A Treacherous Coast

by David Donachie

  ‘Brought you, Emily. I want no part of it.’

  Delivered in a cold tone it carried more truth than any of his previous clamour. A position never previously stated, but one he had determined on very soon after Emily had outlined the future she envisaged for them both, it was one on which Pearce knew her to be unshakable.

  ‘Just so I make myself plain, I will not accept so much as a biscuit on Ralph Barclay’s account. As to your proposition that I turn into some provincial nonentity, and pay happy lip service to a mode of existence I despise, that will not happen either. I came here today to ask that you leave Leghorn for Naples, where we can enlist the good offices of Lady Hamilton.’

  ‘I am to go to Naples, not you?’

  ‘Our good friend Michael talked to me of the way being with child changes a woman. What he saw as less obvious was how it also affects a putative father. If I am to be that, and regardless of it being a boy or a girl, I would want the child to be proud of me. That cannot be achieved as little more than a kept man and, as of this moment, I am at a loss to know what else I could do to realise a good opinion. But, for all its apparent drawbacks, I am a naval officer in the midst of a war and I already know that such an estate brings with it opportunity for gain.’

  ‘You hate the navy,’ she replied quietly.

  ‘I would hate idleness more. I would hate to be locked into a society where I suspect my being would be screaming with boredom. You know me enough, I hope, to be certain I would not be able to hold my tongue if I were faced with opinions I both detest and know to be wrong. Could you not tell of my reservations when, having rescued you from captivity, I volunteered to serve aboard Spark?’

  ‘Perhaps I was foolish enough to assume you went to sea in order to mitigate any chance of embarrassing me.’

  ‘I required time to think, to seek to formulate an argument that might persuade you that I am right and you are wrong. I want to be with you more than anything I can think of. I want that I should be acknowledged as the father of my child and I don’t give a damn who thinks it untoward. But I am not prepared to become that which you wish me to be to achieve it.’

  ‘You would have it christened in your name and proclaim to the world that it was illegitimately conceived?’

  ‘Emily, I would not have it christened at all, except to please you, and I can assure you the first person to make comment of the child that was not praiseworthy would find themselves facing me and risking that their loose tongue might cost them their life.’

  ‘You are as much a barbarian as my husband, then.’

  ‘That is not true and you know it.’

  ‘Do I? You come here in high dudgeon to tell me how I must live my life to please you —’

  ‘That is untrue and you know it. I come here with what I think is best for us both, as well as what will be added to that. We can be happy, but not with me as some foppish dependant. Surely you have come to know me better than that. Do you think you will be content as the mistress of some dwelling in a provincial town?’

  ‘I enjoyed a happy childhood in that provincial milieu you so despise.’

  ‘But you’re not the same person that departed as a bride. You have seen more of life in the last three years than the whole of the previous seventeen in total. You have seen the world, or part of it, broken vows it was unwise to have made, observed that when it comes to man dealing with their fellow human beings, unkindness is the norm not charity. Go to Naples and I, as soon as I can, will join you there.’

  The rap on the door was unfortunate, for Pearce felt his arguments were beginning to carry weight. One of the traits he loved in Emily was her courage, a mettle that had seen her defy Ralph Barclay even when he threatened her with disgrace. He would never be able to browbeat her into acquiescence; only a degree of logic plus a lack of an alternative to his notion of happiness might suffice. It was, of course, Lambert, come to tell him his presence was needed at the commissariat, where nothing could be released from the stores without him signing for it.

  ‘I have to go, Emily, but I want you to know that I love you with all my heart.’

  ‘Yet you’d have me be a naval widow, sat somewhere – and God only knows where that might be – while you are away at sea; alone with a new child you profess makes you proud, yet one you are quite willing to grow up as a stranger to you, while I could never be sure if you were alive or dead. At least my husband did not have such a fate in store for me.’

  ‘Please, do not ascribe to him anything but base motives. He took you to sea with him to save on his expenses. It was brought on by parsimony not affection.’

