A Close Run Thing

by David Donachie

  He was still reading it when the door knocker sounded again and another letter arrived, this time with the seal of the government. It was from Dundas, requiring him to take on board whichever vessel he was to command a special representative of the Ministry of War, Mr Samuel Oliphant. He would bring with him verbal instructions as to what was required of Lieutenant Pearce and his command.

  There was a difference here: in all his other dealings with Dundas, both in the Vendée and that from which he had just returned, the nature of the task had been a deep secret. Certainly there had been nothing in writing. In his hand was a record of both his involvement and, no doubt in time, the aims and aspirations of the mission would also be on record.

  ‘A busy day, John,’ Heinrich Lutyens said as he emerged from his consulting room, where he went every morning to make up his notes. ‘And we have yet to receive the first post of the day. Good news, I trust?’

  ‘For me, yes – for harmony, we shall see.’

  Heinrich threw his eyes to the ceiling as the knocker rapped again. This time it was that first post of the day, a substantial packet, which required to be paid for from the pot of coins kept in a hall table for the purpose. It was addressed to Emily, with a superscription to say it came from Frome.

  ‘She will still be abed, Heinrich. Adam, I think, is teething and he had a restless night.’

  That got a shake of the head from the physician; to him, employing a nursemaid and allowing your own sleep to be disturbed was folly. As they made their way to the dining room to take breakfast, he made the point by allusion.

  ‘I do often think that Emily has read too much Rousseau.’

  ‘While she would say that is impossible. She is a proponent of a more modern form of child rearing than that with which we were reared. The child means a great deal to her, indeed to us both. Do not doubt she feels deep Christian guilt about our liaison. Adam justifies it.’

  That got Pearce a tap on the chest. ‘I would search in vain for Christian guilt in that quarter, John.’

  ‘Or concerns for society’s norms,’ came the reply as, having laid the various deliveries on the table, Pearce helped himself to some ham, a pigeon breast, kidneys and kedgeree, as well as a large cup of coffee. ‘Hypocrisy is their abiding principle.’

  About to expound on the basis for that statement and with venom – it was a matter that much exercised him – he was obliged to remind himself that Heinrich Lutyens had connections at court. His father was the minister of the Lutheran Church, which was attended by Queen Charlotte and quite often the whole royal brood, so he forced himself to make his point in a composed tone.

  ‘Who stands at the apex of this hypocrisy, if not the very people who should lead by example?’

  His friend did not have to guess of whom he was talking. ‘Come, John, you cannot fault the King and Queen for probity.’

  ‘And nor would I try. But what of their offspring? It’s close to common knowledge the Prince of Wales conducted a secret marriage with a Catholic, and it is rumoured there are children of the union. Clarence, our doltish Sailor Prince, lives openly with his mistress and their brood – six I heard at the last count. Yet the rest of society is supposed to abide by a set of rules I cannot think suit anyone but the most joyless prude.’

  ‘I have never been called that before.’

  Having entered silently, Emily had overheard the remarks. She was not offended, indeed there was a twitch of her lips to indicate she was holding back her amusement. Besides, she knew her lover too well to be at all surprised at his trenchant opinions.

  ‘You slept, I hope?’ Pearce asked.

  ‘Enough. More important, Adam is now laid down and I hope for a good couple of hours.’

  ‘You have had delivery of yon packet, Emily.’

  Lutyens said this, his eye fixing the unopened object in front of his friend’s plate. There too lay the opened missive from the Admiralty. Having been married to a ship’s captain, it was of a design and shape Emily had seen before.

  ‘Orders for a ship.’

  ‘So I see, John.’

  There was no twitch of humour in that, quite the reverse. If was imparted with a stony expression. Pearce picked up the other missive, which would serve to change the subject. It might not be any more comfortable, but it would at least take conversation away from the coming departure his letter implied.

  ‘From your father, no doubt more of the documents you were left.’

