On a Making Tide (20 page)

Just as painful was the sense of his own inadequacy. He lacked experience of adult company, excepting that of his naval superiors whose conversation tended towards the nautical. Horatio Nelson felt himself exceptional, from a family that while not grand was to be admired. It galled him that these people were unable to see that he was not just some Norfolk ragamuffin.

‘I know Norfolk well, sir,’ a pregnant lady said. ‘My cousin Lord Lychett has estates there.’ The pause was timed to perfection, before she added, ‘Substantial estates.’

‘Quite,’ added the red-coated officer, her husband and an East India Company major, who stood to her side. He had a bright red face to go with his coat and wispy carrot coloured hair to set it off.

‘Lord Lychett positively plagues me with requests to call,’ his wife added, with a gesture designed to demonstrate how shocking her reluctance was. ‘I fear my endless refusals must vex him.’

‘Very vexing indeed,’ the Major added, puffing himself up slightly. ‘We should really make the effort, my dear.’

‘I accept when my diary permits, of course,’ his wife added hastily, lest the impression of grandeur she was determined to create led to
overstatement.
Then she gently touched her swollen belly. ‘Perhaps when the child is born. Lord Lychett will positively demand godparentage.’

The climate had not been kind to this lady, the third with whom Nelson had conversed in the space of ten minutes. Her skin was lined as though the heat, or her forthcoming child, had sucked out every ounce of its moisture, making her look older than her years. The other pair had been so over powdered it had been impossible to tell their age.

‘I know the Lychett name, madam,’ he said suddenly. ‘I believe their estate abuts the property of my cousin the Earl of Orford.’

Those words produced confusion in the female face, but deep interest from her husband. ‘You are an Orford relation, sir?’

Suddenly Nelson was granted a vision of his father, forever harping about his late wife’s relations in monologues that had bored his son rigid. Perhaps they had a value, after all. ‘The present Earl is my second cousin, sir, the consanguinity coming to me through my mother’s family. We share a great grandparent.’

‘I have never had the honour of his acquaintance,’ the Major said, clearly impressed.

The question loomed, even if it hadn’t been asked. Nelson lied with surprising ease, pleased that it had the desired effect. He had made one visit to the Orford estates, memorable, as young as he had been, only for the chilliness of the reception. A blood tie to the family of an impecunious parson was not something the noble Earl had sought to encourage.

‘He calls often upon my father, sir, when they are both in Bath, which is frequent.’ The Major’s eyes lit up, and Nelson plunged further into deceit. ‘At other times he has travelled to my family home at Burnham Thorpe.’

‘The Earl calls upon you?’

‘He is very attached to my father, sir, as he was to my dear mother before she died. He makes the case that it is easier for him to come alone to us than that my overburdened parent should drag his large brood all the way across the county.’ One of the Major’s eyebrows moved enough to make Nelson add hastily, ‘We do visit, of course, as often as we wish.’

The leather-skinned wife had been listening to this exchange with increasing wonder. Finally she found her tongue. ‘A mother lost and a father needing the Bath waters. Why, the boy’s practically an orphan, Major Higgins, in need of maternal care.’

‘So it seems Mrs Higgins, so it seems.’

‘You must, young sir, treat our home as your own while you are here in Calcutta.’

‘That is most kind, Mrs Higgins,’ he replied, suppressing the alarm the invitation had induced in him.

‘I think you might find it tolerably comfortable after the rigours of a ship.’

‘Quite, my dear! Anything will seem palatial after a ship,’ said Higgins, reaching out to take Nelson’s arm in a fatherly way. ‘Would you care to make the acquaintance of some of my fellow officers, Mr Nelson?’

‘That would be most gracious of you, sir.’

‘If you will excuse us, Mrs Higgins?’

‘Most certainly, Major Higgins,’ she replied, looking far from pleased. ‘Do remember, Mr Nelson, our house is yours. I would be distraught if you did not call upon us.’

‘Rest assured, madam,’ he responded, with a bow deep enough to hide his expression, which might reveal his amusement at the way their opinion of him had altered, ‘I will undertake to do that as an act of pleasure, not of duty.’

