Any Approaching Enemy: A Novel of the Napoleonic Wars (10 page)

Just for a moment he remembered the American, Jones, saying that the French force presented a serious threat to English interests and must be destroyed. He had been adamant about it. What did that mean? It was all rather dubious. But if the American had thought it important, Nelson probably did, too.

To turn his thoughts toward firmer ground Charles decided it was nearing time to think about the replenishment of
Louisa
’s food, water, and firewood. There was no urgency, they still had supplies for a month or more on board. But fresh water would be a large improvement over their current supply, already two months in the cask. It had long since developed a distinct odor, and a flavor that only a seaman could endure. Fresh meat, fresh vegetables, some good Italian wine to restock the supply, all would be welcome.

Naples—along with Palermo, the capital of the double kingdom— lay an easy four days’ sail to the south, weather permitting. From his written instructions, he knew there was a British consul in the city, a Sir William Hamilton. Perhaps Sir William could arrange for their resupply and even secure a proper mizzenmast for Bevan. If Admiral Nelson and his squadron had sailed south along the Italian coast, he surely would have paid a call on the city. He might be in the harbor at this very moment. The more Charles thought about it, the more he settled on Naples as a reasonable destination.

Having decided on a course of action, he spent much of the evening composing additional paragraphs for his growing letter to Penny. He counted and found that it was now some thirteen pages in length. On this occasion, he described in detail the galleys he’d seen at Genoa, their beauty and speed, and their ancient heritage. He did not mention that he’d sunk two of them.

Over the next five days,
Louisa
and
Pylades
crept southward at the crippled brig’s pace, along the Tuscan shore, past the island of Elba and the ports of Civita Vecchia, Ostia, Anzio, and finally, rounding Cape Circeo into the Gulf of Gaeta, just to the north of Naples. Along the way, they saw numerous remnants of the once great Roman Empire, usually in the form of clusters of roofless and broken marble columns, like fingers reaching for the sky. Eliot, surprisingly, proved well versed in the history of the region and kept up a running commentary: This place was a temple to Venus, that one to Mars; here a battle against the Etruscans, there a resort famous for its hot spas and red wine. The small port of Ostia had once been the most important in the empire, due to its proximity to Rome, which lay just over the hills inland. It looked insignificant now. A little farther south, the small town of Anzio, on a point of land, had seen the birth of two of Rome’s most notorious emperors, Caligula and Nero.

That Sunday morning, as he did on most Sundays, Charles conducted a thorough inspection of the ship. In the middle of the morning, the crew, washed, shaved, and in their best clothing, turned out in their divisions. Charles walked the straight lines of men, partly to see that they were clean, healthy, and sober, and partly to test himself on all their names. As a general rule, he would make a remark or exchange a pleasantry every seventh or eighth man: a light or stern comment about a past misdeed, or a question about health or some special responsibility. Afterward, he made a close examination of the guns, the galley, the lower decks, the officers’ wardroom, and so on through the ship.

Usually, about a half hour before dinner, he would speak to them all from the quarterdeck. Occasionally, he read a few passages from the Bible. Sometimes he talked to them about their work, an improvement he wanted, or, if appropriate,
Louisa
’s orders from the admiral. Once each month, he was required to read the thirty-five Articles of War, specifying in explicit detail the offenses that officers and men would be punished for and the severity of the penalty. Death was the required penalty for transgressing eight of the Articles and optional for eleven more.

The following Tuesday, they rounded the mountainous Cape Circeo, a location Charles knew to be described in Homer’s
Odyssey,
where the enchantress Circe turned men into swine. To prove the point, Eliot spent the remainder of the day answering to orders with “Oink-oink, sir,” and bursting into laughter. That evening the two ships anchored to the south of the island of Ischia so they could run into Naples with the first light of the morrow. From their anchorage, Charles could just see into the outer harbor with his glass. He saw several aging frigates flying the white flag with the Kingdom of the Two Sicilies’ coat of arms, but not a sign of any British seventy-fours. That night he added a few more endearments to the letter for his wife and folded the sheaf of papers into an envelope, thinking he could leave it with the British consul for forwarding to England.

