Michael knew she was talking of herself, not Emily Barclay.
‘Sleep, Michael. My Emma rises early and if anything can be done she will contrive it.’
It was the Chevalier who spoke on it, not his wife and he was adamant, though sympathetic, that there was nothing he or she could do. Emily was the captain’s wedded wife and the law was certain on the point of her duty to her husband, while he had the right to disown her if he wished and could stand the scandal.
‘I am obliged to enquire what you will do now.’
‘I thought on that, Your Honour, and it seems to me we would be best, my companions and I, to return to our ship, only …’
Michael had to hesitate and the Chevalier picked up on why immediately. ‘You lack the means.’
‘Mr Pearce left us provided for and Mrs Barclay likewise. But that has gone with her and I reckon my two companions will have given to Naples what they had in their pokes last night.’
‘I will supply the money you require to travel to Brindisi.’
‘Sure you’re a kind soul, Your Honour.’
‘I am put upon by people less deserving than you.’
Michael had the funds when he returned to the bathing house, to find Charlie and Rufus sound asleep and in total ignorance of what had happened, which was remarkable given Barclay’s men had not been gentle in their search. The two had rolled into their cots and ignored the furniture thrown about and it was with sore heads they were appraised, accompanied by much castigation.
‘How was we to know?’ came the constant refrain from a pair suffering much.
‘Well you knows now, so first we worry about putting the Chevalier’s house to rights, and then it’s back on the road.’
‘What about Mrs Barclay?’
‘Jesus, we can do nothing there, boyos, except pray. God knows I hope she is being treated as she should be.’
Emily Barclay had been accommodated in one-third of what was a very spacious cabin, for the navy looked after its commanders well. So far her husband had said little; the journey overland precluded talking and even in the boat as they rowed out to sea he had been silent, perhaps fearing to talk too much when he could be overheard. HMS Semele had made her dawn rendezvous and he was piped aboard with due ceremony, albeit it was again in a chair secured by a rope used subsequently by Emily.
If her coming on board occasioned any comment it was not vouchsafed to her or her husband. The faces of the officers who greeted him were rigid in their expressions and none would look at her for fear that their curiosity would be manifest. Only that oily creature Gherson even looked her in the eye, to favour her with a sycophantic smile. She had been escorted to her present location by the brute Devenow and left to her own devices, food and the ability to wash and change her clothing notwithstanding.
Having unpacked her books there was nothing to do but sit on the casement cushions and read by the strong sunlight pouring in. That became increasingly hard as her thoughts turned to John Pearce and their combined troubles, a position altered as the locked door opened and her husband entered, his face set in what she assumed he thought to be indifference; with his dark countenance he could not carry it off.
‘You and I are required to talk, madam.’
Emily knew she had to get onto the front foot quickly; he could not be allowed to dominate her for his very nature ensured that would be his common mode of behaviour if it were ever established. So she sat rigidly upright in her seat and she replied, keeping her tone devoid of emotion.
‘We are required to come to an accommodation, sir, and one that meets my needs as much as it meets your own.’
Much as he tried to disguise it he was thrown; Barclay had come for an argument and he was not getting that which he expected. The fact made him hesitate long enough for Emily to continue.
‘I made you an offer in the company of Lady Hamilton—’
‘And that big Paddy, I recall,’ he interrupted, his anger evident even as he sought to supress it.
‘His being there is by the by. I want to know if you are wedded to the outrageous threats that you issued to harm my child.’
‘Not my child, so why should I care?’
‘You know that and so do I. I will undertake to ensure that it remains a secret to those on whose good opinion you rely, namely my own family, as well as your sisters, neighbours and naval acquaintances. I know I can trust you to maintain a fiction.’
‘What are you after, Emily?’
‘Security, Husband, which only you can offer me.’
‘Not Pearce?’
‘He would do so were you not my husband.’
‘Do you intend to disregard his existence?’
‘I will not deny a fond memory, but I undertake not to mention his name again.’
‘I cannot believe you can hold to that. He must be in your thoughts.’
‘And there he will remain.’
‘Even when—’ Barclay stopped; he could not say what he wanted in a manner that would fit the requirements. His high-and-mighty tone was thus much diminished when he continued. ‘I intend to demand my rights, madam.’
‘While I intend to succumb to them.’
‘Succumb?’
‘I wish you to understand, sir, that while your attentions will not be in any way welcome, I know it my duty to satisfy what I see as your primeval needs.’
‘And in return?’
‘The child I bear is to be raised as your own flesh and blood and in the manner in which it would be if it were so. In short, Husband, I will save your face in order to protect my child.’
‘And if I demur?’
