Emma tried to embrace her grandmother, but was foiled as she moved away. “I’d like to part in harmony.”
“You could stay in that, Emma, but as to parting I can’t see how. Tell your man to write his conditions for the child. Rest easy that I will place her where she will be happy.”
Chapter Three
1785
A LIVELY SIXTEEN-YEAR-OLD, Miss Parry Herbert, daughter of the Governor of Barbados, was enthralled by the approach to the island of Nevis, St Kitts just visible beyond it, beautiful Montserrat over the stern. Conical in the clear blue sky and water, with the tip of the old volcano topped by a ring of mist, the high cirrus clouds of a Caribbean dawn formed a perfect backdrop. Whatever doubts she had had about taking passage from Antigua on HMS Boreas had long since evaporated. She had discovered very quickly that the supposed ogre, Captain Horatio Nelson, who was standing with her now, was nothing of the sort. He was a kind, considerate man who ran a ship that defied everything she had ever heard about naval service: it was clean, free of fear, and crewed by men who treated her as if she were a princess.
It was hard to credit that this man who never raised his voice was, according to his servant, a real Tartar when it came to a scrap; that he was so in love with trouble that if it didn’t present itself he went out of his way to find it. Frank Lepée was often a trifle inebriated when imparting this information, indiscreet in the way he talked about his master and the troubles he brought on his own head, both with the ladies and authority.
Not long after arriving on the station Captain Nelson had fallen out with his commanding officer, Admiral Hughes, though some put that down to his relationship with Lady Hughes. Then there had been his unfortunate association with the wife of a fellow naval officer, which had set tongues wagging all over the region. Captain Moutray, retired from the active list and in some ill health, was married to a woman twenty years his junior. Mother of two children, she was reputed to be a beauty, though of a rather faded kind.
Gossip had it that Mary Moutray was a flirt, always keen to ensnare any passing young officer in the web of her vanity, managing to keep several gullible swains on tenterhooks at any one time. At worst, Nelson had been a fool among many, perhaps a greater one for the depth of his attraction and the directness of his method. He had made matters worse by entering into a dispute with the lady’s husband to do with the prerogatives of serving officers as compared to those afforded to a man who’d retired, some nonsense about a commodore’s pennant, which many ascribed to jealousy more than professional pride.
It was all stuff to a girl of her age, and that included the most boring subject of all: Navigation Acts. Nelson had set the sugar islands on their ears by insisting on an adherence to the laws, which obliged British subjects to buy British goods solely from goods shipped in British-owned bottoms. Anything brought in by foreign ships, especially Americans, might be cheaper but, in the eyes of the law he represented, it was contraband and would be seized as such.
Nelson watched her face, noting the excitement, responding as she pointed out some feature of the island that had caught her attention. Miss Parry Herbert was an engaging creature, full of the enthusiasm of youth that Nelson so admired yet could not but feel had long departed from him. For Nelson the Caribbean was a sea of troubles. Mary Moutray had gone home to England a few months before, leaving an aching void. With her corn-coloured hair, flawless skin, deep blue eyes, and winsome manner, she had led him to believe that all was possible, then broken his heart.
Frank Lepée reckoned he had been a fool, and in his drunken ramblings told him unwelcome truths: that the barbed remarks from his commanding officer about Nelson’s responsibilities, the gentle nudges of friends, and the warnings to desist, had sprung from genuine concern, and not, as he had supposed, from envy. Now, in his prayers, he begged forgiveness for having conjured up a base vision of Mary Moutray as a widow, her sick husband dead, and himself inheriting both her and the couple’s two young children.
Heartbreak was not his only trouble: having risen to become second-in-command on the station, he was at loggerheads with his admiral, one-eyed Sir Richard Hughes, who would not support him in obliging the island traders to abide by the law. He claimed that if Nelson persisted, he would ruin the economy of the islands. Nelson had been forced to go over his head and appeal for support from the Admiralty, which had soured relations even more and did nothing to ease his present difficulties: they could not respond from London in less than three months. Nearly everyone in the islands cursed him as an infernal nuisance, and that included many of his fellow officers. But he had right on his side, and he was determined to prevail.
