Thirteen: Deception
The decision had to be made as to what was to be done about Elizabeth. The stitches wouldn't seal the wound, but she refused anything to take away the pain – saying that the dreams were more agonising than the reality – and spent her time wandering in circles around the sick bay, as she wasn't allowed on deck. None but Horatio, Fairweather and Pellew knew her true identity. Women weren't exactly welcomed on ships, and Pellew made the prudent decision to keep her hidden at all times. She longed to have the fresh air on her face, but did not argue, it would only make her fate worse. Horatio had strictly told her that she would come to Portsmouth with them, and she wouldn't escape, and – despite desperately wanting to hit him and leave anyway – she had obeyed. After waking up two nights ago, Elizabeth had been left to her own devices. Horatio had reluctantly returned to the Hotspur, visiting once or twice a day to check on her progress. At night, he either lay awake thinking of her, or he slept fitfully, dreaming of her creamy skin and innocent, bright eyes and her soft, pliable mouth. She consumed him with every breath. He hated to see her practically caged, like some dangerous beast, when she was nothing but a scared young girl – desperately fighting against her destiny. It killed him that he couldn't save her. She had saved him on numerous occasions, and yet he had done nothing heroic in return. It was as Portsmouth grew on the horizon that Horatio visited her with a plan. He knocked carefully, trying not to think of her half-naked body in the moonlight.
"Enter." Came a wearied voice. He opened the door, and she paused in her pacing to note her visitor. "Ah, hello." She added dully, returning to working a groove into the planks.
"You'll wear those boards away with all that walking." He smirked, but she gave no reply. "Elizabeth…" He hesitated as she looked at him. It scared him how expressionless those eyes were. They were the eyes of an angel – his angel – but they were gone.
"Don't try to comfort me, Horatio." She slumped into a seat. "I'm so tired of sympathetic words. I need real solutions…" She stared out the window wistfully. It seemed so beautiful to her – even though the sky was heavy and grey and the water was the colour of iron. "I want to feel real air again. I want to be able to walk freely."
"I may have a solution." Horatio smiled as she looked hopeful. He strode to a cupboard and unlocked it with a key hidden in his cuff. From it, he produced a black silk mask and a black wide-brimmed hat. He turned and bowed with a flourish. "La Sombra, sir, will you do me the honour of walking with me on deck as we come in to Portsmouth?" Elizabeth laughed wildly, snatching the objects and flinging her arms around his neck.
"Thank you Horatio!" She pulled back slightly and looked into those beautiful eyes. They were the eyes of an angel – her angel – and they looked so alive in that moment. "You have no idea how grateful I am."
"I think I do." He breathed, bending down and laying a soft, fleeting kiss on her lips. Her breath caught in her chest as her eyes widened. Ever since that night, she hadn't dared believe it was true. She told herself every hour that he did not care for her, yet by the next hour, she was in the belief that he did. "Quickly now," he disentangled himself from her arms, "we don't have long until we make port."
And so, when Horatio came on deck, Pellew was stunned to see a masked figure emerge behind him. Elizabeth wore a clean white shirt, black breeches and black boots, black hat and black mask, her chest bound tightly (this had been overcome by Horatio closing his eyes and holding the bandages tight whilst she wound them – a comical sight, to say the least). She bowed to the Admiral.
"Sir. I would like to thank you for your hospitality, but I shall be docking in Portsmouth aboard the Hotspur." Pellew returned the genuflection, glancing to Horatio, who kept his face conveniently blank. As they waited for the jolly boat to take them back to the sloop, Pellew took his young captain aside discreetly.
"Is this a wise decision, Mr Hornblower?" Horatio smiled comfortingly and nodded.
"I know what I'm doing sir." Pellew grunted in a way that suggested he very much doubted that. They boarded the Hotspur just as the two ships were preparing to enter port. Horatio scampered up to the quarterdeck, followed by Elizabeth. The crew stared in open surprise at the reappearance of La Sombra. The anchor was dropped with an almighty splash that rocked the ship briefly before it settled into its berth. There was a roar of confusion and activity as the men prepared to disembark, and Bush, Horatio and Elizabeth stood, motionless as rocks in the maelstrom. Horatio tried to force his eyes away from her, but found him constantly glancing to his right to see her again. How easily one could be fooled, he realised, for she passed as a young man again – even her stance was masculine. She stood with legs spread apart and hands clasped tenderly behind her back, her shoulders square, her chin jutting out arrogantly, lips and eyes expressionless as she surveyed those around her. The billowing shirt gave no indication of her being a woman at all.
