“Toes too,” said Captain Scroope. “I’m hoping for lemons at the least of it in Naples. They’re ripe there all the year round, I understand.”
“You’ve not been there?”
“Never. My service, so far, has been entirely on the Atlantic and Channel stations.”
“You’ll be looking forward to the Neapolitan luxury,” suggested Philip Trenche from farther down the cramped table. “And a sight of our renowned Ambassadress.” His tone, if not his words, was just faintly off key, and Helen, looking up with quick anger, caught Charles Scroope’s eye. So he did remember. She felt hot colour flood to her cheeks and busied herself with the unappetising food on her plate as Scroope replied, in his curiously level voice: “Ambassadors are quite above my touch,” he said. “I’ll be lucky to meet Mr. Lock, our consul. And glad of any help he can get me towards a refit. This is no time to be idling in harbour, however luxurious. God knows what will follow on the fall of Toulon, but nothing good in the Mediterranean, I am sure.”
Lord Merritt leaned forward anxiously across the narrow table. “No good—hey? No chance the French will attack Italy?”
“Nothing more likely,” said Captain Scroope. “But you and your party should be safe enough in Naples. The Kingdom of the Two Sicilies has proved our best ally in the Mediterranean, and we’re not likely to let them down.”
“Two Sicilies?” asked Merritt. “What’s that?”
“Naples and Sicily,” explained Scroope patiently. “It’s true they hardly covered themselves with glory at Toulon, but at least they came.”
“Saw and didn’t conquer,” said Trenche, who seemed to be making a point of his position as a social equal at Captain Scroope’s table.
But Lord Merritt had thought of a new source of anxiety. “The French,” he said. “No chance of encountering one of their ships? Eh?”
“Not much, alas,” said Scroope. “But you never know your luck.” And then, at a gasp of dismay from his guest, “We may be in need of everything, and short-handed to boot, but that’s not to say we can’t deal with any Frenchman we may be happy enough to meet.”
“Quite so. Naturally.” Even Lord Merritt was aware of the atmosphere among the junior officers. “One Englishman worth ten Frogs. All that. Quite so.” But, later, alone for a moment with Helen, he changed his tune. “Just my luck to get a fire-eater for a captain. Action in this tub! Not at all the thing for you.” And then, a happy thought. “Old friend of his. Perhaps a hint from you? Anxious to get to Naples. Not quite so keen on action as he is. Pity we can’t make an excuse of your—ahem—condition.”
“If we could,” said Helen, “we would not.”
“No . . . no. Naturally not. Just a thought.” He was beginning to find his new wife rather more formidable than he had expected, and it added a note of unusual conviction to the letter that he sat down that afternoon and wrote, under conditions of considerable inconvenience, to his uncle. He must have it ready for the first chance for England. Just occasionally, when Helen gave him one of those straight looks of hers, he thought with horror of the possibility that his uncle might die before he had heard of their marriage, or before the child was born. Suppose he had already changed his will? His last letter did not make this clear, no doubt intentionally, and it was a possibility to make a man sweat. To find himself saddled with a wife, and without the fortune she was intended to ensure . . . It would be almost past bearing. And, another irritant, Captain Telfair, sensing his impatience for the match, had been ruthless in the matter of settlements and pin money. Helen would be a considerable expense to him as well as a wife. His uncle had better turn up tramps.
No hostile sail loomed over the horizon, and the voyage to Naples was mercifully brief, though too long for Lord Merritt, compelled to share a cabin with Trenche, and, curiously, too short for Helen. More than anything, she longed to reach, well—what? Some kind of understanding with the formal young captain who had once been her good friend Charles Scroope, and who now addressed her so stiffly as Lady Merritt, and all his conversation, where politeness permitted, to Charlotte, who was blooming visibly, and whom Helen actually saw stammering and laughing all at once in the middle of a group of the Gannet’s officers.
