Breaking the Line (7 page)

Troubridge protested furiously when, after only a few days beating to and fro off Valetta, Nelson told him that he intended to sail for Palermo. Keith’s orders had been specific, but he had gone back to Genoa, to take station off a city now under siege.

More worrying to Nelson was the letter from an old naval friend at home, which he read in Palermo. Admiral Goodall sought to tell him that enough people knew of his relationship with Emma for it to be the subject of gossip. He advised Nelson to be content with what he had enjoyed, and draw away from his enchantress. To Nelson, she was that and much more, though less than happy at preparing to surrender her position to another at court. He sent Berry back to Valetta and hoisted his own flag in a transport, which Nelson declared to be about right, given the trust he enjoyed in higher quarters.

It was a sad day when Sir William Hamilton came to hand in his letters of recall. Thirty-seven years of diplomacy concluded in a scene where Maria Carolina shed a tear for her ‘brave Chevalier’. This while the King looked vague, as if he could not comprehend a court without the Hamilton presence; hardly surprising since Sir William had been there before he had attained his majority and properly ascended the throne.

Nelson had
Foudroyant
back, plus the news that, in a hot action, Berry had taken the last French Nile ship, the proof of which was apparent. Part of
Guillaume
Tell’
s figurehead now decorated his great cabin. Nelson knew for certain that his task was complete and that he would now be going home, but to ease matters for Emma and the unemployed Sir William he arranged a cruise that would take in Syracuse and Malta. Sir William loved a ruin, and the old Greek City of Syracuse was filled with traces of three thousand years of classical history. He went off with Cornelia Knight and several other members of the party, leaving Nelson and Emma alone. With the whole of the great cabin to themselves and a lookout who would give them ample warning of the party’s return, it was possible to spend a day in each other’s arms.

Off Valetta, their next port of call,
Foudroyant
got into a scrape when she dragged her anchor in a storm and found herself under the guns of the French defenders. The crew were treated to the spectacle of their admiral alternately angry and pleading with Lady Hamilton to leave the deck, with her refusing point-blank as his flagship and the enemy traded fire.

Emma did not budge as the cannon boomed and waterspouts soaked the deck. Her hair and face pitted with the burnt grains of powder blown back from the guns, Emma stood rocklike on the quarterdeck, proudly wearing her latest decoration from the Tsar of Russia, a ladylike diamond-studded cross, daring the French to do their worst.

Nelson knew that the island would fall soon and both Troubridge and Ball begged him to stay. He could not, for Ball had been there at the inception, and Nelson knew that if he stayed the capitulation would be credited to him. Let the man who had done the work have the glory, a man who was a friend to both him and Emma. Troubridge would garner some glory, too, and that was only right. But let the name of Alexander Ball forever be associated with the fall of an island that had proved impregnable to most invaders over centuries. Let him rank with Bonaparte.

To wish to go home and achieve it was no easy matter: the Admiralty had to approve, which took weeks. Sir William, likewise, could not just depart: he had an endless series of balls and banquets to attend in which he said farewell to all those whose position demanded it: the King and Queen, of course, but also de Gallo whom he hated, and Acton whom he liked. The latter had just married for the first time, by proxy to a niece not yet fourteen. No doubt the union had been
prompted by the need to protect an inheritance than by any carnal passion, but Emma and Nelson spent a happy evening trying to imagine the consummation of such a misalliance.

Maria Carolina was going home too, to Austria, knowing that with her power so diminished in Naples, her presence there would not be missed. It was time, she told Emma, to introduce her younger children to a proper court. Besides, her girls needed husbands and if they stayed here they might end up in the marital bed of some Neapolitan nincompoop. Better to be in Vienna, at a court that knew how to arrange such things. That was not as easy as it looked, given that Bonaparte, now First Consul of the French Republic, was fighting to reverse the gains the Austrians and Russians had made the year before.

Only passage in a British man o’ war offered security to a nervous Queen, although Keith had taken Genoa from the French. As her suite ran into hundreds, Nelson was obliged to send for another warship to transport them all, making swift passage to Leghorn before he went to join his commander-in-chief.

The farewells were attended by many gifts, the most valuable a diamond necklace for Emma. Nelson was unsure whether to be pleased or amused by a miniature of King Ferdinand, the surround for which the Queen had made herself. The parting was postponed after the news of the battle of Marengo, in which Bonaparte had routed the Austrians, forcing them to surrender the whole of northern Italy. The Queen, convinced that the people of Leghorn would take her hostage wanted to return to Palermo. Nelson and Emma persuaded her that they were anti-Jacobins, which was hard, but not as hard as having to disperse a mob that had gathered to defend Maria Carolina and monarchical rule.

Still she insisted on going home, but Keith, who must have had a fair idea of what was going on, sent orders from off Genoa that no British warship was to be employed to transport her. This annoyed Nelson, but sent Emma into a fury that someone who had been so loyal to Britain’s cause could be so treated. Then Keith arrived in person to hold with Nelson another of those cold interviews that was the hallmark of their relationship.

‘I have in my charge the best of what represents Naples, sir, and I feel it is certainly my duty, if not that of the nation we both serve, to secure the safety of those royal persons.’

‘At the expense of our nation?’

‘We stand in no peril at sea.’

‘Do we not, Lord Nelson?’ barked Keith, for once stung out of his
habitual stony reserve. ‘I would remind you that the enemy still has a powerful fleet.’

Nelson was equally sharp. ‘In Brest, blockaded, several weeks away even if they could break out.’