With dawn, both ships pulled their bowers and coasted on an inshore breeze toward the bay. Two miles out, they were met by a pilot boat and in time dropped anchor again, three cables’ length from shore in the inner roads. Charles washed and shaved and donned his full dress uniform and best (and only remaining) hat. After breakfast, he collected his letter and the rest of the ship’s mail, then ordered his gig into the water to call upon Sir William Hamilton.

“ ’ Tis a beautiful day, sir,” Williams, the coxswain, said as Charles stepped into the stern sheets and sat down. It was indeed a brilliant and fresh morning, with a bright sun about a quarter of the way toward its zenith. Golden sparkles danced across the low chop.

“It’ll be warm enough by noon,” Charles responded absently. “But a fine day, yes.” He nodded to Williams to shove off from the frigate.

“Out oars,” the coxswain said to the eight men at the sweeps. “All together, pull.” The gig started quickly across the harbor, relatively crowded with skiffs, wherries, lighters, and all manner of small boats plying between the merchantmen and the shore. The gig’s oars dipped and pulled, dipped and pulled, Williams adjusting the tiller from time to time to maneuver around the other traffic. Charles fingered his bulky envelope and allowed himself to think about his wife. How long would it be before his letter reached her? What, he wondered, would she be doing now? It would be early in the morning in Cheshire. Had she risen and dressed, or was she still asleep, her fair hair spread across the pillow? The thoughts made him unhappy, and he attempted to focus on the activities in the harbor around him. He noticed a small skiff with a single pair of oars pulling across on a course opposite his own. He idly noted that the craft held a passenger in the stern, a woman, with an umbrella held up for shade against the sun. He wondered what a woman was doing in the middle of the harbor; the wife or mistress to some ship’s captain, he guessed. As the distance closed, he saw that she was dressed oddly in a plain brown dress, buttoned to her chin, and a gray bonnet. His heart ached. It could be his own Penny, dressed like that. Of course, not in the middle of the Mediterranean. He looked more closely. On their present courses, the two would pass within a hundred yards of each other. He saw the woman turn her head in his direction, focusing, he was sure, on his gig. It couldn’t be.

“Williams,” he said quickly, then, not having come to any conscious conclusion, “steer to close on that wherry.” He pointed. “That one there; the one with the woman in it.”

“Aye-aye, sir.”

Charles raised his hand to shield his eyes from the glare. She was gesturing to her oarsman and definitely pointing in his direction.

“My God,” he said.

“Beg your pardon, sir?” Williams said.

The woman stood and waved, which immediately set her skiff rocking violently.

“Close on that boat,” Charles said urgently. “Put your backs into it.”

He heard an achingly familiar “Charlie! Charlie!” across the water.

Despite the danger, he stood and gestured frantically with his arms. “Sit down,” he yelled. Everyone was trying to get her back into her seat. Her own taximan had dropped his oars and turned to pull her down.

“Back oars,” Williams ordered, and the gig glided to a halt beside the wherry. Charles found himself staring at the brightly flushed face of his wife.

FOUR

“ART THOU PLEASED?” PENELOPE EDGEMONT SAID WITH AN apprehensive smile. “I have come for my visit with thee.” “Surely I am pleased,” he said quickly. “Very pleased, but…” Words failed him. “Well … umm … yes, and surprised.” Turning to the coxswain, he said, “Can we bring her across?”

“Of course, sir,” Williams said, and reached for a boat hook to pull the skiff close to the gig’s stern. “I’ll hand her over.” He stepped deftly into the water taxi and, on his knees, scooped her up under her shoulders and thighs and swung her outboard. Penny reached and put her arms around Charles’s neck as he collected her and set her on the bench beside him. The proximity of her body cast him into further confusion. Her arms slipped from his neck and grasped his arm tightly.

