“Thank you, sir.”
Those last two speeches — Hornblower digested them while Foster scribbled away at the letter — were hardly tactful when considered in relation to each other. They implied a certain lack of charm. Marsden was the Secretary to the Lords of the Admiralty, and the suggestion that Hornblower needed a note to gain admittance was an unexpressed but disparaging comment on his appearance.
“Chaise will be at the gates, sir,” announced the flag-lieutenant.
“Very well.” Foster sanded his letter and poured the sand back into the caster, folded the letter and addressed it, sanded it once more, and once more returned the sand. “Seal that, if you please.”
As the flag-lieutenant busied himself with candle and wax and seal Foster folded his hands and looked over again at Hornblower.
“You’re going to be pestered for news at every relay,” he said. “The country can’t think about anything except ‘What’s Nelson doing?’ and ‘Has Boney crossed yet?’. They’ll discuss Villain-noove and Calder the way they used to discuss Tom Cribb and Jem Belcher.”
“Indeed, sir? I fear I know nothing about any of them.”
Tom Cribb and Jem Belcher were disputing the heavyweight championship of England at this period.
“Just as well.”
“Ready, sir,” said the flag-lieutenant, handing the sealed letter to Hornblower, who held it for an embarrassed second before putting it in his pocket — it seemed rather cavalier treatment for a dispatch to the Secretary of the Admiralty.
“Goodbye captain,” said Foster, “and a pleasant journey.”
“I’ve had your baggage put in the chaise, sir,” said the flag-lieutenant on the way to the gate.
“Thank you,” said Hornblower.
Outside the gate there was the usual small crowd of labourers waiting to be hired, of anxious wives, and of mere sightseers. Their attention was at this moment taken up by the post-chaise which stood waiting with the postilion at the horses’ heads.
“Well, goodbye, sir, and a pleasant journey,” said the flag-lieutenant, handing over the blanket-bundle.
From outside the gate came a well-remembered voice.
“Horry! Horry!”
Maria in bonnet and shawl stood there by the wicket gate, with little Horatio in her arms.
“That’s my wife and my child,” said Hornblower abruptly. “Goodbye, sir.”
He strode out through the gate and found himself clasping Maria and the child in the same embrace.
“Horry, darling. My precious,” said Maria. “You’re back again. Here’s your son — look how he’s growing up. He runs about all day long. There, smile at your daddy, poppet.”
Little Horatio did indeed smile, for a fleeting instant, before hiding his face in Maria’s bosom.
“He looks well indeed,” said Hornblower. “And how about you, my dear?”
He stood back to look her over. There was no visible sign at present of her pregnancy, except perhaps in the expression in her face.
“To see you is to give me new life, my loved one,” said Maria.
It was painful to realize that what she said was so close to the truth. And it was horribly painful to know that he had next to tell her that he was leaving her in this very moment of meeting.
Already, and inevitably, Maria had put out her right hand to twitch at his coat, while holding little Horatio in her left arm.
“Your clothes look poorly, Horry darling,” she said. “How crumpled this coat is. I’d like to get at it with an iron.”
“My dear —” said Hornblower.
This was the moment to break the news, but Maria anticipated him.
“I know,” she said, quickly. “I saw your chest and bag being put into the chaise. You’re going away.”
“I fear so.”
“To London?”
“Yes.”
“Not one little moment with me — with us?”
“I fear not, my dear.”
Maria was being very brave. She held her head back and looked straight at him unflinchingly; there was jus the tiniest quiver of her lips to indicate the stresses within.
“And after that, darling?” asked Maria; when she spoke her tone gave a further hint of those stresses.
“I hope to get a ship. I shall be a captain, remember dear.”
“Yes.” Just the one word, of heartbroken acquiescence.
Perhaps it was fortunate then that Maria noticed something that distracted her, but Hornblower was inclined to believe that Maria deliberately and bravely distracted herself. She lifted her hand to his cheek, to his jawbone,
