Emma was now a confidante in the sense that Maria Carolina spoke in her presence about matters of state, her relations with her husband, and what to do with her children. But the Queen was never subjected to a question, never ever probed for motive, because that was forbidden. It was possible for Emma to advance ideas that had advantage for her husband’s mission as British Ambassador. But absolute intimacy was impossible: a ruler could never entirely trust anyone.
“Enough, children,” Maria Carolina said, waving away a barrage of protests. The various German women who had care of the children came forward to collect their reluctant charges, who would now be taken off to their lessons. The Queen persevered with studious application to their education, not least because she did not want them turning out like her husband. Before departure, each was required to kiss their mother, and none went without a peck from Emma. Maria Carolina felt a pang of jealousy that she received dutiful embraces, while Emma’s were given out of affection.
“So, Emma, what onslaught must we to face today from your little admiral?”
Emma started at “your,” then realised that the word had been used in innocence. “He will not attack you, madam, but he will try to persuade you to attack the French.”
Maria Carolina laughed. “Believe me, Emma, if I were a man, I would need no persuasion. My sword would be stained already with the blood of those swinedogs.”
“Why change sex, madam? Perhaps what we need is a regiment of women.”
“Look no further than Naples for that, Emma,” the Queen replied, bitterly. “A true man in this forsaken place is not easy to find.”
There were things about which the two women disagreed, and Naples was one of them. Emma loved it for dozens of reasons, which seemed to be the same ones for which Maria Carolina despised it. The climate was benign in winter and bearable in summer, as long as they went out of the city. Society was frivolous, the peasantry idle but good-humoured, the scenery beautiful, even rumbling Vesuvius. There was the warm sea to bathe in, an idea that made the Queen shudder, and abundant highly scented flowers, which made her sneeze.
The only thing of which they seemed at one was the Neapolitan love of superstition. Maria Carolina was a firm believer in the Evil One, who could damn you to perdition with a look: thus she was covered in charms to ward off the actions of the devil and his acolytes. She had persuaded Emma to wear them too, because their friendship would render her person vulnerable if Emma was not protected. It was hard to argue with a queen, and Emma didn’t try.
In fact, she was careful in what she said, though not from weakness. Emma knew that she could speak to the Queen in a manner that would see others put firmly in their place. She didn’t try to understand why this should be so, but knew that Maria Carolina disliked falsehood or disguised feelings. Therefore, ever since they had first become close, she had behaved naturally.
“You would oblige me, Emma, by telling your admiral that my inclinations are to oppose France, but I may not be able to say so in his presence.”
“He will believe that without any words of mine, madam. He knows and esteems you from what I have told him of you in my letters.”
“Do you always write well of me, Emma?”
Intended as a joke, it was taken the wrong way, with Emma insisting, “I keep fair copies, madam, that you are at liberty to read.”
“No, no, Emma, my dear,” Maria Carolina said. “You have often read to me Admiral Nelson’s replies and that will suffice. I am often left to wonder if the person he talks of as Queen of Naples is me or someone imagined, so virtuous does he make me sound. Now, take my arm, and escort me to the door of that nest of vipers my husband calls his council.”
That Nelson emerged frustrated from de Gallo’s room came as no surprise to him. He had never expected to be greeted with news that the strategic and tactical moves he had recommended had been implemented. But he had expected political action. However, the man on whom he relied to pressure their putative allies had seemed reluctant to press his case. As he had perceived that morning, Sir William had lost some of his fire.
The best interpretation that Nelson could essay was that the Ambassador realised the limitations of what he could do and was determined not to raise Nelson’s hopes. But Sir William had been too soft on the Marquis. He had let him control the conversation instead of reminding a man who was a silk-clad scoundrel what he owed to Great Britain; to tell him that, years ago, without the shield of the British fleet, Naples would have been under French control.
