“Yes. Thank you.” It was more than she had hoped, but perhaps what she should have expected. If the first night of their marriage had been strange, this one was to be stranger still. It was easy enough to plead fatigue and get herself to bed early, but impossible to fall asleep until she saw the glimmer of her husband’s Light in the dressing room next door, heard him talking in an undertone to Price, heard the connecting door open, and decided that this time she would let herself play the coward’s part and pretend sleep. Stretched out on the far side of the bed, she made herself breathe deep and easily, and felt her husband pause for a moment to listen, then, she thought, breathe a tiny sigh of relief before he climbed very quietly into the other side of the bed.
Outside, the city was still awake, with all the multifarious sounds of a southern climate, where so much living is done out of doors and in the cool of the evening. In the room it was strangely quiet as the two of them lay, each pretending sleep, until mercifully fatigue had its way with them, and the pretence became real. Helen had promised herself that she would wake early and make her escape to her own tiny dressing room, but the bed was blissfully comfortable after all those nights on ship’s cots, and she was exhausted. When she woke at last to glints of morning sunlight round the curtains, it was to find herself alone. She lay, savouring it, the first real moment of solitude since she had left England, and refusing to let herself think beyond it.
It was a strange, quiet day. Lady Hamilton, calling on them soon after they had finished their breakfast, explained that the bad news from Toulon had caused the cancellation of the usual Carnival festivities, and even of most public and private engagements. “Well, the poor things; how can they feel like parties when there’s hardly a family but has some relative to fret for? There’ll not be much jollification here until all our ships are home.”
Helen had already noticed that Lady Hamilton tended to use “we” and “our” almost interchangeably for British and Neapolitans. It made talking to her a little confusing, but then she talked so much herself that it was often not necessary to provide more than the briefest of answers. On the other hand, when one did speak, she listened with a passionate attention that could not help but be flattering. She had also exerted herself to some purpose on their account. Her secretary, Mr. Smith, had been making enquiries about houses for them, and there were a couple for them to look at.
“And your remarriage is all arranged,” her ravishing smile was for Helen. “I had a word with my angel Queen about it. There’ll be no difficulty. And we can have a small party for that, without treading on any toes.” And, when Helen protested at the trouble involved, she smiled more deliriously than ever. “No trouble. I love giving parties, and Mother does all the work anyway. Would you like me to ask that Captain Scroope who brought you? He seemed a pleasant enough young man, if you like them young.” Her tone reminded Helen that they both had husbands older than themsleves.
“Oh, yes, please.” Helen’s parting from Charles Scroope had somehow, in the general confusion, happened before she had realised. “I never thanked him properly.”
“Quite right.” Lord Merritt approved. “Must have young Scroope. Here for a while. Ship refitting. Pleasant company.”
Thinking it all over that evening as she changed her dress for what Lady Hamilton had described as a quiet family dinner with Sir William, Helen admitted herself lucky. Or rather, that it could all have been infinitely worse. Her husband might not be possessed of even average intelligence, but at least he seemed willing to be guided by her. It was she, in fact, who had chosen the smaller of the two houses they had looked at, pointing out that its situation was much the quieter, and he had agreed, with a proviso about a country cottage presently, before the weather got too hot. “Must ask Sir William.” This was a phrase that recurred frequently in his conversation, and Helen found herself looking forward to meeting the man who had made such an impression.
When she did so, she liked him at once. He was even older than she had expected, a surprising mate for her buxom angel, and looked exhausted tonight, as well he might after a day devoted to advising the King and Queen, or rather, as Emma soon revealed, of helping the Queen persuade the King that after the disastrous news from Toulon the Carnival festivities simply had to be cancelled. In the end, it was Sir William who had suggested, as a compromise, that they might stage naval manoeuvres or a naval pageant of some kind in the bay.
