The open carriage was waiting outside the front door of Admiralty House; four seamen stood by with lanterns to add to the light thrown by the lamps on the porch. Hornblower climbed in and seated himself. Etiquette was different here on land; Hornblower missed the shrilling of the pipes that he felt should accompany this ceremonial, as it would if it were a boat he was entering, and in a carriage the senior officer entered first, so that after he was seated Spendlove and Gerard had to run round and enter by the other door. Gerard sat beside him and Spendlove sat opposite, his back to the horses. As the door shut the carriage moved forward, between the lanterns at the gate, and out to the pitch dark Jamaican night. Hornblower breathed the warm, tropical air and grudgingly admitted to himself that after all it was no great hardship to attend a ball.
“Perhaps you have a rich marriage in mind, Spendlove?” he asked. “I understand Miss Lucy will inherit it all. But I advise you to make certain before committing yourself that there are no nephews on the father’s side.”
“A rich marriage might be desirable, My Lord,” replied Spendlove’s voice out of the darkness, “but I must remind you that in affairs of the heart I have been handicapped from birth—or at least from my baptism.”
“From your baptism?” repeated Hornblower, puzzled.
“Yes, My Lord. You remember my name, perhaps?”
“Erasmus,” said Hornblower.
“Exactly, My Lord. It is not adapted to endearments. Could any woman fall in love with an Erasmus? Could any woman bring herself to breathe the words ‘Razzy, darling’?”
“I fancy it could happen,” said Hornblower.
“May I live long enough to hear it,” said Spendlove.
It was remarkably agreeable to be driving thus through the Jamaican night behind two good horses and with two pleasant young men; especially, as he told himself smugly, because he had done work satisfactory enough to justify relaxation. His command was in good order, the policing of the Caribbean was proceeding satisfactorily, and smuggling and piracy were being reduced to small proportions. Tonight he had no responsibilities. He was in no danger at all, not any. Danger was far away, over the horizons both of time and space. He could lean back, relaxed, against the leather cushions of the carriage, taking only moderate care not to crease his black dresscoat or crumple the careful pleats of his shirt.
Naturally, his reception at the Houghs’s house was somewhat overpowering. There was a good deal of ‘My Lord’ and ‘His Lordship’. Hough was a substantial planter, a man of considerable wealth, with enough of dislike for English winters not to be the usual West Indian absentee landlord. Yet for all his wealth he was greatly impressed by the fact that he was entertaining, in one and the same person, a Peer and an Admiral and a Commander-in-Chief—and someone whose influence might at any moment be of great importance to him. The warmth of his greeting, and of Mrs Hough’s, was so great that it even overflowed round Gerard and Spendlove as well. Perhaps the Houghs felt that if they wished to be sure of standing well with the Commander-in-Chief it might be as well to cultivate good relations with his flag-lieutenant and secretary, too.
Lucy Hough was a pretty enough girl of some seventeen or eighteen years of age whom Hornblower had already met on a few occasions. Hornblower told himself he could feel no interest in a child straight from the schoolroom—almost straight from the nursery—however pretty. He smiled at her and she dropped her eyes, looked up at him again, and once more looked away. It was interesting that she was not nearly so timid when she met the glances and acknowledged the bows of the young men who were far more likely to be of interest to her.
“Your Lordship does not dance, I understand?” said Hough.
“It is painful to be reminded of what I am missing in the presence of so much beauty,” replied Hornblower with another smile at Mrs Hough and at Lucy.
“Perhaps a rubber of whist, then, My Lord?” suggested Hough.
“The Goddess of Chance instead of the Muse of Music,” said Hornblower—he always tried to talk about music as if it meant something to him—“I will woo the one instead of the other.”
“From what I know about Your Lordship’s skill at whist,” said Hough, “I would say that as regards Your Lordship the Goddess of Chance has but small need for wooing.”
The ball had been in progress, apparently, for some time before Hornblower’s arrival. There were two score young people on the floor of the great room, a dozen dowagers on chairs round the wall, an orchestra in the corner. Hough led the way to another room; Hornblower dismissed his two young men with a nod, and settled down to whist with Hough and a couple of formidable old ladies. The closing of the heavy door shut out, luckily, nearly all the exasperating din of the orchestra; the old ladies played a sound game, and a pleasant hour enough went by. It was terminated by the entrance of Mrs Hough.
“It is time for the Polonaise before supper,” she announced. “I really must beg you to leave your cards and come and witness it.”
“Would Your Lordship—?” asked Hough apologetically.
“Mrs Hough’s wish is my command,” said Hornblower.
The ballroom was, of course, stifling hot. Faces were flushed and shiny, but there was no lack of energy apparent as the double line formed up for the Polonaise while the orchestra grated out its mysterious noises to encourage the young people. Spendlove was leading Lucy by the hand and they were exchanging happy glances. Hornblower, from the weary age of forty-six, could look with condescension at these young men and women in their immature teens and twenties, tolerant of their youth and enthusiasm. The noises the orchestra made became more jerky and confusing, but the young people could find some sense in them. They capered round the room, skirts swaying and coattails flapping, everyone smiling and light-hearted; the double lines became rings, melted into lines again, turned and re-formed, until in the end with a final hideous crash from the orchestra the women sank low in curtsies and the men bent themselves double before them—a pretty sight once the music had ceased. There was a burst of laughter and applause before the lines broke up. The women, with sidelong looks at each other, gathered into groups which edged out of the room. They were retiring to repair the damages sustained in the heat of action.
Hornblower met Lucy’s eyes again, and once more she looked away and then back at him. Shy? Eager? It was hard to tell with these mere children; but it was not the sort of glance she had bestowed on Spendlove.
“Ten minutes at least before the supper march, My Lord,” said Hough. “Your Lordship will be kind enough to take in Mrs Hough?”
“Delighted, of course,” replied Hornblower.
Spendlove approached. He was mopping his face with his handkerchief.
“I would enjoy a breath of cooler air, My Lord,” he said. “Perhaps—”
“I’ll come with you,” said Hornblower, not sorry to have an excuse to be rid of Hough’s ponderous company.
They stepped out into the dark garden; so bright had been the candles in the ballroom that they had to tread cautiously at first.
“I trust you are enjoying yourself,” said Hornblower.
“Very much indeed, thank you, My Lord.”
“And your suit is making progress?”
“Of that I am not so sure, My Lord.”
“You have my best wishes in any case.”
“Thank you, My Lord.”
Hornblower’s eyes were more accustomed now to the darkness. He could see the stars now when he looked up. Sirius was visible, resuming once more his eternal chase of Orion across the night sky. The air was warm and still with the cessation of the sea breeze.
Then it happened. Hornblower heard a movement behind him, a rustling of foliage, but before he could pay attention to it hands gripped his arms, a hand came over his mouth. He began to struggle. A sharp, burning pain under his right shoulder-blade made him jump.