A Divided Command

by David Donachie

  ‘I dare say,’ Sir William continued, with a wry smile, ‘he sent you his undying affection once more?’

  ‘Suffice to say,’ his wife responded, in what Pearce took to be an intimate jest, ‘his ardour seems to have moved to a higher plane, so much so that he fears for you to be privy to it.’

  ‘How little he really knows me, my dear.’

  ‘True and it is yours to read if you so desire.’

  ‘I would not dream of doing so, unless it is your wish.’

  ‘Let us see what he has to say,’ Emma replied with an indulgent smile, before turning to Pearce. ‘Lieutenant, I bid you good night and if I do not see you of the morning I wish you bon voyage.’

  Both men were on their feet as she stood, Pearce bowing. Her husband spoke as she left the room and Pearce was not sure she was out of earshot.

  ‘My wife was quite taken with Nelson, which surprised me, for much as I admire his acuity when it comes to a strategy in fighting the French, I do not see him as a cooing swain of the type to tug at the heart of a woman of experience.’

  ‘You do not object that he chooses on this occasion to write to your wife without your knowledge?’

  ‘Good Lord No!’ He seemed shocked by the question, though Pearce thought that a touch exaggerated. ‘What gentleman could possibly object to another man finding his wife attractive, and who, Lieutenant, would want to live with such a creature? I have known men, friends even, who have seen fit to tie themselves to ladies not of unsurpassing comeliness to avoid anxiety and never seen the sense of it, jealousy being such a tedious emotion. Now, bring your wine and prepare to be entertained, for I will show you that the ancients had no such concerns.’

  The chamber into which the ambassador led Pearce was packed with virtu of the kind that enthralled the learned of London and filled the houses of rich men returning from their Grand Tour, most of which he had seen on his previous visit, only then his guide had been an unshockable Emma Hamilton, though there were some new additions. The main collection consisted of white marble statuary showing nude studies of both sexes, noble busts of both gods and mere mortals, as well as salvers, platters, plates and drinking vessels, some gold, many more fired clay, all of which were decorated with complex motifs.

  Some were pastoral scenes, shepherds or flower-gathering maidens, but most were the exact opposite and were so lewd in their artwork, showing every kind of sexual variation, that Pearce found himself engaged in the same conversation he had shared with Sir William’s wife, including, without being specific about the reasons, of his sojourn in Paris. As before he alluded to the kind of drawing he had seen displayed under the colonnades of the Palais Royale in Paris, home to the Duc d’Orléans, jealous cousin to King Louis and held by many to be the pornographer–in-chief.

  Many had been salacious representations of Marie Antoinette, accusing her in graphic detail of a Sapphic love for her favourite, the Princess de Lamballe, but the denigration was not confined to that either in stories or art. The Queen was seen in congress with priests, demons and a multitude of animals, none of which, from what the Pearces, père et fils, could gather, having any relation to truth. Whatever their real purpose, they had done much to undermine the rule of her husband, which suited d’Orleans.

  ‘Crude by comparison, Mr Pearce, bad art and designed merely to shock.’

  ‘These Roman artefacts were not?’

  ‘Look at the quality of what is before you.’

  ‘It is certainly superior to what I observed in Paris, but one cannot help wonder at such open representation.’

  ‘I do not think the ancients thought as we do. They saw life for what it was, not what some of our more sober Puritans would have us believe. The good folk of Naples are not much more reticent, though they do draw the line at some things.’

  Sir William produced the kind of lopsided grin men use to share a confidence. ‘There is a sculpture in the bowels of the royal palace, dug up from what was a large garden in Pompeii, that shows the great god Pan copulating with a she-goat. Few are allowed to gaze upon it lest it corrupt their minds and tempt them to paganism. I am one of those who have been lucky enough to do so.’

  ‘I’m not sure I would rush to emulate that luck.’

  ‘It is the finest thing, sir, if earthy in the extreme. My dear wife fumes at being banned from viewing it herself.’

