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He’d made up his mind that night. After Horatio’s visit earlier that afternoon, Archie was convinced his friend was planning to stand up in court and take the blame for Sawyer’s fall into the hold. There was something about the look in his eyes and the stubborn set of his jaw that told Archie everything he needed to know. Horatio would confess to a lie - and he would hang for it. Archie felt sick at the thought. As surely as he knew Horatio’s intent, he knew he could not, would not allow it to happen. He was under no illusions about his own condition. His wound was mortal. The infection creeping through his body was unstoppable now. But he could still be of use to Horatio, could still offer a parting gift to the best friend he had ever had.
Horatio couldn’t be told. Archie knew he’d never allow him to follow through with his plan. He held onto his secret tightly and waited for morning. Dr. Clive had given his assent to Archie’s fervent request when he had checked his wound at first light and assisted him with dressing. Mr. Bush had awakened and with his usual quick appraisal of the situation, had guessed his mind. A man of few words, he had not presumed to try to dissuade Archie from his chosen course of action but had nodded, shaken hands with him and they had parted company for the last time.
More than anything else, Archie prayed that Horatio would understand - that he would have time to make him see that this truly was the best outcome. He couldn’t bear the thought of going to his grave with Horatio angry with him. As he lay in the bed, sweating and weak from the exertion of walking to and from the courtroom, he recalled Horatio’s stunned expression. It was as if his mind had been broken, could not comprehend what he was hearing and seeing. Archie hoped Horatio would visit soon.
Time was running out.
Dr. Clive came to his bedside and bade him drink some foul concoction. Archie did so, unsure what good could be achieved by further medication at this point, but if it gave him just a few more precious minutes…
Horatio is safe.
He comforted himself with that thought as fear began to grip him. He would not panic and bawl like an infant. He wanted Horatio to think well of him, to be proud of him. Moments later, Horatio entered the prison infirmary and Archie was flooded with relief. His friend wasn’t angry - confused yes, saddened surely, but not angry. Archie did his best to explain and begged him to accept this final act of devotion.
Horatio’s composure was hanging by a thread, his voice cracking as he struggled to find a way to say goodbye. His unembroidered way of speaking had long been something Archie had admired, even found endearing. When he told Archie he had been honored to serve with him, his weakening heart had all but stopped; unable to contain the emotion it held within. Archie knew this was the very highest compliment his stoic friend could bestow and he loved him for it. He choked out his own farewell as a new pain tore at his chest. The room was growing dimmer. He focused on Horatio’s face, wanting those finely sculpted angles and soulful eyes to be the last thing he saw. He heard himself gasp as the darkness claimed him.
* * * * *
Commodore Pellew had never felt such relief. The entire court martial had been a farce from the beginning and he was thoroughly glad to have the whole sorry business concluded. Hornblower had been acquitted, his reputation and honour intact. Thank God it was Kennedy and not him, he thought. Instantly ashamed of his favouritism and dismissal of Kennedy’s life as a fair price to pay for Horatio’s, the idea that perhaps Kennedy had not spoken the truth flashed through his mind. Certainly Horatio had seemed shocked by his statements. Reality hit Pellew like a broadside to the Indy. He was not alone in his affection for Horatio. Archie had lied to save his friend, Pellew's young protégé, and would die one way or another, for his efforts. How could he make it right?
Pellew was not a man given to rash decision-making but he was only too aware that time was not his ally. Before making his way to the infirmary, his mind racing, he sent a summons for Captain Bracegirdle, whom he knew to be in port.
Careful not to be seen by the patients or hospital workers, he kept a look out for Hornblower, whom he was sure would be desperate to see his shipmate as soon as his own release had been secured. He pulled Dr. Clive aside and spoke with him in haste. Unable to refuse an order from the Commodore, even if downright peculiar, he rifled through his supplies, removing a small tincture of liquid and made his way back to Mr. Kennedy. Pellew exited as quickly and quietly as he’d arrived.
* * * * *
Muffled sounds of voices reached his ears. There were hands on his body, holding him down.
Simpson.
Somehow Simpson had found him. Not safe. Even in the afterlife, it was his fate to be tormented and abused. Searing pain ripped through his body and filled his mind so that for a moment there was room for no other thoughts, save one.
This was Hell.
He had been holding his eyes closed in fear. Now that he tried to open them, to face his tormentor, he found he could not raise his lids more than a fraction. He could vaguely discern blurry shapes, colours, but with no clarity to enable him to understand what was happening. This frightened him all the more and he struggled to free his limbs. His arms refused to obey him, heavy as lead; they remained flat against the… table?
Time slipped by, but he had no way to measure it. It was no longer something to be calculated in seconds and minutes, only by the varying degrees of agony he felt. He cried out, only to have a piece of wood thrust into his mouth. His teeth bit into it. A fresh wave of pain stabbed at him and the world went black.
When Archie regained consciousness, the room was silent. This time, his eyes opened and he blinked several times, trying to bring his surroundings into focus. He lay very still, partly because he was still in a great amount of pain which he was certain would worsen if he tried to move about, partly for fear of attracting the unwanted attentions of whatever creature had been intent on inflicting such agony upon his person.
There was no longer a table beneath him. He was in a hammock that was gently swaying. He could hear creaking. As his eyes swept around him, he could see the ceiling and the walls of the room he was being held in were all made of wood.
There were no windows. A lantern offered dim light. The smell of blood permeated the air. This place had an odd familiarity to it. He was sure he’d never been here before and yet… it finally dawned on him. He was in the cockpit of a ship. Heaven knows he’d been under the care of Dr. Hepplewhite countless times on Justinian, often due to Simpson’s abuses. He fingered the fresh bandages that had been wrapped around his torso and he began to comprehend.
So he was not dead then. Comforted as he should have been by that realisation, he found that it raised more questions than it answered. How had he come to be on this ship? What ship was it? What Captain would take a convicted mutineer onto his vessel and attempt to save his life? What purpose could it possibly serve? Should he live, he would surely hang for his perceived crime. He risked raising his head a fraction to get a better look around him.
“Ah, you’re awake. That’s good. No, don’t try to move. I’ll send for the Captain.”
“Where…? Who…?” was all Archie could manage to croak out before the Doctor reached the door. He turned and offered a small smile. “I’m Doctor Wainwright and you’re aboard the Grasshopper.”
* * * * *
Thomas Bracegirdle sank into his chair, kneading his temples, which ached with the stress of the last few days and wondered how on earth he had got himself into this predicament. Of course he knew the answer – he could refuse his former Captain nothing, even if it meant risking his own career, even his life.