  ‘Do have some breakfast, Emily.’ Lutyens intervened; he was acutely aware of the tension and was trying to ease it. ‘As a mother you must feed yourself.’

  She moved to the table, back to the room, filling a plate from the serving dishes, to ask in quiet voice, ‘I assume you will be on your way shortly?’

  ‘You know what orders are like, Emily.’

  ‘Proceed directly to, at your peril, is it not?’

  ‘It may say that, but I must await another. That fellow Oliphant to whom I introduced you. Perhaps you should open your post.’

  As he turned, plate in hand, the look John Pearce got, from an adamantine pair of eyes for again seeking to change the subject, had him concentrate firmly on his food. Sat down, Emily took the packet and broke the seal, which caused several documents to drop out, these examined as she forked food into her mouth. For both men present the silence was oppressive, for it was larded with Emily’s disapproval. That her lover should be made to feel uncomfortable was perhaps deserved, but not Heinrich Lutyens and Pearce wasn’t having it.

  ‘I doubt we have thanked you enough, Heinrich, for allowing so much licence in your house. I really feel it might have been best if we sought somewhere to rent ourselves.’

  Fixed with those fish-like eyes, there was no response forthcoming, hardly surprising given Pearce and Emily Barclay could never have taken lodgings together without causing the kind of scandal she feared. He felt it incumbent that she required to be reminded of his hospitality: Emily prided herself on her manners; it was about time she showed some. The document she was reading was dropped to reveal an apologetic impression.

  ‘You really must regret having us as guests, Heinrich.’

  ‘On the contrary, you are my two dearest friends.’

  There had been a time, Pearce was sure, in Toulon, with her helping him nurse wounded sailors, when Lutyens had harboured hopes of his own regarding Emily. It was remarkable that had morphed into what their triangular relationship was now, for the statement just made was palpably true.

  ‘But I do wish,’ he added, ‘you could see you are never going to agree, and live with the consequences. There is nothing more tedious than all this sniping.’

  Emily made to speak, only to face a held-up hand. ‘I have never known two people so separated by their manifest qualities. Agree to differ, allow each other their opinion and see that time will take care of everything.’

  ‘I think we have just been very severely admonished.’

  Pearce said this once they were alone. Emily came close and they embraced, she speaking quietly in his ear. ‘Perhaps rightly so. I do want the same as you, John, and with as much desire.’

  ‘Adam?’

  ‘You cannot wish for your son to be known as a bastard?’

  That was not a proposition to which he could claim indifference. In many areas it mattered little, but in others it was an irremovable stain. Who knew what their son would grow up to be, what positions he would seek as he made his way in life? Emily was determined such a burden could not be thrust upon him. If his father said he didn’t care, he had to acknowledge he was likely being selfish.

  The front door knocker was loud enough to resound through the house and it was little surprise when it was followed in under a minute by a soft knock on the door to their room.

  ‘A Mr Oliphant calling for you, Lieutenant Pearce.’

  The under-footman had a sort of faraway look, as if he was determined not to notice what was before him. Two people, seemingly not intimately related, in the sam
e room, door closed and not seated separately in a way decorum demanded. Their true relationship was hardly a secret in this house and it was perfectly possible that some of the servants disapproved. Many below-stairs people Pearce had come across were more prudish than their employers. There was and always had been a devil in him, which came out now.

  ‘Ask him to wait in the drawing room, please, and fetch him some refreshments. Tell him I have some pressing business to attend to.’

  ‘Dammit, Pearce,’ Oliphant protested, when he finally appeared, ‘the hall clock struck twice while I’ve been sat here.’

  ‘You can hardly claim discomfort.’

  ‘It does not please me to be kept waiting. You will have seen my chest in the hallway, which means I am set to go wherever it is we’re off to.’

  Pearce was tempted to say what had tested his patience had been extremely enjoyable, but that was a private matter. His response was, however, delivered with a level of good humour, which came from being both sated and happy. Perhaps he and Emily had finally struck a degree of mutual understanding.

