“My love,” replied Sir William sententiously, “such is your luck that I believe it will be whoever you have set your heart on. And, if it is not, that a frigate despatched by you to St. Vincent will bring your choice instantly. See—only two vessels are making into the bay. The bulk of the fleet is evidently to lie off Capri. Don’t I see boats lowering? Come down.”
They waited below and before an hour was over two post captains, brushed up and strictly on service, demanded a conference with the Ambassador—Captains Troubridge and Hardy, right-hand men of Admiral Nelson’s as the Embassy pair knew full well.
“Sir Horatio in command?” was Hamilton’s first question.
“Certainly.” Lord Hood had detached him to ask food and water for his own squadron in chase of the French. That was their errand. The Admiral would not land, for time pressed. What could be done with the Royalties? Emma was not present ostensibly. She did not know these men. But, by Sir William’s desire, she was stationed in the deep alcove where she could hear every word. It might well be vital she should.
The old difficulty, he told them. The King opposed, dallying weakly with Austria’s uncertain aid and hoping to keep well with France. The Queen, all British in sympathy, eager to help, and alas! the Fleet suspended between these two irreconcilables.
“What use to ask the King?” said Hamilton. “He will shift, temporise, play to gain time. Gentlemen, I regret to say it, but I have tried every avenue already to break that most infamous pact forbidding our ships to enter Sicilian ports freely. There is unfortunately a French busybody here, a regicide named Garat, a born spy, and everything that takes place is magnified out of all knowledge and packed off straight to France. Still, I can only suggest application to the King.”
An anxious wrinkle formed itself on Troubridge’s forehead: “But that will mean endless delay and the French may be anywhere. They will spin it out and time is diamonds. No other hope?”
“None, sir, I regret to say. You must have a ministerial order for food and water.”
“Again that means delay,” said Hardy at Troubridge’s shoulder, shifting nervously from one foot to the other. His face showed that suspense galled him cruelly. “Not only so, your Excellency, but we need frigates like water in the desert. We are frigate-starved. We meant to ask for the Sicilian frigates.”
“They’ll never do that,” Sir William said decidedly. “Put it out of your head, my good sir. It would be an act of war on France. Leave it to me, and I’ll do what I can to get you a Royal order for victualling and water.”