Lieutenant Hornblower

Chapter XX

The Long Rooms were full with the evening crowd. At nearly every table in the outer room there were earnest parties playing serious games, while through the curtained door that opened into the inner room came a continuous murmur that indicated that play in there was exciting and noisy. But for Bush standing restlessly by the fire, occasionally exchanging absentminded remarks with the people who came and went, there was only one point of interest, and that was the candlelit table near the wall where Hornblower was playing in very exalted society. His companions were the two admirals and a colonel of infantry, the latter a bulky man with a face almost as red as his coat, whom Parry had brought with him along with Admiral Lambert. The flag lieutenant who had previously partnered Parry was now relegated to the role of onlooker, and stood beside Bush, and occasionally made incomprehensible remarks about the play. The Marquis had looked in more than once. Bush had observed his glance to rest upon the table with something of approval. No matter if there were others who wanted to play; no matter if the rules of the room gave any visitor the right to join a table at the conclusion of a rubber; a party that included two flag officers and a field officer could do as it pleased.

Hornblower had won the first rubber to Bush’s enormous relief, although actually he had not been able to follow the details of the play and the score well enough to know that such was the case until the cards were swept up and payments made. He saw Hornblower tuck away some money into that breast pocket.

“It would be pleasant,” said Admiral Parry, “if we could restore the old currency, would it not? If the country could dispense with these dirty notes and go back again to our good old golden guineas?”

“Indeed it would,” said the colonel.

“The longshore sharks,” said Lambert, “meet every ship that comes in from abroad. Twentythree and sixpence they offer for every guinea, so you can be sure they are worth more than that.”

Parry took something from his pocket and laid it on the table.

“Boney has restored the French currency, you see,” he said. “They call this a napoleon, now that he is First Consul for life. A twentyfranc piece—a louis d’or, as we used to say.”

“Napoleon, First Consul,” said the colonel, looking at the coin with curiosity, and then he turned it over. “French Republic.”

“The ‘republic’ is mere hypocrisy, of course,” said Parry. “There never was a worse tyranny since the days of Nero.”

“We’ll show him up,” said Lambert.

“Amen to that,” said Parry, and then he put the coin away again. “But we are delaying the business of the evening. I fear that is my fault. Let us cut again. Ah, I partner you this time, colonel. Would you care to sit opposite me? I omitted to thank you, Mr. Hornblower, for your excellent partnership.”

“You are too kind, my lord,” said Hornblower, taking the chair at the admiral’s right.

The next rubber began and progressed silently to its close.

“I am glad to see that the cards have decided to be kind to you, Mr. Hornblower,” said Parry, “even though our honours have reduced your winnings. Fifteen shillings, I believe?”

“Thank you.” said Hornblower taking the money.

Bush remembered what Hornblower had said about being able to afford to lose three rubbers if he won the first two.

“Damned small stakes in my opinion, my lord,” said the colonel. “Must we play as low as this?”

“That is for the company to decide,” replied Parry. “I myself have no objection. Half a crown instead of a shilling? Let us ask Mr. Hornblower.”

Bush turned to look at Hornblower with renewed anxiety.

“As you will, my lord,” said Hornblower, with the most elaborate indifference.

“Sir Richard?”

“I don’t mind at all,” said Lambert.

“Half a crown a trick, then,” said Parry. “Waiter, fresh cards, if you please.”

Bush had hurriedly to revise his estimate of the amount of losses Hornblower could endure. With the stakes nearly trebled it would be bad if he lost a single rubber.

“You and I again, Mr. Hornblower,” said Parry, observing the cut. “You wish to retain your present seat?”

“I am indifferent, my lord.”

“I am not,” said Parry. “Nor am I yet so old as to decline to change my seat in accordance with the run of the cards. Our philosophers have not yet decided that it is a mere vulgar superstition.”

He heaved himself out of his chair and moved opposite Hornblower, and play began again, with Bush watching more anxiously even than at the start. He watched each side in turn take the odd trick, and then three times running he saw Hornblower lay the majority of tricks in front of him. During the next couple of hands he lost count of the score, but finally he was relieved to see only two tricks before the colonel when the rubber ended.