It was a sight to make Helen realise just what she had done to herself in that desperate marriage. Lady Merritt could not stand laughing and talking in the midst of a group of cheerful young officers, nor would they think of grouping themselves round her. Lady Merritt had to spend her time saving her husband from making more of a fool of himself than she could help. And combined with the misery about Charles Scroope’s cold politeness was another anxiety. How would things be for them at the Court of Naples? She had heard a good deal about Sir William Hamilton, who was by all reports an extremely cultivated man, a connoisseur of antiquities, and, surprisingly, an expert student of the activities of the volcano that loomed over the city where he was Ambassador. It seemed unlikely that he would extend more than the most official of welcomes to a man, however titled, who could hardly complete an intelligent sentence.
And what of Lady Hamilton? Extraordinary to think that she was to meet her angel again in this remarkable guise. Would the girl who had been Emmy Hart and danced on Sir Harry Featherstonehaugh’s table remember her? And if she did, would she admit to it? Probably not, Helen thought. But then, why should she remember a nameless child, encountered only twice, and so briefly? Much simpler, of course, if she did not, and Helen thought she would rather die than remind her. Having come, herself, however innocently, to the very verge of social ruin, she had a new awareness of Lady Hamilton’s situation, and, with it, an immense new sympathy and respect for her. She too had retrieved her position by marrying an older man. Helen wondered if she knew how lucky she was to have found someone of such distinction. Perhaps, when they got to Naples, she would find out.
They arrived at last very early one fine February morning, and Helen, making her way rather slowly and carefully up to the deck, as she did these days, gave a gasp of pure pleasure at sight of the famous bay with its pastel-coloured houses scattered among evergreen trees up the hillside and, beyond them, Vesuvius with a small, warning plume of smoke above it.
“Vesuvius.” Her husband had joined her at the rail. “Not so nice to live under a volcano.”
“The Neapolitans don’t seem to mind.”
“No. Ignorant lot of barbarians. Sir William Hamilton knows all about volcanoes. Most unusual hobby for an Ambassador, but could be useful. Must ask him, safest place to settle.”
“Yes.” Helen was getting used to this cowardice of her husband’s, but was gladder than ever that she had never dreamed of mentioning her brief previous acquaintance with Lady Hamilton. She knew him well enough by now to know that this was the kind of thing on which he would seize, and of which he would shamelessly make use. As it was, he obviously intended that Sir William should invite them to stay until they could find themselves a house, and he went ashore with Captain Scroope as soon as they had received pratique. Left behind, Helen and Charlotte stood at the rail, enjoying the new mildness of the air and steadiness of the ship, and gazing shorewards trying to identify the larger buildings of that romantic waterfront. The Castle dell’Ovo, jutting out darkly into the bay on their left, was easily recognisable from its name. But which of the two fortresses that loomed over the city was the Castle Nuovo and which the Sant’ Elmo?
Charlotte shivered. “What a lot of fortresses.”
“Yes. I suppose they must need them.” They gave Helen an uncomfortable feeling too. “That must be the palace.” She pointed to a large, undistinguished building set back from the quay. “It doesn’t look so formidable.”
“No.” Neither of them was really thinking about the strange new town that awaited them. Charlotte suddenly turned to Helen. “What am I going to do?” she wailed.
“Stay with us, of course. Dear Charlotte, how can you imagine doing anything else. Besides, I need you.” Impossible, yet, to explain just how badly she wa
s going to need her. She had decided that this news must wait at least until March, but in the meantime there was surely reason enough for wanting Charlotte’s company. Besides: “What else can you do?” she asked unanswerably.
“I know. Helen, you didn’t do it for m . . . m . . .”
“For your sake? Good God, no. I did it for my own.” She hoped Charlotte would never know what a curious half truth that was. “But I am glad it means I can help you—and, best of all, keep you with me.” Out here, on deck, it was possible to speak more freely than in the cramped cabin. “You must see that I will be glad of some other company but my husband’s.”
Charlotte’s easy tears were flowing again. “Oh, Helen, I can’t bear it for you. After all your plans. What will Miss Tillingdon say? And m . . . m . . .”
“What your mother says, thank goodness, is something we are not likely to know for some time. And in the meanwhile I propose to enjoy being a rich woman, and you are to share everything with me. Time enough to worry about England when we see a chance of getting back there, but now he’s here, I very much doubt if Lord Merritt will want to brave the Mediterranean again for quite some time.” Not, certainly, until the child was safely born. How much easier it would be when she could explain this to Charlotte.
