Enemies at Every Turn

by David Donachie

  Everything that happened or was proposed went through their hands: pressure that some relative be given a sinecure office with high pay and no actual work, that expeditions be despatched to this place and that, every demand sent in by some commercial interest seeking security for their trades, as if the nation had a bottomless pit of soldiers, sailors, ships and money, when in truth Britannia was stretched to the very limit in all regards.

  As of now the greatest military problem was a vital French convoy coming from the United States, reputed to be of over one hundred cargo vessels, carrying food, mostly grain. The harvest had failed the previous autumn and intelligence reported Paris as being on the verge of starvation; at the very least bread was scarce and expensive, so the very factor that had helped to topple Louis XVI and the Bourbons was now bearing down on the regicides of the Committee of Public Safety.

  There were reports to plough through from the West Indies, the Low Countries and the Mediterranean, matters relating to the East India Company and problems with neutrals such as the Dutch and the Scandinavians, all of them needing attention, as well as requests from French émigrés either resident in Britain or attached to the court of the Count of Artois in Koblenz.

  Finally Dundas came to the letter he had from John Pearce, telling him he was on his way to Buckler’s Hard. The funds he needed and had pointedly asked for had yet to be collected and despatched with a secure and well-escorted messenger, for specie was not easy to come by with so many outgoings to pay for, not least subsidies to allies, so he would have to wait a while for an answer to what was happening in the only part of France still rebellious. Still, the matter was in hand and that was to the good.

  Such satisfaction did not last as he read on; it really was too much that the upstart sod was again asking him to concern himself with the fate of his two servants. Their names and the ship into which they had been sent Pearce had added in the margin as a reminder, which pricked Dundas somewhat since he had forgotten the initial request. The brief scribble he sent to Admiralty came back with a reply that made him sigh, though it was not anything to trouble him greatly. The ship on which the pair were serving had weighed from the Nore and was now at sea.

  ‘To join the Channel Fleet,’ the man he had sent to deliver his request informed him.

  ‘Then send it on to Portsmouth, let Black Dick Howe deal with it, that is, should the old bugger ever be able to rouse himself from his septuagenarian slumbers.’

  ‘Sir, Earl Howe’s fleet weighed several days ago, if you recall, to seek to intercept the American grain convoy.’

  God, Dundas thought, I must be getting old, for he had forgotten that.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Pearce was obliged to issue an apology as he watched the second of the four-horse carriages he had hired disappear down the forest track, and that was to his best friend.

  ‘Michael, I have only just realised how cramped we will be in only one post-chaise with all of our trunks. I’ll be damn near sitting on your knee.’

  ‘John-boy, I have, thanks to you, a decent coat as well as a comforter and will do very well on the postillion’s step, for it is not bitter. Besides, what would I be wanting sitting inside listening to you and Mrs Barclay billing and cooing and me obliged to keep looking skywards so you did not see me redden?’

  The notion of any indulgence in such behaviour with Emily was not a thing John Pearce anticipated, but there was another concern and he hissed at his huge friend. ‘We must stop calling her Mrs Barclay.’

  He looked to see if the coachman had heard what had been said, unsure given the man was looking straight ahead, only then realising that he had never bothered to ask Emily her maiden name. He would have to think of one to use, for there was no way of getting to Buckler’s Hard in one fell swoop. They would have to stop frequently to change horses, for food as well as overnight and he was thankful he had the money from the sale of the Tolland mounts to pay for what was a rich man’s mode of travel, albeit he was intent on reimbursing his expenses from the funds Dundas had promised to provide.

  Entering the carriage, it was to join a companion who was still harbouring doubts, so it was not until they reached Hindhead – they had changed horses many times – where they would need to spend the night, that he was able to broach the subject.

  ‘You are not suggesting, John, that we share a room in a travelling inn?’

  The lie was swift and far from convincing. ‘Never in life, Emily.’

  ‘Then brother and sister will do very well to cover the journey.’

