Buried Truth (Hornblower, PG)

[charleygirl]

Title: Buried Truth Part Five
Author: charleygirl
Rating: PG
Type: Gen
Characters Involved/Pairing: Various Hornblower characters/ Bush/Anna Maitland
Summary: In which Anna and Matthews consult Hornblower, and Kennedy and Bush finally leave France behind.
Disclaimer: I don't own any of these characters except Anna and her family - they belong to CSF/A&E. I just play with them from time to time.

Previous chapters: Part One  Part Two  Part Three  Part Four

BURIED TRUTH

 

PART FIVE

 

 

Anna looked at the paper again.

 

“’Retribution’,” she read. “What does it mean?”

 

Matthews glanced anxiously at the front door. “We ‘ave to leave, miss, won’t do to be found ‘ere by the Watch.”

 

“Retribution…Retribution…there must be some meaning to it!” Anna hardly heard him, trying to cudgel her brain into action. It seemed to have been numbed – Doctor Clive’s blood was still soaking into the papers that littered the table. The doctor had been Kennedy’s eyes and ears for some time…surely it was no great leap of the imagination to think that this death was linked back to Kennedy somehow? And through him perhaps to Hornblower…and Bush…

 

“We ‘ave to tell the cap’n, miss,” said Matthews at exactly the same moment as Anna mused, “We need to take this to Mr Hornblower.”

 

“’E’ll know what to do,” the bos’n told her firmly.

 

Anna, while not exactly desperate for another meeting with Horatio after their altercation earlier that day, knew that he was right. There was no one else they could involve. “Very well,” she said, and, glancing over her shoulder added, “Let’s be away, before we are taken for a murder we didn’t commit.”

 

 

***

 

 

In the alley beyond the lodging house, a dark shape watched the two figures emerge, carefully closing the door behind them, and hurry off towards the lights of the town.

 

Once it had given them enough time to make their way back to the main streets, the shape detached itself from the shadows of one of the buildings across from the late Doctor Clive’s accommodation, and followed.

 

 

***

 

 

The Amelié, to Bush’s relief, was a small but sturdy ship, with sleek lines and a capable French crew.

 

He had been a little apprehensive, concerned that he might be left with some of Cotard’s motley band of partisans for hands in place of experienced sailors, but the men appeared to know what they were doing even if they weren’t entirely happy to discover that their acting captain was an Englishman. They were truculent, their manner obvious even if their words were not understood – Bush was determined to show them that he was no useless lubber. Styles was enjoying his temporary promotion to bos’n, learning some approximation of French curses from Kennedy, who delighted in teaching him. Even Cotard, supercilious bastard that he was, seemed content to bow to Bush’s skill as a sailor - a victory of sorts for Bush, small though it was.

 

Their flight had been accomplished with as little fuss as possible, the ship moored in a deserted cove that seemed all but hidden from prying eyes. Bush had been unsettled by the ease of their escape, but Cotard laughed at his fears. “This ‘as been planned down to the last detail, Bush,” was his response, “Everything ‘as been taken care of.” Bush had retorted that the plans had been scuppered once already and limped off to check the rigging.

 

Finally at sea and leaving the French coast behind, he could relax a little. He stood on deck, savouring the breeze as it ruffled his hair, stinging his cheeks with spray. There was only one thing now that was causing him concern, and it would not leave his thoughts for long: their passenger, this lady of Cotard’s acquaintance. Bush could never feel happy with a woman on board – women did not belong in the naval world, at once a distraction and a disturbance. Anna, unconventional as she was, had scoffed at his views, but he believed himself to be right in them. War was dangerous, sailing was dangerous, and women should not be put unnecessarily in danger. They should be protected, and Lady Isobel Fanshawe appeared to be very much in need of protection.

