‘The journey had many pleasing moments, Sir William, and I have to say the coastline was most dramatic, with scenic aspects that would delight any man who could apply a brush to canvas. If we did not eat as well as we might, we did find sustenance enough to sustain us and the folk we came across were eager to aid us on our way. As to my crew, they are a fine bunch and as adaptable as is ever the British tar.’
John Pearce found the lies coming easily; he was sat on a shaded terrace of the Palazzo Sessa overlooking the wide Bay of Naples, fully bathed and dressed in new linen. His arm having been passed as healed by a surgeon it now held a cooling drink and life felt restored in more ways than one. What was the point of telling the British Ambassador of the misery he had suffered leading the crew of HMS Larcher along that barren and rocky coast?
Why burden him with the tales of a ship’s company that began the journey disgruntled and became more so with every day that passed, complaining of everything from the heat of the day, the biting insects at night and the blisters on feet unused to footwear?
What good would it do to tell him that the subjects of King Ferdinand were, when not being outrageously rapacious, the surliest bunch of scoundrels he had ever encountered out with an English Gaol and that he had been obliged to threaten violence on more than one occasion to make any progress at all?
Such untruths were as much for his own good as that of the Sir William Hamilton; Pearce had no desire to reprise the many incidents that had seen he and his men forced into wide detours to avoid trouble, of food bought at prices so outrageous that he had allowed his men to plunder pens, storehouses and chicken coops, the only plentiful thing available to them the abundance of water from a multitude of fresh mountain fed springs.
There had been, as he had anticipated, fishing villages but they were far from prosperous places, a few ramshackle huts with suspicious men and even more distrustful women, who, if they had reached anything above two decades of age were universally ugly creatures. The young males, even if those of tender years, sought to steal everything they could while the girls, if there were any, must have been kept well hidden for fear they would be ravaged by these armed strangers who spoke a heathen and incomprehensible tongue.
Pearce was sure it was thanks to those arms, muskets and cutlasses, that they had survived for the wilds of the region, and they were that, seemed to lack any evidence of law. The folk lived in primitive and poverty stricken communes – there were no towns of any size until they reached Agropoli – and the impression had been unavoidable that each one preyed upon its neighbours at every opportunity.
‘I must say, it seems Mrs Barclay held up passing well.’
There was a definite look in Sir William Hamilton’s eye then, the kind a man has when referring to a lady whose looks have entertained his imagination. Pearce knew the ambassador to be well into his sixties yet obviously his appreciations of the fair sex had not suffered from his longevity. Nor did his attitude cause offence; he was a man of a calibre that a coming-of-age John Pearce had encountered in Paris, where men of parts, if they discerned and admired beauty did not indulge in the English habit of hypocritical denial and disguised approbation.
‘And here comes the very lady of whom we speak,’ Hamilton said, rising from his chair, ‘looking more radiant than ever.’
Emily, as she came onto the terrace, was not alone. With her was Lady Hamilton and given she was a famous beauty it was impossible not to contrast them, one past her full bloom but still very striking, Emily in the first stages of full maturity, well dressed for the first time in a month and, in receipt of a proper toilette and expertly dressed hair, simply stunning.
The dress had to be one of Emma Hamilton’s and given the difference in their size a needle must have been swiftly employed to have it fit Emily’s less fulsome figure, not least in the area of the bosom, which the ambassador’s wife, supremely well-endowed in that regard, was much prone to display and was doing so now. Emily had chosen to be more discreet with some strategically placed lace.
‘Lieutenant Pearce has been at pains to tell how eager he is to get back to his duties with the fleet. Looking at you of this moment, Mrs Barclay I cannot but rate him as quite mad.’
‘Careful, husband,’ his wife responded, but not with any real indignation, this while Emily blushed slightly.
