‘I had a letter from Cornelius Gherson.’
He was genuinely surprised; in the number of things he suspected he might be in line for, rebukes being foremost, that was a real bombshell. He swung Adam a few times to cover his confusion, before the obligatory, ‘From prison?’ She nodded. ‘Saying what?’
‘That I, or rather my late husband, has been regularly cheated by his firm of prize agents.’
‘I can think of no one more deserving,’ was the bitter response. Not a hater by nature, Ralph Barclay, even dead, fell four-square into that category.
‘Which means I too have been dunned.’
‘Do I have to point out to you how dishonest Gherson is?’
‘No. But it meant I had to see him …’
‘You went to Newgate?’
‘How else was I to find out if he was being truthful?’
‘Gherson never tells the truth where a lie will serve. He was that way from the very first day I encountered him, though I was slow to see it.’
‘Don’t make the mistake of thinking I trust him.’
She half-turned away and was silent for a moment, obviously considering what she was going to say. ‘I’ve never told you this before, but do you recall on first being brought aboard Brilliant, you wrote a letter? It was in French, to the radical John Wilkes, asking him to intercede and get you released from impressment. Like his African servant, I recall you saying.’
That induced an odd feeling in Pearce’s gut: it was Gherson who had undertaken to get the letter ashore. ‘If you know of that letter, it could not have got to the intended destination, which would explain why nothing ever came of the request.’
‘Gherson made sure it came to my husband by a trusted hand. He, lacking good French, asked me to translate it.’
‘Which you could have refused to do.’
‘Why would I, John? We were not long married and I was in a strange world. It was before—’
Emily stopped and blushed, no doubt recalling the moment on the deck when he, a common seaman to anyone observing them, in total contravention of respect for her position, had spoken a few words to her. Had there been an immediate attraction towards him? This was a thought that had never before occurred, but the notion was flattering. Or was it what a couple of innocent comments had led to over time: this room, the child he was gently swinging and all the subsequent problems of their relationship?
‘So you went to see him. I cannot think he requested that you do so without naming a price.’
‘A move to a private room and help to clear his name.’
‘By damn, you’d need all the angels you believe in to establish that. I was pressed to buy any number of salacious pamphlets on the way here and his name stinks.’
‘Gherson claims he’s innocent.’ She spoke again before Pearce could respond. ‘You said yourself, it was hard to believe him capable of such a crime.’
‘Which does not mean he is blameless.’
Emily explained what Gherson had told her about the arrangement with Ommaney and Druce, in which he was to be rewarded for keeping Ralph Barclay in the dark about the investments being undertaken on his behalf.
‘He gave one example.’
Pearce listened as she explained how they had used her late husband’s money, as well as some of their own, to set up a canal investment. Further funds were committed by the firm, over time, to raise the share values. Once thought to be at peak, the prize agents would sell out and pocket the profits, leaving the likes of Ralph Barclay to stand a loss when the scheme collapsed.
‘How would they explain that away?’
‘That fell to Gherson, who would also profit. He would reassure my husband, who was no virtuoso in the financial line, that in a large portfolio, where a portion was, by agreement, set aside for high-risk ventures, such an occasional loss had to be borne. As long as the whole was profitable there was no reason to complain.’
‘Then?’
‘Having seen him, I went to the Strand to see Mr Druce.’
‘I suspect you have a lot more to tell me, Emily. Perhaps if we were to sit down.’
That was acceded to, which found them upright in two high-backed chairs. Emily described in more detail the meeting with Gherson and the questions she’d been primed to ask, adding her feeling that she had succeeded in discomfiting Druce when the canal investment was named.
‘But nothing concrete.’ A slow shake of the head, and another followed when he asked, ‘Did you tell him you were planning to shift to Davidson?’
‘No, but I did say I intended to inspect all the paperwork, of which there was a great deal. In truth, if I can give Gherson what he desires, it will not be necessary. He will tell me what I need to know.’
‘I sense you’re minded to do so.’
It was Adam who saved her from a reply. With that suddenness with which an infant goes from contentment to distress, he began to whimper and that soon turned to wailing, causing Emily to take him and prepare herself to feed. Something Pearce had always witnessed with pleasure, the possibility was denied by a knock at the door, one which obliged him to respond to through no more than a crack.
‘Gentleman asking after you, sir.’
He turned and smiled at Emily, mouthed he would soon return and exited, to find Oliphant stood in the hallway, hat in hand, smiling like a Cheshire cat, creating in Pearce a feeling he’d been humbugged once more.
‘I had not expected you for weeks.’
‘I possess the luck of the devil, Pearce, do you not perceive that by now?’
About to speak and berate him, Pearce restrained himself; he would not give the sod the satisfaction. It was obvious, if he was here now, Oliphant had got out on the very ship loading that night and it had nothing to do with luck. He’d known, when he left Pearce on the mole, the way out was immediately open to him. But he had not, as was his habit, revealed the fact.
‘All I see is that you were less than honest again.’
