Triton wore no Admiral’s flag, for Ransome legally held no command until he had taken over; the salutes at the moment merely acknowledged Triton‘s joining the West Indian command. Ransome was a burly man with the heavy, fashionable side-whiskers, more grey than black. He wore a small decoration of Companion of the Bath, insignificant compared with Hornblower’s magnificent Grand Cross. Presumably if he survived this appointment without any great blunder he might hope for knighthood. He presented his captain, Coleman, with whom Hornblower was quite unacquainted, and then turned an attentive ear to Hornblower’s explanation of the arrangements made so far and of future plans.
“I’ll assume command tomorrow,” decided Ransome.
“That will allow time to arrange the full ceremonial,” agreed Hornblower. “In that case, sir, would you care to spend tonight at Government House? I understand a command there awaits you if you think it convenient.”
“No need to move twice,” said Ransome. “I’ll spend tonight on board here.”
“Admiralty House will be ready for you tomorrow, of course, sir. Perhaps you might like to give us the honour of your company at dinner today? There might perhaps be information that I could give you regarding the situation here.”
Ransome shot a glance at Hornblower charged with a certain amount of suspicion; he did not wish to have any ready-made policies thrust upon him by his predecessor. Yet the suggestion was obviously sensible.
“It would be a great pleasure. I must thank you, My Lord.”
Hornblower took a tactful step to allay that suspicion.
“The packet in which my wife and I are taking passage to England is making ready for sea at present, sir. We sail in her, in a matter of a few days only.”
“Very well, My Lord,” said Ransome.
“Then, having repeated my welcome, sir, I shall take my leave. Shall we expect you at four o’clock? Or would some other time be convenient?”
“Four o’clock will suit me well,” said Ransome.
The king is dead, long live the king, thought Hornblower, on his way back. Tomorrow he would be supplanted, and would become a mere half-pay officer. The splendour and dignity of a Commander-in-Chief would be transferred from him to Ransome. And he found the thought a little irksome; he had found his polite pose of deference to Ransome more than a little irksome; and he really thought Ransome could have been more polite in return. He gave vent to a good deal of this feeling as he told Barbara about the interview, and he checked himself at sight of Barbara’s amused twinkle and raised eyebrow.
“You are the sweetest simpleton, my very dearest,” said Barbara. “Have you no idea at all of any possible explanation?”
“None, I’m afraid,” said Hornblower.
Barbara came up close to him and looked into his face.
“No wonder that I love you,” she said. “Don’t you understand that no man could find it easy to replace Hornblower? Your period of command has been overwhelmingly successful. You’ve set a standard Ransome will find it hard to live up to. One might say he’s jealous, envious — and he showed it.”
“I can’t really believe that,” said Hornblower.
“And I love you because you can’t believe it,” said Barbara. “I could tell you so in a hundred ways, if I did not have to go and put on my finest gown to win Admiral Ransome’s heart.”
Ransome was a man of fine presence, bulk and side-whiskers and all; Hornblower had not really appreciated the fact at their first meeting. His manner was somewhat more cordial in Barbara’s presence, which might have been the effect of Barbara’s personality, but might also have been, as Hornblower realised, the result of Ransome’s knowing that Lady Hornblower was a person of much influence in political circles. Hornblower did his best to exploit Ransome’s faint cordiality. He passed the wine, he let slip as casually as possible bits of useful information regarding West Indian conditions — casually, so that Ransome could not suspect him of trying to bring influence to bear on him regarding his future policy, and yet useful information that Ransome could snap up and treasure with a smile at Hornblower’s carelessness. Yet all the same, dinner was not a tremendous success. There was still a certain tenseness.
And as dinner was approaching its end Hornblower was conscious of a glance darted at him by Barbara; it was only one glance, and of the most fleeting nature. Ransome could not have been conscious of it, but Hornblower understood. Barbara was jogging his memory regarding a matter that was important to her. He awaited a suitable turn in the conversation before mentioning the subject.
“Oh, yes,” he said, “there’s a court martial pending. A marine bandsman —”
He went on to tell Ransome the circumstances of the case, treating it lightly. He was aware, even if Ransome was not, of the closeness with which Barbara was studying Ransome’s expression as the narrative continued.
“‘Repeated and deliberate disobedience to a lawful order,’” Ransome was repeating to himself Hornblower’s own words. “It could have been mutiny.”
“So it could,” agreed Hornblower. “But it’s rather a curious case. I’m glad you have the decision to make regarding it, and not I.”
“It seems to me as if the evidence will be quite incontrovertible.”
“No doubt.” Hornblower made himself smile, telepathically conscious of the intensity of Barbara’s interest. “But the circumstances are a little unusual.”
The stony expression on Ransome’s face was most discouraging. Hornblower knew the situation to be hopeless. He would have abandoned any further effort if Barbara had not been there, but as it was he went on, uselessly.
“If the trial had been held during the period of my command I might have — naturally I had not made up my mind — commuted the sentence to mark my appreciation of the good behaviour of the squadron.”
“Yes?” said Ransome; no monosyllable could have expressed greater disinterest, but Hornblower plunged on.
“It had occurred to me that you might find this a favourable opportunity to display clemency as your first official act.”
“That will be a matter for my own decision.”
“Of course,” agreed Hornblower.
“And I cannot imagine my taking any action of that sort, naturally. I cannot have the squadron believing that I shall be lenient as regards discipline. I cannot have my command unsettled at the start.”
“Of course,” said Hornblower again. He could see the uselessness of further argument, and he might as well be graceful about it. “You are the best judge of all the circumstances, as well as the only judge.”
“Now I shall leave you gentlemen to your wine,” said Barbara, suddenly. Hornblower looked at her just in time to see her frozen expression melt into the smile he knew so well. “I shall say goodnight to you, Admiral. I shall make every effort — as far as the rules of the Navy allow — to see that this house is in good condition for you to take over tomorrow, and I hope you will be comfortable in it.”
“Thank you,” said Ransome; the two men were on their feet now.
“Goodnight, dear,” said Barbara to Hornblower. The latter was aware that the smile she gave him was not quite real, and he knew her to be acutely upset.
She left them, and Hornblower passed the port, and settled down again to what proved to be a long evening. Ransome, having asserted himself, and having made it perfectly clear that he would remain uninfluenced by any suggestion Hornblower might put forward, was by no means averse to acquiring any information that might come his way. Nor to finishing the bottle of port and starting on another.