The Perils of Command

by David Donachie

  ‘Would it surprise you to know that I feared to drive you to a falsehood, sir?’

  ‘Your consideration overwhelms me.’

  Completely missing the irony, Barclay ploughed on – his dear wife was an innocent, led astray, but he could not absolve himself of being partly the cause – as he employed wholesale the wording provided by Gherson.

  ‘A life at sea scarce prepares a man for the marital chamber at all, but with one of such surpassing innocence I fear my manner had my wife see me in a light to which I do not wish to be held. I have made mistakes. All I want is an opportunity to make amends.’

  ‘You wish to meet with her?’

  ‘Yes, Lady Hamilton.’

  ‘Assuming that can be arranged, what will happen if your wife declines a reconciliation?’

  ‘Then I must sail away with a broken heart, milady.’

  ‘You will abide by her decision?’

  ‘What choice do I have?’

  ‘It is not within our gift to grant you that, Captain Barclay, but we can pass on the request.’

  ‘Most kind. Can I ask when that will be put to her?’

  It was the ambassador who responded. ‘In the morning, Captain. Now I suggest you attend to your plate.’

  A raised female finger had Barclay’s wine glass filled, his hostess smiling at him, with a sort of twinkle in her eye that could mean anything from dalliance to mockery, which forced him to hide a grimace of irritation behind the rim, given he would welcome neither.

  Barclay took solace in the drink that was freely provided so was in a far from sober mood when he parted from the Hamiltons to find Gherson snoring atop the bed he had expected to occupy, which had him employing his one good hand to drag him off and onto the floor.

  ‘Damn you for sleeping when I have had to endure abasement. I would rather be flogged round the fleet than go through such a humiliation again.’

  ‘I deduced we could do nothing till morning.’

  ‘As stated by the ambassador. Were you listening at the door?’

  Wishing to say it was common sense, Gherson kept that observation to himself, only to have his employer state another fact he had come to because he thought it so obvious.

  ‘I have good grounds to believe she is no longer here in the palazzo.’

  ‘But?’

  ‘I have been promised that she will be asked to attend a meeting with me, possibly on the morrow, which implies wherever she is cannot be far off.’

  ‘Will she agree, sir?’

  ‘It makes no odds, man, don’t you see? If she is accommodated elsewhere someone must be sent to request she return and that, I hazard, is no task for a servant. I would not be surprised if Jezebel herself must carry the proposal. I can’t see the ambassador stooping to such an errand, he’s too much the nabob.’

  Still slightly befuddled with sleep Gherson, as he got up from his knees to stand upright, was uncommonly slow to pick up the drift.

  ‘All we need to do is follow her.’ The clerk was not fooled by the ‘we’; Barclay meant him. ‘With no idea at what hour she might set off we must be outside waiting for her.’

  ‘You do not anticipate success, surely, sir? Past efforts point to a refusal to even meet with you.’

  Barclay started pacing, a habit when he was both angry and thinking. The wine affected his balance and occasionally he needed to grab a chair or a more solid piece of furniture.

  ‘You have the right of it, of course. I have no mind to pin my hopes on my wife believing I am contrite, for nothing I heard tonight leads me to suspect that will be the case. The Hamiltons, God rot them, should be promising me her return as a matter of duty. Even the one-time whore knows the rights a husband has over his wife. But they are her partisans and for all I know they extend the same to Pearce. If they do arrange what has been suggested it will be mere window dressing. No more lazing about and snoring your head off, Gherson. You must be out of the palazzo at cock’s crow, as soon as whoever holds the keys undoes the locks. And for the love of God make sure you are not spotted.’

  John Pearce had encountered trouble getting to sleep even though he was extremely tired from the day’s labours, the time he took marked by the regular ringing of the bells. It was ever thus when the object of castigation was his own being. How could he have been so blind as not to see that Hotham had as much of a need to coerce Toby Burns as Ralph Barclay?

