‘Port Governor’s barge setting off from the quay, sir.’
This was delivered to Holloway, who was obliged by naval hierarchy to pass onto Hotham what he could not have failed to hear. Likewise the response, to salute the Governor with the requisite number of discharges, had to descend through the ranks all the way to the fellows operating the signal gun, which being a swivel on the quarterdeck was also within earshot.
Hotham made his way to the entry port on the main deck and it was a puffed-up admiral that met the Governor as he came aboard, this to the crash of marine boots as the welcoming guard of honour came smartly to attention. Hotham had never before greeted a visitor as a commanding officer and to experience that now was enough to make him both proud and outgoing. So a pompous and overdressed little pouter pigeon of a functionary was treated in the great cabin to the best bottle of claret Sir William could provide, this while the pair conversed in French: Hotham’s stilted, the Austrian’s fluent.
‘An opera performed in entirely in my honour!’ Hotham exclaimed with faux enthusiasm; it was not an art form he greatly appreciated added to which the standard in Leghorn was not of the highest. ‘Trop honneur, Excellance.’
After much stilted exchange the man departed leaving Sir William to deal with his next guest, the British Consul Mr Purdey, a very necessary conduit to London through the Foreign Office, one that bypassed the Admiralty and allowed Hotham to reach his political allies and so also a recipient of the best of the admiral’s floating cellar, stocked on his behalf by Berry Brothers of St James’.
Once Purdey left he began to prepare himself with a careful toilet that went as far as a little powder on his cheeks, which were too red from exposure to decades of wind and water. The happy mood was somewhat dented when he saw that Toby Burns had been included in the list of accompanying officers, but he was unable to object; everyone aboard Britannia, Holloway included, was sure he was fond of the young fellow, perhaps too much so.
‘You found me an interpreter, Toomey.’
‘I have, sir, he came aboard an hour past. Fluent in French, English and German.’
‘Thank the Lord. I won’t have to engage in these heathen tongues. French is bad enough, but German. Barbaric to my ears!’
The need for German was due to the presence of officers of the Austrian Army; a small garrison kept in the port to preserve order in times made febrile by the Revolution. Toomey, being Irish and considering his concerns, could not resist a bit of mischief to balance out his feeling of disquiet, as well as exclusion from whatever his employer had in mind.
‘I believe it is the common tongue of his Majesty and his family, sir.’
Hotham stopped then as the thought registered: a Whig he might be and committed to curtailing monarchical interference in government but it did not do to go lightly insulting the source of so much patronage. He might want to curse the damned Hanoverians, but it would never do and Toomey, by his remark, was warning him to mind his tongue once ashore.
‘A convenience no doubt, for Queen Charlotte, who is German born.’
‘Most of those attending will speak French, sir.’
‘Do some of them good to learn a bit of English,’ Hotham growled.
‘I am sure every Englishman trading through the port will attend an opera in your honour.’
‘You hit the nail, Toomey. Tradesmen is what they are and a low lot to boot.’
‘Yet wealthy, sir, especially those who represent the Levant Company. They sit not far behind the Indian nabobs in the depth of their coffers.’
‘It takes more than money to make a gentleman.’
Hotham said this as he turned from his looking glass to face his clerk and seek his approval, which had Toomey quickly adjusting his expression; he thought the remark pretentious. Sir William had on his blue sash and Star of the Order of the Bath, placed there first by the very king about whom he had so nearly been disparaging. His wig was freshly powdered and his coat and breeches were of the very best quality, while his shoe buckles were gleaming silver.
‘Impressive, sir, very impressive.’
The chest positively swelled as Admiral Sir William Hotham, acting C-in-C Mediterranean, took in a deep breath and squared shoulders covered with two heavy and flashing epaulettes, to then pick up his naval scrapper, edged in gold thread, and place it with care upon his head.
