‘Digby did not want to let me ashore,’ Pearce sighed, holding up the package he was carrying. ‘He deduced that Emily must be here, I think from my mere request, having met Emily in Leghorn.’
‘Might not have been a guess, happen someone let slip, one of those coves you were so hard on when we was marching.’
‘I never thought of that.’
‘Could have been anyone, mind, when the captain was acting friendly, just letting on you had a sweetheart. What is to happen now?’
‘Don’t tell me the crew don’t know.’
That made Michael smile. ‘In truth and for once, they don’t.’
Sweeping through the streets and crowds of Naples, sweeter smelling now than he recalled due to the recent downpour which had washed much of the filth into the sea, Pearce outlined the mission and how it had come about to a friend who seemed to have a frown that deepened with each word.
‘You don’t seem thrilled.’
‘Sounds to me as if someone might be tying knots.’
‘Barclay?’
‘He arrives and this rears up.’
‘No, it was a problem before that, I checked.’
‘Have you not thought on the chance it is you he is after, not just Mrs Barclay?’
‘When will you ever call her Emily?’
‘One day, John-boy, but not yet this one.’
‘If he can harm me he will and if he can find Emily unprotected then, given the lengths he went to in London, there are no limits to the possibilities.’
‘He will have his tame admiral to help him and from the way you talk he is in the steep tub too.’
Pearce laughed. ‘Two things, Michael, of which I can absolutely assure you and I thought this through before accepting the mission. One is that Barclay, even if he has come in pursuit of Emily, would forebear to tell anyone, even Hotham, that his wife has run off. The other thing he will keep silent about is the court martial papers presently in the safe of Alexander Davidson, or of his failure to recover them by downright theft, which leaves Hotham utterly unaware of how much he is at risk.’
‘Sure are you, John-boy?’
‘Barclay admit he’s a cuckold? The man would rather give up his one good arm. Tell his tame admiral that he is implicated and how deep that is. He might as well beach himself and kiss goodbye to his career. Hotham would disown him.’
Pearce chuckled to add assurance to his words, ‘Do you not think I have not considered all this Michael, looked at it from every angle? I have, I assure you and I know our man. Barclay will keep his mouth shut and seek to find Emily by means other than using Hotham or any other naval officer. As to knots, you have to look at who knows what and as of this moment there is only one person who can see every card and that is me.’
‘Would it trouble you if I said that you have not always had the right of things?’
‘That I accept, but not now.’ He looked at the steep incline that led to the Palazzo Sessa, home to Sir William and Lady Hamilton. ‘Time to get out and walk, this thing will never get up the hill.’
In what had to be a flying visit time alone with Emily was severely restricted. The ambassador had to be indulged with the latest chatter from the fleet, which included the news of the departure of Lord Hood. Pearce was pressed for an honest assessment of Hotham as a replacement for Hood, one he was careful to gild with impressions that went against his own observations; it was not wise, even for someone like him, to traduce the admiral when he had no idea if the words he used would remain confidential.
Hamilton knew little of Mehmet Pasha and so could not add to the sum of Pearce’s knowledge. Besides the old man was eager to get off a subject that clearly failed to interest him and onto one that did: his latest find in his dig at Pompeii, with Pearce having to turn down an invitation to go and observe a wall painted with the most interesting figures engaged in a great variety of carnal activity.
‘Sir, I am not on this occasion the master of my own time.’
‘Pity. The place I would hazard was an ancient bagnio. Some of the ladies on display are damned fetching even now and it is a fine example of the lack of hypocrisy in the ancient world the way they display their repertoire.’
‘A bagnio, places which I try to avoid, sir, in the time in which we live.’
‘I never did, Mr Pearce. Can’t see how a young man makes his way in life without a bit of paid-for dalliance to show him the ropes. Not that I partake now of course, quite apart from the restrictions of age there is my position, though I confess to missing the excitement.’
‘Your wife led me to believe there was scarce a need in Naples.’
‘Aye, depravity is rife, which I believe can be put down to the climate.’
The ambassador engaged him longer than he wanted or could afford and then there was Lady Hamilton, present with Emily for most of the time he spent with her, singing the praises of what she called her charge, praised for her beauty at every entertainment or ball they attended, but in a way that was designed to flatter the giver rather than the receiver. On the few occasions he managed to break eye contact with her and look at Emily he saw that the happiness of which her hostess boasted was not replicated in her face, a truth acknowledged in the half hour they had alone all of which was spent in quiet conversation.
‘You are not content.’
‘There are many things to cause me to be so.’
‘Emily, much as I want to be by your side I cannot do so.’ That got a sad nod but no hint of complaint. ‘It is Lady Hamilton is not?’
‘I think she tries to mean well, John, it is merely that she cannot help herself. She assumes everyone is traducing her behind her back, referring to her lowly origins and her supposed past debaucheries. Thus she is armed to defend herself even when there is no need.’
‘And Naples,’ he asked, to get off a subject about which he could do nothing.
‘Pleasant enough and, if you discount the level of lawlessness in certain parts of the city, then it is as good a place as any to reside. Added to which, if anyone knows of my station they make no allusion to it in either word or deeds.’
