The Admirals' Game (16 page)

‘I would guess, then, they are more dangerous outside her councils than inside them.'

‘What is it you want from the queen, Mr Pearce?'

‘What I want is for her ears only.'

‘Troops, cannon, powder and shot, food, it cannot be other than that. Shall I tell you what the queen wants?'

‘Please do.'

The response was loud and sharp. ‘She wants to keep her head, sir! She wants to see the surviving children she has borne grown to become adults in freedom, and to come into their estate. She wishes for a prosperous and secure kingdom, so I will advise you if you have any requests to make to Her Majesty they be couched in such a manner as to reflect those concerns. Do you speak German?'

‘No.'

‘The queen is Austrian and I can tell you she does not speak a word of English.'

‘May I ask, how do you communicate with her, milady?'

Emma Hamilton spun round then, her eyes really flashing with deep passion for the first time. ‘Everyone who comes to Naples expects to meet someone who should never aspire to be more than a serving wench. I take some pleasure in shocking them with my accomplishments.'

‘The queen, I am sure, will be comfortable in French.'

‘As am I, but we generally converse in German or Italian.'

John Pearce was caught in a dilemma: Hood had made it clear that time was of the essence, indeed he had hinted that a mere few weeks either way in such a tight situation might make a difference. Sir William Hamilton, his entrée to the royal presence, was not here, and might not be for some time. Could he believe the man's wife, or was she just puffing up her position and abilities to impress him? That would only make sense if it was habitual – an act she performed with whoever called. Was that the case? After all, she had just alluded to the constrained circumstances of her own background, though she had neatly sidestepped her more common reputation as a high-paid harlot.

If Emma Hamilton was accustomed to be recognised and treated as a beauty she was also, he was sure, even more accustomed to being the butt of condescension. Those visitors to Naples who saw her as an arriviste tart who had married above her natural station would
heap this on her, and constant exposure to such attitudes would make anyone defensive. Was he not, himself, often subjected to something similar?

‘What would you say, Lieutenant, if I was to tell you that if you put a request to the queen, she will ask my advice on the merits of what you say.'

The disbelief in his voice was deliberate. ‘You alone?'

‘No.'

That negative came with another engaging smile, evidence that she had taken no offence at so palpable a correction. What he would ask for must at some point go before the inner members of her council, those she could trust, yet Pearce was wise enough in the ways of the world to know how often people in power relied more on the advice of a confidant, rather than those whose position alone elevated them to the status of counsellor, which could either be a positive thing or the opposite.

The opinion of Queen Caroline when she met with her council would be paramount. If she were ill-disposed towards the matter under discussion it would be dead in the water; if in favour, only strong voices and sound reasoning would dissuade her. As for discretion, Hood worried about a rebuff becoming public and undermining him, not an agreement to send him reinforcements.

‘I can get you an audience with the queen, Mr Pearce.' To his questioning eyebrows she continued, ‘But first I have to be sure what you wish to lay before her is a
matter important enough for me to trade upon our close association.'

‘So we come full circle, Lady Hamilton.'

‘We do. Lord Hood wants help and I would hazard that he feels it can only come from Naples. That it is a secret you must keep from me means he is acting in a manner which might alarm others, might even lead them to consider the worth of their own present commitments. Am I right?'

There was no point in denying it, and as he hesitated, just enough to ensure it appeared an answer was being dragged from him, he was forced to acknowledge that the ambassador's wife had correctly and very cleverly deduced the purpose of his mission. At the same time, Pearce was not prepared to go overboard; once he mentioned Toulon and Lord Hood, anyone with a decent brain could have followed logically to the conclusion Emma Hamilton had reached. What was interesting was something else altogether; the way he had heard her spoken about in the past. She was reputed to have no brains at all.

‘More troops are needed to both bolster the defence and to allow for a general assault that would stand some hope of success. Lord Hood has petitioned the government in London for those troops but they are not, apparently, to be had.'

‘Something, I would guess, he is disinclined to pass on to his allies.'

‘Why do you say that?'

‘All the submissions so far made to the Court of Naples
have been based on a strong contingent of redcoats being sent from England.'

‘Then I cannot see how I am to overcome the surprise when I tell the queen that is not the case—'

‘And,' Emma Hamilton interrupted, ‘that the Neapolitan forces already in Toulon are therefore in greater danger than at first proposed.' Since such an obvious conclusion required no answer, Pearce waited for her to continue. ‘I told you the queen fears for her head. Therefore any request put to her must be soundly based on the notion that the frontiers of her kingdom lie with the defence of Toulon. Lose that place and all Italy is threatened.'