  ‘And when we get to the New Forest?’

  ‘I still have time to think on that.’

  ‘Of course,’ replied a frustrated John Pearce.

  He was destined to remain frustrated even as they passed through the great hunting estate created by William the Conqueror not long after his elevation to the crown of England. Emily was more intent on soaking up the surroundings – pointing out the deer and ponies that abounded, as well as the specially planted oaks designed to grow wood for the navy – than responding to Pearce’s diffident attempts to steer their stilted conversation towards how they would disport themselves in public.

  At the last change of horses, in Lyndhurst, he learnt that the possibility of accommodation at Buckler’s Hard was not good; it was a place wholly dedicated to ship construction and not the kind of riverside village to offer much in the way of quality lodgings. So they headed for Lymington, sat on the estuary created by the river of the same name, ending up outside an inn called the King’s Head – there seemed to be one in every English town – which sat on a steep cobbled hill leading down the quayside and harbour.

  ‘My maiden name is Raynesford.’

  Emily imparted this as the coachman and Michael dismounted, preparatory to unloading their trunks. That required Pearce and Emily to alight and enter the inn, and not having time to think it through, that was the name in which he bespoke their best set of rooms, which included a tiny parlour, to which they were led by an innkeeper effusively happy to have such a fine naval officer and his lady wife staying at his ’umble establishment.

  Instead of Emily feeling awkward it was John Pearce, and that was increased by the arrival of a man to light the fire, a serving girl with a bowl of fruit, followed by yet another with a vase of wild flowers, then a third more senior come to unpack their clothing and possessions, this while ‘man and wife’ stood awkwardly at either side of the parlour window.

  ‘I shall pay off the coachman,’ Pearce said finally, as the maid was bent over their open chests tutting in a censorial fashion at the way they had been packed, ‘then go to Buckler’s Hard and see about my ship.’

  ‘Yes,’ Emily responded, clearly relieved.

  ‘Damn me, Michael,’ Pearce protested once out in the street, a boy having been sent to secure them a hack. ‘I thought I knew about women, but I find I am still a novice.’

  Michael laughed. ‘It’s not just women, John-boy, you have a rate of things to learn in other places too.’

  Buckler’s Hard was an isolated place, and being at the very southern edge of the New Forest, the only way in and out was over a series of narrow bridges or a long trek through heath, bog and mainly open woodland, a landscape in which anyone deserting a naval vessel would mightily stick out, so there was little fear he would get to his destination and find a ship devoid of hands.

  He had been told it was dedicated to shipbuilding and, even as widely travelled as he was, John Pearce had never seen a place so accurately described – it was literally two rows of workers’ houses built either side of a sloping road leading to a pair of slipways. The unpainted hulls of a ship of the line and a frigate under construction dominated the skyline.

  With the whole community employed in the task, the place smelt of the resin from freshly hewn wood, this carried on dust rising out of the deep saw pit in which one man stood in the ground with one end of the ten-foot-long blade while another, no doubt the senior of the two, laboured from ab
ove. There was a blacksmith forge, a rope-walk and a mast house as well, and in the process of being seasoned, the long fir trunks for the upper poles floating in the water beside it.

  HMS Larcher lay out in the middle of the tidal river and Pearce knew enough not to just go aboard. He sent out a message to say he had arrived, this to allow those on the ship to prepare the required greeting for a new commander. It was the same whichever vessel was welcoming a new captain – the commission from the Admiralty as well as the Articles of War had to be read out to a crew assembled, and all would want to appear at their best; given the entire complement of Larcher consisted of forty-five souls, it seemed an absurdity.

  Following that there were the warrants, to whom he was introduced by the master, in this case a fellow called Dorling. The gunner and carpenter went by the name of Kempshall, being twins, albeit one was fair with blue eyes, the other dark brown in both; the bosun was called Bird and the cook, oddly with two good legs instead of the more common one, answered to Bellam. The vessel did not run to a master-at-arms or a purser, the last being a task the sick Rackham had carried out himself; this now fell to Pearce.