He owed Sir Edward much. He had been his First Lieutenant for many years on the Indy and he felt sure that Pellew had exerted some influence in his promotion to Commander and then Captain. But it was more than that. From what Pellew had told him, Kennedy had forfeited his life to protect Horatio. That kind of courage could not be ignored. If there was even a chance that young Kennedy might survive his injuries, Thomas was only too happy to give it to him. What would happen after? Well, that would remain to be seen.
He had watched Horatio grow from a green Midshipman into quite the formidable Lieutenant. He remembered with fondness how the skittish Hornblower had oft come to him for advice. How lonely he had seemed with the loss of Kennedy following the cutting out of the Papillon.
When Kennedy had been found alive in Spain, the two had become inseparable once again, and it seemed as if there were no lengths to which one would not go for the other. Thomas found that kind of loyalty most admirable and a very rare commodity. He remembered telling Horatio to test his readiness for command in his dealings with the men. If Archie Kennedy were an example of the allegiance Horatio inspired, he would likely be Admiral of the Fleet someday! Or was it something more than loyalty?
There came a knock at the door, interrupting his thoughts.
“Come.”
“Captain, you asked to be informed when our passenger awoke.”
“Very good. Thank you Doctor.” Bracegirdle rose, “I shall accompany you and visit him. What is his condition?”
“It’s too early to say. That he’s conscious bodes well, but his recovery from the surgery is not yet assured. Although the ball has been removed, there is still the matter of the remaining infection and he lost a great deal of blood. He will require plenty of sleep, regular laudanum to keep the pain manageable and I will attend to his dressings at least twice daily.”
Bracegirdle nodded approvingly. “Do all you can for him, Doctor Wainwright. Do all you can.”
On arrival at the cockpit, the Captain ordered the Doctor to tend to his other patients. He would speak to Kennedy alone. It appeared that Archie had slipped back into slumber but Bracegirdle could delay no longer. Gently, he shook Archie’s arm. As his eyes flickered open, Archie whispered hopefully,
“Horatio?”
“No, Mr. Kennedy. It’s me, Bracegirdle. Do you know where you are?”
“Lieu…no, Captain,” he corrected. “I’m… I’m on your ship. What happened? Where’s Horatio?”
“Later, man. That can wait for later. You must listen to me. If you are asked, your name is Charles Marshall. You are the nephew of Commodore Pellew. Do you understand, sir? Your life could well depend on it.”
“Marshall… but why?”
“We are bound for England. The Commodore secured my assistance to ensure you safe passage. As far as the navy is concerned, 4th Lieutenant Archibald Kennedy succumbed to his injuries in the prison infirmary. Charles Marshall was shot in an unfortunate incident at a drinking establishment in Kingston. Naturally, his uncle wished to avoid any undue embarrassment to the family’s reputation and therefore quietly arranged transportation back to England. On this ship, you and I are the only ones who know the truth of your identity and it must remain that way.”
Archie struggled to take all this in. Pellew was his rescuer - Pellew who had barely registered his existence on the Indy? The same man who had damned him in open court? And where was Horatio? Why was he not here? He desperately needed answers but his head was again swimming and he could feel himself slipping from consciousness again.
“You rest now, Mr. Marshall,” Bracegirdle said softly. “Rest and we’ll talk again when you’re feeling a little stronger.”
All Archie could do was weakly nod and close his eyes.
Bracegirdle walked over to Dr. Wainwright who was busily folding bandages. He felt confident that his conversation with Mr. Kennedy had not been overheard.
“Keep me informed of Mr. Marshall’s progress, or otherwise.”
“Aye, sir.”
* * * * *
Archie did his best to swallow the broth offered to him by Dr. Wainwright. He knew it would speed his return to health if he could stomach regular meals. He could not fail to be sharply reminded of Horatio’s ministrations in this regard when they had been prisoners at El Ferrol. It had been oatmeal then, and Horatio had been infinitely patient with him. How he had resented him in the beginning. Archie had resigned himself to death, even welcomed it as a release from the suffering he had endured in his captivity.
Then Horatio came.
The one man who could make him want to live again. Who would not let him give up. He had fought against him, even in the knowledge that the battle was already lost. Each mouthful of that wretched slop had been a tiny surrender.
Dr. Wainwright seemed like a nice enough man, and his surgical skills appeared to be highly competent since Archie was yet breathing. He was around fifty years old Archie guessed; average height, perhaps a little overweight but he disguised it quite well with a slightly oversized uniform. His hair had once been black but now contained more grey than its native shade and was pulled back in the customary queue. He had a broad forehead and tired but kindly eyes. Eyes that looked as though they’d seen all too much suffering.
Wainwright had been the only person other than Bracegirdle that Archie had seen since… well, since Archie had first regained consciousness. He had been anxious for the Captain to return so that he could question him further, now that his mind felt sharper than at their last conversation.
That had been two days ago and it seemed as though Archie had turned a corner in his recovery. His fever had broken and he was now able to sit up, with some discomfort. He still slept entirely too much for his own liking but he was assured that was to be expected. “The body’s way of mending,” Wainwright explained.
After his meal, he asked if he might speak with the Captain and the word was passed. Captain Bracegirdle arrived a short time later, and appeared gratified at Archie’s improvement. He spoke with Wainwright for a few minutes, no doubt conferring with him on Archie’s current condition before dismissing the Doctor. At last they were alone.
“Well Mr. Marshall,” Bracegirdle began loudly, just in case the Doctor was still in earshot, “it seems you are beating the odds.” He smiled, before lowering his voice to add, “I would say you were born to hang, if that didn’t seem in bad taste, considering recent events.”
Archie began to chuckle, then winced, wishing he hadn’t attempted to employ those particular muscles. When the pain subsided, he gave a puckish grin and replied,
“Not at all, Captain. I’ve always been partial to a little gallows humour.”
Bracegirdle laughed heartily at this and patted Kennedy fondly on the shoulder.
Archie’s face grew serious. There was a question that had been plaguing him for some time but was unsure how to ask it. He decided simply to be candid – it was his way, after all.
“Captain, why are you protecting me, a convicted mutineer?”
Bracegirdle’s demeanor sobered in concert.
“The Commodore was of the opinion that your confession was false. As someone that has served with you, I happen to share his belief. I know you, sir and you are no cold-blooded mutineer. What you are is a very loyal friend.”
Archie exhaled as fully as he dared without causing himself further discomfort.
“Thank you. Thank you Captain. You should know that Horatio is no more guilty than I, but I feared he was preparing to do something heroic… or heroically stupid at any rate. I had to intervene. I do not regret my actions.”
“I do not doubt it. Nor do I doubt that Mr. Hornblower acted honorably in all ways. I am well aware the full facts of what transpired on Renown have not been made public.”