"All ready, cap'n." Horak touched his hand to his forehead.
"Very good, Mr Horak. Prepare the quarter boat."
………………………………………………………………………………………………………………
The quayside, if anything, was more overwhelming than being aboard the sloop. Hundreds of seamen rushed around them as they stepped off the boat onto solid ground. The new sensation made Elizabeth sway a little, but she made no indication of her discomfort. She strode confidently beside Bush behind Horatio up the smooth stone steps. There were already mutterings around them from men of varying stations.
"It's La Sombra."
"Told you 'e was young, di'n I?"
"Look! It's 'im!"
"Saved me life once, 'e did."
"Bloody brave, I tell ya, age don't come into it."
"My brother owes his life to that man."
"Bloody hell, never realised he was so young!" A few even had the confidence to give a quick bow to the infamous figure of the guerrilla leader. Horatio had to hide a smile – how little they knew. Elizabeth returned the bows with a quick smile and nod of the head – utterly masculine in its execution. As they tried to step off the stairway, through the throngs, a busy, hassled midshipman knocked into Elizabeth, nearly sending her tumbling backwards.
"Sorry, sir!" The midshipman gasped.
"Not to worry, no harm. Just watch where you're going." Elizabeth replied before Horatio could intervene with a furious rebuke. Her voice had dulled to a husky, male voice. How did she do it? He wondered. But he didn't care, for as the midshipman move away, he saw the scowl overtake her face. She was in pain. Trying not to show he was looking, he observed her tenderly reach up and touch her shoulder. The man had knocked her injury, and she could feel warm blood begin to seep into the bandages again.
They moved past the initial crowd, hugging the edge of the dockside, the sheer drop to the sluggish waters mere steps away. Horatio tried to oversee the unloading of his cargo, but found it nearly impossible. Word had got out about the arrival of La Sombra, and a small mass of people had come for a glimpse. Elizabeth was both baffled and embarrassed by the attention, and stayed back from the happenings, hoping not to be seen too much.
"La Sombra! Sir! It's an honour ter meet yer sir!" Cried an excited voice, and a man sprang in front of her, grabbing her right hand and shaking it enthusiastically. "Name's David Greening, sir. Saved me life in Spain, yer did." Elizabeth tried to force a smile, but dark spots were dancing in front of her eyes. It felt like the man was pumping blood out of her wound. "I can't thank yer enough. You're an inspiration to us."
"Yes. Really? Oh, it's no problem… Thank you." She stuttered as Bush snatched the man away. He looked at her concernedly.
"Are you feeling well sir?" Elizabeth briefly thought how comical it was that Horatio's own first lieutenant didn't know her secret before she blacked out. She crumpled into the side of Horatio, who quickly grabbed her before she toppled off the edge of the quay into the muddy Portsmouth harbour. There were gasps from the crowd that had gathered as he scooped her into his arms, her head lolling against his shoulder and her injured hand hanging loosely. From beneath the cuff of the shirt showed a ribbon with a naval button tied to it, and Bush stared at it in surprise. Spurring himself into action, he used his bellowing voice to roar: "Make way!" The gathering parted like water before the prow of a boat, and Horatio rushed Elizabeth down the gap, his face drawn.
………………………………………………………………………………………………………………
"She should have been brought to me straight away!" Scolded the doctor, adjusting the wig on his bald head. He hadn't questioned the appearance of the patient without appointment, nor the reason for her disguise, but simply operated on her shoulder, and used the biggest needle and thread in his possession to sew shut the wound. "How long has she been bleeding?" Horatio swallowed hard. She had been given laudanum to help her sleep, and there would be hell to pay when she woke.
"On and off for the past six days, sir."
"Six days!" The doctor spluttered.
"Yessir."