That thought was reinforced as they entered the council chamber to face the several men and one woman who ran the kingdom. Ferdinand was there, of course, looking bored, although the proceedings had not even begun. Nelson observed the huge nose and heavy, dark features, the prominent brow made more so by thick eyebrows. The King had near-black eyes that never seemed to settle on any object for more than a second, and a hand that seemed to be continually scratching at his groin.
Ferdinand didn’t twitch; he was after all not actually mad, just very strange. A tall, broad-shouldered man who should have looked splendid and majestic in court dress, he was the most unkempt person in the room, with traces of food on his coat front. His wig was poorly dressed and very slightly misplaced which gave him the air of some character from a comedy of manners.
As usual a high cleric was in attendance, a hawk-faced individual that Sir William informed him was Cardinal Fabrizo Ruffo, apparently one of those divines who, rich before his elevation, spent most of his time increasing his wealth rather than tending to the needs of his flock.
The Queen was seated beside Ferdinand and Nelson saw her as no more regal than her husband. She was squat at the hips and narrow at the shoulders, with unhealthy skin, a heavy, gloomy mouth, and a long face that ended in a double chin. Only the eyes betrayed animation and intelligence. What was it that made Emma friends with this woman? In every letter he had ever received from her Emma had never failed to praise the Queen. And it was an attachment that had paid handsome dividends. Without Maria Carolina—and possibly Acton acting in his capacity as Minister of Marine, Nelson would have had to abandon the chase after Bonaparte. Then he recalled that it had been Emma, using every ounce of influence she had on behalf of her country, who had persuaded the Queen to break the rules of neutrality. For that she deserved a medal, and he resolved there and then to move heaven and earth to get her one.
A delegation from Malta was shown in, to tell the King and Queen that their islands, captured by Bonaparte, were willing to submit to the suzerainty of Naples if they could be recaptured. The home of the Knights of St John since the time of the crusades, Malta had been just the kind of prize craved by revolutionary France: rich, undisturbed for centuries, and with an abundance of treasure to steal. That treasure had been sent to the bottom of Aboukir Bay with the French flagship L’Orient.
Through whispered translation, Sir William kept Nelson abreast of the submissions of the Maltese delegation and the King’s response: that his forces would kick the French out. To Nelson’s mind the Maltese could invite away and give credence to Ferdinand’s promises if they wished. Valetta was the only place that mattered and Malta would be a hard nut to crack with the French holed up in the main fortress. They were not like the Knights of St John, grown soft and corrupt through decades of luxury, an easy target to a determined invader.
De Gallo had arrived while the Maltese were making their case. After their departure he began to talk as though he was barely part of the proceedings, reiterating what he had told Nelson and Sir William already regarding the arrival of Baron Mack. Equally bored Horatio Nelson looked around the overly elaborate decor of the chamber: painted ceiling panels showed the various stages of some celestial contest; feats of a more modern nature graced the wall panels, with knights slaying everything from dragons to Saracens. He was unable to resist the ironic contrast between Neapolitan art and reality.
He needed soldiers and would have given his one good arm for British regiments tha
t would march to his commands. As de Gallo droned on, Nelson let his imagination run to lines of red-coats advancing under his instructions, taking Rome and the states beyond and rolling the enemy back beyond Nice.
Sir John Acton was called upon to speak. Nelson ceased his meandering and concentrated on what his fellow countryman had to say. Acton had always had an agreeable countenance but age had sharpened his features considerably. Though dressed plainly in a dark silk coat and buff breeches, he was immaculate in a way that others present were not. Everything about his person spoke of a fastidious attention to his toilet, from his short well-powdered wig, to his gold-buckled and highly polished pumps. Nelson could see that his fingernails were even, manicured, and clean.
Nelson had always liked him because he was a positive force in this gimcrack court, too professional to be dismissed. He might not have the power he once enjoyed, but he was still a potent minister. His information, which was far more encouraging than de Gallo’s, revealed that troops were available and more could be recruited. The royal regiments were up to strength and all the noblemen of the mainland and Sicily had been called upon to serve with horse and carbine.
