Enemies at Every Turn

by David Donachie

  He at once replied regarding Charlie and Rufus, asking that a demand be forwarded through the Admiralty to Ralph Barclay to release his ‘servants’ and despatch them to his new ship; the sods might refuse him, Barclay particularly, but they would not refuse the Secretary of State for the Home Department.

  If, having been granted command of a vessel for the first time, he expected to be greeted by the Admiralty porters with respect, he was disappointed; ex-seamen of advanced years, secure in their positions, rudeness was their abiding quality, though Pearce was unaware, as he was subjected to the usual grudging welcome, that such treatment was meted to any officer on his way to receive a commission who did not see it as his bounden duty to slip them a douceur merely for the act of opening a gate and touching their hat.

  What followed was the usual wait in the anteroom, full of officers who had only gained entry with a coin slipped to the doorman, lieutenants in the main in search of employment, though there were captains too, the condition of their uniforms attesting to time spent on half pay; as he had done on a previous visit, John Pearce avoided any intimacy, not even introducing himself.

  This he did for the very good reason that sailors gossiped like fishwives, thus his name was known throughout the service and it was not one held in high regard through a combination of anger at how he had been granted his rank and outright jealousy at what was seen as his run of good fortune, which they no doubt put down to some satanic influence. Whatever, he would not open himself up to their condescension.

  Called eventually into the great room in which the Board of Admiralty met, he was greeted with little courtesy by a fellow he had first encountered only a few weeks previously – and that had been far from a pleasant experience. Phillip Stephens was the secretary to the Admiralty, a dry stick of a bureaucrat who seemed to be rendered more grey by the nature of his garments, they being of a not much deeper hue than his pallid skin, the only spark of brightness coming from a powdered wig. Certainly there was little life in the hooded eyes and his tone of voice seemed to reek of suppressed frustration.

  ‘I will not ask how this sudden request from the First Lord came about, only observe that it is most unusual. How it would have been met had Rackham not fallen ill I do not know.’

  ‘It will be a new experience for me,’ Pearce responded with a cold glare, ‘to depart this building having been given something for which I do not have to pay.’

  Stephens responded in kind, the look implying that Pearce should never have been allowed to enter the Admiralty in the first place. On both his previous visits he had been obliged to pass over money, first to secure his lieutenant’s commission and a few weeks previously the protections against impressment for his friends; those who wrote documents for the navy did not do so for free.

  ‘Given your publicly expressed antipathy to the service, it is to be hoped this is only of a temporary nature.’

  Delighted to be granted an opportunity to needle the man, Pearce grinned. ‘Have you not heard, Mr Stephens? I have decided on a naval career after all, which is why you will find on your desk soon a request that my servants be allowed to join me.’

  Stephens was not going to oblige him by saying ‘damnation’ in his presence, but on his exit Pearce was sure the invective would pass his lips, so baleful was his look.

  Charlie Taverner and Rufus Dommet were working on the fore top rigging, finishing off the work there under the supervision of a second lieutenant and a bosun’s mate who knew how to make sense of what, to a novice, would have been just a mess of hemp. Their hands were thankfully hardened enough not to become like those of the landsmen newly come aboard, whose palms were soon raw from the pulling they had to do on the ropes used to get aloft what the more experienced seamen required.

  HMS Semele had needed miles of buntlines and leech lines for the shrouds, hawsers for the standing rigging that ran from the deck to the highest point on the ship. When it came to preventer stays to keep the masts from suffering too much strain, these were made of cables, three hawsers entwined. Everything ran through blocks – single-, double- and triple-sheaved, depending on the task each one had to perform.

  Added to that were sister blocks and futtock plates, plus a myriad variety of knots, braces, rope pendants, parrals, working on the tensions created by one force and acting to control another, that applied once in place by a combination of human muscle and the windlass, the whole now near to being complete.

  On the quarterdeck, speaking trumpet in hand and wearing an outfit that would scarce have differentiated him from a tramp, stood the premier, bellowing orders to the six naval and two marine lieutenants who had come aboard over the last week, while cursing roundly the numerous midshipmen scurrying to obey their instructions, many from the captain’s home county of Somerset, others the offspring or distant relatives of fellow officers whose parents had managed to persuade the absent captain to take them under his wing.

  The vessel smelt of tar, grease, linseed and human sweat, the first to protect the rigging against the elements that would insidiously wear away at it through weather and the inevitable motion, the grease easing the sheave pins, oil keeping the outer wood of the blocks from cracking through drying out, the perspiration coming from the fact that there was no machinery in the world that could carry out tasks only possible by the application of the muscles of sometimes as many as a hundred souls when it came to getting aloft the heaviest spars and canvas.

  Beneath them there was a party on their knees caulking the last of the deck seams, driving in oakum before sealing the join between planking with tar, while above them the most nimble men aboard, the topmen, were working to bend on the heavy canvas sails with the dexterity and defiance of death that was their trademark – sometimes they seemed to having nothing to attach them to the ship but a single finger or a couple of bare toes.

