Best of all for Charlie was the finding of a human mark with a full purse, usually some bumpkin from the country, who was eager for a taste of London life; he would get that all right, and wake to find himself in bed with a pretty half-guinea whore demanding payment, and a tavern keeper below with a hefty bill for good food and drink, this while his good new friend, his purse, and the promised chance to make his fortune in a cunning, fail-safe scheme, were nowhere to be seen.
‘What was the fail-safe scheme, Charlie?’ asked Blubber.
‘First you found out where they hailed from, then it was hands in the air, a cry of sweet chance, and then you shut up. Curious they’d get, and you let the sods drag out of you that you is privy to a scheme to extract gold from the very part of the country in which they live. How come no one local knows of this, they say? What, you cry, let the locals in and it will be a mad dash wi’ little for everyone, but kept secret a few can make a mint.’
‘An’ they fall for it?’
‘It should be hard,’ Charlie said, ‘but it ain’t. The oddity is how quick they want a share.’
John Pearce was less surprised than the others; he and his Pa had come across any number of dubious projectors on their travels. ‘The twin engines of greed and fear, Adam Smith called it.’
‘And who,’ demanded Michael O’Hagan, ‘is Adam Smith when he is out and scaring folk?’
‘A Scotsman like me.’
‘Of which,’ Blubber insisted, ‘saving your own presence, Mr Pearce, there be a mite too many.’
‘Christ, they get everywhere.’
Pearce smiled. ‘Like the Irish, Michael.’
‘We dig dirt, while Sawney Jock mines gold.’
‘If only that were true, Michael, all my father mined was trouble.’
The conversation went round the table with the wine bottle, to establish that Blubber and Latimer had been ship’s boys grown to seamen aboard merchant ships as well as men o’ war, both from a coastal birthplace where fishing was the main occupation, though work on the smacks, owned by men with tight fists, was hard to come by. Rufus, originally from Litchfield, had been a bonded apprentice to a London tanner, before running away from a man he saw as a tyrant out to bleed him dry.
Only Michael O’Hagan had what seemed an ordinary life, if being raised in Irish poverty could be called that. Being his size, and a bit of a mouth to feed in a large and still-growing family, he had left home because he had to, although he had used his strength to make his way, digging canals and sinking new shafts for mines. The rate of house-building, and the high wages paid for foundation-digging, had brought him to London; the love of drink and his attraction to Rosie had brought him to the Pelican Tavern. Like his mates, Ralph Barclay’s criminality had brought him to this board.
‘There were a couple of others taken up with us,’ John Pearce said, bringing the conversation back round to their impressment, ‘but—’
The door to Lutyens’s rooms was suddenly flung open, causing everyone to look, and the shock of seeing a dripping wet Emily Barclay standing there rendered them all speechless. Not that she was in a better state, having had no idea that the only man she could share her troubles with was not alone. John Pearce was on his feet in an instant, his action bringing the others upright as well.
‘Emily…’ Lutyens spluttered, clearly at a loss how to continue.
‘Forgive me,’ she responded, quite obviously flustered.
‘Mrs Barclay, come in,’ Pearce cried, making to bring her through the door, an act that had her shrinking away. ‘Madam, you are soaked to the skin. If you do not want to give our good doctor a worry on your health, for the sake of the Lord take off that cloak.’
‘Latimer,’ said Lutyens, to the man closest to the grate, ‘stoke up that fire and get some more timber on it. Emily, come stand by it and dry yourself.’
Her mouth moved, but no words came. It was her eyes that indicated her embarrassment, as they ranged over the sailors present.
‘You mustn’t mind us, ma’am,’ said Rufus. ‘Better to be dry, I say.’
‘Heinrich, I need to speak with you.’ He nodded, looking lost, until she added, in a tone of voice bereft of confidence, ‘Alone?’