‘Lady Hamilton did tell me that an uxorious married couple are seen as exceptional hereabouts.’
‘Then happen I have found my natural milieu.’
That was imparted in a tone larded with underlying waspishness, which left John Pearce out on a limb; to talk of a movement or any improvement in her present situation was out of the question. To act as if all was well was equally inappropriate and then there was his lack of time; he had to get back to the ship.
‘The mission I am engaged on will not take more than a few weeks, hopefully even less. I will seek to return to the fleet via Naples and then we may talk at greater length about what we can do. Now grant me a kiss before I depart and know in your heart that I have dedicated my life to your happiness.’
Back in the hack he was feeling low. Michael, who had been in the Palazzo kitchens and had consumed enough wine to loosen his tongue, posed the obvious question. ‘Did you tell Mrs Barclay that her man is now with the fleet?’
‘No I did not. She has enough to concern her without adding that. And he is not her man, I am.’
CHAPTER NINETEEN
In the atmosphere aboard HMS Flirt the man caught in the middle was the marine lieutenant, and officer of inferior rank to both sailors for that was the nature of the different services: as an equal he might have damned them both when he found himself required to be polite. It was to his credit that Grey was an engaging character, slim, good looking in a slightly foppish way, with fair curls and clear skin added to an insouciant wit and a drawling manner of speech. He also took added care not ruffle what was an already testing situation.
At first Pearce was surprised at the continuing distance kept by Henry Digby, given it flew in the face of the kind of naval conventions to which the man must have wished to adhere, that before he came to realise he was equally at fault. He was far from sure an apology would achieve anyt
hing but there was never a moment when he considered making one.
So Grey found himself pig in the middle, dining alone with the captain, then with Pearce and careful to avoid talking about one with the other, which was a pity for had he done so it might have explained to both the differing attitudes and some reason for the depth of the split. Digby had come from an unhappy wardroom to this with his hopes high only to find within days of taking independent command, that a man whom he felt owed him a great deal was challenging his authority in a way only too reminiscent of Taberly, who had constantly undermined him aboard Leander.
He might have told Digby that Pearce saw his attitude to the relationship he had formed as ridiculously old-fashioned; Emily was never named to the marine nor was the actual relationship, it was all kept in the area of general conversation. Here they were approaching the end of the eighteenth century and he was serving under a man who could not see the flaws in his deep religious convictions.
For a man who had experienced the intellects of Paris, in the salons of men and women whose fame was not confined by state borders and who held that enlightenment barred the crudities of dogma, it was difficult to accept that anyone could still hold to such tenets. There was no aim on the part of Pearce to deny him the right to his faith; to him that was matter for each man’s conscience. He wanted Digby just to accept that in many quarters it was not shared.
The crew were now wary, which thankfully had no effect on their efficiency. They went about their tasks as they should and when called upon to show skill in their sail drill never once failed to impress. The guns were run in and out daily and as they changed course to round the toe of Italy, Digby allowed them some powder and shot with which to practise proper gunnery, the pity evident in every eye that there was no prize in the offing and it was a dumb show; every vessel spotted might as well be either a neutral or an ally for their commander never changed course to investigate.
‘I must say, Mr Pearce if I have to exercise my men one more time on that damned crammed forepeak I shall go mad. How many times can a man bayonet a bag stuffed with tow and be entertained.’
‘You are not alone, Mr Grey, in belonging to service full of monotony.’
‘Which will soon apply to the food, sir.’
Pearce looked at his empty plate, having just finished their dinner and had to acknowledge that was true; what had been taken on fresh at Naples would soon be gone and the biscuit was hardening and attracting more weevils by the hour. They continued a desultory conversation about some modern methods of preservation being proposed when the cry from the masthead had Dorling send down a messenger to Captain Digby, dining alone, an act which could not but alert this pair as well.
‘Lookout,’ Dorling imparted quietly as they came on deck, ‘has sighted a merchantman and taken leave to suggest she might be in distress, her upper canvas don’t look right.’
‘She is right on our course, so we lose nothing by having a look. Mr Pearce we require more sail, let us close at our best speed.’
The cry of all hands he emitted without the use of his trumpet; Pearce disliked the posing he reckoned such an instrument engendered on such a small ship; best that it be saved for storm conditions. Flirt had been sailing easy under courses and topsails, now to that was added topgallants and kites, while the spanker was let out to expose more canvas to take what was fair breeze.
At each addition the deck of the brig canted a fraction more until with all set and closing fast on a vessel now hull up, it became wise to take hold of something to maintain upright comfort. There was joy in this even for John Pearce and that he could see was replicated in the faces of both Digby and Grey, for HMS Flirt was a flyer and stiff with it, built to be by the man whose name adorned the brass plaque sunk into the binnacle; Thomas Allen of Dover, Kent.