Acton called upon Commodore Caracciolo to speak about naval preparations. An old adversary of Nelson’s, Caracciolo, despite his squat and muscular frame, had the same courtier-like arrogance as de Gallo. He declined to be specific—in fact, he did little more than invite Nelson to dine on board one of the Neapolitan capital ships as a guest of the King. Nelson could see what that meant without explanation from Sir William. Ferdinand was telling him that Naples was still neutral. To dine a British admiral on shore would breach the obligations of neutrality, giving the French envoy every right to object. Naples was sitting on the fence.
Which was where Nelson wanted to be on the way back to the Palazzo Sessa, preferably a fence miles away from Naples. The meeting he dreaded, at which he, Emma, and Sir William would be present, was about to take place. He contemplated an immediate return to his ship, but dismissed that out of hand. Even if Vanguard had been ready for sea, which she was not, his flight would strengthen rather than allay suspicion.
There would be a brief respite while each party returned to their own apartments, or so Nelson thought until he opened the door to his and found his stepson, Josiah Nesbit, waiting for him. The sight of the young man brought forcibly to mind an image of his wife, which induced feelings of deep guilt. This he tried to disguise by giving the young man a hearty greeting.
“I have come to proffer an apology, sir,” Josh said, as Tom Allen took Nelson’s hat and removed his cloak.
Stiff, non-familial, typical of the grown up Josh. “An apology?”
His stepson was looking at a point above his head. “For my behaviour last night, sir.”
Nelson looked perplexed. “I was not aware that your behaviour gave any cause for an apology.”
“Captain Troubridge does, sir, and also, it seems, Captain Hardy. I am here at their express wish.”
There was still no eye contact. “Josh, you can come and go here as you like. We are, if not blood relations, family nevertheless.”
“Sir.”
Nelson wondered what had become of the boy he had once known, whose company he had so enjoyed. In a life in the Navy Nelson had seen hundreds grow from nervous boys to confident men, watched them lose that sense of frolic on taking up an officer’s responsibilities. But Josh had surpassed them all. His golden hair had turned dull brown, his happy countenance had soured.
That he drank more than was good for him was obvious from the puffy face, bloodshot eyes, and the protruding belly in an otherwise spare frame. On his desk, Nelson had a letter of complaint from the commander-in-chief that alluded to transgressions without being specific. This was odd, because when they had met at the beginning of the year, prior to the Nile campaign, St Vincent had been full of praise for the same person his letter damned.
“For what offence do Hardy and Troubridge say you must apologise?”
“I made some remarks regarding you and Lady Hamilton, which they deemed inappropriate.”
Nelson turned away, with a sharp look at Tom Allen, which commanded him to leave the room. “Tell me, Josh, did you drink much last night?”
“Several of your officers told me I was drunk, yes.”
Nelson turned back, smiling. “Was it not an occasion to overindulge? We were celebrating a great victory.”
“You will recall, sir, that I was not present at Aboukir Bay.”
Nelson was angry now, but he sought hard not to let it show in his voice. “For God’s sake, Josh, stop being so damned formal. I am your stepfather, and while I acknowledge that such an estate is not perfect I hope and pray you believe that I regard you as my own son. I have done everything in my power to advance you in the service and will continue to do so. Now, let us put aside the events of last night for a moment. Tell me what you did to upset St Vincent.”
“I became engaged in various disputes with my fellow officers on the Cadiz blockade, sir.”
“I can hardly fault you for that,” replied Nelson, with a laugh. “I have, as you know, spent half my service life arguing with some of them.”
His attempt to lighten the atmosphere fell flat. Nelson had already replied to St Vincent, requesting a more detailed explanation, while at the same time requesting that Josh be given a frigate and the right to serve under his stepfather’s command. Better to wait for a response from the Earl than to tax his stepson about his misdemeanours. However, although he didn’t want to ask what happened at the ball last night, he knew he had to.
