Friday morning with the Marines

Cartwright smiled in reply and finished shaving as quickly as he could, without carving up his face. It was just about time that he completed his business and left the cabin. Funny how he felt almost a guest in his own cabin when Foley was around!

There was a clomp of shoes outside the propped-open door and Foley reappeared, carrying a tub of water carefully. "Gather up them clothes, boyo, an' we'll - ah! Hallo, sir. Din't 'spect you back below yet." He set the water-tub down and hurried to pick up the clean shirt that was lying draped over the rolled-up hammock. "Here sir, can't have you standin' 'round in your bare skin thataway."

Foley tossed a smirk and a quick wink over his shoulder at Oxley as he held the shirt up for Cartwright to slip on. "Dunno what I'm gonna do with you, sir. Impossible, boyo, these officers!"

Oxley had to hide a smile at Foley's words. He really couldn't understand how the man could talk like that to -or about - an officer, but maybe it was different for stewards? One thing was for sure - he wasn't going to try that, ever.

The cabin was awfully crowded with three of them in it, even though Oxley was smaller than the other two. He pressed as close to the cot as he could to try to give them a bit more room.

Shaking his head, Cartwright grinned slightly and took the shirt from Foley. He had grown used to the man's playful jibes, for he never meant them maliciously. "If you so insist, Master Foley. Now, have you finished? I should dislike to force you to endure an impossible officer for too long at one time."

Foley simply smirked and helped his officer back into his jacket. In the space of a minute, Cartwright's sash was retied, his sword buckled back on, and his hat wiped swiftly clean of any dust or obvious salt stains. He paused a few moments to allow Foley to quickly run a brush over his coat, then, with an almost conspiratorial smile and nod at Oxley, he left the cabin.

"Now then, boyo," Foley said cheerfully, as he surveyed the mess Cartwright had left on the table after he'd finished shaving. "Better tidy up again 'fore we take anythin' up to the foc's'le for washin'!"

Oxley had just about finished brushing the Lieutenant's coat as Foley helped the officer dress again. The smile he sent the drummer as he left made Oxley grin almost in spite of himself. He was real nice, Mister Cartwright was, the lad decided.

He looked at the mess the officer had left behind him, and frowned a little. "So, what d'you want me to do to help?" he asked.

"Well," Foley drawled as he glanced appraisingly around the tiny cabin, "you can empty out the shavin' tin in the House of Ease. Once you're back, it'll be 'bout time to head topside. He ain't left too many bits of clothes lyin' 'round today, for once!"

"All right then," Oxley said, taking the basin of water, careful not to spill it as he picked it up and made his way out of the cabin.

He was back in a few moments. "You got anythin' to dry this with, to stop it rustin'?" he asked. He tried to get the last dribbles out, but of course it was still wet.

Grinning, Foley held out the shirt that had most recently been used as a handkerchief. "This'll do, gotta be washed anyhow."

Oxley took the offered shirt for the second time in ten minutes and wiped the basin with it. "Better, but not perfick," he said, and tried using one of the sleeves. "Think that'll do. Where's this live, then, Mikey? And is there anythin' else 'sides this and what you've got that needs washed?"

"Usually gets kept under there," Foley said, pointing toward the table. "I got most of everythin' else that needs washin'. We can worry 'bout swabbin' the floor an' all else later. This'll take a bit to get done."

He had gathered up the dirty clothing into a canvas sack, which waited near the water-tub he'd brought earlier. Deciding that the drummer's wrist wouldn't be too badly strained by carrying the canvas sack, Foley hefted it up and held it out. "Carry this for me, boyo? Ain't too much in it today."

Oxley put the basin under the table before taking the sack, which wasn't that heavy. He swung it over his shoulder. "Do we need anythin' else?" he asked, wondering if there was something special that officers' clothes needed that the clothes of ordinary Marines and sailors didn't get.

"Nope." Foley picked up the wash-tub. "I got the soap an' all, a'ready. C'mon."

