Victory

Chapter 12

Mercifully, the wind was in the east and the Dublin packet was able to make good progress up the Thames to London. Cecilia patiently held the hand of the Marchioness of Bloomsbury who had ever been a martyr to sea-sickness; the Irish Sea had been days of misery and for her their arrival was not a moment too soon.

It was odd to be back in the capital. There was an uneasy touch of hysteria about the busy crowds, strangers and tradesmen only too ready to pass on the latest dreadful rumour and, above it all, the sense that some climactic thunderclap of history was about to burst upon them.

There was little conversation in the carriage back to the mansion; the marquess, called away suddenly by unrest in Ireland, had been delayed and would follow later while the marchioness wanted only blessed peace, a ceasing of motion.

‘Cecilia, my dear,’ she said weakly, ‘I do so crave the solace of my bed and to be alone. If you would wish to spend a few days with your family . . .’

The nervous excitement of London was disturbing and wearing, and Cecilia lost no time in taking coach to Guildford. The jolting sway of the vehicle was uncomfortable and her mood was bleak as she stared out at the passing countryside. At the front of her mind was the insistent thought that in the very near future she would have to take the decision she dreaded, for Captain Pakenham was making his intentions clear.

If only her brother were near! But Thomas was away in his new ship. She’d received a hurried note from him months ago telling of the great honour to be soon part of Lord Nelson’s fleet and had had nothing since. Presumably he was in a distant ocean chasing after the French . . . and for some reason she did not feel able to broach the subject with her mother.

Jane Rodpole was happily, if boringly, married, with no imagination to speak of, which left Cecilia precisely no one in the world she could talk to. She was on her own in the biggest decision of her life.

The coach clattered through the charming village of Esher, then on to Cobham for a change of horses, but her eyes were unseeing. Everything was pointing inexorably to one overwhelming conclusion: that Nicholas Renzi was now part of her past and the sooner she was reconciled to the fact the quicker she could get on with her life before it was too late.

Then it was Abbotswood and Guildford high street. The coach swung into the Angel posting house and she was handed down by a respectful ostler. The town appeared strangely quiet, subdued and with few people on the street, but as unchanging as it always seemed to be.

She crossed to the Tunsgate and took the short walk to the little school run by her family. She stood for a while, hearing the chant of children in their classrooms and seeing not one but three ensigns – red, white and blue – proudly at the miniature topmast.

Why did life have to be so complicated? With the world in thrall to the terror to come, why must she be made to look into her heart with such anguish? She knocked at the door of the little schoolhouse and a startled maid curtsied and hurried to find her mother.

‘Why, what a surprise! Walter, it’s Cecilia come visitin’, dear,’ she called to her blind husband. ‘Come in, come in, darlin’.’

Her mother fussed over her, getting her room ready and sending for her luggage at the Angel, then Cecilia sat cosily beside the fire as family events were caught up on.

‘You’ve just missed Thomas, dear – he came up fr’m Portsmouth t’ tell us of his voyagin’ with Lord Nelson,’ Mrs Kydd said excitedly. ‘All over th’ world they were. Did you hear of Nelson’s grand chase a-tall?’

‘No, Mama,’ Cecilia said. The wild rumours in London didn’t really count, and in the short period she’d been in England she had not found time for the newspapers.

But Mrs Kydd had. Proudly she told of the famous pursuit across the Atlantic from the breathless details she’d read, sparing none of the sensational elaboration. ‘An’ after all that, th’ rascals are back safe in their harbours. Such a shame.’

‘So where is Thomas’s ship now, Mama?’

‘Didn’t y’ notice, dear? The town is near empty wi’ everyone going t’ Portsmouth to see off Nelson. He’s news o’ Boney and he an’ Thomas is sailin’ to a grand fight to settle ’em for good an’ all.’

Cecilia went pale. ‘You’re telling me Thomas and – and his ship are about to set sail against Bonaparte?’