Lord Merritt returned all bustle and enthusiasm. Sir William had been everything that was kind, and Lady Hamilton had joined him in the most pressing invitation for the three of them to stay at the Palazzo Sessa until they could find a home of their own. “Charming!” Merritt called her, and then again, with emphasis, “Most charming! Speaks the lingo like a native.” He looked a little anxiously at his wife. “Of course, her English . . .” He thought about it for a moment. “Not quite what you’d expect. But goes everywhere; sees everyone; nothing wrong with staying there.”
“Of course not.” Helen was delighted to be able to agree with him. “We’re lucky to be asked.”
“Oh, Sir William quite keeps open house for us British. Told me so himself. Prince Augustus there just the other day. Good enough for a prince of the blood, good enough for us. Lady Hamilton quite the thing. Says she’ll see to our remarriage. Close friend of the Queen’s. Extraordinary story.”
“Yes.” It was not one that Helen wished to discuss.
They went ashore that afternoon and found Naples a good deal less romantic at close quarters than it had looked from the ship. Once they had left the broad promenade by the harbour, it was to find themselves apparently lost in a network of narrow, stinking lanes. Half-naked beggars swarmed everywhere, running beside the carriage Sir William had sent for them, shouting unintelligibly for alms.
“Lazzaroni,” Lord Merritt explained. “Sir William says give them nothing. Harmless, really. But a great many of them.” He sounded unhappy.
“Yes.” Helen had been straining her ears to see if she could understand what they were saying, but their accent was too strange, “Are they republicans?” She was ashamed to sound almost as nervous as her husband.
“Nothing of the kind. Devoted to the royal family, Sir William said. Mostly to the King. Well; odd kind of character. Likes the lazzaroni. Gets on well with them. Good thing.” He looked nervously at the Italian coachman and grooms. “Can’t be too careful, Sir William says.” He lowered his voice. “They don’t like the Queen. Can’t quite understand it. Daughter of Maria Theresa; fine woman, large family; runs the country, with that minister, what’s his name? General Acton.”
“An Englishman?” asked Charlotte.
“Well, not exactly,” Helen explained. “He comes from an English family, and indeed is now Sir John—an English baronet. But he’s a Catholic and has spent all his life abroad.”
“Yes,” said Lord Merritt. “That captain—what was his name—? Came here from Toulon?”
“Nelson?”
“That’s the fellow. Said Acton didn’t speak English worth a damn. Beg pardon, Miss Standish. Look on you as family. What was I saying? Got it. What Sir William said. Careful who you make friends with. Italians. I said, don’t want Italian friends. Don’t speak the lingo. What’s the use? And he said, it’s the ones who speak English might be dangerous.”
“Dangerous?” asked Helen.
“Jacobins.” He leaned closer and whispered it. Then: “Excuse me, Miss Standish. Helen will explain.” He leaned close to Helen again, and she was aware, as she had been before, of the curious mixed smell of him. Snuff, and man, and some kind of perfume that she did not much like. If she thought like this, she would be sick.
“Do explain,” she said. “I can’t, if I don’t understand myself.”
“Place full of plots and plotters.” Again he had an anxious look for coachman and running footmen. “Freemasons; Jacobins; a couple of seditious clubs with odd names. Roma and Loma—something like that. Young people. Young aristocrats, Sir William says. Can’t understand it myself, but there it is. So, can’t be too careful, you and Miss Standish.”
“But if they know all about them,” said Helen, “why don’t they do something?”
“Just what I asked.” He turned to her with real pleasure. “Just the very thing I asked.”
“And what did Sir William say?”
“Not Sir William. Lady Hamilton. Said the chief of police—Medici his name is—anyway, too soft-hearted by a half. If the Queen had her way, they’d all be in Sant’ Elmo. As it is, meet them at the San Carlo—the opera,” he explained, for the benefit of his female companions. “Meet them everywhere. Just have to be careful, that’s all.”