“Indeed they have not. Which is why I could not allow Horatio to be their scapegoat. Might I be permitted to enquire as to Mr. Hornblower’s whereabouts? I am eager to learn what has transpired while I have been – indisposed. Does he know I am here?”
Bracegirdle pulled up a chair and sat beside Archie, sighing as he did so.
“I regret that there was no safe way to get word to Horatio of your situation before we had to set sail. He believes you to have, to be - ” he hesitated, groping for the right way to phrase it.
Archie had no such difficulty.
“Dead. Horatio thinks I am dead.” He said flatly.
Bracegirdle shook his head with regret. “I wish it were not so, I truly do. I am certain he feels your loss most deeply. Perhaps when we reach England a way can be found to locate him, if he has made port by then.”
“Then he is aboard a ship also?” Archie questioned.
“He is,” Bracegirdle confirmed. “You recall the Spanish prize ship Gaditana?”
“I do.”
“It has been refitted and renamed Retribution, and she has a new Commander,” he added with a telling smile.
Archie’s heart fluttered wildly in his chest. “He has been promoted? This is joyous news, indeed, and not before time.” He sighed happily as the huge grin that spanned his face stubbornly refused to fade.
“I thought you’d like that. Most of his old division are with him, Matthews, Styles and the like. He has yet to appoint a first Lieutenant, but I rather suspect the honour may fall to that fellow Bush who served with you both on Renown.”
Archie’s smile shrank as a pang of jealousy unbidden, struck at his heart. He fought against it. He and Horatio had often spoken of the future. He recalled one such conversation with great clarity. Archie had been assuring him that he would make Captain before he knew it. Horatio was customarily modest but could not hide his excitement at the prospect of his own ship and had immediately asked,
“You will serve as my first Lieutenant, won’t you Archie? I could not imagine being without your company or your counsel.”
Archie had readily agreed, dismissing Horatio’s hurried qualification “Just until they offer you your own command, of course” with a snort.
“That’s as likely to happen as Boney declaring he has had his fill of war and wishes to retire to the country and raise sheep. Besides H’ratio, you know my desire for advancement is not as strong as yours. I should be perfectly content with you as my Captain.”
“You are too kind, Archie,” he had replied, lightly touching Archie’s arm.
Archie recalled feeling warm all over. He fancied he could feel the heat from Horatio’s hand, even through the layers of linen and wool that separated his skin from Horatio’s.
Now thinking of Mr. Bush at Horatio’s side, where he should have been, turned Archie’s stomach. He knew his feelings were uncharitable. He had come to like and greatly respect William Bush. He had proved a valuable ally on Renown and Archie had had the chance to get to know him a little better when they had been in the prison infirmary together. Archie knew him to be a fine officer who would be loyal to Horatio. Still he could not shake the melancholy that the mental image of the two of them side-by-side on the quarterdeck had created.
Bracegirdle had noted the alteration in Archie’s mood.
“Are you well, Mr. Kennedy?”
Archie started, having almost forgotten Bracegirdle’s presence, so lost in his thoughts had he been.
“My apologies, Captain. I believe I am somewhat fatigued. All this news, however pleasant, is quite overwhelming.” He hoped his dissemblance was convincing.
“Understandable and wholly forgivable, Mr. Kennedy. I shall return later, when you have had the opportunity to rest a little more.”
With that, Bracegirdle rose and quit the cabin, leaving Archie with his thoughts once more.
Perhaps it was for the best. Whatever grief Horatio had felt for his passing, he was an officer in His Majesty’s Navy and he would move on. It was war - men died all the time. Even though they had been close, Horatio would not mourn him for long. He would do his duty. Archie had grown accustomed to life in Horatio’s shadow. He did not resent him for it; it was simply the way of things, the natural order. True in the last couple of years, he had found a renewed confidence and felt himself to have become a capable Lieutenant, but Horatio was destined for greatness. Even if Archie had been able to earn his own command, they would have inevitably been parted. It was a sobering thought that to succeed in his career would have cost him the truest friend he had ever known.
Eventually Archie fell into a troubled sleep.
* * * * *
Bracegirdle returned to his cabin. He pondered over his conversation with Archie. The mention of Bush and his possible promotion had upset him more than was reasonable. Naturally, he would expect him to be disappointed not to be able to return to service, but he had taken the matter of Bush serving with Horatio very personally. Bracegirdle was well aware that Horatio and Archie had served together for close to ten years now and had himself borne witness to their ability to carry on an entire conversation using only their eyes.
He had never allowed himself to fully formulate the idea that perhaps their relationship went deeper than brotherhood or friendship but now that possibility seemed more and more likely. His first inkling had been Kennedy’s volunteering to return to El Ferrol. He had been quick to speak up in support of Horatio. After the cruelties he had undoubtedly suffered while held captive there, his willingness to become a prisoner again spoke volumes about his loyalty to his friend. If his feelings did run deeper, it would certainly explain both his actions then and the sacrifice of his good name, even his life for Hornblower in Kingston. It would also explain why he would be so crushed at the prospect of another man stepping into his shoes, so-to-speak.
Thomas was not a naïve man. He knew relations went on between men and he knew the Navy forbade such liaisons. There were good reasons for it. But if they had harboured feelings for each other, he had never seen evidence that they had allowed them to interfere with their duty. They probably worked all the better together for them. If they were discreet, what should it matter to anyone what took place between them when they were not on duty? Of course, he could never openly voice this opinion to any of his fellow Captains or peers. Such a view would doubtless be considered most dangerous indeed.
* * * * *
He was standing on the dock, staring at the ship sailing out of the bay. He could plainly see the ship’s Captain stood on the quarterdeck, hands clasped behind his back, shoulders squared, and feet apart. The commanding stance he’d observed and copied from Pellew. Archie cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted. His words died on the air, never reaching the ears of their intended recipient. No matter how many times he called out to him, or how loudly he shouted, he could not make himself heard. Archie began to panic. If only he would turn around, he would see me. But he did not turn around. He sailed on without a backward glance.
Horatio, don’t leave me!
Archie jumped awake, his pulse racing, sweat beading on his forehead. For a moment he was disoriented, sweeping the darkened room with frightened eyes. As reality took hold he saw the familiar faces of Captain Bracegirdle and Dr. Wainwright watching him.
After checking him over thoroughly and satisfying himself that Archie’s fever had not returned, the doctor left muttering something about the ill effects of laudanum. Archie sighed heavily.
“I do apologise, Captain if I disturbed anyone. Just a bad dream.”
“You were dreaming of Horatio?” The sentence was formed as a question but it was clear from Bracegirdle’s tone that it was purely rhetorical.
Archie’s eyes widened, horrified at the thought that he must have cried out his fears in his sleep.