  ‘I am aware that Lady Hamilton is familiar with your personal collection and does not find it shocking?’

  ‘Of course not, for if my dear wife has one quality that I esteem it is her lack of hypocrisy.’

  ‘Which is a gift I too admire.’

  ‘Do you admire Emma, Lieutenant?’

  Careful Pearce; you cannot say yes or no. ‘Not in the way your question implies, sir.’

  ‘She tends to collect admirers.’

  ‘Let us say that I value her charm.’

  Sir William was examining a large vase not far off his own height, one he had already shown proudly to Pearce as one of the high points of his finds, which depicted a rather detailed orgy involving numerous couplings. Added to that he had a certain wistful look on his face as he spoke.

  ‘Time to retire, I think. You will find my replies to Lord Hood waiting for you in the morning, Lieutenant. Good night.’

  Pearce had trouble getting to sleep, for the Palazzo Sessa was not a quiet establishment; there was the noise of servants finishing their daily tasks, walls and floors that seemed to creek endlessly and after the day he had just had there was a residual suspicion that his privacy might not be respected.

  But sleep came eventually and it was deep enough to last until he was woken by the first light of morning. He was up and ready to exit the palazzo quickly, and as promised there were return despatches waiting for him as well as two letters addressed to Commodore Nelson, one in a spidery hand and smelling of lemons he assumed to be that of Lady Hamilton.

  He could not fault the ambassador for care; the same fiacre that had brought him the day before was waiting by the gate to take him back, a more pleasant journey in the cool of the morning. On the quay he bespoke a local boat to take him out to his ship, idly noting that several vessels had weighed with the dawn and were now well out to sea.

  Aboard HMS Larcher they jumped to it when they saw him approach and he was piped aboard with all ceremony, though when he smiled he wondered why no one would catch his eye, and that slight confusion was multiplied by a large factor when he entered his cabin. He was standing, not believing what he was seeing, when Michael entered behind him to tell him what had occurred in his absence. John Pearce was back on deck as soon as he finished, yelling like a banshee.

  ‘Mr Dorling, all hands to weigh immediately and set me a course for Palermo.’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Hodgeson the thief taker was still in pursuit of Cornelius Gherson, though without the same level of attention he had given to finding Emily Barclay, this for the very simple reason that the man who engaged him had, in every conversation they had shared, put more emphasis on the lady than the man. If there was a hint of doubt in Hodgeson’s mind as to the seriousness of this particular task it was no more than that until he met a possible source of good information.

  It mattered not that he was a fellow so low in character that the sewer rats of London would avoid his company; it was necessary to stoop to discover and Jonathan Codge inhabited a world that knew the likes of Hodgeson only too well. Usually its denizens took good care to avoid him and his ilk, for they lived outside the law, yet when he entered the grimy and dim basement tavern where Codge held court no one made a quick exit, for to do so would only arouse suspicion.

  The man being sought was at his usual table and was, as always – and this was a mystery to any person of sense – surrounded by a small coterie of acolytes who seemed to hang on his every word, and there was no shortage of those. Codge had an opinion on everything as well as a particular fondness for singing his own praises. Needless to say, he was a man never to be
found in the wrong.

  ‘I’ve come to see you, Codge,’ Hodgeson said softly, standing over him, though far enough back to avoid appearing intimidating.

  Codge did not look up as he replied. ‘Happen I don’t want to see you.’

  ‘Never known you blink at a chance to make money.’

  The mention of potential profit had Codge’s drinking companions sit forward eagerly – only the man himself did not move – and Hodgeson threw a raking glance which told him that he did not know their faces. Such a fact came as no surprise, for to be a follower of Codge was to risk being the one to take the fall for his actions – many had gone that route – yet there never seemed to be a shortage of fools willing to fill the places of those that had already been betrayed. This was just his latest batch of dupes.