  The carpenter and his party of mates were busy teaching men they considered dunderheads to put in place and remove the bulkhead panels. These shut off the open decks at the stern to provide both the great cabin and the wardroom, while inside those wooden walls more barriers were being erected to create the varied internal accommodation, the whole accompanied by a great deal of cursing as cack-handed novices struggled to understand the simple orders that required them to drive home or knock out a wedge.

  The arrival of the captain saw the officers, mids and those marines working, ordinary lobsters included, rush to change into proper uniform and to clean themselves up enough to pass muster, with Ralph Barclay, who knew the drill, ordering his barge to row around the vessel, ostensibly to study her lines but really to give those men time to smarten themselves up. Once sufficient of that had passed he was piped aboard with all ceremony.

  Then all hands were called aft to stand in temporary divisions so he could read out his commission. He stood on the poop, with the premier beside him, and in addition two faces that the pair of Pelicans had never hoped to see again. Ugly Devenow they had feared would arrive with Barclay, but much worse was the countenance of a fellow who had been pressed with them, someone they had forgotten. The sight of the handsome-cum-corrupt face of Cornelius Gherson had them making doubly sure they were behind broad shoulders to keep them out of sight.

  And there was Captain Ralph Barclay himself, with his glowering look and dark brow, with one pinned-up sleeve attached to the chest of his broadcloth blue coat, a man Rufus and Charlie knew only too well – and they had passed this onto their shipmates – to be a good seaman, if a miserable bastard, who was not averse to having his crew started regularly and flogged into what he considered good order.

  He was looking over the complement of his new ship with that habitual glower on his dark-skinned face; this was intended to let them know that from now on he was God Almighty as far as they were concerned. Once this official act of taking over the vessel was complete, they would begin to hear about his list of instructions for the proper running of his command, his personal way of doing things, and that would tell them more th
an the Articles of War by which they were collectively bound.

  Every captain had his ways and few of them were soft-hearted or indulgent, nor would those expected to abide by them want them to be too lax; a ship of war was not a republic. If they were to survive, let alone prosper, HMS Semele had to be properly run from kites to keel. Any other way would see them doomed before any of the cannon yet to come aboard were fired, for the sea was a dangerous element, unforgiving, and the enemy they would face as deadly as they intended they should themselves be.

  Yet those captains’ orders had to be fair also; men like Davy would not allow for tyranny and they had their way of letting those who led them know when they had overstepped the mark, and if it upset the buggers all the way up to their Lordships at the Admiralty, so be it. They would do as ordered, sail and fight the ship to the best of their ability, but they would not be treated as slaves.

  ‘By the powers invested in me by the Lords Commissioners of the Admiralty …’ On he droned, speaking words which some aboard had heard a dozen times in their lives, having been at sea since they were nippers.

  Isaac Lavery had accepted the charge from Catherine Carruthers to find Cornelius Gherson the previous day, this imparted with the most simpering of pleas. In truth, he had a strong desire to see the fellow damned; if he could not penetrate into his employer’s mind, he was as keen to see the back of him as the alderman.

  The request had occasioned a night out ostensibly trying to locate and warn him; in reality he had sat the whole time out in a snug coffee house reading the latest journals, having no idea where the pair were who were due to be taken up, Sir Richard Ford’s note not having said.

  But the duty did allow him time with his employer’s wife as he sadly reported his failure and was then granted an opportunity to show her some sympathy. Should she ask him to carry on, he would continue with the pretence as his other duties allowed, for each time he reported failure he would advance his suit a little. Seeing a naive creature, a near girl lost in confusion, he failed to realise what a scheming creature he was dealing with.

  Catherine Carruthers might have lacked great knowledge of the world, but she did not lack acquaintance with attempts at seduction – moves which she had been subjected to since a tender age, when the pretty child had blossomed into the beginnings of womanhood. Having had the advantage of a rare physical precocity, looking and seeming older than her years, she knew what Lavery was about and could calculate just how much latitude to grant to the old goat so that he would do her bidding.

  ‘Another low fellow called today, which you did not tell me.’

  Aware of the sharp tone, Lavery was swift in his reply. ‘There was nothing to tell. He came with a note for your husband.’

  ‘Did he come from this fellow Codge?’

  Lavery’s hesitation nearly got him a blast of true temper; it was only by making a fist of her hand she stopped herself from actually issuing the kind of filthy curse which, even as a child, she had confined to times when she was alone in her bedroom.

  ‘It seems to me, Lavery, that if we can find this fellow, he will lead us to Cornelius.’

  She had not met Codge; he had, and he knew a bully boy when he saw one. His mistress was asking him to go to the kind of places a man of his type would frequent and that on its own was dangerous enough without he found Codge, who would not likely be happy about the unearthing. Thankfully he had an excuse ready to hand.

  ‘It is difficult to contemplate such a course when my obligation to my master takes up so much time.’

  ‘But you are so clever, Isaac,’ she pleaded, before looking shocked, her hand to her mouth, her voice matching the look. ‘Forgive me for using your given name.’

  ‘You have no idea of how happy it makes me that you feel you can, madam.’