‘That may well be true, given there is an army about to invade Lombardy. If Toulon falls, they will be massively greater in number. Take Lombardy and they may well swing south.'

‘Her fear will be this: that to denude the kingdom, and herself, of fighting men, might encourage those of a republican hue to rebel. The fear of inner turmoil is greater than that of external assault.'

‘Which makes for a difficult set of choices.'

‘But,' she insisted, ‘ones which must be made. In the absence of Sir William I will secure you a private audience with the queen, you will put your case, and I will advise her of the need to comply with your request.'

‘Do you not fear to take so much upon yourself, milady?'

‘No, Lieutenant Pearce, I fear not to. The audience will be early on the morrow, so you must rest here
tonight. I cannot risk that you return to your ship and are somehow delayed, that would not please the queen, who has a German attitude to punctuality.'

‘I have a boat standing by at the harbour of Santa Lucia.'

‘Then,' she replied, giving him a very direct stare, ‘you must send the man who accompanied you to inform them you are spending the night ashore.'

Looking into those green eyes, and at that beautiful face surmounted by flame-coloured hair, and taking into account the reputation of the person making the suggestion that he must remain in the Palazzo Sessa for the night, Pearce was suddenly given to wondering, given her husband was absent, if an audience with the queen was the only thing he was being offered.

Shown to a comfortable set of apartments, Pearce was left to his own devices for over two hours, time in which, with servants in abundance to see to his needs, he relished the ability to order up a hot bath, hand over his uniform to be properly cleaned and pressed by people who knew their business, to shave on dry land, a much closer and less dangerous occupation than that carried out aboard ship, and to generally allow himself to be pampered. Once returned to him, his hat was as if new, his blue coat looked and smelt fresh, the buttons were polished to perfection, while the white of his breeches had been as well restored as the gleam on his shoe buckles, the footwear itself being polished to a high sheen. Hair washed and dressed, he felt like a new man when he rejoined his hostess.

Unsure of her game, Pearce knew he had to be
circumspect. There is a fine line between banter aimed at seduction and that which merely passes for engaging social interaction, and he was aware that Emma Hamilton was inclined to sail very close to the wind, though never once tipping over into open invitation. In the act of showing him Sir William's collection of vertu, he was presented with images of ancient sexual licence which could have rendered tongue-tied any normal person so exposed, and would have produced a pure fit of the vapours in an English matron. There were statues of copulating couples, but they paled beside the images which decorated the various tiles, urns, vases, drinking cups and painted panels that made up the Hamilton collection, all dug up from the ruined cities of Pompeii and Herculaneum.

‘As you can see, Lieutenant, the ancients lacked hypocrisy in such matters,' she said, standing by a large bowl decorated with the images of a young, muscular male fellating a fellow who, by his locks and countenance, was twice the youth's age. ‘The same in our age is private and denied, though less so in these parts than in that fount of hypocrisy, London.'

Was she trying to shock him, or just seeking to elicit a reaction, and to what ultimate purpose?

‘It is a pity, milady, that in your journey through Paris you did not pass by the cloistered walkways of the Palais Royal. I can assure you, had you done so, you would have found drawings to render these images tame, and they are as nothing to the writings the purveyors insist are satire, when in fact they are nothing but salacious
denigration. The late queen and the poor Princesse de Lamballe suffered particularly, which had much to do with their ultimate fate.'

Pearce was thinking as he said those words that Marie Antoinette, despite the horror of her recent fate, had suffered less indignity than her best friend. Poor Lamballe; those scurrilous Palais Royal pamphleteers had been, for years, hinting at a Sapphic relationship between the two, a quite stupid assertion in the view of anyone with a brain. If the queen had suffered on the guillotine, her boon companion had had her head hacked off with several blows from a sword. It was then stuck on a pole and paraded though the streets of Paris.

His assured description of that part of the French capital had Emma Hamilton looking at him in a quizzical fashion, which Pearce would have had to admit, if pressed, he enjoyed. He was telling her, in no uncertain terms, that if she saw before her a mere naval lieutenant, the bearer of the rank and the blue broadcloth coat was much, much, more.

‘You know Paris well?'

‘I knew it, Lady Hamilton. I would not presume to say that I know it now.'

‘You cannot leave my curiosity in limbo, sir.'

