‘I was requested, nay ordered, by Admiral Hotham, to deliver it into His Grace’s hand.’ Seeing the countenance prepare a refusal, Ralph Barclay added vociferously. ‘And I will wait here till doomsday if necessary.’
‘Very well.’
Another hour passed before they were called for, this by a different and younger liveried footman, following him through chamber after chamber, each with great framed pictures denoting scenes from classical antiquity, each equipped with fine furnishings and deep patterned carpets, until they were admitted into the presence of the owner of the house in a finely proportioned drawing room with long windows overlooking a sloping lawn. Respects paid, the missive was handed over, perused, with the duke looking up at Ralph Barclay.
‘This fellow is?’ the older man said, meaning Gherson.
‘My secretary.’
‘Tell him to leave us.’ That order, made without so much as a glance at Gherson, was followed by a dismissive wave to his own secretary, who departed, leaving them alone. ‘You are aware of the contents.’
‘No, Your Grace, but I do not have to guess at the sentiments,’ Barclay replied, adding a lie that could do him no harm. ‘Sir William and I were quite intimate.’
‘You were at Toulon?’
The stump moved sharply, the pain was worth it. ‘It is where I lost this.’
If he had hoped for sympathy there was none evident. Long of face with hooded eyes, the duke, sat on a high-backed chair, dressed in silks of the highest quality and bright colour, merely looked back at Hotham’s letter. ‘Your opinion of the operation?’
‘Badly planned and poorly executed.’
‘You have a gift for brevity, Captain…’ A hand was waved to indicate ignorance.
‘Barclay.’ The stump moved again, this time with more care. ‘It has, of course, cost me my command.’
‘And I daresay, when it is healed, you would like another?’
‘It is my profession, Your Grace.’
If he was hoping for a positive response, Ralph Barclay was again disappointed.
‘There are two things I am plagued by, sir, and the first is those seeking a place. The second is that damned vase my ancestor bought and I let Wedgwood copy, which you had better cast an eye over on the way out. It will save you troubling my door should you ever pass by this way again.’
‘And your interest should I seek a ship? Admiral Hotham was most anxious that I should be availed of your good offices.’
The reply was given with a sigh. ‘Leave your name with my secretary.’ The eyes dropped to the letter again. ‘Good day, Captain.’
‘There is one other matter, Your Grace.’
‘Which is?’
The fair copy was produced from Ralph Barclay’s pocket with all the flair of a showground conjuror. ‘This is a copy of a private letter, not an official despatch, sent by Lord Hood to Mr Pitt.’
Portland lost some of his studied languor then, near to snatching the pages from Ralph Barclay’s hand, to be quickly read. ‘How did you come by this?’
‘By luck!’ Ralph Barclay responded: the look he had been given was one of distaste.
‘I take it this is for me to keep?’
‘It is.’
‘Then I think that concludes our business.’
‘And the matter of another ship when my wound has healed?’
‘I daresay the Admiralty will be able to find you something, Captain Barclay, to please me more than you, so you may rest content. Now, if there is nothing else?’
He did ask to look at the Portland Vase on the way out and, when he gazed upon it, was happy to own it was an admirable piece of virtu, with the black glass and the fine white classical motifs. But having been treated with such disdain, and that by a man whose power and possessions came by inheritance, not ability, Ralph Barclay had to resist the temptation to smash the damn thing to pieces.
Preserved in the bottom of the small ditty bag she had been able to salvage from HMS Grampus lay the court martial papers Emily Barclay had taken from Heinrich Lutyens’ berth, and each night, after dinner and alone in her marital bedchamber, she would look at them under the light of her candle; not that she needed to read them over and over again, once was enough. The conundrum was what to do with them, for the same conditions applied as had the first time she had perused them: the ripples that would flow from outright exposure.