"She could have bled to death!" Horatio blushed, feeling inwardly sick at the thought. "The shot had shattered part of her bone, and a splinter of it had embedded itself in her veins. If I hadn't removed it, her wound would never have healed. She would have simply bled anew every time she moved her arm until all the blood in her body had been pumped out of that hole." He felt positively nauseous.
"Yessir. Thank you, doctor. For all your help."
"Think nothing of it. You can stay with her until she wakes – it'll only be a few hours. She should stay in bed for at least four days." He made to leave, then paused. "May I ask… how did she come to be shot? And why is she dressed as a masked man?" Horatio faltered, but Bush, who had been standing unnoticed in the doorway, intervened.
"She snuck aboard one of our ships. She will be dealt with accordingly, sir, and you have no need to think on it." The doctor nodded, and Bush replaced him beside Elizabeth's bed. He stared searchingly at Horatio. "Did you know?" He eventually asked. His captain nodded slowly, looking ashamed.
"I'm sorry William, but we couldn't risk –"
"I understand, Horatio." He rested a hand on his shoulder. "I would have done the same thing if it had been someone I loved instead." Horatio opened his mouth, then closed it again. "The decision is now, of course, what is to be done?" He couldn't answer his lieutenant's question. The idea of it tortured him, and he looked at Elizabeth's sleeping face.
"She would have given up her life." He finally announced, as if that were his answer. There was a pause, before he continued. "She nearly did. I cannot let her go back to what she was trying to escape. She was trying to escape, William, of that I'm sure." He slumped in a nearby chair and buried his face in his hands. "Her family don't know about… this…" He waved a hand at her abandoned hat and mask. "They don't know that instead of visiting an ill friend, she's gallivanting off to France to fight a ridiculous war we should never have been involved in to start with!" He rose again, angrily, pacing the room. "If she had died there, what would have happened? They've already lost a son – how could they bear the death of another child? She's so bloody-minded, so stubborn!"
"Horatio?" Mumbled a slurry voice. Both Bush and the captain jumped and turned to look at Elizabeth. Her eyes fluttered open and closed, trying to fight away the nightmares. "The dreams…" She whispered, frowning. "Make them stop…" She yelled out in utter fear, arching her back and stiffening every muscle. Horatio darted to her side, hushing her, smoothing her hair. She drifted back to sleep, her disturbance briefly calmed.
"Damn this laudanum!" Horatio cursed. "She hates the stuff."
"It's for the best." Bush provided softly, knowing that his captain would find no comfort in the words – her dreams upset him as much as they did her. He wondered what she dreamt of. She was so young, but there were countless things she could dream about…
…Jade-green eyes glittered at her through a black mask. She managed a smile, her lips shaking with nerves. She was glad he seemed so calm – even anticipating it with glee.
"Ready?" The masked man asked. She nodded, not daring herself to speak. She couldn't let him see how afraid she was – he was so fearless, she had to show him she was just the same. The pistol hung heavy in her grip. She took a deep breath at the same time as her companion, and they let roar a simultaneous yell, jumping up and running down the field. The thrill of adrenaline shot through her bones at the surprised Spanish faces. She laughed as she killed, and it frightened and excited her. As she finished her last victim, she turned to him, who stood, grinning from ear to ear. "Have fun, my Liz-bee?" He crowed mockingly. She threw him a glare from behind her soot-painted face.
"You're a beast, Oliver James." He laughed again, so hard until he held his sides. Soon, she began to laugh too, until they had tears streaming down their faces. He suddenly stopped, his face growing sombre suddenly, looking past her shoulder. She frowned. "Oliver?" She began to turn, but froze halfway at her friend's shout of:
"NO!" Two gunshots were heard in chorus, and she stared in horror as Oliver clutched his stomach, his emptied pistol falling from his hands. He lifted his hands to his face, and stared at the scarlet blood there. More red liquid dribbled from his lips as he crumpled to his knees. Elizabeth ran to him, grabbing him by his arms, trying to keep him upright.
"Oliver? Olly?" She whispered hoarsely. He looked at her desperately.
"Get out of here, Lizzie. Run." He fell from her grip, collapsing in a heap on the floor.
