Tested by Fate (36 page)

Sir William was on deck as HMS
Vanguard
manoeuvred to clear the mole, half of his mind on the way the snow obscured the view, the other on the conversation he had had with his wife. Matters were out in the open now and thus had to be dealt with. The question was how? With another man little would have had to be said, but Nelson was so naïve in matters of the heart that Sir William
contemplated
that he might need to invite him directly to proceed with Emma.

He balked at the idea. Suddenly, the gruff voice of Mary Cadogan addressing a sailor made him turn. She was so wrapped up against the chill that not much more than her snub nose, reddened by the cold, was visible from inside her closely tied bonnet. But it was enough to remind him that, years before, it was she who had smoothed the way to her daughter’s acceptance of him as her
protector
.

She had challenged him and his intentions in a manner that had made him feel as if she was the master and he the servant. Her
attitude
had been based on years of experience in dealing with men, and the fact that she suspected he was engaged in a conspiracy with his nephew.

Mary Cadogan had smoked out all the details of how he and Charles Greville had intrigued to transfer Emma from the nephew’s arms to the uncle’s. And she had known that what had looked
simple
to the schemers on paper would founder on her daughter’s good nature and fidelity. Sir William had anticipated her anger, only to find her eminently practical. Mary Cadogan had deduced one
obvious
truth: that the chance of Emma’s return to Greville’s affections
was remote. What mattered to her was comfort and security, and once she had established that the best chance of that lay in Naples, she had set out to alter her daughter’s mind.

Looking at her now, it occurred to Sir William that she was the solution to his problem. If anyone knew how to alert Nelson to the fact that he might proceed, without embarrassing anyone, it was Mary Cadogan.

Despite the chill December sleet it seemed that half the population of Sicily was on the shore waiting to greet their king and queen, a silent mass of citizens who believed that royal residence in Naples was foolishness. Sicily was loyal where the mainland was suspect, true to the Bourbons, and with a visceral hatred of revolution. There were no Jacobin clubs here, no seditious nobles, only true subjects.

In the calm of Palermo harbour, inching in to tie up at the mole under the great hanging rock and the forts, the ship was now in a ferment of preparation. Ferdinand was berating his valets for the state of his clothes, which had been spoiled by seawater. In Nelson’s
quarters
the Queen was patient, distant almost, as her ladies-in-waiting prepared her to meet her subjects, everyone trying to ignore the plain wooden coffin that had been made by the ship’s carpenter to hold Prince Alberto’s body.

Emma had found space in one of the side cabins to repair the damage of the last 48 hours. Gazing at herself in a looking glass she saw lines on
her face, the result of extreme fatigue. Sir William had already gone ashore with the King’s chamberlain and some of the more astute courtiers to secure the best available accommodation at the Colli Palace.

A bed for Sir William in the royal residence could only be
temporary
; as the British Ambassador he would be required to rent suitable accommodation from which to represent his country, and prices, once the locals realised just how many fleeing royalists had arrived, would shoot through the roof. As an early bird, he might save some money.

The death of the prince was enough to still any cheers from the
populace, which would have been inappropriate in any case. As the King and Queen, the Hereditary Prince and his wife, their baby and the royal princesses made their way through the streets, they were accompanied by the quiet murmur of prayers, and the onlookers made the sign of the cross as the cortege bearing Prince Alberto passed.

Nelson, with Hardy and his officers, watched the procession begin from the poop, vaguely aware that the ship was being put to rights around him. The transports and the Portuguese men-o’-war began to unload too, which turned the mole into a mass of
gesticulation
, as those landing sought accommodation and avaricious monks from numerous monasteries bargained with them.

Some of the faces he knew from balls and receptions he had attended, but he couldn’t recall many of the names. He spotted Commodore Caracciolo and wondered how he had got there, since no Neapolitan warship had left Naples. He half considered offering him accommodation aboard
Vanguard
, but the Commodore was not much given to either grace or gratitude, so he might be an unpleasant dining companion. Added to that, he was probably still smarting because his king and queen had chosen a British ship in which to flee Naples, rather than one he commanded.

When he returned with Tyson, Tom Allen had seen to his cabin. The furniture was in place and polished, and when he sat at his worktable it seemed to Nelson as though he could put the clock back to a point where there had been no Nile battle, no Naples
welcome
, no Emma Hamilton. Then he concluded that the lady had been a presence in his life for a very long time.

“Mr Tyson,” he said, “we are required to inform Earl St Vincent, and Captains Ball and Troubridge of our situation.”

