The fire crackling in the hearth of the withdrawing room held Bram’s distant interest as he mused to himself. Five months had passed since the revered sea officer’s disappearance – and not a witness nor accessory nor behaviour of discontent could account for his whereabouts. The major had a strong opinion of Hornblower; he thought the seaman was eccentric and untoward and playfully insubordinate, but cowardly was not and never one of them. Of all the men he would think would desert, Hornblower was the very last.
Desertion was a weak explanation, however. If he wanted to leave the Navy and it’s clutches ( an ambitious task, indeed ), there would be no reason for him to return. Wherever Hornblower had run off to was, no doubt, a better option than returning to be executed as a traitor. Bram did not think Mister Hornblower was a fool, either.
No, there was something quite strange afoot.
He leaned back on the tufted back of the chaise, letting his winding thoughts burn in the fire as he awaited Mister Hornblower. The maid set a silver tray down on the wooden accent table and glanced to the master of the house, opening her mouth as if to ask how he wanted his tea. He cut her off, dismissing her politely. When she did not react how he intended, Bram clarified and thanked her for her work and told her to go home early. She blinked with surprise and a smile, leaving the drawing room quickly.
He took the teapot, white porcelain with flowering forget – me – nots crawling from the handle to the spout, and poured himself a cup of tea. The ceylon leaves gave the hot water the hue of an Indian summer, golden, nearly amber in its strong hue. Bram dropped a perfectly shaped cube of sugar in the teacup just as Hornblower entered, looking every bit the gentleman he had been.
Bram waved away Hornblower’s gratitude with the silver teaspoon.
A wistful smile grew on his face as the man went on. Where the Devil has he been?! It’s a question he’s sure he’s not the first to wonder and is confident he will not be the last to think it, if he knows anything about Hornblower. “It’s so very queer, Mister Hornblower,” he said after taking a sip of tea with an air of well – refined insouciance. “One of the Navy’s finest young officers vanishes without a trace, leaving us to believe you simple fell of the end of the world … or deserted. Neither can be so, though. I have always taken you for a man above such childish acts of cowardice and treason. I am eager to learn the truth, if you will tell it.” His eyes narrowed as he scrutinised the man, who, even after a thorough bath and donning expensive clothes, still possessed an air of wildness about him. “Would you care for some tea?”
“To think your half of the tale is the tame portion,” Horatio offered softly, “Queer does not even begin to describe my life since I was hauled from the Indefatigable.” His choice of words deliberate – he had not had any choice in the matter of his leaving the service, but now was not yet the time to get into it. Instead he smiled, and chose to accept tea with grace first, admittedly needing the heat in his stomach to strengthen his resolve against the cold English air, and the unsettlingly fragile refinement by which he was now surrounded.
He still retained proper etiquette – if, perhaps, more pronounced than it used to be, for the sorts of civilized men he had dealt with in the Caribbean were even more uptight than the ones today, to put matters rather mildly. In comparison to the man of – by Edrington’s recollection – mere months ago, however, it was a great deal more natural. The stiffness and displeasure was gone from him, and he seemed to ease into matters as if he had been taking part in dignified ceremonies such as this the whole of his life.
“You are of course quite right in your assessment – desertion has never been in the cards, and I’ve too great a loyalty to my king and country for treason.” Horatio wasn’t even sure if that was true, but he had loyalty to men who did hold the crown as absolute and that would simply have to suffice. Furrowing his brow, Horatio carefully lowered the china cup to its home upon the saucer and confessed, “I am afraid the tale itself is – very troubling, and has potential for great impact on our nation if only it might be heard by the appropriate parties. Unfortunately politics – as you may recall – are not my strongest suit.” Diplomacy was not a game he had played well in the past, though he was rather adept at its trickery now.
Meeting the other man’s gaze, there was no lie in his earnest manner now, for his desperation was quite real. If this venture failed, he would have no choice but to go about matters above and beyond the law – and he didn’t want to take such actions if he could in any way help it.
“I would like to tell you everything, the whole of it in fact, though I must ask that you bear with me. I have means of proving my words, but what I need first is to impress that I have only the desire to return to my station aboard the Indefatigable, or whatever ship our Navy deems most applicable. I have no wish for the truth to be known beyond where it would be most useful, and I have no notion of where to begin on that score – but I do know that you are a much more diplomatic person than myself, and perhaps with your understanding of both the present climate and my tale, you may perhaps be kind enough to direct me in what I ought to do next for the sake of our security in this blasted war.” The last thing England needed, after all, was Napoleon with a witch at his disposal – or any of the artifacts in which Horatio was tasked to reawaken.
Ocean Archive 