Lieutenant Hornblower. C. S. Forester

By the time Bush was on the staircase he realised that Hornblower had not followed him, would not follow him. And Bush did not go back to fetch him. Even though Bush was not a man to desert a comrade in peril; even though he would gladly take his place in a boat launching out through the most dreadful surf to rescue men in danger; even though he would stand shoulder to shoulder with Hornblower and be hewn to pieces with him by an overwhelming enemy; for all this he would not go back to save Hornblower. If Hornblower was going to be foolish Bush felt he could not stop him. And he salved his conscience by telling himself that perhaps Hornblower would not be foolish.

Up in the attic Bush set about rolling up his nightshirt with his toilet things. The methodical checking over of his razor and comb and brushes, seeing that nothing was left behind, soothed his irritated nerves. The prospect of immediate employment and immediate action revealed itself to him in all its delightful certainty, breaking through the evaporating clouds of his irritation. He began to hum to himself tunelessly. It would be sensible to call in again at the dockyard — he might even look in at the Keppel’s Head to discuss the morning’s amazing news; both courses would be advisable if he wanted to secure for himself quickly a new appointment. Hat in hand he tucked his neat package under his arm and cast a final glance round the room to make sure that he had left nothing, and he was still humming as he closed the attic door behind him. On the staircase, about to step down into the hall, he stood for a moment with one foot suspended, not in doubt as to whether he should go into the dining‑room, but arranging in his mind what he should say when he went in.

Maria had dried her tears. She was standing there smiling, although her bonnet was still askew. Hornblower was smiling too; it might be with relief that Maria had left off weeping. He looked round at Bush’s entrance, and his face revealed surprise at the sight of Bush’s hat and bundle.

“I’m getting under way,” said Bush. “I have to thank you for your hospitality, sir.”

“But —” said Hornblower, “you don’t have to go just yet.”

There was that ‘sir’ again in Bush’s speech. They had been through so much together, and they knew so much about each other. Now war was coming again, and Hornblower was Bush’s superior officer. Bush explained what he wanted to do before taking the carrier’s cart back to Chichester, and Hornblower nodded.

“Pack your chest,” he said. “It won’t be long before you need it.”

Bush cleared his throat in preparation for the formal words he was going to use.

“I didn’t express my congratulations properly,” he said portentously. “I wanted to say that I don’t believe the Admiralty could have made a better choice out of the whole list of lieutenants when they selected you for promotion, sir.”

“You’re too kind,” said Hornblower.

“I’m sure Mr Bush is quite right,” said Maria.

She gazed up at Hornblower with adoration shining in her face, and he looked down at her with infinite kindness. And already there was something a little proprietorial about the adoration, and perhaps there was something wistful about the kindness.

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