“We have him in a side room aloft, sir,” he reported. “He fainted with the loss of blood — we had to put a tourniquet on his arm to stop the bleeding. We bandaged him with half of Somers’ shirt, and Somers and Mr Hurst are keeping guard over him.”
“Does anyone know about it?”
“No, sir. We got him into the room without anyone seeing us. I poured a glass of liquor over his coat and from the stink of him anyone’ll think he’s drunk.”
Mound was obviously a capable man in an emergency, as Hornblower had already suspected.
“Very good.”
“The sooner we get him away the better, sir,” said Mound, with a diffidence to be expected of a junior officer making suggestions to a senior.
“You’re quite right,” said Hornblower, “except that —”
Hornblower was still having to think quickly. It would hardly be possible, in any case, to leave at once, the moment dinner was over. It would not be polite. And there was the Countess over there, presumably watching them. If they were to leave now, immediately after conferring together — and breaking an engagement with her — she would be full of suspicion, as well as of the fury of a woman scorned. They simply could not leave immediately.
“We shall have to stay another hour at least,” he said. “The conventions demand it. Go back and hold the fort for that time.”
“Aye aye, sir.”
Mound restrained himself in the nick of time from coming to attention as with the habit of years he had grown accustomed to do when uttering those words — further proof of the clearness of his head. He nodded and wandered off as if they had been merely discussing the weather, and Hornblower allowed his slow legs to carry him over towards the Countess.
She smiled at his approach.
“Princess,” she said, “you have not met Commodore Hornblower? The Princess de Stolp.”
Hornblower bowed; the Princess was an elderly woman with a good deal left of what must have been marvellous beauty.
“The Commodore,” went on the Countess, “has expressed a desire to see the picture gallery. Would you care to come with us, Princess?”
“No, thank you,” said the Princess, “I fear I am too old for picture galleries. But go, my children, without me.”
“I would not like to leave you alone, here,” protested the Countess.
“Even at my age, I can boast that I am still never left long alone, Countess. Leave me, I beg you. Enjoy yourselves, children.”
Hornblower bowed again, and the Countess took his arm, and they walked slowly out. She pressed his arm, while footmen stood aside to allow them passage.
“The Italian pictures of the Cinque Cento are in the far gallery,” said the Countess as they came into the broad corridor. “Would you care to see the more modern ones first?”
“As madame wishes,” said Hornblower.
Once through a door, once out of the ceremonial part of the palace, it was like a rabbit warren, narrow passages, innumerable staircases, an infinity of rooms. The apartment to which she led him was on the first floor; a sleepy maid who was awaiting her coming vanished into the room beyond they came into the luxurious sitting-room. It was into the room beyond that the Countess called him, five minutes later.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Hornblower turned over in his cot with a groan; the effort of turning brought back the pain into his temples, although he moved very cautiously. He was a fool to have drunk so much — it was the first time he had had this sort of headache for half a dozen years. Yet it had been hard to avoid, just as everything else had been hard to avoid; he did not know what else he could have done, once events had him in their grip. He raised his voice and shouted for Brown — it hurt his head again to shout, and his voice was a hoarse croak. He heard the voice of the sentry at the door passing on the word, and with an infinity of effort he sat up and put his legs out of bed, determined that Brown should not find him prostrate.