Horatio was barely able to contain himself – if it were not for Captain Pellew’s firm hand on his shoulder, he doubtless would have voiced something regrettable and downright devastating for his career. It rankled at him, the way these men spoke so dismissively of the hard efforts of common sailors, how they so blithely overlooked the fact that many of those upon whom they relied at sea to survive had been forced into the service to begin with and they ought to count themselves lucky for loyalty won rather than arrogantly certain it was their bloody due simply for the good nature of their births.
Any cow could give birth, that hardly made it’s calf any worse or better than the rest. It all came down to luck and breeding in the end, whether or not it was healthy and fat for the slaughter it was set to, and it was no different for nobility, as far as he was concerned at this point. Setting his hands behind his back, he gripped his wrist tight enough to bruise and painted a smile upon his face, knowing that even his deep wealth of respect for Captain Pellew was not enough for him to stomach this ‘esteemed’ company a moment longer.
Thankfully, he was as of yet nobody of importance. Merely a lieutenant recently distinguished in battle – hardly consequential enough to cause any sort of stir by excusing himself early. Which he did, promptly and without fanfare, nor any particular heed to the fact his Captain’s grip tightened in a warning fashion when he started.
Drawing himself away from the man, he nodded his farewells on the way out, knowing that with his position, Captain Pellew would not be able to follow him for some time. By which point, Horatio did hope the fury in both of them would have worn off enough to keep their shared quarters from becoming tense with argument.
Pity Bracegirdle caught that blasted cold – he’s far more suited to this nonsense than I am, Horatio mused bitterly as he stalked back to the inn.
Ocean Archive 