The Admirals' Game (15 page)

‘Mind your purse, John-boy,' the Irishman growled, easing his cutlass and glaring at everyone within his roving eyeline. ‘I ain't never seen such a collection of scallywags.'

‘In which case, Michael, they will all be armed with knives, against which one cutlass will count for little. Let us move off the quay and see what we can find.'

That led them into a series of alleyways and finally to an open marketplace, with tables groaning under the weight of colourful farm produce. But it also had taverns, and from one of them, after another bout of energetic arm waving, a conveyance was secured. It was a cart drawn by a donkey and driven by a dark-skinned fellow in a wretched straw hat who kept turning to grin at them, saying ‘Madonna', a word which had Michael crossing himself repeatedly. The smile was devoid of
teeth, and the finger with which he gestured to the road ahead, a narrow crowded thoroughfare, was missing the tip. Eventually, after hearing it repeated several times, Pearce began to understand that the Madonna was no other than ‘
la bella signora
'amilton'.

‘Odd that,' Pearce said to Michael. ‘The one thing I think that lady is not, is a saint.'

‘Who is she?'

‘A famous beauty, mistress to several rich men, much painted and much damned. Some think her traduced, most people when asked would tell you she is a nothing but a retired London whore who has snared an old booby with a handsome post.'

‘He being?'

‘The British Ambassador to the Court of the Two Sicilies.'

Given their carter knew of his
bella signora
, he required no directions and the conveyance worked its way though narrow, teeming streets until it came to the gates of the ambassador's house, set on a steep hill and crowded with vendors using the overhang to shelter their wares. This entailed much shouting to get them to shift, an action in which Michael O'Hagan took much pleasure.

To enter the courtyard of Sir William's home, the Palazzo Sessa, once the large wooden doors were closed behind them, was to find themselves in a different world. The gates shut out the noise of the heaving street; the courtyard, even at this time of year, was full of flowers, which gave off a range of scents powerful enough to
overcome the smell of the city, made worse by the foul weather: drying horse dung, a humanity singularly malodorous, though that was leavened by the smell of food being cooked which seemed to emanate from every open window they had passed.

It was necessary to ask for the way to the Hamilton apartments, for Sir William did not occupy the whole palazzo, and once found, the fellow who responded to their knock on the door did so with a gravity which was almost theatrical in its manner. Pearce reckoned the wearing of a naval boat cloak clearly established his credentials; the liveried major-domo, for that was what Pearce suspected him to be, seemed to think of him as some miscreant seeking charity, and their exchanges were not helped by his heavily accented English. Fearing a rebuff, the situation was saved when a clear, if gravelly, voice spoke behind the fellow in perfect English.

‘What's goin' on, Fillipo?'

The major-domo turned in that stiff way superior servants do, to reveal a squat woman in a mob cap, wearing both a full-length apron and, at her waist, a large set of heavy keys. Her face had traces of faded beauty, of features once fine, which had become coarsened through age.

‘
Visitatori
, Signora Cadogan.'

That, at least, laid to rest Pearce's first, idiotic thought, that this might be the famed Emma Lyon, gone very much to seed in a combination of matrimony and the warm climate. Fortunately, in turning, Fillipo had revealed a
fellow who had opened his cloak to reveal his uniform, and whoever this woman was, she knew a king's coat when she saw one.

‘You will be from that barky that entered the bay this morning?'

An intriguing accent, Pearce thought, trying to place it; being the son of a peripatetic parent, and having travelled the length and breadth of his homeland, he prided himself on being able to identify any voice he heard.

‘I am indeed from HMS
Faron
. Might I ask who I am addressing?'

‘Mrs Cadogan, at your service, sir, mother to the lady of the house.'

‘It is Sir William I have come to see.'

‘Ain't here, sir, he's at his hunting lodge, though a messenger has been sent to tell him of the arrival of your ship, as is the custom.'

‘Will that bring him back to Naples?'

She responded with a slight laugh. ‘I doubt it, sir. An English ship in the Bay of Naples is not to be remarked on, and when Daft Ferdy goes a'huntin', nowt is permitted to interfere.'

‘I must see him.'

The smile was doubtful, though far from a sneer. ‘Must you, now?'

‘I have a private message for him, madam, and it is on a matter of some urgency. If you can procure me a horse, and a guide, I will happily ride out to see him.'

Mrs Cadogan stood rock still, clearly thinking on that
suggestion, before she made a gesture of greeting, and bid them enter. ‘Best you talk with my daughter, sir.' Then she looked up at Michael, who even standing two steps down was taller than her, his station quite obvious by his seaman's ducks. ‘Fillipo, show the sailor fellow to the kitchens.'