The vessel on which Oliphant took passage would have sailed, not the same morning, but in darkness on the following tide. The same benign conditions would have favoured the smugglers as it had the quick passage of the cartel. The unknown was where it made its landfall. This could have added a day or two to his journey, and again, wherever it disgorged its cargo would also be in darkness. The conclusion was obvious.
‘Did you manage to convince Dundas of the success of our mission?’
A wide grin, an open acknowledgement that the inherent supposition was correct. ‘I said you’re a quick learner, but you will understand my reluctance to allow you to relate our adventures because, for all your gifts, I reckon you to be poor at storytelling.’
‘Falsification, you mean.’
‘Call it what you will. I have exercised control where I reckon it was needed and it has paid dividends. Dundas wants and is eager to see you.’
‘Does he?’
‘Aye, and I would say his mood, given the praise I heaped upon you, is positive. We have an appointment for this very evening and I expect Pitt will be there too, although that was not admitted.’
‘Praise?’
Oliphant, in jest, pulled a face that implied conspiracy. ‘It was not fitting that I should tell the truth in that regard.’
‘One day someone will horsewhip you before ducking you in the trough.’
If he’d hoped to dent the man’s insufferable air of confidence, Pearce failed. ‘It will not be someone who is left feeling they owe me a great deal.’
‘That being?’
‘You will find out tonight. Shall we say Downing Street, at seven of the clock?’
‘And if I choose not to turn up?’ Oliphant treated that for what it was: bluff. Both men knew Pearce would not be able to resist such a meeting. ‘You better tell what it was you said about me.’
That got a slow shake of the head. ‘That would never do. I have painted for Dundas a picture that meets with his needs. In querying your version there should be discrep
ancies and I think I can rely on you to produce them.’
‘One might be the truth.’
‘You have no more knowledge than I. But act as Dundas would if the positions were reversed. Look to your own advantage. It will do no harm for me to impart to you that there is much of that to be had.’
‘You’re keeping something back again,’ Pearce responded vehemently. ‘I now know you too well.’
Again that infuriating grin. ‘Never in life, Pearce. You don’t know me at all.’
Oliphant looked over his shoulder, forcing Pearce to turn. Emily was descending the stairs, which necessitated an introduction.
‘Mrs Barclay, allow me to introduce to you Mister Samuel Oliphant.’
‘Charmed,’ was his reply, as Emily made the last step. That was followed, when faced with a strikingly beautiful woman, by a deep nod of the head. ‘Do I find myself addressing Lieutenant Pearce’s hostess?’
Pearce should not have blurted out the negative for, as he did so, he observed a glint in the man’s eye, quickly masked, that was discomfiting.
‘I too am a guest here, Mr Oliphant,’ Emily replied. ‘Visiting London from Somerset with my infant son. Our host is the physician, Mr Lutyens.’
‘A mutual acquaintance, then.’
‘Indeed.’
A look around the well-appointed hallway was followed by, ‘And a remarkably successful one, it seems. Few in the medical line can run to such luxury.’
Pearce was brusque. ‘Seven of the clock, Oliphant.’
The dismissal was taken with another grin; what was the swine thinking, what was he calculating?
‘I look forward to it.’ Another deep nod, in lieu of a real bow. ‘And perhaps, Mrs Barclay, to making your further acquaintance. In our time together, Lieutenant Pearce never mentioned he shared his accommodation with a person of such remarkable beauty.’
Emily blushed and allowed her eyes to flick towards her lover, which was precisely the wrong thing to do.
Sat facing Hodgson, Edward Druce was in a quandary, while reflecting on the various strands of difficulty posed by Gherson’s demands. He had been correct: Emily Barclay had been disingenuous when she visited him but that provided little in the way of solace. Understanding the message was easy: it was a competition.
Gherson had told her about one dubious canal trust and would tell her of more questionable activities unless he was indulged. He must have good grounds to believe she was preparing to meet his terms. That must be prevented at all costs, but it raised many other problems, so the solution was less easy!
Keeping his composure with Hodgson standing opposite was exceedingly difficult. Edward Druce felt as if he was in the grip of a metaphorical vice, one which was being wound to a close, as the strands of his difficulties coalesced in his mind, all of them relating back to Cornelius Gherson. He had, years past, obliged his brother-in-law by providing him with a trio of toughs, members of a press gang. The task was to dish out chastisement to the ex-employee who had stolen from Denby and who, into the bargain it later transpired, had seduced his young wife.
It had seemed justified and politic at the time; the thief deserved a sound beating and besides, a goodly slice of the investment money that had allowed him to join with Francis Ommaney had come from Denby Carruthers. There was always a suspicion that failure to oblige him could result in a sudden demand for repayment, which he would struggle to make, to the point of facing a debtor’s prison.
It subsequently emerged that the aim of the supposed punishment was much more serious. It was also the case that what had been planned had failed, and this at a time when Gherson had become a valuable and profitable conduit, acting as he did in the manipulation of the prize funds of Ralph Barclay. The solution, seemingly so neat at the time, had been the employment of Hodgson, at his brother-in-law’s expense, to search for Gherson, with the express brief that he was not to find him.
