“Soon, Captain,” she said, “I will come to think that I shall be unwelcome on board. I can hardly imagine that a gentleman holding the King’s commission would be discourteous to a woman, especially to a woman with my name.”
That was just the difficulty. No captain of small influence could afford to offend a Wellesley. Hornblower knew that if he did he might never command a ship again, and that he and Maria would rot on the beach on half pay for the rest of their lives. At thirty-seven he still was not more than one-eighth the way up the captain’s list — and the goodwill of the Wellesleys could easily keep him in employment until he attained flag rank. There was nothing for it but to swallow his resentment and to do all he could to earn that goodwill, diplomatically wringing advantage from his difficulties. He groped for a suitable speech.
“I was only doing my duty, ma’am,” he said, “in pointing out the dangers to which you might be exposed. For myself there would be nothing that would give me greater pleasure than your presence on board my ship.”
Lady Barbara went down in a curtsy far deeper than her first, and at this moment Gray came up and touched his cap.
“Your baggage is all on board, ma’am,” he said.
They had hove the stuff up with a whip from the main yardarm, and now it littered the gangway — leather cases, ironbound wooden boxes, dome-topped trunks.
“Thank you, sir.” Lady Barbara brought out a flat leather purse from her pocket, and took from it a gold coin. “Would you be so kind as to give this to the boat’s crew?”
“Lord love you, ma’am, you don’t need to give those Dago niggers gold. Silver’s all they deserve.”
“Give them this, then, and thank you for your kindness.”
Gray hurried off, and Hornblower heard him bargaining in English with a boat’s crew who knew no tongue but Spanish. The threat of having a cold shot hove down into the boat compelled it at length to shove off still spattering expostulation. A new little wave of irritation rose in Hornblower’s mind. He disliked seeing his warrant officers running to do a woman’s bidding, and his responsibilities were heavy, and he had been standing in a hot sun for half an hour.
“There will be no room in your cabin for a tenth of that baggage, ma’am,” he snapped.
Lady Barbara nodded gravely.
“I have dwelt in a cabin before this, sir. That sea chest there holds everything I shall need on board. The rest can be put where you will — until we reach England.”
Hornblower almost stamped on the deck with rage. He was unused to a woman who could display practical common-sense like this. It was infuriating that he could find no way of discomposing her — and then he saw her smiling, guessed that she was smiling at the evident struggle on his face, and blushed hotly again. He turned on his heel and led the way below without a word.
Lady Barbara looked round the captain’s cabin with a whimsical smile, but she made no comment, not even when she surveyed the grim discomfort of the after-cabin.
“A frigate has few of the luxuries of an Indiaman you see, ma’am,” said Hornblower, bitterly. He was bitter because his poverty at the time when he commissioned the Lydia had allowed him to purchase none of the minor comforts which many frigate-captains could afford.
“I was just thinking when you spoke,” said Lady Barbara, gently, “that it was scandalous that a King’s officer should be treated worse than a fat John Company man. But I have only one thing to ask for which I do not see.”
“And that is, ma’am — ?”
“A key for the lock on the cabin door.”
“I will have the armourer make you a key, ma’am. But there will be a sentry at this door night and day.”
The implications which Hornblower read into this request of Lady Barbara’s angered him again. She was slandering both him and his ship.
“Quis custodiet ipsos custodes?” said Lady Barbara. “It is not on my account, Captain, that I need a key. It is Hebe here whom I have to lock in unless she is directly under eye. She can no more keep from the men than a moth from a candle.”