Breaking the Line Read online

  Sir William had listened until Mary Cadogan had reached the crux of her concern. It was all very well for Sir William to be saying that the time had come for him to surrender exclusive rights to his wife’s bedchamber. That was as maybe and up to him. But was this sailor just toying with Emma’s affections? There was a wife back home, a shrew she had heard, ‘who is not the type to take kindly to liaisons.’

  It had been odd for Sir William to hear himself insist that should Nelson succumb to his natural desires, he was not the type to leave the lady in the lurch. That given the Nile victory and the fame and wealth that was bound to bring him, he would be able to support Emma – and her mother – in the manner to which they had become accustomed.

  ‘Then it be simple, Sir William,’ Mary Cadogan had said, with an emphatic toss of the head. ‘You’re planning to take a place away from the palace, a villa of your own. Lord Nelson resided with you in Naples and he can do so here. If you put the two of them close enough to let their blood boil, nature will do the rest. Then we will see if you are right about your little Jack Tar, or not.’

  The feeling that a problem had not necessarily been solved, but at least had been acted upon, was shattered by her last words: ‘And let’s face it, Sir William, it would be no harm havin’ another to share in the expense, what with these Papist heathen charging sinful prices for a place a decent person can lay his head. You needs to preserve what you has when you gets of an age.’

  Sir William realised that Nelson was staring at him, that he had been lost in recollection, which made the barbed remark about old age all the more pertinent. ‘I have secured the use of the Villa Bastioni for six months. Naturally my wife and I would be only too happy that you should see it as your home while you are based on the island.’

  Nelson did not react, so Sir William carried on, his voice deliberately enthusiastic. ‘I grant it will not be as commodious as the Palazzo Sessa, my friend, but I daresay we will manage.’

  ‘I had thought to stay aboard ship,’ said Nelson cautiously. ‘It is not uncomfortable in such a well protected harbour.’

  Sir William smiled in a way that showed he though the notion absurd. There was no need to add that at this time of year, and with the foul turn of the weather, the whole ship, even Nelson’s well appointed quarters, felt damp. There was a draught coming down the companionway that led from the cabin to the quarterdeck, even though it was secured by a hatch. The stoves in each of the partitioned cabins belched away, yet failed to warm the place. Nor did he say that Nelson would succumb to a chill if he insisted on remaining aboard a berthed vessel.

  ‘I think you must admit that you would be more at ease on dry land.’

  Nelson bit off the temptation to insist that he would not. He had seen Emma every time he had been ashore, but with the protective shield of numerous company only their eyes had met. Hers were often red, from the time she spent weeping with the Queen, who could not reconcile herself to her son’s death. But those shared looks had been troubling.

  ‘And I must add, my dear Lord Nelson, that my wife will insist. Lady Hamilton is of the opinion, and so I must say am I, that the Palazzo Sessa was never so complete as when you were in residence. It felt, somehow, more of a home.’

  Sir William, staring intently at the rock-still Admiral, was convinced he could say no more. If the man could not read between those lines there could be no others to replace them. An open invitation was out of the question; whatever happened between Nelson and Emma, Sir William had his dignity to maintain. Yet he could not help but feel that Nelson, with his lack of social skills, had somehow missed a point as obvious as the proverbial barn door. He was forced, after all, to go further. It has often seemed to me, Lord Nelson, that our fates are inextricably linked, that we are bound together not just by mutual regard, but by circumstances.’

  In his mind Sir William was screaming for Nelson to respond, aware as he added the next observation, that he had comprehensively breached the limits of what he been prepared to say when he came aboard. ‘We are, as I pointed out to Lady Hamilton, like the inscription of the knightly order of the Bath we both wear, a tria juncta in uno.’

  When Nelson still failed to respond, Sir William stood up and said, rather testily, ‘I will have my servants prepare your apartments.’

  Nelson did speak then, to say maladroitly, ‘You are too kind.’