  If he had no idea how it had been done he was sure of the act. As Dick Farmiloe had suggested, his response to the lawyer’s letter from London, seeking details of where he had been the night the Pelicans were pressed, would probably have been dictated to Burns, a creature so malleable as to be without a spine.

  The admiral would not stoop to that himself, of course; his creature Toomey stood as the most likely culprit. And the same fellow had played a major role in the sending of HMS Flirt to the Gulf of Ambracia: indeed the more he gnawed on it and recalled the Irishman’s involvement, he had to reckon him as the progenitor of the whole shameful scheme, for in Pearce’s reckoning it was beyond the wit of his employer.

  If there was a positive to be taken from the whole conspiracy it was that Sir William Hotham greatly feared him, so much so that he was prepared to countenance sending Pearce himself, Henry Digby and the Pelicans into a situation in which they might all conveniently perish.

  When he drifted away, he was locked in a mental argument with his father, who had always abhorred that man should be hanged for a crime instead of redeemed. His son had agreed with him, but not now; some people were so evil that the rope was the only remedy to their actions and a trio of swinging bodies meant he fell into deep slumber with a smile.

  The naval day began before that of any household and being at anchor made no odds. If the guns could stay housed, the decks still required to be swabbed while the ship’s ’tween decks were cleaned from end to end, the heads scrubbed out and the straw in the manger changed. In a hot climate the shore parties started early too, so after a hurried breakfast Pearce had the need of overseeing the loading of stores to take his mind off his concerns.

  Accustomed to a willing and efficient crew himself – Flirt was manned by the very same fellows who had set out with him from Buckler’s Hard – he could yet appreciate the same qualities in the Agamemnons, quite unaware that they felt he was more of a hindrance than a help.

  ‘If the wind stays in the east, my men will have dinner at sea, Mr Pearce,’ Nelson opined as he passed his volunteer. ‘And having had only one night for the liberty of Leghorn, I cannot see they will be entirely grateful for your efforts.’

  Even if he knew that his contribution meant little in the scheme of things Pearce answered with grim humour. ‘Given their previous exploits, that makes me content.’

  As predicted by Ralph Barclay, it was Emma Hamilton who set out in the early morning to go to his wife. Gherson, having been outside since the palazzo servants rose to prepare for the day, was not one to run to keep up with her. He had found a fellow willing to rent him a donkey, an arrangement that had taken a long time to conclude, given mutual incomprehension, but the flash of a few coins sealed the bargain and that allowed him to proceed at a trot and keep his quarry in sight.

  Cresting the final rise he observed the coach pulled up outside a two-storey dwelling practically on the actual beach of a deep bay. Being silhouetted against the skyline he was quick to dismount and find a bush with which to tether the animal, and was back on the ridge in time to see the person who had come out to greet the ambassador’s wife.

  ‘O’Hagan,’ he hissed under his breath.

  This only served to remind him of how dry his mouth was, added to how the tang of stale wine made what he could taste bitter. The Irishman helped Emma Hamilton to descend and the pair went into the building, leaving Gherson to wonder if there was any purpose in his remaining.

  If Emily Barclay agreed to meet her husband she would return in the coach; if her hostess came out alone then she would have declined and so informi
ng his employer of her whereabouts became paramount. Next they would need to get a party ashore to effect the proposed abduction, which led to the thought that it would be unwise for Barclay to carry out such an act himself, he being too obvious in what could be construed as a crime.

  This was not England and he had no idea what the laws were in this part of the world. Certainly the Hamiltons would see it as such and no doubt bend their efforts to prevent him getting her aboard Semele – for once there, Barclay would be in control – by, if necessary, calling on the local gendarmerie.

  Back astride his donkey that thought was at the top of his ruminations; whom could the captain entrust to lead the men necessary to effect what needed to be done – someone who could overcome any objections from a crew who did not know Emily Barclay from Eve? He and Devenow were the only options and the so-called servant was a dolt, though with O’Hagan present his fists would come in handy.

