‘Delighted to make your acquaintance, sir,’ said Mr Wynne, a fellow of bushy whiskers and sad eyes, which went with his frown. ‘I came tonight, keen to meet some serving officers and to find out what the chances are of the Revolutionary beasts overrunning Italy.’
Pearce had to clutch hard on his sword hilt to keep his voice steady. ‘There is an army in place to stop them, sir.’
‘Oh, Papa,’ Eugenia squealed, with a flutter of her eyebrows at John Pearce, ‘can we not put aside this dreadful war for just one night?’
‘For myself,’ Betsey responded, ‘it could go away for ever.’
If she was less outré in her exclamation, there was no doubting the look in her eye, and to Emily, who observed it, there would be sound reasons for she had been through them herself. The man just introduced was tall, handsome and with strong features. Even his rather severe countenance, not a natural cast, seemed to fit the occasion.
‘I am sure Mr Pearce can lay your concerns to rest, Mr Wynne. He was, after all, one of my late husband’s most trusted and reliable officers. A steady fellow, Captain Barclay used to say.’
That was aimed at him, and if it was a complete denial of the truth, it was a warning to stick to the conventions as well as their masquerade. The temptation to blow the gaff (how odd he thought of such a nautical expression) was overwhelming but had to be contained. Public humiliation would not serve, but a private exchange must happen, though right now he must play the game.
‘Mr Wynne, there is also a hard-working fleet of His Majesty’s ships of war, well able to aid the armies of the coalition and humbug our enemies. Had you looked in the harbour today you would have seen a trio of recent captures, and I think your daughters have the right of it. There is certainly no danger present tonight.’
He had looked to Emily on that last pronouncement, well able, as was she, to relay coded messages. Just then the band struck up, playing a rather off-key rendition of ‘Rule Britannia’, this as Sir John Jervis entered in the company of the Austrian governor, both glittering with stars on sashes and breast, to stand until the tune was brought to a conclusion and Jervis could proceed to introductions.
Behind Jervis came Hyde Parker, Nelson and a clutch of his senior captains: Hallowell, Collingwood and Troubridge. The entrance of the dignitaries had taken the eyes of the Wynnes, which allowed Emily and Pearce to exchange an unobserved look, one full of worry and pain for her, clear frustration for him, for he could not speak without it being overheard, which meant his request had to be formal.
‘I do hope I get a chance to talk further with you this evening, Mrs Barclay. We have so many memories to share.’
The way her cheeks reddened, highlighting her freckles, brought forth a feeling of sympathy. That had to be overborne by his need to be able to talk to her alone and he was not going to be deterred by her very obvious hand rubbing over her belly, the oft repeated plea to consider their child.
‘I respect that you will be busy, much in demand with your late husband’s friends, but I have high hopes you will find a small amount of time for me.’
Some young girls in search of a spouse have highly developed antennae, mainly brought on to see off potential rivals. Pearce could not fail to notice Betsey Wynne fell into that category. If her eyes showed nothing, she seemed too practised for that, her narrowed nostrils indicated a deep and unwelcome curiosity. It was time to move on.
‘Until later, then.’
Emily was looking past him, Pearce thought to avoid eye contact. ‘Perhaps, Mr Pearce, but I need to find time for my relative, Toby Burns. I believe you will recall my nephew with as much warmth as you remember my husband?’
He turned to see Burns standing by the entrance to a side room in company with Glaister and Taberly, all three sipping from the small punch cups, and if his hand had occasionally tightened recently on his sword hilt, it was near to painful in its grip now. He had no real gripe apart from a personal dislike of Glaister, but the other two stood very high on his list of animosities.
This was not the place to do anything about it; Jervis was circulating the room and getting very close to the Wynne party, which had Pearce start to move away, the movement alerting Burns to his presence. The toad was gone in a flash, darting into a side room, and it seemed beneath dignity to rush after him so he took a few paces back and addressed Emily again.