“Tell me what was it you said that so upset Troubridge and Hardy?”
“I complained, sir, that the attentions you were paying to Lady Hamilton were those you should have properly been paying to my mother, and I said so loudly enough for a great number of people to hear.”
“She was our hostess, Josh. And I do recall that when you came here with me in ’93, she was the soul of kindness to you.”
Josiah Nesbit positively spat his next words. “Just as I recall, sir, telling you that she was a whore who had tricked Sir William Hamilton into marriage. And I also remember how severely you chastised me for that statement.”
“I thought you wrong then, Josh,” said Nelson, softly, “and further acquaintance with the lady means that now I know it.”
“She’s ensnared you too.”
The realisation that his stepson was jealous came as a flash of insight, though Nelson had little time to examine it. For five days in 1793, Emma had doted on the youth, flattered him, made him feel special, and broken through his shyness. How had she treated him on his return? As just another naval officer, perhaps, well connected but of less account than the abundant Nile heroes?
“Lady Hamilton has ensnared no one, Josh. I will not lie to you when I say I find her a most pleasant person to be with.”
“I doubt you are alone in that, sir,” said Josh. “I should think that half the cocks in Naples share that notion.”
“How dare you, sir!” Nelson shouted, regretting it immediately. Too stout a defence of Emma could only confirm the young man’s suspicions. “How dare you bring your vulgar filth into my presence? Do I have to remind of my rank, as well as my status as your legal parent?”
“No, sir,” said Josiah stiffly.
“I have it on very good authority,” Nelson went on, “that the lady in question gives no cause for scandal. Have I not written to your own mother these last five years to tell her so, and point out that whatever demeaning gossip she might have heard about Lady Hamilton cannot be true? Do you not know that Lady Hamilton, out of the kindness of her heart, also wrote to your mother to praise you, and to tell her that, having taken you under her protective wing, she felt that you would grow to be a man of whom she could be proud?”
“I am aware of that, sir.”
“Then by your behaviour you are denying the truth of that assertion. Captains Troubridge and Hardy are right, you do owe me a
n apology. But more than that you owe a greater one to someone else who has shown you nothing but kindness. Lady Hamilton, herself.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
AS HE MADE HIS WAY towards the main reception rooms of the Palazzo Sessa Nelson was seething, yet he sensed that the ground was shifting beneath his feet. Who else had noticed his behaviour with Emma? Troubridge for certain, and his flag captain Thomas Hardy. Did they think the same as Josh? Had they, in fact, sent his stepson to apologise as a way of alerting him to the obvious nature of his behaviour? His own weakness, which he experienced that very morning, would work against him. Proximity to Emma shattered his resolve so he must never be alone with her, nor show her too much attention when they were in company.
The doors opened before him to a room full of people engaged in polite applause. As he bowed he saw Emma glance at him proudly. The look on Sir William Hamilton’s face was a combination of admiration and perplexity.
It was easier to avoid being alone with either Sir William or Emma than Nelson had supposed. Few occasions arose in the endless round of balls and receptions when they were not in the company of others. The Palazzo Sessa had always played host to a stream of visitors: expatriate or travelling fellow countrymen, locals and foreigners interested in art, antiquities, music, literature and gossip. Sir William Hamilton’s reception rooms were home to wit and malice in equal measure and, over the years of his tenure, they had become one of the focal points of Neapolitan society. With Nelson in residence the number of callers increased and The Palazzo always seemed full. When either the crowd, the contemplation of Emma’s beauty, or a stab of jealousy at the attentions paid to her by another man became too much for him, Nelson had his own apartments to retire to, where Tyson waited with sheaves of correspondence requiring his attention.
Most days and every night they went elsewhere to be entertained. In the main, Nelson travelled to these events in a separate carriage with his officers because whenever he appeared a crowd gathered to cheer him. Walking in the streets was impossible—he was mobbed whenever he tried.
Tested by Fate Page 32