Try as he might, Blakeney could not get his land legs back under him. The months he had spent on a man-o'-war had taken from him an arm, two good friends, and the ability to walk on steady land. Will assumed he now looked just as silly as his older cousin had when he returned home for the first time from the sea. Sun burned and wobbly, with a too small uniform and a decidedly rougher manner of speech. At least that older cousin, James by name, had been surrounded by a jovial and understanding family when he had returned to land. Will was, however, no where near family and looked like an utter fool.
"So-sorry Miss!" The solidity of the cobblestone street mixed with the oppressing seaside fog had sent the young midshipman barreling into a flock twittering girls.
"You should be," replied the apparent leader of group, "Its quite rude to attack a group of innocent ladies." She was plain, but powerful in a way that made her seem more comely than she actually was. The girl sniffed before turning on her heel to give the 'attacker' the once over. The girl's trained eyes first flitted to the gold naval buttons, then to the tanned and sun freckled face and then to the curly blonde hair. Another in the group, less forceful but a good deal fairer than the first, was the first to spot both the service medal sewn in his buttonhole and the armless sleeve tacked to his jacket front.
"Oh my, what happened to you?" Immediately after uttering the question, the prettier girl clapped an embarrassed hand over her mouth. Blakeney flushed as the rest of the group became privy to his loss and, as one, drew closer.
"Well, um.."
"Poor dear!"
"Poor bird!"
"How did it happen?"
"Did it hurt?"
"Of course it hurt him you ninny!"
"Can you write?"
"How do you eat your food?"
"How do you comb your hair?"
"Enough!" The homely leader raised a hand, silencing the gaggle of girls. She presented her proffered hand to a surprised, albeit relieved Will Blakeney. "My name is Henrietta Wendrey. How do you do, Mr…er.."
"B-Blakeney, m-miss." As stuttered through his answer, the absent roll of the absent ship sent Will stumbling backwards again, this time landing hard on the street. There was a gasp from the group, sealing the one armed seaman's place in girls' collective hearts. They surged around the boy, bringing him to his feet in a swirl of lace and silk.
"Mr. Blakeney, I insist that you accompany us tea today," Henrietta looped a glove covered hand under Blakeney's remaining upper arm.
"Um, I really ca-"
"Oh but we insist," one of the girls piped in, inciting a chorus of hearty affirmations.
"Well-" All at once, Will was swept away by a wave of high twitters and coos, his task forgotten.
The good doctor Maturin pulled his pocket watch from his pocket. Although the ship was staying in port for a few days yet, Blakeney's prolonged absence was a little troubling. Maturin felt partly to blame for sending the boy onto land so far away from the trip so soon after returning from sea. He himself could remember the first wobbly promenade he had taken after spending a prolonged stint on the sea.
"Perhaps it was too much to ask," the doctor mused out loud, snapping the watch closed and replacing it. Sending the boy to pick up a packet from a local contact had seemed harmless enough that morning, a mere hour long errand to keep the boy occupied lest he start to drift. But as the sun dipped below the rippling horizon, it was clear that the midshipman had somehow strayed. Stephen decided to take another turn around the deck before continuing his lookout.
Somewhere between the quarterdeck and the fore mast, there was the quiet sort of clatter that could only by caused by some one as clumsy and polite as Will Blakeney. "Mr. Blakeney!" the doctor called, "I was wondering where you had gone off to."
The boy gave a weak smile and handed over the packet, which was received with a grateful nod. Maturin turned to retire below deck and leave the obviously frazzled Blakeney to his own devices.
"Sir!" Blakeney called abruptly, rubbing his temples and creating an uncanny resemblance to the doctor himself.
"Yes, Mr. Blakeney?"
"You were right, Sir."
A/N Woah is me, look at all that Dickens influence…hollah. Don't like this one as much as the last but... c'est la vie.