Chapter 16: Aunt Emily

The Admiralty-owned coach lurched and swayed violently on the wintery road towards Portsmouth. It was cold, and the blankets did little to keep the passengers warm. Nevertheless, Richard Carter, 3rd Baron Lambert, did not look forward to the arrival. He would have rather travelled for days in the bitter cold than face his aunt and tell her of his uncle’s death.

Andrew Lord Lambert had perished in the Battle of Navarino. Details were still sketchy, but it had transpired that a confrontation between British, French and Russian ships on one side, and the combined Turkish and Egyptian fleets had suddenly escalated into an annihilating battle in the tight confines of the Bay of Navarino. Dozens of enemy ships were sunk and burned, but the European squadrons also suffered severe losses. Andrew Lambert had served as Captain of the Fleet on board the flagship, HMS Asia, and had been killed instantly by a round shot.

Richard looked up again to Ellen and to his grandmother. The old lady had had a momentary weakness upon learning of her son’s death, but after that her first thoughts had been for her daughter in law and for her son’s four daughters. Ellen had come too as he had hoped, holding the old woman’s hand now.

“How shall we tell Aunt Emily?” he asked into the silence.

His grandmother looked up with a sad expression.

“She’ll know as soon as she’ll see us,” she said.

“She will blame herself,” Ellen remarked. “After all, she set things up with Sir Edward Codrington. We must make her see that she only did something he desperately wanted.”

Old Lady Lambert nodded sadly. “Poor Emily! She did it to make Andrew happy. And how proud he was. Well, she helped him to get the command of Dreadnaught, and Dreadnaught safely returned to Portsmouth last month. She had nothing to do with his posting as Captain of the Fleet. At least that’s what we have to make her believe.”

After this exchange, they fell into silence again as the wheels rumbled over the muddy road. The silence lasted until the clatter of hooves on cobble stones signalled their arrival in Portsmouth. The coach finally came to a stop in front of the house on High Street that Sir Anthony Carter had once owned and that had been Andrew Lambert’s for close to two decades. Richard helped the women alight from the coach and they rang the bell. A manservant opened. He nodded gravely when he recognised the visitors and led them towards the dining room without a word.

Emily Lambert must have heard the bad news already, for she was already dressed in black with a veil covering her face.

“I heard of it this morning,” she stated. “You shouldn’t have come here in this weather, mother. But thank you. You too, Richard and Ellen. Do you know how it happened? I only heard that there was a battle and that Andrew fell.”

In brief words, Richard told his aunt all he knew. When he was finished, he swallowed and stepped up to her. He hugged her and looked through the veil into her eyes.

“Aunt Emily, I am not good at this. I want you to know however that you can always count on my help and support. I would have done it anyway, but Uncle Andrew asked me to look after you and the girls should something happen to him.”

“I know,” she nodded. “He had premonitions. In his last letters he also gave me all sorts of instructions. He wrote to call upon you and your father in any need.”

“How are the girls?”

“The realisation has not sunk in yet,” Emily sighed. “Will they ... will they bring Andrew home for burial?”

Richard swallowed hard and his eyes stung when he shook his head. The round shot had torn Andrew Lambert apart and what had been left of him had been buried at sea.

“They thought it better to bury him at sea,” he said diplomatically. “He had left a note to that effect.” That was a lie, but how could he tell his aunt that his uncle’s head had been blown into smithereens?

His aunt looked through him, however.

“You are kind, Richard, but he was hit by a flying cannon ball. I know what that must have done to him.”

“He did not suffer though. He was spared the surgeon’s knife.”

“There will be a memorial service,” Old Lady Lambert said. “Would you rather have it here or in London, Emily?”

Emily thought for a moment, then she replied with calm determination.

“Here in Portsmouth. It’s where he lived, it’s where his friends and family live, it’s where I met him and fell in love with him. Let him be remembered here. We’ll have a memorial plate placed in St. Thomas a Becket where our children were baptised.”

Richard nodded. “I will pass these wishes on to the Admiralty. It will be another month though. Is there anything we can do for you, Aunt Emily?”

“I would appreciate it if people were to abstain from making condolence calls. Most of them mean well, but I really don’t feel like receiving all those people whom I barely know.”