“The King jumped at that,” said Emma. “He loves a party, and the rowdier the better. Don’t be surprised if he comes to your wedding party, Lady Merritt, but incognito, of course.” It was becoming increasingly obvious that the “little party” she was to give for the newly married couple was going to be little in name only. Helen turned a faintly anxious glance to Sir William, on whose right she was sitting, got a reassuring one in return, and realised that he was as quick as his wife to read one’s feelings. It must be one of the things they had in common. He was also, she soon found, formidably intelligent, and glad to enlighten her on many points that had puzzled her about the situation in Naples. And all the time, behind his apparently free discussion of the problem of the young Neapolitan aristocrat who had been carried away by the dangerous tide of liberal enthusiasm, she was aware of a vast, gentle discretion. He was telling her a great deal that would be extremely useful to her, but only a tiny portion of what he actually knew.
After dinner, he paid her what she was to learn was a considerable compliment by carrying her oíf to see his collection of antique vases, and in this field, too, proved himself a knowledgable and entertaining instructor. They were interrupted by a rather impatient summons from Lady Hamilton in the next room. “I promised Lord Merritt a special view of my attitudes,” she told him. “And you know I am nothing without you.”
There was only one possible response to this adept mixture of command and flattery, and they joined the rest of the party to watch Lady Hamilton go through the famous performance that had won the surprised admiration of such different spectators as the poet Goethe and the Duchess of Devonshire. Helen was to see them many times, but always with amazement. Equipped with a bare minimum of accessories, Lady Hamilton struck pose after graceful pose, twisting a couple of shawls so that they were one moment the veils of a sweeping Niobe, the next a headdress for a triumphant Cleopatra. Sir William, standing by with the lamp, stage-managed the whole thing, and, Helen suspected, had somehow contrived to suggest to his wife the passions that informed her graceful figure and made the series of mimes so effective. How much Lady Hamilton herself understood of the despair of Niobe or the pride of Cleopatra, was another question. Helen had already noticed her quick perceptiveness about people. Somehow, she seemed able, without very much of her own, to draw on her husband’s intelligence. Helen, sadly, found herself wondering whether she and her husband might not work out some such relationship, but in reverse.
Now, Lady Hamilton was balking. “Not that one,” she protested, and then, on Sir William’s insistence, “Very well then, just for a moment. I don’t much like it,” she confided in Helen, her accent broadening.
Sir William, lamp in hand, led the way to the far end of the room, where a tall black box stood against the wall. “The perfect frame,” he said.
His wife stepped into the box and turned to face them, every inch a Madonna. “No, no,” said Sir William impatiently. “The other one.”
“Ouch,” said Lady Hamilton, and for a moment, was still, was dead, was death. Then she was out among them, talking rather loudly.
“What a strange box.” Helen turned to Sir William. “It looks almost like a coffin.”
“It is a coffin,” he said. “It was dug up, with its mistress inside it, at Pompeii.”
Next day, trying to explain the attitudes to her husband, who had been baffled by them, Helen could not help a certain sympathy with his final comment. “Not quite the thing, hey? Any of those women! And as for that last one. Surprised at Sir William.”
He would never understand Sir William’s passion f
or antiquities of every kind. A pot was a pot to Henry Merritt, whether it had been made by Mr. Wedgwood last week, or dug up from among bones and lava at Pompeii, or raised, at risk of life and limb, by a diver from the depths of the bay. Helen longed to visit the famous sites of which Sir William told her, but for the moment her husband was unpersuadable and her life too busy. The house they had taken needed everything, and, most particularly, cleaning, and the cheerful, dirty Neapolitan women found for her by Mrs. Cadogan had to be supervised every inch of the way if they were not to leave things worse than they found them. “I wish we had a Mrs. Cadogan,” Helen confided to Charlotte.
“I’ve been thinking about that,” said Charlotte. “Couldn’t I be your Mrs. Cadogan, Helen?” She coloured painfully. “You’ve been so good to m . . . m . . . m . . .”
“Nothing of the kind,” said Helen briskly. “You know how I love to have you with me. And so does Henry; he said so, just the other day.”
“I’m glad,” said Charlotte. “But, Helen, I’ve got to tell you. I’ve no m . . .” She stopped. “If you hadn’t taken over paying Rose, I’d not have been able to.”