That the rigging of the merchant vessel was tattered became increasingly obvious the closer they came, ropes flying hither and thither in the wind while what canvas they had aloft was shot through with holes, as was the flag of the Levant Company flying from her stern. The other obvious fact was that she was low in the water, denoting a full cargo. It seemed, if the crew had been engaged in repairs, having spotted their flag flying stiffly to larboard they had abandoned that to line the rail and cheer, not that the sound could be yet heard.
‘Aloft there, keep a sharp eye out to the east,’ Digby shouted before adding, to no one in particular, ‘that fellow was not the cause his own damage and if they are still repairing it cannot have been long inflicted.’
‘Clear for action, sir?’ Pearce asked.
‘When I decide to do so Mr Pearce be assured I will tell you.’
None could miss the angry flush that produced; to be cold and distant was one thing; to openly put his premier down in public was another. ‘I bow to your greater experience of battle, sir.’
That made Digby physically jerk it having been said loud enough for many an ear to catch, even if the wind was whistling in the rigging. The captain might command the vessel but there was not man aboard who did not know that when it came to combat John Pearce had, by several cables, the superior familiarity and reputation; those who did not know before, like Grey’s marines, had been put well in the picture by the crew.
The silence that ensued spoke as many volumes as would a normal conversation, there being no further speculation of what had caused this merchant vessel to be in distress. Clearly she had been in some kind of exchange of gunfire and normally mention of what with and when would have been rife.
Finally as they closed to within hailing distance, Digby spoke. ‘Mr Grey, you will oblige me by forming and leading a boarding party. I need to know what has occurred and, if there is a man still in command that he be fetched aboard to tell us the details.’
Pearce said nothing; that was an order and duty that should have fallen to him. The fact that Grey was just as aware was evident in his face and his startled blue eyes, leaving the man who should have received the order wondering if he would refuse, an act that would put him too at odds with the captain.
‘I wish you joy of the enterprise, sir,’ came the swift remark.
That had the marine snap a look at Pearce, who nodded, which was his way of telling him to proceed; things were bad enough aboard without another spat adding to the atmosphere. Pearce now grabbed his speaking trumpet and without asking yelled out a question to the merchantman.
‘Ship ahoy, your name and port.’
‘Lady Massington out of London.’
‘Is your captain still in command?’
‘No, sir, he is below with a wound and the first mate is dead.’
‘Is the captain well enough to talk?’
‘He is.’
‘Tell them to prepare to receive a party aboard,’ Digby said, in manner that implied he felt his prerogatives were being stolen, a command with which Pearce complied. ‘Mr Dorling, let fly the sheets.’
The crew of the cutter, with Tilley now confirmed as coxswain, had the boat over the side and manned in short order, even before Flirt fully lost way, with Grey and four of his marines quick to board as soon as it was in the water. The merchant vessel had likewise loosened what she had left aloft so that both ships sat riding on the swell, with Digby ordering enough set to maintain a safe distance. Time passed before the marine, having gone below, reappeared on the deck to call over, using another speaking trumpet to tell his commander that the captain was in a bad way.
‘I have advised him, sir that we do not carry a surgeon and so he has requested that we take him aboard for a faster voyage to the nearest port.’
Digby held out his hand for the speaking trumpet, which Pearce handed over. ‘Please advise him that my duty does not permit of such a thing. Is there anyone aboard who can navigate?’
‘I’ll enquire,’ Grey replied, before disappearing.
‘Mr Dorling, just in case please prepare a course for Gallipoli, which I hazard is the nearest port of any size to where we presently are. Even if they are
at a stand the Gulf of Taranto is just over the horizon and once they sight land they can shape a course by sight.’
Grey reappeared. ‘No one claims the skill, sir.’
‘Very well, return and report.’
Which Grey did and if Digby had wanted to bar Pearce from a share of the information he was wise enough to know that was a poor notion. They assembled in the cabin and Grey gave an account of what had happened, first telling that the captain he had questioned did not seem to him to be in immediate danger of expiring. He had a wound to the chest from a grape shot ball but nowhere near his vital organs
‘Three deep laden Levant traders out of Acre and bound for home, sir, two of them French—’
‘French?’ Digby snarled, ‘Massington should have been fighting them not sailing with them.’
‘The captain had put enmity to one side sir, in favour of mutual security. They intended to part company off the heel of Italy.’
‘A lot of good it did him.’
‘They were intercepted by two pirate vessels flying the crescent flag—’
‘Did they say what kind of vessels they were?’ Pearce demanded, which got a jaundiced look from Digby and an impatient one from Grey, who was miffed at again being interrupted.
‘No, sir.’
‘It matters not, Mr Grey, please continue.’
‘The two Frenchies have been taken and Massington only got clear because the rogues were too occupied with the other captures to prevent it.’
Pearce, frustrated that Digby had not asked the obvious question, butted in again. ‘How long ago since this happened.’
‘That too is of no account,’ Digby snapped as Grey blushed; clearly he had not put a question that would have been the very first posed by a naval officer.
‘Sir, if it was very recent we might be able to reverse the situation.’
‘We will not, Mr Pearce, for we will not deviate from our course to do so.’
‘Which, sir, flies in the face of our standing duty.’
The Devil to Pay Page 23