“It sounds quite delightful,” said Helen wryly.
“Oh, yes.” It was always disconcerting when he missed her irony. “Altogether delightful. Just in time for the Carnival, Sir William says. Must get ourselves masks. Lady Hamilton said she’d help. Can’t wait for you to meet her.” Once again a cloud of anxiety crossed his cheerful, open face. “Delightful lady. You’ll understand.”
“Of course I will,” said Helen, with more truth than he could possibly have imagined.
Chapter 9
THE Hamiltons lived in considerable luxury on two spacious floors of the Palazzo Sessa, overlooking the great curve of the Bay of Naples. Arriving, the travellers were greeted only by Lady Hamilton, who apologised for her husband’s absence. Sir William had been sent for urgently to the palace. “They always send for him when there’s trouble.” The Lancashire accent was still there, though less pronounced than Helen remembered it. The beauty was still there too, but Helen’s angel had put on weight since Romney painted her as a nymph. Now, with her violet-blue eyes and dark, tawny hair, her superb complexion just beginning to show the signs of consistent overindulgence, she would have made, Helen thought, a more suitable model for Rubens.
But she was a splendid creature, just the same, and her welcome was heart-warming. “You poor girls must be worn out!” She had a hand of each. “That tiny ship!” A gesture led their eyes down to the Gannet, looking small indeed in the foreground of the famous view. “I’ll send you to your apartments now, and you can tell me all your adventures when you have rested.”
But, “Trouble?” asked Lord Merritt anxiously. “There’s trouble?”
“There’s always trouble.” Lady Hamilton’s expression was eloquent. “I don’t know what they’d do without Sir William. But this is nothing to trouble you, Lord Merritt.” She was quick, Helen thought, to recognise other people’s feelings, and perhaps this, combined with the famous beauty, was the secret of her success. “It’s just the news from Toulon,” she now explained. “It’s the first we’d heard of the evacuation. One of our ships—the Neapolitans’ I mean—came into harbour just after yours. It’s terrible. All those brave young men.” In emotion, her accent broadened. “I can’t bear to think what my poor darling Queen will be suffering. I must go to her this evening. You won’t mind if I leave you alone? Tomorrow we must arrange for your remarriage; your presentation; everything; but today, if you will forgive me, all my duty is to my beloved Queen.”
“
Naturally.” Lord Merritt was impressed. “Mustn’t mind us in the slightest. Don’t wish to be a nuisance. Glad to rest. Most grateful for your hospitality. Must find ourselves a house, of course. In the meantime, my wife and I, Miss Standish, all three of us, most grateful.”
“Yes, indeed,” Helen seconded this warmly and got a quick look from Lady Hamilton.
“We’ve not met before, have we?” she asked. “It’s odd: your voice. I never forget a voice. You remind me of someone.”
“I hope it’s someone you liked,” said Helen.
“Ooh . . .” again the accent broadened, “it was so long ago. But, yes, I loved her.”
“Then I’m glad if I remind you of her. But we mustn’t keep you from your duties. Miss Standish and I would really be grateful for a quiet day.”
“I’m sure you would. You must meet my mother.”
Mrs. Cadogan was as kind as her daughter, and as used to dealing with exhausted guests. They soon found themselves established in blessed peace and a handsome suite of rooms. “Not the ones Prince Augustus occupied.” Lord Merritt showed signs of going into a miff over this, but Helen quickly pointed out that they were a much larger party. “What luxury to have so much space to ourselves.”
Mrs. Cadogan had told them that it was not one of Lady Hamilton’s nights to receive company and had promised them an early dinner. “A long night’s sleep will do you all good, and God knows when they’ll get back from the palace. The Queen really counts on my Emma in a crisis.” Having made every possible arrangement for their comfort, she left them with final, faintly suggestive wishes for a good night’s sleep.
Alone, Helen stood staring with dismay at the vast double bed. Lord Merritt was busy with Price in the dressing room next door, but now joined her to gaze, she thought with similar feelings, at the bed they must share. “Shan’t be a trouble to you,” he said now, unexpectedly. “Must consider the child, you know. Must consider the child.”
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