Hornblower was dictating his despatch to Their Lordships, and Spendlove, who numbered this newfangled shorthand among his surprising accomplishments, was slashing down the letter at a speed that made light of Hornblower’s stumbling sentences — Hornblower had not yet acquired the art of dictation.
“In conclusion,” said Hornblower, “it gives me particular pleasure to call Their Lordships’ attention to the ingenuity and activity of Captain Sir Thomas Fell, which made this exemplary capture possible.”
Spendlove looked up from his pad and stared at him. Spendlove knew the truth; but the unblinking stare which answered him defied him to utter a word.
“Add the usual official ending,” said Hornblower.
It was not for him to explain his motives to his secretary. Nor could he have explained them if he had tried. He liked Fell no better now than before.
“Now a letter to my agent,” said Hornblower.
“Aye aye, My Lord,” said Spendlove, turning a page.
Hornblower began to assemble in his mind the sentences composing this next letter. He wanted to say that because the capture was due to Sir Thomas’s suggestions he did not wish to apply for his share of head money for himself. It was his desire that the share of the Flag should be allocated to Sir Thomas.
“No,” said Hornblower. “Belay that. I won’t write after all.”
“Aye aye, My Lord,” said Spendlove.
It was possible to pass on to another man distinction and honour, but one could not pass on money. There was something obvious, something suspicious, about that. Sir Thomas might guess, and Sir Thomas’s feelings might be hurt, and he would not risk it. But he wished he liked Sir Thomas better, all the same.
THE BEWILDERED PIRATES
Oh, the dames of France are fo-ond a-and free
And Flemish li-ips a-are willing.
That was young Spendlove singing lustily only two rooms away from Hornblower’s at Admiralty House, and he might as well be in the same room, as all the windows were open to let in the Jamaican sea breeze.
And sweet the maids of I-Ita-aly —
That was Gerard joining in.
“My compliments to Mr Gerard and Mr Spendlove,” growled Hornblower to Giles, who was helping him dress, and that caterwauling is to stop. Repeat that to make sure you have the words right.”
“His Lordship’s compliments, gentlemen, and that caterwauling is to stop,” repeated Giles, dutifully.
“Very well, run and say it.”
Giles ran, and Hornblower was gratified to hear the noise cease abruptly. The fact that those two young men were singing — and still more the fact that they had forgotten he was within earshot — was proof that they were feeling lighthearted, as might be expected, seeing they were dressing for a ball. Yet it was no excuse, for they knew well enough that their tone-deaf Commander-in-Chief detested music, and they should also have realised that he would be more testy than usual, on account of that very ball, because it meant that he would be forced to spend a long evening listening to those dreary sounds, cloying and irritating at the same moment. There would certainly be a table or two of whist — Mr Hough would be aware of his principal guest’s tastes — but it was too much to hope for that all sound of music would be excluded from the card-room. The prospect of a ball was by no means as exhilarating to Hornblower as to his flag-lieutenant and to his secretary.
Hornblower tied his white neckcloth and painfully adjusted it to geometrical symmetry, and Giles helped him into his black dresscoat. Hornblower regarded the result in the mirror, by the light of the candles round its frame. At least tolerable, he said to himself. The growing peacetime convention whereby naval and military men appeared in civilian clothes had a good deal to recommend it; so had the other increasing fad for men to wear black dresscoats. Barbara had helped him select this one, and had supervised its fitting by the tailor. The cut was excellent, Hornblower decided, turning back and forth before the mirror, and black and white suited him. “Only gentlemen can wear black and white,” Barbara had said, and that was very gratifying.
Giles handed him his tall hat and he studied the additional effect. Then he took up his white gloves, remembered to remove his hat again, and stepped out through the door which Giles opened for him and entered the corridor where Gerard and Spendlove, in their best uniforms, were waiting for him.
“I must apologise on behalf of Spendlove and myself for the singing, My Lord,” said Gerard.
The softening effect of the black dresscoat was evident when Hornblower refrained from a rasping reprimand.
“What would Miss Lucy say, Spendlove, if she heard you singing about the dames of France?” he asked.
Spendlove’s answering grin was very attractive.
“I must ask Your Lordship’s further indulgence not to tell her about it,” he said.
“I’ll make that conditional upon your further good behaviour,” said Hornblower.
The open carriage was waiting outside the front door of Admiralty House; four seamen stood by with lanterns to add to the light thrown by the lamps on the porch. Hornblower climbed in and seated himself. Etiquette was different here on land; Hornblower missed the shrilling of the pipes that he felt should accompany this ceremonial, as it would if it were a boat he was entering, and in a carriage the senior officer entered first, so that after he was seated Spendlove and Gerard had to run round and enter by the other door. Gerard sat beside him and Spendlove sat opposite, his back to the horses. As the door shut the carriage moved forward, between the lanterns at the gate, and out to the pitch dark Jamaican night. Hornblower breathed the warm, tropical air and grudgingly admitted to himself that after all it was no great hardship to attend a ball.
“Perhaps you have a rich marriage in mind, Spendlove?” he asked. “I understand Miss Lucy will inherit it all. But I advise you to make certain before committing yourself that there are no nephews on the father’s side.”
“A rich marriage might be desirable, My Lord,” replied Spendlove’s voice out of the darkness, “but I must remind you that in affairs of the heart I have been handicapped from birth — or at least from my baptism.”
“From your baptism?” repeated Hornblower, puzzled.
“Yes, My Lord. You remember my name, perhaps?”
“Erasmus,” said Hornblower.
“Exactly, My Lord. It is not adapted to endearments. Could any woman fall in love with an Erasmus? Could any woman bring herself to breathe the words ‘Razzy, darling’?”
“I fancy it could happen,” said Hornblower.
“May I live long enough to hear it,” said Spendlove.
It was remarkably agreeable to be driving thus through the Jamaican night behind two good horses and with two pleasant young men; especially, as he told himself smugly, because he had done work satisfactory enough to justify relaxation. His command was in good order, the policing of the Caribbean was proceeding satisfactorily, and smuggling and piracy were being reduced to small proportions. Tonight he had no responsibilities. He was in no danger at all, not any. Danger was far away, over the horizons both of time and space. He could lean back, relaxed, against the leather cushions of the carriage, taking only moderate care not to crease his black dresscoat or crumple the careful pleats of his shirt.
Naturally, his reception at the Houghs’s house was somewhat overpowering. There was a good deal of ‘My Lord’ and ‘His Lordship’. Hough was a substantial planter, a man of considerable wealth, with enough of dislike for English winters not to be the usual West Indian absentee landlord. Yet for all his wealth he was greatly impressed by the fact that he was entertaining, in one and the same person, a Peer and an Admiral and a Commander-in-Chief — and someone whose influence might at any moment be of great importance to him. The warmth of his greeting, and of Mrs Hough’s, was so great that it even overflowed round Gerard and Spendlove as well. Perhaps the Houghs felt that if they wished to be sure of standing well with the Commander-in-Chief it might be as well to cultivate good relations with his flag-lieutenant and secretary, too.