“I – I - ” he stammered for a way to explain his outburst in a less damning way but could find none.
“It’s alright, Mr. Kennedy.” Bracegirdle’s voice was soothing as he patted the young man on the arm. “I have come to realise what Mr. Hornblower means to you, what you mean to each other, and you have nothing to fear from me.”
Archie was stunned. He had thought he had hidden the depth of his affections for Horatio well.
Seeing that Archie was still unable to trust himself to speak, Bracegirdle continued, “I suppose it would be more accurate to say that I have long suspected some deeper attachment, but your actions in Kingston and our earlier discussion confirmed my suspicions.”
All at once Archie found his tongue and he began to speak in earnest:
“Horatio is blameless. I have never expressed my feelings to him; he has no idea and does not share them. He cannot be held accountable for my unnatural desires.”
“Calm yourself, please, Mr. Kennedy. When I said you had nothing to fear from me, I was speaking the truth. The same is true of Horatio.”
Archie forced himself to relax a fraction before speaking again.
“Forgive my astonishment but why have you not called for the marines? Why are you not clapping me in irons. It is no more than I deserve.”
“And condemn a man to death for a thought? A feeling? Where would be the sense in that? You have harmed no one. Besides, you forget that you are no longer Archie Kennedy, you are Charles Marshall, civilian. You are not bound by the Articles any longer and I doubt Sir Edward would thank me for imprisoning his relative. Horatio would never forgive me either, once he learns you are alive.”
Archie could hardly believe his ears. As he saw the veracity of Bracegirdle’s beliefs manifest in his face, he felt consumed with gratitude for the man. Knowing now that he could trust him with his thoughts, he spoke quietly.
“There is nothing I would not do for Horatio. He has saved my life time and again, even when I fought salvation. But it is better that he think me dead. It will be a clean break for him. He is better off without me, holding him back. We were friends yes, the very best of friends, but he never needed me then and he certainly doesn’t need me now.”
Again the unwanted image of Bush at Horatio’s side made his stomach lurch.
Bracegirdle frowned, “You did not observe his manner when we all thought you lost after the cutting out of the Pappilon. It affected him profoundly. He was distracted, unable to concentrate. He doubted himself constantly. The man failed his Lieutenant’s exam - that alone should tell you something. I did my best to be a friend to him then but he would open up to no one. Many times I would find him looking out on the ocean with a woeful expression. When I would ask him what ailed him, he would offer no explanation beyond being tired. As time passed, he accepted his melancholy and was able to function again, but a light was absent from his eyes. A light I did not see again until he returned with you from El Ferrol. I would not presume to tell you that he will return your feelings, but I do know that he cares for you immeasurably and I believe you have been as much an anchor for him as he has been for you.”
Archie slowly digested Bracegirdle’s words. Horatio had never spoken of the time they had been apart. Almost two years. He had told Archie that he still bore guilt for what he saw as his part in his friend’s capture and for Archie’s sake, did not wish to discuss what must have been a terribly harrowing time for him. It was true, Archie had not wanted to reveal all the ills and mistreatments he had endured as a prisoner of war, but he had always wondered about Horatio’s life during those years. Whenever Archie had tried to engage him, all he had been able to pry from him were the most basic of facts. Now perhaps he was starting to see why.
“What do you suggest?”
“When we return to England, you should seek him out. Get word to him that you are alive. I assure you he will be beyond delighted at the news.”
“I will consider it. Thank you for your insights… and your discretion.” He felt his cheeks colour to allude to his romantical attachment to Horatio.
“You are quite welcome, sir. It is my fervent hope that the two of you will be reunited before long.”
They sat in companionable silence for a while, until Archie drifted off, this time into a far more peaceable slumber.
* * * * *
The days lapsed into weeks and Archie worked harder than ever at his rehabilitation. He was determined to be fit enough to fend for himself by the time they reached England. His conversations with Bracegirdle had left him feeling more optimistic than he had thought possible, given his situation. Not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, he accepted his sanguinity and put it to good use. At the end of his fourth week aboard the Grasshopper he was able to leave the cockpit and take a regular berth. He still required much rest but the freedom to walk up on deck was a further boost to his morale.
Of course, with increased freedom came other perils. The crew was understandably curious about the strange passenger they had taken aboard. Rumours had been circulating and they were keen to learn if it were true that this man was a relative of the revered Commodore Pellew. Archie quickly concluded that if he were to maintain his alias, he would have to generate a convincing character and history for this Charles Marshall.
He should be Pellew’s nephew by marriage he decided, a match not entirely approved of by the family due to Mr. Marshall’s “highly spirited nature.” Since he had supposedly managed to get himself shot in some kind of disagreement at a Jamaican inn, this seemed to be plausible. No doubt Charles was often getting himself into scrapes, relying on his wealth and familial connections to rescue him and all the while not caring a jot for the vexation his antics caused his family.
He would be a likeable fellow though; gregarious and engaging since he could rely on his own enthusiastic nature to achieve that impression effectively. He was going to have some fun with this! He was thankful for his acting abilities and love of the theatre since both would likely prove highly useful in this venture.
He was asked to dine with the Captain and his senior officers and took further delight in honing the role he had been given to play. Though Archie himself was the son of a Lord, he had never behaved as an aristocrat and never felt like one. Given the picture he had painted to himself of Charles Marshall, he was convinced that Charles felt the same way.
To begin with, he found himself drawing on patterns of speech used by his older brother Percival and even Major Edrington at times, but he quickly relaxed into his alter ego sufficiently to converse without seeming to be too stilted. He regaled them with tales of his exploits all over Europe, keeping the table immensely entertained. Every so often he would glance over at Captain Bracegirdle. Bracegirdle would nod approvingly and try to stifle laughter at just how thoroughly Mr. Kennedy was burying himself in the part.
At the appropriate time, the Captain stood to make the toast. As was customary, they toasted the King and then Bracegirdle offered a further toast to Commodore Pellew for having provided them with such a fascinating travelling companion as Mr. Marshall.
Archie could not contain the mischief that bubbled up inside him and as the rest of the table was toasting “Commodore Pellew” he joined in with a louder than was necessary addition of “to Uncle Eddie.”
Archie saw at least one Lieutenant and Bracegirdle almost choke on their wine to hear Commodore Sir Edward Pellew referred to in such a familiar way. Archie inwardly basked with pleasure at his own cleverness and decided to capitalise on his joke.
“Did you fine gentlemen ever hear the story of… well, perhaps I ought not, Uncle Eddie would no doubt not be pleased if I were to mention that particular occasion.”
He paused. He did not have to wait long before Lieutenant Lockley, probably due to having consumed more than his usual spirit ration, urged him on.
“Oh do tell, Mr. Marshall. Whatever it is, it sounds most intriguing. You can count on our confidentiality.”
