“She will be able to if we take our leave,” suggested Helen, her heart sinking more and more at the spectacle of what marriage had done to Charlotte. Or had it merely revealed the real Charlotte, her mother’s daughter? Horribly sorry for Captain Forbes, she turned to him now. “Will you give us the pleasure of your company? My carriage is here, and I am sure you would be glad to see Mrs. Forbes comfortably settled.”
“Thank you.” He smiled at her warmly. “And may I take a look at my friend Scroope?”
“Perhaps.” She turned to Charlotte, who was looking cross again. “I have Angelina looking after him; you know what a tyrant she is. But a wonderful nurse.” This was to Forbes.
“If only she can save him,” he said.
“You men,” said Charlotte. “All you care about is each other.”
Helen was relieved to get their farewells safely made without any further outbreak on Charlotte’s part. Lady Hamilton, kissing Helen warmly, urged her to send up daily bulletins about Captain Scroope’s health. “Sir Horatio will be longing to hear,” she said, “and so shall I!”
And Sir William? Helen wondered. He was looking exhausted again but had a warm handshake for her and a quick remark about her kindness, which made her feel guilty, as Lady Hamilton’s more extravagant praise had not. If they only knew how entirely selfish she was being. . . .
“You and Lady Hamilton seem mighty thick these days.” Charlotte’s tone was spiteful as she settled herself in the carriage.
“Yes, she’s been a good friend to me.” Helen did not intend to discuss Emma Hamilton with Charlotte, and was glad of Captain Forbes’s presence, which she recognised as having a chastening effect on his sharp-tongued wife, who reminded Helen more and more of her mother, Mrs. Standish. She was even, disconcertingly, beginning to look like her.
Charlotte, it appeared, had taken her invitation for granted, and sent Rose direct to the Palazzo Trevi. It was with a sigh of relief that Helen was able to urge that she go up at once and change from her tight-fitting yellow satin into something cooler. Having disposed of her, she turned to Captain Forbes and found him eyeing her with something like respect. “Now.” She ushered him into the small ground-floor salon that opened onto the terrace behind the house. “If you will be so good as to wait here, I will see how my patient is, and if my nurse thinks you may see him.”
“Thank you.” He glanced anxiously at his watch.
“Yes.” She smiled at him. “You must have a million things on hand today. I will be back directly.”
“Thank you, Lady Merritt. But, one other thing . . . Charlotte—” He stuck there.
“Don’t worry about Charlotte, Captain Forbes. I’ll take care of her.” She would not let him see how reluctantly she said it.
But obviously he knew his Charlotte. “One of the things I mean to do today,” he said, “is enquire for a passage for her. The sooner she is safe in England with her mother the better.”
“Yes indeed.” She felt horribly sorry for him. “I have been telling her how proud Mrs. Standish will be to welcome a hero’s wife.”
“Thank you.” His grateful smile acknowledged all that was unsaid between them. “And now I must not keep you from your patient.”
In the sickroom, Angelina reported no change, and agreed that it could do no harm just to let Captain Forbes look in. “In fact, a good thing,” she said shrewdly. “We’re taking a risk, you and I, in keeping the doctor from him. Best get his friends on our side. Just tell him: no exclamations, no fuss.”
“I don’t think I need to.” But Helen duly delivered the warning, before she ushered Forbes into the cool, quiet room.
He stood for a few moments, quite silent, looking down at the still figure on the bed, then surprised and touched Helen by taking Angelina’s hand and shaking it warmly. That done, he turned, as silent as ever, and followed Helen out of the room. Outside, “God bless you,” he said. “After that hospital, it’s incredible. It gives him a chance.”
“That’s what I hope.”
“You’re a good friend.” His smile could be very attractive when it was unforced. “I see you still believe in fresh air in a sickroom.”
“Yes,” she smiled back at him. “I’ve never forgotten how good you were to my mother on the Trojan.”
“What a long time ago.” He looked back over it for a moment, she thought, sadly. “What news do you have of your father and the Trojan?”
“Not much,” she admitted. “He’s still on the Channel Station.” She had expected Forbes to leave at once when he had seen his friend, but found that they had somehow got back into the little salon.