 

An Englishwoman, she had apparently become separated from her diplomat husband on their journey home from Italy, where he had until recently been stationed. The French authorities had repeatedly denied her the necessary papers she needed to leave the country, and she had been forced to seek an alternative means of travel. Bush had not asked how such an obvious lady had come to be acquainted with Cotard – one glance at the flirtatious smile of the colonel and the manner in which he bent over her ladyship’s hand told him all he needed to know.

 

There was a footstep behind him, and he turned to see her ladyship at the head of the companionway, the breeze whipping her cloak around her shapely figure. In the encroaching daylight her red hair appeared gold, spilling from its pins to fall over her shoulder. She smiled at him, and in that moment even Bush could not deny that she was an extremely attractive woman. The reason for Cotard’s devotion became more understandable, even if he could not condone it.

 

“I could not sleep,” she said, joining Bush at the rail, and a delicate waft of perfume mingled with the scent of the spray. “I hope my presence will not inconvenience you, captain?”

 

Her arm brushed his. He cleared his throat, feeling suddenly uncomfortable. “My rank is lieutenant, ma’am – I am acting captain only.”

 

“Surely not.” She turned large green eyes on him, blinking. Her lashes were long and dark. “You do surprise me. I would certainly have taken you for a captain – you have the required air of authority about you. I am sure I can rely on you to get me home safely.”

 

“I will certainly do my best, ma’am,” Bush said dutifully.

 

She glanced out to sea, an odd little smile lifting her lips, and murmured, “I’m sure you will.”

 

Frowning, Bush had no time to reflect on what that smile might mean as before he could say any more, he was interrupted by Styles. The big man knuckled his forehead, looking apologetic. “Sorry, sir. A couple of the Frog ‘ands are bein’ difficult. Mr Devereaux asked me to come an’ find you.”

 

“All right, Styles, lead the way.” Bush doubted that anything he shouted at the hands would make the blindest bit of difference, but it was worth a try. He followed Styles to the waist, where an altercation in rapid French could now plainly be heard, and forgot Lady Isobel and her cat’s eyes as duty and discipline reasserted themselves in his priorities.

 

 

***

 

 

 

“It’s not good, sir.”

 

Hornblower looked again at the scrap of paper in his hand, feeling Anna’s eyes on him all the time. “No indeed, Matthews.”

 

He had been enduring a long evening at home; listening to the ticking of the clock and Maria’s endless tales of people he had not met and never wished to, when a violent hammering upon the front door had startled them all from their cosy domesticity. Hornblower had not been sorry for the distraction, but when Matthews and the disguised Anna had told him the deeply worrying facts of their experiences he could have wished for something a little more mundane. At first he had been quick to discover whether the death was indeed suspicious, knowing the doctor’s addiction to drink and belligerent manner when in his cups, but Matthews’s assertion that Clive had been stabbed in the chest ruled out any natural cause. And this note was even more disturbing… Retribution… Clive’s death in such a brutal manner could only have one explanation, and it involved them all. After so long, and despite all Pellew’s caution, Renown was being dragged into the open once more.

 

“What does it mean?” Anna asked, frowning. Hornblower had bristled when she had first entered the house, recalling their earlier quarrel and expecting another tirade, but she seemed to have forgotten the altercation for the moment, for which he was thankful. “Some kind of revenge? I assume that as they targeted Doctor Clive they must be trying to get to Kennedy, but…”

 

“I am sure that whoever is behind this note intends the word to have a double meaning - Retribution was the name given to the Gaditana, one of the Spanish ships captured by the Renown in the West Indies. If that is the case, then they mean to target us all in some way.”

 

“Then someone from those days killed the doctor, sir?” said Matthews. “Who is there left to bear a grudge?”

 

Hornblower looked up and met the bos’n’s eyes. “I can think of one person, Matthews.”

 

Anna watched, evidently puzzled, as the unspoken name passed between the two men. Matthews’s eyebrows lifted. “Oh, now, sir, I can’t believe ‘e’d stoop to murder!”