“Excellent,” said Parry, “a profitable rubber, Mr. Hornblower. I’m glad you decided to trump my knave of hearts. It must have been a difficult decision for you, but it was undoubtedly the right one.”

“It deprived me of a lead I could well have used,” said Lambert. “The opposition was indeed formidable, colonel.”

“Yes,” agreed the colonel, not quite as goodtemperedly.

“And twice I held hands neither an ace nor a king, which helped the opposition to be formidable. Can you give me change, Mr. Hornblower?”

There was a fivepound note among the money that the colonel handed over to Hornblower, and it went into the breast pocket of his coat.

“At least, colonel,” said Parry, when they cut again, “you have Mr. Hornblower as your partner this time.”

As the rubber proceeded Bush was aware that the flag lieutenant beside him was watching with greater and greater interest.

“By the odd trick, by George.” said he when the last cards were played.

“That was a close shave, partner,” said the colonel, his good humour clearly restored. “I hoped you held that queen, but I couldn’t be sure.”

“Fortune was with us, sir,” said Hornblower.

The flag lieutenant glanced at Bush; it seemed as if the flag lieutenant was of opinion that the colonel should have been in no doubt, from the previous play, that Hornblower held the queen. Now that Bush’s attention was drawn to it, he decided that Hornblower must have thought just the same—the slightest inflection in his voice implied it—but was sensibly not saying so.

“I lose a rubber at five pounds ten and win one at fifteen shillings,” said the colonel, receiving his winnings from Lambert. “Who’d like to increase the stakes again?”

To the credit of the two admirals they both glanced at Hornblower without replying.

“As you gentlemen wish,” said Hornblower.

“In that case I’m quite agreeable,” said Parry.

“Five shillings a trick, then,” said the colonel. “That makes the game worth playing.”

“The game is always worth playing,” protested Parry.

“Of course, my lord,” said the colonel, but without suggesting that they should revert to the previous stakes.

Now the stakes were really serious; by Bush’s calculation a really disastrous rubber might cost Hornblower twenty pounds, and his further calculation told him that Hornblower could hardly have more than twenty pounds tucked away in his breast pocket. It was a relief to him when Hornblower and Lambert won the next rubber easily.

“This is a most enjoyable evening,” said Lambert, and he smiled with a glance down at the fistful of the colonel’s money he was holding; “nor am I referring to any monetary gains.”

“Instructive as well as amusing,” said Parry, paying out to Hornblower.

Play proceeded, silently as ever, the silence only broken by the brief interchanges of remarks between rubbers. Now that he could afford it, fortunately, Hornblower lost a rubber, but it was a cheap one, and he immediately won another profitable one. His gains mounted steadily with hardly a setback. It was growing late, and Bush was feeling weary, but the players showed few signs of fatigue, and the flag lieutenant stayed on with the limitless patience he must have acquired during his present appointment, philosophic and fatalistic since he could not possibly do anything to accelerate his admiral’s decision to go to bed. The other players drifted away from the room; later still the curtained door opened and the gamblers from the inner room came streaming out, some noisy, some silent, and the Marquis made his appearance, silent and unruffled, to watch the final rubbers with unobtrusive interest, seeing to it that the candles were snuffed and fresh ones brought, and new cards ready on demand. It was Parry who first glanced at the clock.

“Half past three,” he said. “Perhaps you gentlemen?”

“Too late to go to bed now, my lord,” said the colonel. “Sir Richard and I have to be up early, as you know.”

“My orders are all given,” said Lambert.

“So are mine,” said the colonel.

Bush was stupid with long late hours spent in a study atmosphere, but he thought he noticed an admonitory glance from Parry, directed at the two speakers. He wondered idly what orders Lambert and the colonel would have given, and still more idly why they should be orders that Parry did not wish to be mentioned. There seemed to be just the slightest trace of hurry, just the slightest hint of a desire to change the subject, in Parry’s manner when he spoke.

“Very well, then, we can play another rubber, if Mr. Hornblower has no objection?”

“None at all, my lord.”

Hornblower was imperturbable; if he had noticed anything remarkable about the recent interchange he gave no sign of it. Probably he was weary, though—Bush was led to suspect that by his very imperturbability. Bush knew by now that Hornblower worked as hard to conceal his human weaknesses as some men worked to conceal ignoble birth.

