A/n: Hi! Here's chapter 4. Again, if anything in here peeves you, please
feel free to let me know. I'm not a shrinking violet.
DISCLAIMER: Horatio Hornblower, its characters and universe do *not* belong to me. I don't make any money off this, and I'm not entitled to any $$$ for this either. Then again, if somebody had money, I think they'd be better off buying a book of Shakespeare or Dickens or someone else, instead of patronizing my attempts at fanfiction.
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"What the devil is going on here?" Bracegirdle demanded as he strode into the sick berth.
The lieutenant did not miss how the two midshipmen shared a long glance before Cleveland spoke. "We found Mr. Hornblower below, sir. He'd," another nervous glance, "fallen, sir. Overbalanced, we think."
"Did he really?" Bracegirdle asked in a deceptively mild tone. The veteran had seen many injuries during his career; if anything, young Hornblower's approximated those of a brawl more than a mere fall into a hold. "And did either of you...*gentlemen* happen to witness this fall?"
Yet another look. "Yes, sir."
"Hmm." Bracegirdle clasped his hands and stared all the more earnestly at the pair. "Then it's very fortunate that you happened to arrive when you did. I can only imagine how much worse he'd fare if he had not received such prompt medical attention."
"Yes, sir."
The lieutenant said nothing further; but neither did he dismiss the men. After a few moments of awkward silence, Hether elaborated, "We were looking for Mr. Hornblower, sir. We'd heard what had happened to Mr. Kennedy, and since they were close, we thought we'd see how he was doing and--and offer him whatever comfort we could."
"How very Christian of you. Mr. Hornblower should be thankful he has friends such as yourselves upon whom he can rely." He afixed them both with his most searching stare, one which they did not meet. Surely they wouldn't continue in this obfuscation?
Both men shifted slightly in place. Mr Cleveland responded with a weak, "Thank you, sir."
"It's the least we could do, sir," Mr. Hether chimed in. Cleveland's shoulders stiffened minutely.
Bracegirdle nodded sharply even as he observed their curious interplay. Disgusted, he turned towards the dithering ship's surgeon, who was placing compresses upon the young midshipman's forehead. "Well, Dr. Hepplewhite, *did* Mr. Hornblower fall?"
A frightened expression filtered through the doctor's eyes before he answered. "His injuries are consistent with a fall..."
"That's not what I asked, doctor. Did Mr. Hornblower *fall*?"
Hepplewhite paused for the slightest fraction of a second before he answered, "Yes, sir." Perhaps no one else, save the Captain, would have marked the hesitation; but Bracegirdle did.
"Really? Because you don't sound all that certain, if I may say so myself."
Bracegirdle was treated to the sight of two midshipmen and one ship's surgeon flinching in unison. "Well, I didn't see him fall, but from his injuries and the nature of his earlier complaint--"
"--More importantly, I wonder whether Mr. Hornblower will recall events as you've depicted them." The normally jovial lieutenant permitted himself a narrow smile.
"I couldn't say, sir," Hepplewhite answered, not at all flustered this time. "With his recent head trauma, I shouldn't be surprised if he believes he supped with the Queen." The doctor barked an unconvincing burst of laughter; the two midshipmen chuckled half-heartedly.
Lieutenant Bracegirdle, on the other hand, did not laugh. "Dr. Hepplewhite, let me see if I understand, sir. It is your *opinion* that Mr. Hornblower's head wounds caused his fall into the hold and also will taint his remembrance of the accident...?" He stared interrogatively at the surgeon.
"Aye, sir," Hepplewhite responded dispassionately.
"I cannot help but wonder, then, that a man so grossly impaired would be allowed from the cockpit at all!"
The doctor flushed. "I admit I made an error in judgement, sir, and I willingly accept all the consequences for my action. But he did insist, and as he was to rest for the next two days within Lieutenant Chadd's quarters..." Hepplewhite held up his hands.
