“Anybody hurt?” asked Hornblower, recovering himself.
“On’y a scratch, sir,” said one voice.
It seemed a miracle that no one was killed.
“Carpenter’s mate, sound the well,” said Hornblower and then, recollecting himself, “No, damn it. Belay that order. If the Dons can save the ship, let ’em try.”
Already the ship of the line whose salvo had done the damage was filling her topsails again and bearing away from them, while the frigate which had pursued them was running down on them fast. A wailing figure came scrambling out of the afterhatch way. It was the duchess’s maid, so mad with terror that her seasickness was forgotten. The duchess put a protective arm round her and tried to comfort her.
“Your Grace had better look to your baggage,” said Hornblower. “No doubt you’ll be leaving us shortly for other quarters with the Dons. I hope you will be more comfortable.”
He was trying desperately hard to speak in a matter‑of‑fact way, as if nothing out of the ordinary were happening, as if he were not soon to be a prisoner of the Spaniards; but the duchess saw the working of the usually firm mouth, and marked how the hands were tight clenched.
“How can I tell you how sorry I am about this?” asked the duchess, her voice soft with pity.
“That makes it the harder for me to bear,” said Hornblower, and he even forced a smile.
The Spanish frigate was just rounding‑to, a cable’s length to windward.
“Please, sir,” said Hunter.
“Well?”
“We can fight, sir. You give the word. Cold shot to drop in the boats when they try to board. We could beat ’em off once, perhaps.”
Hornblower’s tortured misery nearly made him snap out ‘Don’t be a fool’, but he checked himself. He contented himself with pointing to the frigate. Twenty guns were glaring at them at far less than point‑blank range. The very boat the frigate was hoisting out would be manned by at least twice as many men as Le Rêve carried — she was no bigger than many a pleasure yacht. It was not odds of ten to one, or a hundred to one, but odds of ten thousand to one.
“I understand, sir,” said Hunter.
Now the Spanish frigate’s boat was in the water, about to shove off.
“A private word with you, please, Mr Hornblower,” said the duchess suddenly.
Hunter and Winyatt heard what she said, and withdrew out of earshot.
“Yes, Your Grace?” said Hornblower.
The duchess stood there, still with her arm round her weeping maid, looking straight at him.
“I’m no more of a duchess than you are,” she said.
“Good God!” said Hornblower. “Who — who are you, then?”
“Kitty Cobham.”
The name meant a little to Hornblower, but only a little.
“You’re too young for that name to have any memories for you, Mr Hornblower, I see. It’s five years since last I trod the boards.”
That was it. Kitty Cobham the actress.
“I can’t tell it all now,” said the duchess — the Spanish boat was dancing over the waves towards them. “But when the French marched into Florence that was only the last of my misfortunes. I was penniless when I escaped from them. Who would lift a finger for a onetime actress — one who had been betrayed and deserted? What was I to do? But a duchess — that was another story. Old Dalrymple at Gibraltar could not do enough for the Duchess of Wharfedale.”
“Why did you choose that title?” asked Hornblower in spite of himself.
“I knew of her,” said the duchess with a shrug of the shoulders. “I knew her to be what I played her as. That was why I chose her — I always played character parts better than straight comedy. And not nearly so tedious in a long role.”
“But my despatches!” said Hornblower in a sudden panic of realization. “Give them back, quick.”
“If you wish me to,” said the duchess. “But I can still be the duchess when the Spaniards come. They will still set me free as speedily as they can. I’ll guard those despatches better than my life — I swear it, I swear it! In less than a month I’ll deliver them, if you trust me.”