Hornblower had the colonel as partner, and no one could be in the room without being aware that this final rubber was being played in an atmosphere of even fiercer competition than its predecessors. Not a word was spoken between the hands; the score was marked, the tricks swept up, the other pack proffered and cut in deadly silence. Each hand was desperately close, too. In nearly every case it was only a single trick that divided the victors and the vanquished, so that the rubber dragged on and on with painful slowness. Then a hand finished amid a climax of tension. The flag lieutenant and the Marquis had kept count of the score, and when Lambert took the last trick they uttered audible sighs, and the colonel was so moved that he broke the silence at last.

“Neck and neck, by God!” he said. “This next hand must settle it.”

But he was properly rebuked by the stony silence with which his remark was received. Parry merely took the cards from the colonel’s right side and passed them over to Hornblower to cut. Then Parry dealt, and turned up the king of diamonds as trump, and the colonel led. Trick succeeded trick. For a space, after losing a single trick, Lambert and Parry carried all before them. Six tricks lay before Parry, and only one before Hornblower. The colonel’s remark about being neck and neck was fresh in Bush’s ears. One more trick out of the next six would give the rubber to the two admirals. Five to one was long odds, and Bush uncomfortably resigned himself to his friend losing this final rubber. Then the colonel took a trick and the game was still alive. Hornblower took the next trick, so that there was still hope. Hornblower led the ace of diamonds, and before it could be played to he laid down his other three cards to claim the rest of the tricks; the queen and knave of diamonds lay conspicuously on the table.

“Rubber!” exclaimed the colonel, “we’ve won it, partner! I thought all was lost.”

Parry was ruefully contemplating his fallen king.

“I agree that you had to lead your ace, Mr. Hornblower,” he said, “but I would be enchanted to know why you were so certain that my king was unguarded. There were two other diamonds unaccounted for. Would it be asking too much of you to reveal the secret?”

Hornblower raised his eyebrows in some slight surprise at a question whose answer was so obvious.

“You were marked with the king, my lord,” he said, “but it was the rest of your hand which was significant, for you were also marked with holding three clubs. With only four cards in your hand the king could not be guarded.”

“A perfect explanation,” said Parry; “it only goes to confirm me in my conviction that you are an excellent whist player, Mr. Hornblower.”

“Thank you, my lord.”

Parry’s quizzical smile had a great deal of friendship in it. If Hornblower’s previous behaviour had not already won Parry’s regard, this last coup certainly had.

“I’ll bear your name in mind, Mr. Hornblower,” he said. “Sir Richard has already told me the reason why it was familiar to me. It was regrettable that the policy of immediate economy imposed on the Admiralty by the Cabinet should have resulted in your commission as commander not being confirmed.”

“I thought I was the only one who regretted it, my lord.”

Bush winced again when he heard the words; this was the time for Hornblower to ingratiate himself with those in authority, not to offend them with unconcealed bitterness. This meeting with Parry was a stroke of good fortune that any, halfpay naval officer would give two fingers for. Bush was reassured, however, by a glance at the speakers. Hornblower was smiling with infectious lightheartedness, and Parry was smiling back at him. Either the implied bitterness had escaped Parry’s notice or it had only existed in Bush’s mind.

“I was actually forgetting that I owe you a further thirty-five shillings,” said Parry, with a start of recollection. “Forgive me. There, I think that settles my monied indebtedness; I am still in your debt for a valuable experience.”

It was a thick wad of money that Hornblower put back in his pocket.

“I trust you will keep a sharp lookout for footpads on your way back, Mr. Hornblower,” said Parry with a glance.

“Mr. Bush will be walking home with me, my lord. It could be a valiant footpad that would face him.”

“No need to worry about footpads tonight,” interposed the colonel. “Not tonight.”

The colonel wore a significant grin; the others displayed a momentary disapproval of what apparently was an indiscretion, but the disapproval faded out again when the colonel waved a hand at the clock.

“Our orders go into force at four, my lord,” said Lambert.

“And now it is half past. Excellent.”

The flag lieutenant came in at that moment; he had slipped out when the last card was played.

“The carriage is at the door, my lord,” he said.

“Thank you. I wish you gentlemen a good evening, then.”