 

“Neither can I, Matthews, but who else is there?” Horatio clasped his hands behind his back and began to pace the hearth. He knew that he needed to contact Kennedy immediately, but the death of Clive had removed any possible channel of communication – with Bush still in France they were scattered, and when scattered they were vulnerable. “Such devotion can drive a man mad, we have seen as much before.”

 

“That’s true enough, sir, but I still don’t think that anyone would…I mean, after all this time, sir, with everyone knowing Mr Kennedy was dead - ”

 

“We all know that Kennedy is alive,” Anna put in bluntly. “What is to stop others discovering the secret?”

 

She was right, it could not be denied. It had been dangerous for Archie to return to England, and especially to Portsmouth, in the full gaze of the Admiralty. Hornblower could only hope that his friend was a safe distance away, beyond reach.

 

 

***

 

 

Kennedy was, in fact, standing on the deck of the Amelié, watching Bush harangue the French sailors. He couldn’t help grinning – Bush might not speak their language, but he was certainly making his feelings known in no uncertain terms. Given some of the choice words his friend was using, Kennedy wasn’t sure he wanted to translate, especially not given the presence of Lady Isobel on deck, though as Bush’s voice had a tendency to carry she had probably already heard.

 

“Everythin’ all right, sir?” Styles was at his shoulder.

 

Kennedy chuckled. “As well as can be expected, Styles.” He nodded towards Bush, having noticed how protective Styles had become of his lieutenant since that morning when the Renown was taken. “How’s our acting captain?”

 

“’E’s all right, sir – think ‘is leg’s painin’ ‘im. Ain’t normally that bad tempered.” There was a rueful smile on Styles’s battered face. “I should know – usually me that cops most o’ it.”

 

“And what about…” Kennedy glanced upwards, to where Lady Isobel was standing, leaning on the railing and smiling down at them. As she noticed him watching she lifted her head, tossing back her mane of red-gold hair, before turning her attention back to the scene below her. She was really watching Bush, he noticed, who was apparently completely unaware of the fact as he paced the deck in front of the surly crew. “What do you think of her ladyship?” Kennedy asked.

 

Styles gave the question a moment’s thought, then shrugged. “She’s a right lovely lady, sir, but beyond that…I don’t know. What’s she doin’ ‘ere, all on ‘er own? Where’s ‘is lordship?”

 

“That is a question I’ve been asking myself, Styles. Very careless of Sir Peregrine to lose his wife like that, don’t you think?”

 

“If I were lucky enough to ‘ave a wife like that I wouldn’t be so careless with ‘er, sir,” the big man said.

 

“Hmm,” Kennedy mused, frowning. “Styles?”

 

“Yes, sir?”

 

“Keep an eye on her ladyship for me, will you? I want to make sure she is treated exactly as she should be while on board.”

 

Styles looked puzzled, but he didn’t question the instruction. “Aye, aye, sir.”

 

“Oh, and one other thing – look after Mr Bush, but for God’s sake don’t let him know that you are.”

 

Now the big man grinned, and knuckled his forehead. “I’ve plenty of practise at that, sir.”

 

 

 

***

 

Bush stretched out on the cot, his ankle throbbing as though he has plunged it into a bucket of hot coals.

 

Gritting his teeth, he prepared himself for the acute agony of pulling off the boot he had somehow managed to draw over the bandages. He had come below deck, ostensibly to get some rest, but truthfully unable to endure the pain of standing any longer, leaving Kennedy in charge. Despite his modest protests otherwise, Bush knew that his friend had not forgotten any of his training, and was still a damned good sailor. And he could also command the crew in their own language, a definite advantage. Bush was finding it difficult to gain respect from men he was forced to address through a translator.

 

The boot removed, he threw off his jacket and loosened his neck cloth, suddenly sweating from the combined pain and effort. He lay there, looking up at the deck above him and trying to bring his breathing back under control. Christ, but that had hurt! It was some moments before he had gathered himself enough to sit up and start unwinding the bandages to see just what further damage had been done. He had barely begun to undo the dressing when there was a knock on the cabin door. Expecting it to be Kennedy, he did not even glance up. “Come!”

