9th June; Illicit Bounty

Thompson ignored the card-players and focussed in on Shepherd. "Ah, Shepherd. I think it's only fair to let you know that, seein' as I haven't figured out who this belongs to, I reckon it's only fair to let the cash go to the widows' fund. Don't you?"

Fairness had nothing at all to do with it. But there wasn't anything Thomas could do about it now. He eyed the corporal with as neutral expression as he could muster and made himself shrug.

"Aye, sure, s'fair."

Except that it wasn't and he was going to be in deep trouble for losing that bag's contents. If it hadn't been for Fingers poking around where he shouldn't, things would be fine. Telling Thompson the truth never crossed Thomas' mind. Or it didn't stick itself out there as a viable option. Having a corporal involved would only make everything worse. Which meant Thomas had to find a new way out.

His brother might have an idea or two. Since he'd know something was up by now. It was the only comfort Thomas could see in this whole affair.

"Unless there's sup'm you want to be tellin' me?" Thompson continued, one eyebrow raised. Failing that, confiscation of what could only be ill-gotten gains would put an end to whatever was going on that he didn't know about - because whatever it was, it couldn't be good.

"No." Again, Thomas made himself shrug in a valiant attempt at nonchalance. He'd have to cautious about Corporal Thompson, clearly. The beggar was too likely to keep an eye out now. Would he be as bad as Johnson? Christ, Thomas hoped not.

Thompson hadn't somehow expected the answer to be any different, and merely nodded. First things first was to get the officer's button back to his steward, who would no doubt be glad for its return.

And then he needed to find Sergeant Quinn and let him know about the lads' donation to the widows' fund.

"Right. Carry on, lads," he said to the messdeck at large before turning to locate the current whereabouts of Mister Sewell's steward.

Despite himself, Thomas couldn't help darting a quick, evaluative glance toward the seamen's messes. If he could avoid it, he vowed he wouldn't leave the safety of the Marines' messdeck unless it was to stand his watches on deck. There might be a chance yet if he stayed near the lads. Hopefully.

This was a right mess he'd got himself into!