Brothers at Arms (28 page)

With fewer English visitors in the city, those who stayed seemed to cling together for their entertainment. It was evident, from the joint invitations they received, the Dowager decided that two personable young men were suitable escorts for her granddaughters.

As Easter approached, Lady Kenchester decreed a visit to Tivoli was a matter of some urgency, and arrangements were made. The journey, a matter of thirty miles, took two days to achieve at a leisurely pace.

On their arrival, the Dowager declared the accommodation somewhat rustic, but to Joshua and Charlie, it was sumptuous. There was an abundance of marble tiled floors and similarly clad walls, which kept the villa cool. It was perfect. Even in the spring, the weather was as warm as an English summer day.

The atmosphere suited the Dowager’s mood, and in her somnolent state, she sent an apology with Lady Rosie.

“Grandmama begs you to excuse her, gentlemen. She is too fatigued to accompany us today.”

When they expressed concern, she said, “Don’t worry, she will be wonderfully indulged in our absence. I knew before we came that walking was going to be too arduous for her, but she has decided we can be trusted to bring back a good report of our visit. To ensure she has something to remember, I have engaged the services of an artist to record the scenery.”

Joshua and Charlie were happy to act as escorts for Lady Rosie and her cousin. Dr Hawley went as well, as did the ladies’ maid, and Gilbert, the manservant. At the last minute, Sergeant Percival joined them.

“Begging your pardon, ma’am,” he said. “Lady Kenchester asked that you remember to take your parasols. She said the sun is extremely powerful.”

Everyone laughed when Charlie stepped forward. “I have it here, my good man,” he said, opening the shade he carried for Lady Alice, while Joshua did the same for Lady Rosie.

From the minute they arrived at the Villa d’Este, Dr Hawley was lost in wonder, and drifted off to contemplate the masterpieces of creation. In his absence, time had no meaning, and it was too warm to rush about, so the younger folk sat talking in shaded arbours, while the artist committed his sketches to paper.

“It says here that the man who caused this to be built was the son of Lucrezia Borgia.” Lady Rosie studied her guidebook.

Joshua tried to remember what Dr Hawley had told him in preparation for the visit, but it was nothing like that.

“Her father was Pope Alexander.”

Popes did not have daughters – did they?

“Yes,” Lady Rosie said with a smile, correctly reading his mind. “This one did, and his grandson, was nominated several times to be Pope, but never chosen. When he failed, he created this beautiful garden.”

Joshua watched her expression of increasing awe as they walked down the staircases between the terraces, then along the alleys to see hundreds of fountains and the Grotto dedicated to Diana.

Overwhelmed by the music of the water organ fountain, Lady Rosie turned towards Joshua, with head bowed near his shoulder; her voice muffled as she sniffed, inelegantly. Anticipating her need, he slipped a neatly pressed square of linen into her hand, and shielded her from view whilst she regained her composure.

Somewhere behind them, Charlie’s voice drew the tutor’s attention.

“Would you believe it, sir?” he said. “The whole system of fountains is supplied by a couple of aqueducts from the river. That architect fellow, Ligorio, was a genius and no mistake.”

Lady Rosie raised her head. “Thank you,” she said, returning his handkerchief. “I’m sorry to be a watering pot, Joshua. The sound is so moving.”

He smiled at the description. How like Rosie to say that here, in a garden full of fountains.

“I’m glad you are here,” she said in a gruff little voice, “but don’t you dare say a word of this to anyone, Joshua Norbery. I never cry.”

That night, Joshua lay awake remembering the little pavilions, situated at the crossing points of the staircases in the garden, the fruit trees and the air, heavily laden with the scents of aromatic plants.

It was a truly memorable day. He had never before felt so comfortable in a woman’s company, nor talked with such ease. No artistic sketch could store the memory, but the sight of it would forever bring it to mind.

Their visit to the Villa Adriana later in the week was gentle by comparison. The Emperor’s country villa was an hour’s drive by coach from the d’Este garden. Whereas the fountains had been vibrant and living, the atmosphere amongst the sunken water gardens was incredibly tranquil
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Although some of the original character of the ruins had been lost, its true beauty remained in the mosaic floors. Joshua committed several of the scenes to his sketchpad and before they left, each one took a little coloured stone from the broken mosaic floors to remind them, and Charlie took two for Sophie.