‘Best we wait outside,’ Pearce responded, with a jerk of the head, yet it was Michael, towering over Emily Barclay, who took her arm and led her to stand above old Latimer, who was busy poking the fire.
‘Leave that, mate, let the doctor see to it.’
The exit was made without eye contact; it was as though a cloud of mortification had descended on them all, leaving Lutyens to relieve Emily of her dripping cloak. As soon as the door shut behind his guests, she burst into tears and buried her head on his shoulder.
‘Come, come, sit down, have some wine and tell what has upset you so much that you arrive here in this condition.’
The story came out in between sobs, with both now sitting, Lutyens holding one of her chilled hands and completely at a loss to know what to say, this being outside his experience. He was a good surgeon, and death would not move him any more than would a serious wound. Treating the casualties caused by the actions of Emily’s husband had not produced a response, and evidence of physical pain in a patient had no effect on him. Yet here he was with an emotional problem, and from a source he had seen at first hand deal with wounded men in a fashion to be admired. Emily Barclay was tougher than she knew; the evidence of that was in the mere fact of her being here.
‘I cannot stay with him.’
‘That, Emily, is a serious proposition, draconian in fact…’
‘If I do, the same thing will happen again, I know it.’
‘It may not, my dear. It may be that your husband is as upset by his behaviour as you are. I take it he does not know you have come to the hospital?’
Looking at the table, Emily shook her head.
‘And how do you suppose he will react when he finds you are gone?’
‘Can I stay here?’
‘Of course, my dear,’ Lutyens replied, ‘but that is only a partial solution and I cannot help but feel that your actions, should you remain here, will set tongues wagging.’
‘Did you not intimate they were wagging already?’
‘I did, but from what you tell me about the admiral’s dinner you may well have allayed that.’ Lutyens stood suddenly. ‘You are here now, and the notion of an immediate return seems unlikely to appeal to you. So you must spend the night in my bed, while I make up a place to sleep here.’
She was about to protest, but his hand and look of concern stopped her. Taking her arm, and an oil lamp in his other hand, he led her through his bedroom door, indicated the washbowl, the water jug and towels, then patted her hand.
‘It may be that things will look different in the morning. Sleep, as any doctor will tell you, is a great healer.’
Shutting the door behind him, Lutyens went immediately to the outer door, opening it to reveal only John Pearce.
‘I have sent them to prepare the boat,’ he said.
‘I am sorry, John.’
Pearce looked over the doctor’s shoulders at an empty room and a closed bedroom door, which caused him to look at Lutyens with raised eyebrows.
‘I can see the way your mind is working.’
‘No doubt,’ Pearce responded with a grin, ‘just as there is no doubt, judging from your angry expression, that I am making a wrong assumption. Why is she here?’
‘I don’t think I am at liberty to discuss that.’
‘You forget, Heinrich, that it was she who first alerted me to the perjury committed at Barclay’s court martial. She was quite clearly damned unhappy with him them, so it is possible to deduce that whatever has distressed her can very likely be laid at the door of her husband.’
‘Only she could answer that question, John, and I doubt she would choose to do so to you. Besides, she has gone to bed, so you will have no opportunity to enquire.’
‘Perhaps I will come by in the morning and ask
?’
A sudden strong gust of wind rattled the windows and sent a cold draught sweeping through the corridor. ‘Right now, I think your preoccupation should be how, in this weather, you are going to get back aboard your ship.’
‘And you?’
‘I have to do my rounds, and ensure my patients are comfortable, which is more than I can hope for myself this night.’
CHAPTER ELEVEN
The order to attend upon Lord Hood arrived despite the continuing bad weather. Initially inclined to tell the old sod to go hang, he nevertheless knew in his heart he must obey, given the man was the only one who could advance his cause. So, in a boat cloak still damp from the previous night, John Pearce was obliged to climb down into the bobbing cutter for the uncomfortable journey to the flagship.