Bracegirdle had been surreptitiously watching the two midshipmen for some clue to break their equanimity. He had not enjoyed any success. Upon the doctor's disclosure of the berthing arrangements, however, the younger man--Hether--jerked slightly as though slapped. Envy then, resentment perhaps--quite understandable, given Captain Pellew's obsession with young Hornblower--but still no anger or hatred, or at least none visible. Then why...?
The ageing doctor continued to prattle, "...And even if his initial injury weren't overly severe, falling will have jarred his head and made it worse. That is my considered medical opinion, sir."
He would take one more crack at the doctor, then. "You admit then that your decision compromised Mr. Hornblower's welfare?"
Usually such direct attacks to a ship surgeon's pride would be met with nettle and venom. Not this time, however; Hepplewhite refused to be baited. "Indirectly and unintentionally, but...ultimately? Perhaps so, sir," was the reluctant admission.
The afternoon's tangle left the lieutenant extremely exercised. Something was going on--something to do with that saucy Simpson; Bracegirdle was positive about it! And yet he had no proof to substantiate his suspicion, not even so much as a medical report. By George, the players had even provided a means to explain away any discrepency between their account and the lad's (and Bracegirdle did not doubt that Hornblower's version would vary radically from the other midshipmen's)! On paper everything would look plausible, aboveboard and pat, *too* damme pat actually, never mind that in person this entire situation stank of fear and deceit.
The lieutenant ground his teeth. If he were the captain, he would cajole, upbraid, threaten, do everything necessary not merely to extract the truth from these men (although that was important as well), but--more importantly--to ascertain why three otherwise upstanding officers would suddenly decide to equivocate before their superior.
But that was the crux, wasn't it? Bracegirdle *wasn't* the captain, wasn't even Number One, and therefore had no right to interfere in a seemingly murky issue--"seemingly," as the slimmest possibility existed that they *were* telling the truth. So Bracegirdle would duly inform Eccleston and Captain Pellew of his misgivings in the strongest terms, which comprised the limit of his authority.
Eventually the Captain would awaken, eventually he would take charge of matters and resolve them for the good of the ship. Could they wait that long? They didn't have a choice! In the meantime, however, the lieutenant would observe, question, reflect...and plan.
DISCLAIMER: Horatio Hornblower, its characters and universe do *not* belong to me. I don't make any money off this, and I'm not entitled to any $$$ for this either. Then again, if somebody had money, I think they'd be better off buying a book of Shakespeare or Dickens or someone else, instead of patronizing my attempts at fanfiction.
* * * * * * * * * * * *
"What the devil is going on here?" Bracegirdle demanded as he strode into the sick berth.
The lieutenant did not miss how the two midshipmen shared a long glance before Cleveland spoke. "We found Mr. Hornblower below, sir. He'd," another nervous glance, "fallen, sir. Overbalanced, we think."
"Did he really?" Bracegirdle asked in a deceptively mild tone. The veteran had seen many injuries during his career; if anything, young Hornblower's approximated those of a brawl more than a mere fall into a hold. "And did either of you...*gentlemen* happen to witness this fall?"
Yet another look. "Yes, sir."
"Hmm." Bracegirdle clasped his hands and stared all the more earnestly at the pair. "Then it's very fortunate that you happened to arrive when you did. I can only imagine how much worse he'd fare if he had not received such prompt medical attention."
"Yes, sir."
The lieutenant said nothing further; but neither did he dismiss the men. After a few moments of awkward silence, Hether elaborated, "We were looking for Mr. Hornblower, sir. We'd heard what had happened to Mr. Kennedy, and since they were close, we thought we'd see how he was doing and--and offer him whatever comfort we could."
"How very Christian of you. Mr. Hornblower should be thankful he has friends such as yourselves upon whom he can rely." He afixed them both with his most searching stare, one which they did not meet. Surely they wouldn't continue in this obfuscation?
Both men shifted slightly in place. Mr Cleveland responded with a weak, "Thank you, sir."
"It's the least we could do, sir," Mr. Hether chimed in. Cleveland's shoulders stiffened minutely.