  The Villa Bastioni was a marble summer mansion that stood on a wide statue-covered promenade that ran between its noble facade and a clear view of the sea. It had an air of exterior magnificence, yet inside it seemed a desolate place after the Palazzo Sessa. The vast under-furnished rooms, stone-floored without chimneys or fireplaces, were prey to every draught. With the unusual weather – snow, sleet and a biting cold tramontana, a cold north wind that came straight off the ice-covered Alps – the place was freezing. Sir William had placed braziers in some, one being Nelson’s bedroom, but his guest considered himself just as much at threat from chills here as he was aboard ship.

  That was until Emma came, wrapped in a heavy velvet cloak, the hood framing her shining hair. Nelson was suddenly reminded of a day in London, at Charing Cross, of the sight of a beauty he had seen heading through a teeming crowd of travellers for a coach, an enchantress he had seen the night before. He had visited a charlatan doctor who had dosed him with electricity to cure a painful arm. Only the discomfort of the treatment had taken his eyes of a scantily clad vision of a nymph standing in a raised alcove. When he had first met Emma, there had been the faintest feeling of recognition, and he had it again now.

  A liveried servant opened the door for her, and she threw Nelson a look of deep longing. That was followed by a glance at Tom Allen, who was unpacking his master’s sea chest. Tom was slow to react, but eventually the meaning of that look penetrated his skull. He slammed the lid of the chest, edged towards the door, tugged at his forelock and left.

  An eternity seemed to pass as they stared at each other. Then Emma moved forward, her eyes alight, her hands coming from inside the cloak to take his. The knowledge that contact between them would be his undoing did not stop Nelson’s arm from responding, and as he had known it would, his resistance crumbled.

  The need to say something foundered when Emma kissed him full on the lips, then took his hand and slipped it inside her cloak. The feeling of naked flesh was electrifying, as potent as the knowledge that Emma had come to this room with only one purpose. He rested on her hip for only second, moving up first to cup the ample flesh of her breast, which brought a slight moaning gasp. Her hands, expertly working at his breeches produced a corresponding moan from him.

  He felt the edge of his sea chest touch the back of his knees, which forced him to sit down heavily, the vision of Emma’s rounded belly before his face. Nelson buried his head in that, his hand pulling to increase the pressure. Emma had straddled the chest and him, moaning incomprehensible endearments behind his head.

  The greatest number of charcoal-filled braziers had been placed in a salon without windows, with a semicircle of screens to create a feeling of intimacy. The same people who had been constant visitors to the Hamilton palazzo in Naples were gathered round the table; the Knights, mother and daughter, the painter Angelica Kaufmann, the Prince and Princess Esterhazy. Sir William sat at the head. Cunningly he had placed Emma closer to himself than to Nelson, but with the pair on opposite sides of the table. Thus the Admiral had looked at him every time his wife addressed him, and Sir William could watch his friend’s face unobtrusively as Emma dominated a very light hearted conversation.

  Sir William supposed that she and her mother had spoken. He knew his Emma well, that patience was not one of her virtues. On arriving back from the King’s shooting party he had sensed an odd atmosphere in the villa: the way the servants would not meet his eye, and his valet, not by nature convivial, had seemed more taciturn than usual. As this was an unfamiliar household, he might have read something into innocent acts that did not exist. But he had lived with serva
nts all his life and he knew them to be an infallible barometer of domestic life. Nothing happened in a household that the servants didn’t know about, and it imperilled any master or mistress who forgot that. He had attended law courts aplenty to watch and laugh as everyone from skivvies to head footmen gave evidence of their employers’ shenanigans, which provided grounds for an injured party to win that near impossible prize: a legal divorce.

  Seeing Emma in her present mood, he realised how constrained she had been these last four weeks with the proximity of war and the prevalence of death. Now she was quite her old self, in a newly made dress of burgundy silk over white lace, laughing, making risqué sallies, forcing by her sheer brio everyone at the table to share in her good mood. Everyone except a preoccupied Nelson, who could barely smile.