No memory of Paris was ever rendered by John Pearce without a degree of filtering and it was the same now. While declining to mention his father he did allude to his occupation of apartments very close to the Sorbonne, which in terms of intellectual stimulation had
lost nothing in the change from monarchy to republic – quite the opposite – so that he had enjoyed the stimulus of discussion with students and teachers of that institution, people willing to debate the most esoteric ideas of human nature and governance until the candles burnt out.

The Paris of which he spoke was that which preceded the September Massacres of '92, in which Lamballe had perished. It had fine places in which to eat, a carnival atmosphere as fête followed fête in celebration of what the inhabitants saw as freedom, and at every street corner the pitch of vendors selling tricolour cockades and bits of the Bastille, though most suspected the supply of original stone from that one-time royal bastion had long run out. There were occasional outbreaks of violent behaviour, but in the main the low elements that made up the Parisian mob stuck to their rookeries.

It was the age of the pamphlet; they abounded,
anti-clerical
in tone, full of recommendations as to how the new state should be run. The famous salons were still active, overseen by clever women like Germaine de Staël and Madame Helvétius, being attended by the men who had led the country out of what they saw as a black past, places where no subject was to be avoided, though all engagements had to take place under the twin constraints of good manners and wit.

‘You met Madame de Staël?'

‘I was lucky enough to have an open invitation to her salon.'

Standing far enough away from John Pearce, and so able to look him up and down, she was seeing before her a much improved specimen from the fellow who had presented himself that morning. The look in her eye left him in no doubt of her opinion; that the open invitation of which he spoke had as much to do with his physical attributes as it had with any intellect he may possess. Yet it was not open admiration, there was no hint of hunger, merely recognition, and he was himself left in limbo by such scrutiny.

‘I am told she is remarkably unbecoming.'

‘Milady, she makes up in her conversation for that which she lacks in physical attributes.'

‘Clever, then?'

‘How else would she attach to her person so many famous minds? Mirabeau was regular prior to his untimely death, the Abbé Sieyès, the Marquis de Condorcet, the defrocked bishop, Talleyrand, Régis de Cambacérès… I could go on.'

‘They say the loss of Mirabeau was fatal to the French monarchy.'

‘And I would respond that the French monarchy was fatal to itself.'

‘I sense radical opinions, sir.'

His reply, which was his deeply held view, had come out automatically, but to admit to the truth of that sentiment was not, in the circumstances, wise. Pearce could hardly declare a hatred of absolute monarchy, or even a limited love of the constitutional form, when
hoping to seek favours from a reigning queen. Yet neither would he lie.

‘I would admit to an open mind.'

For the very first time since arriving Pearce sensed that he had diminished himself in her eyes. The alteration was subtle, but it was there, and from a person who, so intimate with the Queen of Naples, wife to an absolute ruler, must be an unreconstructed lover of the monarchical establishment.

‘An open mind is something to be much admired, I am sure,' she said in response, though it lacked conviction.

Since the part of the palazzo in which they were situated overlooked the street outside, the commotion of an arriving coach was clearly audible: the cries of the driver first urging his horses up the hilly street, next for those blocking his path to the gateway to clear it, as well as their less than good-natured response, followed by the groaning sound of the gate opening on hinges in need of oil. The quizzical look in Emma Hamilton's eye made Pearce curious, as well.

‘I have a strange feeling, Lieutenant Pearce,' she said, with a face that registered neither joy nor disappointment, ‘that Sir William has returned.'

The door opened and a manservant gabbled something in Italian, but the word ‘
Eccellenza
' was as plain as the gesture, which underlined that the mistress of the house had the right of it.

John Pearce was thinking he would now never know what would have transpired after dinner, which was
being prepared as they spoke. A beautiful woman not averse to flirting, in the company of a man she clearly found attractive, plus the addition of food and wine to lower the constraints of a married woman. Her reputation was such that the odds lay in favour of an illicit tryst; that was, until he recalled her mother. Whatever the inclinations of the principals, he was sure that Mrs Cadogan would have ensured no slippage from the bounds of proper behaviour.

‘Sir William,' said John Pearce, with a nod in place of a bow, ‘I come to you from Lord Hood, with an urgent message.'

‘Of this my wife has already informed me, sir.'

That was a statement which required consideration; was there disapproval there? Had he let slip to her matters which the ambassador would have preferred to be kept secret? The man before him was elderly, in his sixties Pearce guessed, but he still had about him the air and appearance of someone who had been handsome and elegant as a younger man. The eyes were lively, his face animated, though there was a very slight stoop to the shoulders and the bony hooked nose, his most prominent facial feature, was stark in its lack of flesh. But he was slim, with no hint of a slipping belly, had strong thighs and a look that denoted keen intelligence. Then Sir William smiled, showing sound teeth, and that made what was an engaging countenance more so.

