Your obedient servant,
PARRY
By the time Bush had finished the letter Hornblower had opened the newspaper at the relevant passage, which he pointed out to Bush.
Message from HIS MAJESTY
House of Commons, March 8, 1803
The CHANCELLOR OF THE EXCHEQUER brought down the following message from HIS MAJESTY:
‘His Majesty thinks it necessary to acquaint the House of Commons, that, as very considerable military preparations are carrying on in the ports of France and Holland, he has judged it expedient to adopt additional measures of precaution for the security of his dominions.
GEORGE R.’
That was all Bush needed to read. Boney’s fleet of flat-bottomed boats, and his army of invasion mustered along the Channel coast, were being met by the appropriate and necessary countermove. Last night’s press‑gang measures, planned and carried out with a secrecy for which Bush could feel nothing except wholehearted approval (he had led too many press gangs not to know how completely seamen made themselves scarce at the first hint of a press), would provide the crews for the ships necessary to secure England’s safety. There were ships in plenty, laid up in every harbour in England; and officers — Bush knew very well how many officers were available. With the fleet manned and at sea England could laugh at the treacherous attack Boney had planned.
“They’ve done the right thing for once, by God!” said Bush, slapping the newspaper.
“But what is it?” asked Maria.
She had been standing silent, watching the two men, her glance shifting from one to the other in an endeavour to read their expressions. Bush remembered that she had winced at his outburst of congratulation.
“It’ll be war next week,” said Hornblower. “Boney won’t endure a bold answer.”
“Oh,” said Maria. “But you — what about you?”
“I’m made commander,” said Hornblower. “I’m going to be appointed to a sloop of war.”
“Oh,” said Maria again.
There was a second or two of agonised effort at self‑control, and then she broke down. Her head dropped farther and farther, until she put her gloved hands to her face, turning away from the two men so that they only saw her shoulders with the shawl across them, shaking with sobs.
“Maria,” said Hornblower gently. “Please, Maria, please don’t.”
Maria turned and presented a slobbered face to him, unevenly framed in the bonnet which had been pushed askew.
“I’ll n-n‑never see you again,” sobbed Maria. “I’ve been so happy with the m‑m‑mumps at school, I thought I’d m‑m‑make your bed and do your room. And n‑now this happens!”
“But, Maria,” said Hornblower — his hands flapped helplessly — “I’ve my duty to do.”
“I wish I was d‑dead! Indeed I wish I was dead!” said Maria, and the tears poured down her cheeks to drip upon her shawl; they streamed from eyes which had a fixed look of despair, while the wide mouth was shapeless.
This was something Bush could not endure. He liked pretty, saucy women. What he was looking at now jarred on him unbearably — perhaps it rasped his aesthetic sensibility, unlikely though it might seem that Bush should have such a thing. Perhaps he was merely irritated by the spectacle of uncontrolled hysteria, but if that was the case he was irritated beyond all bearing. He felt that if he had to put up with Maria’s water‑works for another minute he would break a blood vessel.
“Let’s get out of here,” he said to Hornblower.
In reply he received a look of surprise. It had not occurred to Hornblower that he might run away from a situation for which his temperament necessarily made him feel responsible. Bush knew perfectly well that, given time, Maria would recover. He knew that women who wished themselves dead one day could be as lively as crickets the next day after another man had chucked them under the chin. In any case he did not see why he and Hornblower should concern themselves about something which was entirely Maria’s fault.
“Oh!” said Maria; she stumbled forward and supported herself with her hands upon the table with its cooling coffeepot and its congealing half‑consumed chops. She lifted her head and wailed again.
“Oh, for God’s sake —” said Bush in disgust. He turned to Hornblower. “Come along.”