Hopefully they could avoid crossing paths with the Tar who'd started the fight. Foley didn't want to have to box anybody's ears, even if given suitable cause.

"Comin'," the drummer replied, and followed Foley up on deck. He hoped they wouldn't run into de Guarde, but if they did, at least he was with someone else this time, and he wouldn't have to say anything.

"Mister Cartwright's real nice, y'know," he said, remembering the way the officer had listened without giving him a dressing-down or anything of that sort, and had even said that he didn't think the worse of Oxley for doing what he'd done, or admitting to it.

The boy spoken off was just at that moment below by the heads, but he wasn't one using them. Instead he was scrubbing away at what might've collected over time, looking sour at the task. He'd had dunked a bucket full of filthy water over the rail, and then went to collect another filled with a cleaner - still salty - kind. He looked up at the sails and masts and all the different kinds of ropes and stays above, then lowered his gaze back to the task at hand.

Washing clothes was not Oxley's favourite activity ever, but then, he reflected, this was supposed to be a punishment. He wondered if Mister Cartwright knew just how effective it was, despite being so understanding. He suspected the officer knew; it sounded like that was how Foley had originally ended up with his position as Cartwright's steward. At least it was a nice day, he thought as they arrived topside. Things could be worse.

Things were worse... de Guarde was cleaning the heads. Well, if he was busy, he wouldn't interfere with the two Marines, and Foley wasn't likely to allow anything to happen anyway.

"That he is," Foley agreed, leading the way topside. "Ain't knowed a more fair officer, that's sure. Ain't a good one to cross though, Mister Cartwright. Not afraid to let lads know what's what if they's too outta line."

There was a Tar on the foc's'le too, with a bandage tied over one eye. That must be the one who'd started the fight. Foley noted the seaman's presence and made a point to relocate to the opposite side of the foc's'le.

Setting down the wash-tub, the steward said "Drop that sack here, boyo, an' pull up some plankin'. Won't do if you was to get your bandage damp, will it!"

De Guarde caught sight of both men with the corner of his eye and scowled. The day had only gotten worse now, though he'd thought it couldn't.

Great, there was Oxley, the damned marine who had gotten him into this mess, and to the side another man. For a moment he'd felt worried about their presence and found himself moving a bit further away. His fears had played to have him think, if only for the time, that Oxley could've come and brought another with the very reason of revenge. But then, he had seen what they carried and he'd known that if anything were to have happened, everybody would've seen.

Feeling a fool he straightened a little, glaring instead at his task. Why did they have to come and see this anyhow?!

Oxley glared at the boy as he dropped the bag. He sat down on the deck, pointedly turning his back on the ex-Middy. If he couldn't get the bandage wet, he wasn't sure what use he was going to be, precisely, but he'd find -or be given - something to do, he was sure of that much.

He made up his mind not to cross Mister Cartwright, ever, if he could help it.

"I tole him, sort of, Mikey. The Lieutenant, I mean," he said. "He was real nice over it, too." He glanced aft. The red coat of the Marine officer was clearly visible on the quarterdeck. He looked back down to the washtub. "Though if I can't get the bandage wet, I dunno that I'm goin' to be much use t'you. Sorry."

Foley was fishing the soap and a often-repaired rag from inside his jacket as Oxley spoke. It didn't surprise him much that the lad had conversed with Mister Cartwright, easy as the lieutenant was to talk to. Almost too easy, at times, when he was looking to hear things most lads preferred to keep to themselves. There weren't many half as good as Cartwright at knowing what went on within his own detachment.

"Listens pretty good, don't he?" Foley asked knowingly, dipping the rag into the wash-tub almost experimentally. "Not a bad one to go to for wisdom, him. An' you can shake out whatever's next in the sack an' hand it across for me to wash. When it's washed, you can lay it out on the deck, just there."

Cartwright would be watching them, however passively, and he wasn't foolish enough to let Oxley appear to be too idle. He glanced at the Tar on the other side of the deck and grinned to himself. Just idle enough.