“I will share on one condition,” Archie leaned in, surveying the table, and catching most everyone’s eye. “I shall tell if you all promise to call me by my given name. Charles if you must, but my friends, and since you are my rescuers I count you all in that number, call me Charlie.”
It was close enough to his real name to be a comfort and just risky enough to appeal to his constant desire to test boundaries. He shot Bracegirdle a look and saw amusement reflected back in his eyes. As the table’s occupants began nodding and speaking their agreement, he sat back in his chair and cleared his throat. The table fell suddenly silent, not a one of them wanted to miss a detail of whatever was about to be imparted regarding the irreproachable Pellew.
Archie began to weave a tale of a foxhunt that had taken place at his father’s estate. Pellew, was in attendance along with himself, his father and an assortment of other society from the area. His depiction of Sir Edward in his finest hunt apparel, astride Prometheus, his noble steed and looking the epitome of confidence and ability held everyone spellbound. He proceeded to describe the progression of the hunt, the baying of the hounds as they caught the fox’s scent on the wind. The gallop of hooves, the quiet excitement of the group as they chased their quarry, he made the whole endeavour seem most romantic.
“Well Uncle Eddie thought he knew better than the rest, perhaps he believed his nose more reliable than our hounds, but he broke away from the group to follow his own path. Naturally I was curious, so I surveilled him from a discreet distance. Sure enough, he had been correct as the fox darted out of the thicket and through a sturdy privet hedge. Uncle Eddie spurred into action at the sight, aimed himself at the hedge and drove forwards. Upon reaching the intended target, poor Prometheus baulked having had, what one can only suppose was a sudden crisis of confidence on his ability to jump the obstacle. As he abruptly halted, Uncle Eddie was thrown clean over the hedge and all I heard was a resounding splash.”
There was a collective gasp as they waited for “Charlie” to continue.
“I immediately rode to a break in the shrubbery, dismounted and rushed to his aid. When on the other side, what do you think I saw? Poor Uncle Eddie had landed in the lake and was now covered head to toe in mud and water. The only thing wounded was his pride as he scrambled to his feet yelling “Damnation” and other suitably worthy epithets.”
The table erupted in laughter and Lieutenant Lockley slapped “Charlie” on the back in camaraderie for a great tale, well told.
Archie laughed along with them, concluding the story with descriptions of Pellew’s everlasting embarrassment at having to ride back to the manor house in that condition and to be viewed in such disarray by all and sundry. As he continued to laugh, he felt his wound begin to ache. Knowing he had reached the limits of his endurance for the night, he addressed Captain Bracegidle and his newfound friends.
“Alas, it appears my injury wishes me to take my leave of you all. With your permission, Captain I shall retire for the evening.”
“Of course,” Bracegirdle replied, “do you require Dr. Wainwright’s assistance?”
“No, thank you Captain. Just rest. I thank you all,” he gestured around the table, “for your delightful company.”
As they all wished him well, he left the wardroom and began the walk back to his berth. He sighed, happy that the evening had been such a success. How he wished Horatio had been there to witness his performance. Archie would have revelled in the look of abject horror he knew Horatio would have worn as Archie wantonly besmirched Pellew’s infallibility. He would have chastised him for it but eventually Archie would have coaxed him to see the humour in his actions.
It was in that moment that Archie reached his decision. He would attempt to find Horatio as soon as was practicable once he reached England. He could no longer deny himself the chance to once again be in his company, to look upon his face, to hear his rich voice. He missed him so terribly and whatever Horatio’s reaction would be, whatever his new situation, he had to see him.
* * * * *
The closer they drew to England, the more agitated and frustrated Archie became that they were not there yet. Now galvanised into action but lacking the ability to follow through - it was most distressing. It led him to toss the matter over and over in his head.
How he would find Horatio, what he would say when he did? He knew such thoughts were counterproductive since the best-laid theoretical plans might require drastic alteration when applied in reality. He attempted to focus his mind on more practical matters. He resolved to grow facial hair since he feared being recognised when they reached Portsmouth. He had arranged with Bracegirdle that he would remain aboard the Grasshopper until the Captain could ascertain if the Retribution had made port.
“Have you given any thought to contacting your family?” Bracegirdle enquired.
Archie looked up at him from across the wardroom table, his brow knotted.
“I have, sir. But only in as much as I have absolutely no idea what to do for the best.” He swirled the wine in his glass and inhaled thoughtfully as if the answers were to be found in its fruity bouquet.
“I am loathe to make them a party to my unlawful survival and though I am sure my father and brothers did not long mourn my loss, my mama, my sisters… I should very much like to see them again and to ensure they are not troubled by thoughts of my untimely demise.”
He replaced his glass on the table without taking a sip and sighed.
“I don’t think I shall be able to decide anything more until I have found Mr. Hornblower. My mind is consumed with that endeavour and does not have space for other considerations at present.”
“There is time, Mr. Kennedy. Nothing has to be decided so quickly. I am sure your father and brothers too would be happy to know you are alive and well.”
Archie made a scoffing sound before answering, “You’ve clearly never met Lord Kennedy. If you had, I’m sure you would have already been treated to his thoughts on third sons and their uselessness to the world. An opinion he made certain to drum into Percival and Montgomery from a young age. It was made abundantly clear to me as a child that I was surplus to requirements. Luckily my sisters and I got along famously and made our own entertainment away from the serious men’s-business that father was constantly engaging Percy and Monty in. I developed a love of the theatre as I got a little older and at every opportunity, took myself off to Drury Lane to watch the players. I was even given the occasional chance to join in their performances. Of course, when father discovered what he considered to be my “most unhealthy interest” my fate was sealed and he made arrangements for me to be accepted into His Majesty’s service.”
Bracegirdle frowned a little.
“Please do not misunderstand me. Though I never chose to serve in the Navy, and despite all the slings and arrows I have endured, I do not now regret it. I feel proud to have served with men such as you Captain, the Commodore,” his voice softened almost to a whisper, “and H’ratio.”
“I am gratified to hear that,” Bracegirdle replied. “The Navy is a life of sacrifice and of duty and is not for the fainthearted.”
Archie thought back on all the times Horatio had helped him to tackle those very concepts he had struggled with. Horatio saw things in a very black-and-white way, whereas Archie could always see the shades of grey to complicate the issue, at least in his own mind. How perfectly they had complimented each other. Horatio would keep him on course when he felt himself drifting and in return, Archie would show him that there were other tacks to consider, that sometimes the most direct route was not the most prudent to take.