  His hand inched out, but there was no way Catherine Carruthers was prepared to yet take it. Looking up at him, taking in his bulbous purple nose, the lined face enclosed by those big stuck-out ears and the age bags under his watery eyes, which were now full of pity, she wondered how far she could push; would he risk his position for an indication that his aim was progressing?

  ‘You must find the time and I will help you do it, even if I risk the wrath of my husband.’

  ‘No!’ That response was emphatic, while the concerned expression changed to one of a near-fatherly look, which irritated her immensely. ‘You must repose your trust in me and I will not disappoint you by any failure of effort.’

  ‘How I hope you do not.’

  ‘The fellow who called today may do so again. When he does and when he leaves, I will dog his heels until I discover from where the creature has emerged, which may well be the den of this fellow Codge.’

  Her pale smooth hand finally came out to be wrapped in his, with its wrinkled skin and the large brown spots of age very obvious on the back. ‘How I wish I was as brave as you.’

  In a nearby room Alderman Denby Carruthers was sitting staring at his bookshelves. He had received two missives this morning, one from Bow Street telling him of the failure to lay Gherson and Codge by the heels, as well as another less well composed from the latter, informing him that he would be calling in the near future for a little talk.

  There was no doubting what that implied and the alderman wondered if Druce, his brother-in-law, having helped in the botched disposal of Gherson, was in a position to aid him once more. There was no doubt this Codge posed a serious danger; whatever it cost to get rid of him had to be less than he would extract for his silence.

  About to ring for Lavery, who would take a letter to Druce’s office in the Strand, he decided against using his clerk; this was a message best delivered personally.

  Emily Barclay read her husband’s letter for the tenth time, trying to make sense of it, while also trying to think how to respond.

  … I decline to support you in any way and I hereby order you to return to Frome, where, upon your arrival you will find waiting for you a list of instructions regarding your future behaviour. Do not, under any circumstances, entertain an illusion that you can disobey me in this, for if you do I will denounce you as an adulteress and cast you from both my life and my responsibilities. Even should you end in the workhouse, I will not come to your aid. As for your family, they will suffer for your folly.

  Please address your agreement to me immediately, as I am preparing to weigh, care of HMS Semele, Chatham Naval Dockyard.

  At a loss to know how to respond, her initial reaction, to reply damning his nerve, was held back by the changed circumstances of her life. She must await the return of John Pearce and seek from him the right way to react.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Emily got her answer quickly and that was a scoff at the mere notion that Ralph Barclay could do anything. He was, though he did not say it, tempted to respond with an outright threat but decided that such a thing, which he could hardly keep a secret, would only work on Emily’s nerves and that was the last thing he wished to happen, for it would interfere with what he hoped to achieve. First he had to tell her what had happened with Dundas and the task he had been asked to perform.

  ‘So I am off to a shipyard in the New Forest and I want you to accompany me – in fact, I insist.’

  There was no need for him to add that, left behind, she might not be safe; the time had come for their future life to be decided and he suspected it would be he who would have to force the issue. This was not because of cowardice on Emily’s part but the natural caution of one who had been raised in a society riddled with hypocrisy, one in which duty was counted as being above happiness in the human condition.

  John Pearce had been raised in a different setting, as a young man taught to question every tenet and see them often for what they were: platitudes passed down from the powerful and wealthy who blithely ignored their constraints themselves, useful as long as they kept the lower orders in line.

  How many landowners had he met in his father’s company who went to church only to be seen
and grovelled to by their tenants and socially lower neighbours, to exchange pious dialogues with the clerics whose appointment they controlled while privately happy to engage with the Edinburgh Ranter in philosophical discussions that questioned if there was a God in heaven at all?

  ‘Insist?’ Emily said, her brow furrowed with the beginnings of objection.

  ‘For the sake of love,’ he replied, smiling as she blushed, for they were again in the public lobby of Nerot’s Hotel. ‘And freedom.’

  ‘John, I—’

  He responded with a wicked smile. ‘If you do not wish me to take you in arms this instant, you will cease to demur. I will bespeak a post-chaise to collect you from here and a separate one for Michael and I, both to go to Richmond Park, where we can combine in a single carriage to take us to a place where we are unknown and may seek accommodation as a couple without raising an eyebrow.’

  ‘You seem to have planned everything.’

  ‘Someone must,’ Pearce insisted, ‘for this limbo we are presently in does not satisfy you or I.’

  ‘Do I not have a choice?’

  ‘Yes, you can stay in London, take rooms as you did at Mrs Fletcher’s house and await my return, for which I will ensure you are adequately provided. I cannot force you to join me and neither will I try, but I will say this, Emily, to say no to my project is only putting off an intimacy that must one day occur.’

  That deepened the blush that had begun to suffuse her cheeks; well raised as she was and knowing to that which he was alluding it was impossible not to turn a high colour. What men and women did in the bedchamber was never mentioned in polite society; as far as she knew it was never even discussed between man and wife.

  ‘Do you agree?’ he asked.

  The pause was long, with Emily examining her clasped hands as though, somehow, in them lay a clue as to the correct answer. Pearce was actually holding his breath, a fact he only realised when on her affirmative nod he was free to exhale.