He nodded. "He is. Never known a officer quite like it afore." A lad could talk himself into a world of trouble with Mister Cartwright, he thought, the way the officer listened. But somehow that was better than having an officer who thought he already knew everything there was to know about things.

It was nice up here in the sunshine, with the free and easy motion of a ship under sail. He was still on punishment duty, though, and knew he couldn't slack off - though it could be worse, much worse. Seemed the Tar he'd fought with had been set to cleaning the heads. Oxley had no doubt that would be him, next time - if there was a next time, which he was determined there wouldn't be.

"Can't imagine talkin' to the officer like he was a mate, though, Mikey. Ain't right, that." He reached into the sack for the first item, the shirt that had found itself being used as both a towel and a hanky.

Grinning, the steward took the shirt and set to work with it. "Oh no, he ain't no mate, bein' an officer. But he does let you know he's got an ear if there's trouble. This here's only Mister Cartwright's second ship too. He's fair young, only a few years older'n you, I think. Not a bad showin' for him, really."

Oxley nodded. That was probably some of the reason why he'd found it so easy to talk to him; there really wasn't much difference in their ages. If the officer had been much older, it would have been harder. Probably.

There was one thing that was starting to worry Oxley now, though. "D'you... d'you think he'll want me to stand be'ind him at dinner? 'Cause I ain't never done that afore. Well, I ain't never done any of this afore neither, of course." But at least with the rest of the tasks he was going to have today, he'd have Foley's help and advice. "I... I don't mind if he does," he said, thinking that actually he did mind, though of course he'd try his best, as he'd promised he would.

That had Foley pause a moment to consider. Tending dinner was a comparatively simple task, but it was far more 'public' than most others. He guessed Oxley would be stiffly nervous if he was made to do it and the chances of an accident happening were more than if Foley attended himself.

"Doubt he'll have you do it," Foley answered. "Or if he does, I'll be there too. Dead borin' though, tendin' dinner. Most of it's nothin' more than standin' around an' refillin' your officer's glass. Mister Cartwright ain't much for wine or port, so it's just standin' around."

He'd glanced back again noticing the back of the drummer boy, and the easy manner of his seating while he would've helped with the washing. He grit his teeth. The boy was close to doing near nothing, while he was hard at work with the heads, while he had been so earlier with the horses. He felt resentment and some of the upset, which poured into his hands and his work, so that the scraping was hardly thought gentle.

He'd muttered something under his breath, and it might as well have been said about Oxley. He looked to be in a good mood, that man! And he had company, which might've been the punishment leader, but at the same looked to be happily mingling away with him too. His frown deepened, while he rubbed his hand against the cloth, and quickly regreted it.

Oxley felt a little relieved at Foley's words, though he couldn't help hoping that Mister Cartwright would decide not to have him wait table like that. The idea had a sort of awful fascination though, like a loose tooth. He couldn't see any reason why the Lieutenant would decide not to have him help serve dinner - it was part of Foley's duties, he knew that much. And he was going to be with Foley all day. Maybe he'd have to help with supper, if not dinner.

He shifted a little in his seat to find de Guarde glaring at his back. That was another problem. Maybe he should apologise for saying what he had? But it hadn't been well received when he'd tried apologising earlier. And there was the fact that the lad's clothes had ended up where they had, too. That probably wasn't going to help matters much.

"Nice thing about tendin' dinner," Foley added with a quick smirk, "is the chance for decent scraps."

He lifted the shirt from the wash-tub and studied it critically. At least it was an old shirt, he decided. There were stains in the fabric that just wouldn't come out. "This one's as done as it'll ever be. Lay it out just there," he directed, after wringing the shirt out as best he could over the tub.

That Tar had paused in his work to glare at the two Marines, it seemed. Foley hoped the sailor wouldn't take it into his head to interrupt them. He had no interest in drawing officers' attention to them, if he could avoid it.