‘It wouldn’t be so bad if the sods could hit the buckets.’
O’Hagan posited this, in response to a sympathetic aside from his captain, a statement he’d made so often in their time together it was reckoned a mantra. But he had the right of it: nothing was worse for an already troubled gut than the sight and smell of vomit.
Off their starboard bow lay true white cliffs, so much purer in colour than those around Dover, as well as the entrance to the River Stour bracketed by a marsh floodplain. He would have to make his turn before he came abreast of the Sandwich Flats. Anticipating it to be a slow process, he called everyone up from below with ample time to spare. He watched to see how many of his topmen looked nimble and for others who clambered up the shrouds like a crab. There were too many of the latter.
If Hazard groaned as she wore round, so did her captain, as well as anyone used to the sea. It was so slow in execution, she nearly failed the full turn, a lucky and slightly stronger gust of wind bringing her head round in time to avoid missing stays. On her new course, the waves slapping into and lifting the stern changed the nature of the pitch and roll, to no doubt claim new victims.
The cruise, if it could justify that description, took nearly the whole of the day and, once more at anchor off Faversham Creek, the job of cleaning the ship became a priority. The smell of vinegar soon overpowered that of sick, but it was a weary crew who took to their hammocks, Pearce having decided that for this night, an anchor watch would serve, so as many as possible could rest.
‘How do you fare, Mr Livingston?’
They were sharing a watch, not that Pearce was required to, but such times, when the ship was quiet and there were few people about, provided a chance to get to know a person like the midshipman.
The ‘I fare well, sir’ was a fib.
‘You will overcome it, be assured. Seasickness passes.’
‘Aye, aye, sir.’ This sounded unconvincing.
There was a temptation to enquire into how he was faring with his fellow mids, but that had to be suppressed. The three older lads had moved to the orlop, but being so tender in years, Livingston had stayed with Mrs Low. While that would save him from off-duty bullying, it did not bar it during working hours. As a source of endemic harassment, few places could compare with a midshipman’s berth, which had Pearce bless his good fortune in having a quartet of real youngsters.
There were fellows in their thirties who still clung to the position, sitting and regularly failing to pass for lieutenant, kept in place only though their connections. Taken aboard by a captain, it would usually be a favour to a relative, a close friend, or the man’s own patron, a senior officer or some titled peer.
Would he have passed if he’d had to sit the exam? There was no way of telling, yet had it been at the time he was promoted, it would have been highly doubtful given his lack of time at sea. Odd, that then all he could think about was getting out of the navy, which foundered on several things, the key one being the need to aid his Pelicans not cheered at the prospect of life ashore.
Nothing had prepared the young John Pearce for anything other than as a radical opponent of monarchical government. Even that had fallen somewhat after what he saw as the debacle of the French Revolution. How high had been the aspirations when the Bastille fell, how low it had sunk in the bloodbath of the Terror, which had dispirited and consumed his own father.
It was gloomy introspection again, so he was glad when the bell rang to bring Mr Hallowell on deck to take over, along with Campbell. Entering his cabin he found Oliphant, who should have at this time been asleep, waiting for him, drinking his wine and eager to tell him it was time they got on with their mission. He even referred to the overused cliché of time and tide waiting for no man.
‘Did you witness our efforts today?’
‘I stayed out of the way, kept to my cot, but by the mood in the wardroom, I can guess it was not, what should it be called …?’ He paused, his eyes lighting up, ‘Plain sailing?’
‘Not funny and neither was the experience.’
‘We can’t delay for ever, Pearce. Dundas must think we’re on our way already.’
‘He can think all he likes, he is not on board.’
‘What if matters are resolved before we weigh?’ The look Pearce was getting had no humour in it now, more proper concern. ‘What need then of us and this ship? He made it plain to me, matters were close to becoming critical.’
‘I see no advantage in us foundering for want of skill.’
‘Can I ask if you are exaggerating that possibility?’
Pearce had to admit it was possible he was being overcautious. Plenty men-o’-war put to sea with crews at less than full competence and managed to get to their destination. Quite a few even went into battle in such a condition. There were any number of things that could cause a vessel to founder but, outside an unexpected hurricane, poor handling was rarely the cause.
That did not take into account being driven onto a lee shore, running aground where the hull could be damaged, fire, which was much feared for the speed at which a vessel could become very like a torch, or losing masts in a gale. All were everyday risks, but in normal sailing things could go less than perfectly, damage could be sustained, but ships were built to stay afloat so any situation usually left time for retrieval.
‘I will discuss the weather with Mr Williams and gauge his opinion.’
‘Which sounds like an excuse to do nothing.’
Another cliché came to mind about being caught between two stools. Oliphant was right, they could not delay indefinitely and never mind Dundas. His conversation with Sir David Rose at Gibraltar had more than hinted what Britannia feared could quickly come to pass.
‘I will try to get away in the next few days.’
‘The next two days would be more comforting.’
‘Speaking of comfort, how is the wardroom?’
‘Your surgeon seems a decent cove, Williams is an old woman, Hallowell and Worricker are too young to be interesting and Moberly is a bore. Did you know he played the flute?’
