Next came Pollard, the merchant who, having lived in Livorno for many a year, knew the language fluently. What emerged was a sorry tale: a drunken Garforth seeking to grab the bosom of a local girl – their dresses were mirroring the latest French fashion, which allowed for a tempting show of décolletage – had been in receipt of a slap for his effrontery. Threatening to retaliate in kind, one of the Italian boys – a neighbour of the victim, it transpired – had stepped forward and knifed him.
‘Please tell them that the navy will discipline the miscreant and put up their weapons.’ That did not go down well and was only acceded to when a sharp order had the mids sheathe their dirks, with Nelson addressing them. ‘We must, gentlemen, have harmony here, for we cannot stay at sea without a base of supply. Now I suggest if you are not minded to behave yourselves, you return to your ships.’
The officers were now faced with two sets of disgruntled youth, with the odd fellow on either side needing to be dragged away by his companions. Finally, the whole broke up and began to drift back into the ballroom, Hoste with his crutches once more, Pearce noting the incongruity. As he sheathed his sword, the mellifluous dance music soared, in contrast with the exterior mood and this reminded him he needed to go back inside and seek to detach Emily from her party so they could talk. Drifting indoors in the wake of the midshipmen, he noted that Toby Burns had disappeared.
‘Remember my request, Dick,’ he said to Farmiloe. ‘Don’t let Burns duck it.’
‘He will come if he believes you will not harm him. Judging by your tone of voice when you growled your demand, I’m not sure I would.’
‘All this talking has left dry my gullet. Let’s have some of that punch.’
‘It’s a strong brew, John, Italian in its contents. I doubt it would serve in England.’
‘It will serve here and now, my friend.’
‘From what I heard, you could use a few more of those. I had you and Digby down as—’
‘Not friends, Dick.’
‘But the clear animosity he just displayed?’
He tried to explain it, but in truth it was impossible to find the key that unlocked the nature of what Pearce insisted was a malady. Events in the Gulf of Ambracia were related, as well as Digby’s reneging on his clear undertaking to help get redress for what could have so easily been a deadly fiasco. It was clear Dick Farmiloe was struggling to believe what he was being told and Pearce, sick of explanation, was not in the mood to press the truth of his case.
‘Is that Mrs Barclay, I see?’
Pearce spun round to look into the main chamber, to see Emily dancing, a slow waltz, not very energetically, with Admiral Hyde Parker. He acknowledged Farmiloe was correct, then examined him to see if it produced any hint of their association. It did not, and if Dick Farmiloe would not allude to it, he had to assume it was because he was in ignorance. That, however, did not apply to Digby, in a position to glare at him as he, she having returned from her dancing, approached her.
Emily was now part of a much larger crowd, which included Pollard, the fellow who had helped with his Italian. But there were many more: a cleric judging by his garb and several middle-aged women, one with a substantial bosom and enough hip to ever be steady on her feet. His crashing of their company was blatant and if some seemed surprised and bothered, that did not apply to the Wynne girls, they too fresh from the dance floor and perspiring slightly, given their more energetic displays. From them he got a smile of welcome.
‘Please, John,’ Emily whispered when he came close enough, her fan employed to hide her moving lips. ‘Do not disgrace me here, of all places.’
‘Mrs Barclay,’ he said out loud, for she looked a trifle drawn, ‘you must be tired. If you wish to depart early and require an escort to see you to your accommodation, I would be happy to oblige, given it would scarce be safe that you should do so alone. After all, I owe so much to your husband. I would not be a King’s officer without his efforts.’
‘Mr Pearce, allow me to introduce you to Mrs Teale, the wife of the vicar.’
The lady had moved up behind him as he was speaking and if she was not a person of surpassing comeliness to begin with, a deep frown rendered her even less attractive. Pearce could not know for certain, but he guessed her to be a busybody. It was in the cast of her eye, denoting a woman with a nose for gossip and a desire to spread it.