‘I am sure he will seek you out as soon as he is given leave by his commanding officer.’
That too was false: Emily had as good as disowned him, having witnessed his blatant lying under oath, which had saved her husband from real censure at his court martial. The time taken by that allowed Jervis to close and Pearce was afforded a cold look from the admiral, which he was damned if he was going to put up with.
‘Sir, I have just made the acquaintance of these delightful people, whom I’m sure would be honoured to be introduced to you.’
That did not improve a look that was on its way to a glare, quickly altered when he saw what he was being offered, which showed if he was a tartar, he had a soft spot for young ladies. His face cleared and his eyes positively danced.
‘May I present to you, Mr and Mrs Wynne and their truly delightful daughters, Eugenia and Betsey.’
The latter was the most forward, quick to close and curtsy, smiling puckishly as Jervis took her hand and raised her up, one she in turn held on to for longer than was necessary, this to delay the introduction of her sister, which made inelegant Eugenia’s method of forcing her way in, though she was treated with like courtesy.
‘And finally, sir, Mrs Barclay, the wife of a late and gallant officer sadly killed when his ship, HMS Semele, was forced to strike to the French.’
If Jervis even got a sniff of the underlying sarcasm, it did not show, for he was as keen to meet a pretty woman of twenty as one of eighteen, though there was no smile on his face now but a look of deep condolence, quickly expressed after Emily’s hand was kissed.
‘A loss to the service, Mrs Barclay; I read the report of the loss of HMS Semele and if it does not elevate a man to lose a ship to our enemies, the manner in which he does so may enhance his reputation. Your husband fought well and it is to be hoped you are soon to be blessed with a son who will follow in his father’s footsteps.’
There was no response to that but agreement, with Pearce having to hide his amusement, and it got worse. ‘I seem to recall from Sir William Hotham’s account of things, you were the officer in charge of the exchange, Pearce?’
‘I was, sir, and happy to be so.’
‘Mrs Barclay, I rate this officer as a scoundrel, for reasons with which I will not bore you, but I cannot help but feel your heart lifted to see he had come to fetch you from captivity?’
‘They did indeed, sir, I’m sure,’ was Pearce’s mischievous interjection, necessary to cover for Emily’s very evident confusion. She literally did not know how to respond and was no doubt looking for hidden meaning in Jervis’s words. To buy her time to compose herself, he added, ‘As were the crew, particularly Mr Conway, who now serves as a midshipman on HMS Flirt.’
‘This Conway was at the battle, was he not?’
‘He was, and so was I a witness.’
‘I want to hear and not just read of it. Fetch this Conway aboard and the pair of you can tell me the tale.’ He turned to Emily. ‘I daresay I can stand an hour of the rascal’s company and tale-telling. I will, however, not ask you.’
‘It would be wasted, sir, for I saw nothing. I spent the whole encounter helping the surgeon with the wounded on the cockpit.’
Jervis shook his head slowly. ‘I have been known to opine that I am not in favour of marriage for a naval officer, seeing him as lost to service once he is wed. Yet if he has the sagacity to marry one such as you, Mrs Barclay, I fear my stricture would not hold.’
‘Most kind,’ came with a bob, a half curtsy.
‘You, madam, are welcome to visit me at any time of your choosing, for the service owes you a debt.’
/> The sombre look lifted as he turned to the Wynne girls, the look impish. ‘And I would be delighted to welcome you too, such charming creatures. Mr and Mrs Wynne, you, of course, must escort them to HMS Victory, given we admirals can be rogues and I would not swear my officers would hold back from seeking to appeal to them.’
That sent Eugenia into a flutter of ecstasy; Betsey merely produced a wide smile, while Emily looked uncertain before saying it would be near to impossible, naming her impending confinement as the reason.
‘I will send my surgeon ashore forthwith to see you are properly cared for.’
‘Most kind,’ she repeated.