* * * * *
At last, he sighted the English coastline. He passed the glass back to Lieutenant Lockley and fought an almost irrepressible urge to hurl himself over the side and swim all the remaining distance to Portsmouth. Ridiculous as this was, given his still weakened state and for a myriad of other reasons, he could not help but be overcome with joy to see his home again. There had been many times when he feared he would never set foot on English soil again. Reason re-asserted itself and he took himself back below, where he would remain, out of sight until the Captain brought news of Horatio.
The hours dragged by as they weighed anchor and the Captain went ashore in the jollyboat.
Archie paced back and forth in the wardroom so furiously and for so long that he almost believed he could see his path worn into the wood at his feet. Activities that would usually allow him to pass the time, such as reading, were an impossibility for him at present.
His head was filled with Horatio. He could feel his heart hammering in his chest, his palms grew sweaty and his stomach turned over and over without end. For one dreadful moment he thought he might have a fit. He had thought himself free of them. Fear forced him to sit down and try to calm his breathing. He had been feeling like a trapped rat, skulking below deck. How much longer would this purgatory last?
Finally, after some thirty minutes or more had passed, he heard footsteps coming down the companionway and moments later Bracegirdle strode into the wardroom. “My cabin, Mr. Marshall, if you please.”
Archie rose and followed at his heels. As soon as the door was closed, Bracegirdle began:
“I’ll not keep you wondering Mr. Kennedy, Retribution has not yet returned from Kingston. It seems there were some delays before they set sail and subsequently the Admiralty decided to keep her at sea for a few more weeks to test her capabilities, or those of her new Captain,” he added with a smirk.
Archie’s heart sank. All his nervous energy dissipated in an instant and he slumped into a chair.
“Thank you, Captain for taking the trouble to enquire on my behalf,” he said quietly.
“I’m sorry, Archie.” Bracegirdle gripped him by the shoulder, “I know this was not the news you had hoped for. But all is not lost, merely delayed.”
Archie was comforted by Bracegirdle’s use of his given name – the first time he had ever done so.
“I know, sir, but as Horatio was quick to point out on more than one occasion, patience is not a virtue with which I was blessed.”
“What will you do now?”
Archie paused, considering his options.
“I shall go to London, I expect. I cannot stay here, someone is sure to recognise me. London is an anonymous place, I can disappear quite easily there. I suppose I will need to seek employment of some kind, since the stipend my family had been sending will not continue for a dead man.”
Bracegirdle suddenly began rooting through a drawer in his desk. “Ah, here it is.” He produced a small purse and handed it to Archie. “The Commodore thought that should you survive your injury, this might be useful to begin your new life. It is not a fortune but it should assist you with your immediate needs.”
Archie was far too much of a gentleman to look inside but he estimated from its weight in his hand, that the Commodore had been generous indeed.
“I do not know what to say. I wish I were able to thank the Commodore myself for his bounty in this” – he gestured to the purse – “and in saving my life. You both risked much and it is a debt I do not know how I shall ever repay.”
“Live, Archie. That’s the only recompense I require. I’m sure that the Commodore would concur.”
Archie could feel tears pricking at the back of his eyes but he would not break down. He swallowed hard, “I shall, sir.”
“And Horatio?”
Archie exhaled, “I will find him. I must. I think I always knew I’d have to, deep down.”
“Good. You must get word to me of your address. If we are still in port when he arrives, I will contact you, or I should say, I will contact Mr. Marshall.”
“I would be most grateful, Captain.” Archie got to his feet and held out his hand. Bracegirdle grasped it firmly in his own, fighting the urge to draw the younger man into a bear hug.
“I shall depart in the morning, before dawn,” Archie told him.
“Tell Mr. Lockley what time you wish to leave and I will see that he makes arrangements for a carriage to be waiting at dockside.”
“You are too kind, but really, you have done enough for me.”
Bracegirdle dismissed his thanks with a wave of his hand. “It’s no trouble. Just be careful.”
Archie gave a firm nod.
“Well, go and say your goodbyes Mr. Marshall. There’s many on this crew that will miss your presence aboard, not to mention your inventive stories at dinner.”
Archie chuckled despite his disappointment, wondering for a moment if the tale of Pellew and Prometheus would ever reach the Commodore’s ear.
* * * * *
It was late afternoon when the carriage came to a halt outside the Lamb and Flag inn. Archie disembarked, stretching his aching limbs and paid the driver. His small bag was deposited at his feet. As he stooped to retrieve it, he felt his wound protest at the movement and he steeled himself against the sharp stab of pain that followed.
He secured a room for himself for the night and retired there to rest. He hadn’t managed to get much sleep on the journey. It seemed no sooner had he dozed off than the carriage would run over a stone or bounce over a hole in the ground waking him with a jolt.
He awoke early with a ravenous appetite. After washing, he proceeded downstairs and ordered ham and eggs from a matronly looking serving woman. He ate quickly, but not at such a pace as to prevent him from savouring the flavours of the cuisine. After paying he decided to take a walk over to the theatre district. He had chosen this inn for its closeness to Drury Lane, hoping to rekindle some happy memories of his exploits at the Theatre Royal some 12 years ago.
As he turned onto the street he could not help but suck in his breath. The building he had known so well was gone. In its place a new theatre, much larger than the one he had made his second home, now stood. Oh it was masquerading under the same name, but it was not his Theatre Royal. Somehow he’d expected time to have stood still in his absence. He knew that this was not a rational hope but he had often imagined returning one day to the familiar stage, the thick red drapes, the highly patterned walls, and the ornate boxes. The building had had it’s own indescribable smell, more than just the greasepaint and sweat of the bodies that filled its innards. He had always been comforted by that smell. He had often talked of bringing Horatio here, to show him something of the life he had enjoyed before Justinian, before Simpson. His heart felt wrenched to know that that would never happen now - not the way it was supposed to, if at all. He mentally shook himself, realising he’d been rooted to the spot, mouth open in shock. Now he forced himself forward to find out what had happened.
He entered the building and asked the nearest employee if he could speak to someone in charge. A portly fellow with an impressive mustache greeted him a few moments later.
“I’m the caretaker here, can I help you, sir?”
Archie introduced himself as Mr. Marshall and explained that he had been a frequent patron of this establishment in his youth but that business had kept him away from London for many years. He enquired as to when the current theatre had been built.
“The old Royal was demolished… let me see, it would have been ‘91, sir,” the gentleman told him. “The old place was in desperate need of attention and Mr. Sheridan, saw no alternative save to knock it down and begin afresh. But this place has been open for eight years now. How long did you say you’ve been away?”
“I see.” Archie replied, purposely ignoring his query. The less personal information he provided, the better – even here in London. “Well, thank you for your time, Mr. - ”
“Cosgrove, sir.”
“Mr. Cosgrove. You have been most informative.” Archie shook his hand firmly.
