“Ah!” said Hornblower, taking up a spoon and fork to serve. “Have you had your breakfast, Susie?”
“Me, sir? No, sir. Not yet, sir.”
Hornblower paused, spoon and fork in hand, looking from the chops to Susie and back again. Then he put down the spoon and thrust his right hand into his trouser pocket.
“There’s no way in which you can have one of these chops?” he said.
“Me, sir? Of course not, sir.”
“Now here’s half a crown.”
“Half a crown, sir!”
That was more than a day’s wages for a labourer.
“I want a promise from you, Susie.”
“Sir — sir — !”
Susie’s hands were behind her.
“Take this, and promise me that the first chance that comes your way, the moment Mrs Mason lets you out, you’ll buy yourself something to eat. Fill that wretched little belly of yours. Faggots and Pease pudding, pig’s trotters, all the things you like. Promise me.”
“But, sir —”
Half a crown, the prospect of unlimited food, were things that could not be real.
“Oh, take it,” said Hornblower testily.
“Yes, sir.”
Susie clasped the coin in her skinny hand.
“Don’t forget I have your promise.”
“Yes, sir, please, sir, thank you, sir.”
“Now put it away and clear out quick.”
“Yes, sir.”
She fled out of the room and Hornblower began once more to serve the chops.
“I’ll be able to enjoy my breakfast now,” said Hornblower self‑consciously.
“No doubt,” said Bush; he buttered himself a piece of toast, dabbed mustard on his plate — to eat mustard with mutton marked him as a sailor, but he did it without a thought. With good food in front of him there was no need for thought, and he ate in silence. It was only when Hornblower spoke again that Bush realised that Hornblower had been construing the silence as accusatory of something.
“Half a crown,” said Hornblower, defensively, “may mean many things to many people. Yesterday —”
“You’re quite right,” said Bush, filling in the gap as politeness dictated, and then he looked up and realised that it was not because he had no more to say that Hornblower had left the sentence uncompleted.
Maria was standing framed in the dining‑room door; her bonnet, gloves, and shawl indicated that she was about to go out, presumably to early marketing since the school where she taught was temporarily closed.
“I — I looked in to see that you had everything you wanted,” she said. The hesitation in her speech seemed to indicate that she had heard Hornblower’s last words, but it was not certain.
“Thank you. Delightful,” mumbled Hornblower.
“Please don’t get up,” said Maria, hastily and with a hint of hostility, as Hornblower and Bush began to rise. Her eyes were wet.
A knocking on the street door relieved the tension, and Maria fled to answer it. From the dining‑room they heard a masculine voice, and Maria reappeared, a corporal of marines towering behind her dumpy form.
“Lieutenant Hornblower?” he asked.
“That’s me.”
“From the admiral, sir.”
The corporal held out a letter and a folded newspaper. There was a maddening delay while a pencil was found for Hornblower to sign the receipt. Then the corporal took his leave with a clicking of heels and Hornblower stood with the letter in one hand and the newspaper in the other.
“Oh, open it — please open it,” said Maria
Hornblower tore the wafer and unfolded the sheet. He read the note, and then reread it, nodding his head as if the note confirmed some preconceived theory.
“You see that sometimes it is profitable to play whist,” he said, “in more ways than one.”
He handed the note over to Bush; his smile was a little lopsided.
SIR [read Bush]
It is with pleasure that I take this opportunity of informing you in advance of any official notification that your promotion to Commander is now confirmed and that you will shortly be appointed to the Command of a Sloop of War.
“By God, sir!” said Bush. “Congratulations. For the second time, sir. It’s only what you deserve, as I said before.”
“Thank you,” said Hornblower. “Finish reading it.”
The arrival at this moment of the Mail Coach with the London newspapers [said the second paragraph] enables me to send you the information regarding the changed situation without being unnecessarily prolix in this letter. You will gather from what you read in the accompanying copy of the Sun the reasons why conditions of military secrecy should prevail during our very pleasant evening so that I need not apologise for not having enlightened you, while I remain,