‘Well, he said as how they’ve got t’ finish th’ British Navy afore ever he c’n invade, and he says as now’s the time.’

‘Yes, Mama,’ Cecilia said, in a low voice.

‘Oh, I nearly forgot, darlin’ – there’s a letter f’r ye.’ She rummaged about in the sewing basket. ‘I didn’t know when ye’d be home. Isn’t it fr’m that nice Mr Renzi an’ all?’

Cecilia took it – and her heart stopped. There was no mistaking the neat, elegant hand, yet a sixth sense warned her that this was no commonplace communication. She quickly slipped it into her pocket and excused herself in tiredness after her journey.

In the privacy of her bedroom she tore the letter open. It was too much: the words were kind and thoughtful but to the point. A lump rose in her throat and tears stung. As she read on, choking sobs overcame her.

Barham received the news calmly even if what was contained in Collingwood’s dispatch was the worst that could be imagined. He took a deep breath and sat down slowly, still holding the dread lines. It had been urgently brought by one of the frigate captains, Blackwood, who had added personal detail of the shocking event, none of it calculated to lessen its severity.

Not only the first lord but other naval commanders, including Lord Nelson, had assumed that after his confused engagement with Calder off Finisterre, Villeneuve’s turn aside into Ferrol would be a temporary setback only. Sooner or later he would emerge and join with Ganteaume’s fleet in Brest across the bay.

Commanders further south had therefore been ordered to send reinforcements to Cornwallis at Brest, including Collingwood, still patiently watching Cadiz.

However, Villeneuve had sailed south and contemptuously forced aside Collingwood’s three ships-of-the-line to enter Cadiz and join the Spanish waiting there. As frigates had then confirmed, there were at least thirty-three of the enemy massing in the port, more than enough to overwhelm any British squadron afloat.

The French had achieved their object: they were now in numbers sufficient to begin the process of storming north, picking up more and more ships as each blockaded port was passed, secure in the knowledge that their strength would ensure they could reach the Channel and sweep on to the invasion beaches.

‘I conceive that unless we can stop Villeneuve, this is the last act, my lord.’ Boyd, who had been retained as flag-captain to the new first lord, spoke softly, as if in thrall to the fearful news.

‘It does appear so,’ Barham said absently, staring intently at the chart. ‘You’ve heard Napoleon is at this moment at Boulogne in readiness?’

‘So I understand.’

‘Yet there are complications for our Mr Bonaparte. The prime minister’s efforts over the year to forge the Third Coalition look to have succeeded. The tyrant therefore now faces a foe assembling on his frontier to the east. He simply cannot afford to wait for this phase of the invasion plan to complete, and both rumours and intelligence suggest that before long he must strike camp and march east to meet the threat.’

‘We’re saved?’ Boyd said, without conviction.

‘No. The cynic in me is saying that with his usual deadly swiftness he will easily deal with the Austrians – after all, he has the largest army yet seen and one that has conquered most of Europe. The result will be defeat for the Coalition, undeniably. And that will mean the situation regarding invasion is even more perilous.’

‘Sir?’

‘Why, can you not see? His invasion flotilla remains unused and therefore ready. Presumably his battleships will wait it out in harbour and he will be able to return to the task in the spring, this time with no threat to his flank and able to take risks.

‘No, sir, there is only one sure way to put a stop to the invasion – Villeneuve’s fleet must be destroyed. Not simply a victorious battle but destruction, extermination. Then there’ll no longer be the numbers available to Bonaparte to force the Channel. As plain as that!’

‘Sir.’

‘And I have an idea who I’ll send for to achieve just that.’

‘The Hero of the Nile.’

‘Quite. We must match Villeneuve’s numbers without depriving blockade squadrons at other ports but, within that, Lord Nelson is granted whatever forces he desires. I do so regret intruding upon his rest but the man knows his duty and will not decline. I will appoint him reigning commander-in-chief in the area – and he’ll get Victory, of course.’

