There was amusement to be found in Mendez-Castillo’s apologetic and nervous mentioning of the fact that Hornblower could not expect the same formalities as had welcomed him on his last visit. Then he had been a visiting Commander-in-Chief; now he was only a half-pay officer, a distinguished visitor (Mendez-Castillo hastened to add) but an unofficial one. It dawned upon him that Mendez-Castillo expected him to flare out and be offended at being told that this time he would be received only by flourishes and not by a full band, by the salutes of the sentries instead of by the turning out of the whole guard. He was able to confirm his reputation for tact by declaring quite truthfully – his candour was mistaken for the most diplomatic concealment of his own feelings – that he did not care in the least.
So it turned out. Barbara and Hornblower were smuggled unobtrusively out of the postern gate of the Palace and escorted into a boat, to be rowed round to the massive Watergate where Hornblower had made his previous entrance. There with slow and solemn step they passed in through the gate, Barbara on Hornblower’s left arm. On either hand the sentries presented arms and Hornblower acknowledged the salute by taking off his hat. As they came into the courtyard beyond they were welcomed by the flourishes that Mendez-Castillo had promised. Even Hornblower’s tone-deaf ear could assure him that there was no stinting of those flourishes. Long drawn out, continued until Hornblower wondered how the trumpeter’s breath could last so long; and he could guess from the variation between squeakiness and dullness that the trumpeter was displaying a considerable virtuosity. Two more sentries stood at the foot of the steps beyond, presenting arms; the trumpeter stood at the top of the steps over to one side, and he put his instrument to his lips for a further series of fanfares as Hornblower removed his hat again and he and Barbara began the climb. Tremendous, those flourishes were; even though Hornblower was bracing himself to make his ceremonial entrance into the great hall he could not help but dart a glance at the trumpeter. One glance called for a second glance. Pigtailed and powdered; dressed in a glittering uniform; what was there about that figure to demand his attention? He felt Barbara on his arm stiffen and miss her step. The trumpeter took his instrument from his lips. It was – it was Hudnutt. Hornblower almost dropped his hat with surprise.
But they were over the threshold of the great door, and he must walk steadily forward with Barbara if he were not to ruin all the precious ceremonial. A voice bellowed their names. Ahead of them at the end of an avenue of halberdiers were two chairs of state backed by a semicircle of uniforms and court gowns, with Their Excellencies sitting awaiting them. On Hornblower’s last visit the Captain-General had risen and taken seven steps forward to meet him, but that had been when he was a Commander-in-Chief; now he and Barbara were only private persons and Their Excellencies remained sitting, as he and Barbara went through the moves they had been instructed to make. He bowed to His Excellency, having already been presented to him; he waited while Barbara was presented and made her two curtsies; he bowed again as he was presented to Her Excellency; then they drew a little to one side to await Their Excellencies’ words.
‘A great pleasure to welcome Lord Hornblower again,’ said His Excellency.
‘An equally great pleasure to make the acquaintance of Lady Hornblower,’ said Her Excellency.
Hornblower went through the form of consulting with Barbara as to how he should reply.
‘My wife and I are deeply appreciative of the great honour done us by our reception,’ said Hornblower.
‘You are our welcome guests,’ said His Excellency, with a finality in his tone that indicated the end of the conversation. Hornblower bowed again, twice, and Barbara went down in two more curtsies, and then they withdrew diagonally so as to allow Their Excellencies no glimpse of their backs. Mendez-Castillo was on hand to present them to other guests, but Hornblower had first to pour out to Barbara his astonishment at the recent encounter.
‘Did you see the trumpeter, dear?’ he asked.
‘Yes,’ answered Barbara, in an expressionless tone. ‘It was Hudnutt.’
‘Amazing,’ went on Hornblower. ‘Extraordinary. I’d never have believed he was capable of it. He broke out of prison and he climbed that fence and he got himself out of Jamaica over to Puerto Rico – Quite remarkable.’
‘Yes,’ said Barbara.
Hornblower turned to Mendez-Castillo. ‘Your – your trompetero,’ he said; he was guessing at the Spanish word for ‘trumpeter’, and he put his hand up before his mouth in a gesture that indicated what he was trying to say.
