A Visit to the Surgeon (26th May, Forenoon watch)

It was after the hands were piped to dinner at the end of the forenoon watch, the calls of the pipe ringing inside his aching skull, that Leat decided to make a discreet visit to Mr. Farley. It would be another hour before the wardroom dinner was served, so there was yet time in hand, and amidst the hullabaloo of the men rushing for the galley he would not be missed.

He made his way below down the aft companionway, thinking that he would be most likely to find Mr. Farley in the sickberth or his cabin.

The sick-berth was well kept and orderly, Farley thought after completing his inspection of the space. His predecessor had done a fine job keeping things tidy. It made things easier for Farley to become accustomed to. Especially since he had two patients to tend to right from the start.

He was pleased with what he saw, all told. Living and working here would be an adventure without a doubt. Smiling to himself, the surgeon set down in a chair and surveyed his new kingdom. This would feel as familiar and comfortable as his old cobbler's shop, given time.

Having not found Farley in his cabin Leat proceeded to the sickberth. Steeling himself for the embarrassing ordeal that would undoubtedly come. He knocked on the door.

"It's open," Farley called out in response to the knock. He was not expecting visitors and certainly if there was trouble there wouldn't be such niceties as a knock.

The surgeon was in, then. With a mixture of relief and renewed apprehension, Leat pushed open the door and entered.

"Mr. Farley," he said softly, ducking under the deck beam and shutting the door behind him. "I was wondering... whether you were at liberty for a private word?"

Billy raised a weary head from his hammock, eager for any interruption at all to break the monotony. It was an officer! Mister Leat. He had not yet learned to moderate the habit of paying his respects, and he struggled to pull himself into a sitting position in order to salute.

"Certainly, sir," Farley replied amiably. He glanced at the seaman called Barrow and nodded once. "The dispensary will suit, I trust?"

Leat caught sight of Barrow just as Farley indicated him. The lieutenant nodded in reply to the half-hearted salute by the sick seaman, and followed Farely into the much more cramped dispensary. It was bad enough that one crew member had seen him coming to see the surgeon, but hopefully nothing else would be discovered.

On entering the dispensary Leat removed his hat, more out of necessity than good manners, and cleared his throat awkwardly.

"I have come to ask your professional advice, Mr. Farley."

Farley nodded again, firmly closing the dispensary door. "By all means, sir, ask," he said quietly, guessing this was, somehow, meant to be a discreet conversation.

Leat hesitated again, scrutinising the older man in the dim light. He had no idea of Farley's expertise, and certain encounters with previous surgeons in his naval career had led him to being overly cautious.

"Mr. Farley," he began. "I was wondering if you had any... any sort of preparation that would assist in diminishing the after-effects of spirits?"

That would do for a start.

Ah. Had he been a much younger man, he might have smiled and offered a word of commiseration. The day after a night of carousing was inevitably rough on a fellow. But he was just a hair wiser than that, now. Instead, Farley nodded once. As it happened, he knew just the thing.

"I do, sir." He turned partially away and reached for a small bottle on a shelf. He would have to return to the sick-berth itself for his tea leaves, but this was a necessary ingredient to the desired cure.

"You are, I hope, in the mood for some tea?"

Leat blinked.

"Tea?" He then saw the small bottle clutched in Farley's hand. "Oh. I suppose I would not mind it, Mr. Farely."

"Excellent." It shouldn't take long to get some water boiling. Farley smiled and stepped past the sea officer so he might return to the sick-berth proper. "If you would care for anything else with the tea...?"

Seeing as his mind was still in too much pain to be functioning at full capacity, the offer escaped Leat and he simply frowned in confusion.

"I don't think so, Mr. Farley. Thank you all the same."

Very well. Tea would probably be sufficient anyway. "Hardly a bother. Would you care for a chair, then? I'll send Bridgens along to fetch some heated water."

"Thank you."

Leat sat down, hoping that he successfully hid the wince of pain this caused him, and put his hat on his lap, sitting bolt upright on the edge of the chair. So far, so good; he had managed to get treatment for the hangover at least, and would probably asd easily get a remedy for the black eye too - but he was still nervous of the third complaint; the one that had really prompted his coming to see Farley. He did not know yet if this surgeon were something of a gossip or not, and so was still undecided whether to lay this third complaint before him. Even though it worried him.

It was a simple matter to find and then send Bridgens off to fetch some heated water. The task should not take him long. In the meantime, Farley busied himself with preparing two cups, one for himself and one for Mister Leat.

"May I ask how your eye fares, sir?"

The lieutenant's hand automatically went to the eye, touching gently at where it still smarted.

"Better, I think. The hurt is less than this morning, but in truth I have dared not look at the bruise myself for shame."

"Hm." Farley considered briefly. "I believe I know just the thing to help. If you wait but a moment..." He bustled out only to return within a minute, carrying a thin cloth. The cloth was damp and folded carefully into a square. "A comfrey compress," the older man explained, holding it out.

Tadgh entered the sick berth with an arm full of "clean" linens. He noted the presence of the Lieutenant and made a quick salute, "Lieutenant." before returning to his task of restocking. He mostly tried to keep his head down until he had learned the feel of a new crew, thankfully, surgeon's mate was one of the best places to quietly observe every part of the crew. He was thankful to be under a competent surgeon this time as well, quietly fixing a hack's mistakes always irritated him. But then it was his own fault, if he wanted to run a sick berth he certainly could, he just didn't want to, he was done with holding people's lives in his hands. It just made it easier to stick to that when his surgeon was capable. He shook himself out of his introspection as his trained eye noticed the uncomfortable way the Lieutenant was sitting. He took in Mr. Farley's hangover cure and told himself that must just be it, diagnosis was not his job after all, just a knee jerk reaction. He turned back to his task.

Leat's already uncomfortable posture became more rigid as the surgeon's mate came in carrying clean linene. He nodded in acknowledgment to the salute, before taking the compress from Farley and putting it over his eye with something resembling a hangdog expression. This was going to make talking to Farley more than awkward.

"Ah, Mister Fitzpatrick," Farley said upon the mate's entrance. "Thank you. Forgive my faltering memory, but I don't know that you gentlemen are acquainted? Mister Leat, this excellent fellow is Tadgh Fitzpatrick."

Leat had seen Fitzpatrick at Divisions briefly in the mornings, but he had never yet spoken directly to him. Now, however, at the formal introduction of 'gentleman' and 'mister' the lieutenant's interest was picqued.

"You are a gentleman, Mister Fitzpatrick?" he asked.

Crozier stirred in his hammock. "Tea."

Tadgh resisted the urge to squirm as he fully entered the dispensary. "You could say that." he hedged uncomfortably. He really preferred to blend into the woodwork, that was hard to do as one of the "gentlemen" though he did appreciate Mr. Farley's recognition. He was grateful to hear a request for tea and set about getting it ready so he could escape.