A puff of white smoke emerged from the bastion covering the anchorage, followed by the first of several booms from Boreas’s signal cannon. Nelson insisted to Miss Herbert that the courtesies exchanged between the shore batteries and his frigate were a salute to her, not him. That had pleased her mightily, and underlined to her how wrong she had been to listen to those who had advised her against requesting this passage. How could this gentle fellow, with his shy manner, threaten the very fabric of society?
She did not know that she herself had been a boon to the ship’s captain: her lively nature and genuine interest in all things nautical served to keep his mind off the worries that assailed him.
“Mr Berry, my barge,” he said, “and Mr Hardy to join me ashore when he has completed his lessons.”
Martha Herbert, daughter of the household and a year older than her cousin, was on the porch to greet them. There was a moment of appraisal between the two girls, who were strangers to each other: Miss Parry was fair-haired, bright-eyed, and pretty, while Martha, no beauty with her pinched face, had hair that was near black and contrasting almost translucent pale skin. Nelson observed them, and could see that while Miss Parry was happy to be visiting, her cousin was not so outgoing. Beside Martha stood the youngest member of the household, Josiah Nisbet, and Nelson’s glance in his direction broke the contact between the cousins.
“This, Miss Herbert,” said Martha, stepping to one side, “is Master Josiah Nisbet, son of Mrs Fanny Nisbet, your cousin, whom I’m sure you know is held in high esteem by my father.”
The boy didn’t move, but concentrated on not meeting her eye. Miss Parry Herbert moved forward and held out her hand. “Captain Nelson has mentioned your mother many times since we left Barbados.”
“Have I?” asked Nelson. He was as surprised by this as Martha Herbert, who raised a quizzical eyebrow.
Miss Parry continued, “All praise, sir, I do assure you. I believe you even went so far as to advise me to model myself on the lady in my relations with my uncle.”
“Wise advice, cousin,” said Martha, rather formally. “Mrs Nisbet runs Montpelier on my father’s behalf, removing the care of domesticity from his shoulders, allowing him ample freedom to attend to his more pressing affairs. Is that not correct, Josiah?”
The reply was halfway between a grunt and a hiss. Josiah was clearly determined to give away nothing in front of this strange girl. Nelson, though smiling at the boy, was thinking about those “pressing affairs.” John Richardson Herbert, president of the Island Council, was the wealthiest man on the island, so rich that half of the other planters annually mortgaged their property to him. Certainly he behaved with great generosity, scattering gifts with little regard to depth of acquaintance or cost. He carried himself well, as befitted the grandson of the Earl of Pembroke, and this house, Montpelier, white and imposing, stood as testimony to his taste.
The floor of fine English oak was highly polished and all about them in the hallway was evidence of a high appreciation of fine objects and furniture. At night, when the chandeliers were ablaze, they combined with the decoration to create an almost magical effect, which was enhanced by a steady stream of visitors whom Herbert seated, dined, and entertained, his only complaint being that the business of playing host fatigued him.
Martha, having informed the visitors that her father was
still at his toilet, offered to take her cousin to her room. As they disappeared up the grand open staircase, Nelson turned to the boy, whose mood had changed abruptly: with the females gone he was looking at Nelson with open affection, which was not reciprocated.
“I have to say to you, Josh, that you did not acquit yourself well with your cousin.” The boy’s eyes dropped, and Nelson felt a bit of a scrub, especially since the child was not his to chastise. “But she is near enough in age to you to understand, so no harm will be done.”
“Thank you, sir,” Josiah said, abashed.
Nelson could never be stern with a youngster for more than a few seconds, so he adopted a pleasanter tone. “You look a bit peaked. How have you occupied yourself since I was last here?”
The boy gave an exaggerated sigh. “At my books, sir, which is tedious, though Uncle Herbert has promised me that I shall have a pony if I do well.”