It was a mood Hotham carried into the Opera House, sustained by the impression that tout Tuscany had turned out to meet him. The place positively glittered with titles, decorations, military uniforms from Austria and Britain as well as low cut and revealing gowns on every woman regardless of her age. The performance was pleasant: a Mozart piece about Turks and harems, while the wine served in the interval was excellent and plentiful. The C-in-C was in heaven as well as in deep conversation with a buxom beauty when he was interrupted.
‘Excuse me, sir, if I may I would like to have a word with you.’
Forced to turn away from a heaving and very obvious bosom, Hotham was not best pleased to find himself face to face with a bullock, a major by the rank badges on his red coat, even less enamoured when the fellow spoke, from a face so fused with what seemed to be suppressed fury that it matched his jacket.
‘Major Lipton, at your service.’
‘Lipton?’ Hotham replied, with an air of confusion, in reality seeking time to think.
‘You may recall that I wrote to you?’
‘I receive a level of correspondence, major, that you could scarcely guess at.’
‘Not much of it from men such as myself, I’ll wager, or bearing my sort of complaint?’
Hotham was thinking where was Toomey when he was needed. He was the fellow to deal with this but the clerk, who too had come ashore, had headed off to the local fleshpots. There he would, no doubt, couch with a whore and get as drunk as only an Irishman could, on beverages bought for him by officers seeking to pick up secrets from the great cabin, a habit when he had a rare run ashore as a price to be paid for his otherwise competent service.
Whatever, there was no denying that he had been in receipt of a letter from Lipton, so he replied in what was a somewhat supercilious manner. ‘I recall the name now and I also recall that my clerk wrote to you a reply.’
The tone was clearly inappropriate, given the increased flush that came to the major’s cheeks as well as his growling response. ‘And a dammed unsatisfactory one, sir.’
‘Your language, sir, is unsuitable to address any fellow officer and I would remind you of my rank.’
‘While I choose to remind you, sir, of the depredations I and my officers have suffered at the hands of your service.’
‘A few over-eager midshipman,’ Hotham scoffed. ‘Letting off steam.’
‘I find your attitude and response offensive, sir.’
Now it was Hotham’s turn to display irritation; no one had the right to speak to him in that fashion, although it was only recently he had suffered such from Lord Hood, the memory of which coloured his reaction.
‘And I don’t give a damn if you do, sir. I am here as a guest of the Governor and as a representative of our country. If you have anything to say to me I would be obliged if you would find a more appropriate place to say it.’
‘You decline to compensate us?’
‘I most vehemently do. If you get into a scrape in a foreign port who can you blame but yourself?’
‘What a low bunch you tars are,’ Lipton sneered in a way that indicated he knew he had hit a brick wall. ‘Scum to my mind, risen from foul bilge, low-bred scullys to a man.’
‘I think you should be grateful, sir, that none of my officers are within hearing!’
‘What? You mean I might face a challenge from men of the calibre of that cur, Pearce. Would he was here for if he was I’d find a pistol and put a ball in him and between his eyes.’
‘Pearce, what is he to you?’
Lipton half raised an arm, wincing as he did so. ‘You will not have observed sir, given you’re
too much taken with female flesh and no doubt your gonads as well as your belly, but I cannot raise this peg any higher than you can now perceive.’
Hotham, confused, merely shrugged, ignoring the insults, which on another occasion would have seen Lipton hauled before his military superiors and forced to apologise.
‘That, I have to tell you, is to be laid at the door of your Lieutenant Pearce, who when we duelled, acted in a despicable manner that has left me a cripple and no longer any good to my regiment, one I would hazard is common among your officers.’
‘Duelled, you and Pearce duelled?’
‘I did, sir, he did not. He played a low trick that no gentleman could have contemplated. If you doubt the measure of the man ask the fellow naval officer he struck immediately after he had sliced me? Added to that, I have every reason to believe he was responsible for the assault on my officers who were dragged from our quarters by a rampaging mob very shortly after our encounter. The two events cannot be unconnected.’