“Oh dear.” It was exactly what Helen had feared.
“Mother said . . .” Was it a measure of Charlotte’s desperation that she got the word out without a stumble? “That she’d give me enough for six m . . . m . . . months. After that, she said, I was on my own.”
“You made it last longer,” said Helen.
Charlotte laughed, a reassuring sound. “Well, no one could call life on board ship expensive. But if I’m not to disgrace you here in Naples, I must earn some m . . . m . . .” She took a deep breath. “Or marry. Helen, I’d so much rather be your housekeeper. Please?” If she realised, as she spoke, what an appalling, unspoken comment this was on Helen’s own marriage, she managed, admirably, to conceal it.
“You really mean it?” Helen felt both sympathy and respect. Here was a new, a surprising Charlotte.
“I do indeed. God knows, I’ve done it for Mother long enough. And my Italian may not be as good as yours, but it’s not bad. And, Helen, you won’t, please, think I’m prying, but isn’t there perhaps a reason why you shouldn’t be doing too m . . . m . . .” She took a deep breath. “Mother always sent me to stay with my sisters when they were increasing,” she explained. “And, forgive me, I couldn’t help noticing.”
But not, thank God, and judging by her tone, too soon. “You’re an angel.” Helen embraced her. “And, yes, you’re quite right. I do so hope I won’t be sick at my second wedding breakfast. But we’re so pleased, my husband and I. Of all things, he wants an heir.” It was all, beautifully, true.
“I am so glad.” Charlotte kissed her back warmly. “It will make everything so much easier for you. And now I know, I’ll see to it that you aren’t sick at the party. You’ve no idea how expert I am in these matters. So, please, Helen, don’t make me ask again?”
“But what would your mother say?”
Charlotte gave her a very straight look. “I don’t care a farthing dip what my mother says. She sent me here to sink or swim. If it weren’t for you, it looks to me as if I’d sink. If she don’t like my acting housekeeper to you, she’s only herself to thank.”
It was true enough. And, even more interesting to Helen, was the way Charlotte’s stammer seemed to be falling away from her with the idea of independence. She had managed her worst word of all—mother—twice in the last few sentences.
“Selfishly,” she said, “I can’t think of anything I’d like better. But, of course, I must ask my husband.”
“Of course,” said Charlotte, and they both knew the matter settled.
Lord Merritt, predictably, was at once delighted and alarmed at the idea. “Miss Standish! Our housekeeper?” He thought for a moment. “But: Mrs. Standish?”
“Charlotte says she doesn’t care, and I am inclined to agree with her. She needs the money; I need the help. What could be more sensible?” And, seeing him still look alarmed at the thought of the old harridan back in London, “Think what a long way off London is. We’ll keep it all very casual,” she improvised now, as she went along. “Nothing said to anyone about paying her.”
“Not even to Trenche?”
“Specially not to Trenche. I shall pay her out of my pin money.” She longed to suggest he get rid of Trenche but knew she did not dare.
They moved into the Palazzo Trevi the day before Lady Hamilton’s party, and Helen was delighted with it. Close to the Palazzo Sessa, but a little lower down, it commanded its own segment of the great bay, with Vesuvius lowering in the distance, and, best of all, had a small terraced garden, already sweet with early violets and heliotrope, growing in a great tangle after a year of neglect. Sitting there, resting in the warm sun, where Charlotte had firmly sent her, Helen leaned back to savour an extraordinary sensation. Could it possibly be happiness?
If it was, it did not last. Closing her eyes for a moment of complete repose, she opened them to the sight of Trenche, who must inevitably move back to join them now they were settled. He had just arrived from his lodgings and had come out, he said, to pay his respects. It was actually the first time they had been alone together since the day of her disaster, and she was amazed how much she disliked it. And him. How had she ever thought of him as negligible?
After the usual respectful greetings, which she found so hard to bear, he came quickly to his point, making her wonder whether he perhaps disliked her company as much as she did his. “Miss Standish appears to be managing everything in there,” he said.