With that, Archie turned on his heel and made to leave. He was almost out of the door when a poster advertising the theatre’s current play caught his eye. “Much Ado About Nothing… Presenting Katherine Cobham as Beatrice.”
In spite of his sour mood, he let out a small laugh followed by a “Well I never!” before continuing on out of the building.
As he walked back to his lodgings, he mused on the irony of the fact that his beautiful theatre was being pulled apart brick by brick at the very same time as his youthful innocence was being stripped away by Jack Simpson. Both had been reduced to rubble and yet just as the Royal had been rebuilt, so had Archie rebuilt himself, with the help of his beloved Horatio.
* * * * *
The coincidence of Kitty’s presence proved too enticing to ignore and by early evening, Archie was once again heading back to the theatre to watch her tread the boards. He had purchased new clothes that afternoon and was now looking every inch the gentleman in his evening attire. He had even shaved off the beard he’d been cultivating. It had now served its purpose in disguising him and he could no longer stand the itchy, uncomfortable thing.
He paid handsomely for a good seat, close to the stage and waited eagerly for the performance to begin. He had always enjoyed the bustle of patrons taking their seats, the hushed tones and excited whispering in anticipation of the opening Act. He observed the ladies in all their finery, parading like peacocks - all feathers and jewels and painted faces. He found himself flanked by two particularly lovely specimens and although could appreciate their beauty, he would have traded them in a heartbeat to have a slim, long-limbed gentleman with unruly locks and a generous nose seated beside him.
Kitty did not disappoint. Radiant as ever, she owned the stage as the sharp tongued Beatrice whose sarcasm belied the vulnerability of her heart. For the first time Archie saw something of himself in Beatrice and Benedick. How often had he used his smart mouth and clever banter to disguise his inner turmoil, his true feelings? He shoved the thought aside; that was the past – he was no longer so afraid, or so he told himself.
He looked back to Kitty. The years had continued to be kind to her. She was still a fine looking woman and had lost none of her charm. More than that, she was a link to Horatio and he knew he needed to speak with her at the conclusion of the play.
As the curtains came down for the last time and the applause became almost deafening, Archie stood, trying to preempt the crowds that would in moments be filling every inch of available space in the room. He edged out of the aisle and made for what he supposed was the door backstage. Pushing through it, he found he had surmised correctly as the corridor was full of the laughter and bustle of the players making their way back to their rooms to change.
Archie spotted Kitty and moved with haste toward her. He walked with such confidence that no one challenged his presence. Arriving at her back, he was unsure of how best to get her attention. He cleared his throat close to her ear, adding “Your Grace?” It had the desired effect as Kitty spun around at once and upon setting eyes on him, she smiled widely, exclaiming “Mr. Kennedy!”
Archie immediately looked around self-consciously. Satisfied that no one had paid any heed to her greeting, he allowed himself to smile in return.
“Miss Cobham, incomparable as ever. Your performance was a joy to behold.” He gallantly took and kissed her hand.
“Stuff and nonsense,” she replied as a blush crept into her cheeks. “You’re looking better than the last time I saw you. Whatever brings you here? I thought you and Mr. Haitch were off being heroes on the high seas?” Slipping from her natural accent back into the one she had assumed when masquerading as the Duchess of Wharfedale.
Archie’s face dropped and Kitty did not miss it. “Come with me. You look like a man with much on his mind.”
She took Archie’s arm and they walked back to her dressing room. Once inside she sat herself on the chaise and motioned for Archie to take the chair opposite her.
“Now what has got you looking so grim, Mr. Kennedy? Is it Horatio?”
Archie took a deep breath and began to explain all that had happened on Renown, the subsequent court martial, his injury and his rescue from the clutches of death and the noose by Pellew and Bracegirdle. Kitty never interrupted him once. Her expressions morphed from disbelief to anger to shock to relief and a dozen others in between, as she tried to comprehend what Archie was telling her. It was more fanciful than any play she had performed and yet from the earnest expression on Archie’s face as he imparted the information, it could not be anything other than the truth.
“… and so Horatio still thinks me dead when all the while Mr. Charles Marshall is swanning around London, taking in plays,” Archie finished with a sardonic flourish.
“Mr. Kennedy, I hardly know what to say. Of course I always suspected Sir Edward to be a dark horse, but poor Horatio, how he must be suffering.”
Archie regarded her with a quizzical expression. “Perhaps you misheard, it was I that was shot, I that have been branded a mutineer and I that am forced to assume a new identity and live a lie.”
“My apologies, Mr. Kennedy. You have indeed suffered greatly, but you are here and in full possession of the facts. Horatio is not. During his imprisonment at El Ferrol, he was so very concerned for you. On our walks, there were some days when I could barely get him to speak. When you almost died, he was racked with guilt that he had not paid closer attention to your needs and would not leave your side for the world. I am certain that if he thinks you are dead, he will again be carrying the blame like a millstone around his neck, especially since you confessed to save him. He must be told that you are alive.”
Archie sighed. “I have been trying to locate him but he is still at sea. It is not something I can do by letter – the risk is too great. I must see him in person when he reaches England but who in God’s name knows when that will be.”
“Leave it to me. As I once told Horatio, I have friends – in high places and low. I will get word to him as soon as I am able and ask him to visit me. When he does, I will bring him to you.”
Archie took Kitty’s hand, “Do you really think you can do that?” He asked, unable to hide the excitement that crept into his voice.
“I wouldn’t have offered if I were not confident in my abilities, sir,” she replied with a sly grin. “You have both kept my secret. Now I shall keep yours and ensure you are reunited.”
“Miss Cobham, if you can achieve this feat, I will be forever in your debt. I am lodging at the Lamb and Flag - you can contact me there.”
“Well that won’t do. You will need a little more privacy than that place will afford. There is a house, just across the street, standing empty. It’s not much to look at but it may suit your needs. Its previous tenant left in the middle of the night some weeks ago, no doubt unable to pay his rent. I know the owner and if you are interested I can introduce you. I am sure he would be more than happy to have it occupied by a more reliable gentleman.”
“I have money, at least enough for a while. Your assistance would be most welcome.”
“Well that’s settled then,” she said with a satisfied smile. “Now let’s get some dinner, I’m positively starving.”
* * * * *
Two days later Archie had taken up residence in his new accommodation. Thankfully it had come with a few sticks of furniture: a bed, a couple of tables and chairs and a rather comfy armchair in a burgundy fabric that made for a pleasant place to read. The news had been all over the city yesterday that peace had been declared and Archie was thrilled at the thought that Horatio had to be coming home soon.
He tried to clean and tidy as best he could, preparing for Horatio’s arrival as if it were imminent. He scrubbed and mopped, ignoring the tightening around his scar as he pushed himself to the limits of his endurance. It would all be worth it when Horatio came.