Once away from his wife Major Higgins began a series of noisy introductions, all to red-coated officers, many of whom seemed to be Scotsmen, and each one treated to an allusion to Nelson’s high-born relations. It was gratifying to see languid boredom switch to interest.

‘Do you play, sir?’ asked Higgins, as they reached a table of men at the back of the room. They were playing whist, and clearly, given the degree of concentration, the game was a serious one.

‘I have taken a hand in the wardroom, sir, at the premier’s bequest, but I am no real player.’

The rubber finished as he replied, and two of the players rose from the table.

‘Come, sir,’ the Major exclaimed, moving towards an empty chair and inviting Nelson to follow. ‘I’m sure that a fellow of your parts is only indulging in modesty. I am a judge of character, young man, and I think I can perceive a sharp mind as well as anyone. It is a skill upon which I immodestly pride myself.’

‘If you will permit me to decline, Major Higgins.’

‘Never in life, sir. Partake of a seat at the table of good fortune.’

‘My present resources are limited.’

‘Never fear,’ Higgins replied, loudly and encouragingly. ‘These fellows will not decline to take a note of hand from the blood relation of a belted earl.’

Horatio Nelson quietly cursed his big mouth.

In a game of skill and chance, there was space for beginner’s luck and it operated now. Nelson wasn’t a complete novice, but the noisy card school of the mid’s berth was very different. Garrulous Major Higgins was quiet now, all his concentration going into the cards, and after the introductions the other two men, another East India company officer and a civilian contractor called Colbourne, behaved likewise. Nelson struggled to recall what little knowledge of the game he possessed, but the state of his head was of no help, the claret he had consumed earlier addling his judgement.

The gasps that greeted some of his leads, as well as the cards he produced to follow, came as proof positive that his game displayed a want of finesse. But he made up in brio what he lacked in the finer points, which led to a steady accumulation of golden guineas, as well as promissory notes by his right hand. Higgins lost steadily but unspectacularly, the other officer held his own. But the civilian endured a cascade of failure, mainly because he thought himself an expert, whereas he was in truth some way behind the main winner. It was some indication of his wealth that when he finally called a halt, he accepted his losses with equanimity, enquired for an address and promised to send a servant to redeem his notes first thing in the morning.

‘He’ll make that up in a day,’ Higgins explained, ‘if not in half a morning, from his trading enterprise.’

There was anger in the Major’s tone. His own losses clearly rankled. ‘Nothing but a damned tradesman, with manners to match. I’d not be surprised to learn he’s made more than his losses while sitting at the table.’

‘There are notes here in excess of three hundred pounds, as well as a pile of guineas.’ Nelson blushed. Most of the cash had been the Major’s.

‘A trifle to a man like Colbourne.’

‘Your own losses, sir?’

‘Of no consequence, young sir,’ the Major boomed, as if determined to tell not only Nelson but every other card player in the room. He dropped his voice though when he continued, bringing his bright red face closer to Nelson’s, the grin he employed displaying his very yellow teeth. ‘Though I
won’t say I’d be ashamed to take supper off such a handsome set of winnings. A proper supper fit to set up the belly of a fellow fighting man.’

Nelson wanted to go back to the ship. He had drunk too much, his tongue felt like sun-bleached sailcloth and his head was aching. A bottle had stood available throughout the game, yet he had not touched it. But, having won money from this man, could he in all conscience refuse?

‘I am at your disposal, sir,’ Nelson pointed to his money, ‘and so, sir, are those.’

‘Splendid!’ cried Higgins, picking up the claret and charging both of their glasses. ‘And handsomely said, sir, the kind of sentiments I want to hear from my own son, should the good Lord be so disposed to favour my wife and me with a boy.’ He pushed a glass into Nelson’s hand. ‘That is something we most earnestly desire. A toast, sir, to the good Lord looking kindly on the provision of an heir to the name of Higgins.’

‘The name of Higgins,’ Nelson replied reluctantly. The Major had emptied his glass, and participation in the toast demanded that he do likewise. Yet as he drank, the wine revived him.

‘Another bumper, sir, at our host’s expense, before I take you out and show you what the fabulous East has to offer.’