  Codge spun up and out of his bench seat and nodded to Hodgeson, who followed him to another part of the tavern, a place so small and crowded that they were barely out of earshot or elbow space. Those in occupation of the required spot shifted at a growl, for Codge was not a man to lightly cross, being a big and handy bully as well as free with his fists. What followed had to be carried out in whispers, with their heads close together.

  ‘I am on the lookout for a cove called Cornelius Gherson.’

  ‘What makes you think I might know of him?’

  ‘I learnt long ago that if you want to know what’s afoot in the rookeries there is only one person to ask and that’s you.’

  The statement was not true, but it never did any harm to flatter to excess this particular villain, who had no idea that such a thing as excess in that line existed.

  ‘What is he wanted for?’

  ‘Do I take it you know him?’

  ‘Never said that, did I?’

  ‘It’s a private enquiry, nothing to do with the law, which is why it pays.’

  ‘If I did know of him, or could find out, I wouldn’t want to do anything that might drop an innocent into the pit, so knowing of the purpose …’

  Hodgeson had established something long ago when talking to the likes of this man: there was as much in what they did not say as the words employed. Even if he could not be certain, he had a strong feeling that Codge knew Gherson and might even know his whereabouts. Given he would sell his own mother for a tankard of flat beer the notion that he might protect anyone was close to a joke.

  ‘Happen you could put the word out, Codge; folk will tell you things they would keep close with others.’

  ‘For half a guinea?’ That was steep, but Hodgeson nodded. ‘With maybe a whole one or more for the wherefore?’

  The thief taker did not respond to that; it never would do to commit too early to a payment. ‘I can give you a description.’

  When that was provided something strange happened, especially with a man who kept everything so close; it was said of him that the left hand never knew what the right hand was about and certainly none of the scallywags he shared ale with ever knew the whole tale of anything in which he involved them, this so he could ditch them to the Runners if his crimes went awry. Yet as Hodgeson provided the details he had been given by Edward Druce, Codge snorted in a way that indicated he was trying not to laugh. It was brief and soon controlled, but it was evident and troubling.

  ‘I’ll ask about. Don’t know the fellow at all, but by that likeness he should be easy to spot, that is if he is in my bailiwick.’

  Hodgeson was thinking how wrong that was – there was no end of folk like that in London – but he said nothing. The two heads had parted slightly and even in the dim light the thief taker could see that the look on his face, especially his eyes, was far from right, it was too opaque. Nor was he convinced by the tone of Codge’s voice. He was obliged to the half guinea and that he handed over, unconcerned, for it was prize agent money not his own, but as he gave instructions as to where any news should be sent he was troubled.

  Once he had left those feelings would have multiplied had he heard what was said. When Codge was back at his usual table he launched into a discussion on the best way to make a profit out of a hunt for a felon: to tell the thief taker where to find him, or to tell the quarry he was being sought and charge him for silence?

  In the long walk back to the Strand Hodgeson had much time to think, this when he was not eyeing up the coves that loitered in doorways and on street corners with no apparent purpose, to see if he recognised any of them, making sure as well that no light fingers got too close to the pockets of his coat.

  In his game there was no code of honour but there was a need to be on guard, for it was not unknown for a man in pursuit of a lawbreaker to fall foul of that very same regulator himself, and right of this moment Hodgeson was not comfortable.

  There had been reservations about the hunt for Emily Barclay, a feeling that her husband, who was a choleric individual, might, when and if Hodgeson found her, act in a manner to cause more trouble than peace. Indeed, he might inflict physical harm on the lady and that extended to the notion, at the very edge of Hodgeson’s concerns, that he might do murder.

  In laying out this fact to Edward Druce there had been a modicum of compassion for Mrs Barclay, yet there was as much concern for himself, for what man knew, when blame was being apportioned for a crime, who would be caught up in its tangles?

  If his thoughts on this Gherson fellow were not of the same order they were manifest. Disquiet was not a feeling he enjoyed and there was only one place he could lay that to rest, even if, in the process, he might find himself out of employment. His last thought, as he entered the offices of Ommany and Druce, was that it would be wise to get his bill to date settled before he sought clarity.