 

“Oh, I didn’t mean to disturb you,” said a low, musical and very female voice. Bush’s head flew up in surprise to see Lady Isobel standing in the doorway, a look of concern on her face. “Shall I go?” she asked, “If you were going to sleep - ”

 

“No, no, please, it’s nothing.” He found himself both dismayed and irrationally pleased to see her. “Can I be of assistance?”

 

“I merely came to wish you a good night, what little there is left of it. And also to thank you for your assistance in this venture – I have been trying to return to England for some time, but ill luck seems to dog my steps.” She came a little into the cabin, and her green eyes widened as she took in Bush’s bandaged foot. “Oh, but you are hurt! Is there anything I can do?”

 

Bush sat up straight, quickly. “Please, ma’am, don’t concern yourself. It’s just a sprained ankle, nothing to worry about.” He decided not to mention the fact that it hurt like the very devil – while Anna might dispense with social niceties, it was quite plain that Lady Isobel would not be of the same persuasion.

 

“I am sure that is not the case,” she said, coming closer. There was little room in the tiny cabin. Bush was suddenly acutely aware of his state of undress, and that it wouldn’t do for them to be caught together like this. He backed away, further down the cot, until he collided with the bulkhead. Isobel smiled. “Whatever is the matter, lieutenant? Are you afraid of me?”

 

Bush’s mouth was quite dry. “No, ma’am, I merely - ”

 

“Very chivalrous of you, I’m sure. But that foot does look extremely painful. I wonder that you can walk on it.” She crouched, bending over his leg, and Bush was treated to a fine view of her white bosom, exposed by the low neckline of her gown. There was a single beauty spot on her collarbone. Bush was aware that he felt rather warm.

 

Her nimble fingers were unwrapping the bandages. “These should be soaked in cold water,” she said, glancing up at him with another of those beguiling smiles. “That should help with the swelling.”

 

He swallowed. From the look in her eyes he realised that she wasn’t just referring to his ankle. “Thank you, ma’am.”

 

Standing, she took the bandages over to the tin basin of cold water which served as a wash stand. As se soaked them she said idly, “Tell me, are you the same William Bush who was caught up in that dreadful business on HMS Renown a few years ago?”

 

The question caught Bush briefly off-guard. Renown was rarely, if ever, mentioned now. The Admiralty, as always with anything distasteful to them, had drawn a discreet veil over the affair, which was one of the many reasons why Kennedy’s survival had to remain a closely-guarded secret. Other men would have denied their involvement, concocted a story. Lying, however, was not in Bush’s nature. “I am,” he said reluctantly.

 

“I thought so.” Isobel glanced over her shoulder, and there was definite appreciation in her eyes as they ran over him. “Forgive me – my father is a naval man. I saw the Renown return to Plymouth, and I thought I had not mistaken your face. You are very striking, you know.”

 

As always, Bush found himself blushing at the compliment. He mumbled his thanks as she brought the bandages back to the cot.

 

She laughed. “You should not be so reticent, Mr Bush. A handsome man like you should not be so unsure of himself, particularly with women.” Bending down again, she busied herself with the deft wrapping of his ankle. He tried desperately not to think about the light touch of her fingers on his skin. After several moments, she looked up. “Tell me, do you find me attractive?”

 

The directness of the question stymied him. Eventually he found his voice and said, somewhat hoarsely, “You are a very beautiful woman, ma’am, but I regret that I am engaged to be married.”

 

She arched a delicate eyebrow. “You regret the fact? Does the lady in question not please you, then?”

 

He shook his head. “That’s not what I meant,” he told her, managing to be firm as at last Anna’s face appeared in his mind’s eye. She looked reproachful. What the hell was wrong with him? “I - ”

 

There was thankfully another knock on the door, preventing the conversation from going any further down that uncomfortable road. Relieved, Bush called out, “Come in!”