She was a woman of nineteen years, with pale gray eyes under finely sketched eyebrows, a narrow nose, and a slightly pointed chin. Her dress was plain, with no collar or cuffs, and was fastened with hooks rather than the more fashionable buttons. Nor did she wear any ribbons or lace or jewelry of any kind. To Charles, she seemed a picture of beauty, at this moment a picture of beauty anxious about his reaction to her presence.

“I thank thee, Owen Williams,” Penny said as the coxswain slipped back on board. Following Quaker custom, she addressed everyone by his or her given and family names and never used titles denoting any manner of rank or privilege.

“You remembered, missus,” Williams said shyly, looking pleased, and knuckled his forehead to her.

Charles tossed the skiff’s boatman a silver coin. The man bit the metal to test if it was real, grinned happily, and started back toward the shore. It took a moment for Charles to order his thoughts as the motionless gig rocked gently under the morning sun. All eyes on board watched him expectantly.

“We will return to the ship,” he said.

“Aye-aye, sir,” Williams answered. “Put some muscle into it, lads.”

“There’s no urgency.”

“No, sir.”

Turning to Penny, Charles said, “I didn’t expect you. Not that your appearance isn’t welcome.”

“I know,” she answered softly. “I wrote to thee in Gibraltar, but when I received no reply, I supposed that thou had not received it.” Her eyes studied his face. “Truly, thou art not angered?”

“I am far from angry. Honestly.” He cracked into a smile. “Amazed, possibly. Whatever will I do with you?”

Her eyes narrowed, her face pinkened, and she smiled back. “I have some business concerning thy estates,” she answered primly. Then, dropping her voice and leaning close to his ear, “I have come to visit with thee for a time … as a wife should.”

“Oh,” Charles said. He detected a slight emphasis on the word “wife” and felt his face go red. “I received your letters just before we sailed,” he said. “I hadn’t time to answer them before.” He reached under the stern sheets bench and came up with his envelope. “I was hoping to send it on this morning. Here.”

“What boat?” Winchester’s voice hailed them. It was a pro forma question, since the lieutenant knew perfectly well what boat it was. Then Charles heard, “Oh my God!”

“We have a guest, Stephen,” Charles called back. “Rig a sling, if you please.”

Winchester turned to give the order and then turned back. “Good morning to you, Mrs. Edgemont,” he said, lifting his hat.

“Good morning to thee, Stephen Winchester,” Penny shouted upward. “I bring thee joy from thy wife.”

A whip was quickly rove to the yardarm, and a chair for her to sit in was lowered into the boat. As soon as Charles was satisfied that she was properly secured, he shouted, “Hoist away,” and she soared upwards. Charles climbed up by the side ladder onto the deck. Penny stood next to Winchester, a happy smile on her face. Winchester was beaming so widely that Charles thought it must surely injure his cheeks. “What is it?” he asked.

“It’s Ellie,” Winchester managed. “She’s delivered me a son.”

Charles grinned. “Congratulations, Stephen. This is truly a day for welcome surprises. What name?”

Winchester, not yet having thought of this question, looked to Penny.

“Stephen Peter Winchester,” she said. “Born on the second day, fifth month. That’s thy May, I think. He is adorable, large, and loud and healthy.” Peter had been Charles and Ellie’s father’s given name.

“This calls for a celebration,” Charles said, taking Penny by the elbow. “Will you join us?” he said to Winchester.

“I have the watch, sir.”

“Mr. Beechum,” Charles called to the midshipman, standing at the front of a group of seamen, mostly topmen, across from them on the deck.

The boy approached quickly. “Yes, sir?” he said, touching his hat, then removing it,. “Your servant, Mrs. Edgemont.”

“Thank thee, Isaac Beechum,” Penny said. “I trust thou art well.”

“Oh, yes, ma’am,” Beechum said.

“You have the watch,” Charles said.

“Aye-aye, sir,” Beechum said, smiling. He had never been asked to stand as officer of the watch before.

Charles had turned to lead Penny and Winchester aft to his cabin when he took a second look at the seamen, watching them expectantly. Their number had grown. “Just a moment,” he said, and led his wife across. The men who wore hats immediately removed them.

