When he did catch sight of them he was disappointed, as the man he took to be Don Diego was seated towards the back of the box, and it was difficult to make out his features.
Soon afterwards the Sovereigns appeared in the royal box; there was a great shouting and clapping of hands, the flambeaux were doused and the show began.
However, ample opportunity was afforded Roger later that evening of seeing the man he instinctively hated, as the performance occupied five hours, including two intervals of nearly an hour each, during which the audience either strolled up and down in the foyer, or called upon their acquaintances in the boxes.
During the first interval Sir William went to make his service to the Queen, and Roger decided to make his first call on the beautiful Duchesa di Lucciana, who had given him a gracious smile from a box nearby. Having spent ten minutes with her party, he felt he might now pay his respects to Isabella, without having appeared over-eager to do so.
In her box he found the di Jaccis, the Ottobonis and the Abbé Guarini, so for a moment his entrance was not even noticed by Don Diego. He kissed Isabella’s hand and with perfect aplomb she then presented him to her husband. The two men bowed formally and exchanged a few well-turned compliments; after which the Princess di Jacci reclaimed Don Diego’s attention, so Roger discussed the performance with Isabella and the Abbé for six or seven minutes, then bowed his way out.
As he made his way slowly towards the Sambucas’ box for his next call he tried to sort out his impressions of El Conde Sidonia y Ulloa. Roger had in no circumstances been prepared to like the man but he had to admit that he was both handsome and possessed of a striking presence. Don Diego was slightly taller than himself, or perhaps only seemed so from his exceptionally upright carriage. He was very dark, with an olive skin and sparkling black eyes. His most outstanding feature was an aquiline nose so thin as to be almost knife-like. His mouth, too, was thin-lipped, but well formed, and when he smiled he showed excellent teeth. His face was narrow and his firm chin seemed to be permanently tilted up, which gave him an expression of extreme hauteur. Roger decided that, his own prejudices apart, Don Diego was not a particularly lovable person, and that his main preoccupation in life was to impress other people with the blueness of his blood and the ultra-aristocratic good looks with which nature had endowed him.
When Roger rejoined Sir William the diplomat said: “I have spoken to Her Majesty of you and she wishes me to bring you to her in the second entr’acte”
Roger endeavoured to show suitable gratification at the announcement, but actually found difficulty in concealing his distress. His brain was now almost bursting with wild projects concerning Isabella, and so far he had failed to concert with her on even the basis of a plan for their future. He had been hoping that he would at least be granted until the next day before being called on to discuss his mission with the Queen; but here was the matter being hurried forward without the loss of a moment, and he knew that once the affair was broached his remaining time in Naples might be reduced to a few hours. In a state of nervous anxiety he sat through another hour of the performance, then accompanied Sir William to the royal box.
King Ferdinand had already left it to go out on to the steps of the theatre and accept the homage of the crowd. His hordes of privileged beggars called him Lou Pazzo—the madcap—and their cheers showed how pleased they were to have him back in his capital. So when Roger was ushered into the presence he made his bow to the Queen alone. She was, he knew, several years older than the Queen of France, and he found that although the sisters shared a family likeness, Maria Carolina had little of Marie Antoinette’s beauty. Her figure had suffered from having borne thirteen children, her shoulders were rounded and her neck overlong. She also had something disagreeable in her manner of speaking, moving her whole face when she talked, and gesticulating violently. Her voice was hoarse and her eyes goggled. But she impressed him at once as having a strong mind, and her reception of him could not have been kinder.
She expressed the greatest affection and concern for her sister, said she could hardly bear to wait to hear the latest news of her, and asked Sir William to bring Roger to the State Ball at the Palazzo Reale as soon as the performance was over. In consequence, his last hopes of a postponement of his business till the following day went by the board, and an hour and a half later he was making his bow to her again.
He had known that the gala at the San Carlo was to be followed by a ball, but had not expected to be invited to it. Now, for the first time, he saw Neapolitan society at Court, and was interested to note that, in sharp contrast to Versailles, little formality was observed. The King was already mixing familiarly with his guests, slapping the men on their backs and patting the cheeks of the prettier women with a heavy gallantry which, under the eye of his jealous Queen, might have passed for no more than fatherly licence.
For years the two of them had continually deceived one another, each conducting a series of shallow amours typical of the Court over which they ruled. The Queen indulged herself with handsome young men whom she raised to positions of wealth and influence according to their mental abilities; and, being a clever woman, she managed her affairs so skilfully that the King seldom found her out. On the rare occasions when he did he was pleased as punch about it, for it enabled him to do as he liked for a week or two, on the principle that what was sauce for the goose was sauce for the gander. But she was such a much stronger personality that she soon overawed him again, and she was so greedy of attention that she grudged him every flutter.
Like her brother Leopold she was intensely suspicious, and she maintained a very efficient spy system among the personnel of her Court; moreover the King was such a simpleton that he was constantly giving away his own secrets, so she nearly always knew of it soon after he started an intrigue with some new charmer. She then treated him to scenes of the most violent jealousy and nipped the affair in the bud by sending his flame into exile. Once, when she had caught him kissing a lady at a Court ball, her rage had been so great that she had called a halt to the function there and then, and sent everyone home without their supper.