‘And if they don’t sail?’

Barham gave a grim smile. ‘I’ve a notion Napoleon is out of temper with his admirals. If Villeneuve does not sail he will lose his last chance for redemption and glory. He’ll fight, never doubt it.’

‘Vice Admiral Nelson. Do step in, sir, and accept his lordship’s thanks for your prompt arrival,’ Boyd said, showing the great man to his chair. He looked strangely diminished in his old-fashioned civilian dress – drab-green breeches with square cocked hat, mustard waistcoat and a gold-headed stick.

Lord Barham came in with a smile and civil bows were exchanged. ‘My deepest apologies for summoning you after such a short space, my lord, but—’

‘Cadiz. I heard this from Captain Blackwood.’

‘Yes. I would like to offer you your flag as commander-in-chief Mediterranean and Atlantic approaches to Cape St Vincent.’

‘Thank you, my lord.’

Barham hesitated. ‘I will not dwell on the danger that faces the realm. Instead I will ask, at this time, what forces do you consider you will require for this task?’

‘To match the Combined Fleet’s numbers would seem enough, my lord.’

‘Then you shall have them – and every resource necessary, just as soon as they can be made available.’ He looked meaningfully at Boyd, who frowned but kept his silence. It would be far from easy merely to locate and contact the ships concerned and only then to go on to make repairs and store them to a battle-worthy state – and time was very short.

The first lord picked up a well-thumbed copy of Steele’s Navy List and held it out. ‘This mission is of the utmost importance, sir. You may have whomsoever you wish to serve under you.’

Nelson did not take it. ‘Choose yourself, my lord. The same spirit actuates the whole profession.’ He smiled. ‘Sir, you cannot choose wrong!’

When the weeping stopped, Cecilia steadied herself. The storm of emotion had shaken her in its intensity but one thing was very clear. She had utterly misunderstood Renzi.

. . . in the years since we have known each other . . . and it may not have escaped you that my feelings for you are not altogether to be described as those of a brother . . . thus I must accept that in the matter of publishing my hopes are quite dashed, no prospect of an income . . . if any sense of an implicit obligation can be said to exist, I do absolve you from it, in the warm trust that your marriage to another will provide the blessings of security and gratifications that are yours by right . . .

The poor, dear, hopeless and deeply honourable man! He believed it unprincipled even to imply matrimony while impecunious, demonstrating without any doubt that he cared about her more than he could say.

Tears sprang again, but were as quickly replaced by a rising tide of resolve. She had to talk to him! At last let him know her true feelings! Then she bit her lip. He was with Thomas, whose ship was in Portsmouth about to sail with Admiral Nelson.

Against the enemy! She nearly choked at the realisation: so consumed by her own concerns was she that it had not occurred to her that the two men she most cared about were sailing into mortal danger, into the climactic battle of the age that everyone was talking about.

Everything in her being urged her to go to them, to . . . to . . .

She stuffed a few things into a small bag and ran from the house. In a storm of feeling she hurried on to the high street towards the Angel, the waypoint for the Portsmouth stage, but as she neared it the coach emerged from the courtyard gate with a crashing of hoofs and jingling of harness, swerving around for the dash south.

She waved her arms madly. The coachman atop bellowed at her but hauled on the reins, the horses whinnying and jibbing at the treatment. The coach slewed and stopped.

‘I must get to Portsmouth!’ she shrieked. ‘My – my brother sails with Nelson!’

Her tear-streaked features gave the man pause but he shouted gruffly down at her, ‘An’ we’re full, lady – not a chance! Ever’one wants to see Nelson!’

‘I’ll – I’ll ride outside – on top! Please!’ she wailed.

A red-faced passenger leaned out of the window. ‘Get going, y’ wicked-lookin’ rascal – never mind th’ gooney woman!’

This served to make the coachman relent. ‘Git out of it, Jarge,’ he threw at the hornsman, who grinned and clambered over the baggage to join the postilion. He leaned over and hauled Cecilia up, her dress billowing until she made it on to the narrow seat next to him.