‘I could hardly fail to hear it.’
‘What you will not hear is anything approaching a tune.’
‘Well, you will oblige me by returning there. I have letters to write. Another thing, send ashore tomorrow for some personal stores of your own, not least some wine.’
The letters included a repeat communication to the Admiralty, the fourth on the subject, for another lieutenant and a master-at-arms. The latter, should there be a choice, someone recommended for the position by a respected officer under whom he had served.
The quill paused as he thought of Michael, presently doing the job, and the description in the regulations, which said any person, so put forward, should be sober, orderly, respectful and obedient. O’Hagan qualified for orderly, but nothing more. It brought forth a soft chuckle. Next, he penned another letter to Emily, which Oliphant could take ashore in the morning. She would be getting his; he was not getting replies, if indeed there were any.
Sat in a nightgown, she was writing at the same time as he, replying to his last letter sent from Chatham, with gossip regarding Adam and his almost magical progress, which amounted to increased smiling and his disinclination to sleep through the night. He was the reason she was awake. She told him briefly of what had happened regarding Gherson, though she was circumspect about Hodgson and what he intended. This he had vouchsafed to her before he departed.
John would not approve of her getting involved with Gherson. He would certainly disapprove of what Hodgson had got her to pen before he left. Sanded and sealed with wax, and with Adam now asleep, she went back to bed.
Walter Hodgson set off for Newgate early, knowing he was in for a testing meeting. He had decided, on first acquaintance, he disliked Gherson intensely, and all that had occurred since did nothing to change that opinion. As for him hanging, his view was that if he was not to swing for Catherine Carruthers, there was probably, in his past, enough villainy to just
ify a rope; he was the type for crime.
Druce was protecting his brother-in-law, that was obvious, and he knew what it meant for him. He would soft-soap him now, hint at more paid employment, but once Gherson was disposed of, he would want any connection severed. That was still in his mind when he entered Gherson’s cell to find him being shaved. He nodded and sat on the cot to wait.
‘Do you have a spare coin for the barber, Mr Hodgson?’
This came with a knowing look, yet there was no surprise for the thief-taker that his name was out. He had dealt with Crossley and that could not be done without it being noticed. Warder gossip would take care of the rest. Likewise, the request for money was done to assert Gherson’s dominance but it was not worth the concern to refuse. Very shortly he would knock him off his perch.
‘Had you told me you were calling, I would have delayed my breakfast.’
The coin was passed to the barber and he departed, shutting a door it was unnecessary to lock; no one sought to escape from the State House.
‘And you are obliged to sit on the bed. I really must demand another chair.’
‘Perhaps for Denby Carruthers.’
Gherson tried to hide the jolt the name engendered. He failed, though it had to be said, only for a moment. That irritating smirk was soon back. Dislike him he might, but Hodgson still had to acknowledge his cunning.
‘Who is he?’
‘Please, Gherson, do not insult me.’
Such was his arrogance, he couldn’t resist the sneering rejoinder, and for Hodgson it showed his Achilles heel.
‘Why ever not? Is that not what you’re here for, to take insults for another?’
‘You’d be a fool to think so and I don’t rate you that. But I do wonder, if you were acquitted of murdering his wife, what do you think Carruthers would do?’ There was no response. ‘Or is it you think you and he might be exchanging places?’
The smirk was gone now and a long silence ensued, coupled with an unblinking stare. There were things that did not have to be said to Gherson for he knew them already. Carruthers, rich, betrayed and furious, had sent his wife to find him. He had also sent the pair of brutes to see her atone for her sin.
‘If you now know my name, you will also be aware of how I make my way in the world. But you will be in ignorance of one fact. I was engaged to search for you and the fees for my work came from Denby Carruthers. Would you care to tell me why that would be?’
‘I would not.’
‘Which makes even stranger my actual instructions were to fail to do so. My hunt was a pretence.’
‘Instructions from whom?’
‘I doubt you require me to tell you.’
Gherson had made a great effort to remove any clues to his thoughts from his expression; nothing was to be given away by reaction.
‘Let us go back to Carruthers, the man whose wife you rogered. How upset was he? Angry and humiliated enough to go to extremes, indeed to seek to dispose of you off London Bridge. Why not a second time when that failed?’
That furrowed Gherson’s brow; he was well aware of what was being referred to, he just didn’t know how Hodgson had acquired the information. Only those on HMS Brilliant possessed any knowledge and that was partial – what he chose to tell them, which was not the whole truth.
‘The question surely occurs to you?’
‘It may.’
‘It must. You were carousing in Covent Garden when Catherine Carruthers found you. It’s doubtful she would have friends or spies in such a location, so who told her where to look? Her husband, perhaps, but who told him?’
Silence and a pinched look. He had left Druce’s office, telling the prize agent where he could be found. He had no idea Hodgson was guessing and his observation was something of a shot in the dark.
‘Yet you seem to be relying on that source to get you freed.’
There being no point in more obfuscation, Gherson spoke plain and, in doing so, vindicated Hodgson’s guesswork. ‘It would be in his interest to do so.’
