In the year 1817 his own dear mother, who in the midst of her daughter-in-law’s triumphs had remained as simple and quietly beautiful as a Kentish primrose, died in Will’s arms, a week or so after he had homed from one his cruises; and Will, having compassion on Katherine’s widowed state, and having himself made a goodly fortune out of prize money, in addition to the great fortune they had of her father, retired to their mansion-house of Eastry, where we were sitting that morning when we were brought that wonderful Journal of the Admiral.
Chapter XXVII.—Of the Death of Donna Rusidda, the Resurrection of Caracciolo, and the Happy Ending.
THE 12th of July, 1799, is a day I can never forget, for on it happened two events, one shocking and one surprising, to the last degree.
The Admiral had gone to bed the night before more dejected than I ever knew him; for though he had had the honour to receive His Majesty on board, and the executive officers of the Government, to take up their official residence there, until such time as St. Elmo should have fallen and Naples be safe again for the Royal presence, he was terribly cast down by a piece of news which came by the same frigate that had brought His Majesty, and which I found the means to send on to Will. The Queen had not been suffered to accompany the King. That great Sovereign was left to eat her heart out in disgrace, nominally for the misfortunes into which her headlong recourse to arms in the November before had plunged her kingdom, really because General Acton, who accompanied His Majesty, found that by using the King as a tool against her he himself had the ruling of the kingdom instead of taking his orders from her.
It was thought very strange that one of the Queen’s ladies—the Princess of Favara, Donna Rusidda—should make urgent and repeated applications to accompany the Court to Naples, though Her Majesty was not suffered to go. Her applications were consequently refused, and the convoy, guarded by His Majesty’s frigate the Sea-Horse, Captain Foote; and His Sicilian Majesty’s frigate the Sirena, which had the King on board, started without her. But since convoys sail very slowly, they were overtaken by a light vessel, with some despatches for His Majesty; and with the despatches came the melancholy news that the Princess had been found dead in the Mardolce lake. The business of receiving the Court on board was over, and I was standing in attendance on the Admiral, when up comes My Lady, evidently with something grave on her mind. I was about to take my leave when the Admiral motioned me to stay. Indeed, privacy on the flagship there was none to be had, except by turning the King out of the Admiral’s state-room. What with the Court and its hangers-on, and officers from the squadron with various business, the ship had about double her complement on board, though at bedtime they grew a little less from the sheer want of room to lie down. It was evening, but we were close to a lantern, whose light fell on the faces of My Lady and the Admiral, though so little on mine that perhaps they forgot me.
“Nelson,” began My Lady, with blunt words but the gentlest and most engaging manner, “were you in love with little Rusidda, that I came upon with you that day at the Favara?”
“Dearest Emma, I never loved any but you—not even, as I know now, Lady Nelson. I never knew what perfect friendship and sympathy was until I met your noble heart, which has filled up all my heart, leaving no space for anything unless it were a child of yours—flesh of your flesh—if you had one.”
“I believe it,” cried My Lady, with generous quickness, “though I saw your lips upon her forehead, and though she poured her whole heart out to me, poor little thing, when she was begging to be brought.”
“I can swear it,” he said, “by all that is most holy to me: by my hopes for my country—by anything.”