‘You knew the late Captain Barclay, sir?’ she demanded, before Emily even had a chance to make an introduction.
‘With the exception of this dear lady, possibly better than anyone. He was never shy of showing me his character in a very open fashion.’
‘I did not know the captain myself,’ she sniffed, as though that was the fault of Barclay.
‘Then you missed a rare opportunity to meet with a singular fellow.’ Unable to resist a dig, he added. ‘I am sure you would have got on famously.’
He was enjoying the exchange, but Emily was not, for if anyone could smoke out that something untoward was going on it was Letitia Teale; she had the senses of a feral cat.
‘Perhaps if I can introduce you to the others in our party, Lieutenant Pearce.’
‘Delighted if I have yet to meet them already,’ was the reply; he was in this company and determined to remain so.
More introductions followed and he noticed, as he moved around, the two Wynne girls were rarely out of his eyeline. That held until a pair of officers, one Captain Freemantle, came to ask for a dance now the girls’ cards had run through. Emily had been watching him like a hawk but she was not wholly attentive; she saw Henry Digby approaching and the look on his face, which promised trouble and demanded she interrupt the pleasantries and quite sharply.
‘Is that not your commanding officer, Mr Pearce? He seems rather put out.’
That had him spin away and move to intercept Digby, the hand that took his arm to pull him in another direction far from gentle, the command to unhand him ignored.
‘I don’t know what you have in mind, Henry, but if you upset Emily, I swear I will make your life hell.’
‘You don’t have the power.’
‘I wonder how you would handle a mutiny and what that would do for your precious career.’
The point struck home; Pearce enjoyed the confidence of a crew he had commanded in HMS Larcher. Could Digby match that? The notion he might not was in the feeble response.
‘The truth should come out.’
‘You will not break my heart by doing so, but you will hers. Is that what your Christian duty tells you to do? You think you knew Ralph Barclay, but you did not and I seem to recall you had little time for the man when you served under him.’
‘He did not deserve that which you brought down on him.’
‘He did and more. Perhaps one day his wife will tell you all. There’s no point in my trying because you won’t believe me, but the man was a beast as well as a liar and a coward.’
‘You’re right, I do not believe you and it pains me to have you on my ship.’
‘Ask that I be removed.’ That got a stony face. ‘You can’t and I am not going to relinquish my post, so you and I will just have to rub along as best we can.’
‘Lieutenant Pearce,’ the Contessa cut in. ‘I know we agreed to circulate but I fear that game has been played for too long.’
Digby did not smoke her French, but the way the words were said and the look that accompanied them were obvious enough for him to deduce what this beautiful and elegant woman was seeking to communicate. As he began to move away, he spluttered in his indignation.
‘You’re worse than I imagined, Pearce; you’re a damned satyr.’
The reply came in an Irish accent, that of Michael O’Hagan, who Pearce knew well enough to mimic, even if in his mockery he was talking to Digby’s back. ‘Jesus, it’ll be four Hail Marys for that one, Henry.’
He began to turn to the Contessa di Montenero, composing himself to refuse her offer while simultaneously searching for words that would not offend a perso
n he knew he liked beyond mere carnality. Before he could open his mouth, a noisy commotion broke out behind, which had him jerk back to see a crowd gathering round Emily, who was standing looking down at her feet, to where, on the marble floor, lay a very obvious pool of fluid.
The hurried ‘forgive me’ as he rushed away lacked any politesse for, if most of his gender had no idea what had occurred, he did: Emily’s waters had broken. His knowledge was entirely due to the peripatetic life he had led in the company of his father who, being a constant visitor to the workhouses they passed on their travels, knew all about the various stages of childbirth, having witnessed every one.
Supposedly a blessing, it had often seemed to be a curse to the poor, another manifestation to Adam of the way the world was set to favour the rich. A workhouse did not extend to the provision of a doctor or even a midwife, and if there were no willing fellow inmates to assist in the event, a miserable birth was certain. In truth, death was too common a fate for both mother and child.
