Hornblower in the West Indies. C. S. Forester

“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.”

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