On Parole in Lisbon

Move boxes? Chase's grin faltered for a moment, but the mention of a girl called Sally and chatting to her brought it back swiftly.

"Aye sir," the topman replied cheerfully. To the Frenchman, he offered a quick "G'bye, sir!" before turning to go about his newly-given tasks.

"I am sure you will still be here when I come down," Raoul said. "Talking to Sally, if not still moving the doctor's boxes. But thank you. You have been truly kind..."

"Mebbe so, sir. More'n welcome y'are too, sir." Chase hefted up one of the boxes and smirked. "S'pose it on'y proves them locals oughta be watched, by everybody!"

Raoul shrugged, the movement reminding him of the cut in his arm. "I think the same is true in any port, or indeed, in any city."

In the room upstairs that served as Crozier's study and sleeping chamber, the doctor pulled out a chair and removed several books from its seat. "Please, sit down," he said as he began rummaging through an apothecary case. "And I do apologize for the state of things - always packing and unpacking, in the middle of both. And I didn't properly introduce myself, except in Portuguese. Thomas Crozier, surgeon of His Majesty's frigate Terpsichore. Would you like help with your jacket?"

"I am able, I think..." Raoul slid the other arm out of its sleeve and then eased down the left. "It is easier at least than my Hussar dolman. You would think they would realize that men get wounded, and clothing should be easy to remove..." He started to untie the crude bandage he had knotted round the cut. "It is not that bad, but your men spoke so well of your skills..."

Crozier smiled in amusement. "I'm sure they did," he said wryly. "Seamen seem to think of surgeons on the same level as magicians. Still, this doesn't look bad. I'll give you a couple of stitches. How did you come by this wound? And how did you meet our valiant sailors? They're not in the habit of picking up stray French hussars."

"A man with a knife," he said, then added "He spoke to me in French, but I do not know why he attacked me... Unless it was because I am French, and he is Portuguese, and I was the only one of the invaders of his country to hand..." He looked down at the cut. "It seems almost fraudulent to trouble you with such a paltry scratch," he grinned. "It would probably have stopped bleeding soon, if left to itself. But I am grateful. As for your men, they were in the bar when ... They tackled him, but he got away from them. They seem to have taken pity on me after that. As if I were indeed a stray puppy someone had kicked."

"Well, seamen do love to have pets," he replied, smiling after he had finished the stitch. "But how shocking, to be attacked in broad daylight! What is the world coming to." This last was muttered to himself as he wrapped a bandage around the man's arm. "I notice you aren't wearing your uniform, which is probably a sensible precaution - though it's unfortunate that you need to take precautions. But you also speak excellent English! I wish I spoke French half so well. Perhaps you can pose as an English gentleman in Lisbon and people will leave you alone."

Raoul relaxed as the doctor tied off his stitch. It had been very neatly done, and had not hurt half as much as he had expected. "Thank you. Your men did not lie about your ability - though you have not been able to whip off my leg in quite the manner they described. As for my English - I lived for ten years in England, as a child, and had to speak it every day. Now I read whatever I can. I thought, as you say, that I could pass as an Englishman, but clearly in this case, I failed."

"Strange," Crozier commented as he finished with the bandage. "I wonder how the man knew you were French. Still, it's a shame but it's not unheard of for locals to turn violent against foreigners in their midst, even among the friendliest of nations. So whereabouts in England did you live? Ten years is a good long time."

Raoul shrugged. He did not want to discuss the reasons for the attack on him, although he was quite certain that it was connected with Delaporte and the others. "We have not found the Portuguese friendly," he said dryly, and hoped that the doctor would not enquire into it any more deeply. He owed him courtesy for the treatment, but could not answer his questions. "My parents left France in 1791 - after the Revolution, when my father thought things would become dangerous. He was right, and we did not return to France until the year '02. I was 16 years old by then. In England, we lived in Wiltshire, not far from Devizes."

"We're the same age, then," he confided, suddenly flashing a boyish grin. "And so you were in England during your formative years. And considering that, would you like a cup of tea? I was just about to have one myself. Tea on land tastes so much better than tea at sea, don't you think? Or maybe not. Still! Tea?"

"Thank you. I have little experience of tea at sea - little enough experience of the sea at all. But tea itself is always welcome." Raoul looked down at his arm, and then back at the surgeon with something of a look of mischief. "I hope I will still be able to keep a straight bat. At least I bowl right-handed."

"You never!" Crozier exclaimed, laughing with enormous amusement. "Well, I don't think the two stitches will interfere with your cricketing career, but they'll always give you an excuse if you do badly in a match. Come downstairs. Sally! Sally, can we have our tea now?"

"Oh, yes, I played for our village, before we left England. It is something I miss - the sound of leather on willow, the new mown grass on the South lawn, lazing in the shade after you are out: that and tea, and ..." He followed Crozier down the stairs.

