Rondo Allegro (3 page)

“Badly, sir.” She was barely audible.

“The fortepiano? The harp?” He named the proper instruments
of a well-brought-up young lady.

“A little of the one, but not of the other, sir.”

“Your English is excellent, and I am given to understand you
speak French as well. I take it you also speak Italian?”

“Oh, yes, sir. And Neapolitan.”

“Accomplished indeed!”

Observed narrowly by Parrette from the doorway, the two
continued their awkward conversation. He asked her which of the Maestro’s
pieces she had heard of late. As the captain was partial to music—indeed, he
spent his occasional liberty attending concerts when he could get them—they
talked about the latest opera by the great Paisiello.

Anna became a trifle more animated as she praised the opera,
Duncannon found, to his relief. (It being easier to think of her as ‘the young
lady’ than as his wife, though signing his name had brought home the truth of
his experience.)

But when they had exchanged all the possible polite
superlatives, she agreeing with everything he said, conversation faltered, and he
had no idea what to do next.

Jones rescued him with his reappearance, Troubridge behind
him. They signaled with twitches of chins and furtive gestures with the free
hands not carrying their hats. The captain excused himself, leaving the young
lady in company with the divine, who continued to talk about Mozart, his
particular favorite.

“We’ve heard all we’re going to,” Troubridge said when
Duncannon drew near. “If you will report directly to Nelson, Duncannon, pray
carry my compliments, and add that we are going to corroborate some of the
details before we rejoin you. If you leave now, you should be able to make the
tide,” he added.

Duncannon resolutely hid his relief at the prospect of soon
being out of the situation. Except that he wasn’t out of it. He had spoken the
words. He had signed his name. He had woken a single man that day, and he would
sleep alone again that night in his cabin, though with the knowledge that he
possessed a wife.

“The young lady?” he asked.

Jones said smoothly, “Lady Hamilton insisted that nothing
material will change.”

“And after the father succumbs? I heard you promise him that
the girl would gain a house and position in society, and in the necessity of
the situation, I did not deny it. Need I remind you that I cannot offer either
of these things? Therefore, I believe it ought to fall to you to initiate a
dissolution. At the same time, my own sense of honor requires me to insist that
you guarantee that the young lady, however briefly she bears my name, will not
suffer thereby.”

Troubridge heard in the lengthening of Captain Duncannon’s
vowels a hint of the dashing captain who had sailed under the guns of the enemy
at the Nile, and turned to Jones. “I believe you assured us that Whitehall
would cooperate in this matter.”

The intelligence officer knew very well that ‘Whitehall’
could mean an entirely different set of men if the government changed, and that
old promises were very often discarded by the newcomers. But his orders had
been clear. “May I remind you gentlemen that the young lady is housed in a
royal palace, with every evidence of continuing there, under the patronage of
Lady Hamilton? Therefore her position may be regarded as secure, until I obtain
instructions from London on how to proceed.”

Troubridge eyed Jones, then turned to Duncannon. “Once we
have settled affairs in Naples, Nelson shall speak to Lord Keith on your behalf.
You will not be the loser for your cooperative spirit. Nelson stipulated for
that in specific.”

Mr. Jones bowed.

“Very well,” Duncannon said.

He returned to the young lady and took his leave in form,
deciding that the least said, the less chance of awkwardness.

She responded so faintly he could scarcely hear her, and he
wondered how much she truly comprehended of the situation.
But that is the government’s problem
, he thought as he walked away.
Even so, he was aware of a sense of guilt, as if he were beating a cowardly
retreat.

Parrette watched him go, then shifted her attention to Anna,
who gazed nowhere as she absently turned the ring around and around on her
finger. She looked so pale, so sad, that Parrette’s heart ached for her.

Anna was unaware of anyone else’s sensibilities. Her entire
attention was focused on that ring. It itched, or perhaps she only thought it
did, for gold did not raise rashes. Parrette had told her that it was one of
Lady Hamilton’s trinkets, brought all the way from England, and provided at the
last moment.

