“Let the brake off, if you please, sir. That handle there, sir.”
Hornblower obeyed, and Bush turned away and let loose a subdued bellow. The seamen took the strain in half a dozen quickening steps and then broke into a trot, the post chaise rattling over the cobbles, while the crowd waved their hats and cheered.
“I never thought I could be so happy — Horry — darling,” said Maria.
The men at the drag ropes, with the usual exuberance of the seaman on land, swung round the corner into the High Street and headed at the double towards the George, and with the turn Maria was flung against him and clasped him in delicious fear. As they drew up it was obvious that there was a danger of the chaise rolling forward into the seamen, and Hornblower had to think fast and reach for the brake lever, hurriedly casting himself free from Maria’s arm. Then he sat for a moment, wondering what to do next. On this occasion there should be a group to welcome them, the host of the inn and his wife, the boots, the ostler, the drawer, and the maids, but as it was there was no one. He had to leap down from the chaise unassisted and single handed help Maria down.
“Thank you, men,” he said to the parting seamen, who acknowledged his thanks with a knuckling of foreheads and halting words.
Bush was in sight now round the corner, hurrying towards them; Hornblower could safely leave Bush in charge while he led Maria into the inn with a sad lack of ceremony.
But here was the host at last, bustling up with a napkin over his arm and his wife at his heels.
“Welcome, sir, welcome, madam. This way, sir, madam.” He flung open the door into the coffee-room to reveal the wedding breakfast laid on a snowy cloth. “The Admiral arrived only five minutes ago, sir, so you must excuse us, sir.”
“Which Admiral?”
“The Honourable Admiral Sir William Cornwallis, sir, commanding the Channel Fleet. ‘Is coachman says war’s certain, sir.”
Hornblower had been convinced of this ever since, nine days ago, he had read the King’s message to Parliament, and witnessed the activities of the press gangs, and had been notified of his appointment to the command of the Hotspur — and (he remembered) had found himself betrothed to Maria. Bonaparte’s unscrupulous behaviour on the Continent meant —
“A glass of wine, madam? A glass of wine, sir?”
Hornblower was conscious of Maria’s inquiring glance when the innkeeper asked this question. She would not venture to answer until she had ascertained what her new husband thought.
“We’ll wait for the rest of the company,” said Hornblower. “Ah —”
A heavy step on the threshold announced Bush’s arrival.
“They’ll all be here in two minutes,” said Bush.
“Very good of you to arrange about the carriage and seamen, Mr Bush,” said Hornblower, and he thought that moment of something else that a kind and thoughtful husband would say. He slipped his hand under Maria’s arm and added — “Mrs Hornblower says you made her very happy.”
A delighted giggle from Maria told him that he had given pleasure by this unexpected use of her new name, as he expected.
“Mrs Hornblower, I give you joy,” said Bush, solemnly, and then to Hornblower, “By your leave, sir, I’ll return to the ship.”
“Now, Mr Bush?” asked Maria.
“I fear I must, ma’am,” replied Bush, turning back at once to Hornblower. “I’ll take the hands back with me, sir. There’s always the chance that the lighters with the stores may come off.”
“I’m afraid you’re right, Mr Bush,” said Hornblower. “Keep me informed, if you please.”
“Aye aye, sir,” said Bush, and with that he was gone.
Here came the others, pouring in, and any trace of awkwardness about the party disappeared as Mrs Mason marshalled the guests and set the wedding breakfast into its stride. Corks popped and preliminary toasts were drunk. There was the cake to be cut, and Mrs Mason insisted that Maria should make the first cut with Hornblower’s sword; Mrs Mason was sure that in this Maria would be following the example of naval brides in good society in London. Hornblower was not so sure; he had lived for ten years under a strict convention that cold steel should never be drawn under a roof or a deck. But his timid objections were swept away, and Maria, the sword in both hands, cut the cake amid general applause. Hornblower could hardly restrain his impatience to take the thing back from her, and he quickly wiped the sugar icing from the blade, wondering grimly what the assembled company would think if they knew he had once wiped human blood from it. He was still engaged on this work when he became aware of the innkeeper whispering hoarsely at his side.
“Begging your pardon, sir. Begging your pardon.”
“Well?”
“The Admiral’s compliments, sir, and he would be glad to see you when you find it convenient.”
Hornblower stood sword in hand, staring at him in momentary uncomprehension.
“The Admiral, sir. ‘E’s in the first floor front, what we always calls the Admiral’s Room.”
“You mean Sir William, of course?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Very well. My respects to the Admiral and — No, I’ll go up at once. Thank you.”
“Thank’ee, sir. Begging your pardon again.”
Hornblower shot his sword back into its sheath and looked round at the company. They were watching the maid bustling round handing slices of wedding cake and had no eyes for him at present. He settled his sword at his side, twitched at his neckcloth, and unobtrusively left the room, picking up his hat as he did so.
When he knocked at the door of the first floor front a deep voice that he well remembered said, “Come in.” It was so large a room that the four-poster bed at the far end was inconspicuous; so was the secretary seated at the desk by the window. Cornwallis was standing in the middle, apparently engaged in dictation until this interruption.
“Ah, it’s Hornblower. Good morning.”
“Good morning, sir.”
“The last time we met was over that unfortunate business with the Irish rebel. We had to hang him, I remember.”
Cornwallis, ‘Billy Blue’, had not changed perceptibly during those four years. He was still the bulky man with the composed manner, obviously ready to deal with any emergency.
“Please sit down. A glass of wine?”
“No, thank you, sir.”
“I expected that, seeing the ceremony you’ve just come from. My apologies for interrupting your wedding, but you must blame Boney, not me.”
“Of course, sir.” Hornblower felt that a more eloquent speech would have been in place here, but he could not think of one.
“I’ll detain you for as short a time as possible. You know I’ve been appointed to the command of the Channel fleet?”
“Yes, sir.”
“You know that Hotspur is under my command?”
“I expected that, but I didn’t know, sir.”
“The Admiralty letter to that effect came down in my coach. You’ll find it awaiting you on board.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Is Hotspur ready to sail?”
“No, Sir.” The truth and no excuses. Nothing else would do.
“How long?”
“Two days, sir. More if there’s delay with the ordnance stores.”
Cornwallis was looking at him very sharply indeed, but Hornblower returned glance for glance. He had nothing with which to reproach himself; nine days ago Hotspur was still laid up in ordinary.
“She’s been docked and breamed?”
“Yes, sir.”
“She’d manned?”
“Yes, sir. A good crew — the cream of the press.”
“Rigging set up?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Yards crossed?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Officers appointed?”
“Yes, sir. A lieutenant and four master’s mates.”
“You’ll need three months’ provisions and water.”