  Was O’Hagan alone? Gherson doubted John Pearce was there; even if he despised the man he knew him to be a person who would do nothing to avoid Ralph Barclay. Quite the opposite: he would do his utmost to seek him out as he had before to challenge him to defend himself.

  Gherson then recalled his captain was a one-winged bird. Pearce was such a sanctimonious sod he would probably decline to take advantage of a man so afflicted. Such thoughts were idle speculation; Barclay had evinced a certainty that Pearce was elsewhere.

  A shoreline dotted with fishing boats and tiny moles was also home to the kind of rough taverns that served such folk. With a tongue now akin to leather, Gherson felt the need to stop and seek a flagon of wine and, being unbreakfasted, some bread and olives too, as well as to time in which he could think and plan.

  He could not believe Emily Barclay would agree to return to the marital fold, while her spouse was fooling himself to think that abduction was a solution. Barclay could not seem to accept that if she had become embroiled with John Pearce – and everything about that pointed to her having been intimate with him – the problems Barclay had now would not disappear but increase.

  She had been a witness at the gimcrack court martial. The law said she could not testify against him but would that still her tongue? If he could confine her on board ship that could not last forever. Gherson could imagine any number of places where she could freely gossip, because logic dictated that at some time she would be back in England and, if he was at sea, granted a large degree of liberty.

  As usual Ralph Barclay was seeing only that which lay before him, a fine attribute in a naval officer, perhaps, though Gherson was uncertain if even that were true. He was failing to extrapolate to where matters would proceed and the very least of that would be even more strenuous efforts by John Pearce to bring his employer to justice in order to win her back.

  Given Emily Barclay had aided such efforts in the past, as an unwilling returnee she would continue to do so in the future and Gherson could see no way to prevent that. It had always been his opinion that Ralph Barclay should put the problems of his ill-advised union behind him and expend his energies concentrating on his career, yet he had done the very opposite.

  How much good capital in high places had the fool expended just to get out of the Mediterranean? What damage had he done in his relationship with Hotham? How much more was he prepared to endure to avoid losing face?

  ‘End it now, and for ever, would be best,’ he said out loud, almost as if rehearsing words that would be required in the future. ‘An accident, of course, and what a tragedy in one so young and pretty.’

  It was necessary that Gherson reimagine the lubricious thoughts he had experienced in the great cabin of HMS Semele, to ensure it was not those that were leading his meditations. Much as he was prey to desire, he reassured himself that what he sought was a solution not personal gratification. Of course if the two could be combined …

  Back on his donkey, swaying on its back, Cornelius Gherson was untroubled by his thinking. He had been on the wrong side of virtue ever since he could remember, not that he would have deigned to describe it as such. Like most entirely selfish people he found it easy to attach blame for his weaknesses to others as well as an unkind fate.

  His own father had thrown him out of the family home and his mother had done nothing to prevent it when he was still close to being a child. Cast onto the streets and his own wits it was only by the superior employment of those, added to his being unscrupulous in every way, that he had survived, with a particular predilection for soft-hearted women.

  His good looks had helped and his sharp brain and skills did the rest until that night on London Bridge when a powerful man he had cuckolded sought extreme revenge. If it had not been for that boat passing under the arches … Gherson shuddered at the memory and even on a warm morning shivered at the recollection of the shock when he hit the icy water of the River Thames.

  The wine was so awful he reckoned his palate had been less nasty before it was consumed. His problem was that when he rejoined Ralph Barclay the smell of that was the first thing the captain picked up, which led to another of his irascible reprimands.

  ‘I take it you breakfasted well, sir,’ was Gherson’s sardonic and ignored response before he informed Barclay of the presence of O’Hagan, though from what he could see no others.

  ‘Pearce would have passed this way.’ Gherson sought by an enquiring look some enlightenment as to how he knew that; Barclay ignored him. ‘He must have left the Irish bruiser as protection for her and Pearce rarely moves without those other creatures he esteems, so we would be best to assume them present. What instructions did you give to Devenow yesterday?’