Emily found life at home in Frome stifling; when those with whom she spoke were not praising her wonderful husband or brave nephew, the conversation seemed fixed on the state of the market for sheep or wool or how the war was driving up the price of everything. She had also found out that, despite still being only eighteen years of age, her marital status had cut her off from those female friends whose company she had enjoyed prior to her nuptials: the unmarried had not moved on, their talk was still of prospective husbands, not forgetting the ubiquitous hope for a Prince Charming, while the two that had wed in her absence seemed to have given up all love of flighty or amusing gossip at the altar.
Emily knew she had to get away: things were constraining enough now but they would be ten times worse when her husband returned. There was no way she could resubmit to his demands, either domestically or in this room, and that would be a secret not long held, for the house had maids. Maids changed beds and she knew that the evidence of marital abstinence would be obvious, just as servants, finding stained sheets, were always the first to know of a wife or husband committing adultery, at which point, depending on their relationship to the household, they either gossiped and brought about disclosure or indulged in quiet blackmail. She could face neither.
‘To London!’ exclaimed her husband’s eldest sister, in a voice that implied she was setting out on some dangerous adventure. ‘You have quite altered my consumption of my breakfast. I shall have dyspepsia all day.’
‘Is it not where my husband is at present?’
‘Such a journey,’ twittered another, though judging by the wedge of butter on her muffin it did not interfere with her stomach.
‘One I have made before, ladies, so if you do not mind I will be about the packing of my trunk. I would be obliged if you could send one of the maids down to the Blue Boar to book me a place on the Bath-bound coach.’
The only pleasure Emily Barclay had enjoyed since returning was the ordering of new clothing, all chalked up to an account, which her husband would be required to settle. There was no difficulty in this: not only because of his remitted pay as a captain, but by his letters home and his sisters’ chatter, the whole town knew he had taken one valuable prize and was in dispute about an even more fabulous East Indiaman as to whether it was salvage, a case which might take years to settle. Credit, however, was plentiful.
So it was with a full trunk and some money in her purse, as well as plentiful paper, that she set off for Bath, there to catch the fast, two-day coach to London, using the overnight stop to make a copy of the court martial evidence. Once at Charing Cross, she hailed a hack to take her to the home of Heinrich Lutyens, having sent a note ahead to say she was taking him up on his invitation, issued at sea, to stay. Welcome over and tea now cold in the pot, she turned to business.
‘Heinrich, I require you to advise me about an attorney-at-law.’
The sharp nose went up in the air and the fish-like eyes narrowed suspiciously. ‘I hope you are not about to take any steps, Emily, which are irrevocable.’
‘I am not yet decided on what I am going to do, which is why I must consult a lawyer.’
‘Will it surprise you to know that I am not acquainted with any who specialise in marital disputes?’
‘Then point me towards one whom you trust.’
She had to avoid his eye when she used that word: much as she longed to tell him her purpose, to admit that would be to also own up to theft. Heinrich named a man who he knew from school and sent a note round to him to expect a new client, Emily following when he sent back word that he would be delighted to receive her.
> She was brisk, not wishing to enter into any discussion of the state of her marriage. ‘Mr Studdert, I need to leave with you this package of papers. You will see I have sealed them so that not even you are aware of the contents. I take it you have a strongbox?’
‘A strong room, Mrs Barclay. I am entrusted with many deeds and wills, so a box would not suffice. I take it you wish me to place them beyond common reach?’
‘I do.’
‘And that is all you require?’
‘For now.’
‘Then I am happy to oblige.’
‘And payment?’
‘For such a meagre service we can await that, and I suspect you may have of me other requirements in the future.’
Emily declined to reply to what was an invitation to be open, passing over her sealed bundle. Studdert then led her to the heavy steel door of his strong room, opened it and let her watch without entering as he placed them on a shelf already full of bundles of documents tied with red ribbon. Then he locked the door again, before asking her to sit down once more, producing from his coat pocket a small notebook and dipping a quill once he had opened it.
