractions?”
“I haven’t had a lot of experience in this!” Belle hissed back. “I thought it would be safer, not more suspicious.”
Outside the doorway to Sneed’s office, Jack grabbed her wrist and pulled her to a stop. “Thank you,” he said.
“For what?” asked Belle, voice bitter. “I’ve only made things worse for you.”
“I don’t think I would have been allowed into a theatre again either way,” said Jack. He rubbed his thumb along her cheekbone and added, “I would rather the last time have you be by my side rather than on my table.”
Belle’s heart seized, but she had spent enough of her life monitoring her heart’s rhythms to know whether the agony stemmed from her body or her soul. She leaned her head against his hand, relishing the brush of his rough thumb against her cheek.
“Do you think our five minutes are up?” asked Jack, dropping his hand.
“I think we have a few more seconds,” said Belle. She didn’t bother to check over her shoulder to see if anyone else was in the hallway: the one person who mattered had already caught them in the surgical theatre. Belle was committed to this, and could not find a reason to care for whispers spreading beyond Jane Fox. Either she convinced her mother, or she did not. She would find some way to have Jack regardless. She rested one hand on the back of Jack’s neck and pulled him down to kiss her. He met her there, lips soft and gentle against hers. When she pulled away, she rested her forehead against his, stroking the side of his neck with her thumb.
“I will see us through this,” she said.
He pressed one last soft kiss to her, nose bumping against hers, before he pulled away. Belle let her hand fall, skimming down his arm until it rested back by her side.
"Ready when you are," he said. Belle considered whether the sight of their joined hands would offend her mother further, before deciding to hang with it and took his hand to lead him into the room.
Her mother sat behind the desk, hands clasped and resting on it in the same way the government magistrate did at the bench. Sneed already occupied one of the chairs across from her, pointedly not looking at anybody.
"You," snarled Belle, immediately forgetting her decision to be calm and rational. "You! Snivelling Sneed, turning us in. You agreed that Jack -"
"Give it up, dear," sighed her mother. "He didn't turn you in. He and Fanny were overplaying their roles just a bit."
Belle swung her accusatory gaze between Sneed and her mother for a long moment before deciding to give it up. She tightened her grip on Jack's hand and lifted her chin. "Mother -"
"What surgery were you performing?" interrupted Lady Fox.
"The suturing of the pericardium," said Jack.
Belle cleared her throat and said, "The pericardium is the membrane that encloses the heart."
Lady Fox turned to look at Sneed. "Could you have performed that surgery?"
Sneed pressed his lips together into a thin line before admitting, "No, Lady Fox. The professor couldn't, either."
"And neither of you could have performed the surgery that Belle says saved her life," said Lady Fox.
"No," said Sneed.
"Very well, then," said Lady Fox, and turned back to look at Belle and Jack. "I have several problems, Mr Dawkins. The first - and perhaps the most immediately to the situation at hand - is that as long as you are present in this colony, I find myself concerned that my daughter will decide to ruin herself by running away to marry you and set up a hospital in — oh, the Pitcairn Islands, perhaps. I have tried to keep the two of you separate, but I have clearly been unsuccessful.
"My other problem, Mr Dawkins, is that I would like to see Port Victory move beyond its convict origins. I have already begun to encourage assisted passage for free settlers, but the convict stain leaves its mark." She tilted her head as she examined him. "If we were to demonstrate the ability of a convict to rehabilitate himself — for instance, if there was a convict who served his time in service to the Royal Navy, then began establishing a life for himself as a leading surgeon in Port Victory — well, that could go far, I think."
Lady Fox paused and flicked her eyes between Jack and Belle. "I do think there is a solution that could solve both of these problems. Would you not agree?"
"Mother -" said Belle, voice cracking. "Truly?"
"Dearest, I am not so stubborn as to not realise when I have a losing hand," said Lady Fox.
Belle spun on the spot and threw herself on to Jack, who had yet to collect his jaw from the floor. He caught her, arms automatically circling around her waist.
"I told you," she said. "I told you that it would be fine -"
"Don't act like this is what you meant," said Jack, grinning as he rested his forehead against Belle's. "You thought you were going to get away with your turn to crime."
Lady Fox made a noise under her breath and said, "Dearest, you aren't even engaged yet. This is most unbecoming." Belle squeezed her eyes shut as Jack's hold slowly loosened then let go altogether. "Doctor Sneed, I do expect they will be chaperoned while they are at the hospital together for the duration of their courtship and engagement."
Belle let her hands drop from Jack's shoulders, instead letting their fingers brush as she turned to her mother. "The nurses are chaperone enough," said Belle. "You couldn't expect Fanny to sit in at the hospital or someone like Doctor Sneed or the prof to take time away from their rounds to accompany us. Hetty is already used to keeping us in line, and we still have so much to do."