The Emperor (70 page)

The shore-boat took them right up to the
Semele,
riding
the making tide at anchor. She was Spanish-built, a prize of
the American war, and though carrying only twenty-eight
guns, and officially a sloop, she was not flush-decked, as was
usually the case, but had a raised fo'c'sle and quarter-deck,
like a frigate.

At the moment she presented the aspect of a kicked ants'
nest, for she had the victualling-yard hoy hooked on to her
starboard side, swaying up barrels of salt pork and beef and
sacks of peas and biscuit, the navy-yard hoy hooked on to
port, replenishing her bo'sun's stores, and working parties scurrying about the decks under the sharp encouragement
of their petty officers.

Despite all this tremendous activity, the officer of the
watch spotted the shore-boat at once, with the familiar form
of his captain in the stern. A bellowed order brought the
sideboys running and the principal officers to the quarterdeck as the shore-boatman turned his craft skilfully down-
river of the ship and ran up under her flank with the make.

‘She's riding light, of course, without her stores,' Weston said apologetically to Lucy. 'It will be quite a climb for you. Perhaps I had better have them lower a chair.'

‘Nonsense,' Lucy said stoutly, though regarding the side of the ship with some misgiving. ‘I'm not made of glass.'

‘
Well, you're not Mr Proom now, you know,' Weston
grinned. 'And you're wearing a skirt. Consider my repu
tation, if not your own.’

Lucy was received with flattering attention aboard the
Semele,
the officers, down to the youngest mid, staring at
her with a mixture of admiration and disbelief, and, in the
case of the first lieutenant, a keen interest which suggested he had heard about Lucy's naval adventure.

Politenesses over, however, they were soon clamouring for the captain's professional attention, and it became clear that Weston's duties would be too numerous for him to be able to go ashore again. It seemed the obvious thing, there
fore, for Lucy to remain on board too, and share the
captain's quarters with him and Jeffrey, so that she could be
with him until the last moment.

A message was sent for Docwra to come to the ship with a bag of necessities for herself and her mistress. Four days passed rapidly and, for Lucy, blissfully: to be with Weston, and to be in a ship again, was a double ration of happiness. Then the wind veered the necessary point for the
Semele
to
be able to make the Channel, and at first light on the fifth
day, Lucy and Docwra found themselves seated in a shore-boat watching the graceful little ship glide away down the river.

The dark surface of the water was wreathed in coils of milky mist, barely disturbed by the ship's wake, for the airs were light and she moved as though asleep, her topsails
ghostly in the grey murk, the ensign hanging limp above her
tall stern. Then a single gleam of sunlight broke through, turning her stern-lights suddenly to square gold coins, and
catching the gilded scroll-work and the arched lettering of
her name below them.

It was a moment of magical beauty. Even the grizzled, one-legged boatman, leaning on his oars, watched in wrapt silence until the lovely vessel disappeared into the mist; andthen as Docwra drew a sigh of pure pleasure, he nodded sympathetically and said, 'Aye, it don't matter 'ow often you
see it, it still brings a lump to yer throat. I musta seen
'undreds of ships set sail in my time, but I dunno 'ow it is – '
and overcome with emotion, he sniffed and cleared his
throat, and then turned away to spit eloquently over the
side. ‘Thassa lovely sight,' he concluded. 'There ain't one better. Where to, ladies?’

When they arrived home, Lucy went to her room to
bathe and change. Docwra kept a sympathetic silence while she dressed her and did her hair, and Lucy's absent expression suggested that her inner eye was still fixed on that tiny day-cabin with the long, velvet-squabbed seat below the sternlights, the chart-deck and chair, the small oval dining-
table, the square of rich crimson carpet, the handsome silver
lamp swinging from its chain, whose chasing matched that
of the silver rose-bowl on the desk.

The cabin furnishings had to be few and simple, but the touches of luxury were entirely in keeping with Weston's
character. Even Jeffery had a deep mahogany box lined with
sheepskin in which to recline, which was usually placed on the long bench where he could catch the sunshine through
the stern-lights. Like master, like cat, she thought, and a
smile touched her lips at the thought of the two sensualists, who used each other shamelessly. Her parting gifts for the voyage, sent on board last night, reflected her view of them: six dozen of good claret and six of port, and a cold roast chicken for Weston and Jeffrey to share for today's dinner.

Well, she thought, suddenly brisk, another year might
bring them back again; and whatever Weston said, there was
no knowing how close they might be to peace. The war had been going on for seven years, and everyone was sick of it: the French must long for it to end as much as the English.

‘
I must have breakfast, Docwra,' she said, standing up
and shaking out her skirts. 'I am unaccountably hungry all
of a sudden.’

She was half way through a second handsome plate of
ham and eggs when Chetwyn arrived from Wolvercote,
where he had gone when the Oatlands party broke up.

‘
You are very late with breakfast, ma'am,' he said politely.

‘
Yes, and amazingly hungry,' she agreed pleasantly. 'Will
you join me? Have you eaten?'

‘
Before I left,' he said, 'but I will take a cup of coffee with
you.'

‘
How are the children?' Lucy asked when the servant had
brought another cup and left them alone again.

‘
Well, I suppose,' he said vaguely. 'Miss Trotton brought
Polly and Minnie to curtsey to me once a day. I didn't see
Rosamund. She was covered with spots, apparently, but I
understand the illness was not serious. Chicken-pox, or
something of the sort.' He sipped his coffee again. Lucy
noticed he did not mention Roland at all, and, deciding that
the omission was deliberate, forbore to ask.