‘Major Lipton,’ Hotham protested, seeking time to think, ‘I have already alluded to the unsuitable nature of the place you have chosen to accost me—’
‘Where else would I be granted an opportunity?’
This bad-tempered bullock could not see into Hotham’s thoughts and if he had been so able it is doubtful if enlightenment would have ensued. He could not know of the impact the mere mention of the Pearce name had on the admiral’s peace of mind – the swine had yet to return to the fleet and every day of his absence seemed to increase Hotham’s anxieties – but the emollient tone that he was now subject to did surprise him.
‘I will give it to you, sir, by inviting you to come aboard HMS Britannia on the morrow at your own convenience. If, as it turns out, I have dealt shabbily with your complaint you will have a chance to air it fully.’
‘I must be assured, sir, that there is some point to this.’
‘Oh be assured, major, there is a very significant point,’ Hotham replied as the first strains of a warming up orchestra came wailing out of the auditorium. ‘Now, if you will excuse me, the Governor has caught my eye to tell me he is returning to our box so I must be about my diplomatic duties.’
As Hotham turned away, he noticed Toby Burns not more than a few feet distant. The little toad had had his head cocked at a curious angle and one that told the admiral that he could have witnessed what had been a less than discreet exchange, a mystery to most of an audience without English.
‘How much of that did you overhear, Burns?’
‘What, sir?’ came the surprised response, delivered entirely without conviction.
‘You would do well to keep your counsel if you did hear anything and do I have to say that eavesdropping on the conversation of a senior officer is behaviour of the lowest kind.’
‘Which I would never dream of doing, sir, I promise.’
‘Not worth more than a pie crust!’
With that Hotham stamped off, unaware that behind his back Toby Burns was smirking, partly from pleasure at the thought of someone shooting John Pearce but also from the fact that he had been an avid visitor to the punchbowl. He had also quite obviously discomforted Hotham, which was as rare as it was cheering. The need to go back and listen to the caterwauling of some very fat people was less so and he decided to stay put.
The eagerness of Lipton to make his case was evidenced by the early hour of his arrival, which left Admiral Hotham scant time to complain once more about Pearce and his whereabouts, this from a clerk in the throes of serious debilitation, a consequence of his nocturnal excess.
‘Still no news, sir,’ Toomey rasped, thinking the name was a curse. ‘Given his extended absence it may be that he has foundered and is lost, or perhaps he ran into an enemy vessel and was taken.’
He waited while his admiral contemplated those two scenarios, neither of which was unknown within the service. The sea was a fickle beast and the annals of the navy were filled with vessels that had simply disappeared. Added to which if Larcher had been taken the French would be in no rush to make known such a success and no other enemy, like a privateer, would make the information known at all.
‘Bad pennies have a way of surviving, Toomey, look at Burns, so if you raise my hopes it only does so marginally. Best show Major Lipton in and tell my steward to fetch a bottle of claret, nothing too fine, after all he hardly merits it. You, I require to go ashore and make enquiries as to whether Pearce was responsible for what happened to Lipton and his officers.’
Having looked away Hotham did not see the grimace on Toomey’s face; he wanted nothing more than to retire to a hammock and sleep off his hangover.
‘If he was the instigator it will not be the service that pays if there’s a bill but him.’
‘He’s unlikely to admit to it, sir.’
‘Aye, deceit comes easily to him,’ the admiral growled. ‘No good asking the Agamemnons either, they would lie through their teeth. Best be on your way, Toomey, and I charge you not to seek to cure your ills with any more drink, do I make myself clear?’
‘Yes, sir,’ the clerk rasped and nor would he unless there was someone left ashore to listen to his supposed indiscretions and pay the bill.
Hotham stood to receive Lipton, a singular courtesy given their respective service ranks – a Vice Admiral equalled a Lieutenant General – and invited him to sit immediately before asking him to reprise the events of the duel, how it had come about and how it had ended. The details were delivered in a sour tone that the admiral began to see was Lipton’s normal mode of comportment – the man was bad tempered by nature – which led him to assume that the contest with Pearce had not been his first time out, a fact established by a simple enquiry.