The whip cracked energetically, the big wheels clattered over the ancient cobblestones and what seemed to Cecilia to be the whole of Guildford gaped up at her. Thrilled and nervous by turns, she watched the road unfold before them and prayed she would be in time.

Working at his desk in L’Aurore’s great cabin Kydd suddenly looked up. They were peacefully at anchor at Spithead but he was aware of a commotion. Grateful for any excuse to take to the fresh air he joined a curious throng looking over to Victory.

It seemed her entire company was on the upper deck, their cheering carrying over the water.

‘A peace?’ suggested Curzon, doubtfully.

‘Sailing orders cancelled an’ liberty t’ both watches, more like,’ Gilbey grunted cynically.

Then Euryalus, next along, broke into a mad hysteria. This could be no frivolous occasion and L’Aurore’s officers looked at each other in consternation as a boat under a press of sail emerged from behind the ship-of-the-line on a direct course to themselves.

It passed under their lee and a lieutenant hailed them with cupped hands. ‘A telegraph signal – from the Admiralty. Lord Nelson rejoins the fleet as commander-in-chief to lead against the Combined Fleet in Cadiz.’

Nelson was back! Like lightning the news spread about L’Aurore and then she, too, had crowded decks with elated seamen cheering in frenzied abandon. The victor of St Vincent, the Nile, Copenhagen – a fighting admiral like no other, sent to save England!

While the L’Aurores ‘spliced the mainbrace’ in celebration, Kydd and Renzi raised a quiet glass to each other. There was now no longer any question: the near future would see an encounter that would decide the fate of millions – conceivably the world itself. Would Nelson prevail or would Napoleon’s hordes be free to fall upon England?

Within a day orders were received that had been sent on ahead by Nelson: Victory and others were to move out to St Helen’s Roads in the lee of the Isle of Wight in preparation for an immediate departure.

On the day following Kydd watched surging crowds ashore; it took little guesswork to know that Lord Nelson had arrived.

No flag broke at Victory’s masthead – the commander-in-chief was still ashore. ‘He’ll be at the George,’ Kydd said confidently. ‘And I’m to make my number, I believe.’

‘On shore on ship’s business? Then it’s only my duty that I do accompany the captain,’ Renzi said primly, buttoning his waistcoat.

L’Aurore’s barge joined others converging on the landing place near King Henry’s round tower. There was a press of people in the streets and when they stepped on to the stone quay to walk the few hundred yards to the George it was all they could do to make their way through.

Cheered and jostled by turns, they finally arrived at the bow-windowed posting house where an impenetrable crush fell back reluctantly at Kydd’s uniform. At the door a number of harassed-looking soldiers made a hurried lane for him and they entered a lower hall, if anything even more crowded.

Hailing a beefy gate-porter, they finally got up the stairs and into the presence of the great man. Nelson was standing quite at ease, dictating to a secretary and making pleasantries to a pair of well-dressed gentlemen, oblivious to the fawning of several others.

‘Ah, Kydd!’ he said, with evident pleasure. ‘I do feel we can at last offer you some sport worthy of the name. Your L’Aurore is ready for sea?’

‘Aye aye, sir,’ he stuttered.

‘Oh, this is Mr Canning, treasurer of the Navy and this Mr Rose, paymaster general. Without gentlemen like these, we would have no sea service.’ He smiled genially. ‘Do stay, sir – that’s Hardy over there and we’ll raise a glass to England together before we board.’

The coach swayed and slowed on the choked roads at the approaches to Portsmouth. The driver swore and snapped his whip over the heads of the mob streaming towards Landport gate but without effect. Cecilia pleaded to the uncaring mass to move. They whooped and shouted in return but did not give an inch.

‘Never in m’ life seen anythin’ like this’n!’ the coachman said in amazement, fending off a tipsy would-be rider while trying to control the frightened horses. ‘Like as not, we’m as far as we c’n get, lady.’