‘Mrs Barclay, it has been my experience in transactions of this nature that the principal, which in this case is you, may want to send for these papers, in short to have them collected and brought to you by another hand. So that I know it is indeed you who is seeing their delivery I require from you a word, a code if you like.’
‘One word?’ Emily asked.
‘Two if you prefer, or more.’
Emily bit her lip in thought, then asked if a name was all right. When Studdert nodded she said, firmly, ‘Pelican.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Even though Parliament was in recess it took several days to get to see the king’s First Lord of the Treasury, days in lodgings during which Pearce had worried for Charlie and Rufus; a time when Michael, free to move around if he kept his eyes peeled for crimps, went back to the Pelican Tavern to find that Rosie had not only gone, but that she had departed as another’s bride, and that related cheered Charlie immensely. Pearce had no desire to revisit the place from which he had been pressed, being a tavern he had only frequented once and then in an emergency.
Eventually a messenger came with an invitation to attend at 10, Downing Street, Pitt’s official home, where he entered a crowded waiting room of folk queuing to see the man who controlled the executive power of government, all of whom eyed each other suspiciously, as though they suspected everyone else present of seeking to bypass the proper order of admittance. It was dark before he gained the inner sanctum, and telling that he was the last person waiting: when he exited the antechamber it was empty and, making for the cabinet room, he passed as he did so a trio of men he took to be departing ministers.
‘Mr Pearce, we meet again, which I did not expect. You know Mr Dundas, of course.’
John Pearce nodded to Henry Dundas, sitting while Pitt was standing, wondering if the pair were joined at the hip: on his last meeting with the man he had come to see Dundas had also been present. He was Pitt’s right-hand political ally and, to Pearce, a fellow Scot, the leader of the Caledonian block of MPs in the House of Commons, who voted as he instructed, forming the bedrock of the king’s Tory support; he was also a man who had crossed swords with Pearce senior and the feeling of no love lost between the two of them was, the son knew, mutual.
The contrast was strong: Henry Dundas, florid, brimming with confidence and looking like a voluptuary, was the very image of a politician. Pitt looked more of an aesthete with his fine-drawn features, slim build and quiet mode of speech. They had several things in common: they were both rabid Tories, utterly ruthless in their management of parliamentary business, and were both three-bottle men when it came to the consumption of claret. That they were drinking now, but there was no offer of wine for John Pearce.
‘You have, I believe, a letter for me.’
‘From Lord Hood,’ Pearce replied, passing over the oilskin pouch.
‘You’ve become quite a postie, laddie,’ Dundas joked, as Pitt broke the seal, ‘taking letters one way and another.’
‘More, I hope, a winged messenger, Mr Dundas.’
‘I heard you had to paddle, not fly, to get here.’
‘It is enough that I managed.’
Pitt had obviously developed a way of swift reading, for even at three full pages it took him no time at all to digest the contents. Expecting it to be passed to Dundas, Pearce was surprised when it was not.
‘His Lordship also asked me to apprise you of certain other facts.’
‘Indeed?’ Pitt demanded, his pale-blue eyes open in surprise.
‘Lord Hood cannot say in a letter the whole of what concerns him in private.’
‘Are you saying he has chosen you as an interlocutor?’ Dundas demanded.
‘Why you?’ Pitt demanded, when Pearce nodded.
‘He was anxious that I should back up what he has written with my own observations.’
‘His Lordship asks a lieutenant to apply observations?’ Pitt enquired.
‘He feels his words may not convey the seriousness of his difficulties. Being in writing, he will no doubt feel the need to be circumspect.’
‘While you will not be?’
‘No.’
‘I am curious, Pearce, why has Lord Hood chosen you?’
‘Odd as it may seem, sir, he has come to trust me and we share an interest.’
‘Which is?’
‘I seek redress, as you may recall, for the illegality of my impressment, while Lord Hood wishes you to know the true nature of his difficulties with Admiral Hotham, delivered in a way that could not in any way compromise the government.’