  Those offices accounted for a tenth of the crew but – and this was a good thing – the overall age was low, master included; the last thing he needed was some old wiseacre stirring up trouble or questioning his orders. On inspection she turned out to be a dry ship, ready for sea with her new mainmast fully rigged, cramped below decks but not damp.

  She carried twelve three-pounder cannon on her single upper deck and for what was wanted, given she had a shallow draught good for inshore work, HMS Larcher seemed ideal, so, taking Dorling into his cabin, he advised him of the proposed destination with instructions to keep it to himself and together they pored over the charts he had brought of the Vendée coast.

  ‘We shall weigh, I hope, within a day or two. Work out a course and I will consult with you when we have cleared the Needles.’

  The ’tween decks being cramped, his accommodation did not run to anything approaching luxury. Michael would sling a hammock with the rest of the crew, taking a deck beam close to his tiny compartment to act as both servant and guard. The first task was to go over the various logs – muster books, lists of stores and the mass of paperwork that accompanied any ship of war – fed by cups of coffee fetched to him by his incongruous ‘servant’.

  ‘Do you think Charlie and Rufus will make it before we weigh?’

  ‘Perhaps not, Michael, but if they miss us they can stay here and await our return. I will leave word and a sum of money to keep them accommodated. I dare not risk them going to Mrs Barclay at the King’s Head.’

  ‘An inn where you will be spending this night.’

  ‘Yes,’ Pearce replied, lips pursed, anticipating the salacious jest that he expected to follow.

  ‘Sure, I can’t wait to see your face of the morning or the skip in your step.’

  ‘You have more certainty of either, brother, than I do.’

  As soon as he saw her Pearce knew his pessimism to be misplaced; never having had to work hard to look radiant, Emily had taken the trouble to put in an extra effort. Her shiny auburn hair was high-dressed and plaited showing the elegance of her long slim neck; the green silk dress edged with lace was not indiscreet in any way but did not disguise that she possessed an alluring bosom and below that an hourglass waist, which it required no stays to exaggerate.

  Without powder Pearce could see, as he bent to kiss her cheek, the fine, barely visible freckles that dotted them and it was hard to avoid looking at her lips without aching to meet them with his own. She had requested, while he was absent, a downstairs booth to eat in that cut them off from view, while the reserved attitude she had shown on the two-day journey to this place seemed to have evaporated to such an extent that no one could have mistaken them for anything other than man and wife, very comfortable in each other’s presence.

  They would have been utterly mistaken, for appearances were deceptive; there was still a reservation that John Pearce found impossible to break through, more in the nature of how they appeared to others, like the folk who served them, than in private conversation. Did those waiting on their booth notice how each exchange atrophied when they appeared, Emily being acutely conscious of their approach, as well as being rendered self-conscious by their knowing smiles, for, if they had not enquired, it was clear they saw the couple as either newly-weds or close to that estate.

  ‘What passes for acceptable in Paris,’ she hissed as the soup tureen was removed, ‘is not seen in the same light in England, John.’

  Having only alluded to the way men and women consorted with each other in the French capital, flirting openly in front of those to whom they were married, Pearce had to stop himself from going into detail regarding how that flirting was carried to the bedchamber, indeed with the knowledge and indifference of marriage partners in most cases.

  ‘I merely point out, Emily, that, as in this country, marriages are often entered into for reason of money, land or social position. Only very rarely does love trigger nuptials, more often in the novel than in real life. In certain circles, even in our country, people see no need to indulge in pretence.’

  ‘Are you alluding to my circumstances?’ she demanded, her lips pursed, an expression that quickly changed to a forced smile as a dish of dabs appeared in the hands of one of the serving girls.

  ‘Would it apply?’ Pearce asked, quietly, causing her to blush again; the presence of the girl did not bother him. She ignored him and concentrated on a too-fulsome thank you, which needled enough to have him go back to his previous point and expand upon it.