So rough was the sea he wondered if his breakfast, sitting uncomfortably close to his upper ribcage, would stay within him or end up being evacuated. He clutched the gunnels as much for luck as to steady himself against the bucking motion of a boat that was shipping a fair degree of water. Looking at the men on the oars, it was clear they were cursing him for the need to be fighting this running sea, which made him want to shout at them to take their ire out on the man who had sent for him.
Getting in through HMS Victory’s entry port was no easy matter either, the gangway having been taken in for safety – to be replaced by that which he dreaded, rope lines on either side of fixed battens – and those placed there to assist visitors coming aboard seemed to be indifferent as to whether he made the maindeck or ended up in the grey-green water tumbling angrily along the ship’s side. No doubt a captain could demand a bosun’s chair and a whip from the yard; a lieutenant must shift as best he could.
At least, once he had struggled on to the safety of the deck, he was not kept waiting; he was immediately ushered into the presence of both Hood and Parker, while the secretary was sent away, indicating that whatever was to be discussed would not be recorded in writing. What did seem odd was the way neither admiral seemed eager to catch his eye; it was as though they were embarrassed, which immediately raised his suspicions.
‘If I am about to be asked to undertake another private mission, I might as well refuse now and save all three of us a great deal of time.’
‘You know, Pearce,’ replied Hood, finally looking directly at him, ‘I don’t think I have ever met your like.’
‘What Lord Hood means,’ added Parker, ‘is that your lack of respect for authority is singular.’
‘Which stems from the fact that I, unlike every other lieutenant within your fleet, have no desire to seek advancement through your good offices. Given the way they grovel, you have become too accustomed to sycophancy to understand independence of mind.’
‘Tell me, Pearce, what is it that you would most like?’
That required no thought at all, and the reply was swift. ‘I want to go home to England, taking with me my friends, and I would like to do so with the evidence necessary to bring a case against Ralph Barclay.’
Parker smiled at him, but it was the look of a cat who had just got the cream. ‘And here you are in the presence of the only people who can give you what you seek.’
‘Which,’ Hood growled, ‘might induce a small display of good manners.’ He turned to talk to Parker, doing so as if the subject was not present. ‘It is in the blood, Parker, this stripling is his father’s son. The only thing they respond to is chastisement, preferably in a prison.’
‘A little honesty would not go amiss,’ John Pearce snapped.
Hood ignored him. ‘The papers, Parker.’
Staggering over to a foot locker, for the flagship was moving a great deal on the swell, Parker retrieved a bundle of papers, tied with a thick red ribbon, which Pearce suspected were the records of Barclay’s court martial. These he laid on the table in front of Hood, well out of arm’s reach of the man most keen to examine them. Hood untied the ribbon and took a single sheet from the top, passing it over for Pearce to read.
‘This is my confirmation of the sentence passed by the court, namely that Captain Barclay be reprimanded for poor judgement etcetera. I need not go on, you know the rest.’
Pearce looked down at the lines of writing, and felt his mood sink a little as he saw the confirmation of Barclay’s risible sentence.
‘Read the last two paragraphs, Pearce, before you damn me.’
That he did, to see that Hood had finished with a bit of equivocation…
I beg also to inform your Lordships that under the pressure of overseeing the defence of Toulon, I was obliged to place this matter in the hands of Vice Admiral Sir William Hotham, and he was most assiduous in choosing those officers designated to sit in judgement of Captain Barclay, a list of which is attached to the court records, as is the name of the prosecuting officer appointed by my second-in-command.
I cannot help but feel that, given the charge, and having in mind the needs of the service, both he and the court viewed the alleged offence in an over sympathetic light, yet I would also add that to find any group of captains who would condemn an officer of the same rank is never easy, even if the charge levelled has some basis in fact.
I am your etc,
Samuel, Lord Hood.
‘There is not an officer born, Pearce, reading that paragraph, then turning to the list of captains or knowing the booby Hotham appointed as prosecutor, who will not know that the whole thing was rigged to get a specific result.’
