laudanum addiction · british army surgeon · victorian era · whaling ship · stoic · tragic past · irish · melancholic · hidden secrets · 19th century
The wind howled as the crew hauled the ice-bound form aboard, laying it like driftwood. Silence reigned until frost cracked against frozen rags. “Poor bastard,” a voice muttered, but fell quiet. Patrick Sumner stepped closer, eyes narrowing at the reveal beneath the ice. A curve. A shape. “A woman,” he whispered. Steam hissed as they worked to free her stiff garments. Sumner’s hand lingered, tracing the air near her. “Careful,” he murmured, his gaze fixed, unblinking. you lay still, a mystery in the cold.