The Passengers' Cabins

Padstowe blinked, looking over the coat once more and shook his head.

"I am sorry, it... must be the light down here, or lack thereof. I thought you had a smarter coat, though."

[When did you change your coat? I thought before you said you were wearing the black.]

"This is my smarter coat," said Stephen, looking down.

[OOC: Nope, he wore the blue surgeon's coat when coming aboard.]

[OOC: Damn. Sorry!]

Padstowe groaned inwardly, cursing himself and his stupidity. Had he forgotten that he had only ever seen Maturin in two coats? And that being a surgeon he was a warrant, and not a commissioned officer?

"My apologies; for some reason my mind does not seem to be keeping up with events today. Doubtless I shall feel somewhat sharper after some food and some rest."

"Doubtless," Stephen said mournfully, looking at his sleeve and feeling remarkably shabby.

"Oh Stephen, I am sorry," Padstowe said, gripping his sleeve with his good hand. "Truly I am. I am stupid and half-blind in this dark. I thought... I thought that a ship's surgeon would possess a uniform much like that of the lieutenants; but I have only just remembered that it is not so."

"It is all right, my dear; a blue coat is all we surgeons require. It is not so very worn - just this elbow here, and a little fraying on the hem - it will do quite nicely for the wardroom," Stephen said, managing a smile. It was strange, how when one was in the grip of a black desolation, the most trivial incident hurt more; a direct proportionality, he remembered triumphantly. "Other arm."

From the doctor's forced smile Padstowe was convinced Maturin had taken the mistake to heart as a slight, and wondered whether he could do anything to mend the situation, or whether trying would make matters worse. Then he remembered their arguements about silences in Lisbon.

"It has a very fine cut," he said, raising his right arm obediantly to slip it through the armhole, settling the waistcoat and then doing up the buttons.

"Thank you," Stephen said, his smile softening into something a little more genuine. "There, now the jacket - I hear movement outside, and we need to fetch the Capitaine."

"Of course."

Perversely the red coat went on easier than the waistcoat, and after the buttons were done up and Padstowe had settled his collar he remained still as the doctor rebound his sling.

"If you wish to go to the capitaine now I can do the sash myself."

"Very well; the wardroom is just outside, as you know." Stephen stayed for another second to assure himself that Padstowe was not about the fling himself out of the chair, and then knocked on the door of the next cabin. "Capitaine?"

The lack of window had surprised Raoul. Stone walls did not a prison make, but wooden walls and the sea just outside seemed to be more oppressive than his pleasant room in the Guardhouse, with the sentry outside the door. He had tried to concentrate on his book, and very much regretted that he had not 'borrowed' one from Mr Dawson.

There was probably a sentry here too, to watch where he went, and having returned to the cabin he stayed there, hearing the occasional voices outside. The doctor's voice, calling him came as welcome relief. He rose and opened the door, smiling.

"Capitaine," Stephen said, wearily returning the smile. "We are eating in the wardroom, if you would like to come through?" He paused for a moment, and gently shut the door behind him. "How are you finding it?"

"I am ..." Raoul hesitated. Dr Maturin looked and sounded tired. He did not need a Frenchman worried about being below sea level....

"I am slightly nervous about meeting our hosts. They would have justice on their side if they objected to my presence: I might feel the same if our situations were reversed. But Captain Bolitho, and Mr Leat and Dr Crozier... I feel I should be more confident in the kindness of the English."

"They will not object at all, Capitaine - they are very kind, you are quite charming." He waved a hand. "It is Captain Padstowe I worry about, lest his invalidic impatience be perceived as ingratitude. But I am sure all will be well."

Raoul blushed, and feared that the doctor suspected him of insincerity. "Thank you - but I ... I shall try not to be." He straightened his dolman and fastened his pelisse - then removed it altogether. "It is not a formal meal with the captain. A jacket alone will suffice." Boots were clean. "Is Captain Padstowe well enough to join the officers? The transfer must have made his injuries ache."

"Try not to be ... charming? Pray do, Capitaine - God knows one of us ought to show some social graces. He is, he is, if only for a short time; I have persuaded him that showing his face will be taken well."

"Perhaps I meant - I shall not try to be... It is just slightly different. But I shall at least attempt to be polite." Raoul smiled rather warily. "I am sure Captain Padstowe will be better in company."

"That will doubtless be the case," said Stephen, stung. "Come now, if you are ready?"

"I am ready," said Raoul, and waited to follow the doctor out into the wardroom.

(Continues from the ward room.)

Thankfully the kicking off of boots did not require more than one hand, as long as the man in questioned was balanced, and Padstowe manged the exercise without any mishap. Unfortunately it revealed the hole that had come through the end of his big toe on the right foot, these being an older pair. He had meant to stitch it up how many times, refusing to let Senhora Santand anywhere near them, but each time he had forgot, and the hole had continued to get bigger - and now a ladder was starting as well. The captain felt a brief flicker of annoyance, but it did not last long, and he sighed, leaning his head back and gazing at the deck beams above whilst he listened to the gentle hubbubb of conversation and chink of cutlery just the other side of the thin door.

He then got up, and fetched the pages of his journal entry he had been writing before dinner. Fortunately as his jacket was only over the top of his injured arm he had managed to remove it, along with his neckcloth as he sat down and took up the pen again.

...in reknown.

I have just returned from dinner in the wardroom.

He carried on scribbling in his diary - he had nearly five loose sheets now, not all that aware of the time passing until there was a soft knock on the door.

"One moment!" he called, swiftly turning the sheets over and shoving them back into their foloder. "You can come in now."

Stephen stepped inside, followed by Raoul. "Do you feel any nausea, before we help you into bed? Do you need the privy?" he asked abruptly.

How he wished Stephen would not ask in such an abrupt fashion, especially in company!

"I would if you, don't mind," he said flatly, a tinge of his embarrassment and annoyance showing. Every time Raoul came into the cabin it always coincided with Stephen asking about his bowel movements.

"Would the pot do, or do you need to go to the seat of ease? It is not a great walk - just across the wardroom," Stephen said.

Which, Padstowe thought to himself, would be worse? To use a pot in here or have to be escorted across and still full wardroom which he had just quitted to a very obvious destination?

"The pot will do."

Stephen nodded. "The Capitaine and myself will wait outside." He closed the door behind him.