  ‘If you crave activity, you will go mad on a ship, unless I rate you a topman and set you to trimming the sails.’

  ‘You choose to be jocose.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know, once we’re away from the shore a captain is king on his quarterdeck.’ The voice dropped, even if the humorous note remained. ‘Not a man to chastise.’

  ‘Stuff and nonsense.’

  ‘Words said before, but never repeated, after a keelhauling.’

  ‘Enough of this. What are your orders?’

  ‘To repair to Sheerness and take command of a sloop.’

  ‘Is it a suitable vessel?’

  ‘I suspect you too have instructions, so maybe you can tell me. All I will say is that the vessel is fairly new built and well armed.’

  ‘So we’ve nothing to fear?’

  ‘Except your condescension.’ Seeing him about to dispute, Pearce stopped him. ‘I will have a hack ordered to take us to Charing Cross and from there we will go to Shoreham.’

  ‘Why not Sheerness?’

  ‘If I am to take command of a ship of war, I fear it would be more than tempting providence to do so without what I would call my talismans.’

  ‘Sounds mysterious.’

  ‘Which no doubt tickles your interest. On the way I will tell you a tale and you will hear of a place called the Pelican Tavern and a night that changed my life for ever. Now, order more coffee, while I pen a couple of letters, finish packing my sea chest and say my farewells.’

  All this was done out of Oliphant’s view. The letters went to Alexander Davidson and Admiral Peter Parker, commanding at Portsmouth, to tell them of his appointment. The missive to Portsmouth was pleasant to compose. Parker had shown Pearce a degree of compassion and understanding on his return from the Mediterranean, with a warning he was likely to be beached and remain so. It was good to be able to tell him he had a ship.

  Goodbyes followed, to Emily with a tearful kiss, from Heinrich with a wish for his well-being and an admonition to make sure he had a physician aboard his new ship.

  If John Pearce had a reservation regarding his detour, it was not that he was heading in the opposite direction to that demanded by his superiors. He worried that his friends would be at sea. In that case, he would be required to return and fetch them; there was no way he would put their official exemptions, which would replace the questionable certificates they’d acquired in Portsmouth, in the hands of another. They were simply too valuable.

  He was as good as his word on the part of the journey in which they were the sole inside passengers on their second coach, a relatively uncomfortable unsprung affair between Brighton and Shoreham. He was determined to be open for the very good reason he felt what he had to impart could not be kept a secret. A ship was no place for such things and his Pelicans would inadvertently let parts of the story slip. So it would be better coming from him.

  The point at which he named Ralph Barclay as the culprit in his impressment was instructive: Oliphant said nothing, but the stiff cheeks told Pearce he was making the link with the name he’d been given in the hallway at Harley Street. So Pearce made the connection for him, from how matters had begun, all the way to the conception and birth of young Adam.

  ‘We have been discreet, but you can never be sure of success in that area. Out in the Mediterranean, given the time we spent there and what took place, I suspect there is more rumour on the subject than at home.’

  ‘I would be inclined to say you have been successful.’

  ‘How would you know, either way?’

  Oliphant produced one of those reactions that sounds something like a laugh, one that makes the lips flap slightly, but is instead an allusion to the foolish nature of the question. ‘In my game …’

  ‘Which is?’ could not be avoided and got an irascible shake of the head.

  ‘I’m not one to take risks, Pearce …’

  ‘Or be honest and open, I recall.’

  ‘Stop making what passes in your feeble mind for a jest and listen. When I found I was going to have to be responsible for you’ – Oliphant anticipated the objection and cut off any protest with a sharp gesture – ‘I felt the need to find out what I was being landed with.’

  ‘Landed? How flattering.’

  ‘If I was to ask your opinion of the average naval officer, what would it be?’

  ‘Hidebound, unimaginative and damn sure of his own opinion.’

  ‘I could not have put that better myself. So here I am, going into the belly of the beast, with a person of whom I have no knowledge, on a mission in which my life is at risk.’

