Fic - Hornblower: Buried Truth Part Eight

[charleygirl]

Title: Buried Truth Part Eight
Author: charleygirl
Rating: PG
Type: Gen, action/adventure, romance, AU
Characters Involved/Pairing: Hornblower, Bush, Kennedy, Styles, Hobbs, Cotard, Pellew
Summary: Hornblower tells Pellew of the plot, and Bush and Kennedy return to England...
Disclaimer: I don't own any of these characters except Anna and her family and Isobel and co - 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  Part Five  Part Six  Part Seven

BURIED TRUTH

 

PART EIGHT

 

“Poppycock!”

 

Hornblower deliberately made no reaction to the admiral’s outburst, instead focussing on a point above Pellew’s head and saying, “Indeed, sir.”

 

“I would have thought better of you, Hornblower. Believing the story of a man well-known to harbour a grudge, who would have testified against you in Kingston - ”

 

“Might have done, but did not, for which I am grateful, sir.”

 

Pellew looked askance at him and harrumphed. “Maybe so. But to immediately accept the word of such a man…a rash decision, sir.”

 

“So it may prove to be, sir, but the evidence was too great to dismiss the claims out of hand,” Hornblower pointed out. “Two men, two old Renowns, are dead.”

 

“Yes. Well…” Pellew got to his feet and began to pace the cabin, hands clasped behind his back. The sunlight dappled the deck as it fell through the Tonnant’s great stern windows. “Buckland’s death was an accident. A careless one, but still and accident. There is nothing to suggest otherwise.”

 

Hornblower did not believe that. Buckland had been indecisive, weak, vindictive, but he had never been careless with firearms to Hornblower’s knowledge. He decided not to mention his view, however. “And Doctor Clive, sir?”

 

“Clive was a known drunkard. It would not surprise me to learn that he had been killed in a brawl in one of the less-reputable taverns.”

 

“If he was, then he must have somehow staggered home with a knife in his guts, sir.”

 

Pellew stopped pacing and eyed him darkly. “And just how do you come to have so much detail in your possession, Mr Hornblower?”

 

Horatio opened his mouth, and then closed it again. It would not do to reveal that Anna and Matthews had seen Clive’s body, and probably not long after the killer struck. “One hears things, sir.”

 

The admiral snorted. “Indeed.”

“I had hoped that you might be able to get a warning through to Mr Devereaux, sir. Even if this turns out to be a hoax, he should be made aware of it, for his own safety if nothing else.”

 

“Yes.” Pellew made another circuit of the cabin, and took a seat once more behind his desk. “Unfortunately, Mr Hornblower, with Clive dead I have lost my only means of communication with Mr Devereaux. There will be no contact until he decides to show himself once more in England.”

 

Hornblower raised his eyebrows, surprised that Pellew should trust such delicate and confidential communications to Clive. The man had hardly been the most discreet person in the world. “And Mademoiselle Saint Clair?”

 

“It has been decided that we should temporarily dispense with Mademoiselle Saint Clair’s services. Until the source of this information leak is discovered,” Pellew explained uncomfortably. “There is no reason to take unnecessary risks.”

 

“Then surely, sir, if you hold Mademoiselle Saint Clair under suspicion you must also hold - ”

 

“Yes, Miss Maitland. And through his connection to her, Mr Bush as well. I’m sorry, Hornblower, but I have my orders. The Admiralty commands it.” Pellew looked grave. “If Mr Bush should set foot once more on English soil, he is to be arrested.”

 

 

***

 

 

“Come on, William, wake up! You’ll sleep your life away at this rate.”

 

Blearily, Bush opened his eyes. He had been trying to ignore the insistent voice, shaking off the hand that touched him on the shoulder, quite content to remain in the peaceful oblivion that had claimed him since the ship had sunk. The battle at the farmhouse, and then his captivity and the journey to the Amelié, had exhausted him enough without the added exertion of trying to stop himself from drowning. If he were asked, he would have to admit that his bones still felt like lead. Maybe he was getting too old for all this – he certainly started to think so when he saw Kennedy’s grinning face swimming above him. The man was rather pale and had a bandage wrapped around his head, but otherwise he seemed as chipper as usual. It was extremely irritating, especially when Bush had begun to think him dead for a second time.

 

“For God’s sake, Archie,” he mumbled, “I swear you’re not human. Can’t you at least have the decency to look tired?”

 

“No time for that, Mr Bush. We’re almost home.”