  ‘And as for your allusion to England being different from France, I can tell you, for I have personal experience, that in the upper reaches of society there is no difference whatsoever.’

  ‘Personal experience?’

  ‘The ladies of the court act no differently to their counterparts in Paris.’

  ‘No doubt, in time, you will relate to me this personal experience.’

  ‘I will not, any more than had you had any I would enquire about your own, for it is none of my business.’

  ‘You may satisfy yourself on that score,’ she replied primly.

  ‘Why are we arguing?’ he sighed.

  ‘We are not!’

  ‘I’m damned if I can tell the difference.’

  ‘I had many occasions, John, when I was required to remind my husband of his language, I did not think I would be obliged to do so with you.’

  ‘Then don’t.’

  ‘Are you saying I should just accept a foul tongue?’

  ‘May I take your plates, sir?’ Emily’s rather stern expression changed immediately and she nodded, as did Pearce, except he was not smiling, even when he was addressed. ‘Meat course will be along presently, Your Honour.’

  ‘Is it a fowl?’ Pearce asked, grinning widely and suddenly at his pun.

  ‘Why yes, sir, a chicken from our own yard.’

  ‘Thank you,’ he replied, allowing her to take their plates and depart, this while Emily tried but failed not to laugh, with Pearce reaching out to take her hand. ‘That is more the lady I wish to see.’

  ‘I deplore such language, John, as I was brought up to do.’

  ‘Even after you have spent months on a variety of naval vessels?’

  ‘What coarse expressions seamen use to each other I dislike intensely, but I would not interfere with their discourse.’

  ‘Then I ask to be treated as a common tar and be allowed to express myself as I see fit.’

  ‘I do hope you do not run to the words they use, which are truly disgusting.’

  ‘It has been known,’ Pearce replied, yet adding quickly, ‘but never in the presence of a lady. So let us eat our dinner and be friends, while talking of more pleasant topics.’

  Which was tried, though there was no avoiding how the night was expected to end and that induced inevitable silences as Emily’s mind wandered from whatever inconseque
ntial subject John Pearce was dwelling on in a deliberate attempt to keep the mood afloat. That also induced the odd pained expression when some inadvertent word brought the issue back into focus, until the time came when the food was eaten, the plates cleared away and the owner of the King’s Head, as a personal duty, was standing by with a candle to light them to their rooms.

  Candles, too, illuminated those, while a copper warming pan had been placed in the great bed, the long handle visible though the open door. There was a fire in the grate to give heat and extra light to the cramped parlour, and on entering Pearce uttered the ritual good night to their host. The closing of the door and the falling of the latch seemed to be louder than required, while Emily’s shoulders stiffened as she heard the key being turned in the big lock.

  She did not move as she felt his hands on her shoulders, but she did react when his lips brushed the nape of her neck, a shudder running through her frame. Did she know the rustling sound was of him removing his coat and his stock? If she did, she kept her eyes firmly on the flickering flames in the grate.

  ‘Emily,’ he whispered, as his hand encircled her waist and pulled her backwards, ‘this will not be like anything that has gone before, I promise.’

  Her voice was like that of a small girl. ‘Should I not go and disrobe?’

  ‘It would be my pleasure to do that for you, if you will allow me.’

  Without waiting for a reply, Pearce’s hands went to the hooks that held her green silk dress, starting at the neck and working his way down. He knew, without being told, that such an act was a wholly novel experience for her, just by the slight reaction to each disengagement of hook and eye, a greater one as his hands slipped under her shoulders to ease it forward and off, the dress dropping at her feet.

  Underneath she wore only a cotton shift and, once he had eased the strap off her shoulder a hand came round, this time to cup one exposed breast, and that did induce a sharp intake of breath as his finger gently sought the hardened nipple, his other hand moving the second strap so that her shift joined her dress, leaving her, for the first time in her adult life, naked in front of a member of the opposite sex.