They all walked to the door together; there was the carriage in the street, and the two admirals, the colonel and the flag lieutenant mounted into it. Hornblower and Bush watched it drive away.

“Now what the devil are those orders that come into force at four?” asked Bush. The earliest dawn was showing over the rooftops.

“God knows,” said Hornblower.

They headed for the corner of Highbury Street.

“How much did you win?”

“It was over forty pounds—it must be about fortyfive pounds,” said Hornblower.

“A good night’s work.”

“Yes. The chances usually right themselves in time.” There was something flat and listless in Hornblower’s tone as he spoke. He took several more strides before he burst out into speech again with a vigour that was in odd contrast. “I wish to God it had happened last week. Yesterday, even.”

“But why?”

“That girl. That poor girl.”

“God bless my soul!” said Bush. He had forgotten all about the fact that Maria had slipped half a crown into Hornblower’s pocket and he was surprised that Hornblower had not forgotten as well. “Why trouble your head about her?”

“I don’t know,” said Hornblower, and then he took two more strides. “But I do.”

Bush had no time to meditate over this curious avowal for he heard a sound that made him grasp Hornblower’s elbow with sudden excitement.

“Listen!”

Ahead of them, along the silent street, a heavy military tread could be heard. It was approaching. The faint light shone on white crossbelts and brass buttons. It was a military patrol, muskets at the slope, a sergeant marching beside it, his chevrons and his half pike revealing his rank.

“Now, what the deuce?” said Bush.

“Halt!” said the sergeant to his men; and then to the other two, “May I ask you two gentlemen who you are?”

“We are naval officers,” said Bush.

The lantern the sergeant carried was not really necessary to reveal them. The sergeant came to attention.

“Thank you, sir,” he said.

“What are you doing with this patrol, sergeant?” asked Bush.

“I have my orders, sir,” replied the sergeant. “Begging your pardon, sir. By the left, quick—march!”

The patrol strode forward, and the sergeant clapped his hand to his half pike in salute as he passed on.

“What in the name of all that’s holy?” wondered Bush. “Boney can’t have made a surprise landing. Every bell would be ringing if that were so. You’d think the press gang was out, a real hot press. But it can’t be.”

“Look there!” said Hornblower.

Another party of men was marching along the street, but not in red coats, not with the military stiffness of the soldiers. Checked shirts and blue trousers; a midshipman marching at the head, white patches on his collar and his dirk at his side.

“The press gang for certain!” exclaimed Bush. “Look at the bludgeons!”

Every seaman carried a club in his hand.

“Midshipman!” said Hornblower, sharply. “What’s all this?”

The midshipman halted at the tone of command and the sight of the uniforms.

“Orders, sir,” he began, and then, realising that with the growing daylight he need no longer preserve secrecy, especially to naval men, he went on: “Press gang, sir. We’ve orders to press every seaman we find. The patrols are out on every road.”

“So I believe. But what’s the press for?”

“Dunno, sir. Orders, sir.”

That was sufficient answer, maybe.

“Very good. Carry on.”

“The press, by jingo!” said Bush. “Something’s happening.”

“I expect you’re right,” said Hornblower.

They had turned into Highbury Street now, and were making their way along to Mrs Mason’s house.

“There’s the first results,” said Hornblower.

They stood on the doorstep to watch them go by, a hundred men at least, escorted along by a score of seamen with staves, a midshipman in command. Some of the pressed men were bewildered and silent; some were talking volubly—the noise they were making was rousing the street. Every man among them had at least one hand in a trouser pocket; those who were not gesticulating had both hands in their pockets.

“It’s like old times,” said Bush with a grin. “They’ve cut their waistbands.”

With their waistbands cut it was necessary for them to keep a hand in a trouser pocket, as otherwise their trouser would fall down. No one could run away when handicapped in this fashion.

“A likely looking lot of prime seamen,” said Bush, running a professional eye over them.

“Hard luck on them, all the same,” said Hornblower.

“Hard luck?” said Bush in surprise.