  ‘Tell me, John, what is the difference between your being at sea and not part of my life and being on land in the same estate? You seem to imply it is my silly upbringing that will cause a rift between us.’

  ‘I do not seek a rift, Emily.’

  ‘Is it not your pride that lies at the root of this? You would shame your child to protect it.’

  ‘That is not fair.’

  ‘Is it not? You wish to move me to Naples, where no doubt you would enlist Emma Hamilton to your cause.’ Pearce blushed slightly, exposing the truth of that. ‘What then? Our child is born. Do I remain in Naples hidden away from approbation while you sail the seven seas?’

  ‘I would find a solution in time, one that would be suitable to us both.’

  ‘No, John. I do not want for my child the peripatetic life you endured with your father, wandering the country with never a certainty as to where you would be laying your head.’

  ‘It was not endured!’

  ‘But it was not always comfortable, either. I know that, for you have told me.’

  ‘I would not have changed it.’

  ‘I know it has made you the man you are, a fellow in endless dispute, even, it seems, with the woman you purport to love.’

  ‘If you doubt that, I am at a loss as to what I might say.’

  ‘Love, John, brings with it often the need for sacrifice. I did that for you when we became lovers, abandoning everything I had been raised to believe in on the altar of how I felt for you.’

  Another rap at the door brought a message, and even if it was delivered in Italian, a language in which even the most mundane act was imbued with drama, it was clearly one that called upon Pearce to hurry. The only thing it did not achieve was to throw Emily off her point.

  ‘So when I ask that you do the same for me, I meet blank refusal. I have no desire and never have had to be a wandering itinerant. Even at our most desperate I envisaged a future where we would be settled with a home and a normal way of life, which even you must admit we have never had. So before you come to me with your ultimatum—’

  Pearce cut right across her and in anger. ‘It is not an ultimatum, Emily.’

  She was unnaturally calm in her response, which made it more telling than it would have been in passion. ‘I cannot see what else it can be. Do as I demand or our relationship must end.’

  ‘I have never even hinted that.’

  ‘How deep is a love that offers nothing but sorrow?’ she asked, the tone rhetorical. ‘Perhaps mine is supposed to be while yours is more shallow, more that of your gender than mine.’

  Pearce knew he had to depart, just as he knew that to do so on such a note would not serve. As soon as the stores were loaded, HMS Flirt had orders to get back to sea and the disguised blockade of Genoa. Even if he felt he was being traduced by wayward feminine logic, he knew not to slam any doors.

  ‘Emily, I can argue with admirals and bend them to my thinking. I have no fear to meet an enemy in battle and risk all to prevail. What I cannot do, it seems, is to even discuss with you what I consider best for us. I have made a proposal, which I hope you will consider in a calm manner, just as I hope you will see the sense of it. Now I ask that you favour me with a fitting farewell for I have to go back to my duties.’

  It was heartbreaking, once he had come close, to have to use a hand to bend her head round so that he could kiss her
, even more so that her lips were so cold.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  The arrival of Sir John Jervis, brought out to the Mediterranean in the frigate HMS Lively, sparked immediate change. Sir William Hotham had been a gentlemanly sort of fellow, who saw a certain degree of languor as befitting the role of a leader of men. Jervis was the polar opposite. Indeed, if anyone had told him he lacked the finer qualities required of a gentleman, he would have taken that as praise; his language was as salty as his demeanour, which came from serving near a decade as a youngster rated as an able seaman.

  His first command was that loitering in Leghorn was forbidden; Hotham had never minded a bit of laggardly behaviour, in which his officers, as well as those men trusted not to desert, had enjoyed a couple of extra days in port, able to sample the fleshpots and brothels if they were so inclined. For the more refined, they would partake of the opera and theatrical entertainments laid on by the locals.

  Jervis was a strict disciplinarian and would have none of it. If you were not at sea or under his personal gaze and ready to depart at the bang of a signal gun, you were failing in your duty and deserved to be beached. His attitude was no less severe with the lower deck and it was made plain to his captains that the best way to maintain good order was with frequent recourse to flogging.