There was almost pleasure in immersing himself in work.

Sir William felt unwell, sitting up in bed wrapped in blankets and his dressing gown. He had caught a chill on the journey from Naples, which had moved from his chest to his stomach. His discomfort was made worse by the cramped quarters he and his wife had been
allotted by the chamberlain. The room was dark, with cracked
marble
flooring and peeling paint on the walls, and barely big enough to hold his possessions—and that was without the packing cases still snug in the hold of HMS
Vanguard
. The luxury of separate suites that he and Emma had enjoyed in Naples had been replaced by cohabitation, with a couple of his servants forced to sleep on the floor outside the door. It was all very well for the court officials to insist that the Colli Palace was packed to the rafters with courtiers and ministers, but he was, after all, the British Ambassador.

His only consolation was the thought that this setting was likely to be temporary. He was sure his early arrival ashore was about to bear fruit, and a promising villa had been proposed to him, albeit at a staggering rent, in which he could assume once more his usual comforts and the duties of his office. The door opened to reveal Mary Cadogan with a steaming bowl of liquid.

“Not another of your damned possets,” he moaned.

“Got to get you well, Sir William,” she replied, giving him a hard stare as she approached the bed. “An’ if it don’t taste like
nectar
that’s all to the good I say, ‘cause what seems foul is often best to restore a man’s humour.”

“The only humour to be gained from that,” Sir William sniffed, “is gifted to the person watching the victim consume it.”

“Then you won’t mind, sir,” said Mary Cadogan, positioning herself on a cramped chair, “if I partake of the pleasure.”

The temptation to damn her to hell and tell her to get out was overborne by the realisation that he had a chance to engage in a conversation he had been delaying since coming ashore. His high fever and low spirits had been the excuse, but he was aware that
procrastination
had brought no joy. Emma was absent, Mary Cadogan was here, and it was too good a chance to miss.

“You have a ghoulish turn to your nature, Mrs Cadogan.”

Emma’s mother discerned the amusement behind that remark, even if it was delivered with a grimace. “You arrange a good
hanging
and quartering, Sir William, and I’ll happily go to that and leave you in peace.”

For all his diplomatic skill, Sir William found the next step
difficult
. “I had a mind to talk with you anyway, but intended to wait till this ague had passed.”

“Would it be about matters domestic?”

“No!”

The emphatic response was met with the merest lift of her
eyebrows
, and since Sir William had no desire to state the details of the matter, a silence ensued. Eventually after what seemed an eternity of a mutual stare, Mary Cadogan spoke. “Would it be about my Emma?”

“I have often had occasion,” replied Sir William, “to remark, Mrs Cadogan, upon your sagacity.”

There was little doubt in Mary Cadogan’s mind as to what he wished to discuss. She had been watching the parties involved with a tight eye since the night Emma had gone to Nelson’s room and, sensitive to atmosphere, had noticed the tensions.

“God gave me eyes to see,” she said finally, if elliptically.

“And the good grace to be discreet,” replied Sir William,
nailing
the subject.

“Would it ease your mind if I said it were bound to occur one day?”

“No, Mrs Cadogan, it would not.”

“If I may speak plain, Sir William.”

“I have always found that you do so when matters require it,” Sir William observed, in a mordant tone.

“Fidelity has always been one of my Emma’s better traits.” The Ambassador nodded. “She can be lacking in sense, but even with your nephew, who didn’t deserve half the consideration due to your good self, she was true.”

The last part of that sentence betrayed a bitterness that Mary Cadogan had never sought to hide and that had remained constant throughout the twelve years since she and her daughter had come to Naples. She held Charles Greville to be a scrub, and made little attempt to disguise this from his uncle.

“I know it,” said Sir William.

“It is without a boast,” Mary Cadogan snorted, “that I can claim to have not only smoked your game, but made my Emma party for it.” It was no time for Sir William to interrupt, since he might open himself to censure, so he stayed silent. “And now you’ll be asking me to tell Emma, in a way that you cannot, that this here nonsense with Lord Nelson has got to stop.”

There was some comfort there for Sir William in that, with all her natural acuity, Mary Cadogan had not seen just how much her Emma was smitten, had not made the obvious connection between her daughter’s natural fidelity and the depth of feeling that would be necessary to break it. For once he knew more of what was
happening
in Emma’s head and heart than her mother.

“Quite the reverse, Mrs Cadogan. I admit to needing your
assistance
, but it is not to badger my wife into breaking off her friendship.”

There was no need to say more. The surprise on Mary Cadogan’s face said it all.

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