"No." She yelped. "No!" But she could hear the tramp of boots already. She reached down and snatched the mask from his face, leaving his pale, strawberry-blonde features to the Spanish sun, and stood. She couldn't make her feet work properly, but somehow she stumbled out of sight, where she retched, over and over again until her throat burned with bile and there was nothing left in her stomach but leaden grief…
… His lips burned into hers, urging her, tasting her. She heard him groan, and felt the rumble in his mouth and chest. She tasted blood, and moved away, wondering why the salty liquid had suddenly appeared. There were two gunshots, and abruptly there was blood on his lips and on his hands. She cried out in horror as he looked down and she followed his gaze – a gaping wound in his stomach, pouring scarlet blood across him.
"Horatio, no!" It couldn't be true. He fell to his knees, and she imitated him, desperately grappling at his forearms, trying to pull him to his feet again. "No, don't."…
At least she wasn't dreaming of her being shot again, she thought in a moment of clarity. She didn't think she could bear the memory to haunt her much more – dogging her night and day with painful flashbacks that frightened her so much because they seemed so real. She could feel a gentle hand caressing her forehead and hair, and she leaned into it, forcing her eyes open. Those brown eyes… her angel. She smiled, and looked around.
"Where am I?" Her voice was hoarse, and took her by surprise.
"In hospital, in Portsmouth." Horatio answered softly. It was night outside, by the dark shadows and creeping gloom from the windows. The lamps had been dimmed, and his face was soft and tanned in the shallow light.
"For how long?"
"Only a few hours." She tried to move, but he gently pushed her back down again. "Stay still. You'll tear your stitches."
"My..?" She reached up and touched her wound. It stung and she sucked in her breath sharply, but she realised the hole was no longer bleeding underneath the bandages. "How did it stay shut?"
"You had some bone lodged in awkwardly – the shot hit it and splintered it. The surgeon took it out and used an awful amount of thread to sew you back up." He looked positively sick at the thought, and averted his gaze. She moved her hand to his cheek.
"You saved my life." He snorted a little at that.
"Hardly."
"You did." She argued forcefully, and he didn't try to contradict her. "You brought me here and they managed to sew up the wound. If you hadn't… If I had never got here…"
"Sh. I know. I know." He hushed her with a finger pressed over her mouth. Tears felt hot in her eyes as she looked up at him. Looked up at the man she had lost time and time again. She gently kissed his fingertip. He had died in her dreams. Just the same as Oliver. He had died, and left her, just as her friend, just as her brother had done. He wasn't dying in reality, though. But, inwardly, her heart broke just the same. She couldn't ever leave him. She couldn't bear the grief.
"Horatio. I don't want to lose you…"
"You won't."
"I will. One way or another, I will lose you. Either I will marry Daniel Minton, or you will be killed." He laughed tiredly.
"Oh, Elizabeth, I doubt very much I will be killed."
"If I hadn't been there, what would have happened?" She demanded furiously. "All those times, when I arrived and helped you escape, what would have happened if I hadn't been there? You would have died!" He opened his mouth to protest, but she spoke over him. "That day when you attacked the republicans, when Mr Horak put the signal in the sky. I was so scared I had lost you then. I thought that I would never find you – finding your body afterwards. I felt so helpless – so scared. When I started this I promised myself that I would never get attached…" She trailed away. "But I couldn't help myself. When I first saw you, you looked so desolate, but it wasn't for your own fate – it was for your men. You are the most selfless, bravest man I know, Horatio, and I can't help but think that if La Sombra hadn't been created… Oliver would still be alive. And maybe Henry too. And I would never have met you. Maybe that's a good thing, in the end, if it's to be as I predict." She turned her head away, her voice choking. "After I leave this hospital, I doubt I'll ever see you again. Now, if that's how it's supposed to be, I'd rather be saved from goodbyes and have you leave now. But if you truly are the man I know, then you will stay. And somehow, someway, we'll figure it out." She spoke of desolate hope, and Horatio was struck dumb by it.
"You have to go back to your family." He told her quietly. She closed her eyes tightly, and he knew that she thought this was his farewell. "But I won't leave you."