  Nelson had sailed to San Fiorenzo Bay on notice of his arrival to have what he told everyone was a very testy interview with the C-in-C. He was soon back on his old beat but bad weather had brought all his vessels into Vado Bay. Being the man he was, despite it being a far from perfect place in which to shelter, the commodore had invited all the commanders and their premiers to dinner, a request that Pearce knew sat heavily on the mind of Henry Digby.

  Unbeknown to him, Digby had sent back a note to say he felt it unwise to leave HMS Flirt with only a midshipman in command and one yet to recover from a wound at that. The curt reply, also unmentioned, pointed out the brig was at anchor and hardly required a first lieutenant to look to its needs; so both men found themselves sharing a boat, wrapped in heavy cloaks to ward off both the cold and the sea spray, sitting in close proximity and total silence, as it was rowed towards HMS Agamemnon.

  Well aware of hierarchy and despite the disturbed sea, Digby stood off until all the post captains had gone through the entry port to be greeted with due ceremony. Only when the last, Taberly from HMS Brilliant, had hooked onto the gangway did he order the crew of the cutter to haul away, to then lean over and whisper in Pearce’s ear.

  ‘I would be most grateful, Mr Pearce, if you behaved with the modesty due to your rank and that you say or do nothing to embarrass the ship.’

  ‘A task I think I can safely leave to you, sir,’ was the equally quiet reply.

  ‘Damn me, I am minded to get rid of you.’

  ‘Then today presents an excellent opportunity. I am sure Commodore Nelson will oblige you, but not, I suspect, without asking some quite searching questions as to your reasons.’

  The name of the ship identified the man in command and Tilley, Digby’s coxswain, yelled it out in a voice loud enough to be heard on the mainmast cap, this as the cutter swung round to touch softly on the gangway base. Pearce was out first, convention having it that the superior officer should be the last to board, making his way to the entry port and the gloom of the interior, to watch as Digby was afforded all the respect due to a full captain: stamping marines and lifted hats from Agamemnon’s officers. That complete, he was taken to the great cabin.

  ‘Welcome, John.’

  ‘Dick, it is good to see you.’

  There were not many years difference between John Pearce and Richard Farmiloe, a couple at most, but on first acquaintance that had provided a noticeable gap. Not now, they looked what they were: contemporaries of a similar age.

  ‘The wardroom is hosting the lesser beings, John, while Nelson sees to the captains.’

  ‘Lead on.’

  Never spacious for the men it was required to hold, the wardroom was now crowded and it was telling, the different reactions to the entry of John Pearce, who was left alone as Farmiloe collared a steward and two goblets of wine. Welcoming smiles came from the ship’s own officers, men who had come to know him well and whose opinion had been mediated by Richard Farmiloe. This was set against a general stiffening and reserve from the other guests. The coldest glare came from Glaister, his counterpart in HMS Brilliant, a ship on which Pearce could class many men as kindred spirits. This fellow Scotsman was not one of them.

  ‘Mr Glaister,’ Pearce cried, taking savage delight in the way the skeleton-like face reacted as he moved towards him. The already unnaturally tight skin of his face contracted even more, as the new arrival, coming close, asked, ‘And how are you enjoying serving under Captain Taberly? A pleasure, I’m sure.’

  Glaister knew he was being guyed and the way he reacted was quicksilver in its effect. ‘So sorry to hear about Captain Barclay, Mr Pearce. My sympathy, of course, goes to his wife but, I am sure, you are equally as mortified as the good lady to lose such a dear colleague.’

  ‘A sentiment that has rippled through the entire fleet,’ Pearce responded, with false empathy. ‘But I wonder if, as naval officers, we should not be more concerned with the loss of HMS Semele.’

  ‘A true naval officer might be.’

  This was said in a voice loud enough to carry and turn heads. It had Dick Farmiloe hurrying over with those two goblets of wine, to quietly admonish both men.

  ‘Gentlemen, stick to what you have in common please, not to what you see as dispute.’

  ‘I will not be provoked,’ Glaister insisted.