Having observed them previously Pearce knew them to be happy in their relationship, Hamilton quite ready to accept that being married to a beautiful woman brought with the attention of a raft of admirers. One such was Nelson, who had charged Pearce with the delivery of a letter to Lady Hamilton, one she had not sought to keep secret from Sir William, who seemed more amused by the action than upset.
Likewise his relationship with Emily Barclay. The fact that she was a married woman and separated from her husband was not referred to and in no way was she made to feel awkward by her estate or the obvious relationship she had with John Pearce. Naples was more lax than London in such matters by some measure; indeed, according to Emma Hamilton, irregular couplings were the norm rather than the exception.
Thinking briefly on the two men the contrast was palpable; Hamilton the urbane diplomat at ease in the salon and the company of the fair sex, Nelson a restless sailor whom he had seen in the company of a rather busty opera singer at a ball in Leghorn. Two impressions remained from that observation, the first that Nelson had difficulty in holding his drink, the second that he had scant knowledge of women.
‘While I am not eager to have you depart, Lieutenant, I am looking forward to having Emily here as a companion in your absence.’
John Pearce smiled at Lady Hamilton then, but inwardly he was less happy. If the subject of what was to happen to Emily had not been a constant these last troubled weeks, it had been raised more than once. She still thought it best to return to England while he was stuck with a duty he had to perform, namely to get the crew of HMS Larcher back where they belonged, added to which he had to find a means by which they could live, wherever that might be, on nothing more than his present pay. It would be easier in Italy than England, but a lieutenant’s stipend would not provide any luxury even here.
‘I do not intend to be absent long, Lady Hamilton.’
‘Nor would I want you to be,’ she replied, with a coquettish tilt of the head, one that was not missed by his own paramour. ‘Handsome naval officers are a rare commodity in Naples, entertaining fellows in uniform even less so.’
Pearce saw Emily’s nostrils tighten, a sign he knew of displeasure. Could she not see what was obvious to him, that what Lady Hamilton had said was mere wordplay, something he suspected she employed with most of the men she encountered? She would have used it on Horatio Nelson and he would have no doubt misread it; he did not, but it was yet another example of Emily’s lack of experience of the world, which if it could be endearing could also be exasperating.
‘When I get to the fleet, Lady Hamilton, I will sort you out a dozen or so have them come and worship at your feet.’
‘And trough it at my table,’ the ambassador said, though it was imparted with good humour. ‘I swear I have never seen any eat like seafarers.’
‘Which reminds me to ask you, sir, for an account of the expenses I and my crew have incurred. I am sure the navy will happily meet them.’
The good humour evaporated. ‘Then you know of a service that is a stranger to me, sir. When it comes to being tardy in settling their accounts, they have a labyrinth into which they are prone to disappear.’
John Pearce was tempted to ask then, if he had got Larcher to Naples, would he have funded her repair; it did not seem appropriate to do so but he did feel constrained to make an offer of his own, as being the gentlemanly thing to do, albeit he knew his available funds to be already overstretched with commitments.
‘Give me an account, sir, and I will present it in the right quarter. And if they decline to meet it I will see it as a personal debt.’ That being waved aside by the ambassador, no doubt on the grounds that he doubted Pearce
could meet such an obligation, his guest added. ‘And of course I will meet any expenses incurred while Mrs Barclay awaits my return.’
‘Nonsense, sir, she is an English lady in need of support and that is a charge upon my duties. Now, I am due at the Royal Palace—’
‘While I,’ Emma Hamilton interjected, ‘must take my daily stroll in the English Gardens.’ Waiting for her to issue an invitation to accompany her, something he had done previously, Pearce was surprised by what followed, but not for any length of time. ‘Which will leave you and Mrs Barclay with the run of the palazzo, will it not? Do feel free to treat it as your own.’
If Emily Barclay had suffered a slight blush before she went bright red now and was, once they were alone in no mood to take up the offer which Emma Hamilton had more than hinted at.
‘She is a woman with a past, John, and I have to say that is apparent in her present behaviour.’