“Lady Merritt,” he said now, abruptly. “I must ask it, for my own peace of mind. Will you forgive me? If I had spoken up, like a man, back on the Trojan, would there have been a chance for me?”
“A chance?” For a moment, she could not take it in, then, understanding, said gently, “No, Mr. Forbes.” She held out her hand. “And now, if you will forgive me, I must get back to my patient.”
“And I to my ship.” He surprised her again by taking both her hands and pressing them warmly. “Thank you, Lady Merritt, for a straight answer to an impertinent question. You have laid a ghost for me. A ghost of happiness that haunted me. But, do, I beg of you, remember that if ever you should need a friend . . .”
“Very pretty and chivalrous.” Charlotte’s voice was venomous as she entered the room. “Would you pack Lady Merritt off on the first boat for England, if you had the power?”
“I wish I could. Frankly, Lady Merritt, I don’t much like the feel of things here in Naples. All this hysteria can come to no good. Do you not think you should persuade your husband to take you home?”
“Impossible. I have tried.”
“Ridiculous,” said Charlotte pettishly. “The time to cry woe was a year ago, when our ships were out of the Mediterranean. The case is quite altered now. Lady Hamilton thinks we’ll soon be turning the French out of the rest of Italy. ‘Boldest measures are safest,’ she says.”
“Quoting the Admiral,” said her husband dryly. His eyes met Helen’s, and she became aware, as he was, of the door that Charlotte had left ajar. “Perhaps, my dear, it would be better not to quote Lady Hamilton too freely.”
“In Helen’s house,” she bridled at him. “Ridiculous!”
He moved past her to close the door. “I wish it were.” And then, to Helen. “Your husband’s man—I remember him—Price was outside, listening.”
“Yes,” she said. “I’m . . . careful.”
“And so must you be.” He turned to Charlotte. And then, back to Helen. “You cannot persuade your husband to get rid of him?”
“Oh, no,” she said.
“I see.” She was afraid he did. He rose to take his leave. “In that case, be very careful, Charlotte, for Helen’s sake, and your own.”
“I don’t understand a word you’re saying,” said Charlotte fretfully. “Do you know,” she turned on Helen when her husband had gone, “I sometimes think he married me because he couldn’t get you. Flattering, ain’t it? He wakes me in the night sometimes, saying, ‘Helen?’ That’s nice hearing for a wife, isn’t it?”
“Oh, my dear,” said Helen. “I am so sorry. But remember . . .” She thought quickly. “He married you. He never asked me.” It was true, or had been, until today.
“He didn’t? Truly? You’re not lying to me.” And then, seeing Helen’s face, “No, I know you would not.” She sighed and shrugged. “Oh, well, in that case, perhaps in the end we’ll rub through somehow. It’s thinking always that one’s second best comes so hard.”
“But you’re not,” Helen insisted. “Charlotte, you’ve been imagining things. One does, a little, when one’s carrying. Dear Charlotte—” Now that she understood, she found her old affection coming back, combined with a great pity. “For the child’s sake, for mine if you like, let me see you and your husband better friends before you leave.”
“Before he sends me away.” But Charlotte’s tone was
milder, and Helen felt with relief that the conversation had cleared the air between them.
It made Charlotte a tolerable visitor, but no more. And all the time there was a grinding anxiety lest she say something indiscreet in front of Price, or, perhaps worse still, something that would make Price realise he was suspected. Luckily, Helen thought, Charlotte had been too preoccupied with her own troubles to take in the full import of her husband’s warning. And, luckily too, the news that the Court of Naples was actually considering an attack on the French in Rome was soon common knowledge. There were other indiscreet tongues in Naples besides Charlotte’s.
They celebrated Admiral Nelson’s fortieth birthday on September twenty-ninth with all the pomp and circumstance that Lady Hamilton could contrive. She gave a great dinner at the Palazzo Sessa for eighty officers of the British squadron, and the English residents, who dined off specially made plates emblazoned with the motto, H. N. Glorious 1st August. Helen, sitting between Captain Ball and the Admiral’s stepson, Josiah Nisbet, found it hard to pay attention to what they said.
