“I wouldn’t be human if I did not.”
“And I know so well you’re human, dear,” said Barbara, putting out her hands to him. They were in the bedroom now, out of sight of servants and staff, and they could be human for a few precious moments until a thunderous knock at the door heralded the arrival of Gerard and the baggage, and on his heels came Spendlove with a note for Barbara.
“A note of welcome from Her Excellency, dear,” explained Barbara when she had read it. “We are commanded to dinner en famille.”
“No more than I expected,” said Hornblower, and then, looking round to see that Spendlove had withdrawn, “no more than I feared.”
Barbara smiled into his eyes conspiratorially.
“A time will come,” she said.
There was so much to talk about, so much news to be exchanged; the long, long letters that had passed between them during their three years’ separation needed amplification and explanation, and in any case, Barbara had been five weeks at sea without news. Late on the second day, while they were dining alone together, a mention of Hudnutt came into the conversation. Hornblower explained the situation briefly.
“You’re going to court martial him?” asked Barbara.
“Likely enough, when I can convene a court.”
“And what will the verdict be?”
“Guilty, of course. There’s no doubt about it.”
“I don’t mean the verdict. I mean the sentence. What will that be?” Barbara was entitled to ask questions like this, and even to express an opinion regarding her husband’s performance of his official duties, now that he had let slip a mention of the subject to her.
Hornblower quoted from the Articles of War which had regulated his official life for nearly thirty years.
“Every person so offending, being convicted thereof by the sentence of the court martial, shall suffer death, or such less punishment as from the nature and degree of the offence the court martial shall deem him to deserve.”
“You don’t mean that, dear?” Barbara’s grey eyes opened wide across the little table from him. “Death? But you said ‘such less punishment’. What could that be?”
“Flogging round the fleet. Five hundred lashes.”
“Five hundred lashes? For playing B natural instead of B flat?”‘
That was exactly what one might expect a woman to say.
“Dear, that’s not the charge. The charge is wilful disobedience to orders.”
“But it’s such a trifling matter.”
“Dear, disobedience to orders can never be a trifling matter.”
“Would you flog a man to death because he won’t play a B flat? What a bloodthirsty way to balance the account!”
“There’s no thought of balancing accounts, dear. Punishment is inflicted to deter other men from disobeying orders. It’s not revenge.”
But woman-like Barbara clung to her position, however much her flank might be turned by cold logic.
“But if you hang him – or if you flog him, I expect – he’ll never play another B natural again. What good does that do?”
“It’s the good of the Service, dear -”
Hornblower, on his part, was holding a position which he knew to be not quite tenable, but Barbara’s vehemence was causing him to grow heated in defence of his beloved Service.
“They’ll hear about this in England,” said Barbara, and then a new thought struck her. “He can appeal, of course – can he?”
“In home waters he could. But I am a Commander-in-Chief in a foreign station, and from my decision there is no appeal.”
It was a sobering speech. Barbara gazed across the table at this man, changed suddenly from her tender, loving, sensitive husband into a potentate who held the power of life and death. And she knew that she could not, she must not, exploit her privileged position as wife to influence his decision. Not because of the good of the Service, but for the sake of their married happiness.
“And the trial will be soon?” she asked; the change in her was apparent in her tone.
“The moment I can convene a court. Delay in matters of discipline defeats its own object. If a man were to mutiny on Monday he should be tried on Tuesday and hanged on Wednesday. But there are not enough captains available. Triton’s captain, when Ransome arrives, would give the necessary number, but then I shall be relieved of command and the matter will be out of my hands. But if Flora should come in before that – I detached her to the Gulf Coast – I shall be responsible.”