  ‘Then do not glare, sir, for on such a countenance it is ghoulish.’

  ‘Come with me, John.’ The pressure needed to get him away was slight, given he was a willing accomplice, with Farmiloe whispering, ‘You have to have some sympathy for him, John, he does feel he has been unfairly passed over.’

  ‘That is bad enough, I agree, but to have Taberly as his captain must be close to hellish. If he had shown the slightest willingness to accommodate my presence I would have commiserated with him.’

  ‘Would you be angry with me if I said Glaister was not alone? There are too many here who do not know you as well as us Agamemnons.’

  ‘I promise not to ruffle any more feathers, Dick.’

  He was as good as his word, confining his conversations to those who served aboard the ship, most notably and safely with John Roxburgh, the surgeon, the subject being the slow nature of the healing of Conway’s wound.

  ‘If his vital spirit holds he will be cured, Mr Pearce, take my word.’

  ‘And how is the commodore’s health?’

  ‘He is afflicted as ever, with colds and aches, none of which will diminish until he sees a tricolour he can attack.’

  ‘And that brings about alleviation?’

  ‘It is immediate, Mr Pearce, as if it was divinely inspired.’

  Not wishing to question the assertion, it having been made with much conviction, that such a celestial intervention was possible, Roxburgh and he fell to talking about their homeland, a place that produced an inordinate amount of folk who pursued the profession of medicine.

  ‘Your father would have pointed to education, for which we can only thank the Kirk.’

  Much as he queried divinity – his father Adam had derided such a thing in its entirety as superstition – neither of the Pearces could deny that the Elders of the Kirk of Scotland had indeed created a comprehensive system of schooling for their flock. It was the means by which such men as Roxburgh could rise from humble beginnings to pursue their chosen path.

  The normally bigoted divines had insisted that every parish must have a school, and every pastor be qualified to teach Latin, Greek and mathematics. The result was a large number of educated Scots as well as a great deal of resentment from Englishmen who saw them occupy too many positions of merit, and more importantly, those of profit. To be termed a ‘Sawney Jock’ was not one of approbation.<
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  Roxburgh had studied at the Surgeons’ Hall in Edinburgh, where the tenets of his craft had moved on many years previously from the lowly pursuit still extant further south, where a sawbones was little better than a barber. And he had mixed with those attending the university, peopled with a strange mixture of students, from radical thinkers to obscurantist divines. One of the former had been Pearce’s father.

  ‘I did hear the Ranter speak more than once,’ Roxburgh said, before qualifying it with an apology. ‘I hope you take no offence at the soubriquet?’

  ‘On the contrary, sir, my father took a perverse pride in being so called.’

  ‘He had a silver tongue, right enough.’

  Which got him nowhere in the end, Pearce thought but did not say. All Adam Pearce achieved was to be hounded by the government and finally, having annoyed them to the point of reaction, to be faced with a writ for seditious libel, a false allegation for sure but one that could end on the gallows. The irony that it was another polity that silenced him was not one he was prepared to ever allude to.

  ‘He’s gone now, Mr Roxburgh.’

  ‘Leaving you to tend the radical flame?’

  Pearce smiled and jerked his head towards the coast. ‘I think I will leave that to the French.’

  ‘Heathens to a man, God damn them.’

  About to say that condemnation of an entire nation was to stretch the truth, Pearce was cut off by a loud voice calling from the wardroom doorway. ‘Gentlemen, the commodore requests that you take your place at dinner.’

  They trooped up the gangway, visitors as well as the ships’ lieutenants, and made for the great cabin. On entry, each guest was received by Nelson, who had a slight pink glow already from that which he had imbibed. Seated, as the first course of soup was being dispensed, Pearce remarked to a neighbour, an Agamemnon, on the absence of Frank Lepeé, not with any great wish that the drunkard servant should be present.

  ‘Gone, sir. The commodore finally got shot of him, which should have happened years ago. Not that his replacement is too much of an improvement; a Norfolk dolt called Tom Allen.’