“I am so pleased to see all of thee again,” Penny said warmly. Some of the men touched their foreheads, others bowed, while the majority simply smiled. “I want ye all to know that I rest comfortably knowing that my husband is in thy care.”

Someone inside the group said, “God bless ye, miss,” and there was a chorus of “aye,” and “yea,” and “God bless,” and other expressions of affection. Charles waited for the noise to settle and said, “Thank you. For now I’m sure each of you has some other duty to attend to.”

Charles led her into his cabin, past the marine sentry, who snapped extra smartly to attention and even removed his hat as Penny approached the entryway. “Thank you, Private Burrman,” Charles said. “But the hat business isn’t necessary.”

He found Attwater standing in the middle of the cabin with a wide grin on his face. “Ain’t this a pleasure, Mistress Penelope,” he said happily. “Didn’t I wonder when you wouldn’t arrive.”

“Wine, if you please,” Charles said loudly, a little jealous of all the attention his wife was receiving. “Not only are we celebrating Penny’s arrival, but Winchester here is a newly made sire.”

“There ain’t naught but the port, sir,” Attwater said sourly.

“Wine?” Penny said, looking at the clock above Charles’s desk. “It is only ten-thirty, and in the morning yet.”

“Oh, we always drink wine, miss,” Attwater said. “The water’s terrible foul.”

“We also have tea and coffee,” Charles offered.

“I will be glad for a glass of port. A small one, please,” she said to Attwater.

“Make it four glasses, Attwater,” Charles said, as if his servant wouldn’t have thought of including himself.

Attwater poured out the port, and Charles stood a toast to the happy father. “The first of many to come,” he added. They drank.

“And may I return your sentiments,” Winchester said, raising his glass a second time, whereupon Penny’s face again turned pink. Attwater, whose thoughts were seldom far from his mouth, said, “Ye’ll be needing a larger bed, if you takes my meaning, sir.” At this Penny turned crimson.

“That will be all,” Charles said to Attwater. “If you would speak to the carpenter about it, please.”

Muttering something under his breath, the steward collected the bottle and empty glasses and departed the cabin.

“If you will pardon me,” Winchester said, taking up his hat, “I will return to my duties.”

Charles nodded and soon found himself alone with his wife. “Ahem.” His voice had suddenly gone hoarse. “I must call on the British consul in Naples on business. I was on my way there when I found you.”

Penny took his hand in hers and stood close beside him. “I was on my way to find thee,” she said. “It was William Hamilton who pointed out the
Louisa
to me.”

“Sir William, the consul?”

“Yes. The Hamiltons have been kind enough to share their home with Molly and me.”

Charles found her closeness disconcerting. “Molly is here?”

“She has been the companion of my travels,” Penny said faintly, her fingers toying with the buttons of his waistcoat.

Charles’s hands rested on her hips, then slid around her waist. She softly folded herself against him. “Molly?” he whispered, pulling at the bow fastening her bonnet. He pushed it off and slid his fingers through her hair.

“Yes,” she breathed, raising her face to his, her lips slightly parted.

Charles kissed the upturned lips, long and lingering. “I could call on Sir William in the afternoon,” he barely managed. His hands wandered, slipping the hooks that secured her dress.

“This way, Chips,” Attwater’s voice boomed from outside the door. “What the cap’in needs is a new, bigger bed.” Attwater and Davey Howell, the ship’s carpenter, burst into the cabin.

Penny immediately pushed Charles back with a small shriek and turned away to refasten her clothing.

“Beg yer pardon, sir,” Attwater said, not pausing in his progress across the room. “We won’t be a minute.”

“Good morning, Mr. Howell,” Charles said, not able to think of anything else.

“I do apologize, sir,” Howell said, removing his hat. “I thought you’d gone into the port. I’m told you require a fresh bed.” Glancing at Penny, he said, “Oh, I see. I do apologize, missus.”

Having repaired her dress, Penny turned back to face the room. “Good morning,” she said, her face a medium red. She had not met the carpenter before. As one of
Louisa
’s standing officers, he had stayed with the ship while she was being repaired and had not attended their wedding.

