A/N: So it turns out that having a baby is not terribly conducive to writing, at least for me. But I was reminded of this fic recently and found enough bits to hack into a new installment. I'm rusty, so forgive me for the inelegant prose. Thank you to my kind reviewers and followers. I won't make promises, but I do have a bit more of this written.
After the meal was somewhat less congenial. The ladies rose together to make for the drawing room. When the door closed behind them, Horatio found himself the object of the men's attention, with the exception of Archie who was intently studying the crystal and table linens in a manner lately quite familiar. The jump when his friend's father addressed the boy was familiar as well.
"Alexander, you must better introduce your friend, that we may start to know your new shipmate." The captain began things abruptly, signaling to the butler to begin pouring more wine.
"Of course, my lord." The mid straightened in the chair, adopting the garrulous neutrality Horatio recalled from change-of-watch reports. "Mr. Hornblower is a country doctor's son, and as you heard me mention to mother, he must go home to Kent when his time here with us is over. Though he is a few months shy of his own eighteenth birthday, and had never set foot on a ship until the new year, Mr. Hornblower is also my senior, due to his being carried on the Justinian's books these past five years."
Horatio hadn't even realized Kennedy knew this shameful fact about him, much less what possessed his friend to rattle it about to the earl of all people. It was worse than if the boy had taunted him about his sea sickness. He was certain that his face was purpling.
Seemingly unaware of his anguish, Kennedy dashed off the rest of the 'report' with a blithe aplomb that seemed practiced. "Yet despite his lack of active experience, I can commend Midshipman Hornblower to you highly, my lord, for he was already the best navigator among us, though his skills did not receive much practice at anchor. More importantly, my lord... Mr. Hornblower shares your view on novels." Horatio was rather surprised that the mid did not end the little speech with a salute. Perhaps Kennedy did not dare further impudence when the lord's face was glowering so fiercely.
It was several moments before the earl's attention returned to him, but when it did, the captain's gaze descended on Horatio like an anvil. "So you are not of a naval background, Mister Hornblower?"
"Yes, sir, m'lord, er, no, that is..." he could feel the heat growing in his cheeks as he stumbled. "Not exactly a naval background, your Lordship, but my father did serve in the Royal Navy for a time, under Captain Keene, as ship's doctor. During the rebellion," he added, trying to interpret the earl's tightening expression, but unable to decide which of the facts of his father's abortive career was adding to the displeasure of the older man.
"Ah. That would be the connection then," the earl snorted and picked up his glass, tasting it and then examining the liquid disapprovingly. "Saved Keene's life, I imagine."
"Yes sir, m'lord, I believe so." Horatio took a small sip of his own wine to fortify himself and found nothing to complain about, the concoction being surprisingly rich and sweet. Perhaps it was the lordship's manner to be critical, rather than Horatio's background and precedence being particularly objectionable.
The lord's irritated harrumph drew Horatio's attention back to his inquisitor. "Keene owes almost as many favours as he owns. Your father is not the first to place a problem with him." Horatio would have been stung by the slight if he had not seen how the man's eyes shifted to Kennedy, now sitting far back in the chair, a bland and completely insincere smile in place. The barb wasn't wholly aimed at him. "But Keene must have been very motivated, to manage to shift you onto the Indefatigableinstead. Younger son, then?" The earl barked, and Horatio couldn't help starting to bristle at the man's manner.
"No, my lord, I am my father's only child," he said, meeting the earl's eyes directly for the first time. They were murky, colder than the lord's countenance.
John spoke up then, "It is unusual, Mr. Hornblower, for only sons not to follow their father's profession. What led you to the navy instead?"
Horatio hesitated. It was something he had been asked, though less gently, by many of his father's acquaintances. He rather thought most were motivated by fear of losing their parish doctor when his father finally retired. Few had been impressed by his expressions of patriotism, or admiration for duty. Under the unfriendly notice of a man who had lived the heroism-and sacrifice-he aspired to, Horatio found his usual reasons even more dissatisfying. He could think of no way to speak of his ambitions that did not sound naive, or vainglorious, or both.