This had been easy to engineer given the quarry was at sea, first in the Channel, finally ending up far off in the Mediterranean. Why did the sod have to turn up like a bad penny, with his employer dead, producing a will that disinherited Emily Barclay and demanding he be supported financially? The dilemma of the will had been solved, but not the problem of the progenitor of that forgery. So Druce had told his brother-in-law that Gherson had turned up and that he was whoring in Covent Garden.
He now had to admit he had deliberately closed his mind, for reasons purely selfish, to the consequences of that admission. Yet his reasons remained, to him, sound.
The reputation of Ommaney and Druce was paramount and Gherson, merely by his existence, threatened it. Without that being above board, they would be unable to conduct business. Their clients would disappear and with them the fees, which spelt ruin, certainly for him.
All the Barclay business had passed over his desk and through his hands, so bore his signature. His partner Ommaney might have colluded in and approved of his activities; in addition, he may have said he was willing to lie to Denby Carruthers and take responsibility for the failure to find Gherson, but that would not hold. What would be his reaction if he discovered what Druce had done? He would surely deny knowledge of any unethical behaviour and would dump his partner to save himself. As for Gherson, he deserved whatever fate awaited him.
Hodgson had stood silently as he cogitated. As much to stop his train of thought as for any other reason, Druce fixed him with a cold look. What was he thinking, what services were necessary and what could he provide? If there was another truth out there, who was best qualified to unearth it? Added to that, he must avoid, if he opted to do so, dealing with Gherson personally. The thief-taker had thus become valuable.
‘You must forgive me, Mr Hodgson,’ he said, standing up and smiling, ‘I am remiss in not offering you both a chair and a glass of wine. We have decanted a really fine claret today, of which I expect you will approve.’
‘Obliged,’ was imparted without expression; Hodgson, as he took the chair, was wondering what was coming and far from certain he wanted any part of it. But there would be payment and that should not be sniffed at.
‘How do you see the plea of innocence?’ Druce asked, as he poured the wine, his back to his visitor.
‘As commonplace, Mr Druce. Never met a scoundrel who did not claim to be as pure as driven snow.’
‘Is it possible Gherson could be telling the truth?’
There was no turning round when this was posed. Had the face been visible, its distinctive feature would have been the obvious tightness of the jaw.
‘He’s being written off as cold of blood, Mr Druce, when I would say we are talking of a crime of passion. I take it you’ve read the tracts being hawked in the streets?’
‘How can I, when they make such scurrilous accusations against my dear sister-in-law? They imply that her behaviour would not shame a trollop, quite putting aside that she was seduced from her marital estate by a rake of the most despicable sort.’
Druce struggled to compose his expression as he turned round, adopting a look of polite enquiry when taking a crystal glass to Hodgson.
‘I will admit it is only by implication, but can I really credit that she went to meet a person of the nature of Gherson voluntarily? That she was not enticed by him into the place where she was slain?’
‘I know the bagnio in question, as well as the owner.’ Hodgson took a sip of his wine, to immediately acknowledge its superior quality. ‘If you wish, I could enquire.’
‘Discreetly?’
‘It is ever my way.’
‘Then I will engage you to do so. The private room in the State House? You can arrange that?’
‘I can as long as I can pay the governor’s fees. I would guess also, that Gherson would want proper food and better clothing. He is presently clad in rags.’
Druce turned his back again, ostensibly to recharge his glass, really to hide his face and his internal turmoil once more. ‘We will provide the means to do both. If you do enquire on the matter of
Gherson’s guilt, I would want anything you discover to be vouchsafed only to me.’
‘Mr Druce, if you’re paying me, it would thus be remiss to hand anything over to another.’
‘I cannot tell you what all of this is about Mr Hodgson, but it is of great moment to myself and the firm.’
‘I have no interest outside my instructions,’ Hodgson lied. ‘I will attend to the matter this very evening.’
‘More claret, Mr Hodgson?’
CHAPTER TEN
Aware he had left behind a deeply dissatisfied Emily – she had questioned what he was about and had been fobbed off with feeble excuses – Pearce engaged a hack to take him to Downing Street. As he bounced along he was turning over in his mind what he might say to Dundas. It would have been easier if Oliphant had been more forthcoming, but seeking that was like asking for the moon.
The best course of action, he reckoned, was to say as little as possible, in the hope that any information imparted would be revealed to him. To that he could respond in the manner that seemed appropriate. But what was appropriate? He had apparently been praised and this to a fellow who would scarce credit it. Dundas had known his father since their youth. Both Scots, that was the only thing he and old Adam had held in common and the dislike had been applied to the son.
When it came to devious politicos, Dundas, who could bring to the government the support of the Scottish faction of MPs, was in a class of his own. He stood as the antithesis of everything the Edinburgh Ranter believed in and argued against. Corrupt governance, in which the rich lined their pockets while the poor starved. Rotten boroughs, controlled by bribery and titled thievery. Parliamentary votes traded for sinecures, which paid a stipend to the recipient but required no actual effort.
‘Once more,’ Pearce said to himself, as he stood outside the door and rapped the knocker, ‘you enter the lair of the Devil.’
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