A Divided Command (19 page)

The Palazzo Sessa, home to Sir William and Lady Hamilton, lay at the apex of a steep climb. The horse pulling the fiacre struggled to easily overcome this incline, yet even if he felt for it he was unable, given his standing and his mission, to dismount and ease its burden, this while his Italian companion showed utter indifference.

The temperature dropped perceptibly as the conveyance entered the palace courtyard and it was welcome. Pearce, who was sweating, thought that by the time he got to meet the worthy he had come to see all the dandifying that had been done by him and Michael must be wasted. It was as well there was no sign of the man coming to meet him, so with a gesture to his guide he took time to remove his hat, mop his brow and open his waistcoat to allow his shirt to cool in the breeze coming off the shore he could not see, but was certainly nearby.

Aware of his needs the Italian took him inside the house portal to a gentle fountain spraying out water that felt ice cold in contrast to the air. Pearce, hat off, was enjoying, indeed
revelling in the cooling spray on his face, when the voice made him spin round, the attempt he made to dry himself with the handkerchief he still held in his hand unsuccessful.

He thus came face to face, once more, with His Majesty’s Ambassador to the Kingdom of Naples, this time with water dripping off his chin, his waistcoat undone and his hat in his hand. He saw before him a man for whom elegance clearly came easily. Hamilton was handsome, though not young, and dressed in fine linen clothing, as befitted the climate, while also he had a distinctly patrician air about him. It was not much of a stretch for his visitor, given his features, to imagine him in a toga, addressing the ancient Roman senate.

‘Good day to you, Lieutenant Pearce, I see you have found the need to cool yourself.’

‘I apologise for presenting myself thus, sir.’

‘It is of no account. I myself take to the sea for the same purpose, for the heat of Naples is enough to kill a man. How my dear wife sustains her composure I do not know.’

Pearce reached into his pocket and produced his oilskin pouch. ‘I bring another despatch from Lord Hood.’

‘Excellent.’

‘And a private communication from Captain Nelson.’

‘Ah, the good fellow,’ Hamilton replied in an absent-minded manner as he examined what Pearce had handed him.

I wonder, Pearce thought. Would you continue to see him in that light if you knew I also carried a letter to your wife of which he wishes you to remain ignorant?

‘You must come indoors, where I have some iced sherbet waiting.’

With a soft arm Sir William ushered him into a doorway and up the staircase, this entirely lined by antique statuary
interspersed with great urns full of flowers, their sides carved with classical motifs, the products of his host’s digging efforts in Pompeii and Herculaneum.

The room he entered was as he recalled it: spacious and had that lovely smell of recently polished floors and furniture, mixed with the heady scent of fresh-cut flowers, while the windows that made up one side overlooked the Bay of Naples from the north, creating a view as beautiful as anything he had seen out at sea.

‘May I be allowed to look upon it, sir?’

‘Please do so, Lieutenant,’ he replied, lifting and tinkling a bell.

Pearce had assumed that the bell ringing had been to summon a servant, and in part that was the case, for a man in livery entered with a tray bearing a jug and two stone cups. But it also brought into the room a woman of some beauty, with abundant raven-red hair and a figure that, even through her loose garments, was both full and becoming.

‘Lady Emma, I’m sure you remember Lieutenant Pearce?’

‘My dear Chevalier Hamilton, how could I forget such a handsome fellow?’

‘Charmed, ma’am,’ Pearce replied, with a low bow.

She had replied to her spouse in fluent French, at the same time coming close enough to Pearce for her hand to be kissed, sending forth a strong waft of the scent of lemons. Looking up, Pearce found himself staring into a pair of direct green eyes, which, added to the crooked smile, signalled a danger he had felt on their previous meeting.

Mind yourself, Pearce, he thought; we are in infested waters here.

‘Mr Dorling, I wonder if you would be so kind as to provide me with a boat?’

‘You wish to go ashore, ma’am?’

‘I do.’