Bracegirdle nodded sharply even as he observed their curious interplay. Disgusted, he turned towards the dithering ship's surgeon, who was placing compresses upon the young midshipman's forehead. "Well, Dr. Hepplewhite, *did* Mr. Hornblower fall?"
A frightened expression filtered through the doctor's eyes before he answered. "His injuries are consistent with a fall..."
"That's not what I asked, doctor. Did Mr. Hornblower *fall*?"
Hepplewhite paused for the slightest fraction of a second before he answered, "Yes, sir." Perhaps no one else, save the Captain, would have marked the hesitation; but Bracegirdle did.
"Really? Because you don't sound all that certain, if I may say so myself."
Bracegirdle was treated to the sight of two midshipmen and one ship's surgeon flinching in unison. "Well, I didn't see him fall, but from his injuries and the nature of his earlier complaint--"
"--More importantly, I wonder whether Mr. Hornblower will recall events as you've depicted them." The normally jovial lieutenant permitted himself a narrow smile.
"I couldn't say, sir," Hepplewhite answered, not at all flustered this time. "With his recent head trauma, I shouldn't be surprised if he believes he supped with the Queen." The doctor barked an unconvincing burst of laughter; the two midshipmen chuckled half-heartedly.
Lieutenant Bracegirdle, on the other hand, did not laugh. "Dr. Hepplewhite, let me see if I understand, sir. It is your *opinion* that Mr. Hornblower's head wounds caused his fall into the hold and also will taint his remembrance of the accident...?" He stared interrogatively at the surgeon.
"Aye, sir," Hepplewhite responded dispassionately.
"I cannot help but wonder, then, that a man so grossly impaired would be allowed from the cockpit at all!"
The doctor flushed. "I admit I made an error in judgement, sir, and I willingly accept all the consequences for my action. But he did insist, and as he was to rest for the next two days within Lieutenant Chadd's quarters..." Hepplewhite held up his hands.
Bracegirdle had been surreptitiously watching the two midshipmen for some clue to break their equanimity. He had not enjoyed any success. Upon the doctor's disclosure of the berthing arrangements, however, the younger man--Hether--jerked slightly as though slapped. Envy then, resentment perhaps--quite understandable, given Captain Pellew's obsession with young Hornblower--but still no anger or hatred, or at least none visible. Then why...?
The ageing doctor continued to prattle, "...And even if his initial injury weren't overly severe, falling will have jarred his head and made it worse. That is my considered medical opinion, sir."
He would take one more crack at the doctor, then. "You admit then that your decision compromised Mr. Hornblower's welfare?"
Usually such direct attacks to a ship surgeon's pride would be met with nettle and venom. Not this time, however; Hepplewhite refused to be baited. "Indirectly and unintentionally, but...ultimately? Perhaps so, sir," was the reluctant admission.
The afternoon's tangle left the lieutenant extremely exercised. Something was going on--something to do with that saucy Simpson; Bracegirdle was positive about it! And yet he had no proof to substantiate his suspicion, not even so much as a medical report. By George, the players had even provided a means to explain away any discrepency between their account and the lad's (and Bracegirdle did not doubt that Hornblower's version would vary radically from the other midshipmen's)! On paper everything would look plausible, aboveboard and pat, *too* damme pat actually, never mind that in person this entire situation stank of fear and deceit.
The lieutenant ground his teeth. If he were the captain, he would cajole, upbraid, threaten, do everything necessary not merely to extract the truth from these men (although that was important as well), but--more importantly--to ascertain why three otherwise upstanding officers would suddenly decide to equivocate before their superior.
But that was the crux, wasn't it? Bracegirdle *wasn't* the captain, wasn't even Number One, and therefore had no right to interfere in a seemingly murky issue--"seemingly," as the slimmest possibility existed that they *were* telling the truth. So Bracegirdle would duly inform Eccleston and Captain Pellew of his misgivings in the strongest terms, which comprised the limit of his authority.
Eventually the Captain would awaken, eventually he would take charge of matters and resolve them for the good of the ship. Could they wait that long? They didn't have a choice! In the meantime, however, the lieutenant would observe, question, reflect...and plan.