There was a boastful quality to the major’s tales of duelling as well to the account he was given regarding Pearce; Lipton wanted his listener to be in no doubt who was the superior swordsman and by a large margin, that he had toyed with his opponent rather than finish him off quickly, this to entertain his fellow soldiers who formed an audience. If his tone was commonly irascible it rose to a wholly more ill-tempered level when it came to the way Pearce had bested him, getting agreement from Hotham, even if he felt that facing death – and by the way Lipton described his intentions the threat of that was real – he might have done the same.
‘You say, Major, that, while you were being attended to by the surgeon, Lieutenant Pearce struck a fellow naval officer?’ Lipton nodded. ‘Surely not his second?’
‘No, another low guttersnipe who had come along—’
‘Sir,’ Hotham interrupted, leaning forward to make his point. ‘If you wish for a sympathetic hearing from me then you must cease to insult the members of my service. Indeed if you continue to do so this interview is over!’
‘I withdraw any remark which may cause offence.’
With his high colour and disdainful look, the admiral took that to be a lie. ‘Did this officer have name?’
‘Taberly of HMS Leander. My companions had to get the fellow back to Leghorn since Pearce and his party abandoned him.’
‘And who was it who seconded for Pearce?’
‘Fellow called Digby, I believe from the same vessel. But can I move you on, sir, to what happened subsequently and the subject of my complaint?’
‘By all means do so, Major Lipton,’ Hotham replied, though he had to suppress his feelings of distraction, not really being interested. It was the name of Digby that filled his mind so he missed a good deal of what the man was saying, only really perking up when Lipton made mention of the attempt by Pearce to challenge every one of his inferior officers on the day preceding their ducking.
‘Had a trollop in tow and one of two of my men saw fit to let her know of her station. Set the sod off good and proper.’
‘Trollop?’
Lipton nodded. ‘Damn fine-looking filly by all accounts and English, looked quite the innocent which, of course, she could not be.’ That was followed by a snorted laugh. ‘Pearce was set on de
fending her honour, as if she possessed any.’
‘Do you have a description?’
That got a shake of the head. ‘Never saw the wench myself. Now, sir, to my account of the monies expended on the medical bills, as well as our extended requirement for accommodation at the Pensione d’Ambrosio, which you already possess?’
Hotham was just about to shout for Toomey when he recalled he had sent him ashore. Thankfully he had the other clerk. ‘I ask you to wait on the main deck and the funds will be brought to you. Now, Major Lipton, if our business is quite concluded?’
Lipton looked at the claret bottle, half full, as was his own glass and he flushed a deeper red again. He was being dismissed like a man of no account when courtesy demanded he be allowed to stay till the wine was finished. Hotham sensed his hesitation as could see plainly his reaction.
‘You will understand, sir, that I have a fleet to run.’
‘I swear, Toomey, he would have thrown the wine in my face if he’d had his coin. Angry is not the word.’ Clearly amused by the recollection his next enquiry was quite jovial. ‘So what did you discover?’
‘There’s no indication that Pearce was involved in the disturbance. Tavern owner I queried said it was all young blue coats and common seaman. Weren’t easy to get that given he spoke little English but I did uncover something else, sir.’ The raised eyebrow invited disclosure. ‘According to the Navy Board captain that oversees the victualing, Pearce was in the company of a lady …’
‘Lipton told me as much.’
‘Did he tell you that she was recognised by some of our officers, given she was present in Toulon and helping to run the hospital?’
‘No.’
‘It was Captain Barclay’s wife!’
‘What!’
‘There’s no mistake, sir, it was her to the life.’
‘Is she still in Leghorn?’
‘Unlikely, given no one has had sight of her for weeks.’
‘What was Pearce doing escorting Ralph Barclay’s wife around Leghorn, Toomey?’
‘What indeed, sir?’
The Devil to Pay (John Pearce series) Page 13