On one occasion, son John had witnessed his father as he aided a poor wretch of an unwed girl, cast out for her disgrace by her family, to give birth by the roadside. A boy was the result, to be immediately and noisily washed in a nearby stream. John held the baby, swaddled in his cloak, all the way to the local church, while Adam carried the mother. If the child was lucky, there would be some local worthy whose wife could not conceive and a good future could be assured. If not, then a hard life lay in store.
Emily’s plight beckoned her lover, who did not care what impression he created by rushing to her side, only beaten by Roxburgh, who ordered that a carriage be brought to the front doors immediately. The amount of curiosity engendered by the way Pearce, in a very solicitous manner, helped her to make her way through the now static throng he ignored, only nodding to Sir John Jervis, who abjured Emily to take care and give the navy a sturdy son.
‘Do not be alarmed, Emily. You will go into labour but that can take hours, if not days, plenty of time to get around you those able to ensure a safe birth.’
‘John, I’m frightened.’
‘So am I, my sweet, so am I.’
That got a surprised reaction from Roxburgh, but no comment except to say that he was a surgeon and her condition was not one he was accustomed to dealing with. A doctor should be called.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
He might have been able to accompany Emily out of the Archbishop’s Palace and, indeed, share the carriage with her, this taking them swiftly back to the pensione d’Agastino, but once she was in her chambers he was shooed out in short order by the stern lady of the establishment. If she gabbled in Italian and was incomprehensible because of it, the message was plain; with the arrival of a child impending this was no place for a man.
He was thus downstairs, pacing back and forth in the prescribed manner while seeking to imagine how he would deal with fatherhood, when the local females to whom he had introduced himself at the ball appeared. They demanded to be allowed to see Mrs Barclay or at the very least be given a report on her progress. While they were talking to Pearce, the first yells of pain echoed though the building, which had those ladies who had gone through the experience nodding in recognition.
Mrs Teale was acting as the leader of the tribe and, as others made their enquiries, she spent more time in a narrow-eyed examination of John Pearce. There could be no subterfuge now; his attentions had focused too much of her gaze on his actions. This did not fit with the image of an officer who merely knew her husband, quite the opposite. Letitia Teale being the wife of the local Anglican divine meant in this instance, where there might be a scandal to uncover, her social supremacy was unchallengeable.
‘I think, sir, we require an explanation. Your solicitations towards Mrs Barclay were singular in the extreme.’
Pearce was determined to be polite but firm. ‘Require, madam? By what right do you require?’
‘The right of a person who holds dear, and it is thanks to God that I do, the good reputation of the English community.’
It was fortuitous that the doctor arrived just then, in time to overhear the last part of the exchange and his Irish brogue did much to puncture the pretentions of Mrs Teale.
‘Well now, would that be the reputation for near to spitting on the locals and callin’ them apostates for their way of worship?’
The substantial bosom swelled in indignation. ‘It is not required of you, Doctor Flaherty, that you give an opinion, merely that you attend to your patient.’
The man, with the slack smile of a drinker, shot back. He was obviously in no fear of this person who perceived herself as a paragon of virtue. ‘Happen, one day I will be called upon to attend to you, Mrs Teale, and then I’ll hear your confession, me being sure you have sins aplenty to seek forgiveness for.’
‘I may confess to the sin of despising a fellow human being, sir, and that would be you.’
‘Now there’s no need to be trying to cheer me, is there?’
He slid through the offended group of women and took the stairs two at a time, which had Mrs Teale opine that at least he appeared to be sober for once. That declared, she turned back to John Pearce.
‘Are we to assume, sir, that you have some interest in the forthcoming birth?’
He had been given time to think by Flaherty. The last thing Emily needed at this time was that her carapace of respectability should be shattered and he reckoned this woman was of the kind to make sure she found out all she needed to know even before the child was born.