Was the ox unlucky when it was turned into beef? Or for that matter was the guinea unlucky when it changed hands? This was life; for a merchant seaman to find himself a sailor of the King was as natural a thing as for his hair to turn grey if he should live so long. And the only way to secure him was to surprise him in the night, rouse him out of bed, snatch him from the grog shop and the brothel, converting him in a single second from a free man earning his livelihood in his own way into a pressed man who could not take a step on shore of his own free will without risking being flogged round the fleet. Bush could no more sympathise with the pressed man than he could sympathise with the night being replaced by day.

Hornblower was still looking at the press gang and the recruits.

“It may be war,” he said, slowly.

“War!” said Bush.

“We’ll know when the mail comes in,” said Hornblower. “Party could have told us last night, I fancy.”

“But—war!” said Bush.

The crowd went on down the street towards the dockyard, its noise dwindling with the increasing distance, and Hornblower turned towards the street door, taking the ponderous key out of his pocket. When they entered the house they saw Maria standing at the foot of the staircase, a candlestick with an unlighted candle in her hand. She wore a long coat over her nightclothes; she had put on her mobcap hastily, for a couple of curling papers showed under its edge.

“You’re safe!” she said.

“Of course we’re safe, Maria,” said Hornblower. “What do you think could happen to us?”

“There was all that noise in the street,” said Maria. “I looked out. Was it the press gang?”

“That’s just what it was,” said Bush.

“Is it—is it war?”

“That’s what it may be.”

“Oh!” Maria’s face revealed her distress. “Oh!”

Her eyes searched their faces.

“No need to worry, Miss Maria,” said Bush. “It’ll be many a long year before Boney brings his flatbottoms up Spithead.”

“It’s not that,” said Maria. Now she was looking only at Hornblower. In a flash she had forgotten Bush’s existence.

“You’ll be going away!” she said.

“I shall have my duty to do if I am called upon, Maria,” said Hornblower.

Now a grim figure appeared climbing the stairs from the basement—Mrs Mason; she had no mobcap on so that her curl papers were all visible.

“You’ll disturb my other gentlemen with all this noise,” she said.

“Mother, they think it’s going to be war,” said Maria.

“And not a bad thing perhaps if it means some people will pay what they owe.”

“I’ll do that this minute,” said Hornblower hotly. “What’s my reckoning, Mrs Mason?”

“Oh, please, please—” said Maria, interposing.

“You just shut your mouth, miss,” snapped Mrs Mason. “It’s only because of you that I’ve let this young spark run on.”

“Mother!”

” ‘I’ll pay my reckoning’ he says, like a lord. And not a shirt in his chest. His chest’d be at the pawnbroker’s too if I hadn’t nobbled it.”

“I said I’d pay my reckoning and I mean it, Mrs Mason,” said Hornblower with enormous dignity.

“Let’s see the colour of your money, then,” stipulated Mrs Mason, not in the least convinced. “Twentyseven and six.”

Hornblower brought a fistful of silver out of his trouser pocket. But there was not enough there, and he had to extract a note from his breast pocket, revealing as he did so that there were many more.

“So!” said Mrs Mason. She looked down at the money in her hand as if it were fairy gold, and opposing emotions waged war in her expression.

“I think I might give you a week’s warning, too,” said Hornblower, harshly.

“Oh no!” said Maria.

“That’s a nice room you have upstairs,” said Mrs Mason. “You wouldn’t be leaving me just on account of a few words.”

“Don’t leave us, Mr. Hornblower,” said Maria.

If ever there was a man completely at a loss it was Hornblower. After a glance at him Bush found it hard not to grin. The man who could keep a cool head when playing for high stakes with admirals—the man who fired the broadside that shook the Renown off the mud when under the fire of redhot shot—was helpless when confronted by a couple of women. It would be a picturesque gesture to pay his reckoning—if necessary to pay an extra week’s rent in lieu of warning—and to shake the dust of the place from his feet. But on the other hand he had been allowed credit here, and it would be a poor return for that consideration to leave the moment he could pay. But to stay on in a house that knew his secrets was an irksome prospect too. The dignified Hornblower who was ashamed of ever appearing human would hardly feel at home among people who knew that he had been human enough to be in debt. Bush was aware of all these problems as they confronted Hornblower, of the kindly feelings and the embittered ones. And Bush could be fond of him even while he laughed at him, and could respect him even while he knew of his weaknesses.

“When did you gennelmen have supper?” asked Mrs Mason.