‘Would I be after gettin' fed, lady?' Michael asked.

‘The cooks will look after you, big as you are.'

Michael went one way with the major-domo, while John Pearce followed in the footsteps of Mrs Cadogan. Climbing the stairs to the first floor, Pearce was struck by two things: the quantity of classical artefacts, busts, frescoes and urns, some damaged, most whole, which crowded the steps and landings and, secondly, that behind them the walls were cracked and peeling. Clearly the palazzo was in some need of repair.

The rooms he was led into when they entered the actual apartment were quite different, properly and expensively furnished, the walls covered in paintings of classical scenes, the floors highly polished and the harpsichord music he was hearing of a high standard. The drawing room, the last room he entered, overlooked the bay, with a fine sweep of windows, which must have made it something extraordinary on a day when the sun shone.

‘Wait here, and I will fetch my daughter. Your name, sir, is?'

‘Lieutenant John Pearce.'

As she disappeared, Pearce was taken by the way the room was furnished, especially the numerous pieces
of pottery, which sat on the fine mahogany tables and sideboard. Closer examination showed them to be decorated with scenes from antiquity, but then Sir William Hamilton was a famous collector of vertu,
well-known
for his many excavations at the nearby ruined Roman settlements of Pompeii and Herculaneum. But what caught his eye most was the large portrait of a flame-haired young beauty, wearing a white scarf, and looking wistful. Moving closer he saw the signature, in the corner, of George Romney, and he was still examining that when the voice behind him spoke.

‘I believe, sir, you desire to see my husband?'

Turning, John Pearce found himself face to face, and undoubtedly so, with the girl in the portrait. The face was fuller, but still striking, the skin less translucent than the painting, yet the figure underneath the loose garments, suitable for such a warm climate, was fulsome indeed. Most striking was the hair, a rich auburn, dressed high to show a long alabaster neck, while a slight odour of lavender water touched his nostrils.

Executing a slight bow, in which he confessed himself impressed, he said, ‘Lieutenant John Pearce, madam, at your service.'

That got him no more than a breath of a curtsy. ‘Lady Emma Hamilton.'

Emma Hamilton was examining him with a slight, yet confident smile on her face, the look of a woman who knew herself to be beautiful, yet there was no sign of the haughtiness Pearce had often seen in others blessed with the same gift. Her gaze, from engaging green eyes, was unwavering without any hint of mood, which told him he was in the company of someone who had much confidence in her present position. In the voice he had detected the same accent as the mother, albeit less pronounced. The stillness was significant, as if she was prepared to wait to be appraised, but then it struck him: Lady Emma Hamilton was used to the stares of strangers. She knew of her reputation, and was accustomed to allow those she had not met before a moment to measure what they had heard, against what they could see and hear.

Faced with such an attractive creature, Pearce
succumbed to what was, in a red-blooded young fellow, a natural train of thought, and he was about to pay her a fulsome compliment when they were interrupted. In the seconds in which they had stood looking at each other the doors had been opened once more and Mrs Cadogan entered, followed by a servant carrying a large tray bearing wine and fruit. This was placed on a round table and the servant withdrew; Emma's mother did not.

‘If'n we are to have guests for dinner I will need to know.'

‘I could not tell you if we shall, Mother, given that our handsome visitor has done no more than introduce himself.'

Pearce was good with women, especially those whom he found alluring. Emma Hamilton's words and manner were, he was sure, designed to fluster him into a nervous response, not from any malice, but just the natural element of a status game he had played often before, so he smiled, and turned to indicate her portrait.

‘Lady Hamilton, I am so very pleased to meet you. I was just looking at the portrait, and seeing you in the flesh I am much taken with the likeness.'

The green eyes flickered slightly, as if she was amused. ‘In what respect, sir?'

‘Why, I am amazed that, given it must have been painted some years ago, there is no dissimilarity between subject and depiction.'

‘So you are telling me, sir, in naval parlance, that I have weathered well?'

‘I am telling you, milady, that I was struck by the beauty of the portrait, and I am even more struck by the reality of the person who sat for it.'

A snort from Mrs Cadogan was an inelegant testimony to her thoughts on that exchange, but Emma Hamilton laughed. ‘Mother, I see we have with us a fellow well versed in the art of repartee; not, I have to say, Lieutenant, a common attribute of most of the sailors who visit us.'

‘Then, milady, I can only assume them struck dumb by your beauty.'

God, she takes a compliment well, he thought. Many a creature would have blushed at such a flattering remark; she merely dropped her head slightly to hide a grin, accepting a comment she must have been in receipt of many times in her life.

‘Wine, sir,' growled Emma's mother, who had clearly allotted herself the role of chaperone and, from her expression, saw the need to exercise it.