‘Must move on,’ Jervis said, ‘and do my duty to our hosts.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Thoughts on Toby Burns now occupied John Pearce, though getting hold of him was hard. He was obviously watching out and determined to avoid a confrontation. Pearce was delayed in his search by having to drag away from the punch bowl a loud-mouthed disgrace to the service called Garforth, the information regarding his name and his ship provided by another midshipman, not entirely sober himself.
This specimen, serving in HMS Brilliant and far from the first flush of youth, was one of those coves determined to take as much as his body could contain of what was going for free, the effect on his manners being deplorable. He was determined, also, to taunt the local youths. The only thing that did not see him skewered, for they too would be carrying weapons, were the slurred insults, indecipherable anyway but incomprehensible in English.
Pearce took him outside by the scruff of his collar, dragging him to one of the archbishop’s fountains to duck his head a dozen times until he promised to behave. ‘If I see you at the trough again, I’ll throw you in whole. Just thank your lucky stars Sir John did not see you or he would disrate you to a common seaman.’
Renewing his search, the seemingly fruitless situation was resolved by Dick Farmiloe, who had cornered Burns and held him in conversation long enough for Pearce to catch up. The fact that the little toad was worried became evident before he got close enough to ensure he could not once more flee, for he was in deep conversation and only saw the approach at the last moment. His panicked look alerted Farmiloe, who stepped away to get between the pair.
‘Hold, John, for the love of God.’
‘That is the last person you should be appealing to when talking to me.’
A firm hand was placed on his chest, with Burns moving swiftly to get right behind his saviour. It was only out of respect for a fellow he considered a friend that Pearce allowed himself to be halted.
‘I fear you have misjudged your man.’
‘He’s not a man, he is a bug, only fit to be crushed by my shoe.’
‘Will you hear me out?’
‘So you can plead his case?’
‘Me first, then Toby, for he has a case.’
‘For ensuring I was pressed twice into the navy. That will be some excuse.’
‘I was ordered to do it by my uncle, Mr Pearce,’ was the plaintive cry. ‘He insisted if we met another King’s ship you should be handed over to them.’
‘You did not have to obey.’
‘John, he was a new midshipman; Barclay was his uncle and the man who would advance his career.’
‘Heaven help the navy if it is to depend on him,’ Pearce snapped in a fine display of hypocrisy; having denied God, he was now calling on the heavens. ‘You did not see what he was like when we were trapped ashore in Brittany in order to try and satisfy Barclay’s greed. I have never seen such a snivelling and useless wretch.’
‘Keep your voice down. Eyes are turning this way.’
‘They can be damned.’
The look on Farmiloe’s face, worried but determined, got him the result he wanted; time to speak, which he did with a quiet but insistent voice.
‘Toby is as much a victim of Ralph Barclay as are you, John. He has been browbeaten, threatened, exposed to more danger than even you and all because he was coerced into telling lies. He thus became for you a witness when you showed determination to pursue the case. That made him a threat to Barclay.’
‘I doubt he required much coercion, Dick.’
‘Remember you said the letter Toby sent to London was not one you were sure came from his hand?’ A sharp nod and a glare at Burns. ‘Well, this is the first time since then I have had a chance to talk to him and he has just told me what he wrote.’
‘And?’
‘It was totally at odds. The letter sent to your lawyer was not composed by him; indeed, even if Toby went out of his way to plead mitigation for his actions, it more or less refuted the evidence he gave at Barclay’s court martial. Someone else wrote the letter of which you spoke.’
‘I knew it.’
‘Do you have any idea who?’
Pearce was just about to name Hotham’s slippery Irish clerk, Toomey, when a voice boomed out. ‘You sir, Pearce, what the devil are you about?’
He turned to see Taberly flanked by Glaister and Henry Digby, which was singular in itself given they were far from friends; indeed, Pearce was of the opinion, based on past experience, that they heartily disliked each other.
‘I hear you have laid hands on one of my midshipmen and here I find you in what I can only suppose is a case of threatening Lieutenant Burns.’
‘If you mean Garforth, he was stupid drunk and close to getting a knife in his vitals from the locals.’