  ‘So you enquired about me?’

  ‘Damned right I did! And what I heard would make your ears burn.’

  ‘I think not. My peers are far from shy in letting me know their sentiments.’

  ‘Trust me, I would be embarrassed to pass on some of the more forthright opinions. Suffice to say, there is not a satanic presence that can compare with you for double-dealing, chicanery, theft, buggery and every sin in the canon.’

  Pearce laughed. ‘I do object to the last in that list. So, having been told all this …’

  ‘I saw it as a recommendation. You are known to be insubordinate, indeed the higher the rank of those I questioned the more that came up. Given how you’re loathed at the Admiralty, I was actually amazed Dundas got you a ship.’

  ‘I cannot gainsay that.’

  ‘With all I was told, you seemed to me ideal for the task.’ Oliphant produced the kind of arch look that presaged a sally at which he himself could laugh. ‘Shall I say not hidebound, you don’t lack imagination but, by damn you are sure of your own opinions.’

  About to respond, Pearce was obliged to hold back as the coach ground to a halt. The door opened and a head, under naval hat, poked in to see who was aboard, to merely grunt at the pair and close the door. Once they were moving again, Pearce explained that Shoreham, being a base for Letters of Marque, had a watch out for naval deserters.

  ‘If they can get aboard, it can be a place of safety combined with employment.’

  Now they were on a road that should not have been granted the designation, so bumpy was the ride. It ran along the seashore of what was, in essence, a lagoon, inland waters protected by a sandbank just offshore. With an enquiring mind, Oliphant sought more and listened as Pearce explained that Shoreham had at one time been a busy and significant harbour.

  ‘Henry the Eighth sailed from here for war with France, but silting has rendered it too shallow for deep-hulled vessels, either for trade or fighting. But the privateers use shallow keels and sail on a tide that allows them to clear the banks. Shoreham also has the virtue of allowing them to see any approaching threat well in advance. A night-time excursion by a press gang, even in boats, would as like end up beached. Certainly, there’s no chance of a short-handed captain of anything larger than a cutter seeking tars here.’

  ‘But you hav
e said quite clearly those who sail out of here are exempt from the press.’

  ‘Just like the Liberties of the Savoy, Oliphant,’ Pearce snapped, ‘and what good did that do? That is home to Thames Watermen and the like, supposed to be inviolate even to a tipstaff. I was taken from there, as were the friends of mine I hope you’re about to meet.’

  ‘I know of the Liberties.’

  ‘From taking refuge there?’ was the impish enquiry.

  The response was sharp. ‘I should have added opinionated and too damned nosy.’

  ‘Guilty.’

  The quay – there was no real port – lay on the west bank of the River Adur, a typical huddle of seaside cottages, various enterprises to supply the needs of those going to sea, as well as a couple of inns, one of which was the destination for their coach. Oliphant and Pearce alighted, the former going straight indoors to escape a stiff and cold breeze, Pearce making for the muddy banks that formed most of the shore, to look out for a particular vessel.

  His heart lifted to see the barque on which he had enlisted his Pelicans and he felt a pang of something rare. The feeling that without he had them by his side, he was somehow not complete. He would require a boat to get out into the midstream, where they were anchored in deep water, but first he decided to eat. Also, he had to enquire about the return coach, the one in which they arrived having its horses unhitched. Glad to find it would not depart until the morrow, he decided to wait to take food. How much better to order a capital dinner for five.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  John Pearce was not exactly welcomed aboard the privateer vessel on which his Pelicans were serving; someone had alerted the owner/master, a one-eyed brute called Maartens, to his imminent arrival. If they recognised him, which was unlikely, or were perhaps confused by his naval attire, it was not something vouchsafed to anyone else aboard and whoever was acting as lookout had disappeared. So he clambered on to an empty deck and made his own way aft to meet Maartens, who had emerged from his cabin, that single basilisk eye fixed on him, steady and unfriendly.