But tonight she was giving little thought to her wayward spouse. Within a few moments of Roger’s arrival she made him give her his arm, and walked up and down one of the side galleries with him for over an hour. She listened to all he had to say, admired the miniature of her nephew, and asked innumerable questions about the state of things in France. Like her brothers the Emperor and the Grand Duke, she had a positive conviction of the divine right of hereditary Sovereigns to rule their peoples as they thought fit. But, unlike them, she was opposed to all innovation. As a woman, in spite of her unattractive manner and appearance, Roger found her likeable and kind; but as a Queen he deplored her reactionary sentiments, and he thought there was something both pathetic and shocking in the fear and hatred she displayed for the common people.
She said at once that, although she regretted the necessity for her sister’s sake, she would willingly receive the Dauphin. The King’s consent would have to be obtained, but the getting of it was a mere formality. She and General Acton would arrange that between them. Then, after her long talk with Roger, she sent a page to find the General and request him to join them.
The half-French, half-British Neapolitan Prime Minister was a fine-looking man in his early fifties. His manner was firm but courtly, and it was clear that he knew just how to handle his royal mistress. Although he made no direct mention of it, after a few minutes’ conversation it was also clear to Roger that he had already been primed on the subject in hand by Sir William. He was entirely at one with the Queen in her wish to receive the Dauphin, but he tactfully overruled her impulsive wish to speak to the King about it there and then.
He shrewdly pointed out that at this hour of night His Majesty might resent being worried with business, whereas tomorrow there would be an excellent opportunity for catching him in just the right humour. As the forest at Caserta had not been disturbed for over three wee
ks the King was assured of a good hunt in the morning, so if they asked him to attend a short counsel in the afternoon he would then be in a mood to agree to anything without argument.
Roger mentally sighed with relief, as these tactics meant that even if a northward-bound ship happened to be sailing next day they could hardly now attempt to pack him off back to France in her. Having come to the ball would give him an unforeseen chance of attempting to bring Isabella to a decision during a dance that night, and, if he were successful, their meeting at midday next day could then be devoted to arranging final plans. So, as soon as the Queen dismissed him, he made his way to the ballroom and began to search anxiously for his beloved.
He had seen both her and Don Diego several times in the distance, but now could not find either of them. While he was still hunting frantically for her in the ante-rooms he ran into Dorina Francavilla, from whom he learned to his dismay that Isabella had been feeling ill, so the Sidonia y Ulloas had already gone home on that account.
Roger was both distressed and furious. Isabella had told him that she was going to the ball, so if only he had known earlier that he would be bidden to it himself he could have arranged for her to keep an assignation with him there; but now, owing to the Queen having kept him for so long, this excellent opportunity of thrashing matters out with Isabella had escaped him.
He was still standing, angry and disconsolate, where the Princess and her partner had left him, when a tall, thinnish, middle-aged man came hurrying round the corner. His powdered hair was a little untidy and his waistcoat was buttoned up unevenly, but he was covered in stars and orders, and Roger instantly recognised him as the King.
Quickly he drew himself up to bow, but the boisterous Monarch suddenly halted opposite to him, grinned, clapped him heartily on the shoulder and said something in Italian.
Not understanding what he said, Roger swiftly excused himself in French; upon which King Ferdinand gaily broke into that language.
“I don’t know who you are, young man,” he cried with a laugh, “but you’re very welcome here. You’ve kept that wife of mine busy the whole evening. Each time I’ve passed the gallery I’ve seen her talking her tongue off to you out there. You must come here again. Nay, better still, stay here. I’ll make you an officer in my Volontari della Marina.”
A sly look came over his oafish face, and he added in a lower tone: “It gave me just the chance I needed with the Marchesa. But say nothing of that, or I will have you clapped into St. Elmo.” Then, with another grin, he turned to hurry away.
“Sire! One moment, I beg,” Roger called after him.
“What is it, eh?” The King glanced over his shoulder, with a suspicious frown. “ ’Tis no use asking me for money. I cannot spare any.”
“Nay, Sire,” Roger smiled. “But permit me to draw Your Majesty’s attention to your waistcoat.”
King Ferdinand looked down, adjusted the give-away buttons and exclaimed gratefully: “Dio mio! What an escape! Had the Queen seen that she would have cancelled my hunt tomorrow.” Then, grabbing Roger by the arm, he added: “You must certainly stay with us. Come along now, and have some supper.”
In the supper-room a meal was being served in what seemed to Roger novel and uncomfortable conditions. There was an abundance of food on tables ranged round the walls but no table in the centre of the room. Instead there were four rows of gilt chairs formed into a square and facing inward. On these a number of the guests were sitting, eating from plates balanced on their knees.
“Look!” said the King. “Are not their struggles to cut things up amusing to watch? And now and then one of them drops a plate, which makes everyone laugh. Go now and try your luck.”
As Roger struggled with the half of a crayfish, he sighed at the thought of the King’s offer of a commission in his crack regiment of Sea Cadets. If only he could have accepted it and remained on in Naples! But he knew only too well that even were the offer to be renewed tomorrow in all seriousness, he would have to refuse it.