It wasn’t one but three bumpers that Higgins took, all of which seemed to increase his jollity. Nelson, however, was beyond the state he had been in earlier, so when the Major took his arm to sneak him out through a side entrance he made little protest. But before they left the premises, Higgins requested a servant to inform his wife that he had been called away on urgent business. ‘Company business. Mind you tell her that. Company business.’ Then he turned to include his young companion in the subterfuge. ‘Best not to let on about the cards, eh?’

‘The fabulous East,’ said Higgins, for the tenth time, raising a glass of European claret. They were sitting, coats and waistcoats off, stocks loosened, on a long low couch, almost lounging like Romans as they ate.

Nelson was drinking too, though not as swiftly, wondering why the liquid did not quench the thirst intensified by the heavily spiced food that filled the bowls in front of him. The air too, seemed full of spice, the aroma of cooking mingling with that of the perfumed candles. He was aware that there were other parties in the room, some Indian, others European, mingling easily with no hint of any group being superior to another.

Lithe young girls attended each table, wearing flimsy wrap-a-round garments that did little to disguise their figures. Occasionally a member of a supper party would depart with one. An allusion to that opened him up to a lecture from Higgins.

‘Were you to take up residence here, Nelson, you’d find soon enough that what our home country offers cannot stand comparison to the pleasures available in India. I have been to Bombay and Madras on my service and I can tell you that what stands for Calcutta stands for the whole of the
sub-continent. They have no hypocrisy here in matters of the flesh. A man who claims to be of parts is lessened if he has no external attachments. For the Mussulman several wives are necessary to maintain status, without precluding other pleasures. Some have a predilection for male flesh that I do not share but, I must say, exposure to their ways has tempered what was initial hostility. You, in the King’s Navy, would not in that matter have been hampered by my reserve, sodomites being so common in your service.’

The temptation to defend his profession was strong, to refute the constant allegation that the King’s Navy was the home of rum, sodomy and the lash. But it failed from hesitation, and besides the Major, drunk and insistent, was speaking again.

‘Being in the East teaches you to be at ease with carnality, teaches you to shed the guilt our parsons berate us with in England. They do it here, too, of course.’ He emitted a loud laugh and inadvertently spat rice over the dress of the smiling young girl who had returned to serve them. ‘You’ll hear no end of sermons in Bengal about the sins of the flesh – from cassocked individuals who have concubines tucked away in the Vicarage, the filthy clerical dogs.’

Higgins took the girl’s wrist and pulled her forward. Her look remained complaisant, with not even a momentary flicker of anger. The Major rolled closer to Nelson, bringing the young girl with him, making him aware of both her youth and her beauty, and the lemony scent of her dark skin.

‘Temptation, Nelson, that’s what undoes them, from pompous trader to high church divine. They can’t get this close to willing flesh and resist the need to touch it.’ The chuckle that followed was low and sensuous. ‘And damn me, young fellow, if you ain’t just as struck.’

She was smiling at him, her dark brown eyes sending forth an invitation. And Higgins was still talking, in that low, lewd tone.

‘I’ll wager, boy, whatever meat you’ve had will not compare to this. For these eastern beauties have the one gift a man craves more than any other. They are patient enough to seek out that which pleases you, and submissive enough to provide it. Not, I think, that you will have any but the most everyday tastes.’

The move away from the table was seamless and natural, as though preordained to happen. The hand that led him was warm even to one whose blood was racing, the faint coarseness of the fingertips enough to register through his own callused hands. The cubicle they entered was barely large enough to accommodate the cot and two people, the faint light from another perfumed candle flickering off the hangings that stood for walls. Nelson was rooted to the spot, the back of his legs against the edge of the cot, as she slid his stock from round his neck.

It was folded neatly and laid on the small table that bore the candle and the jug of water. His shirt followed, and he gave an involuntary shudder as her hands touched his belly, one sliding into the back of his breeches, the other working on the first of the buttons. He was shaking, small tremors
that racked his body as she eased them over his haunches and down his thighs, her forearms brushing his prick.

She spoke for the first time, her voice sweet and high pitched: an injunction for him to sit so that she could remove his pumps, breeches and stockings. He obeyed without protest, his eyes on the ceiling in a vain attempt to cool his passion. Having rendered him naked she stood up and undid her own cloth, a single movement followed by three more just as swift to fold and put it away.