  ‘To return to the quayside at first light.’

  ‘Right. Get down there now and both of you get aboard Semele. I want you to tell Mr Palmer that I have discovered, thanks to the ambassador, rumours of a nest of deserters hiding out in Naples. We need a party suitably equipped to take them up if it proves to be the case, and no brass buttons or bright bandanas either. We can always say it proved false if my wife agrees to acquiesce.’

  ‘Who is to lead it? Sir, you dare not give the task to an officer or even a midshipman, and you surely know it would be dangerous for you to participate yourself.’

  ‘In God’s name why?’

  ‘Things could go awry. O’Hagan is there and we know what a fighter he is.’

  ‘A marlin spike will see to that,’ Barclay scoffed. ‘And remember I took the bastard up once before, though I seem to recall he was drunk.’

  ‘If your wife will not come willingly that implies force will have to be employed, will it not?’ A shrug; the notion of employing physical violence to recover her seemed to Barclay a matter of little concern, which had Gherson pleading. ‘It would serve you best if you were not part of that and can you entrust it to Devenow?’

  ‘No, he is faithful but lacks acumen,’ came a rather weak protest.

  ‘If I am along I can ensure matters proceed as they should.’

  ‘Are you volunteering, Gherson?’ Barclay asked, his look suspicious.

  ‘Is it so strange?’

  ‘You’re not the type for such behaviour, very much the opposite I would hazard.’

  The clerk put as much feeling into his reply as he thought it would bear and having been something of a player on people’s emotions in his past life that came to no small amount.

  ‘Would it satisfy you, sir, if I say I wish this matter concluded?’

  ‘I still do not see why I cannot carry out this task myself?’

  ‘You, sir, leading a party of armed seamen through the streets of Naples. You might as well run up a signal on the ship to outline your intentions. No, sir, you must act the distraction, for such an attempt must have occurred to the Hamiltons or why remove her from here? Ask to be presented to their Neapolitan majesties, a request the ambassador can hardly decline. With every eye upon you, others can act with freedom.’

  The knock at the door of the apartments had Barclay hold up a hand to still Gherson’
s pleading. Opened, it revealed a servant with a note, which told the captain that his wife had agreed to meet with him and would arrive at the palazzo after midday.

  ‘Perhaps there will be a solution after all, Gherson,’ he crowed.

  ‘If there is, you are to be congratulated, sir,’ he said, with faux enthusiasm. ‘The order to Mr Palmer?’

  ‘That can wait.’

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Being at sea and with no duties to perform allowed John Pearce to gnaw on how he was going to proceed once HMS Agamemnon raised San Fiorenzo Bay, thoughts that seemed impossible below in a busy wardroom, easier when pacing a small section of the quarterdeck and with an ample supply of the fresh air which was driving the sixty-four along at a fair lick. Nelson was proud of her as a fast sailing vessel; what he could see if he looked over at the bow wave only confirmed he was right.

  The notion of bearding Hotham, his original thought, might backfire; a commanding admiral could pretty much do as he pleased within his own area of responsibilities and the man who wished to accuse him of conspiracy singularly lacked allies with the fleet. Even Nelson, seemingly well disposed towards him, would be wary of taking sides and even if he did the effect would be minimal.

  There was also a need to be careful in what he divulged regarding that court martial and possible witnesses; to let on that Henry Digby would support his efforts or that Dick Farmiloe had already related the truth of deliberate and illegal impressment in his reply to London would do no good. To do so would only put both individuals in jeopardy.

  As for the mission on which he and Digby had been despatched, Hotham, or more likely Toomey, had been cunning. The actual written orders had not been composed by either; that had been delegated to John Holloway, the captain of Britannia acting as temporary executive officer pending the return of the man who had held the appointment of Captain of the Fleet, Admiral Sir Hyde Parker.