‘Oh?’ said Kydd, without enthusiasm.
‘An invitation from Sir William that even the admiral feels it an honour to accept…’
‘Nelson!’
‘A select few will be there, you may be sure. The ambassador honours us greatly for our interest in antiquity, and should you be absent, it will be noticed, I fear.’
‘But Nelson – an’ probably some of his captains?’
‘Almost certainly.’
In the warm dusk Kydd ran his finger about the constricting circle of the stock round his neck, irritated as well by the tickling of the frilly starched jabot under his chin. He consoled himself that a naval officer’s full-dress uniform was a trial at times but was far easier than the elaborate frogging and tight pantaloons of the army.
The Palazzo Sessa was ablaze with lights and rich banners flew from each corner of the building, crowds massed outside hoping to catch a glimpse of the hero of the hour. The two officers passed through the doorway to cheers from the excited people. After the dimness of a violet dusk the light of massed chandeliers was overpowering, highlighting rose-bloomed faces and sparkling jewellery over ample bosoms.
‘I say, you’re Kydd of Tenacious, are you not?’ The left epaulette and single ring at the cuff proclaimed him a commander, a captain in the quaint naval way of an unrated ship, even if he was younger than Kydd.
‘Aye, sir,’ said Kydd.
‘My father has mentioned you,’ he said, with just a hint of the supercilious. ‘But I see these knaves are neglecting you. Here,’ he neatly abstracted a champagne flute from a passing tray, ‘should we not be well primed to salute the honour of the all-conquering Nelson?’
He took a long pull at his glass before Kydd could recollect himself enough to utter an unconvincing ‘Sir Horatio – victor o’ the seas!’
‘Yes, well. Must make my number with Carraciolo, the bumbling fool.’ He thrust through the assembly and was lost.
Kydd looked round for Renzi and found him talking with a thick-set post-captain who stood bolt upright, the champagne flute in his fist looking diminutive. ‘Ah, Kydd, please make the acquaintance of Captain Troubridge.’
‘Sir, a pleasure t’ see you again. An’ dare I offer m’ consolation on Culloden takin’ the ground as she did and missing the sport?’
‘Damn charts – but a glorious occasion, hey?’
Kydd caught a sight of the commander he had spoken to before. On impulse he asked, ‘Sir, are you acquainted with th’ officer over there speakin’ to the lady in blue?’
‘I am,’ Troubridge answered, looking at Kydd oddly. ‘That’s the captain of Bonne Citoyenne and, as you should know, he is also Nelson’s son.’
‘I – I—’
‘Step-son, that is to say. Josiah Nisbet.’
‘I see. Thank ye, sir.’
The buzz of conversation increased, then fell away quickly as a hush spread over the room. A trio was coming down a staircase that led from the apartments above: the ambassador with Nelson and between them, an arm on each, a cherubic but striking lady whom Kydd had not seen before but who must be Emma, Lady Hamilton.
The hush was broken by a single cry of ‘Viva il conquistatore!’ It was taken up all over the room in a bedlam of joyous shouts. Nelson, in his splendid decorations, responded by beaming and bowing to left and right.
Lady Hamilton struck an imperious pose and cried, ‘Avast, all ye! I present Duke Nelson, Marquis Nile, Baron Alexandria, Viscount Pyramid, Baron Crocodile and the Prince of Victory!’
Laughter and patriotic cries burst out and the three descended into the gathering. Presently the ambassador held up his hands for silence. ‘For those who love Naples, an evening of civilisation. Pray come with me, let the entertainments begin!’
In the drawing room a semicircle of elegant chairs in two rows faced a small ensemble of harpsichord to one side, two violins to the other. The musicians remained in a bowed position while the guests settled.
Kydd found a chair in the second row from which he could see Nelson and the Hamiltons. They were in fine form, Sir William animated and relaxed while his lady seemed to be in full flood of sociability towards her distinguished guest. Nelson appeared equally engaged, his responses to Lady Hamilton’s sallies almost boyish in their artlessness.
Hamilton rose and faced his guests. ‘I know you will be amazed and delighted when I tell you that I have persuaded the famed tenor Romualdo Farrugia to perform for us tonight. He will begin with Pergolesi’s “Lo frate ’nnamorato”, of course in the original Neapolitan dialect…’
Next to Kydd Renzi stirred with interest. ‘Farrugia! What a coup! In opera buffo the finest in all Naples – which is to say the world.’