“You must do well, Josh,” Nelson insisted, “otherwise I will not be able to ride out with you when I next sail this way.”
“Will you ride out with me?” Josiah Nisbet asked eagerly, taking Nelson’s hand.
“Most assuredly, young sir. It will be a pleasure.”
The tug to demand attention was unnecessary, since Nelson was looking right into the boy’s eyes, and smiling. “Can I come aboard your ship again?”
“If time and your mother permit. Indeed, when you are a little older, perhaps you may spend a spell with us, take a trip around the islands as my guest, as your cousin Miss Parry has done.”
“Why sir, that would be splendid.”
“Where is your mother?”
“Off the island, sir, at present, visiting on Montserrat.”
“That is a great pity,” Nelson replied, his smile evaporating.
“She will be back before nightfall, Captain Nelson. It will please her that you have called. I know for certain that she esteems you.”
That made Nelson smile again. “Does she, Josh?”
“Highly, sir.”
“Then that is gratifying to know.”
“Will you play with me?” the boy asked, tugging again.
“How can I refuse, when there is nothing to distract me?”
“If you run down the stairs, sir, the floor here provides the most satisfying slide.” Seeing the raised eyebrows, Josiah added, “That is, if you can be brought to remove your footwear.”
“It’s a good notion, but I fear for my stockings.”
“Tear them, if you must, sir. Uncle Herbert has pairs by the hundred.”
They were under one of the hall tables, quite oblivious to his presence when John Herbert appeared. He was a small round man, balding, with tidy features who cultivated his movements in the same way that he carefully modulated his voice. Fastidious of dress and behaviour, he had been caught out by the sudden arrival of his niece, forced to make a hastier than usual toilet. What he saw before him did little to restore his equanimity.
Josiah Nisbet was squealing mightily, emitting almost endlessly a high-pitched, childish yell. Nelson manoeuvred through the table legs, growling like some great jungle beast, grabbing him and snarling then letting the boy’s foot slip through his fingers. The queue that tied back the Captain’s hair had come loose, and so had his stock. But that was not what alarmed John Herbert most.
“Captain Nelson, sir. Do I find you my guest and in disarray?”
Their sudden awareness of the owner of the house had a great effect on both man and child. Josiah Nisbet scurried away, looking for a place to hide, while Nelson, caught only half dressed, sought to rise and fetched his head up hard against the top of the table with an audible thud.
“Mr Herbert,” he said. He crawled out, pulled himself to his feet and straightened his coat, stock, and hair. “Forgive my appearance. I could not refuse a request to play from a youngster. He is a sprightly fellow, as I’m sure you know.”
Herbert was looking at his feet, at the stockings that now had holes at the toes. He could scarcely credit the dishevelled apparition before him: this man sent shafts of fear running through all of the islands, with his accursed enforcement of the Navigation Acts threatening ruin to many. Herbert’s fat face was a mask of controlled anger. “The boy can be a damned nuisance, sir. I have often had occasion to remind my niece that, if she is absent, there is no one here at Montpelier to hold him in check.”
“He is no pest to me, sir,” Nelson responded. “Indeed, being a hearty young fellow I enjoy his company. He reminds me of my midshipmen.”
That brought a frown to Herbert’s face, as though what Nelson had said edged the bounds of good manners. “You enjoy the company of the young, I perceive.”
Nelson looked hard at Herbert, before deciding to treat his remark as an innocent one. “Of course.”
“That, sir, is singular. I find children a bore. Those misguided modern nostrums as to their care are all stuff and nonsense. I was wet nursed, fostered, and left to the care of my father’s black servants and it has done me naught but good.” He continued to look at Nelson as, voice raised, he said, “Josiah, if you have not breakfasted, do so. If you have, go to the schoolroom and await your tutor there. And do so in silence.”
He looked Nelson up and down once more. “As for you, Captain, I think you need some privacy to compose yourself. That, and a new pair of stockings.”
“They have suffered, sir, but in a good cause.”
