Cecil Forester - Lieutenant Hornblower

“Eating alone gives one bad habits,” he said—and the best proof of his embarrassment was the lameness of his explanation.

He was aware of that, as soon as he had spoken, and he tried to carry it off by leaning back on his bench in a superior fashion; and to show how much at ease he was he thrust his hands into the side pockets of his coat. As he did so his whole expression changed. He lost some of the little colour there was in his cheeks. There was utter consternation in his expression—there was even fear. Bush took instant alarm; he thought Hornblower must have had a seizure, and it was only after that first thought that he connected Hornblower’s changed appearance with his gesture of putting his hands in his pockets. But a man who had found a snake in his pocket would hardly wear that look of horror.

“What’s the matter?” asked Bush. “What in God’s name—?”

Hornblower slowly drew his right hand out of his pocket. He kept it closed for a moment round what it held, and then he opened it, slowly, reluctantly, like a man fearful of his destiny. Harmless enough; it was a silver coin—a half crown.

“That’s nothing to take on about,” said Bush, quite puzzled. “I wouldn’t even mind finding a half crown in my pocket.”

“But—but—” stammered Hornblower, and Bush began to realise some of the implications.

“It wasn’t there this morning,” said Hornblower, and then he smiled the old bitter smile. “I know too well what money I have in my pockets.”

“I suppose you do,” agreed Bush; but even now, with his mind going back through the events of the morning, and making the obvious deductions, he could not understand quite why Hornblower should be so worried. “That wench put it there?”

“Yes. Maria,” said Hornblower. “It must have been her. That’s why she took my coat to sponge it.”

“She’s a good soul,” said Bush.

“Oh God!” said Hornblower. “But I can’t—I can’t—”

“Why not?” asked Bush, and he really thought that question unanswerable.

“No,” said Hornblower. “It’s—it’s—I wish she hadn’t done it. The poor girl—”

“’Poor girl’ be blowed!” said Bush. “She’s only trying to do you a good turn.”

Hornblower looked at him for a long time without speaking, and then he made a little hopeless gesture as though despairing of ever making Bush see the matter from his point of view.

“You can look like that if you like,” said Bush, steadily, determined to stick to his guns, “but there’s no need to act as if the French had landed just because a girl slips half a crown into your pocket.”

“But don’t you see—” began Hornblower, and then he finally abandoned all attempt at explanation. Under Bush’s puzzled gaze he mastered himself. The unhappiness left his face, and he assumed his old inscrutable look—it was as if he had shut down the vizor of a helmet over his face.

“Very well,” he said. “We’ll make the most of it, by God!”

Then he rapped on the table:

“Boy!”

“Yessir.”

“We’ll have a pint of wine. Let someone run and fetch it at once. A pint of wine—port wine.”

“Yessir.”

“And what’s the pudding today?”

“Currant duff, sir.”

“Good. We’ll have some. Both of us. And let’s have a saucer of jam to spread on it.”

“Yessir.”

“And we’ll need cheese before our wine. Is there any cheese in the house, or must you send out for some?”

“There’s some in the house, sir.”

“Then put it on the table.”

“Yessir.”

Now was it not, thought Bush, exactly what might be expected of Hornblower that he should push away the half of his huge slice of currant duff unfinished? And he only had a nibble of cheese, hardly enough to clear his palate. He raised his glass, and Bush followed his example.

“To a lovely lady,” said Hornblower.

They drank, and now there was an irresponsible twinkle in Hornblower’s eyes that worried Bush even while he told himself that he was tired of Hornblower’s tantrums. He decided to change the subject, and he prided himself on the tactful way in which he did so.

“To a fortunate evening,” he said, raising his glass in his turn.

“A timely toast,” said Hornblower.

“You can afford to play?” asked Bush.

“Naturally.”

“You can stand another run of bad luck?”

“I can afford to lose one rubber,” answered Hornblower.

“Oh.”

“But on the other hand if I win the first I can afford to lose the next two. And if I win the first and second I can afford to lose the next three. And so on.”

“Oh.”

That did not sound too hopeful; and Hornblower’s gleaming eyes looking at him from his wooden countenance were postively disturbing. Bush shifted uneasily in his seat and changed the conversation again.

“They’re putting the Hastings into commission again,” he said. “Had you heard?”

“Yes. Peacetime establishment—three lieutenants, and all three selected two months back.”

“I was afraid that was so.”

“But our chance will come,” said Hornblower. “Here’s to it.”

“D’you think Parry will bring Lambert to the Long Rooms?” asked Bush when he took the glass from his lips.

“I have no doubt about it,” said Hornblower.

Now he was restless again.

“I must be back there soon,” he said. “Parry might hurry Lambert through his dinner.”

“My guess is that he would,” said Bush, preparing to rise.

There’s no necessity for you to come back with me if you don’t care to,” said Hornblower. “You might find it wearisome to sit idle there.”

“I wouldn’t miss it for worlds,” said Bush.

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.”