“That last night at Admiralty House!” he said.
“Yes.”
“You took him out through the wicket gate into the gardens!”
“Yes.”
“Then Evans helped you. He had the key.”
“Yes.”
“And that fellow in Kingston – Bonner – must have helped you, too.”
“You said he was something of a villain. He was ready for adventure at least.”
“But – but the scent the bloodhounds followed?”
“Someone dragged Hudnutt’s shirt along the ground on a rope.”
“But – but even so – ?” She did not need to tell him; as he said those words he made the next deduction. “That two hundred pounds!”
“The money I asked you for,” said Barbara, sparing herself nothing. A ten-pound reward would not avail if someone were willing to spend two hundred pounds to help a prisoner escape.
Hornblower knew all about it now. His wife had flouted the law. She had set at naught the authority of the Navy. She had – the rising tide reached suddenly up to a new level.
“It’s a felony!” he said. “You could be transported for life – you could be sent to Botany Bay!”
“Do I care?” exclaimed Barbara. “Botany Bay! Does that matter now that you know? Now that you’ll never love me?”
“Dearest!” Those last words were so fantastically untrue that he had nothing else to say in reply. His mind was hard at work thinking about the effect of all this on Barbara. “That fellow Bonner – he could blackmail you.”
“He’s as guilty as I am,” said Barbara. The unnatural harshness of her voice reached its climax there, and a sudden softness came back into her voice with her next words, an overwhelming tenderness, which she could not help as she smiled her old quizzical smile at this husband of hers. “You’re only thinking about me!”
“Of course,” said Hornblower, surprised.
“But you must think about yourself. I’ve deceived you. I’ve cheated you. I took advantage of your kindness, of your generosity – oh!”
The smile changed to tears. It was horrible to see Barbara’s face distort itself. She was still standing like a soldier at attention. She would not allow her hands to cover her face; she stood with the tears streaming down and her features working, sparing herself nothing of her shame. He would have taken her into his arms at that moment except that he was still immobilised by astonishment, and Barbara’s last words had set a fresh torrent of thought pouring through his mind to hold him paralysed. If any of this were to come out the consequences would be without limit. Half the world would believe that Hornblower, the legendary Hornblower, had connived at the escape and desertion of a petty criminal. Nobody would believe the truth – but if the truth did find credence half the world would laugh at Hornblower being outwitted by his wife. There was a horrible gaping chasm opening right beside him. But there was already this other chasm – this awful distress that Barbara was suffering.
“I was going to tell you,” said Barbara, still erect, blinded by her tears so that she could see nothing. “When we reached home I was going to tell you. That’s what I thought before the hurricane. And there in the deckhouse I was going to tell you, after – after I told you the other. But there wasn’t time – you had to leave me. I had to tell you I loved you, first. I told you that, and I should have told you this instead. I should have.”
She was advancing no excuse for herself; she would not plead; she would face the consequences of her act. And there in the deckhouse she had told him she loved him, that she had never loved any other man. The last realisation came upon him. Now he could shake off the astonishment, the bewilderment, that had held him helpless up to that moment. Nothing counted in the world except Barbara. Now he could move. Two steps forward and she was in his arms. Her tears wetted his lips.
“My love! My darling!” he said, for, unbelieving and blinded she had not responded.
And then she knew, in the darkness that surrounded her, and her arms went about him, and there was no such happiness in all the world. There had never been such perfection of harmony. Hornblower found himself smiling. He could laugh out loud out of sheer happiness. That was an old weakness of his, to laugh – to giggle – in moments of crisis. He could laugh now, if he allowed himself – he could laugh at the whole ridiculous incident; he could laugh and laugh. But his judgement told him that laughter might be misunderstood at this moment. He could not help smiling, though, smiling as he kissed.