‘You thought he was good?’ asked Mendez-Castillo.
‘Superb,’ said Hornblower. ‘Who is he?’
‘The best of the musicians in His Excellency’s orchestra,’ answered Mendez-Castillo.
Hornblower looked keenly at him, but Mendez-Castillo preserved a diplomatic lack of expression.
‘A fellow countryman of yours, sir?’ persisted Hornblower.
Mendez-Castillo spread his hands and elevated his shoulders.
‘Why should I concern myself about him, My Lord?’ he countered. ‘In any case, art knows no frontiers.’
‘No,’ said Hornblower. ‘I suppose not. Frontiers are elastic in these days. For instance, señor, I cannot remember if a convention exists between your government and mine regarding the mutual return of deserters.’
‘A strange coincidence!’ said Mendez-Castillo. ‘I was investigating that very question a few days ago – quite idly, I assure you, My Lord. And I found that no such convention exists. There have been many occasions when, as a matter of goodwill, deserters have been handed back. But most lamentably, My Lord, His Excellency has altered his views in that respect since a certain ship – the Estrella del Star, whose name you may possibly recall, My Lord – was seized as a slaver outside this very harbour in circumstances that His Excellency found peculiarly irritating.’
There was no hostility; nor was there any hint of glee in Mendez-Castillo’s expression as he made this speech. He might as well have been discussing the weather.
‘I appreciate His Excellency’s kindness and hospitality even more now,’ said Hornblower. He hoped he was giving no indication that he was a man who had just been hoist by his own petard.
‘I will convey that information to His Excellency,’ said Mendez-Castillo. ‘Meanwhile there are many guests who are anxious to make Your Lordship’s acquaintance and that of Her Ladyship.’
Later in the evening it was Mendez-Castillo who came to Hornblower with a message from Her Excellency, to the effect that the Marquesa quite understood that Barbara might be tired, not having fully recovered yet from her recent experiences, and suggesting that if Her Ladyship and His Lordship chose to retire informally Their Excellencies would understand; and it was Mendez-Castillo who guided them to the far end of the room and through an unobtrusive door to where a back stairs led to their suite. The maid allotted to attend to Barbara was waiting up.
‘Ask the maid to go, please,’ said Barbara. ‘I can look after myself.’
Her tone was still flat and expressionless, and Hornblower looked at her anxiously in fear lest her fatigue should be too much for her. But he did what she asked.
‘Can I help in any way, dear?’ he asked as the maid withdrew.
‘You can stay and talk to me, if you will,’ answered Barbara.
‘With pleasure, of course,’ said Hornblower. There was something strange about this situation. He tried to think of some topic to relieve the tension. ‘I still can hardly believe it about Hudnutt—’
‘It is about Hudnutt that I wanted to speak,’ said Barbara. There was something positively harsh about her voice. She was standing more stiffly and more rigidly than usual – no back could ever be straighter – and she was meeting Hornblower’s eyes with a kind of fixed stare like a soldier at attention awaiting sentence of death.
‘Whatever is the matter, dearest?’
‘You are going to hate me,’ said Barbara.
‘Never! Never!’
; ‘You don’t know what it is I’m going to tell you.’
‘Nothing you could tell me—’
‘Don’t say that yet! Wait until you hear. I set Hudnutt free. It was I who arranged for his escape.’
The words came like sudden forked lightning. Or it was as if in a dead calm the main-topsail yard had fallen without warning from its slings on to the deck.
‘Dearest,’ said Hornblower, unbelievingly, ‘you’re tired. Why don’t you—’
‘Do you think I’m delirious?’ asked Barbara. Her voice was still unlike anything Hornblower had ever heard; so was the brief, bitter laugh that accompanied her words. ‘I could be. This is the end of all my happiness.’
‘Dearest—’ said Hornblower.
‘Oh—’ said Barbara. There was a sudden overwhelming tenderness in that single sound, and her rigid attitude relaxed, but instantly she stiffened again and snatched back the hands she had held out to him. ‘Please listen. I’ve told you now. I set Hudnutt free – I set him free!’