Pearce gave her his most engaging smile. ‘Delighted, madam, and might I add that there is no doubt from where Lady Hamilton acquired her looks.'

‘Have a care with it, sir,' Lady Hamilton added, in what was clearly a double entendre. ‘We are referring to a robust brew, stronger than the norm.'

He had to respond, but he also had to ignore the warning to take care with the mother. ‘My captain visited the fleet anchorage as soon as we anchored this morning, milady. Having been royally entertained, I would say he
has found out already that in such things moderation is a necessity.'

Twin furrows appeared above her nose. ‘You are not the ship's captain?'

‘No.'

‘How singular, sir. It is usual for the senior officer on a ship to present his compliments to my husband's office.'

‘Which I am sure he will be delighted to do once he has recovered sufficiently. But I am here on a special undertaking, which is why I have called instead of he. I need to see your husband as soon as humanly possible.'

‘Regarding what, sir?'

‘I am afraid, milady, that is for Sir William's ears alone.'

For the first time since her entering the room John Pearce saw that there was steel as well as good humour in his hostess. Those green eyes flashed with irritation, momentarily for sure, but unmistakably.

‘You will find, sir, that my husband and I work in harmony. Indeed, he would tell you himself, if he were here, that he would find his office burdensome without my considerable aid.'

Pearce sought to keep his tone emollient; it made no odds if what she said was true or false, no good would come of upsetting the spouse of the man he needed. ‘And I must respond, milady, with some regret, by saying that my instructions are quite specific.'

‘Instructions from whom?'

‘Alas, I am not even at liberty to reveal that.'

If such a response annoyed her, she covered it well. ‘Am I allowed to enquire from where you have come?'

That was a clever gambit and it presented Pearce with a dilemma: to refuse to answer would reek of excessive obfuscation, yet to reply would be as good as admitting who had sent him. It took him several seconds to actually respond, and the reason he was open seemed to him a logical one: he was in danger of making an enemy of Lady Hamilton, and that could do nothing whatever to aid his mission.

‘Toulon, milady.'

Expecting her to respond with the name of Lord Hood, he was surprised and gratified when she said nothing. To anyone with a modicum of a brain – and he suspected Emma Hamilton might be a lot brighter than that – the connection would be obvious. Also, although she had nodded at the name of the place, it was clear by her slightly puzzled expression that she was thinking through the import of what he had said, and what she had extrapolated from it.

‘Lieutenant, please be seated.' As Pearce moved to a chair to do so, Emma sat down herself on a chaise, speaking over her shoulder. ‘Mother, I think we need to be left alone.'

That got a look which rendered the matriarch's features exceedingly gravid, and a growl was heard, albeit one locked in her throat. But she obliged, though the door was not closed behind her with anything approaching gentility.

The sound of it slamming made Emma Hamilton laugh, and she leant forward to confide in Pearce. ‘She still sees me as a child, Lieutenant, and fears to leave me alone in strange male company.'

Pearce merely smiled in acknowledgement; he knew from experience not to enter into discussions about a person's relatives before having a full picture of how they saw each other. He had known folk furiously defend a person they had just damned, blood generally being thicker than water. Not receiving any response, Emma Hamilton sat back and looked at him quizzically, and when she spoke, her voice had a hint of a flirt in it.

‘I see I shall have to work hard to draw you out, Mr Pearce, given you seem reluctant to be forthcoming.'

His hostess could not know she had entered into a game in which her visitor was well practised; coming to manhood in Revolutionary Paris, John Pearce had dallied with many a beauty, exchanged bon mots with acknowledged wits of both sexes, enjoyed a lasting liaison with a beautiful aristocratic mistress, moving from shy, impressed youth, to an accomplished social animal. When it came to flirting, he had learnt well.

‘It is in my nature to be reticent, Lady Hamilton, in the face of such loveliness as you possess, lest my attraction should allow my tongue to run away with itself.'

‘Something tells me, Lieutenant Pearce, that your tongue only runs when you tell it to do so, and I am sure, when employed to the full, it is highly effective.'

There was a definite sexual innuendo in the way
she said that and he took no offence at her aim; she was trying to use her feminine wiles to seduce him just enough to get him to open up and tell her about his mission. Emma Hamilton knew she was striking, and took it for granted he found her so, so she would play a little, hoping to draw him into an indiscretion based on his desire to please a woman whom he would surely love to bed. Having made that play, she waited for him to respond, and when he did not, merely holding her gaze without any expression of his own, she burst out laughing, a sound both musical in its tone and coarse in its stridency.

‘I can see that particular ploy will not suffice.'

