Lieutenant Hornblower

“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 bo

“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.

SIR [1]

It is with pleasure that I take this opportunity of informing you in advance of any official notification that your promotion to Commander is now confirmed and that you will shortly be appointed to the Command of a Sloop of War.

“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.”

The arrival at this moment of the Mail Coach with the London newspapers [2] enables me to send you the information regarding the changed situation without being u

Your obedient servant,

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

Message from HIS MAJESTY

House of Commons, March 8, 1803

The CHANCELLOR OF THE EXCHEQUER brought down the following message from HIS MAJESTY:

’His Majesty thinks it necessary to acquaint the House of Commons, that, as very considerable military preparations are carrying on in the ports of France and Holland, he has judged it expedient to adopt additional measures of precaution for the security of his dominions.

That was all Bush needed to read. Boney’s fleet of flat-bottomed boats, and his army of invasion mustered along the Cha

“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 bo

“I’ll n-

“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.

1

read Bush

2

said the second paragraph