By the time he had supped it was getting on for one in the morning, and soon afterwards he ran into Sir William, who asked if he felt like going home. Roger agreed at once, so they went down to the diplomat’s carriage and set off for the Palazzo Sessa.
The carriage had hardly turned into the Calle Toledo when Sir William said: “The Royal Family will be taking up their residence at Caserta tomorrow, and I have been ordered to take you out there. It is a drive of about sixteen miles, so we had better start at ten o’clock.”
“Then I must beg you to excuse me, sir,” Roger said firmly. “I have an appointment here in Naples at midday which it is impossible for me to cancel.”
Sir William raised an eyebrow. “Really, Mr. Brook! I should hardly have thought it necessary to remind you that the orders of Her Majesty take precedence of all private matters.”
Roger bit his lip for a second, then exclaimed: “That, sir, obviously applies to everyone who is in the service of the Queen of Naples; but I am not.”
“You are, however, in that of His Britannic Majesty,” Sir William replied coldly, “and I regard this as His Majesty’s business.”
“Indeed, sir, I pray you pardon me.” Roger’s voice was desperate. “After all your kindness to me my behaviour must seem monstrous churlish. But this matter is to me one of life and death. Could I not follow you on horse-back and still arrive in time? What is the latest possible hour at which it is imperative that I should be at Caserta?”
Seeing his distress, the elderly diplomat said kindly: “I do not think the Queen and General Acton will tackle the King until the afternoon; but if a particularly favourable opportunity offered they might decide to do so any time after he returns from hunting, and that should be between twelve and one.”
“If you could furnish me with a mount, sir, I could make the journey in an hour.”
“How long will your appointment detain you?”
“I had hoped for half an hour at least.”
“Then I fear it is out of the question. Too much hangs upon the matter for us to jeopardize the issue.”
“Will it satisfy you, sir, if I give you my word to be at Caserta by one o’clock? If I ride all out I can do the sixteen miles well under the hour, so that would give me five or ten minutes with … to see …”
“So be it then,” Sir William covered Roger’s hesitation. “But remember that I shall count upon you.”
At twenty to twelve next day Roger was at the Francavillas’. He had come early, praying that Isabella would be early too, and down in the street a groom was holding Sir William’s fastest riding-horse ready for him. But Isabella did not come early, and when midday chimed out he was still waiting for her in a fury of impatience, up in Dorina Francavilla’s boudoir. It was already seven minutes past twelve when Isabella arrived looking pale and wan.
Knowing the situation the Princess left them together at once; and Roger, seizing Isabella in his arms, told her that they had only a bare few minutes before he must take the road.
A couple of those precious minutes went in kisses, and his asking her if it was really illness that had caused her to leave the ball early the preceding night; but she assured him that she had done so only on account of the strain she had been under, and that she had not seen him, or known that he was there, otherwise she would have remained.
He then plunged into the matter that concerned them so desperately; swore that he could not live without her, and urged her again either to agree to his returning to Naples or to elope with him.
Wringing her hands she declared that in no circumstances must he return, as if he did he would be dead within three months; then tearfully advanced the arguments she had used the day before against an elopement.
Hurriedly, he cut her short. “Yes, yes, my sweet! But what I had no chance to say yesterday was this. We should have to live quietly in the country only for a time, as in due course we could regularise our union. You could get an annulment of your present marriage.”
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p; She sadly shook her head. “Nay, Rojé. The Catholic Church would never grant an annulment to a woman who had left her husband and was living in sin, for the purpose of enabling her to marry again.”
“But what of Don Diego?” he exclaimed. “Should you leave him, will the Church condemn him to remain wifeless for life through no fault of his own? He is rich and influential; moreover, he is barely thirty and will not wish to spend the rest of his days like a widower. Surely the Church would not refuse an annulment to him?”
Isabella sharply drew in her breath. “Perhaps you are right. Yes, I cannot think they would refuse him. But how long will it be before he meets someone that he wants to make his wife? And we cannot even be certain that he will wish to marry again. We should be pledging our lives on a desperate gamble. Rojé, you must give me time to think! I must have time to think!”
“God forbid that I should hurry you in taking such a decision; but ’tis as good as certain now that I shall be leaving Naples tomorrow. I will come to the house for your answer tonight.”
“Nay, Rojé! I implore you not to! I forbid it!”
“I must! I shall be held at Caserta all this afternoon. ’Tis our only chance for a last meeting; and if I die for it I must hold you in my arms again.”
As he finished speaking a nearby clock chimed the quarter after twelve, and he cried desperately: “My poor sweet, I positively must leave you now. I will come for your decision tonight.”
Suddenly she seized and clung to him. “One moment! Listen, I beg, or you will get us both killed. Diego is in one of his black moods. Before he left for Sicily he had fixed his eye on a Signora Goudar. She is little better than a courtesan, but difficult in spite of that; and so far she has rejected his advances. His unsatisfied passions disturb him to such a pitch that when one of them has gripped him he often paces up and down for hours at a stretch by night, in the garden. Should you enter it tonight I vow there will be murder done.”
The Rising Storm Page 42