Twisted Root - Anne Perry [65]
He told of putting Nelson’s body in a cask of brandy to preserve it so it could be buried in England, as he had wished.
"Just a little man, he was. Up to my chin, no more," he said with a fierce sniff. "Funny that. We won the greatest victory at sea ever—saved our country from invasion — an’ we came home with flags lowered, like we lost—because he were dead." He fell silent for some time.
She rose and boiled the kettle again, resetting the tray and making a light supper for him with a piece of pie cut into a thin slice, and hot tea.
After he had eaten with some pleasure, he told her of Nelson’s funeral and how all London had turned out to wish him a last farewell.
"Buried in a special coffin, he was," he added with pride. "Plain an’ simple, like death, or the sea. Made from wood taken from the wreckage of the French flagship at the Battle of the Nile. Pleased as punch when Hallowell gave it to him way back, he was. Kept it all those years. Laid in the Painted Hall in Greenwich Hospital. First mourners come on January fourth." He smiled with supreme satisfaction. "Prince o’ Wales hisself."
He took a deep breath and let it out in a rasping cough, but held up his hand to prevent her from interrupting him. "Laid there four days. While all the world went by to pay their respects. Then we took him up the river, on Wednesday morning. The coffin was placed on one of the royal barges made for King Charles II, an’ all covered over in black velvet, with black ostrich plumes, and went in a flotilla up to London. Eleven other barges, there were, all the livery companies with their banners flying. Never seen so much gold and color. Stiff wind that day, too. Fired the guns every minute, all the way up to Whitehall Stairs."
He stopped again, blinking hard, but he could not keep the tears from spilling over and running down his cheeks.
"Next day we took him to Saint Paul’s. Great procession, but mostly army. Only navy there was us — from the Victory herself." His voice cracked, but it was from pride as well as grief. "I was one of them what carried our battle ensigns. We opened them up now and again so the crowd could see the shot holes in them. They all took their hats off as we passed. It made a sound like the noise of the sea." He rubbed his hand across his cheek. "There isn’t anything I’d take this side o’ heaven to trade places with any man alive who wasn’t there."
"I wouldn’t understand it if you did," she answered, smiling at him and unashamed to be weeping, too.
He nodded slowly. "You’re a good girl. You know what it means, don’t you." That was a statement, not a question. He drew in his breath as if to thank her, then knew it was unnecessary, even inappropriate. It would have implied debt, and there was none.
Before she could say anything in answer the door opened and Michael Robb came in. Only then did she realize how long she had been there. It was early evening. The shadows of the sun were long across the floor and touched with a deeper color. She felt a warmth of self-consciousness wash up her face. Automatically, she stood up.
Michael’s disapproval and alarm were too obvious to hide. He saw the tears on the old man’s face and turned to glare at Hester.
"I had the best afternoon in years," Robb said gently, looking up at his grandson. "She kept me real company. We talked about all sort o’ things. I’ve got a kind o’ peace inside me. Come, sit down and have a cup o’ tea. You look like your feet hurt, boy, and you’re mortal tired."
Michael hesitated, confusion filling his face. He looked from one to the other of them, then finally accepted that his grandfather was telling the truth about his pleasure and Hester really had given him a rare gift of companionship, unspoiled by duty or the seeking of recompense. A wide smile of relief lit his face, cutting through the weariness and showing for a moment the youth he wanted