It was Giles who came in, bearing clean linen and a uniform and razors; the business of shaving and of dressing carefully served to steady him and kept him from thinking too furiously about the problem he would have to solve in the next few minutes.
“His Excellency would be glad if His Lordship would take breakfast with him.”
That was a message conveyed through the door to Giles; the invitation must be accepted, of course, as it was the equivalent of a royal command. Hooper, apparently, was partial to a steak for breakfast; a silver dish of steak and onions was brought in almost as soon as Hornblower had uttered his formal good morning. Hooper looked at Hornblower oddly when he answered the butler’s enquiry with a request for papaya and a boiled egg – that was a bad start, for it confirmed Hooper in his opinions of Hornblower’s eccentricity that he should have these outlandish Frenchified notions about breakfast. Years of living on shore had not yet dulled the appetite for fresh eggs in their shells which Hornblower had acquired during decades at sea. Hooper daubed mustard on his steak and set about it with appetite.
“Did you sleep well?”
“Well enough, thank you, Your Excellency.”
Hooper’s abandonment of the formal ‘My Lord’ was a not too subtle indication that he was willing to forget last night’s discussion and to act magnanimously as if Hornblower was a normal person with only a temporary lapse on his record.
“We’ll leave business until we’ve eaten.”
“As you wish, Your Excellency.”
But not even a Governor can be sure of his future. There was a bustle at the door, and a whole group of people came hurrying in, not merely the butler but two aides-de-camp and Gerard and – and – who was that? Pale and ragged and weary, almost unable to stand on tottering legs.
“Spendlove!” said Hornblower, his spoon clattering to the floor as he rose and hurried to him.
Hornblower clasped his hand, grinning with delight. Perhaps there had never been a moment in his life which had held so much sheer pleasure for him.
“Spendlove!” He could only repeat the name at first.
“Is this the return of the prodigal?” asked Hooper from the table.
Hornblower remembered his manners.
“Your Excellency,” he said, “may I take it upon myself to present my secretary, Mr Erasmus Spendlove?”
“Glad to see you, young man. Take a seat at the table. Bring Mr Spendlove some food! He looks as if a glass of wine would not come amiss. Bring the decanter and a glass.”
“You’re not wounded?” asked Hornblower. “You’re not hurt?”
“No, My Lord,” said Spendlove, extending his legs cautiously under the table. “It is only that seventy miles on horseback have stiffened my unaccustomed limbs.”
“Seventy miles?” asked Hooper. “From where?”
“Montego Bay, Your Excellency.”
“Then you must have escaped in the night?”
“At nightfall, Your Excellency.”
“But what did you do, man?” demanded Hornblower. “How did you get away?”
“I jumped, My Lord. Into the water.”
“Into the water?”
“Yes, My Lord. There was eight feet of water in the river at the foot of the cliff; enough to break my fall from any height.”
“So there was. But – but – in the dark?”
“That was easy, My Lord. I looked over the parapet during the day. I did when I said goodbye to Your Lordship. I marked the spot and I measured the distance with my eye.”
“And then?”
“And then I jumped when it was fully dark, and raining hard.”
“What were the pirates doing?” asked Hooper.
“They were taking shelter, Your Excellency. They were paying no attention to me, thinking I was safe enough there, with the ladder pulled up.”
“And so – ?”
“So I took a run, Your Excellency, and jumped the parapet, as I said, and came down feet first into the water.”
“Unhurt?”
“Unhurt, Your Excellency.”
Hornblower’s vivid imagination conjured up everything about the feat, the half-dozen strides through the dark and the roaring rain, the leap, the endless fall. He felt the hair at the back of his neck lifting.
“A most commendable deed,” commented Hooper.
“Nothing for a desperate man, Your Excellency.”