She ate, and he drank, in silence for a while, and then he
said, 'Weston has been here, I suppose?’

Lucy looked up. 'How can you know?'

‘
The shipping page in the
Morning Post
is remarkably
detailed. As his ship was reported come in to the Pool, I
assumed you would have seen him.'

‘He sailed again this morning,' she said diffidently.

‘
Ah!' he said, and drained his cup, and set it down in its
saucer precisely and soundlessly. 'I have something to
propose to you,' he went on, and then, with a faint, wry
smile, 'No, perhaps propose is not the right word, I have
something to tell you.’

Lucy looked at him apprehensively. 'I don't think — ' she
began, but he held up his hand.

‘
I'm not going to quarrel with you, Lucy. Please hear me
out. You know that when we married, it was principally, on
my part at least, in order to provide me with an heir. Well,
now we have achieved that, by what means it is profitless to
discuss, there is no need for us to live together any more.
Unless, that is, your son should die before me, but we need
not consider that possibility until it happens.’

His eyes looked through her, his smile was the coldest
thing Lucy had ever seen that lived.

‘Do you like this house?'

‘
Do I — yes, I like it well enough,' Lucy said, startled by
the apparent change of subject.

‘Good. Then you may keep it. I have found myself some
comfortable rooms in Ryder Street for when I am in Town,
handy for my clubs and St James's Palace, and a short walk
across the park from Westminster. Wolvercote, I dare say, is
large enough for us both, if we happen to be there at the
same time. You may do as you please with the children,
leave them at Wolvercote or have them here as you choose.
I shan't interfere.’

He stood up, and Lucy's bewildered eyes followed him
up and around the table. 'I shall make an arrangement with
my bank concerning your personal allowance. I imagine it
will be sufficient, but if it is not, you must speak to my
agent, and he will attend to it. The household bills for this
house and Wolvercote, and the servants' wages, he will also
attend to, so you need not concern yourself with them.’

‘But — but Chetwyn, are we never to see each other at
all?' Lucy asked at last.

He raised an eyebrow. 'I should think it inevitable that
we must bump into each other from time to time, in a city
the size of London, but it will not be intentional on my part.
You look surprised: I wonder why? I am merely making
formal what is already fact.’

He walked to the door, turning as he reached it only to
say, 'I shall give Hawkins my direction, of course, in case
you should need to consult me.' His eyes met hers for a
second and moved away again. 'I'm sure this is the most
comfortable arrangement for both of us. Your servant,
ma'am.' He bowed, and was gone.

*

The servant who came to clear the breakfast-things found
my lady standing by the window staring out into the street.
He coughed discreetly, but she was so deep in thought that she did not hear him, so he took the opportunity to clear as
quietly as he could. He had just got to the door with the tray
when it opened from the other side and Hicks came in with
a letter on a salver.

Lucy turned, frowning. 'Ah yes, Hicks, I was just going
to ring for you,' she said vaguely.

‘
I beg your pardon, my lady,' Hicks said smoothly,
sending the servant out with a small jerk of the head, tut a
letter has just come by hand from Chelmsford House. I
thought you would want to see it at once.’

Lucy took it and broke the seal, and Hicks went over to
brush up a little fallen ash in the grate. From long practice, he was able to straighten up and turn to his mistress just as
she finished reading and folded the page again.

‘Not bad news, I hope, my lady?' he enquired delicately.

‘
The Earl of Chelmsford has taken a turn for the worse. I
shall go immediately to Chelmsford House, Hicks. Have
Parslow bring my curricle round with a pair put-to, and send
Docwra up to me in my chamber. Who brought the letter?'

‘The porter's boy, my lady, but he did not wait.'

‘No matter. I'll be there as soon as a message.’

*

’Sir Arthur says it is the lung-fever,' Roberta said quietly. Her calm was impressive, even to Lucy, who took her own
in the face of sickness for granted. There was no wringing of
hands or weeping or vapouring. Roberta was pale, and her
eyes were shadowed, and about her mouth there were grim
lines, but she was well in control of herself.

‘
I'm afraid that for once, Sir Arthur seems to be right,' Lucy said, looking down at Charles's unnaturally flushed
face against the pillow. The symptoms were all there — high
fever, shallow, rapid pulse, difficult breathing, shivering fits;
Charles had complained of severe pain in the side of the
chest and a metallic taste in the mouth, but now his fever
had mounted so high that he was in no case to complain of anything. Lucy doubted if he were aware of their presence
by his bed.

Roberta touched his forehead with the tip of her fingers.
‘He's so hot,' she said, then and looked up at Lucy with
despair in her eyes. 'There's no hope, is there?’

Lucy hesitated, her natural impulse to honesty warring
for once with sympathy. 'There's always hope,' she said at
last, briskly. 'What did Sir Arthur prescribe?’

Roberta looked guilty. 'Burning pastilles for the breathing,' she said, and went on hastily, 'and iodine to break up
the sputum, and oil of camphor to reduce the internal
swelling. Hot poultices to the chest and feet — oh, and laudanum for the pain.’

Lucy nodded, and felt Charles's pulse again, frowning.
‘I'll get Docwra to make him a pneumonia-jacket,' she said.
‘There isn't much we can do until the crisis comes, but it's
essential to keep the heart going at this stage. Sir Arthur
shouldn't have given laudanum, you know. No use at all in
these cases: he should have stimulants. Oil of foxglove,
that's the thing. We'll send a boy to the apothecary's straight
away.’