Anna was aware of a sense of relief. She had had no firm
expectations, knowing that naval wives did not always follow their husbands
aboard their ships: some lived ashore as housing could be got, and others
remained in England, as for example did Lady Nelson. It seemed she was to be
one of the second group. Just as well, she thought, for she could not bear to
leave her Papa when he was so ill.

The captain’s departure served as a general signal. Very
soon Anna had given her last curtsey and received her last congratulation. Her mouth
ached from the effort of smiling.

As the servants went about carrying off the dishes, Anna
rejoined Parrette in the hallway. “Your Papa is asleep, Mademoiselle,
parbleu!
Madame, I should say.” Parrette
rolled her eyes expressively. “Those English kept him talking, oh, forever, but
he seemed easier when they were gone, and he was able to see the priest.”

“Perhaps, now that he has discharged whatever it is he felt
his duty,” Anna said with faint hope, “he might rest well, and recover.”

Parrette clasped her hands in fervent agreement.

Anna retired early, too exhausted to think beyond the
morrow.

She woke to the news that her father had sunk into a coma,
and two nights later, as Anna woke abruptly from an exhausted doze while
sitting on a hassock at her father’s bedside, she discovered that the hand in
hers had gone loose and lifeless. A glance revealed the truth, that his spirit
had fled.

Though Admiral Nelson had become as important to the
Neapolitan court as the English legates, this marriage between one of his
commanders and the daughter of one of the court musicians did not cause a
ripple. Lady Hamilton would have made case for a splendid celebration of the
sort she loved, but she had been adjured to keep it select, even private, the
excuse being the father’s sinking.

Devoted to Nelson as she was, she acquiesced without demur,
and the marriage was known only to those few who had attended. After it, the
girl was left in peace to grieve, and the captain was immediately ordered to
support the fleet in its impending rescue of Naples.

As for Anna, there was so much for her to do that she
scarcely had time for grief, and no time at all to comprehend her sudden change
in state. Though she
knew
she was a
married woman, she
felt
that she was
an orphan.

With Captain Duncannon gone so soon after the wedding, the
only evidence of her marriage was the ill-fitting ring on her finger. It did
not seen like a wedding ring at all; it was more like another of the trinkets
that Lady Hamilton had given her from time to time as a reward for her singing.
Some of them even had worth: Emma had received a pair of diamond earrings for
providing the ‘voice of an angel’ from behind the curtain at the Attitudes when
the English navy first arrived.

As Anna set herself to the task of disposing of her father’s
few belongings, Parrette made it her business to glean what information she
could about Captain Duncannon.

When Anna came at last to the packing of her father’s music,
most written out in his own dear hand, Parrette came in to report. “Captain
Duncannon was sent directly from here to Naples.”

Anna wiped her brow. “I thought as much.”

“I also learned that he has been promoted from a ten gun
brig to a recently captured French vessel called
Danae
.”

“Mother of Perseus,” Anna said approvingly.

Parrette, whose awareness of the classics was roughly
coequal to her interest, which is to say scant, went right on to what did
interest her. “He was used to be called Wild Harry, which brought him to the
notice of Captain Nelson. Catalina, whose brother’s wife’s uncle knows the
purser aboard the
Danae
, says that
among the officers of the fleet, he is called the Perennial Bachelor.”

Anna fanned herself with an extra copy of a Mozart motet as
she considered these words, then said, “At all events, he is not one now.”

Parrette pursed her lips. “
Il y a anguille sous la roche
,” she muttered, but under her breath.
When it came to men, and their often-incomprehensible doings, she
always
smelled a rat.

Then, feeling guilty for her forebodings, she busied herself
with scrubbing the already-clean chamber, as Anna turned back to her sad task.

Reality set in under a heavy thunderstorm when Parrette and
Anna stood alongside the coach under dripping umbrellas, half the King’s
musicians ranged at a respectful distance, as Papa’s casket departed on the
coach to his final resting place in Ponte San Bernardo.

Beppe paid no heed to the rain dripping from his hat onto
his face as he said to Anna, “You’ll be safe with the English.” He remembered the autocratic duchess; even if the French had not been making
war up and down the Italian peninsula, there would have been no good life for
La Signorina Anna in Ponte San Bernardo.