A large part of Nelson’s mind was saying that he should not be here, that to consort with a common whore was a sin. But his conscience could not compete with the image that greeted his eyes, especially as she moved forward a fraction to lay her hands on his shoulders, forcing him to bring his gaze down to her. Small, perfectly rounded breasts with deep burgundy nipples, very erect; a flat belly above a bush of dark silky pubic hair, with just a trace of a wispy line running up to her umbilicus.

The hands were behind his head now, pulling it forward till his face was in contact with her breast. Not to open his mouth and suckle the nipple was impossible. He was shaking even more now, a permanent trembling that racked his whole body. Had he looked up he would have seen her smiling, a girl younger than him, who knew so much more than he about the sexual act. His need was great, his resistance low. She knew she must relieve that before she could go on to provide the services for which she was employed.

She pushed him on to his back, one leg swiftly straddling both of his. The speed with which she grabbed his erection and inserted it inside her was only matched by the speed at which he ejaculated as soon as she began to move. The pleasure was unbearable, almost painful, as a dozen spasms rocked his groin. His eyes were closed, his lower teeth biting his upper lip, as the first seeds of guilt replaced that sensation of pleasure.

The girl was still rocking back and forth delicately, waiting for his eyes to open. When they did, she slid free and stood up, picking up the jug of water and a cool cloth with which to bathe him. She started with the sweat on his brow, dabbing gently before descending to his cheeks and upper lip. The water was so cool and pleasant that the sensation almost matched what had gone before. His neck was on fire until she ran the cool cloth over it. Then she lifted each arm to wash there, the strokes including his own breast. His belly was next and finally the coolness was between his legs, a gentle rubbing that cleansed him of the fluids of both their bodies, and put paid to those feelings of remorse.

Her hand, cooled by the water, replaced the cloth, and she fondled him gently. Nelson lay there for ten minutes, lost in the sensuality of her touch, his eyes closed. Within a few minutes those small gentle movements had to lengthen as he became erect again. Expertly the girl stroked, with one wetted finger, the point at which the membrane connected his foreskin to his penis, making him groan out loud again. Then he felt her lie down next to him.

He turned on his side, gazed into her huge brown eyes. With his body pressed to hers, her breasts against his chest as obvious as his erection on her belly, he kissed her, tasting the spice that lingered on her dark red lips.

He awoke alone, eyes parting only a fraction, his body bearing a languor that comes only to the truly sated. He felt as though every muscle had been removed, leaving only the skin and bones, so that he would never move from here, just remain a willing victim of endless debauchery.

‘I didn’t ask her name,’ he said to himself.

His eyes snapped wide open and he sat up still naked, searching the tiny cubicle for his clothes. The cry that was supposed to alert everyone to his predicament came out as a croak, but that was clearly sufficient, since the curtain was pulled back to allow a bent retainer to enter with a tray, which he laid on the bed. Nelson could see that it contained tea, strips of unleavened bread and a bowl of saffron rice with small pieces of meat. It also contained his purse, which, judging by its flatness, was emptier than it had been the night before.

‘The Sahib Higgins left a message for you, Excellency,’ said the old man, who pulled a note from under the bowl and handed it to him. Nelson opened it, leaning towards the candle so that he could read it.

The fact that it was unsigned showed that Major Higgins, for all his bluff exterior and seeming simplicity, was cunning enough not to leave himself open to exposure.

‘My clothes?’ asked Nelson.

The old man bowed. ‘They are being prepared, Sahib. When you have eaten and been bathed they will await you.’

He checked the notes, with Colbourne’s florid signature, as he ate the repast, and recalled the events of the previous day: the drinking, the cards, but most of all the time spent in this cubicle. The tea was thick and sweet, the meat just as spicy as the food he had consumed the night before. Waves of guilt began to assail him, slowly at first, then in increasing fervour.

How far had he fallen from the standards he set himself? He blushed to think that his mother might look down on her son and see a gambler and a rake who had consorted with a common prostitute. Drink had lowered his resolve, and Higgins with his blandishments, had removed the protection of
his faith. The lies he had told regarding his Orford relations swam round in his head.

When the old man returned with his uniform, he found Nelson kneeling by the cot, volubly begging his God, his father and his late mother for forgiveness.