Tempted to say something about people in glass houses, Pearce put that thought to one side. ‘Everyone has a past.’
‘Not like hers! How can you burden me with staying in the company of such a woman?’
‘That, of I may say so, does you no credit. I grant she has a past, though I am mined to ask if all of the sins laid at her door are true.’
‘It is said she was a common whore.’
‘If she was ever that I would hazard she was an uncommon one.’
‘I fail to see the distinction.’
‘Whatever her background she has made a great deal of herself.’
‘By marrying a man twice her age.’ As soon as that was out of her mouth, Emily realised that it was a mistaken allusion; had she not done the same? Slightly flustered and decidedly embarrassed she sought to cover it with denigrations. ‘Don’t be fooled by all that overt kindness, John, for there are cat’s claws at the back of it. What you see when we are with either yourself or Sir William is not what I am exposed to in private, woman to woman.’
‘Which is?’ he asked wearily.
‘Her notion of liking me is mere pretence. Every word she utters has a double meaning and if at first it sounds like fawning there is a less flattering allusion within her words. I suspect jealousy and not just of me but of any woman she feels challenged by.’
‘But you are not challenging her.’
‘You think you are so wise, John Pearce,’ Emily responded, with a tone that made a mockery of the words, ‘with your knowledge of the world, which you are forever reminding me is far greater than my own—’
‘I do not remind you.’
‘You do,’ came the reply, with a catch in the throat to go with it, ‘and all that says to me is you are unaware of it.’
Pearce moved towards her and put his hands on her shoulders, feeling them shake as he looked down into her dampening eyes, his voice low as he asked. ‘Are you frightened, Emily?’
A nod and a sniffle. ‘People will talk of me as they do of her, John, and I could not bear to be so compared.’
‘Can I tell you what I see?’ Pearce did not wait for her to respond. ‘I see a lady much condescended to by those who know something of her past, woman especially who will treat her the way you are accusing her of treating you.’
‘So you are taking her part?’
‘No, Emily, but from what I know of Lady Hamilton—’
‘You seem to know a great deal.’
‘She came from humble beginnings and has made something of herself.’
‘By what route?’
‘If it was the bedchamber so be it. How would you have her make her way with nothing but her beauty as an asset? I admit I found myself uncomfortable in her company at first, for she has a manner that is that of the siren. She wishes every man she meets to admire her and demonstrate it to be so.’
‘Do you admire her?’
‘In many ways I do.’ He felt the shoulders stiffen. ‘But not in that way. I wish my father could have met her for she is a perfect example of what he used to harangue his listeners about, that they had it within themselves to be masters of their own fate.’
‘Or mistresses,’ Emily said, and not as a kindly pun.
‘Emma Hamilton did not accept that the station into which she was born should be one in which she should remain. If her path to her present position is strewn with less than salubrious acts then she had transcended them now. She is the wife of a baronet and ambassador, speaks Italian, French and German, can play the harpsichord with some skill and keep hanging on her every word men who should know better.’
She looked up to say something unpleasant, only to see her lover smiling. ‘I am not one of the latter, I am a man who only has regard for you and I am also one who is to shortly depart this palazzo, which I would hate to do with you and I in dispute.’
‘How soon?’
‘I have sent word for the crew to assemble on the quay before the Palazzo Reale. Sir William has bespoken and paid for a boat to take us back to the fleet. You have no idea how tempted I am to send them off on their own, but I cannot and even you must be aware of my responsibility. I have lost a ship and someone has to be accountable for that.’
‘If you did not return you would be seen as a coward fearful of facing censure?’
There was dispirited quality to that remark, which Pearce felt he had to counter. ‘It is not just for my pride, Emily, it is that I have to be able when I see a mirror to look myself in the eye. You cannot ask me to act dishonourably.’
‘Am I asking?’
‘No, but time is short and if I want to take away with me anything, it is the feeling of how much regard we have for each other.’
‘We need to think of the future, John.’