Anna whispered, “I believe I will. Here,” and she pushed a
purse into his hands. “Here is the half the money from the sale of Papa’s
things. He would have wanted you to be comfortable while accompanying him . . .”
She swallowed the word
home
,
remembering how many times her father had insisted that ‘home’ was his wife and
daughter. Her throat tightened painfully. “To his last rest.”

Beppe took the purse, which was regrettably light, and
pressed a kiss on the back of her black glove. Then he was gone.

“He’ll drink it up at the first tavern,” Parrette declared.

“He’s a good man,” Anna said, by habit.

“
Scélérat! Les lazarones
are no good,” Parrette muttered, though now that he
was leaving, she could acknowledge that at least he had been loyal to the
signor.

o0o

Each morning following Beppe’s departure—the time Anna had
been used to sit with her parents, talking about music in three languages—she
sat alone, looking out the windows at the heat-shimmering stones of the
courtyard below.

Each day brought increasingly horrific reports from Naples,
and in the meantime, Anna remained in her rooms, uncertain what to do. Lady
Hamilton departed with Admiral Lord Nelson aboard the
Foudroyant
, and Parrette brought back the exciting news that the
legate’s wife was interceding with the queen on behalf of Neapolitans, from
poor to rich, as Nelson’s force hunted down all Jacobins to be put to death.

Rumors ran both wild and bloody, the one consistent report
that the English had succeeded in driving the French away.

Days sped by, one much like another, then it was time for
everyone to be on the move again, and in the midst of the chaos, Anna was
summoned to Lady Hamilton, whom she found in a cabin aboard the English ship,
people bustling about dodging the mariners who tended the complication of ropes
and sails.

“My dearest child,” Lady Hamilton exclaimed when she saw
Anna, raising her voice to be heard over the bawling of a boatswain a few feet
directly overhead. To a maid importuning her from behind, “No, no, the silk,
please. Carry it to Mrs. Cadogan, I beg.” And to Anna, “We are already planning
the celebrations. The entire Palazzo Cinese shall be given over to one long
fete to celebrate our glorious victory.”

“I . . “ Anna swallowed. “What about Captain Duncannon?” She
could not quite bring herself to say ‘my husband.’

“Capt—oh yes!” Lady Hamilton laughed, her pretty face
flushed. She had entirely forgotten that hasty marriage. “Oh, they are still
busy chasing revolutionaries here and there. But you are safe enough with me.
The queen depends upon me most straitly. Does not dare to take a step without
consulting me, or the dear admiral, who is, the king insists, to be awarded a
dukedom. Is that not splendid? Though no more than he deserves.”

“Yes, my lady.”

“Now, my dear, I
must
have you take part in the fete. I want your beautiful voice in a special
tableau I have in mind . . .”

Anna stared in amazement at a pair of miniatures depicting
the familiar faces of King Ferdinand and Queen Maria Carolina set all around in
diamonds that winked and gleamed with every roll of the ship. This beautiful
item sat in prominent display on a little shelf nearby. She was to be reunited
with Maestro Paisiello! Joy suffused her.

As soon as they docked, the entire party was swept into a
whirlwind of preparation. Parrette ran straight away to reclaim their old rooms
before anyone else could try to claim them, and Anna sped across the familiar
palace to the theater wing where the maestro stayed.

There she found him. He set aside his pen and advanced with
sorrow in his countenance as he clasped her hands. “My dear Signorina Anna. I
heard about your good Papa. I am so very sorry.”

Anna stared back as she whispered her thanks for his kind
words. Could it be that he did not know that she was now a married woman?

Her lips parted. She was about to speak, but a thought
stayed her. He
ought
to have known!
He ought to have been there, as Papa’s closest friend. Would he be insulted not
to have been?

She swallowed down the forming words. Perhaps it was better
to wait. It wasn’t as if anything had changed, outside of her name. Once
Captain Duncannon returned, they could tell the maestro together, and the
captain could explain how it had all come about, something Anna still did not
quite comprehend.