As the days dragged by, Archie’s spirits dropped. What if Horatio never received Kitty’s correspondence, or if he declined to visit? How could he have allowed himself to hope so fervently?
Archie berated himself for being such a fool. Kitty had been doing her best to take him out of himself. She had helped him find work at the theatre to fill his days but the nights were what Archie began to dread the most. Long, empty hours with only his thoughts for company. Sleep was all too often a fickle companion, some nights abandoning him completely, other nights embracing him with dreams of longed for bliss that evaporated the moment he woke, leaving him feeling more alone than before. Even the memories he had most treasured were becoming too painful to recall in his solitude. It was as if they mocked him, tormenting him for not appreciating all he had when it was his.
Like so many evenings of late, Archie found himself just sitting and gazing into the fire as the flames leapt and crackled in the hearth. It was entrancing, and even though his eyes began to water from the heat, he could not bring himself to lift his gaze. He had done the same in the infirmary at El Ferrol.
Too weak to do anything else, he had lain and stared for hours. But Horatio had been there then. Sometimes he would read to him, but the times Archie had enjoyed the most were the nights when Horatio would leave his chair and sit beside him on the bed. As Archie watched the fire, Horatio would stroke his hair or caress his arm. Somehow Archie knew that if he turned towards him or moved more than a little, it would break the spell and Horatio would retreat from him, and so he lay, motionless, but utterly content.
After a while, Archie reached for his glass of port on the table beside him, never taking his eyes of the fire, his fingers closed around the glass stem and he raised it to his lips. Taking a thoughtful sip, he held the liquid on his tongue for a few seconds before swallowing it down and relishing the slow burn that ran inexorably from his throat to the pit of his stomach.
In spite of himself, he smiled. He recalled the last time he and Horatio had been truly happy together. It was the day they had found out they were to be transferred to Renown. Captain Sawyer was an honest-to-goodness hero – one of Nelson’s own - and they were to serve under him! Archie had never seen Horatio so excited. He had grinned from ear to ear, like a child on Christmas morning and Archie was lost to his smile. They had been granted liberty for the weekend and were determined to celebrate their good fortune in a most memorable fashion. They took Portsmouth by storm, Archie having issued the challenge that they should drink in every inn within a square mile. Horatio in his current euphoric state could not resist the challenge, no matter how it might cost him in the morning.
“Lead on, Mr. Kennedy, and we shall see who has the stronger stomach.”
And so they had journeyed from tavern to inn, drinking and laughing and carousing into the night.
“At this rate, H’ratio, we’ll drink Portsmouth dry!” Archie had exclaimed.
Horatio had laughed and squeezed Archie’s shoulder fondly. Archie’s body had warmed to his touch and he threw his arm around Horatio’s shoulder in a reciprocal gesture as they had walked down the street to their final destination for the evening: The King’s Arms. They had arranged lodgings there earlier that day but decided to have a nightcap before they admitted defeat and headed to bed.
Archie felt positively giddy and even through his intoxicated haze, he could tell Horatio was more relaxed than Archie had ever known him to be. Both of them had been greatly concerned that the coming transfers would separate them. When they had finally received the news, the relief that flooded Archie’s body was like a tidal wave. Horatio had seemed equally joyous that they would remain together, shaking his hand so vigorously that Archie thought he might detach his arm from the socket. As they had sat together in companionable silence, Horatio had seemed almost boneless in his chair. Gone was the typical self-conscious, proper officer, in his place sat a recumbent; one might even say carefree man. Archie had struggled to hide the adoring gaze he kept leveling in Horatio’s direction. It wouldn’t do to spoil things now.
“Time to retire, I think ‘Ratio,” Archie slurred slightly, “Before you make that chair your bed.”
“Quite right, Archie.” Horatio had replied, as he tried his best to stand without holding onto the table.
“Come here, you great fool… you’re drunk.” Archie observed with a giggle. He rounded the table with only a fraction more grace than Horatio currently possessed while standing, and took most of Horatio’s weight as Horatio’s arm landed heavily around his neck. Gripping him around the waist, Archie had led them up the stairs and after some fumbling with the key, unlocked the door to their room. Horatio almost collapsed on the bed and seemed quite prepared to stay in exactly that position until morning.
“At least get into your nightshirt,” Archie chided.
“Hrmph.” Was all the response he had received. But Horatio looked up at him with a pitiable expression, silently asking for help he would never have dared voice need for.
Archie had undressed himself and then set to work on Horatio, who was barely conscious now. He watched Archie as if Archie were very far away, and smirked to himself as if he were going to make a joke, but couldn’t quite muster the necessary diction. Archie would have liked to have blamed his clumsiness and shaking fingers on the amount of alcohol he had consumed that evening but in truth, he had known it was all due to the fact that his hands were slowly disrobing Horatio Hornblower. How often had he thought of this? Of course, not exactly this, since in his fantasy, they were both entirely sober and Horatio had not been half-asleep! Archie would never have dreamed of taking advantage of his friend. The very thought went against every fibre of his being, but he could not help enjoying the view and stifling a gasp as his hand brushed against Horatio’s soft skin. Archie had finished the job in as short order as he was able and climbed into bed beside his friend.
“Goodnight, H’ratio,” he had said gently.
“’Night Archie.” Horatio managed before he was lost to Morpheus. Soon the only sound was his peaceful snore.
Exhausted as he had been bodily, Archie remained awake – all his senses all heightened by touching Horatio, even as innocently as he had. He turned to watch him sleep, daring to stroke an errant curl from his brow before finally turning over and trying to find the peace that Horatio’s face conveyed. After a few minutes Horatio had shifted position slightly so that he was curled against Archie’s back. A delicious shiver had raced through Archie’s body and just as he thought life couldn’t get any better than this, Horatio’s arm had slid around his chest. Archie hardly dared to breath. He had known Horatio could not be held responsible for what he did in his sleep and would doubtless have been mortified if he had awoken at that moment; still, Archie had treasured each and every passing second that Horatio held him. He had never before felt so loved, so alive and yet so very calm. All was right with his world and it hadn’t long before he too was sleeping soundly.
Archie did not know how long he had spent in silent recollection when the sound of voices, one a woman and one a man, intruded on his private reverie. At the sound of the man’s voice, his stomach pitched.
He would recognise that voice in a ship’s company of hundreds. Horatio! His heart in his throat, he fought the urge to rush to the door, fling it open… and doubtless give poor ‘Ratio a heart attack. Instead, he remained seated, though his body was shaking with anticipation. A few moments later came a sharp knock at the door. In the steadiest voice he could muster, Archie called out,
“Come.”