 

“Home?” Bush struggled to sit up, looking around him. He had only seen his surroundings in muddled glimpses as he came occasionally from the unconsciousness that had continually and thankfully swept over him – now he could see that he was in the hold of a small vessel, lying on a bed made up of blankets on the deck in the absence of serviceable cots, Kennedy kneeling at his side. A lantern swung overhead, lending an orange glow to the scene. “We were picked up?”

 

“By a fishing boat out of Gosport,” Kennedy replied cheerfully. “Lady Luck must be smiling on us. You’ve been asleep for most of the journey – I would have woken you earlier, by Lady Isobel suggested I let you sleep. I admit you did look as though you needed it.”

 

The hold was empty but for the two of them and what smelled like a recent catch. “And the others?”

 

“All safe, too. Something of a miracle, as I believe we were somewhat scattered. They saw Styles first, then Cotard and her ladyship – Styles insisted that the captain make a search for you and I. We’d both washed up against the Amelie’s hull. I must have hit my head as the jollyboat overturned, as you can see.” Kennedy gestured to his bandage with a grimace. “We’re heading towards Portsmouth now – when we’re in sight of the docks I’ll send one of the hands here on ahead with a message for Pellew.”

 

Home. Several times over the past few days, Bush had wondered if he would ever see it again. His thoughts went immediately to Anna, wondering if she had been told of his disappearance, and then to Hotspur – would she still be in Portsmouth or would Hornblower have received orders to put to sea again at once? There was the still the question of who had betrayed their mission to rescue the Anstruthers. “Thank God,” he said, lying back down on the blankets. It felt as though any energy he might have had had been leeched from him.

 

Kennedy peered at him in concern. “Are you sure you’re all right, William? You do look a little pale.”

 

“I’m fine. I’m becoming rather used to being underwater now.”

 

The comment elicited a broad grin. “Well, from what I gather you did rather better staying afloat than previously. They told me that when the colonel spotted you, you’d managed to get yourself to the mast and were hanging on for dear life.”

 

The idea that he might owe his life to Cotard was one Bush decided he would rather not entertain if he could help it. He closed his eyes again. “Go away, Archie. Let me know when we reach Portsmouth.”

 

“One of these days, Mr Bush, I’ll make you cultivate a sense of humour.” There was amusement in Kennedy’s voice.

 

“Excuse me, sirs.”

 

Bush cracked open one eye. Carlotta was standing in the shadows – she looked as bedraggled as the rest of them, her dark hair in rat’s tails over her shoulders. Her face was pale, her eyes rimmed with red as though she had been crying. She curtseyed slightly and said in a tremulous voice, “Mi signora Isobel sent me to ask how Signor Bush fared and to tell you that we are nearing the harbour.”

 

“Thank you, Carlotta,” said Kennedy pleasantly. “As you can see, Mr Bush is back with us once more. I’ll be on deck directly.”

 

Carlotta nodded and hurried off. Bush watched her go, frowning. “Funny little thing, isn’t she?”

 

“Is she? I can’t say I’d really noticed.”

 

No, I don’t suppose you would, Bush thought, glancing at his friend. Growing up in an aristocratic family, Kennedy would hardly be likely to pay attention to servants. “She’s nervous, almost as if she were afraid of something. She scurried off like a frightened rabbit.”

 

Kennedy got to his feet. “Well, she did come rather close to drowning a few hours ago. That would be enough to shake anyone. Incidentally, she’s taken something of a fancy to Styles since he saved her when the Amelié went down,” he added with a mischievous smile.

 

“Dear God, the poor girl.”

 

“Are you coming?”

 

Bush looked down at himself, seeing that his coat was missing and his shirt unlaced. It wouldn’t do to disembark in Portsmouth looking like a reprobate, especially with Lady Isobel aboard. “I’ll join you in a few minutes.”

 

“As you like,” said Kennedy, heading towards the hatchway. “I’ll let Pellew know we’re coming.”

 

 

***

 

 

“Well? What did he say?”

 

Hornblower didn’t know why he was surprised to find Anna opening the front door instead of Maria. He should be used to how tenacious she was by now. Throwing his hat onto the hall table, he pushed past her into the hall – Hobbs emerged from the kitchen as he reached the door, face expressionless. “He didn’t believe it,” Horatio said reluctantly. “He’ll do nothing.”

 

“Should have guessed. The Admiralty don’t want to get themselves involved with anything to do with Captain Sawyer, don’t like the smell of it,” said Hobbs, curling his lip disdainfully. “That’s why they never gave him a proper hero’s funeral.”