‘He is a member of my crew, sir.’
‘And a fine representative one. The man is a lout.’
‘And what is it you are doing with Mr Burns?’
‘It is none of your damn business and relates to his past activities.’
‘I am his captain, which makes it my business.’
‘Please, Mr Pearce,’ came the weak plea. ‘I would not want it known.’
‘What, Burns?’ was the softly expressed reply, too low to be heard by Taberly. ‘That you are no hero but a weakling, or that you lied under oath to a court martial.’
‘John,’ Farmiloe pleaded, but with more force.
‘Mr Burns, to me,’ Taberly insisted. ‘Come away from Pearce.’
‘An order I second,’ said Digby.
‘What is it to you, Henry?’
‘That you besmirch the name of me and my command by your behaviour.’
‘Something you will no doubt be yelling at the bulkheads for days to come.’ Taberly looked confused; he had no idea what Pearce was talking about. ‘Digby won’t tell you, Taberly, but he has taken to cursing at his walls and calling his maker down upon my head. Everyone on the ship reckons him mad.’
‘Gentlemen, what is going on? Your raised voices are disturbing the other guests.’ Nelson had a punch cup in his hand and even at a distance Pearce could see his eyes were slightly glazed, a fact that must be obvious to Taberly et al., they being so much closer. ‘If you are in dispute, I urge you to leave it aside.’
‘I will not have one of my midshipmen ducked in the fountain like a common villain.’
Nelson looked confused but not for long, given it was explained to him by Taberly, with him adding the behaviour now seemed to extend to Toby Burns, a lad the commodore knew well from the sieges of Bastia and Calvi.
‘It would not please me,’ he said, ‘to have to order you to desist in whatever is going on, and I would be even more reluctant to bring it to the attention of our commander-in-chief.’
Pearce knew he would get no more out of Burns with this lot present and in some senses he had, without the detail, confirmation of that which he had already suspected. But that element he wanted, for if he had been required to give up his pursuit of Barclay by his demise, and of Hotham to get free Emily, the underhandedness of the latter still rankled. If Burns would cooperate then the sod could still be brought to book, the fact that he was no longer C-in-C of the Mediterranean being neither here nor there.
‘Dick, get from Burns a promise to meet with me and I guarantee my temper will be kept
in check. I want only the information he has passed to you, vouchsafed to me.’
He wanted more, a written account of the whole rotten affair, but this was no time to say so. Another commotion outside in the garden took everyone’s attention until a midshipman rushed into the side room crying that one of his number had been stabbed. Nelson might be slightly drunk, but that did not prevent him acting with purpose and he commanded the officers present to join with him.
The party exited through the floor-to-ceiling windows to find the whole body of fleet midshipmen, dirks out and drawn up for a fight; Hoste, balancing on one leg with them. Opposite stood a line of young men with various weapons and angry faces, certainly with knives of greater length than the standard issue for midshipmen.
When they moved back as ordered, Pearce saw Ivor Conway, seeking to look ferocious, the movement back also revealing the body lying on the ground. It was Garforth, not dead because groans were audible and he was twitching, while his identity was easily pinned by his near-bleached and shabby garments and the visible holes in his shoes. Seeing retreat, the local lads moved forward until the officers’ swords came out, not to threaten or employ, but to ensure no further fighting took place.
‘One of you, find a surgeon,’ Nelson said, moving between the two conflicted lines. ‘And somebody else, locate for me anyone who can speak both English and Italian.’
‘We could order our mids away, sir,’ Taberly said.
‘Think of their pride, Mr Taberly, for this will not be their only visit to Leghorn. And we have the honour of the fleet to maintain. We must first find out the cause and who bears responsibility.’
Roxburgh appeared and ran to kneel over Garforth, only to pronounce, after a quick examination, that he was suffering more from drink consumed than a debilitating wound.
‘He has been pierced but nowhere vital.’
A Treacherous Coast Page 21