The following evening whilst they were dining alfresco in the garden, Joshua overheard the Dowager speaking with Dr Hawley.

“Will the young gentlemen be having their portraits painted whilst they are in Rome?”

He met Charlie’s eye and raised a brow.

The tutor pursed his lips and said, “I think not, your ladyship. Mr Norbery made no mention of that in his letters.”

Lady Kenchester seemed to have other ideas.

“All young men should have their portraits painted at least once. People change as they grow older, and it is good to remember one’s youth. When my brothers were young, the Grand Tour was all the rage. Pompeo Batoni was the artist of choice then, but I imagine we could find someone just as good today.”

What did she mean? It sounded as if she was involved.

Joshua was mistaken in thinking Lady Kenchester would forget the matter. A few weeks later, they joined the ranks of other young gentlemen travellers engaged for several sittings in an artist’s studio. Batoni might be long gone, but his style of painting remained. Usually, it was a scene with the subject in the centre, and Roman antiquities in the background.

In Joshua and Charlie’s case, the study was of two figures, their fencing lessons completed, leaning on their foils – and in the background between them, a replica of the sleeping Ariadne. All that remained was to give the picture a title.

“What shall we call it?” Joshua asked.

“Brothers at Arms, of course,” Charlie said with a laugh. “What else?”

It was early summer and the British Embassy in Rome was in a state of high anticipation. On a recent visit, Joshua and Charlie heard news of the impending visit of the naval heroes of the Nile river battle, and received an invitation to the grand ball in their honour.

Whilst there, they met Sir William Hamilton, the British envoy from Naples, visiting with his wife, and thus remedied the opportunity missed when they first arrived in Italy.

On the night of the ball, the ladies were in alt, with everyone hanging on Lord Nelson’s words. The menfolk were no different.

For Joshua, the presence of so many naval officers added a competitive edge to acquiring dancing partners, and he was surprised and pleased when Lady Rosie saved him two dances. He knew it was kindness on her part, and gratitude on his, and yet it felt like friendship, for what other interest would an earl’s daughter take in him?

“Not all female hearts flutter at the sight of a naval uniform, Joshua,” she said. “I have been on the social scene for a long time, and have met Horatio before. I will forgo the pleasure now, and let Emma Hamilton languish at his feet, which she is increasingly ready to do. When they are in Naples, Sir William spends much of his time studying volcanoes. It’s debatable whether he does so because of her predilection for Nelson, or whether her husband’s passion for volcanology has left Emma with too much time on her hands.”

Whichever it was, Lady Rosie seemed happy with the present company, and Dr Hawley was more than ready to engage the interest of an acknowledged expert in volcanology.

A few weeks later, the tutor expressed an interest in visiting Venice, but Lady Kenchester immediately dismissed the idea.

“My dear sir,” she said. “You must not think of depriving us of your company. How will we survive without your escort? In any case, what can Venice offer you, which Rome cannot give one hundred times more?”

The tutor tried patiently to explain, thinking the Dowager might not know the history of the city.

“Venice has many fine things, Lady Kenchester; most notably, the bronze horses, brought from Constantinople at the time of the Fourth Crusade, which adorn the parapet of the cathedral.”

Joshua and Charlie watched the battle of wills, knowing their tutor could not win. It had happened before.

Lady Kenchester gave a tight smile. “If you wish to see those particular artefacts, sir, you will have to take your charges to Paris. I doubt that is your intention.”

Doctor Hawley looked appalled. “Indeed not, ma’am,” he said. “Paris is the last place Mr Norbery gave me leave to take his son.”

“I thought everyone knew Bonaparte’s army looted the city, three years ago, in ’ninety-seven,” the Dowager said with ruthless candour. “Everything of value was taken including the plunder from Constantinople. All the paintings, jewels and exquisite artwork have gone, and the people left destitute.”

Joshua watched his tutor’s face crumble like a child losing a promised treat. He felt sorry for him. They missed seeing many things on the tour and this was another disappointment.

The Dowager’s determination to retain their escort prevailed, so they remained in Rome. To compensate, the tutor enrolled Joshua and Charlie on a six-week course to study the antiquities.

To their surprise, Lady Rosie and her cousin elected to do the same, but while Dr Hawley intended the lessons to involve his students in serious study, the female company introduced an element of light-hearted rivalry.