‘It will not be your reputation that suffers if they do, but I take your point.’

Nelson rehearsed every argument he had as to why Maria Carolina and her suite deserved British help and Keith refuted each one. Then Keith commanded Nelson to proceed to Spezia, an order which was declined, Nelson asking instead that he be allowed to strike his flag at once, a request which was granted without even the slightest show of reluctance.

When Nelson left, Lord Keith sat for several minutes, wondering if what he had done had been wise or foolish. Then he slammed his fist down on his desk and declared in a voice that could be heard in the tops, ‘Lady Hamilton has had command of the fleet long enough.’

Nelson knew that Emma was nervous about going home, but her reluctance to travel by sea mystified him as much as it did her husband. Keith had offered him a frigate, and had accepted that it was only right and proper that a returning ambassador and his wife should share it. Now Emma was refusing point blank to travel by warship and insisted that they go overland, which from someone who was a good sailor was madness.

Nelson argued, Sir William cajoled, Cornelia Knight begged – the two latter had made that journey and knew how uncomfortable it was in peacetime, let alone in war. They would be obliged to travel through Austria and Germany all the way to the Baltic and take ship there. Only Mary Cadogan stayed silent, with a look on her face that implied to all who examined it that she was privy to information they were not.

Finally Emma was saved from the need to explain by the news that Maria Carolina and her daughters were to travel to Austria through Tuscany to the Adriatic, thence by ship to Trieste and on to Vienna. Her request for Lord Nelson and his party to accompany her was one that he could not refuse.

Emma thought she was pregnant. Although she had planned for it, she was shy of telling Nelson, uncertain of how he would react. What had seemed simple in its inception took on a new aspect in reality, and brought home to her once more that they were both married to others. Now, with this journey imminent, he had to be told.

‘I wish you to be seated,’ said Emma, when she had found a spot where they could speak, away from chattering princesses, Cornelia Knight and Sir William.

Nelson obliged, but a shaft of apprehension shot through him. She seemed nervous, twisting her fingers.

‘You have said to me many times Nelson, that you long to be a father. I must ask if you still do?’

Nelson felt the need to be careful in the face of what must either be reluctance or the inability to conceive; he must reassure Emma, without in any way being false. ‘I will not deny to you my desire to be the father of a child, because I would not lie to you. But be assured, my love, I would not press you to any inclination that did not make you happy.’

‘Do you think of the problem of a child?’

Nelson smiled. ‘What problem, Emma? It could only be by you that such a thing could come to pass, and if that happened it must be God’s will. If it was a boy, what joy to take him to sea. If a girl, it must be another Emma. What rapture that would be!’

‘Those are men’s words.’

He looked at her quizzically then, seeking the thought behind the assertion, which could only be reluctance.

Seeing his crestfallen face, she had to respond. ‘I am … I am near certain, with child.’

He was on his feet, touching her, before walking away to turn and look at her with amazement. He grabbed her and made her sit down, then knelt at her feet and pronounced himself the happiest man alive.

‘You cannot stay here, you cannot go home, you must go back to Palermo,’ he said.

‘You would cast me aside.’

‘Trust me, Emma, I will never do that. I think only of you, and now of the child within you.’

‘Tell me again that you are happy, Nelson.’

‘Look at me, Emma, and tell me how you cannot know that I am the happiest man alive.’

But behind the joy in his eyes lay a hint of anxiety. She had a pregnancy that would need to be disguised, and a birth that would have to take place with the maximum discretion, and it was something she knew as well as he.

‘I fear I cannot advise you, my love.’

‘I have a notion of what to do,’ said Emma. As usual her mother had come up with the solution. Patiently she explained it to her lover,
who nodded with a confidence he did not feel. ‘And that, Nelson, is why we must travel overland.’

‘Put both your hands in mine, Emma,’ he said. ‘Whatever happens, that is my child. For the sake of the unborn and you, all discretion must be shown. But should that fail, never fear that I will abandon you, Emma, for I will not.’

Sir William was angry with Nelson, because he had still hoped to persuade Emma to travel by sea. Now the man he relied on as his ally was waxing lyrical about the benefits of travelling overland: the way they would be greeted at the Austrian court, his desire to visit the states of north Germany, how his health, which had been appalling, would benefit from the numerous spa towns along the way.

So Sir William found himself buying, albeit with Nelson’s money, a large travelling coach for them, with a lesser conveyance for their attendants, and arranging for possessions they would not need on the journey to be shipped home. Given the size of her party it was necessary for Maria Carolina to travel a good forty-eight hours ahead, otherwise Nelson and the Hamiltons would have shifted to find anywhere decent to lay their heads.

The Queen had gone and was not a witness to the moment when the most successful admiral Britannia had ever sent into the Mediterranean struck his blue rear-admiral’s flag, to the sound of banging guns and bosun’s whistles, and the very obvious absence of Lord Keith.

Nelson had a despatch from Lord Spencer in his hand – a reprimand for his decision to quit Malta three months before in flagrant disregard of Keith’s orders. Spencer asserted that he had been ‘inactive at a foreign court,’ and that it would be better if he struck his flag and came home rather than let such a situation continue.

Giddings had his own dunnage in the barge as he ordered it rowed ashore for the last time, with the shrouds and yards of
Foudroyant
and all the other British warships in the harbour manned to cheer Nelson on his way. Every officer and midshipman raised his hat, some openly in tears at the departure of one who had brought many of them such glory. Nelson had to struggle for control, but his resolve held until Giddings, ashore and having waved the barge crew back to the ship, handed him a note.