“How is my friend Scroope?” Ball’s question went to the heart of her anxiety.
“Not quite so well.” She had not wanted to come, but her husband had insisted, and she had known he was right. “There’s a little fever, for the first time. But I have the greatest confidence in my nurse.”
“So I have heard.” Captain Ball had the same direct blue eyes as Forbes. “Sent the doctor to the rightabout, didn’t you? Might not look just the thing, if poor Scroope don’t recover.”
“Oh.” She met his eyes. “So there is gossip?”
“Bound to be. You should have known the doctor would talk. Mind you, Lady Merritt,” he leaned closer, “I’m not saying you haven’t done right. Forbes certainly thinks you have. What I am saying, and feel it my duty, is that if poor Scroope should snuff it, you’d best get that nurse of yours out of town pretty quick.”
“I. . . see. And for me?”
“Ah well, you’re Lady Merritt. . . another matter.” He turned, she thought with relief, to his other neighbour, and she followed his example and turned to Nelson’s stepson, who had been sitting moodily silent beside her, consuming, she was afraid, a great deal of Lady Hamilton’s good wine.
“This must be a proud day for you.” She wished she could remember whether Captain Nisbet had either been at the Battle of the Nile or distinguished himself there. It was odd not to know, but there had been rumours that Captain Nisbet was not in the best of favour with the Lords of the Admiralty.
“Proud? For me?” Captain Nisbet had a significant look for the head of the table, where his stepfather was sitting, wreathed rather untidily in laurel, beside his hostess. “You mistake, ma’am. I did not have the good fortune to be at the Nile. I am the mere captain of a frigate, and the frigates, as Admiral Nelson has let the world know, were not so fortunate as to be with him.”
“Oh.” She digested this for a moment in uncomfortable silence. “Yes, of course. But,” brightening, “think how delighted your mother must be.”
“Delighted?” Once again he was looking past her to the head of the table where Lady Hamilton was making a parade of cutting up her guest of honour’s meat. “You really think so? At home, my mother does that. I wish we were at home.” He gulped more wine. “You know what m’stepfather said the other night? Called this ‘a country of fiddlers and poets, whores and scoundrels.’ Oh, beg your pardon, I’m sure. But now look at him, eating it up. Flattery by the bushel, and that . . .” Something in Helen’s face stopped him.
“Our hostess,” she reminded him quietly, and was infinitely relieved when Lady Hamilton rose and gave the signal for the ladies to leave the room. The cream of Neapolitan society were coming to a ball in honour of the hero of the Nile, and more than ever everything was à la Nelson. Buttons and ribbons with the initials HN were distributed to the guests, and the ballroom was decorated with a rostral column engraved with the names of the captains of the Battle of the Nile, and the words, Veni, Vidi, Vici. Unveiling this with the attitude of a Boadicea, Lady Hamilton took no notice of a scuffle at the far end of the room. Josiah Nisbet had said something unprintable and was being forcibly removed by Troubridge and another officer.
To Helen, the evening, with its troubled cross-currents of feeling, seemed endless. The Queen was too unwell to come, but was represented by her pregnant daughter-in-law, wife of the heir to the throne, and it was impossible to leave before she did. The interminable dancing was followed by a lavish supper for eight hundred people, and Helen, who had been up a good deal of the night before, watching by Charles’s bed while Angelina rested, was almost sick with fatigue and anxiety when the Princess Royal finally took her leave.
But now Charlotte did not want to go. “I’m enjoying myself for once,” she said. “You can’t drag me away now, Helen, when the bigwigs are gone and the fun’s beginning. You can see everyone else means to keep it up till dawn.”
“But surely, dear, you, in your condition . . .”
“Oh, fiddlesticks! I’m not carrying the heir to a throne. And, besides, you’re the one who’s always urging me to take exercise. Well, now I will. The dancing’s starting again, and what could be better for me?”
“Bed,” said her husband, who had come up behind her in the course of her last speech. “Can’t you see that Lady Merritt is worn out? May I call your carriage for you?” He turned to Helen.