‘Ploy, milady?' Pearce enquired, deliberately looking baffled.

‘I am gratified to see you have the manners to pretend you did not spot it for what it was. I see now I shall have to be serious, and treat you with a degree of respect.'

‘I am sure I would appreciate that, milady.'

She stood and began to pace around, though there was no agitation in her gait. ‘I will send a message asking that my husband return to Naples, but he cannot be here quickly since he must first gain the sovereign's permission to depart, and since King Ferdinand has a great deal of affection for Sir William, and sees him as the ideal companion in the hunt, that may not be immediately forthcoming.'

‘Is there any way in which I can express the urgency of my meeting him, without being open about the purpose?'

‘So he can impress that upon the king?' Pearce nodded, and Emma Hamilton shook her head. ‘You do not know Ferdinand. The man is like a child, with an infant's petulance. He is addicted to two things, the seduction of young women and the mass slaughter of innocent beasts.' That brought forth a full smile. ‘Perhaps the two are not so dissimilar, wouldn't you say?'

‘I was informed Queen Caroline ran the government.'

‘Then you were informed correctly.'

She sat down again, folded her hands together, and her face took on a serious look.

‘I am going to tell you, sir, that when it comes to the queen, I am an intimate friend; indeed there is hardly a day when I do not see her, and hardly a day when I do not entertain her children. I would go as far as to say she confides in me, to the extent, for instance, that I know, weary of being brought to bed with child, one of her main tasks is to find suitable substitutes for a husband who has too much warm blood in his veins. The man is insatiable. Never mind his royal offspring, the king has sired enough bastards to man a hundred-gun ship.'

‘Milady, I fail—'

She cut right across him. ‘If you have come from Toulon on a mission which can only be related to Sir William, it has to do with some request you require to put to the government of the Court of Naples, am I correct?'

Pearce made a non-committal gesture, neither agreeing nor disagreeing.

‘Lord Hood has chosen well,' she said.

‘You are sure I come from Lord Hood?'

‘Who else? He commands at Toulon. If something is needed, he is the person who would send the request, as he has done once already by means of Captain Nelson, and given what we hear from there through the dispatches from the commander of the Neapolitan forces, Prince Pignatelli, it would not take a genius to work out what any request from Lord Hood might contain.'

‘You read the dispatches from the Neapolitan commander?'

Emma Hamilton made a gesture, as though the answer was obvious. ‘The queen shows them to me, and seeks my opinion.'

His reply, given his own lack of martial knowledge, was tinged with a degree of hypocrisy. ‘You have military training too?'

‘I detect, Lieutenant, a degree of condescension in that remark. I merely underlined those readings to press upon you that I enjoy the full trust of Queen Caroline, as much, if not more than, my husband.'

‘I feel, milady, you are about to suggest something.'

‘Of course I am, but first I am going to tell you the reason why the queen places so much trust in my opinion.'

The grounds for that were too obvious. ‘Could it be that she mistrusts the opinions of others?'

Emma Hamilton smiled at an intelligent gambit, which removed from her the need for much explanation. ‘The
queen has an efficient set of secret informers who tell her of anything which might threaten her position. How much, Mr Pearce, do you know about the Revolution?'

The answer, ‘a great deal more than you', remained unsaid. ‘Enough.'

‘Enough to know how much it affects matters in Naples?'

‘I confess, no.'

‘Then let me tell you, sir. There is a strong body of republican sentiment in this city. To an outsider it looks like a contented place. The sun shines, the markets groan under plentiful produce from the surrounding countryside, there are abundant fish in the sea. Yet it is the nature of man to create so many mouths to feed that some must starve, and that is so in Naples. But it is not the hungry that present the problem, as in Paris, it is those who should know better: members of the nobility, wealthy men engaged in trade, freemasons, who surely know that to let out the beast is to lose control of it.'

She stopped, looked wistful for a moment, and stood to pace again, before continuing.

‘I saw the king and queen of France when we passed through Paris in the year '91, after my marriage to Sir William. My dear, sweet Queen Caroline's sister looking forlorn, and the king bemused, it broke my heart.'

‘Naples, milady,' Pearce said, evenly.

He too had seen Marie Antoinette and King Louis, just after they had been fetched back from their attempt to flee the country, but he would not have had the same
over romantic response. He was enough of his father's son to see that they had brought their predicament upon themselves, while also being enough of his father's son to have been sure the way to treat them did not include decapitation, or any other form of execution.

‘There are powerful men here who would do to Ferdinand and Caroline the same as that meted out to the French royals. There are men here who work, as we speak, to undermine the monarchy, quite a few of them in the councils of the queen herself. You might ask why she does not dismiss them.'