  Nelson felt as though he was at sea, with some sixth sense warning him of a threat over the horizon. Emma’s beauty was heightened by the soft light of the candles in a way that he had not seen since the night of his victory banquet. The memory of the afternoon produced remorse and a feeling of radiance in equal measure.

  Those emotions had to be suppressed. He knew that, much as his host tried to disguise it, he was under scrutiny. A man raised in the tight confines of a naval wardroom was always conscious of the feelings and surreptitious glances of others. Sir William might suppose himself discreet, but to the sensitive Nelson he was as obvious as a ship’s bell.

  For a great deal of the time, Nelson castigated himself for his weakness. Why had he not merely insisted to Sir William that by staying aboard ship he was best placed to get to sea quickly should any opportunity present itself to take on the enemy? Any number of reasons had occurred to him to turn down residence here and avoid what had happened. Yet he was here, allocated draughty but spacious apartments, Tom Allen with him, and his sea chest, the thought of which made him blush.

  Emma felt wonderful. Gone was the hankering for Naples, the social round, the three houses and half dozen carriages she had had at her disposal. Even the weather, clear sunny and sharply cold, had conspired to add to her feeling of wellbeing. She felt that ten dozen cares had been lifted from her shoulders. That morning, as the Queen had wept once more for her dead son, Emma had stayed dry-eyed, not from any lack of grief but from the knowledge that what she had never dared hope for had been gifted her. When she returned to her new home, the man she loved would be there. She knew that her husband, ever the gentleman, had accepted the inevitability of a liaison between her and Nelson. The rules were those she knew well, having seen others observe them over several years. In public, all the proprieties must stand. Sir William was to be deferred to in the manner to which he was accustomed, treated as both her husband and the companion of her heart, praised, flattered even, and always the first person with claim on her time. The world, even if the truth were no secret, would see a happy and devoted couple.

  In private it would be different. Night and day, as he had of old, Sir William would use his own apartments. However, he would no longer call upon her in her own rooms without first sending a servant to ensure that a visit would be welcome. Should he be absent from the residence, notification would always be sent ahead of his imminent return. Under no circumstances must he be embarrassed. What he knew and what he saw must remain separate.

  It was odd to be sitting here, leading the conversation, guying the man she loved, even when it was obvious that he was uncomfortable. Nelson had not believed her when she had told him of the change in circumstances, and Emma wondered at the innocence of a man who could not see what should have been obvious. He was free to be gallant, indeed to be forward, because the idea that they should be lovers and keep it hidden was impossible. Everyone would know, merely observing the etiquette of never saying openly and publicly that it was so. Everyone was well versed in the rules of such a game – except Nelson.

  ‘Are you too hot, Lord Nelson?’ asked Sir William. He had noticed the blush, and something prompted by years of experience had told him it was the time for a pointed sally.

  Nelson obliged him with a deeper blush.

  ‘Have a care you are not falling prey to a fever, sir, for if you are, I would advise that you take at once to your bed.’

  It was impossible for Nelson to redden any more, but he squirmed. Then Sir William caught Emma’s eye: her expression told him plainly that guying her lover was not to be borne.

  ‘Whist!’ he exclaimed, after a deep and rumbling cough.

  The ritual of saying goodnight, of being escorted by candle-bearing servants to each set of chambers, was the same as it had been on any other night under Sir William’s roof, but the way Emma came to Nelson’s apartments, without a hint of subterfuge, gave the lie to that. She had changed from her burgundy dinner dress into a loose dressing-gown over a linen nightdress, worn with a lace cap. She bore in her hand a five-branch candlestick, guttering in the draughts, that must have looked like an alarm beacon in the dimly lit corridors.

