Humiliation and nervousness never did any good to a manHornblower knew that if anyone ever did. He took a chair unobtrusively over beside Bushs stretcher and sat down with his back almost turned to the table, and plunged desperately into conversation with his first lieutenant while the crockery clattered behind him.
Would you like to be moved into the bed? he asked, saying the first thing which came into his head.
No thank you, sir, said Bush. Two weeks now Ive slept in the stretcher. Im comfortable enough, sir, and itd be painful to move me, even ifif
Words failed Bush to describe his utter determination not to sleep in the only bed and leave his captain without one.
What are we going to Paris for, sir? asked Bush.
God knows, said Hornblower. But I have a notion that Boney himself wants to ask us questions.
That was the answer he had decided upon hours before in readiness for this inevitable question; it would not help Bushs convalescence to know the fate awaiting him.
Much good will our answers do him, said Bush, grimly. Perhaps well drink a dish of tea in the Tuileries with Maria Louisa.
Maybe, answered Hornblower. And maybe he wants lessons in navigation from you. Ive heard hes weak at mathematics.
That brought a smile. Bush notoriously was no good with figures and suffered agonies when confronted with a simple problem in spherical trigonometry. Hornblowers acute ears heard Browns chair scrape a little; presumably his meal had progressed satisfactorily.
Help yourself to the wine, Brown, he said, without turning round.
Aye aye, sir, said Brown cheerfully.
There was a whole bottle of wine left as well as some in the other. This would be a good moment for ascertaining if Brown could be trusted with liquor. Hornblower kept his back turned to him and struggled on with his conversation with Bush. Five minutes later Browns chair scraped again more definitely, and Hornblower looked round.
Had enough, Brown?
Aye aye, sir. A right good supper.
The soup tureen and the dish of stew were both empty; the bread had disappeared all save the heel of the loaf; there was only a morsel of cheese left. But one bottle of wine was still two-thirds fullBrown had contented himself with a half bottle at most, and the fact that he had drunk that much and no more was the dearest proof that he was safe as regards alcohol.
Pull the bellrope, then.
The distant jangling brought in time the rattling of keys to the door, and in came the sergeant and the two maids; the latter set about clearing the tables under the formers eye.
I must get something for you to sleep on, Brown, said Hornblower.
I can sleep on the floor, sir.
No, you cant.
Hornblower had decided opinions about that; there had been occasions as a young officer when he had slept on the bare planks of a ships deck, and he knew their unbending discomfort.
I want a bed for my servant, he said to the sergeant.
He can sleep on the floor.
I will not allow anything of the kind. You must find a mattress for him.
Hornblower was surprised to find how quickly he was acquiring the ability to talk French; the quickness of his mind enabled him to make the best use of his limited vocabulary and his retentive memory had stored up all sorts of words, once heard, and was ready to produce them from the subconscious part
of his mind as soon as the stimulus of necessity was applied.
The sergeant had shrugged his shoulders and rudely turned his back.
I shall report your insolence to Colonel Caillard to-morrow morning, said Hornblower hotly. Find a mattress immediately.
It was not so much the threat that carried the day as long-ingrained habits of discipline. Even a sergeant of French gendarmerie was accustomed to yielding deference to gold lace and epaulettes and an authoritative manner. Possibly the obvious indignation of the maids at the suggestion that so fine a man should be left to sleep on the floor may have weighed with him too. He called to the sentry at the door and told him to bring a mattress from the stables where the escort were billeted. It was only a palliasse of straw when it came, but it was something infinitely more comfortable than bare and draughty boards, all the same. Brown looked his gratitude to Hornblower as the mattress was spread out in the corner of the room.
Time to turn in, said Hornblower, ignoring it, as the door was locked behind the sergeant. Lets make you comfortable, first, Bush.
It was some obscure self-conscious motive which made Hornblower select from his valise the embroidered nightshirt over which Marias busy fingers had laboured lovinglythe nightshirt which he had brought with him from England for use should it happen that he should dine and sleep at a Governors or on board the flagship. All the years he had been a captain he had never shared a room with anyone save Maria, and it was a novel experience for him to prepare for bed in sight of Bush and Brown, and he was ridiculously self-conscious about it, regardless of the fact that Bush, white and exhausted, was already lying back on his pillow with drooping eyelids, while Brown modestly stripped off his trousers with downcast eyes, wrapped himself in the cloak which Hornblower insisted on his using, and curled himself up on his palliasse without a glance at his superior.