John Pearce looked the admiral right in the eye. ‘Then why not come right out and say so?’
‘The Navy does not work like that, Pearce,’ said Parker. Seeing the man he was addressing swell up to condemn the institution, he raised his hand to stop whatever Pearce was about to say. ‘Lord Hood was obliged, for very sound reasons, to commit himself to a confirmation prior to the court martial taking place.’
‘I am not much given to speaking in my own defence,’ Hood insisted, ‘but the needs of securing the port took precedence over a minor matter like this.’
‘It may be a minor matter to you, sir.’
‘Damn it, Parker,’ Hood cawed, his face alight in false shock, ‘the sod actually called me “sir”.’
The flash of humour did not last, the thick grey eyebrows closing over that prominent nose.
‘I needed to get those damned French sailors out of Toulon, and that required Hotham’s support. Letting him arrange Barclay’s court was the price, and if you ever repeat that I will deny ever having said it.’
Parker, ever the diplomat, cut in with a softer tone. ‘I feel the need to explain something to you, Lieutenant Pearce.’
‘Like what, sir, that expediency overrides obligation?’
‘Like this, sir! If you wish to bring a case for perjury against Captain Barclay it will have to be done in a Court of King’s Bench, for the Admiralty Court will not touch this with a bargepole. What Lord Hood has done is to warn them against the notion of defending the action with all the means at their disposal, which I can assure you are considerable, especially when a verdict unfavourable to the service may besmirch the reputation of a very political admiral like Sir William Hotham.’
The two looked at each other in a way that had Pearce wondering what it was they were not saying, but put out of his mind any thought of asking; they would only fob him off. Hood spoke again, in a voice with a trace of weariness; he was not often obliged to explain himself to mere lieutenants and the need to do so was obviously tiresome.
‘These papers must go off to the Admiralty at some point, but you will be much advantaged if you have a fair copy of the court record. That you must do with your own hand.’
John Pearce was shocked. ‘My own hand?’
‘I will not entrust it to one of my secretaries for the very good reason that to do so might alert certain parties to the fact that you are in possession of the information, thus allowing them to prepare to meet whatever challenge you throw at them.’
‘You cannot trust your own secretar
ies?’
In the split second following that outburst John Pearce realised he was being naive; of course Hood would not allot the task to one of his secretaries, given he had no intention of ever admitting the records had been viewed by anyone other than those with the right to do so. Yet the older man clearly felt he had to say something.
‘Let us say, I prefer not to take the risk of trusting them. Now let us conclude this discussion and move on.’ Hood slapped the bundle of papers, sending up a small cloud of dust. ‘You need this, but you will also need witnesses, at least one who will attest to the fact that any testimony they gave was false. How easy do you think that will be, given they are all sailors and beholden to the man you wish to accuse?’
‘Not easy, I grant you. But once a writ is issued…’
‘You won’t get one, Pearce, unless you have testimony, either in person or in writing.’
‘Are you offering to use your good offices to provide them?’
‘No, I am not, but I might just be able to ensure that some of the witnesses are in home ports and available for subpoena, like the very men you claimed were illegally pressed and those serving aboard HMS Brilliant.’
Pearce looked hard at him; the admiral was offering to give him everything he wanted, and there had to be a reason. ‘You said a moment ago that we needed to move on. To what, may I ask?’
‘A small mission we wish you to undertake.’
‘No.’
Hood hit the papers again. ‘Then these, Pearce, go back in that locker, and you will never get sight of them again.’
‘There is no risk in this mission,’ Parker insisted.
‘I seem to recall,’ Pearce snapped, ‘that you said that before and on both occasions my life was most definitely in danger.’
‘I cannot think you will be in danger in Naples.’
‘They are our allies,’ Hood added, nodding to Parker to continue.
‘We are going to be open with you, Lieutenant…’
‘I will struggle to cope,’ Pearce replied.
The Admirals' Game Page 13