Pitt waved the letter. ‘Which are amply outlined in this and, I might add, Pearce, it is not unusual for military commanders to disagree about how to conduct a campaign.’
Dundas laughed out loud. ‘Put two generals or admirals in a room and they will emerge with three opinions.’
‘In fact, about a tenth of those managed by politicians!’ Pearce snapped, catching Dundas draining his glass. ‘And all to the detriment of their electors.’
‘Mind your tongue, laddie,’ Dundas spluttered, his humour evaporating.
‘You of all people, Mr Dundas, should not seek that from someone of my parentage.’
‘I shut Adam Pearce up more than once, boy, and you are not half the man he was.’
That got Henry Dundas a look of real venom: he had often wondered who had generated the writs against his father for his attacks on the government – this man sitting before him was as good as telling him he was the prime mover.
‘If you care to step into Green Park at dawn tomorrow, you will find, in some respects, I am very much more than the man he was.’
‘Now that would be cheering for the ton,’ Pitt joked, ‘to observe a pair of Sawny Jocks seeking to kill each other. Perhaps, given how unpopular your race is in London, I should sell tickets and pay off the national debt.’
Dundas knew it was jest, and responded in kind. ‘Which means we would have to leave you English to run the country on your own, a recipe for mayhem.’
‘There are the clever Irish to help.’
‘That is a recipe for disaster.’
‘Or a comedy of errors.’
‘Should I leave?’ Pearce demanded, given they were obviously indulging in what was an old game of repartee, and a not entirely sober one at that.
‘Billy,’ Dundas cawed, pulling a face, ‘we are being rebuked.’
‘I find it hard to believe you have the complete trust of His Lordship,’ Pitt said, not jocular now.
‘I have performed certain services for him that would lead him to do so.’
‘Such as?’
He did not want to sound boastful about his missions on behalf of Hood, yet Pearce knew he had to build himself up, to make out he was worthy of the attention of the pair he was addressing. So he related the actual events regarding the
surrender of the French at Toulon, as well as how close he had come to serious harm, his exploits around Corsica, the missions he had undertaken to La Rochelle, Villefranche, Naples and Tunis, in a way that established without doubt that Hood had come to see him as his messenger of discretion.
‘Impressive,’ Pitt said finally, and then he turned to Dundas. ‘I should avoid Green Park on the morrow, Harry.’
‘Quite the warrior,’ Dundas responded, though the look that accompanied the words was not praiseworthy, more disbelief.
‘So, these private thoughts?’ Pitt demanded.
Over the weeks he had been at sea, even sometimes in that cutter, he had rehearsed what he was going to say. So he related with some fluency how the court martial had been fixed by Hotham, with he and the best witnesses sent out of the way by that admiral’s order, how the result had been a forgone conclusion. He then added the suspicion that Hotham had, on more than one occasion, sought to put him, as well as the three Pelicans, in harm’s way. Yet that, which had all sounded so clear-cut in his head, now sounded like an extended gripe by a man who saw himself and his friends as victims.
‘However,’ he concluded, ‘I admit that to be speculation and difficult to prove. I say it only to underline that Admiral Hotham will go to any lengths to protect his position. There is no doubt that perjury was not only committed but condoned, if not contrived at, by Admiral Hotham.’
‘I am at a loss to know why you are telling us all this?’ Dundas asked.
‘So that action can be taken.’
‘What action?’
‘The arraignment of Captain Barclay for perjury and the charge to be levelled against Sir William Hotham of conspiracy to aid in the commission of a felony, which seems to both myself, and I think to Lord Hood, ample grounds for his removal.’
‘You do not lack for effrontery,’ Dundas scoffed. ‘You wish us to invoke the law on your behalf against not only a post captain of some seniority but also a vice admiral held in high regard by many of our political allies.’
An Ill Wind Page 24