‘I acted out of habit, madam, and indeed from a genuine friendship with the late Captain Barclay. I was friend to his wife as well as him. It is safe to say they were both kind to me, and as a fellow with seven sisters, all younger than I am, there can be no mystery to the act of procreation and all its manifestations.’
That brought blushes to the female cheeks.
‘In short, Mrs Teale, what happened to Mrs Barclay is not something to cause me wonder. And how could a good friend stand by when everyone else, apart from Mr Roxburgh, seemed rooted and inactive in what could have been a delicate situation?’
‘Inactive, sir?’ Letitia Teale demanded, as the dropping heads of her companions testified to the truth of the assertion.
Pearce made an effort to sound emollient. ‘How could it be otherwise, madam? I do not doubt that you were stunned but, as a serving naval officer, I am accustomed to act as quickly to avoid social embarrassment for Mrs Barclay, as I would be if I was in battle with our enemies.’
‘Yet we find you still present,’ ventured Mrs Udeny.
‘I admit to a proprietary interest.’ That got raised eyebrows. ‘When Captain Barclay knew his wife was with child, he asked me, as a friend, to see to her needs if he should suffer …’ He paused then, fingers pinching the corners of his eyes and his head hunched, sending a plain message of distress. ‘It is almost as if he foresaw his own passing, for he knows there is no more dangerous place to be than the quarterdeck of a man-o’-war in battle.’
It was from under dipped eyelashes that Pearce examined the effect of what he had said, pleased to see most of the women were brought near to tears by what seemed tragic, possibly by a genuine feeling, just as likely by the conventions by which they lived, which demanded that the loss of life be treated as a tearful calamity. Not, however, the paragon.
‘Then I think it would be safe to say, sir, that you have discharged that obligation. We are here now to offer whatever comfort Mrs Barclay requires while you, I am sure, have your duties to perform.’
There was no choice but to agree. ‘I would take it as a kindness to be kept informed of what happens and when.’
‘Then listen for the bells of the Anglican Church, Mr Pearce. The birth of a healthy English child will be pealed to the heavens so that all of right mind and faith can rejoice.’
There were two things Pearce wanted to say and could not: first the child had a Scottish-born father and secondly that if the birth happened on a Sunday morning
, now not much more than twenty-four hours hence, it would be hard to hear the small bells Mrs Teale spoke of, when every church in Livorno would be summoning their Catholic faithful to Mass.
He did not hear Mrs Teale say, sotto voce as he left, ‘Seven sisters, forsooth. I wonder if he is Irish too.’
He had little choice but to return to the ball, still in full swing, because the boats needed to take the officers and midshipmen back to their ships were not due to come to the quay before two bells in the middle watch. He was, however, in a brown study and far from in the mood for either dalliance or jollity, which severely dented what interest the Misses Wynne had in him as a prospective spouse.
They were still the object of much attention, called on by a steady stream of suitors, both naval and local, to grant them the honour of a dance, while Sir John Jervis, loudly claiming droit de seigneur, was a frequent partner of both. With their original party gone, the girls, young and flirtatious, had attached themselves to those surrounding the vice admiral and he seemed to revel in their company. Given their pealing laughter, they reciprocated his feelings, his rank and station, as well as his salty jests.
There was no chance of Pearce cogitating on anything other than Emily and her situation, not least to wonder how he could contrive to visit frequently without arousing suspicion. That old battleaxe Teale would soon persuade the others, if she was so minded to, that there was an odour of something untoward in his attentions. He had stalled her but that might prove temporary.
‘John, you look miserable. Come join me in a cup or two?’ Edward Grey was tipsy, but amiably so, with a silly grin accompanying his words. ‘And then I suggest we must pay some attention to the ladies, especially the Italians, for who knows what opportunities might present themselves, eh?’
‘Are you sure with what you have consumed you will be stallion enough?’
‘Never fear for Ed Grey, John,’ came with a hearty slap on the back. ‘I am as able as the proverbial bull.’
‘Any sign of our esteemed commanding officer?’
A Treacherous Coast Page 22