“Oh, yes, please. I’m a little anxious, to tell you the truth, about Captain Scroope.” She wished the words unsaid at once.
“Always Captain Scroope,” said Charlotte angrily. “Anyone would think he was your husband, the way you carry on about him. Neglecting your child for him; dragging me away from the first party I’ve enjoyed for months; and as for poor Lord Merritt . . .” She stopped, aware that she had gone too far, quailing under her husband’s black look.
“ ‘Poor Lord Merritt,’ ” he said, “left before the royal party even arrived, and I told him I would see you ladies safe home, which I am about to do.”
He turned on his heel and left them standing in a painful silence. Charlotte’s outburst had made Helen angry, but it had also made her think, and she knew in her heart that it was quite true about Ricky. She had been neglecting him, and so, inevitably, had Angelina. What had he been doing while they were occupied with their invalid? She ought to have thought about this, made arrangements for him, and was ashamed to think that she had actually let out of sight be out of mind. She would do something about him tomorrow. In the meantime, the silence had lasted quite long enough. “Come,” she said calmly, “let us say good-bye to our hostess.”
“If she can spare the time from her hero,” said Charlotte.
Home at last, Helen bade Charlotte a quick good night and hurried to the sickroom. Angelina was looking both tired and anxious. “He’s very hot,” she said. “And his mind’s wandering.”
“But that means he’s awake.” Helen had been increasingly anxious about the way Charles just lay there, inert, apparently lifeless . . . “Surely that’s good?”
“Not like this,” said Angelina. “Signora, have you thought what we will do if he dies?”
So she had heard the gossip too. “I think you should go at once to Angelo and Maria,” said Helen. “Out of sight is out of mind, they say. I’ll send for you as soon as it is safe to come back.” And then, reminded of him by her own words, “Angelina, do you know what Ricky’s been doing?”
Angelina raised troubled eyes to her. “He’s been with that Price,” she said. “I should have made better arrangements for him. I thought he was with the girl from Torre del Greco. I told her to look after him. And when I asked her today, she just burst into tears, and said, what could she do when Price is so powerful with his lordship.”
“Oh my God,” said Helen. “But don’t blame yourself. I should have thought of it.”
“There’s been too much.” Angelina was looking old tonight.
Between them, Charles
stirred restlessly, throwing aside the light blanket with which Angelina had covered him. “Helen,” he said.
“Yes.” Helen sat down beside the bed and took the hot hand in hers. “I’m here.”
“Helen!” He gripped her hand feverishly. “How could you? Trenche!” His voice blurred, dwindled into incomprehensible mutterings.
Thank God, Angelina did not understand English. But her own name had been clear enough, and quite obviously Angelina had understood that, and with that, everything. Their eyes met. “Best not let Price in here,” said Angelina.
“Has he tried to come?”
“Yes, today. Someone must have told him the signor was speaking. I sent him off with a flea in his ear. But it’s one more enemy, if the worst happens.” Angelina was looking older and older, and Helen recognised the thing that hung in the air between them as fear.
And no wonder. “You get to bed, Angelina.” She made her voice bracing. “In the morning, we will think what’s best to do. For now, the signor seems to want to talk to me.”
“Yes, signora,” said Angelina eagerly. “If there has perhaps been trouble between you in the past . . . if it is weighing on his mind . . . it might do him good to have it clear.”
If only she could. “I’ll try.” She made herself smile comfort. “And now, to bed with you. But, first, has he had his draught?”
“No. For the first time, he wouldn’t drink it.”
This too might surely be a good sign. So far he had done passively whatever they made him, and it had been unlike enough to the Charles she knew to wring Helen’s heart. “Pour me a fresh one.” she said. “And I’ll try.”
It was very quiet in the house. Lord Merritt had either gone to bed long since or, as so often, would be out all night. She wondered if Price was with him and passionately hoped he was. She went across the room to make sure that the door was securely fastened. That settled, she returned to the bed, and picked up Angelina’s black-looking draught. “Charles,” she said.
“Helen!” Had he recognised her voice, or was this merely more delirium? “How could you?” The same words as before, so probably delirium.
Shadow of a Lady Page 26