That got a creased forehead; the master had no orders forbidding it nor did he have any to say it was permissible to oblige the captain’s lady in such a request. As soon as her man had gone, Emily had requested the use of a telescope and had spent some time looking towards the shore, as well as the numerous merchant vessels in the harbour, noting especially those bearing British flags. No one, Dorling included, had evinced much surprise at this, Naples being a place of repute for the curious visitor; now he was wondering what she had been up to.

‘Might I be allowed to point out that this city has a certain reputation for …’

‘Being unsafe for unaccompanied ladies?’ Dorling nodded. ‘Is not every port like that?’

‘This one be a mite worse than most.’

‘Which is why I have asked Mr O’Hagan to accompany me.’

‘Mr O’Hagan,’ Dorling thought; since when was that Irish monster a Mr? He had no real choice but to accede: if there was a wigging to be issued for this let it be to her, not him.

The said Mr, having gone to fetch his footwear, was getting a proper grousing from two of his shipmates.

‘Talk about falling on your feet, Michael; first you gets the cabin duty and how easy is that, then you get to go ashore when we is still stuck in the ship.’

‘I was not the one to make it so, Charlie, it was John-boy.’

‘Must be soft in the head if he sees you as a servant.’

‘To be sure, he will be glad to hear you say that to him.’

‘Which I will, when the chance presents.’

‘There’s now’t for it, Charlie,’ Rufus cut in. ‘Michael was ever one up on us.’

‘Well, it’s not for the sharpness of his mind.’

‘Was a time, Charlie Taverner, that you would have been bruised for saying that.’

Bravado was one of Charlie’s traits and he was good at it, as he had to be in a previous fraught existence. He also knew the time was long gone when Michael would belt him for his cheek. Besides, the Irishman, when sober, could take as good a ribbing as the next man and not lose his temper. So what Charlie said next had all that in the mix.

‘Happen, mate, you might not find that as easy goin’ as you reckon.’

‘Get me some coin,’ Rufus hooted, ‘I want a wager on that one.’

The voice from the companionway was brusque and there
at the very top, glaring at them, was the face of Mr Bird. ‘O’Hagan, the captain’s lady is awaiting on you on deck. Taverner and Dommet, there’s work to do so you best shift as well.’

‘What a life!’ said Charlie.

‘I can think of worse, mate,’ came the reply from Rufus, who was already climbing the stairway, Michael on his heels.

Emily was waiting and it was immediately obvious that she had gone to some trouble, wearing clothes that were more suitable for a special occasion than a mere expedition ashore – a cream-coloured dress and her best wide bonnet. Also, she was carrying the kind of bag in her hand that was very obvious and too big to be easily hidden.

‘Keep an eye on that she is carrying, O’Hagan,’ Dorling whispered. ‘I have heard that when it comes to light fingers, Naples is the place of invention.’

‘Jesus, why does she want a thing that size, anyway?’

‘Best you ask her, you know her better than anyone, bar the captain hisself.’

That Michael declined to do, but once they were in the boat, the aim of his looks alerted Emily to his curiosity and that made her clutch the object closer, which was the wrong thing to do. Michael went from being interested to being questioning.

‘Would you like me to take care of that bag, Mrs Barclay? Be safer in my mitt than your own.’

‘No thank you, Michael, I can perfectly well take care of it.’

‘Would I be permitted to ask the purpose?’

‘Of going ashore?’

Such an obvious answer was mere prevarication, and if Michael might not have used such a word, she could see
in his eyes that he knew what she was about until he just nodded and looked away; Emily had made him suspicious, which obliged her to remind herself that however kind and considerate he was to her, Michael was the best friend and supporter of John Pearce.

‘I might as well tell you, Michael, for it will come out as soon as John—’

‘The captain, ma’am,’ Michael interrupted, indicating the men who were rowing.

‘Yes. Well when he comes back aboard he will be told. I am going ashore to find a shipping agent and enquire as to the cost of a passage back to England. Since I do not intend to beg for the fare, I have fetched ashore everything I possess which has any value.’