“Mr. Howell, this is my wife, Mrs. Edgemont,” Charles said.

“I am pleased to make your acquaintance, missus,” Howell said awkwardly. “I can return later, sir.”

“It’s all right,” Penny said, having regained her composure. “Thy captain and I were just going into Naples to call on the consul.”

“I see, missus. We’ll have you all fixed up by this afternoon.”

A BRIGHT SUN shone high in the sky; the day was rapidly warming to the extent that Charles felt uncomfortable in his full-dress frock uniform coat. “What kind of man is William Hamilton?” he asked his wife, sitting next to him as the gig made its way across the harbor for the second time that morning.

Penny’s face composed itself in concentration. “He is a fine person, elderly but fit. He has lived in Naples for many years. I think he speaks the language perfectly, and seems to know everything. He is a scholar with a particular interest in the workings of volcanoes.” She pointed toward the towering mass of Mount Vesuvius across the bay, its hollow cone smoking malevolently in the clear sky. “He writes treatises about them. I think him a wise and gentle person.”

“I see,” Charles said, more interested in how well informed about naval matters Hamilton might be than his fascination with volcanoes.

“He is married,” she continued seriously, “to a much younger woman. She must have been very beautiful once. She is connected with artists in some way. She is not so cultured as her husband.” Charles gained the impression that Penny did not care for the woman. That was all right. If he didn’t care about Hamilton’s volcanoes, he certainly wasn’t worried about who Lady Hamilton might be.

“Oh, she is originally from Cheshire, over by Great Neston on the peninsula,” Penny added, as if this might be a mitigating factor. “She and Molly have become confidantes. I think they have similar histories. Her name is Emma.”

Molly Bridges, Charles knew, had been a common prostitute from Portsmouth whom Penny had adopted as some kind of a rescue project. He began to think that Emma Hamilton might be a more interesting person than he had previously supposed.

“And she poses herself as a great admirer of Horatio Nelson,” Penny concluded. The gig backed oars and then turned sharply to port in order to pass between two lighters plying out from the harbor. “Bloody idiots,” Williams shouted.

“Mind your language,” Charles said sharply, but a glance sideways told him that Penny did not seem particularly offended. If she had sailed all the way from England, he thought, she’d certainly heard worse.

“Admiral Nelson?” he said. “What does Hamilton’s wife know of Nelson?”

Penny smiled as if remembering a humorous story. “Not three days past, your Horatio Nelson brought his—what do you call them—all his naval craft?”

“His fleet?”

“Yes.” She nodded. “He came with all his fleet and waited outside the harbor. It was an impressive sight, if I do say so.”

“Nelson’s fleet came here? To Naples? You’re sure?”

“Oh, no,” Penny answered, sensing Charles’s interest, “they stayed just outside. He sent two of his sailormen into the city to call on William Hamilton.”

“His sailormen?” Getting the information he wanted from her, Charles decided, was a little like walking through a bog.

“Yes, two,” she said. “I spoke with them. Let me see, Thomas Troubridge and Thomas Hardey. They were helpful to me and very polite. They carried me out in their boat to visit your Nelson.”

Troubridge, Charles knew well, was the very senior captain of
Culloden
and assigned to the Mediterranean fleet. Commander Hardey, of the brig
Mutine,
also served at Admiral St. Vincent’s pleasure. It seemed likely that they were part of the reinforcements he had sent to assist Nelson. “So you spoke with Admiral Nelson,” Charles said, a sense of unreality drifting over him.

“Oh, yes. I asked if he knew of thy whereabouts and related that thou spoke fondly of him. Thou didst not tell me that he had but one arm.”

“That only happened this past year,” Charles said, “at Tenerife, I think.” He looked at her directly. “Penny, did he say anything about me or the
Louisa
?”

She nodded significantly. “Yes, he did. I told him I was thy wife, of course, and he congratulated me warmly. He said that thou wert a fortunate man.” She smiled at this.

“Yes, I am,” Charles said. “Think closely, did he say anything about me and
Louisa,
about our duty?”