Read Online Hornblower 05 - Hornblower and the Atropos by C. S. Forester - Free Book Online Page A

necessary, and Maria's face took on an expression of preoccupation.
    “How is it, dearest?” asked Hornblower, concerned.
    “Only a pain,” said Maria, smiling — forcing a smile, as Hornblower well knew. “They are not coming close together yet.”
    “I wish I could help,” said Hornblower, in the manner of uncounted millions of fathers.
    “You have helped by coming to me, my darling,” said Maria.
    A bustle outside the door and a knock heralded the entrance of the midwife and the landlady.
    “Well, well,” said the midwife. “So it has began, has it?”
    Hornblower looked her over carefully. She was not neat — no one could be expected to be in those conditions — but she were at least sober, and her gap-toothed smile was kindly.
    “I'll have a look at you, ma'am,” said the midwife and then, with a sidelong glance, “Gentlemen will retire.”
    Maria looked at him. She was trying so hard to appear unconcerned.
    “I'll see you again, dear,” said Hornblower, trying equally hard.
    Outside the bedroom the landlady was cordial in her offers of hospitality.
    “How about a go of brandy, sir? Or a glass o' rum, hot?”
    “No, thank you,” said Hornblower.
    “The young gennelman's sleeping in with one o' the maids now,” explained the landlady. “He didn't cry, no, not a sound, when we carried him in. A fine little fellow he is, sir.”
    “Yes,” said Hornblower. He could smile at the thought of his little son.
    “You'd better come into the coffee-room, sir,” said the landlady. “There's still what's left of the fire there.”
    “Thank you,” said Hornblower, with a glance at his watch. God, how time was passing!
    “Your good lady will be all right,” said the landlady maternally. “It'll be a boy, as sure as fate. I can tell by the way she was carrying.”
    “Perhaps you'll be right,” said Hornblower, and he looked at his watch again. He really must start preparations for the day.
    “Now see here, please,” he said, and then he paused, as he made his mind clear itself of its preoccupation with Maria, and of its deadly fatigue. He began to list the things he needed from the bedroom upstairs, ticking them off on his fingers as he told them to the landlady. The black breeches and stockings, the epaulette and the best cocked hat, the sword and the mourning band.
    “I'll get 'em, sir. You can dress in here — no one won't disturb you, not at this time o' night.”
    She came back later with her arms full of the things Hornblower had asked for.
    “A marvel that I should forget this was the day of the Funeral, sir,” she said. “No one hasn't talked o' nothing else along the river not for the last week. There's your things, sir.”
    She looked closely at Hornblower in the candlelight
    “You'd better shave, sir,” she went on. “You can use my husband's razor if yours is in the ship.”
    One mention of maternity, it seemed, turned all women into mothers.
    “Very well,” said Hornblower.
    Later he was dressed and looking at his watch again.
    “I must leave now,” he said. “Will you find out if I can see my wife?”
    “I'll tell you now you can't, sir,” said the landlady. “Not if you can hear what I can hear.”
    Much of what Hornblower felt must have shown in his expression, for the landlady went on —
    “It'll all be over in a bower, sir: whyn't you wait a bit?”
    “Wait?” repeated Hornblower, looking at his watch again. “No, I can't do that. I'll have to go.”
    The landlady lighted the candle of his lantern at that on the coffee-room mantel.
    “Lord a mercy,” she said. “You look just the picture. But it's cold out.”
    She fastened the button of his coat close at his neck.
    “Can't have you catching cold. There! Don't you worry, now.”
    Good advice, thought Hornblower, walking down the slope towards the river again, but as difficult to act upon as most good advice. He saw the light of the gig at the water's edge, and a sudden movement of shadowy figures there. The