“And I can see from all this,” went on Knyvett, with a gesture indicating Admiral Ransome’s presence, “that I shall have the pleasure of Your Lordship’s company, and Her Ladyship’s.”
“Yes, yes, quite so,” said Hornblower.
“You will be my only passengers,” said Knyvett.
“Excellent,” repeated Hornblower.
“I trust Your Lordship will find the Pretty Jane a well-found and comfortable ship.”
“I trust so,” said Hornblower.
“Her Ladyship, of course, is familiar with the deckhouse that will be your accommodation. I shall ask her if she can suggest any addition that will add to your comfort, My Lord.”
“Very well.”
Knyvett drifted away after this cold reception, and it was only after he had gone that Hornblower realised that Knyvett must have received an impression of a top-lofty peer with hardly bare politeness for a mere packet-captain. He regretted it, and made a desperate effort to get himself under control again. A glance at Barbara revealed her chatting animatedly with young Bonner, the fishing-boat owner and general merchant with the shady reputation, against whom Hornblower had already warned her. That could have added to his misery if it were possible.
Again he made the effort to control himself. He knew the expression on his face to be frozen and blank, and he tried to make it more pleasing as he forced himself to stroll through the crowd.
“Can we tempt you, Lord Hornblower?” asked an old lady standing by the card-table in an alcove. She was a good whist player, Hornblower remembered.
“Why certainly, with pleasure,” he made himself say.
He had something to think about now; for the first few hands it was hard to concentrate, especially as the noise of an orchestra was added to the din of the party, but old habits reasserted themselves with the necessity to remember the distribution of fifty-two cards. By sheer will-power he achieved the transformation of himself into a thinking machine, playing coldly and correctly, and then, when the rubber appeared to be lost, he was carried away despite himself. The next hand afforded an opportunity for brilliance, for that injection into his so-far mechanical play of the human quality, the flexibility, the unpredictable cunning which marked the difference between a second-class player and a first-class one. By the fourth lead he had made a fair estimate of the hands. One particular lead might enable him to clear the board, to win every trick and the rubber; with orthodox play the hand would end with his making only twelve tricks and the rubber still in doubt. It was worth trying — but it was now or never. Without hesitation he led his queen of hearts to the ace that his partner was forced to play; he took the next trick and along with it control of the situation, cleared trumps, led out his established winners, saw with satisfaction his opponents discard first the knave and then the king of hearts, and he finally laid down the three of hearts to take the last trick amid the dismay of his opponents.
“Why, that’s Grand Slam,” said the old lady who was his partner, quite astonished. “I don’t understand — I don’t see how — we’ve won the rubber after all!”
It had been a neat piece of work; there was a perceptible glow of accomplishment within him. That was a hand that he would be able to play over in his mind in future while composing himself to sleep. When the card playing was finished and the guests beginning to leave he was able to meet Barbara’s eye with a more natural expression, and Barbara with a relieved sigh was able to tell herself that her husband was coming out of his unpredictable mood.
It was as well that he was, for the next few days were bound to be difficult. There was almost nothing for him to do as the Pretty Jane made ready for sea. As a helpless spectator he had to stand by and watch Ransome taking over the command he had held for three years. The Spanish question was likely to be difficult with the French invasion of Spain to restore Ferdinand VII; there was the Mexican question as well as the Venezuela question; he could not help fretting over the possibility of Ransome mishandling them. On the other hand, there was the small comfort that Hudnutt had so far succeeded in evading capture; Hornblower honestly feared that if he should be apprehended and sentenced while they were still in the island Barbara might take action herself with personal appeals to Ransome or even to the Governor. Barbara actually seemed to have forgotten about the case, which was more than Hornblower had; he was still profoundly disturbed about it, and inclined to fret himself into a fever at his complete lack of power to exert any influence in the matter. It was hard to be philosophic about it, to tell himself that no individual, not even Hornblower, could hold back the working of the inexorable machine of the Articles for the Regulating and Better Government of His Majesty’s Navies. And Hudnutt was a more capable person than he had ever imagined, seeing that he had been able to maintain himself free from capture for a week now — unless perhaps he was dead. That might be best for Hudnutt.
Captain Knyvett came in person with the news that the Pretty Jane was almost ready for sea.
“The last of the cargo’s going on board now, My Lord,” he said. “The logwood’s all in and the coir is on the quay. If Your Lordship and Her Ladyship will come on board this evening we’ll sail with the land breeze at dawn.”
“Thank you, captain. I am greatly obliged to you,” said Hornblower, trying not to be fulsome to make up for his coldness at the Governor’s party.
Pretty Jane was a flush-decked brig, save that amidships she carried a small but substantial deckhouse for her passengers. Barbara had inhabited it for five weeks on the outward voyage. Now they entered it together, with all the bustle of the ship’s getting ready for sea going on round them.
“I used to look at that other bed, dear,” she said to Hornblower as they stood in the deckhouse, “and I used to tell myself that soon my husband would be sleeping there. It seemed too good to be possible, dear.”
A noise outside distracted them.
“This case, ma’am?” asked the Government House servant who was bringing their baggage on board under Gerard’s supervision.
“That? Oh, I’ve asked the captain about that already. It’s to go in the steerage.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Delicacies in tin boxes,” explained Barbara to Hornblower.
“I brought them all the way out for you to enjoy while going home, dear.”
“You are too good to me,” said Hornblower.
A case that size and weight would be a nuisance in the deckhouse. In the steerage its contents would be readily accessible.
“What is coir?” asked Barbara, looking out to see one of the final bales going down the hatchway.
“The hairy husks of coconuts,” explained Hornblower.
“What in the world are we carrying those to England for?” asked Barbara.
“There are machines now which can weave it. They make coco-matting by the mile in England now.”
“And logwood?”
“They extract a dye from it. A bright red dye.”
“You are my unfailing source of information, dear,” said Barbara, “as well as everything else in life for me.”
“Here’s Their Excellencies coming, My Lord,” warned Gerard, arriving at the deckhouse door.
That meant the final goodbyes, in the dying evening. A painful, sad moment; much shaking of hands; kisses on each cheek for Barbara from Lady Hooper; the word ‘goodbye’ repeated over and over again, overwhelming in its finality. Goodbye to friends and to acquaintances, goodbye to Jamaica and to the command-in-chief. Goodbye to one life, with the next still to disclose itself. Goodbye to the last shadowy figure disappearing in the darkness of the quay, and then to turn again to Barbara standing beside him, permanent in these transitions,
In the first light of next morning Hornblower could hardly be blamed for being on deck, feeling oddly awkward with the necessity for keeping out of the way, watching while Knyvett warped the Pretty Jane away from the quay, to catch the land breeze and head out of the harbour. Luckily Knyvett was made of sturdy stuff, and was not in the least discomposed at having to handle his ship under the eye of an Admiral. The land breeze filled the sails; Pretty Jane gathered way. They dipped the flag to Fort Augusta, and then, with the helm hard over, came round to leave Drunken Cay and South Cay on their port side before beginning the long reach to the eastward. And Hornblower could relax and contemplate the new prospect of breakfasting with his wife on shipboard.