“What happened to that Doughty?” asked Maria.
“He deserted,” answered Hornblower; luckily, again, Maria was not interested in the mechanics of desertion and did not inquire into the process.
“I’m not sorry, dear,” she said. “I never liked him. But I’m afraid you miss him.”
“I can manage well enough without him,” said Hornblower. It was useless to buy capers and cayenne during this stay in Plymouth; Bailey would not know what to do with them.
“Perhaps one of these days I’ll be able to look after you instead of these servants,” said Maria.
There was the tender note in her voice again, and she was drawing nearer.
“No one could do that better than you, my darling,” answered Hornblower. He had to say it. He could not hurt her. He had entered into this marriage voluntarily, and he had to go on playing the part. He put his arm round the waist that had come within reach.
“You are the kindest husband, darling,” said Maria. “I’ve been so happy with you.”
“Not as happy as I am when you say that,” said Hornblower. That was the base intriguer speaking again, the subtle villain — the man who had plotted Doughty’s escape from justice. No; he must remember that his conscience was clear now in that respect. That self-indulgence had been washed away by the blood that had poured over the decks of Félicité.
“I often wonder why it should be,” went on Maria, with a new note in her voice. “I wonder why you should be so kind to me, when I think about — you, darling — and me.”
“Nonsense,” said Hornblower, as bluffly as he could manage. “You must always be sure of my feelings for you, dear. Never doubt me.”
“My very dearest,” said Maria, her voice changing again, the note of inquiry dying out and the tenderness returning. She melted into his arms. “I’m fortunate that you have been able to stay so long in Plymouth this time.”
“That was my good fortune, dear.”
Replacing the transoms which Bush had so blithely cut away in Hotspur‘s stern for the fight with Félicité had proved to be a laborious piece of work — Hotspur‘s stern had had to be almost rebuilt.
“And the Little One has been sleeping like a lamb all the evening,” went on Maria; Hornblower could only hope that this did not involve his crying all night.
A knock at the door made Maria tear herself away from Hornblower’s embracing arm.
“Gentleman to see you,” said the landlady’s voice.
It was Bush, in pea-jacket and scarf, standing hesitating on the threshold.
“Good evening, sir. Your servant, ma’am. I hope I don’t intrude.”
“Of course not,” said Hornblower, wondering what shift of wind or politics could possibly have brought Bush here, and very conscious that Bush’s manner was a little odd.
“Come in, man. Come in. Let me take your coat — unless your news is urgent?”
“Hardly urgent, sir,” said Bush rather ponderously, allowing himself, with embarrassment, to be relieved of his coat. “But I felt you would like to hear it.”
He stood looking at them both, his eyes not quite in focus, yet sensitive to the possibility that Maria’s silence might be a sign that to her he was unwelcome; but Maria made amends.
“Won’t you take this chair, Mr Bush?”
“Thank you, ma’am.”
Seated, he looked from one to the other again; it was quite apparent to Hornblower by now that Bush was a little drunk.
“Well, what is it?” he asked.
Bush’s face split into an ecstatic grin.
“Droits of Admiralty, sir,” he said.
“What do you mean?”
“Moore and the frigates — I mean Captain Moore, of course, begging your pardon, sir.”
“What about them?”
“I was in the coffee-room of the Lord Hawke, sir — I often go there of an evening — and last Wednesday’s newspapers came down from London. And there it was, sir. Droits of Admiralty.”
Wrecks; stranded whales; flotsam and jetsam; Droits of Admiralty dealt with things of this sort, appropriating them for the Crown, and, despite the name, they were of no concern to Their Lordships. Bush’s grin expanded into a laugh.
“Serves ‘em right, doesn’t it, sir?” he said.
“You’ll have to explain a little further.”
“All that treasure they captured in the flota, sir. It’s not prize money at all. It goes to the Government as Droits of Admiralty. The frigates don’t get a penny. You see, sir, it was time of peace.”
Now Hornblower understood. In the event of war breaking out with another country, the ships of that country which happened to be in British ports were seized by the Government as Droits of Admiralty; prize money came under a different category, for prizes taken at sea in time of war were Droits of the Crown, and were specifically granted to the captors by an order in Council which waived the rights of the Crown.
The government was perfectly justified legally in its action. And however much that action would infuriate the ships’ companies of the frigates, it would make the rest of the navy laugh outright, just as it had made Bush laugh.
“So we didn’t lose anything, sir, on account of your noble action. Noble — I’ve always wanted to tell you it was noble, sir.”
“But how could you lose anything?” asked Maria.
“Don’t you know about that, ma’am?” asked Bush, turning his wavering gaze upon her. Wavering or not, and whether he was drunk or not, Bush could still see that Maria had been left in ignorance of the opportunity that Hotspur had declined, and he still was sober enough to make the deduction that it would be inadvisable to enter into explanations.
“What was it that Captain Hornblower did that was so noble?” asked Maria.
“Least said soonest mended, ma’am,” said Bush. He thrust his hand into his side pocket and laboriously fished out a small bottle. “I took the liberty of bringing this with me, ma’am, so that we could drink to the health of Captain Moore an’ the Indefatigable an’ the Droits of Admiralty. It’s rum, ma’am. With hot water an’ lemon an’ sugar, ma’am, it makes a suitable drink for this time o’ day.”
Hornblower caught Maria’s glance.
“It’s too late tonight, Mr Bush,” he said. “We’ll drink that health tomorrow. I’ll help you with your coat.”
After Bush had left (being helped on with his coat by his captain flustered him sufficiently to make him almost wordless) Hornblower turned back to Maria.
“He’ll find his way back to the ship all right,” he said.
“So you did something noble, darling,” said Maria
“Bush was drunk,” replied Hornblower. “He was talking nonsense.”
“I wonder,” said Maria. Her eyes were shining. “I always think of you as noble, my darling.”
“Nonsense,” said Hornblower.
Maria came forward to him, putting her hand up to his shoulders, coming close so that he could resume the interrupted embrace.
“Of course you must have secrets from me,” she said. “I understand. You’re a King’s officer, as well as my darling husband.”
Now that she was in his arms she had put her head far back to look up at him.
“It’s no secret,” she went on, “that I love you, my dear, noble love. More than life itself.”
Hornblower knew it was true. He felt his tenderness towards her surging up within him. But she was still speaking.
“And something else that isn’t a secret,” went on Maria. “Perhaps you’ve guessed. I think you have.”
“I thought so,” said Hornblower. “You make me very happy, my dear wife.”
Maria smiled, her face quite transfigured. “Perhaps this time it will be a little daughter. A sweet little girl.”