Hornblower tied his white neckcloth and painfully adjusted it to geometrical symmetry, and Giles helped him into his black dresscoat. Hornblower regarded the result in the mirror, by the light of the candles round its frame. At least tolerable, he said to himself. The growing peacetime convention whereby naval and military men appeared in civilian clothes had a good deal to recommend it; so had the other increasing fad for men to wear black dresscoats. Barbara had helped him select this one, and had supervised its fitting by the tailor. The cut was excellent, Hornblower decided, turning back and forth before the mirror, and black and white suited him. “Only gentlemen can wear black and white,” Barbara had said, and that was very gratifying.
Giles handed him his tall hat and he studied the additional effect. Then he took up his white gloves, remembered to remove his hat again, and stepped out through the door which Giles opened for him and entered the corridor where Gerard and Spendlove, in their best uniforms, were waiting for him.
“I must apologise on behalf of Spendlove and myself for the singing, My Lord,” said Gerard.
The softening effect of the black dresscoat was evident when Hornblower refrained from a rasping reprimand.
“What would Miss Lucy say, Spendlove, if she heard you singing about the dames of France?” he asked.
Spendlove’s answering grin was very attractive.
“I must ask Your Lordship’s further indulgence not to tell her about it,” he said.
“I’ll make that conditional upon your further good behaviour,” said Hornblower.
The open carriage was waiting outside the front door of Admiralty House; four seamen stood by with lanterns to add to the light thrown by the lamps on the porch. Hornblower climbed in and seated himself. Etiquette was different here on land; Hornblower missed the shrilling of the pipes that he felt should accompany this ceremonial, as it would if it were a boat he was entering, and in a carriage the senior officer entered first, so that after he was seated Spendlove and Gerard had to run round and enter by the other door. Gerard sat beside him and Spendlove sat opposite, his back to the horses. As the door shut the carriage moved forward, between the lanterns at the gate, and out to the pitch dark Jamaican night. Hornblower breathed the warm, tropical air and grudgingly admitted to himself that after all it was no great hardship to attend a ball.
“Perhaps you have a rich marriage in mind, Spendlove?” he asked. “I understand Miss Lucy will inherit it all. But I advise you to make certain before committing yourself that there are no nephews on the father’s side.”
“A rich marriage might be desirable, My Lord,” replied Spendlove’s voice out of the darkness, “but I must remind you that in affairs of the heart I have been handicapped from birth – or at least from my baptism.”
“From your baptism?” repeated Hornblower, puzzled.
“Yes, My Lord. You remember my name, perhaps?”
“Erasmus,” said Hornblower.
“Exactly, My Lord. It is not adapted to endearments. Could any woman fall in love with an Erasmus? Could any woman bring herself to breathe the words ‘Razzy, darling’?”
“I fancy it could happen,” said Hornblower.
“May I live long enough to hear it,” said Spendlove.
It was remarkably agreeable to be driving thus through the Jamaican night behind two good horses and with two pleasant young men; especially, as he told himself smugly, because he had done work satisfactory enough to justify relaxation. His command was in good order, the policing of the Caribbean was proceeding satisfactorily, and smuggling and piracy were being reduced to small proportions. Tonight he had no responsibilities. He was in no danger at all, not any. Danger was far away, over the horizons both of time and space. He could lean back, relaxed, against the leather cushions of the carriage, taking only moderate care not to crease his black dresscoat or crumple the careful pleats of his shirt.
Naturally, his reception at the Houghs’s house was somewhat overpowering. There was a good deal of ‘My Lord’ and ‘His Lordship’. Hough was a substantial planter, a man of considerable wealth, with enough of dislike for English winters not to be the usual West Indian absentee landlord. Yet for all his wealth he was greatly impressed by the fact that he was entertaining, in one and the same person, a Peer and an Admiral and a Commander-in-Chief – and someone whose influence might at any moment be of great importance to him. The warmth of his greeting, and of Mrs Hough’s, was so great that it even overflowed round Gerard and Spendlove as well. Perhaps the Houghs felt that if they wished to be sure of standing well with the Commander-in-Chief it might be as well to cultivate good relations with his flag-lieutenant and secretary, too.