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

Tadgh disappeared back into the sickberth and Leat wondered that Farley had not made it known to the captain that his mate was in fact a gentleman. By rights he should be welcomed into the wardroom mess with the commissioned and warrant officers; it must surely be utter misery for a gentleman to be messing with the likes of the carpenter and the gunner.

Upon his mate's departure, Farley shook his head lightly. "He dislikes having attention drawn to him," the old man said by way of explanation. And here was Bridgens with the water for tea. Farley thanked him and sent him on his way.

"This may not taste quite what you are used to, sir, but it will help." He offered a cup to the sea officer. It was a recipe his mother had used for his father. A little honey mixed in with regular tea worked surprisingly well for morning-afters.

Leat sipped cautiously of the brew, and winced at the unexpected sweetness. It was not unpleasant though, if quite horribly hot, so he paused to let it cool a little.

"But surely as a gentleman -" he began again, in reference to Fitzpatrick.

As a gentleman, Fitzpatrick was entitled a measure of status aboard ship. That much, Farley knew. He shook his head.

"He expressed a desire to me to remain unknown as such," he explained. "I could not say why, for he did not elaborate, but I would expect he prefers such social anonymity."

Leat wondered what indiscretion Fitzpatrick must have committed to wish such anonymity, but then many men had many different reasons for going to sea. Shame was often one of them. He decided not to press the matter any further for now.

"So it would seem."

He winced again as he shifted the compress over his eye. He looked up with the other to Farley. Could he trust him with his other complaint?

"Mr. Farley..." he began, and then his voice died in his throat with a dry squeak. He hastily swallowed another mouthful of sweet tea in an effort to cover the gaff.

"Sir?" Farley wondered for an instant if there might be more to the injury to Mister Leat's eye than a simple bruise. It was possible, but too doubtful for serious consideration.

Damn it, but he was so nervous! Leat cursed himself for being so weak. He was a senior lieutenant, for God's sake, third in command of the ship! He had no right to be nervous of anything. Had one of the men or a Midshipman been in a similar situation he would have told them not to be so stupid and get the matter seen to. So he must tell himself.

He set the mug down on the edge of the table, and mustered all his reserves of courage.

"May I ask what experience you have in dealing with complaints of an..." Confound it, why did he hesitate? "...of an intimate nature?"

Ah. Hm. Farley considered this question thoughtfully. He knew a little of this trade, but most of this knowledge came in patches.

"I have a little," was his response.

Leat felt himself flush despite himself. A little. Dear God, but should he proceed? There was no one else he could consult. How he wished Dr. Maturin were still here, or any other of the ships' surgeons in the past he had consulted and found to be sound in their knowledge.

"I have received an injury in that area," he said bluntly, speaking before he could take fright and think better of it. "Last night. It is painful. I am concerned."

That was rarely good, he thought. An injury to that particular area... no, Mister Leat was perfect correct to be concerned.

"I see. In such a case... what was the manner of injury, if I may ask?"

"A knee in close quarters."

He hoped he would not have to elaborate further on the exact circumstances. They were probably all around the ship by now anyway.

"I am more concerned really though, Mr. Farley, because... because of a severe childhood injury there also. It may not have done the previous hurt any good."

Ah. This was indeed a delicate matter.

"I see," the surgeon said. Hell. How did he proceed with this? "Well... do finish your tea, sir. I shall examine the injury then."

The lieutenant's hand trembled a moment as he picked up the mug again, taking regular sips of the still quite hot brew as often as he could, to finish it quickly. He had at last come to the heart of the matter, yet he still prayed that Farley's reaction would not be excessive.

Having finished the tea he set down he stood up, checking to see that the door to the dispensary was firmly closed. He unbuttoned the fall of his trowsers, parted the bearers, set aside the socks and held onto the waistband so he might not be exposed completely.

Farley waited for the lieutenant to solidify his composure, conscious that he must retain his own for the sake of the young man's dignity. He had never imagined he might encounter a case like this and he was not sure he could be of any use to the poor fellow.

The described injury to that unfortunate area had caused some bruising, but there did not appear to be any truly severe damage. Farley had to admit he was relieved, both for himself and for Mister Leat.

"There does not appear to be serious injury," he told the lieutenant. "Some bruising, certainly, but that is all."

Leat tore his eyes away from the bulkhead in front of him to chance a glance at the surgeon. He did not seem to be obviously taken aback, which was something of a reassurance.

"You are certain?" he asked hesitantly.

Farley nodded. "I am."

The injury would heal in its own time, but would undoubtedly remain painful until then. He could think of nothing that might help alleviate the discomfort, either. Damn.

That was a relief at least.

"And is there anything... any relief you can prescribe?"

"There is laudanum, if you wish," Farley answered, a trifle hesitantly. He disliked that he could offer nothing better.

Laudanum would cloud his wits, and there was too much work for he and his fellow officers to do over the next few days before the Terpsy started her cruise. He shook his head.

"It is probably not worth it, Mr. Farley. Thank you for giving me your opinion, though."

He hastily re-buttoned his trowsers and, with rather misplaced embarrassment, turned his back on the surgeon to replace his socks.

He nodded and turned his gaze toward the little shelf, allowing the lieutenant privacy to rearrange himself.

"I am only sorry that is all I can offer in the way of aid," he remarked.

"I am simply glad that you are of the opinion there is no lasting damage, Mr. Farley," Leat responded. Having finished rearranging himself he turned back to face Farley, scooping up his hat from the table, along with the compress. Now the ordeal was over he was fast shedding the remainder of his nerves, and was now something resembling his usual self. "How much do I owe you for the prescriptions?"

"Not a thing," the surgeon replied amiably. "I am always happy to be of service."

That surprised Leat. Most surgeons, though their conswultation was free, charged for the materials used.

"That is most generous, Mr. Farley, thank you. I hope that I shall see you later at dinner?"

Farley smiled. "You shall, sir."

That was settled then, and apparently amicably, to the lieutenant's continuing relief. The ordeal being over and done with he was eager to be seen on deck and away from the sickberth, before anybody else spotted him and tongues began to wag anymore than they already were.

"Until then, Mr. Farely. Thank you again."

So saying he nodded to the surgeon and, concealing the compress in his hand, ducked out of the dispensary into the sickberth with a cursorary glance at Fitzpatrick, Barrow and crozier, and then headed back on deck.