That had Michael glaring at his shipmates, for each one wore an expression of shock or interest. Some exchanged looks that hinted at wonder about a subject he saw as none of their business. Good-humoured the Irishman might be, but no one mistook the message in his angry expression.

‘I trust it does not trouble you to accompany me, Michael?’

‘Captain would skin me if I let you go ashore on your own.’

Time spent with the Hamiltons allowed John Pearce to reaffirm his previous impression: that the ambassador’s wife was an endemic flirt, with a habit of making statements that could be taken as double entendres, each one of which caused her to act as if she was shocked at either her own foolishness or her daring. Sir William found the whole thing amusing, which had his guest suspecting that for him it was part of the lady’s charm: she was certainly not stuffy.

He and his papa had never moved in what could be called ‘society’ circles, but the marriage of the pair he was dining with had caused such a stir of gossip that it had permeated down to people who had no notion to care. Lady Hamilton was said to be, by the most malicious tongues, a one-time whore, albeit she had graced the salons of one of London’s more elegant bagnios. She had at one time been the mistress of Sir William’s nephew and it was humorously supposed she had been passed like a parcel to the uncle, first as a mistress, then as a wife.

King George, to whom Hamilton had been a childhood friend, was furious at the match and had only acceded to it taking place on a special request from the Queen of Naples, with whom the one-time Emma Lyons had become very intimate, a fact attested to by Nelson. On his last visit he had been in the audience as she performed her famous “Atitudes”, rather risqué representations of women from classical antiquity, which somewhat underlined that reputation. Yet she clearly had the affection of her husband and Sir William was no fool, so was she the creature of rumour or something else entirely, this a run of thoughts interrupted by his host.

‘You returned to Toulon when you left us last?’

‘Yes, Sir William, and I took part in the evacuation, a terrible event, as I am sure you have heard.’

‘Only from local sources who returned to Naples and they were less than flattering regarding the actions of Lord Hood.’

‘They are much minded,’ Lady Hamilton pronounced, ‘to praise their own to the ceiling when it comes to evacuation.’

The absence of a reference to Toulon in that remark allowed for it to be misconstrued; it also allowed the hostess
to pretend it had been an accident and make the sort of, ‘did I really say that?’ face, which had been used more than once. All it got from her husband was a quiet chortle. John Pearce, when the ambassador had returned his gaze to the food on his plate, got a direct and challenging stare. The silly woman look had disappeared.

He still had in his pocket Nelson’s letter to her, not yet having been gifted a chance to pass it over. To do so meant they would need to be alone, which was not a situation to which he was looking forward. Indeed, so worrying was it that he was tempted to just whip it out at the table, hand it over and let the devil take the hindmost; he had no intention of getting into any kind of stew on behalf of an officer he barely knew, however much he was admired.

‘Time will not permit us to talk of Toulon at present, Lieutenant, for I am due at the palace for the royal levee. So you will oblige me by dining with us tonight, which will afford us ample opportunity to talk.’

Politeness required the same response as he had made before. ‘We are some way from my ship, sir, and in the dark—’

‘Never mind that, I think you will recall that the Palazzo Sessa is not short of rooms with which to accommodate guests. If you need anything, like your linen freshened, you have only to ask Mrs Cadogan and it will be provided.’

‘I feel I have been remiss, sir, in not enquiring about Lady Hamilton’s mother.’

‘Still with us, Lieutenant Pearce, and running our house with her usual efficiency, as remarkable a woman, in her own way, as her daughter.’

Michael O’Hagan had availed himself of a short naval hanger as well as a marlinspike, both prominent on his belt and, once she was out of the boat, he positioned himself on the side she carried her bag and it was as well he did given the attention she attracted. As soon as they landed on the crowded quayside the pair seemed to be surrounded by men, some of whom sought to touch Emily and had to be handed off by her escort.

There were dozens of street urchins too, filthy skin-and-bone children of both sexes, barefoot and in rags who Michael reckoned were intent on robbery, so that unbidden he took his charge’s arm and once he had slipped his hand through made sure his grip was on the bag handle.