“I don’t think we did,” answered Hornblower, with a side glance at Bush.

“You must be hungry, then, if you was up all night. Let me cook you a nice breakfast. A couple of thick chops for each of you. Now how about that?”

“By George!” said Hornblower.

“You go on up,” said Mrs Mason. “I’ll send the girl up with hot water an’ you can shave. Then when you come down there’ll be a nice breakfast ready for you. Maria, run and make the fire up.”

Up in the attic Hornblower looked whimsically at Bush.

“That bed you paid a shilling for is still virgin,” he said. “You haven’t had a wink of sleep all night and it’s my fault. Please forgive me.”

“It’s not the first night I haven’t slept,” said Bush. He had not slept on the night they stormed Samaná; many were the occasions in foul weather when he had kept the deck for twentyfour hours continuously. And after a month of living with his sisters in the Chichester cottage, of nothing to do except to weed the garden, of trying to sleep for twelve hours a night for that very reason, the variety of excitement he had gone through had been actually pleasant. He sat down on the bed while Hornblower paced the floor.

“You’ll have plenty more if it’s war,” Hornblower said; and Bush shrugged his shoulders.

A thump on the door announced the arrival of the maid of all work of the house, a can of hot water in each hand. Her ragged dress was too large for her—handed down presumably from Mrs Mason or from Maria—and her hair was tousled, but she, too, turned wide eyes on Hornblower as she brought in the hot water. Those wide eves were too big for her skinny face, and they followed Hornblower as he moved about the room, and never had a glance for Bush. It was plain that Hornblower was as much the hero of this fourteenyearold foundling as he was of Maria.

“Thank you, Susie,” said Hornblower; and Susie dropped an angular curtsey before she scuttled from the room with one last glance round the door as she left.

Hornblower waved a hand at the washhand stand and the hot water.

“You first,” said Bush.

Hornblower peeled off his coat and his shirt and addressed himself to the business of shaving. The razor blade rasped on his bristly cheeks; he turned his face this way and that so as to apply the edge. Neither of them felt any need for conversation, and it was practically in silence that Hornblower washed himself, poured the wash water into the slop pail, and stood aside for Bush to shave himself.

“Make the most of it,” said Hornblower. “A pint of fresh water twice a week for shaving’ll be all you’ll get if you have your wish.”

“Who cares?” said Bush.

He shaved, restropped his razor with care, and put it back into his roll of toilet articles. The scars that seamed his ribs gleamed pale as he moved. When he had finished dressing he glanced at Hornblower.

“Chops,” said Hornblower. “Thick chops. Come on.”

There were several places laid at the table in the diningroom opening out of the hall, but nobody else was present; apparently it was not the breakfast hour of Mrs Mason’s other gentlemen.

“Only a minute, sir,” said Susie, showing up in the doorway for a moment before hurrying down into the kitchen.

She came staggering back laden with a tray; Hornblower pushed back his chair and was about to help her, but she checked him with a scandalised squeak and managed to put the tray safely on the side table without accident.

“I can serve you, sir,” she said.

She scuttled back and forward between the two tables like the boys running with the nippers when the cab was being hove in. Coffeepot and toast, butter and jam, sugar and milk, cruet and hot plates and finally a wide dish which she laid before Hornblower; she took off the cover and there was a noble dish of chops whose delightful scent, hitherto pent up, filled the room.

“Ah!” said Hornblower, taking up a spoon and fork to serve. “Have you had your breakfast, Susie?”

“Me, sir? No, sir. Not yet, sir.”

Hornblower paused, spoon and fork in hand, looking from the chops to Susie and back again. Then he put down the spoon and thrust his right hand into his trouser pocket.

“There’s no way in which you can have one of these chops?” he said.

“Me, sir? Of course not, sir.”

“Now here’s half a crown.”

“Half a crown, sir!”

That was more than a day’s wages for a labourer.

“I want a promise from you, Susie.”

“Sir—sir—!”

Susie’s hands were behind her.

“Take this, and promise me that the first chance that comes your way, the moment Mrs Mason lets you out, you’ll buy yourself something to eat. Fill that wretched little belly of yours. Faggots and Pease pudding, pig’s trotters, all the things you like. Promise me.”

“But, sir—”

Half a crown, the prospect of unlimited food, were things that could not be real.