‘Then prepare for your cuckoldry to be shouted from the rooftops.’
‘You see yourself on land, do you?’ he hissed.
Emily was wondering why he did not shout – he was much given to the raised voice – only to realise he could not, even in his own cabin. This was not HMS Brilliant, on which she had come to know the officers, midshipmen and crew both in the normal course of sailing the frigate, as well as below decks as a nurse aiding the surgeon, Heinrich Lutyens, and finally as a visitor when they were in captivity.
She would know no one on this ship, Gherson and Devenow apart, and they would probably have been sworn to silence. How had he explained her presence to his officers and who she was? Had he even condescended to, for none of such creatures would dare ask? She knew enough about naval vessels to be sure that the whole ship would be abuzz with conjecture if he had offered no explanation.
‘Do I detect a threat, sir?’
‘You would do well to consider it possible.’
‘But it is not,’ she insisted, her voice taking on a hard edge. ‘You have passed the point at which you dare do me harm. If you had intended that it would have happened already when you came to abduct me. If I am not known to the crew of this vessel they know me to be alive and someone of enough standing to occupy part of your cabin. Harm me now and you will pay a felon’s price.’
Emily stood and began to pace, not far in each direction for her part of the accommodation was constrained.
‘If I repeat myself, indulge me, for there are conditions attached to whatever agreement we make and I will hold you to them. Not only will you raise and provide for our child, you will treat me in my public life as a wife should be. I will demand and receive your open respect and I will also require a set of my own rooms in whichever house we occupy.’
‘Now you are purchasing property.’
‘I find your tone of sarcasm unbecoming and that is what I fear in public. Contain it, sir. As I say, my own set of rooms and when you require to visit them for’ – a waved hand was used to cover conjugal rights – ‘I will require ample notice and I wish to have the right to agree or decline, though I undertake not to do so with unbecoming frequency.’
‘Anything else?’
‘Yes. I require that you grant my parents full title to the house they occupy.’
Emily could not know that Ralph Barcl
ay wanted to smite her fatally there and then for, as a man of much passion, he was holding himself very much in check. He was also thinking that she could demand the moon now and he would agree but in time they would be back in England and that was when any rules would be laid down and not by her.
‘Naturally, as I am with child now, I expect my person to be respected for the very obvious reason that any conjugal activity might do it harm.’
‘The Lord forfend,’ he whispered.
‘When do you anticipate that we shall join with the fleet?’
‘Two days. The wind at present is not favourable.’
‘I suppose I will be obliged to meet with your fellow captains and, of course, Admiral Hotham?’
‘Only if you behave.’
‘There you have it, Husband. It is in that crucible I will be tested and in such surroundings in which I will satisfy you that the commitments I have made will be held to.’
‘Go back to your book, madam. I have a ship to command.’
He was gone; only the voice of Devenow, standing by to help him on the swell, could be heard. The key was turned in the lock and Emily sat down again, the facade she had presented collapsing immediately for she suspected a life of misery and constant battle lay in her future. Ralph Barclay was not one to easily accept her demands; they would have to be fought for to be maintained.
The tears welled up as she said to herself, ‘Forgive me, John, for the love of God forgive me.’
Hotham was not about to favour John Pearce with anything approaching comfort and besides, he required every vessel he had for the coming battle. A pinnace was provided and four men with which to sail her, as well as rations and water for a week, which meant there was not much room aboard. Inured to the whims of their superiors the seamen took to the task with no more ill grace than they would any other duty, and in one, Tucker, they had a man who knew how to hand, reef and steer. He knew the boat and how to get the best out of her.
Dressed in foul-weather gear – the sea spray was a constant on such a compact vessel – John Pearce looked less the officer than usual and this on a vessel rarely commanded by anything higher than a midshipman. A cause of curiosity for sure, the question was never even hinted at. They were carrying despatches for HMS Semele and that was an end to it, and when Pearce introduced himself there was no evident animosity, a possibility since the pinnace came from the flagship and at a time when it would have been fully employed in its normal duties of ferrying stores.
Quite naturally, Hotham had declined to personally pass to Pearce the oilskin pouch he now carried in his uniform coat pocket. That had been handed over by one of Toomey’s under clerks, not even the Irishman willing to face the humiliation of compliance with the request of one so troublesome. The problem was they were sealed and since the under clerk had not written them Pearce had no idea what they said. He could only hope that his threats were so potent Hotham dare not play ducks and drakes.
Yet the possibility existed that Barclay would have orders to act against him and not do as Pearce required. Could he open the orders and read them first? Not with the men he now commanded so close by. There was nowhere to gain privacy, either, even when basic needs came upon them – it was over the side or not at all.