He kept an eye peeled, watching for a knife that would slit it open, not that he was allowed to keep it steady by the need to force a passage across a roadway that teemed with humanity and the loud exclamations of hucksters and traders. Emily was subjected to cries and gestures as they passed that even the person most ignorant of the Neapolitan dialect could see were full of vulgar sexual suggestions.

‘We should have brought a raiding party ashore, Mrs Barclay, enough to keep these low scullies standing off.’

‘We do not have far to go, Michael, just to that flag of St George, yonder.’

‘Not a cross to cheer an Irishman.’

‘But surely a place that will be inhabited by someone who speaks English.’

‘You knew where we were headed?’

‘I saw the flag from the deck, Michael, and I have high hopes it will be a trading house with links to home.’

‘Get off, you little bugger,’ Michael cried, as he saw a tiny
hand trying to undo the clasp on Emily’s bag, that followed by a sweep of his free hand and the sound of it landing on flesh. ‘Beggin’ your pardon, ma’am.’

‘Compared to some of the lewdness being aimed at me from the locals, Michael, that particular piece of blasphemy seems tame.’

As well as the flag flying above the door, there was a guard of sorts, who was not far off the girth and height of O’Hagan and he too was armed. Seeing that Emily was heading for the interior he was tasked to protect he stepped forward to drive back some of those importuning her.

With his help both she and Michael were ushered through the doorway, into a musty-smelling place, part warehouse and part a bureau, there being a pair of dry-stick-looking clerks standing at high desks, with quills in their hands. Behind them, all the way to the rafters, lay stacked goods waiting to be shipped.

‘Sure, it’s best I have no part in this, Mrs Barclay, John-boy would skin me if he thought I’d aided you.’

‘If you wish to wait outside …’

‘Just inside, out of the sun.’

Which he did, far enough away to render the conversation Emily had with one of the clerks as no more than a set of murmured exchanges. That it led to a conclusion Michael guessed for the subject of money was a trifle louder and he did hear clearly that payment in kind would not be readily accepted.

If the lady wanted a passage to England it would have to be paid for in hard coin and yes there were ships due to sail on the morrow. The conversation quieted again and glancing backwards Michael saw the clerk scribbling with his quill,
then handing Emily a piece of paper; that in her hand, she rejoined him.

‘I have the name of a Jewish merchant not far off who will give me cash for my valuables.’

‘Would I be allowed to say I ain’t happy about this?’

Michael O’Hagan had seen Emily Barclay determined before and he knew well the look that she gave him, so she did not have to tell him that she would, if necessary, go on alone. With a sigh, he nodded and stood aside so she could exit.

‘Oblige me, Mrs Barclay, by clutching that bag to your body. Something tells me I might need both hands free to get us to where you are going.’

John Pearce was sitting in a cool bedchamber half contemplating sending a note back to the ship to explain his continued absence. Yet that had its own complications, for he was well aware that if there was any chance of getting ashore his crew would be eager to partake of it and that was not a duty he was happy to leave entirely to his ship’s master, so he put the notion aside; a day of waiting would not harm them and he could justify another in port without rising censure.

He was stripped to the waist and awaiting the return of his shirt, which had been taken from him to be washed and ironed on the instructions of Mrs Cadogan, as formidable a lady as he remembered from a very brief meeting. As soon as she left a servant had appeared with a tub of cool water, soap and a soft sponge, so that when his garment came back he had done everything bar shave, not really a concern since he had done so before departing the ship.

The lady who kept house for the Hamiltons was the very
image of the housekeeper breed, squat of body with a mob cap and long dun-coloured dress, while at her hip she carried a set of keys so numerous it would not have disgraced Newgate Prison. Not imposing, she nevertheless had a look about her that would brook no nonsense and being the man he was, sociable by habit, John Pearce engaged her in conversation.

‘I think I detected previously, Mrs Cadogan, that you are from the north-west area of England?’

That surprised her; she looked at him hard and her tone was not friendly, making it seem as if he had uncovered something. ‘True enough, sir, as if it signifies.’