“The room you occupied on your last visit is empty. Might I recommend that? I will send someone to you with the means to effect a toilet.”
“Thank you, sir.”
He was moving away before another thought struck him. “How did you find Miss Parry? Her parents tell me she is a joy, which I hope to establish as being true. I am, as you know, Nelson, plagued by female relations as it is. It would grieve me if she were to prove tiresome.”
“My acquaintance is of short duration, but I certainly found her an entertaining companion.”
The look on his host’s face told Nelson that someone he found good company would not necessarily find the same favour with Herbert.
“You must join me at the breakfast table, and acquaint me with her nature,” said Herbert, in his troubled, fussy way. “I am so often at a loss with the younger family members, fearing to open my mouth lest I offend some unknown sensibility.”
Nelson knew that to be the opposite of the truth and was confirmed in this opinion that evening just before dinner when, rum punch in hand, he sat in silence, while Herbert monopolised the conversation. It was the typical planter statement: about sugar, its price and position in the creation of a strong British nation; the way West Indian traders were ignored in the councils of government. He made the obligatory slash at the fools who would abolish slavery, with an aside to the effect that if they knew the black man better, they would be less forceful about freedoms.
Midshipman Hardy, lessons and duties completed, had arrived in the early afternoon, it being Nelson’s policy to introduce his youngsters to polite society as often as possible. Thus he rarely went ashore without one in tow, or ordered them to join him when he was being entertained, in the hope that by example and exposure to non-naval company they would improve their manners, as well as the quality of their conversation.
Hardy now sat rigidly on a hard chair as Herbert droned on, bored by all of this, his stomach rumbling for the food he could smell already, his eye fixed on a glass he had long emptied and hoped to see refilled. But Herbert rarely even flicked an eye towards the youngster. To him the lad was just one of Nelson’s foibles, one of that group of spotty midshipmen he always seemed to have in tow.
For all that conversational dominance, and his host’s utter determination not to acknowledge Hardy, Nelson had to admit that John Herbert had a kindly streak. Most planters did, with their easy come, easy go attitude to money, which would have been seen as reckless in colder climes. They gave gifts with a freedom that staggered new arrivals, and expected nothing in return. Herbert was except
ional only in that the base of his wealth was so secure that he did not, unlike most sugar planters, run into debt on an annual basis.
“Ah! Fanny,” Herbert exclaimed, caught in mid-flow as his niece entered. Nelson had no idea that she had returned, but he was aware that he was happy to see her. “You have come most carefully upon your hour, as the bard said. I must visit your aunt Sarah in her sick bed, so for the next quarter of an hour I would ask you to entertain Captain Nelson.”
Just then Josiah Nisbet appeared from behind his mother, which made his great uncle frown. He then glanced at the rigid midshipman. “Josiah. You are much of an age with Mr …”
“Hardy, sir,” the midshipman replied, in his Devon lilt, his voice betraying the cracks, wheezes and strains of puberty. Spotty-faced, with thick lips that were designed never to smile, he was a big youth, broad, heavy jowled, and slow thinking.
“Quite. Take him out into the garden to work up an appetite.”
Thomas Masterman Hardy’s face was a picture of self-control that amused his captain. Was that ire due to being thrown into the company of a five-year-old, or the host’s failure to recognise his near starvation? Nelson reckoned on a combination of both.
“I will send a servant to sit with you and Captain Nelson, Fanny,” Herbert stated. He never forgot the need for propriety.
“Run along, Josh,” said Fanny. “That is, if Mr Hardy does not mind?”
“Ma’am,” Hardy replied, in a strangled tone.
Her voice was soft and melodious, reminding Nelson instantly of Mary Moutray, an impression that was strengthened by the elegant way in which she moved towards the fireplace to pull a bell rope.
“I shall summon a servant myself, since I suspect that between the door of this room and another my dear uncle will have quite forgotten. Believe me his many cares make him unmindful. You only see the obliging host, never the much put upon plantation owner. Might I request for you another rum punch, Captain?”
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