But John was looking at him with a comforting directness. It was the lack of judgment that stirred memories, of warm arms, whispered comforts, and then sheets gone still and cold. Horatio didn't realize what he was going to say until the words had rung out clearly, with more solidity than he knew he felt. "I saw my father lose too many battles, despite skill, knowledge, and determination. I wanted to duel with enemies I could see, sir."
The other man, nodded thoughtfully, and even the Captain grunted with something less like derision, peering down the table at Horatio for a few moments before pronouncing his judgment. "You might wish it otherwise, but you will find very quickly, Midshipman, that invisible foes will plague you aboardship as well. Hunger, disease, and discontent are far more frequent, and more dangerous, than engagements and storms." This seemed to prompt memories for the earl as well, for the man fell silent then, and took a drink of unsatisfactory port.
"No, you're a smart man, Mr. Hornblower," Robert broke in. "Doctoring is hard, unpleasant work, and there's no profit in it. Sailoring is no better, and probably worse, but if you don't have a head for business, you'd be hard pressed to find a faster way to be in the brass. At least with a war on. Just avoid getting shot, blown up by a cannon or dropped by yellow fever, and you've an even chance of seeing gold before you're twenty." The narrow-faced man rattled off these dangers with the same concern a farmer might have for field mice and crows. "No need to even put yourself in the gunsights, if you're lucky! Just get your ship in view of the enemy, and you'll get your share, the same as the boarding party."
This cheerfully delivered fact of naval warfare surprised Horatio enough that he instinctively looked to Archie, but it did him no good for his friend was carefully inspecting the rim of the wineglass for chips or somesuch.
Instead, the earl subdued Robert's enthusiasm for the subject with a clearing of the throat, then answered Horatio's unspoken question. "It is true that all ships visible to the enemy at the time of capture share in the prize. An extra ship or two on the horizon can make the difference between a ship that tries to run or fight, and one that surrenders. But the captain who is always on the edge of battle, and never in its heart, wins no friends for himself or his officers."
The older man stared about, as if any of them might succumb to cowardice without this timely reminder, but lingered longest on his fellow mid. "You needn't worry about it under Edward Pellew. He'll get you into the thick of it every chance he can scrape. And you'll earn your prize money, if it comes. Pellew makes men out of boys. He won't keep a conniver or a layabout under him. But he won't spend your life cheaply either. Solid man, Pellew, knows that loyalty goes both ways, if it is warranted. Fine seamanship too."
The butler returning to refill glasses also handed the earl a wooden box, which the older man then extended toward Horatio. "You have a great deal to learn, Mr. Hornblower, but however it came about, you've found yourself the right man to teach you. Cigar?"
Hornblower rather thought this was a test. Yet for all that the earl had enough friends in the admiralty to sink his career with a letter, Horatio was too angry and off balance to calculate the correct response. "Thank you, my lord, but no." At least in refusal, he didn't risk making a further fool of himself by coughing or getting sick. The port was already rebelling in his innards.
Horatio could not tell if he had been raised or lowered in the earl's estimation, but he was not pressed, and the box passed around to the other men, though not, he noticed, to Kennedy. Conversation shifted about as well. John asked the lord's opinion of the prospects for a motion before parliament that Hornblower had never heard of, and could barely follow. Something to do with Catholics voting in Ireland.
The topic was well chosen to engage the captain's passions. Loud proclamations were dispensed freely for some time about the likelihood of passage, potential effects on civil order, and the motivations of the politicians involved, with the earls' sons playing the roles apparently assigned to them of thoughtful interest, brash argument, or silence.
Horatio was indescribably relieved when John finally spotted him muffling a yawn, and sympathetically called a servant to take him to his room. Kennedy looked up when Horatio rose to his feet, but after a glance at the earl, the boy only flashed a meaningless smile, and resumed contemplation of the candlesticks. He could not shake the feeling that the boy required rescue, but Hornblower didn't know how it could be accomplished. Given the uncomfortable feeling that his friend had tossed him in front of the earl like fox bait, he wasn't even sure he wanted to. He could at least make his own escape, and did, with awkward bow, little acknowledged.
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