 

Kennedy was on the threshold, and ran an interested eye over the little tableau in the cabin. “Sorry to interrupt, Mr Bush, but we have need of you on deck,” he said, mouth twitching in evident amusement.

 

“Thank you, Mr K – Mr Devereaux,” Bush replied, inwardly cursing himself for the slip. “I will be there directly.”

 

Lady Isobel tied off the bandage and slid gracefully to her feet. “I will leave you to your business, gentlemen.” In the doorway she turned, and smiled at Bush. There was something rather hungry in that smile, he decided. “I shall look forward to continuing our conversation, lieutenant.”

 

When she had gone, Kennedy looked at Bush. There was mischief dancing in those blue eyes. “Maybe I should have come back later,” he said, grinning.

 

“It was nothing,” Bush snapped, annoyed now to have been discovered in such a compromising position.

 

“Oh, of course, that was plain for all to see. I suppose she just happened to come by your cabin…?”

 

“I did certainly not invite her here. She came of her own accord.” Bush reached for his jacket and pulled it on, wishing that he still had his uniform, something that would help to pull rank with the rabble of a crew.

 

“Well, she has obviously taken a liking to you, William. You should be flattered: a beautiful woman like that - ”

 

“In case you have forgotten, Archie, I am to be married,” growled Bush as he got painfully to his feet. He told himself that it was the discomfort in his ankle that was making him irritable, not the shame of realising that he had come very close to betraying Anna with another woman. He was an honest man, however, and he could not believe his own deception. “I’ve no interest in other women, no matter how beautiful they are.”

 

It was plain from his expression that Kennedy believed the fiction no more than Bush. “Of course, of course,” he said. “How’s the leg?”

 

“Fine.” It did actually feel a little better thanks to Lady Isobel’s ministrations, but Bush wasn’t about to admit that.

 

“I wish she’d taken a liking to me,” Kennedy said wistfully as he followed Bush out of the cabin. Bush, trying desperately to forget how her ladyship’s proximity had affected him, wholeheartedly agreed.

 

 

***

 

 

“Sir, you can’t really think that Mr ‘Obbs might ‘ave killed Doctor Clive!” Matthews exclaimed, watching Hornblower pace the kitchen. “Mr ‘Obbs were on our side, at the trial - ”

 

“I know, Matthews,” Hornblower said, acutely aware that Anna was listening to every word. The Renown had not been spoken of in a long time, and he had been happy to keep things that way. Even though Kennedy had ultimately survived, none of them had escaped from the incident unscathed. With Wellard, Clive and Sawyer all dead, besides themselves that only left Hobbs. “Who else do you suggest that we suspect? He was always Sawyer’s man, and if this note means just what it suggests…”

 

“You believe that someone intends to avenge Captain Sawyer?” asked Anna sharply.

 

Hornblower nodded. “I fear so.”

 

There was a sudden knock at the front door which made them all jump. They looked at each other. Matthews opened his mouth: “Sir…?”

 

Hornblower waved a hand for silence, and crept towards the door. A moment later the handle turned and the door opened slowly, revealing Maria silhouetted against the lamplight in the hall. Horatio breathed an inward sigh of relief. “What is it, Maria?”

 

“I’m sorry to interrupt you, Horry.” Maria’s eyes widened slightly to see Anna sitting at the table in a man’s coat, but she said nothing, turning instead back to her husband. “There’s another visitor for you – he says it’s most urgent.”

 

“Very well, Maria, I will see him directly. Please show him through to the parlour.”

 

“I was going to, but he insisted - ”

 

“I would rather speak to you now, if I may, sir,” said a voice Hornblower hadn’t heard for some time. There was a man standing behind Maria, a tall, broad-shouldered man wearing a low-crowned round hat. Maria stepped aside to allow him to enter the room – as he moved, the light revealed the pitted, bullish features of Gunner Hobbs.

 

 

TBC