“Oh, take it,” said Hornblower testily.

“Yes, sir.”

Susie clasped the coin in her skinny hand.

“Don’t forget I have your promise.”

“Yes, sir, please, sir, thank you, sir.”

“Now put it away and clear out quick.”

“Yes, sir.”

She fled out of the room and Hornblower began once more to serve the chops.

“I’ll be able to enjoy my breakfast now,” said Hornblower selfconsciously.

“No doubt,” said Bush; he buttered himself a piece of toast, dabbed mustard on his plate—to eat mustard with mutton marked him as a sailor, but he did it without a thought. With good food in front of him there was no need for thought, and he ate in silence. It was only when Hornblower spoke again that Bush realised that Hornblower had been construing the silence as accusatory of something.

“Half a crown,” said Hornblower, defensively, “may mean many things to many people. Yesterday—”

“You’re quite right,” said Bush, filling in the gap as politeness dictated, and then he looked up and realised that it was not because he had no more to say that Hornblower had left the sentence uncompleted.

Maria was standing framed in the diningroom door; her bonnet, gloves, and shawl indicated that she was about to go out, presumably to early marketing since the school where she taught was temporarily closed.

“I—I looked in to see that you had everything you wanted,” she said. The hesitation in her speech seemed to indicate that she had heard Hornblower’s last words, but it was not certain.

“Thank you. Delightful,” mumbled Hornblower.

“Please don’t get up,” said Maria, hastily and with a hint of hostility, as Hornblower and Bush began to rise. Her eyes were wet.

A knocking on the street door relieved the tension, and Maria fled to answer it. From the diningroom they heard a masculine voice, and Maria reappeared, a corporal of marines towering behind her dumpy form.

“Lieutenant Hornblower?” he asked.

“That’s me.”

“From the admiral, sir.”

The corporal held out a letter and a folded newspaper. There was a maddening delay while a pencil was found for Hornblower to sign the receipt. Then the corporal took his leave with a clicking of heels and Hornblower stood with the letter in one hand and the newspaper in the other.

“Oh, open it—please open it,” said Maria.

Hornblower tore the wafer and unfolded the sheet. He read the note, and then reread it, nodding his head as if the note confirmed some preconceived theory.

“You see that sometimes it is profitable to play whist,” he said, “in more ways than one.”

He handed the note over to Bush; his smile was a little lopsided.

“By God, sir!” said Bush. “Congratulations. For the second time, sir. It’s only what you deserve, as I said before.”

“Thank you,” said Hornblower. “Finish reading it.”

By the time Bush had finished the letter Hornblower had opened the newspaper at the relevant passage, which he pointed out to Bush.

That was all Bush needed to read. Boney’s fleet of flat-bottomed boats, and his army of invasion mustered along the Channel coast, were being met by the appropriate and necessary countermove. Last night’s pressgang measures, planned and carried out with a secrecy for which Bush could feel nothing except wholehearted approval (he had led too many press gangs not to know how completely seamen made themselves scarce at the first hint of a press), would provide the crews for the ships necessary to secure England’s safety. There were ships in plenty, laid up in every harbour in England; and officers—Bush knew very well how many officers were available. With the fleet manned and at sea England could laugh at the treacherous attack Boney had planned.

“They’ve done the right thing for once, by God!” said Bush, slapping the newspaper.

“But what is it?” asked Maria.

She had been standing silent, watching the two men, her glance shifting from one to the other in an endeavour to read their expressions. Bush remembered that she had winced at his outburst of congratulation.

“It’ll be war next week,” said Hornblower. “Boney won’t endure a bold answer.”

“Oh,” said Maria. “But you—what about you?”

“I’m made commander,” said Hornblower. “I’m going to be appointed to a sloop of war.”

“Oh,” said Maria again.

There was a second or two of agonised effort at selfcontrol, and then she broke down. Her head dropped farther and farther, until she put her gloved hands to her face, turning away from the two men so that they only saw her shoulders with the shawl across them, shaking with sobs.

“Maria,” said Hornblower gently. “Please, Maria, please don’t.”

Maria turned and presented a slobbered face to him, unevenly framed in the bonnet which had been pushed askew.