The boxes were mostly all moved, but there were still two or three awaiting attention. Chase was perched on the top of an armchair, happily chatting to the girl called Sally and just as happily ignoring the remaining boxes.

At least until the thump of feet on the stairs signalled Doctor Crozier's return. Chase sprang off the chair as if scalded and tried to grab for the nearest box, to have it seem as if he'd been working all the while the two officers had been upstairs.

"Oh there you are Sally. May we have a pot of tea?" Crozier seemed to take no notice of Chase or Barrow at all until he exclaimed, "Oh no, those boxes were supposed to go upstairs, not down! Well, never mind. They can wait until tomorrow, I guess. If you go into the kitchen, I think Sally will give you men something to drink, thank you. Cob Chase, have you put your feet on this armchair? Please monsieur, have a seat. Oh Billy! Billy, see if Mrs. Grose has any more of those lemon things!" He looked apologetically at his guest, but then said, "I suppose your situation is something the same, on parole? Your lodgings, I mean. But Mrs. Grose is a fond friend of my aunt. No, never mind the boxes, Barrow, just go and have a drink. Oh, thank you Sally!" Crozier's mood and his speech seemed to be bubbling over. Lisbon was not the fairest of cities, but he felt something of a holiday spirit. He was well-rested, well-fed, and had time to relax uninterrupted by his usual duties. Cheerful most of the time, he became almost exuberant with the brief respite from work.

Raoul found an armchair without any box encroaching upon it and sat down, watching Crozier bounce around the room like a spooked cat.

Eventually he settled down, and Raoul felt able to talk. "My landlord is English, so trusted to keep records of my comings and goings and visitors, but he has a very pleasant house with a courtyard. Where I will sit for the rest of the day, in the shade. But I do not have much in the way of possessions. If it were not for the kindness of a friend I should be impoverished."

[OOC - Explanation. I did not realize that parolees did not get funded. So any suggestion that Edrington did not give money to Raoul should be read to imply that he set up arrangements for Raoul to be given an allowance through Drummonds and a Portuguese bank - so Raoul has enough money to live on. All right? Should I post this disclaimer elsewhere?]

"Oh, how very sad!" Crozier exclaimed. "Were your things taken from you, or...?" He stopped, not wanting to pry into the details of his guest's capture. "It's deplorable the way these things work. I don't understand them. Oh, sorry, that's my paint box, I'll take it. Do you take milk? No, I don't understand it at all. Can you write to someone? Your commanding officers or... your family? Though a letter might take weeks, even months. Try a lemon square."

"Arrangements will be made, I am told. But I did not have much money on me, when I was taken. They were very good, and returned most of my things, but we have not been paid ourselves, so ..."

He smiled. "The friend has promised to pass on a message to my parents, as quickly as possible, and I am allowed to write to them myself. So all will be well, and then milord can be repaid."

He looked with interest at the paint box. "Do you paint. I tend to prefer sketching - only rarely do I use a wash on them."

[Good night!!!]

"Oh yes, I do, I do! I found a colourman in town and bought this beautiful blue, all prepared in a block. See!" He dampened a finger and rubbed it on the pigment cake, afterwards spreading a blue smear across the back of his hand. "So beautiful... But you enjoy sketching? So do I. Usually just scenes of shipboard life, but I send them home to my father and mother, and they act as a sort of visual memory for me, even better than writing in a book. Maybe - maybe you could sketch the fellow who attacked you, before you forget what he looked like, and then the proper authorities... But forgive me. I'm sure you know what's best to do in the circumstances. And here I am just nattering away." He offered a self-deprecating smile. "I'm often a bit excitable on land, after a voyage." He balanced another lemon square on his saucer and changed the subject diplomatically. "But it sounds like you're very fortunate in your friend. And a lord, is he really? Or is milord simply an affectionate term?"

Raoul smiled in agreement. "I send them to my sister - and to my parents, of course. People, and places that we have been..." He admired the blue. "Painting is more difficult - to take the paints with you on horseback, while a sketch book is never a problem. As for milord, he is a lord, an Earl. We lived in a village near to his home - it was his cricket team, I suppose. And he was in Lisbon when I was brought here - so..." He looked slightly embarrassed. "The authorities released me on parole, without any funds to live on, just a place to stay. There will be money, they said, but one must eat, and clothe oneself until that arrives. I was fortunate that milord was here."

Crozier nodded in assent. "And I'm sure your family will be happy to hear good news of you. Do they know that you're here?"

Raoul nodded. "They will know as soon as a letter can reach them. If being a prisoner can count as good news, that is."

He drank some tea and asked: "I was surprised to see you were so young - have you been a ship's surgeon for long?"