‘Five guineas to get to the high street!’

He looked at her kindly. ‘Can’t see yez getting into Portsea without ye walks, miss. Help y’ down?’

Cecilia began thrusting through the unruly crowd, giving as good as she got as she struggled on, but her despair mounted. Not knowing Portsmouth well, she turned down a side-street and hurried along, panting and desperate. She had no idea where to find her menfolk but instinct drove her on – towards the sea.

‘Well, gentlemen, our destiny awaits. Shall we take boat now?’ Nelson said at last. He went to the window to glance at the sky, provoking an instant roar from the crowd outside.

‘The redcoats have been turned out, my lord,’ his flag-captain said diffidently, ‘but they don’t appear to have it in hand.’

‘Then I’ll leave by the rear,’ Nelson said crisply. ‘I’ll not embark from Sally Port. There’s a bathing beach at Southsea further along the seafront, as I remember.’

‘There is, sir,’ the dockyard commissioner said. ‘If we go by Penny Street and the church, there’s a tunnel let through the wall.’

‘Very well.’ But as soon as Nelson emerged from the back door of the George there were frantic shouts and an instant surge, people pressing towards him to catch a glimpse of his face. A number were in tears or falling prostrate while others gawked or shouted.

As he stepped out into the street the crowd fell back as though mesmerised. Nelson himself was in the greatest good humour, continually raising his hat to the ladies, clasping a hand, acknowledging a knelt prayer. He seemed to move along in a bubble of silent rapture; then after he had passed came redoubled shouts and cheering.

To Kydd, a few paces behind, it was extraordinary, dream-like. He had no idea where Renzi was but the sea of faces pressing in was unnerving. Some reached out to touch him, paw his uniform, all clamouring for his attention.

They slowly crossed a green by high earth ramparts, hundreds pouring on to it as it became obvious where they were headed – a woman fell in a swoon and was overwhelmed by the crush. Then they were at a stone bastion by the sea with a small tunnel beneath.

Ahead of Cecilia there was a swelling roar; nearby people ran to see. She joined them and was carried along on to a greensward rimmed by the grey stone of a low fortification. It could only be Nelson ahead and she knew that nearby must be her brother and the man with whom she wished to spend the rest of her life. Then she saw high earthworks and scrambled to the top with the others to look down on history in the making – and there in a small group walking with Lord Nelson was her brother!

She screamed out at him but her voice was lost in the din and she saw them disappear into a tunnel – but with no sign of Nicholas. Then there was a rush over the stone fortification as sentries were jostled aside, helpless to stop the crowd. Cecilia found herself fighting for a place at the top of an outer redoubt that looked seaward and down on to a nearby small beach with bathing machines.

The group emerged from the tunnel on to the beach, Nelson stopping to acknowledge the adoring crowd with waves, his gold lace and four stars glittering in the autumn sunshine. His barge nosed in, and first two important-looking men boarded, with an officer she supposed was Captain Hardy. Nelson turned and took off his hat, waving it at the crowd, which burst into cheering. Then he entered his barge and it shoved off.

The cheering subsided and what sounded like a huge sigh spread out. Nelson twisted around, waved his hat once more and again the cheers went up. Then a breathy silence descended.

Kydd was last to embark. His waiting barge came in and, incredibly, there was Nicholas, standing in the sternsheets, while Kydd took his place. Cecilia froze with a mix of fear and exhilaration. Then, in a rising tide of helplessness and passion, she shrieked, ‘Nicholas! Nicholas! I’ll wait for you! I’ll waaait for you! My darling – I’ll waaait!’

Renzi’s head snapped up, his eyes searching the crowd. She threw her arms about, signalling frantically, but the boat completed its turn and was now pulling strongly away. ‘Nicholas! I’ll waaait!’ she screamed, but by then the boat had disappeared into the throng of small craft.