“Yes. I asked her to.”
“She has given me a room that is practically in the cellar. I have a weak chest. That is why I wished to come to Italy. I must have light and air. I trust that you will explain to Miss Standish.”
“I have seen the room.” Helen sensed that this, in its quiet way, was a moment of crisis. If she gave in to him now, she was giving way to endless blackmail. “Miss Standish and I went over the house together and chose it for you. I am sorry if it does not please you, but, frankly, it is the best there is. I am sure, if you really find it bad for your health, that Lord Merritt would make some arrangement about lodgings for you.” What an extraordinary relief it would be.
“Oh, dear me, no. I must be at hand when Lord Merritt needs me. If it is your decision, Lady Merritt, then naturally I must abide by it. After all, I shall be spending most of my time in Lord Merritt’s study.”
“Yes, of course.” It was disappointing that he would not move out, but, on the other hand, a relief that he should have yielded so easily. “I know how indispensable my husband finds you.” Absurd to think of Lord Merritt with a study, but one of the advantages of this house was the small, charming ground-floor room that could be dedicated entirely to him. He would not study there, being incapable of it, but he could sleep, or pretend to read the latest papers from England, or dictate long letters to his uncle to Trenche, who, Helen had noticed, was adept at improving their style.
But Trenche had another point to raise with her. “About the party tomorrow,” he said. “Have I been invited, Lady Merritt?”
This, she knew at once, was what he really cared about. The question of the room had merely been a preliminary. She could see his point. He had not yet been to the Palazzo Sessa. If he did not appear at Lady Hamilton’s party, he was relegated forever to the ranks of servants. “Miss Standish goes, I take it?” he said now, making it just faintly a question.
One had to admit it. He was no fool. She looked up at him lazily in the warm sunshine. “Naturally Miss Standish comes,” she said. “As for you, to tell you the truth, I have no idea whether Lady Hamilton even knows that you exist, but of course you must come with us. Lord Merritt may need you.”
He gave her a look that was not all gratitude, thanked her, and left her in ruined peace. He had noticed that Charlotte had taken over the housekeeping. He noticed everything. But what conclusions did he draw? And what others would he, if her child was born nine mo
nths to the day from the evacuation of Toulon? If he was already making tentative moves towards blackmail, what in the world would happen to her then? If only she could consult Charlotte, so surprisingly knowledgeable about the problems of childbearing. Might she not know of some method of delaying a birth, or at least of making an early one seem explicable? But, so far, whatever Trenche might suspect, the secret was hers and her husband’s, and she had not the right to speak of it to anyone else. Nor, unfortunately, could she possibly hope for help from her husband. She sat there, cold now in the sunshine, racking her brains for expedients, and finding none.
Chapter 10
LADY Hamilton’s party was a success, because her parties always were, but just the same, Helen was aware of strange cross-currents under the apparently gay chatter that filled the crowded rooms. Two more ships had limped home from Toulon that morning, with their quota of bad news, and families were exchanging gloomy reports in undertones. Looking round, Helen noticed a strange thing. There were hardly any people there as young or younger than herself and Charlotte.
She was puzzling over this when her heart gave an uncontrollable, maddening leap at the sight of Captain Scroope, immensely elegant in full dress uniform, making his controlled way through the chattering crowd towards where she and her husband stood together, receiving the congratulations of Lady Hamilton’s friends. Would he repeat the stiff words of felicitation with which he had greeted them on the Gannet? And could she bear it if he did?
Fortunately, Lord Merritt was carried off at the last moment by Lady Hamilton, who wanted to present him to a particular friend of hers, and Helen found herself waiting, in more agitation than she liked, for Scroope to reach her through the crowded room. “I am so glad to see you.” She kept her tone casual, but managed to anticipate his greeting. “We never had a chance to thank you properly for all your kindness on the Gannet.”
“It was nothing.” Now that he was closer, she saw that he looked fine-drawn with fatigue, the scar standing out more livid than usual because the colour had ebbed from under his tan. “I only wish we had been able to give you better accommodation.”
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