‘Which could only be true if you had evidence of Carruthers’ involvement and I doubt that to be the case. The question is, if you seek to bluff Druce, will he fall for it? You see yourself as clever and I admit you have certain abilities in that area. But happen you might be too clever by half.’
‘You flatter yourself to think so.’
‘Do I? You sent a note to Mrs Barclay …’
‘How do you know about that?’ he barked, composure gone.
‘If you are free to do so – not in prison, say – it is possible to find things out.’
‘So it was she who told you about London Bridge.’
‘Just as you told her about certain doubtful trades being carried out with the Barclay funds, something that imparted directly and before the crime could have had little effect, given you would be incriminating yourself.’
Hodgson had to leave him room to react, but he was not surprised by his silence.
‘You did so, knowing full well she would challenge Druce. He would smoke her suspicions and the source. From there it was a short step to him giving you what you asked for through my agency. That you did not anticipate, you expected him to come and see you himself. I’m sure you would have promised him your silence, knowing he would not believe you. When were you going to threaten him with the rest?’
‘You assume a great deal.’
‘Because I know a great deal. You think Druce will sacrifice his brother-in-law to save you.’
‘To save himself. I have the means to ruin both him and Ommaney and I will have my chance to do so in court. That pamphlet you threw at me tells me my words would be widely disseminated.’
‘Ah, the right of the accused to speak. And Mrs Barclay?’
‘I owe her nothing, less than nothing. Wrong, I owe her my contempt.’
‘Handy, when you reckon to have the means to blackmail her.’ When he didn’t respond, Hodgson merely said. ‘The child.’
‘The bastard child.’
‘What if it is she who could save you?’
‘I cannot see how.’
‘I can tell you now, Druce will not lift a finger and he has done nothing that might prove help to your innocence, even given the chance to do so. I showed him the drawings I brought to you, two of which are true likenesses of a pair, sailors by their garb, who left the Barrington salon minutes after you and Mrs Carruthers. They could be the men who laid you out and ravaged the poor woman, no doubt on instruction but for foul satisfaction as well. I put forward the notion they be printed and disseminated. He declined that suggestion.’
‘Where are those drawings now?’
Hodgson responded with a humourless smile; Gherson was getting to where he needed him to be, any sense of his being in control evaporating.
‘In his possession, where I suspect they will stay. That is unless he destroys them or allows Carruthers to do so.’
His scheming was falling apart but he was reluctant to admit it and his response was petulant. ‘I shall have my say.’
‘Last words, which might raise questions about Ommaney and Druce, but they will be laid at the door of an aggrieved associate who may be a swindler. Accusations against Denby Carruthers will prove nothing and be a nine-day wonder.’
‘I pray it to be more than that.’
‘Even if he is brought to justice, what good will that do you in your pauper’s grave? And that you will be lucky to get if you are freed. A man who has tried to kill you twice will not be afraid of a third attempt. And, now you are famous, your likeness in all those pamphlets, it will be impossible to hide.’
A full minute of reflection followed, Gherson gnawing on his prospects, the thief-taker wearing the wry smile of certainty.
‘What are you proposing?’ he whispered eventually, like a broken spirit.
‘I have consulted a lawyer and he is of the opinion that the right person pleading can get you acquitted.’
‘Who?’
‘They will be
named once you have listed for me all the dubious transactions you entered into with Ommaney and Druce on the Barclay account, a document I will have attested by a notary public.’
‘To do so would be to surrender my leverage.’
‘You don’t have any leverage, Gherson. But Mrs Barclay, with that information, has a great deal and it will be used to benefit you. That will include your well-being when you are released, for she will not chase for a public shaming, only reimbursement. In short, the reputation of Ommaney and Druce will remain unsullied.’
‘Why?’
‘I do believe you pleaded Christian charity when you met her. If there is doubt about your guilt, she cannot countenance an innocent man going to the gallows, even one she dislikes with all her heart.’
‘She hates me.’
‘That is not a sentiment she allows herself, for it is a sin.’
‘I will still be at risk.’
‘True, but ask yourself what Druce both wants and needs. Then ask who has the means to stay Carruthers’ hand?’
‘How will I know he has succeeded?’
‘You won’t.’ Hodgson reached into his pocket and produced a folded letter, which he opened and began to read. ‘There’s much here about Captain Barclay and what a fine and upstanding officer he was …’
‘Forgive me if I jeer. The man was a fool and such a person and their money are soon parted. In the case of that dupe, it was he and his wife who were even sooner parted.’
‘Enjoy your joke, but listen: “I feel it my duty to recommend to whosoever reads this reference that the good character and abilities of Cornelius Gherson cannot be overpraised. He served my late husband diligently and well, bringing to him not only his skill with accounts and ledgers but, having served before the mast, an acute knowledge of how to work and sail a ship of war.”
‘There’s more, but you have no need to hear it. Such a saint will seek to ensure you are not the victim of a murder.’ The letter was folded and returned to the pocket. ‘That will be signed as soon as you provide what Mrs Barclay requires. All efforts will be made to get you free and at the expense of Edward Druce. Once that is secured, such a recommendation should get you a place with another ship’s captain.’
A Close Run Thing Page 26