“I’ll n-nnever see you again,” sobbed Maria. “I’ve been so happy with the mmmumps at school, I thought I’d mmmake your bed and do your room. And nnow this happens!”

“But, Maria,” said Hornblower—his hands flapped helplessly—“I’ve my duty to do.”

“I wish I was ddead! Indeed I wish I was dead!” said Maria, and the tears poured down her cheeks to drip upon her shawl; they streamed from eyes which had a fixed look of despair, while the wide mouth was shapeless.

This was something Bush could not endure. He liked pretty, saucy women. What he was looking at now jarred on him unbearably—perhaps it rasped his aesthetic sensibility, unlikely though it might seem that Bush should have such a thing. Perhaps he was merely irritated by the spectacle of uncontrolled hysteria, but if that was the case he was irritated beyond all bearing. He felt that if he had to put up with Maria’s waterworks for another minute he would break a blood vessel.

“Let’s get out of here,” he said to Hornblower.

In reply he received a look of surprise. It had not occurred to Hornblower that he might run away from a situation for which his temperament necessarily made him feel responsible. Bush knew perfectly well that, given time, Maria would recover. He knew that women who wished themselves dead one day could be as lively as crickets the next day after another man had chucked them under the chin. In any case he did not see why he and Hornblower should concern themselves about something which was entirely Maria’s fault.

“Oh!” said Maria; she stumbled forward and supported herself with her hands upon the table with its cooling coffeepot and its congealing halfconsumed chops. She lifted her head and wailed again.

“Oh, for God’s sake—” said Bush in disgust. He turned to Hornblower. “Come along.”

By the time Bush was on the staircase he realised that Hornblower had not followed him, would not follow him. And Bush did not go back to fetch him. Even though Bush was not a man to desert a comrade in peril; even though he would gladly take his place in a boat launching out through the most dreadful surf to rescue men in danger; even though he would stand shoulder to shoulder with Hornblower and be hewn to pieces with him by an overwhelming enemy; for all this he would not go back to save Hornblower. If Hornblower was going to be foolish Bush felt he could not stop him. And he salved his conscience by telling himself that perhaps Hornblower would not be foolish.

Up in the attic Bush set about rolling up his nightshirt with his toilet things. The methodical checking over of his razor and comb and brushes, seeing that nothing was left behind, soothed his irritated nerves. The prospect of immediate employment and immediate action revealed itself to him in all its delightful certainty, breaking through the evaporating clouds of his irritation. He began to hum to himself tunelessly. It would be sensible to call in again at the dockyard—he might even look in at the Keppel’s Head to discuss the morning’s amazing news; both courses would be advisable if he wanted to secure for himself quickly a new appointment. Hat in hand he tucked his neat package under his arm and cast a final glance round the room to make sure that he had left nothing, and he was still humming as he closed the attic door behind him. On the staircase, about to step down into the hall, he stood for a moment with one foot suspended, not in doubt as to whether he should go into the diningroom, but arranging in his mind what he should say when he went in.

Maria had dried her tears. She was standing there smiling, although her bonnet was still askew. Hornblower was smiling too; it might be with relief that Maria had left off weeping. He looked round at Bush’s entrance, and his face revealed surprise at the sight of Bush’s hat and bundle.

“I’m getting under way,” said Bush. “I have to thank you for your hospitality, sir.”

“But—” said Hornblower, “you don’t have to go just yet.”

There was that ‘sir’ again in Bush’s speech. They had been through so much together, and they knew so much about each other. Now war was coming again, and Hornblower was Bush’s superior officer. Bush explained what he wanted to do before taking the carrier’s cart back to Chichester, and Hornblower nodded.

“Pack your chest,” he said. “It won’t be long before you need it.”

Bush cleared his throat in preparation for the formal words he was going to use.

“I didn’t express my congratulations properly,” he said portentously. “I wanted to say that I don’t believe the Admiralty could have made a better choice out of the whole list of lieutenants when they selected you for promotion, sir.”

“You’re too kind,” said Hornblower.

“I’m sure Mr. Bush is quite right,” said Maria.

She gazed up at Hornblower with adoration shining in her face, and he looked down at her with infinite kindness. And already there was something a little proprietorial about the adoration, and perhaps there was something wistful about the kindness.