6 June; Unwell

They had, though probably not how Mister Leat thought of it. He nodded, and shrugged, though unable to keep from closing his hand in remembered pain. "'S nuffin', sir. I ain't... I ain't..." If he said he wasn't going to tell on anyone, the Lieutenant would pounce and not let up until he had told. "'S nuffin'."

"It is clearly not, 'nuffin', Button," Leat said, feeling a sense of unease in his stomach that was nothing to do with his current complaint. What had been going on below decks that had escaped his, Bush's and the captain's attention? "Even that much is obvious to me. Has someone been beating you?"

He couldn't lie and say no, and yet there was no way he wanted to say yes. He hesitated. "Not... not since I was made your servant, sir," he managed eventually as a compromise, wishing he could get away and empty the bucket or find something else to do to stop this questioning.

Leat forced himself up again, propping himself up on his elbows.

"Who, Button?" he asked flatly. "Tell me."

He swallowed and shook his head, biting his lip. "I... I... I ain't goin' to tell tales, sir, don't ax me to... p...please."

"Button," Leat said, trying to make his voice sound gentle. "Whoever beat you had no right; that is not how punishment works in the Service. I take it it's not one of the hands? Even if it is, they do not merit protection."

No one would for beating a boy. That was the lowest form of cowardice.

"Tell me."

Dammit. He wiped his eyes and nose on his sleeve, staring at the officer, trying to make up his mind whether he could trust him. He shook his head - of course it wasn't one of the hands. "M... Mister F... Foxley, sir," he managed, so quietly as to barely be heard, and bit his lip.

Leat sat there silently for a moment. Foxley. Of course. He should have guessed it; he had overheard Button tell Emily how much he was scared of the purser, and had not the boy asked him about punishment when he was first given his current position?

"What reasons did he give for beating you?" he asked quietly, calmly. inside he was seething with indignation directed towards the purser.

He shrugged wordlessly. He hadn't always - it had been enough excuse sometimes for Mister Foxley to simply be in a bad mood. Admittedly, Terry had skived off, sometimes, but mostly only to get away from him for a bit.

"Says... says I's lazy an'... an' stupid," he managed after a moment, and screwed up enough courage to ask, "Can I... can I go now, please, sir?"

Bastard, Leat thought.

"You can empty that bucket," Leat said. His arms were trembling from holding himself up, but he needed to talk to Button again. "But come straight back, do you hear me?"

Not that he could do much about it is Button chose to run and hide...

He nodded, gave a big sniff in an effort to not start crying again - he didn't want to look any worse in front of the Lieutenant than he already did - and bent for the bucket handle. The heavy oak bucket was almost too heavy for him, but he managed it, half-dragging it two-handed.

He stayed away for as long as he dared after emptying the bucket before bracing himself to head back to the wardroom and Mister Leat, carrying a blanket in case the officer needed another one.

Whilst Button was gone Leat had lain back down again, to give his arms a rest. By the time Button had come back he was beginning to drift, his eyes in serious danger of closing of their own volition.

Terry peeked around the door. The lieutenant looked as though he was nearly asleep, so he came in and put the blanket on the officer's sea-chest before stooping to pet Miss Emily, who had come in with him and was winding around his ankles.

"C'mon," he whispered to her, picking her up gently and holding her to him. "He needs to sleep, let's leave 'im to it."

The sound was enough to make Leat stir, however, though his eyes did not open.

"Button?" he murmured. "Is that you?"

"Yes, sir," he murmured, still petting Miss Emily. He managed a small smile. "You go t'sleep, sir, fink you need it."

Aware but unaware of what was being said, Leat murmured as he sank further towards sleep.

"You shouldn't be afraid," was his reply, unknowingly candid. "He's a bastard, is Foxley. It wasn't right, Button; not right at all..."

Terry shrugged. "Bin scared all me life, don't s'pose that's gonna change any time soon." It was easier to talk, like this, somehow, without the Lieutenant staring at him. He chewed his lip thoughtfully for a moment, before putting the cat down on the deck.

"On'y skived off to get away fr'm 'im," he admitted, quietly shaking out the blanket and wrapping himself in it before curling up on the floor in the corner, trying to take up as little room as possible so as not to be in the way if the officer woke up and got out of his cot.