The reply she got was low and husky as he pulled her unresisting body into his own. ‘As of this moment, I cannot think of any time but now.’
It was necessary to wait for the return of Sir William and Lady Hamilton before he could depart and Pearce did not miss the look she gave Emily and he, which followed by the slightest of smiles. There was nothing in his demeanour to indicate that they had taken advantage of her none too subtle offer. Again, it was Emily’s reddening cheeks that gave the game away.
‘Rest assured, Lieutenant Pearce,’ the ambassador said, ‘you leave Mrs Barclay in good and safe hands.’
‘For which I am grateful, sir.’
‘And of course we wish you a speedy return.’
‘Very speedy,’ Emma Hamilton added, which set off Emily’s nostrils again.
‘You have my letters,’ her husband asked.
‘Both yours and Lady Hamilton’s.’
Sir William gave his wife a raised eyebrow. ‘Nelson?’
‘A copy, the original went down with the Lieutenant’s ship.’
‘If you see Commodore Nelson, please also give his my regards,’ Hamilton said. ‘He is a fine fellow and, as I have told Lady Hamilton on more than one occasion will, if the Admiralty has an ounce of sense, achieve great things. Now I will wait downstairs by the hack I have engaged to take you from us. Come my dear.’
Both he and his wife exited, so that Pearce and Emily could say their final farewells. He knew she would cry as soon as he left but there were no words he could employ to deflect that. And why did he feel a bit of a scrub to be going, given he could not do otherwise? Truly, being in love was the most complicated thing he had ever encountered.
On his way through the crowded streets, filled with the odours of a great port teeming with humanity, made up of the smell of cooking, the stink of animals as well as equine and human waste, the nature of Naples driven home by the way everyone seemed to shout rather than talk, John Pearce reflected that commanding a King’s ship, even the one he had so recently had charge of, was simplicity compared to keeping a woman happy.
CHAPTER TWELVE
It was strange to be on a ship and have nothing to do. The merchant vessel Sir William Hamilton had hired had its own Neapolitan captain and crew, men with whom easy communication was impossible. If John Pearce felt od
d to be idle he could only assume that the same applied to the men he led. They spent a goodly part of their time below decks gnawing on what the future might hold for them, when they were not engaged in a pursuit, gambling, that he was supposed to prevent.
If he ventured into their domain the means by which they wagered and played was quick to disappear, as it would be on any King’s ship, ferretted away by sailors who had years of practice at hoodwinking their superiors. It was one of those areas where a wise officer, provided matters were kept within decent bounds, employed the blind eye and set aside the Articles of War; some things could not be prevented and too heavy a hand led to a disgruntled and less effective crew.
The thought of that was wont to bring forth a smile; the men of HMS Larcher required no other reason to be at odds with him than the fact that he had lost their ship and, as far as they were concerned, their home, while he was at a stand to know how to even begin to repair that breech. In the event the means to do so was brought to him by his Pelicans, as ever the best conduit of information, able to do so openly on a deck bereft of any of their mates and far enough off to kill the need for formality.
‘There’s them that says you did us proud to get us out of that scrape,’ Charlie Taverner informed him. ‘And not losing a soul in the process, too.’
‘Same number still curse you for getting us into it, mind.’
Pearce held back a smile as he recalled at one time how hard it had been to get any words out of Rufus Dommet. Now the one-time callow youth, sucking on his pipe, looked quite the grown man, broader of shoulder and more mature in his look, albeit he still had his untidy ginger hair and freckles on skin that would not take the sun.
‘There’s those you’ll never change the mind of, John-boy, no matter what you do.’
‘Does it matter, Michael,’ Pearce asked. ‘I am not likely to be in command of them ever again. I might never be in command of anyone again.’
Rufus pointed with his pipe. ‘I won’t say the prospect of you lording the quarterdeck pleases many, but there are a fair crowd who worry how they will end up.’
The Devil to Pay Page 14
