“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.”