‘She tells me, sir, she wormed it out of you, and I
daresay you felt it keenly. Do not think so, for few can withstand Lady Hamilton's charm when she chooses to exercise it.'

The pride was evident in the voice; this man had both a deep affection and respect for his young wife, which for a moment made Pearce feel like a scrub for the notion of toying with the idea of seduction. It was a thought which lasted for only a moment; if this man knew anything, it would be the risks of marrying a woman thirty years his junior.

‘I was informed that you were not free to return to Naples, sir, and the matter is pressing. It seemed that being open with your wife was a necessity.'

‘Never fear, young fellow, you did the right thing, and with that in mind I have sent out invitations to a late supper for some of those to whom the queen will turn once Emma has worked her magic. Thankfully the Neapolitans are accustomed to eat as late as the Spaniards.'

‘The intention was that Lady Hamilton would arrange a private audience.'

The ambassador answered with a pensive look. ‘That is altered by my return. There is a protocol to these affairs, Lieutenant, and it is best for it to be observed. Tonight you will dine with important people who are committed to our cause in Toulon. Tomorrow, before the council meets, Emma will speak with the queen and use her charms.' Sir William smiled suddenly. ‘You will see those charms exercised this night as well, and to
good effect. Given a fair wind there might be enough positive opinions of the morrow to carry the matter forthwith—'

‘That would be most gratifying, sir.' The look he got for that interruption was far from benign, but it was not followed by a verbal rebuke.

‘And damned unusual, sir, let me tell you. Matters do not move swiftly in the Court of Naples. In fact, in a race, the snail would have a distinct advantage. There will be siren voices against acceding to Lord Hood's request, but let us get the thing on the table, for without it being there, hope is useless.'

‘I take it you see the need, sir.'

‘It is my task to aid my country, sir. My own opinions of the matter have no relevance. Tell me, young fellow, what are your orders following on from this?'

‘Captain Digby is to proceed to Tunis, carrying dispatches, to rendezvous with Commodore Linzee.'

‘Is Captain Nelson not with him?'

‘He is, sir, aboard HMS
Agamemnon
.'

‘That is a fellow you should watch, Lieutenant Pearce.'

He swung round to respond to the female voice, unaware that Emma Hamilton had entered the room, willing to admit that he barely knew Captain Nelson.

‘Sir William had marked him for greatness, and Sir William has an eye for such things.'

‘Indeed I did. Spotted he was a remarkable fellow the moment we met.'

It was not Pearce's place to disagree, and while he had kind thoughts on Captain Nelson, a man he had first met on the deck of a merchant ship, he had no notion of the little fellow being remarkable, quite the opposite. Pleasant yes, a good officer probably, but anything other than that seemed to carry with it a touch of exaggeration.

‘Emma took to him as well. He has a fine grasp of essentials, does he not, my dear?'

‘He certainly has,' she replied, in a warm way that had Pearce wondering if by essentials, she meant the same as her husband.

He then had to check himself; he was quite obviously automatically tarring Emma Hamilton with the brush of her past, which was damned unfair. It was one of the strongest tenets of his father's life and teachings to never blacken a man or woman for what they had done, but to look to what they could do in the future; a Christian message, old Adam insisted, that most of His followers tended to forget.

‘Now, Lieutenant, you must excuse us, as our guests are arriving.'

The initial reception and introductions took place in the well-appointed drawing room overlooking the bay, and since the sky had cleared there were lights twinkling all around, so the outline of the arc of the bay could be seen quite clearly. He was introduced to a dazzling array of Neapolitan worthies; two princes, Count this and that, a red-robed cardinal called Ruffo, but most importantly
to Sir John Acton, the king's first minister by title, the queen's closest advisor in fact.

Pearce was dying to ask how an Englishman had ended up as the first minister of such a place, an Italian state ruled by a family of Spanish Bourbons, and on top of that with a Hapsburg queen; that it defied all logic mattered little, it was fact. Sharp featured, with a compact body and a penetrating look in his small eyes, Acton was not immediately impressive. But he was a skilled interrogator and Pearce found himself closely questioned about the state of affairs in Toulon; in truth he had to struggle to answer in regard to matters of which he had only the sketchiest notion of the facts.