  She found him in boat cloak and nightgown writing personal letters at a desk, one a short missive to his wife. When Nelson protested she laughed, a loud pealing sound that he loved in daylight but considered inappropriate in an establishment at repose. He knew he should be angry with Emma, but that was a feeling he found hard to apply, especially where she was concerned. And she made going to bed together seem natural, as if they had been doing it all their lives. The proximity of her body and the freedom of her hands and his wiped away his mortification. They made love with less breathless passion than they had earlier that day, and soon, by the light of the only candle Emma had not extinguished, they lay in each other’s arms, talking quietly

  ‘I cannot imagine myself ever looking Sir William in the eye again.’

  ‘From what my mother tells me you have not done so for weeks.’

  Nelson raised his head enough to look at her. ‘Your mother?’

  ‘That is what my husband told her.’

  ‘Then he did know.’

  ‘He saw me enter your apartments on the night of the banquet. He was outside the door when I locked it.’

  ‘He told your mother this too?’

  ‘Yes,’ she murmured into Nelson’s breast. It was a lie. but Emma had no desire to impart to him that her husband had told her himself.

  ‘God in heaven.’ Nelson groaned. ‘How could he bear it? Had I been him I would have called me out.’

  That made Emma laugh, and when gently chastised she was forced to explain that she was amused by the notion of a one-armed man duelling with himself.

  In the explanations that followed Emma’s mother assumed a greater role than she had held in reality. Forced to the truth, Emma would admit that most of what she knew of that night had come to her, so to speak, from the horse’s mouth. But she was reluctant to tell of that difficult conversation she had had in the lower decks of HMS Vanguard, and the sight of her husband, whom she considered an upright, brave man, in despair with a brace of pistols in his hand.

  The feelings she had for Sir William Hamilton were deep, based on delight in his company and appreciation of his manifest kindnesses. He had made her a lady in spirit as well as in name and it was not only convention that obliged her to protect his character and reputation. It was a deep regard for the man who, while he had been her lover, had also been in many respects the father she had never had.

  ‘I cannot fathom your fears, Nelson. It is, if not commonplace, then so frequent as to deny comment. You have had it pointed out to you by me, if not by other people, Count so-and-so is the lover of X, and the Duke of Blah is deeply attached to Madame whoever.’

  Looking into Emma’s face as she leaned over him, he could not bring himself to say that what might pass for mundane in Naples would not in many other places he had been; that the society of the Neapolitans was lax in a way that few others were.

  ‘And do not play the hypocrite, my dear. Do not tell me, Nelson, that you have no knowledge of dalliance.’

  ‘You have lost me.’

&nbs
p; ‘Genoa? A certain opera singer.’

  ‘You know about that?’

  ‘Would it surprise you to discover that your officers are no more discreet than any other men?’

  Nelson had a vision of that awkward interview with his stepson. ‘Was it Josiah who told you?’

  ‘No,’ Emma insisted, then added in a slightly wounded tone. ‘Your stepson has barely said a word to me since he came back to Naples. I cannot think what I have done to offend him.’

  ‘Then who did?’

  The information had been given to her, in all innocence though tinged with drink, by Alexander Ball before he left to take station off Malta. He insisted that his commanding officer needed to relax, that he was wound too tight for his own good.

  ‘Surely you would not wish me to tell you,’ Emma said. ‘Be satisfied that it was told to me out of affection not malice, and by a fellow officer who reckoned that a bit more of the same would do you good.’

  Emma had one thigh over his groin, and the gentle motion of her flesh was having a profound effect. It was with a husky voice that Nelson agreed his indiscreet officer had been right.

  When he awoke, Emma was gone, habit ensuring that he was the first guest in the Villa Bastioni to be up and about. Tom Allen found him, as Emma had, in candlelight at his desk, writing. He had opened and reread the letter to Fanny, first having read her missive from home in which she related, among news of family and friends, that he was the most famous man in England and that his name was on everyone’s lips. She had been showered with visits and invitations from the great and the good, all eager to touch his glory by association, and had even been to court where the King had been very kind.