 

Hornblower sat down, rubbing a hand over his face. The last thing he wanted to hear was Hobbs lionising Sawyer. “Very probably.”

 

“So we just sit here and wait to see who will be the next to die?” asked Anna. “Surely with the evidence of Doctor Clive’s death, and your Lieutenant Buckland - ”

 

“One death was a plausible accident, the other a likely squalid killing. We have no evidence that either was more than that. Admiral Pellew will go his own way only so far before he must submit to his superiors.”

 

She sat down on the edge of the table, today a feminine vision in muslin and ribbands, but her determination was just as strong. “Then what should we do now? We can hardly just sit here until someone with a knife comes to call.”

 

“She’s right,” said Hobbs.

 

Hornblower sat back in his chair and looked at them both in annoyance. Their names had not been on the list, and they were not directly threatened, yet they were pushing him for answers. He made a decision. “Neither of you need be involved at all. This is my problem, and mine alone – I will deal with it. If you have difficulties with such a suggestion - ”

 

“Need not be involved?” Anna repeated, eyebrows raised. “Do you honestly think that I will allow William to be threatened, and sit by, waiting for danger to come? I don’t think you know me very well, Mr Hornblower. I found Doctor Clive – I am involved whether you like it or not. Please accept my help rather than pushing it away – we have a common goal.”

 

“I should order you home, Miss Maitland. The Admiralty would not be happy with your assistance.” Hornblower dared say nothing more. If Anna were to be accused of spying it would have to come from Pellew, not from him. Anna’s attachment to Bush and her forceful personality rather irritated him, but he could not believe she would betray them. Betray him…perhaps – there was no love lost between them – but not Hotspur. Giving away Hotspur’s mission would hurt Bush, and she would never do that.

 

“As the Admiralty refuses to believe that there is any danger, that scarcely matters, does it?” she said tartly. “I want to help, Mr Hornblower, if you will let me. I have told you that before.”

 

Hornblower inclined his head, and turned to Hobbs. “And what of you, Hobbs? You are in no danger from this unknown person. Are we to believe that you brought this plot to my notice out of the goodness of your heart?”

 

“I don’t expect you to believe anything, sir. I want to see justice done, that’s all. This isn’t justice,” said Hobbs.

 

“Justice, Hobbs? Justice was done in Kingston – do you not recall?”

 

Hobbs looked steadily at him. “Some might call that justice, sir. The Admiralty might call that justice. Doesn’t mean it is.”

 

Hornblower met the gunner’s pale eyes, and once again he felt a churning in the pit of his stomach. He knows…

 

“Then what should be our course of action?” Anna asked, bringing him sharply back to the present.

 

“There is nothing we can do at present but wait,” Hornblower said, feeling Hobb’s gaze on him as he rose from the table. “Wait for the next message. And watch our backs in the meantime.”

 

 

***

 

 

“Ah, Mr Bush! I feared for some moments that we had lost you.”

 

Bush felt himself flushing as Lady Isobel approached him across the fishing boat’s narrow deck. Somehow she managed to look poised despite her damp and crumpled state – her magnificent hair was loose down her back, and one of the crew had given up a boat cloak for her, swathing her Grecian figure.

 

“I am glad to see you unharmed, ma’am,” he said dutifully.

 

She smiled. “Oh, there was no need to be concerned for me, lieutenant. I have some experience of danger – my survival was never really in doubt. As it seems was yours – Mr Devereaux has been telling me of your uncanny ability to sail through… difficulties.”

 

“Mr Bush is made of stern stuff, ma’am,” Kennedy said, his mischievous grin peeping out once more. “He’s an example to us all.”

 

Bush shot him a freezing glare. “Thank you, Mr Devereaux. I suppose you will be glad to be reunited with your husband, ma’am?” he asked, determined to turn the conversation away from himself. “You must have been separated for some time.”

 

“Indeed, Mr Bush. My husband and I are most devoted – were it not for a dispute over papers with the French authorities I would never have been stranded in France. He would not have allowed me to stray from his side. Of course,” she added with a flirtatious smile, “then I would not have needed the assistance of Mr Devereaux and so would have missed making your acquaintance. That would have saddened me greatly.”

 

Bush coughed, embarrassed. Kennedy’s grin widened at the sight of his friend’s discomfiture. He bowed theatrically. “It has been an honour to be of service to you, my lady. I am sure I speak for both myself and Mr Bush when I say that. Do you not agree, William?”