“We don’t expect you to be gentlemanly on our account,” Lady Rosie announced. “Our ability to learn equals your own.”

Said in the spirit of good humour, it was enough to spur them on. Some days Joshua and Charlie edged ahead, and the next the ladies recalled more detail. Another week, they worked in pairs, which worked out rather well when Charlie invited Lady Alice to see if they could beat the other two to flinders.

Lady Rosie had no compunction about the methods she used to succeed, drawing on knowledge acquired on previous visits.

Joshua was happy to go along with whatever she said, but Charlie protested. “That’s unfair, Lady Rosie. I think you take advantage of us.”

The lady looked him in the eye, and said, “Are you suggesting I’m cheating, Mr Cobarne? How very unhandsome of you, sir.”

“Would I be so ignoble as to say a thing like that, ma’am?”

“If you are, sir,” she said, “I must call upon my champion to fight a duel in my honour.”

Charlie feigned to be terrified. “But he’s larger than I am, my lady. It would be unfair to me.”

“The choice is yours, sir,” she teased.

He sighed and turned to Lady Alice. “Do you think I must make recompense for my hasty words to your cousin, ma’am?”

“I fear you must, sir. It would be more gentlemanly.”

Dr Hawley looked pained by the interchange, but the light-hearted banter helped to uplift the content of their studies.

As the weeks progressed, they worked their way through all the sites of antiquity on Palatine Hill, the first occupied by settlers, and the place in Roman mythology where a she-wolf reputedly nurtured the children Romulus and Remus, from whom Rome acquired its name.

The Arch of Constantine reminded Joshua of the entrance gates at Rushmore Hall, and he assumed Lord Cardington’s ancestors had seen the design on their Grand Tour.

A visit to the Circus Maximus taught him more about the speed with which a woman’s mind changed direction than chariot racing, when a chance remark by Lady Alice started to escalate into a dispute.

“I wonder if Roman women used to drive chariots?” she mused to no one in particular.

When Joshua expressed doubt, Charlie disagreed.

“Why not,” he said. “Sophie could have done it, and loved it.”

Of course she would. He had forgotten about her.

“Who is Sophie…?” Lady Rosie interrupted.

Joshua looked at her, surprised by the touch of hauteur.

“That’s Charlie’s sister,” he said, “his…younger sister.”

“Yes, ma’am,” said Charlie. “She’s amazing on the hunting field. She’s afraid of nothing.”

In the next breath, Lady Rosie said, “Will we see your sister at Almack’s anytime soon, Mr Cobarne?”

What a strange question. What did she mean?

“No, ma’am,” said Charlie. “Sophie’s not yet sixteen, and still at school.”

Reassured on the point, Lady Rosie said, with a happy smile, “I see. She is an intrepid rider, who obviously challenges you and Mr Norbery, but is not yet old enough to be presented at Court. In that case, Lady Alice and I will have to wait to meet her.”

Then, as if there had been no interruption, she reverted to their previous topic, saying, with a thinly veiled challenge in her voice, “So you doubt our ability to drive, Mr Norbery?”

“No,” said Joshua, wishing he had considered his words better before speaking. “I…um…thought it unlikely…in Roman times.”

“What difference does that make? I am accustomed to driving a high perch phaeton, and I will prove to you that we drive equally as well as men.” The light-heartedness had gone. She was in deadly earnest.

“But Rosie,” said her cousin with a laugh, “you never take gentlemen passengers.”

“In this case, I will make an exception, Alice,” said the lady, turning back to Joshua. “The next time you are in London, Mr Joshua Norbery, I will take you driving in Hyde Park, at the fashionable hour. That will be enough to set the gossips wondering about the identity of my handsome companion.”

A stifled explosion of mirth followed as Charlie saw the joke, but her words left Joshua red faced, and not knowing where to look. If what she said were true, it seemed Lady Rosie intended to continue the acquaintance beyond Rome.

After a surfeit of culture, it was a relief to sit in the villa garden and watch the sunset. On evenings with no social functions to attend, Joshua and Charlie adopted the habit of wearing togas when they dined alfresco on the terrace. Dr Hawley made no complaint about their mode of dress, but he made it a rule none of the female servants were present to see them in a state of dishabille.