  ‘I believe I have found this Gherson fellow, Mr Druce.’

  When it came to hiding his feelings, Codge might be rated the past master, but Edward Druce was a novice. The blood quite literally drained from his face and when he replied his voice was croaked.

  ‘Where?’

  ‘That is, as yet, unknown to me, but I have found a fellow who knows him well and is sure he can lead me to him in days, if not hours.’

  The silence that followed confirmed all of Hodgeson’s misgivings. There was no joy in his employer’s face, quite the reverse and Druce had begun to fidget, which to a thief taker of many years’ experience was a sure sign of a fellow preparing to lie. Time to lay out his cards.

  ‘Question is, Mr Druce, do you really want him found?’

  ‘What makes you say that man?’ The sharp tone was bluster and very obviously so.

  ‘Would you be kind enough, sir, to describe his appearance to me once more.’

  Another long and telling pause followed. ‘Am I to understand it does not tally with what your informant says?’

  God, Hodgeson thought, you might be good at making money, Mr Druce, but don’t you ever go outside the law for there’s only one place you will end up and that is with a noose round your neck.

  ‘Black hair, you said, swarthy complexion, ugly to look at and maybe a touch of the tar brush …’

  ‘Yes, well.’

  Hodgeson merely opened his hands in silent enquiry and it was several seconds until Druce spoke again.

  ‘There are certain things I am not at liberty to tell you.’

  ‘Which brings me back to my first question, sir: do you want him found?’

  Druce was fidgeting again, hands opening and closing, then the fingers of one drumming on the desk, this while the man opposite employed silence, the proven tool of interrogation.

  ‘Mr Hodgeson,’ Druce said finally, ‘I am wondering how much faith I can place in you?’

  ‘You are paying me, sir, I am therefore yours to instruct.’

  ‘It may not be that simple.’

  ‘I’ve been plying my trade for many a year, sir, and I will tell you that not every act I have performed has been on the strict side of the law, not that I will tell you the circumstances, you understand. But I have one rule and that is the man who pays is the person for whom I act, th
ough I will never put myself at risk of the hand of the law on my own collar, even for a stipend.’

  ‘I find myself in a bind.’

  ‘Then I might just be the man to ease it.’

  It came out in dribs, drabs and many a stutter, about the relative with a wife half his age who had been cuckolded by said Gherson and was so incensed he wanted the man dealt with. How he, Druce, had been engaged to find the miscreant.

  ‘Why you, sir?’

  The prize agent was reluctant to answer that, but obviously concluded his story would not hold water if he did not. ‘I have contacts with the Impress Service and provided him with assistance before.’

  ‘A rough bunch indeed, sir.’

  Druce replied with real haste. ‘Not that I knew the nature of his intentions when I sent them to him. I thought the aim was a sound beating, which, given the way Gherson had both compromised the lady of the house and stolen money, was not too harsh a punishment.’

  ‘And they went beyond that?’

  Hodgeson listened to the tale of Gherson being thrown off London Bridge into a raging torrent that should have drowned and mutilated him – Druce was relieved it had not and had been angry when told. The man had not only survived but surfaced again and had obviously thwarted the same relative once more. He was now open in his desire to have the man found and taken care of. If he had tried to kill him once, there could be no doubt of his purpose now.

  When Druce told him that Gherson was clerk to Captain Ralph Barclay, it took all of Hodgeson’s self-control to keep a straight face, this while he wondered at what kind of web he was in. He listened in silence as his employer insisted that Gherson was a valuable go-between and that it would not aid the firm if any harm came to him, quite apart from any reluctance to become involved in an act of violence.

  ‘You have not named this relative, sir.’ Druce made to speak, no doubt to say that he would never do so, but a held-up hand saved him the trouble. ‘Nor will I ask for that unless I find it necessary. What I ask now is what is needed?’