 

Knowing that he was turning red again, Bush nodded and attempted to smile at the expectant Isobel. “Of course,” he managed. “I - ”

 

“Mon Dieu! They ‘ave sent an honour guard to welcome us!”

 

Cotard’s shout could not have come at a more opportune moment for Bush. Grateful to have been released from what was rapidly becoming a very awkward conversation, he hurried to the colonel’s side at the rail. The boat was approaching the dock, slipping easily between the ships at anchor. The familiar bustle on the quay almost hid the sight Cotard’s sharp eyes had spotted – lined up at attention were six marines and a sergeant, their scarlet coats bright in the late afternoon sun.

 

Kennedy had joined them, and exchanged a glance with Bush. “I don’t like the look of this,” he murmured.

 

“Why would the admiral send the marine guard? We need no protection here. Unless…”

 

“Precisely. The only reason they can be waiting there is to arrest someone.”

 

Bush blinked. “Do you think that someone could have betrayed you? Revealed who you really are?” he hissed. Cotard was watching them with undisguised curiosity.

 

All trace of levity was gone from Kennedy’s face. “It would certainly appear so.” He left the rail to speak with the captain, eyes darting constantly to the little scene on the quay.

 

“Sir, there’s something fishy going on,” said Styles, startling Bush. The big man had come up behind him without making a sound, Carlotta at his heels. “Why’ve they sent out the Lobsters?”

 

The crew of the boat were throwing out ropes to men on the quayside now, preparing to let their passengers ashore.  As Bush watched, the sergeant of marines pointed in their direction, leading his men towards them at a swift pace. “I don’t know, Styles, but I doubt if they’re about to give us a heroes’ welcome.”

 

Kennedy was at the rail once more as the boat bumped against the dock. The captain was shouting orders to the hands. “I’ll go ahead,” Archie said quietly to Bush, “There’s no point in prevaricating if they’ve come for me.”

 

“Do you really think that’s wise? If they - ”

 

“If they take me, get word to Pellew. He’s the only one who can get me out of prison.”

 

“And if they come from Pellew?” Bush asked, catching Kennedy’s arm as he turned away. “What then?”

 

“Find Horatio,” was Archie’s reply, delivered over his shoulder as he shrugged off Bush’s hand and made his way to the entry port. He swung himself down, the marines reaching him as his feet touched the quay. The soldiers surrounded him in a loose semi-circle, their muskets held ready.

 

Bush found that he was holding his breath as Kennedy and the sergeant spoke, their voices too quiet for him to hear. After a moment, first Kennedy, then the sergeant looked up at him. Archie’s face was grave as his eyes met Bush’s. Ever so slightly, he shook his head.

 

The sergeant stepped closer to the boat. “Mr Bush?” he asked.

 

“Sir…” said Styles in a warning tone, about to put his hand on Bush’s arm before evidently thinking better of it.

 

“I would ask you to join us on the quay, sir,” the sergeant said respectfully, as though he were asking Bush to take a stroll, and did not have half a dozen armed men behind him.

 

Cotard looked at the guard, puzzled. “What is the meaning of this, Bush?”

 

Bush ignored him. He had seen danger many times, cheated death on more than one occasion, but none of those instances had left him with the sick feeling in the pit of his stomach that made itself known now. Only once before had he felt that way – more than two years ago, on the deck of the Renown, when Sergeant Whiting had conducted himself, Kennedy and Hornblower to the brig on the captain’s orders. He knew what that sick feeling was – fear, anticipation, but above all, shame. Without replying to either Cotard or Styles, he followed Kennedy’s example, swinging himself over the side of the boat and trying not to wince as his weight fell heavily on his injured ankle.

 

The sergeant came to meet him. Bush drew himself up, determined to meet the man with some dignity. The marines left Kennedy, taking up a stance behind and to the side of Bush, one at either elbow. He could hear someone scrambling down from the boat behind him, probably Styles, but he didn’t turn to look. Instead he looked straight ahead, as the sergeant removed a paper from his pocket, a paper with an official seal.

 

“Lieutenant William Bush, I arrest you on the orders of Admiral Pellew,” the sergeant said, and Bush heard Styles shout something. Whatever it was, he couldn’t make out, as his full attention was taken by the sergeant’s next words, which hit him like a physical blow: “I arrest you on suspicion of spying for the enemy.” He nodded to his men, who took hold of Bush’s arms, holding him between them. “Take him away.”

 

 

TBC