There could be no doubting that she meant what she said, truth or not. And Hornblower, standing unable to move, staring at her, gradually reached the realisation that it was true after all. The realisation seeped through the weak places in his unbelief, and as he thought of each piece of evidence it was as if he were marking off a new height in a rising tide.
‘That last night at Admiralty House!’ he said.
‘Yes.’
‘You took him out through the wicket gate into the gardens!’
‘Yes.’
‘Then Evans helped you. He had the key.’
‘Yes.’
‘And that fellow in Kingston – Bonnet – must have helped you, too.’
‘You said he was something of a villain. He was ready for adventure at least.’
‘But – but the scent the bloodhounds followed?’
‘Someone dragged Hudnutt’s shirt along the ground on a rope.’
‘But – but even so—?’ She did not need to tell him; as he said those words he made the next deduction. ‘That two hundred pounds!’
‘The money I asked you for,’ said Barbara, sparing herself nothing. A ten-pound reward would not avail if someone were willing to spend two hundred pounds to help a prisoner escape.
Hornblower knew all about it now. His wife had flouted the law. She had set at naught the authority of the Navy. She had – the rising tide reached suddenly up to a new level.
‘It’s a felony!’ he said. ‘You could be transported for life – you could be sent to Botany Bay!’
‘Do I care?’ exclaimed Barbara. ‘Botany Bay! Does that matter now that you know? Now that you’ll never love me?’
‘Dearest!’ Those last words were so fantastically untrue that he had nothing else to say in reply. His mind was hard at work thinking about the effect of all this on Barbara. ‘That fellow Bonner – he could blackmail you.’
‘He’s as guilty as I am,’ said Barbara. The unnatural harshness of her voice reached its climax there, and a sudden softness came back into her voice with her next words, an overwhelming tenderness, which she could not help as she smiled her old quizzical smile at this husband of hers. ‘You’re only thinking about me!’
‘Of course,’ said Hornblower, surprised.
‘But you must think about yourself. I’ve deceived you. I’ve cheated you. I took advantage of your kindness, of your generosity – oh!’
The smile changed to tears. It was horrible to see Barbara’s face distort itself. She was still standing like a soldier at attention. She would not allow her hands to cover her face; she stood with the tears streaming down and her features working, sparing herself nothing of her shame. He would have taken her into his arms at that moment except that he was still immobilised by astonishment, and Barbara’s last words had set a fresh torrent of thought pouring through his mind to hold him paralysed. If any of this were to come out the consequences would be without limit. Half the world would believe that Hornblower, the legendary Hornblower, had connived at the escape and desertion of a petty criminal. Nobody would believe the truth – but if the truth did find credence half the world would laugh at Hornblower being outwitted by his wife. There was a horrible gaping chasm opening right beside him. But there was already this other chasm – this awful distress that Barbara was suffering.
‘I was going to tell you,’ said Barbara, still erect, blinded by her I tears so that she could see nothing. ‘When we reached home I was going to tell you. That’s what I thought before the hurricane. And there in the deck-house I was going to tell you, after – after I told you the other. But there wasn’t time – you had to leave me. I had to tell you I loved you, first. I told you that, and I should have told you this instead. I should have.’
She was advancing no excuse for herself; she would not plead; she would face the consequences of her act. And there in the deck-house she had told him she loved him, that she had never loved any other man. The last realisation came upon him. Now he could shake off the astonishment, the bewilderment, that had held him helpless up to that moment. Nothing counted in the world except Barbara. Now he could move. Two steps forward and she was in his arms. Her tears wetted his lips.
‘My love! My darling!’ he said, for, unbelieving and blinded she had not responded.
And then she knew, in the darkness that surrounded her, and her arms went about him, and there was no such happiness in all the world. There had never been such perfection of harmony. Hornblower found himself smiling. He could laugh out loud out of sheer happiness. That was an old weakness of his, to laugh – to giggle – in moments of crisis. He could laugh now, if he allowed himself – he could laugh at the whole ridiculous incident; he could laugh and laugh. But his judgment told him that laughter might be misunderstood at this moment. He could not help smiling, though, smiling as he kissed.
THE BEGINNING
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Admiral Hornblower Page 107