At least they were making good speed, and with the pressure of the wind it was sometimes necessary to take up positions on the gunwales to keep the pinnace sailing stiff. The boat fairly raced along sending up a pleasing bow wave and bringing smiles to all five faces aboard. It was necessary to reduce sail as night fell, with a pair asleep and a pair awake, with Pearce doing his best to be fair and keep his eyes open.
Breakfast was biscuit – thankfully fresh baked from Leghorn – and cold duff washed down with water. That consumed the sail was set to draw once more and since the wind had held overnight they were soon creaming along on a blue sea that reflected a clear sky, leaving behind a startlingly white wake.
‘What was that?’ the senior hand Tucker asked, standing to hold on to a brace and pointing ahead. ‘Topgallant, by the shape of it.’
They had seen the odd sail and even the occasional hull-up merchantman the previous day, but it was not a type of canvas they bore aloft. Topgallants were naval and soon Pearce too was on his feet, the telescope that he had brought along employed, ready to catch sight of what Tucker had seen on the next rise of the boat. What he could not know was that aboard HMS Semele the same question was being asked and answered.
‘Frigate, sir, very like one of the pair we espied on the way to Naples.’
‘I will be on deck presently.’
And he was, to find that his lookouts had spotted not one frigate but three and it eventually became evident that they were making no effort to avoid him, holding their heading instead of running, as they had done previously.
‘They might be bluffing, Mr Palmer. We will maintain our course. Let us see what game they want to play.’
It would be a fine balance of force if it came to a fight, Ralph Barclay knew that. He had the heavier weight of shot but they had numbers and manoeuvrability so it came down to will. If they wanted a fight he had little choice but to oblige them if he wished to return to join Hotham, for they held the weather gage. In addition they enjoyed a greater turn of speed than Semele. Against that he was sure of his ship and confident that if they could not emerge unscathed, they could do so victorious and perhaps a trophy to take back to the fleet.
‘I suggest an early dinner for the hands, Mr Palmer, and a double tot of grog immediately after.’
‘And then, sir?’
‘Then? If these fellows are still coming on, we must clear for action.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Pearce and the crew of his pinnace were much slower to rate the odds in what looked to be the makings of a contest; all four vessels were closing in on each other, though it was, as ever at sea, painfully slow. Low in the water, it had taken much time to observe the enemy numbers and for the man in command even more time to reason that he lacked the knowledge to work out where the advantage lay.
He had been in a sea fight when still rated as a midshipman – indeed it was that action that had got him his promotion to lieutenant – but that had in essence been one capital ship against another. This was different in too many respects, while his rank prevented the men he had with him from speculation, which was frustrating, given he reckoned they might have a better appreciation than he. There was one obvious fact; they had no part other than that of observer in whatever was about to happen.
‘I think it would be wise to shorten sail.’ That got a nod from Tucker, but before he could move to obey Pearce took the opportunity to seek to break the previous silence. ‘And if any of you have words to say, pay no attention to my rank.’
It was like the breaking of a dam; Pearce was obliged to order them to stop babbling and jumping about lest they affect the boat and to speak in turn, but the conclusions were of a piece. HMS Semele was new built by the standards of the fleet and the French were no match for the Wooden Walls of Old England, even if they did have numbers.
All knew that she had already taken part in the Glorious First, which spoke of a crew who would enter a fight with relish as well as a captain who knew his business. It was only as the speculation was taking place that John Pearce was brought to wonder what Ralph Barclay was doing on this patch of water and to question his northward course.
He had never thought it possible to beard him before he reached Naples. At worst, in terms of distance, he might find him between there and Palermo. Yet now he was on a heading taking him away from both. Was he just prize hunting, in which case he had a chance of a sterling success? Or was he on his way back to the fleet, which could mean any number of things?
‘Frigates splitting apart,’ Tucker called, he having granted himself the task of observer, ‘and there is steam rising from Semele’s chimney.’
‘Galley fires doused,’ commented another of the sailors, ‘they are certain to fight now.’
‘Which John Crapaud will see as easy as can I, mate,’ said another, ‘so they will know what to guard against.’
The man looked at Pearce to see what he thought but received no response for he was subject to mixed emotions; for Ralph Barclay to lose a battle could not but be welcome to Pearce. But he commanded hundreds of men for whom he held no grudge and in a fight there would be no respect for rank. Even as the least patriotic of men – he found such sentiments facile – he had to be on the side of his fellow countrymen, for no other reason, if he needed one, than because they were contesting with the bestiality of a French Revolution he had come to despise.
Pearce had shortened sail but he was not going to be content if he could not observe what was unfolding, though he had no notion to get even close to an arc of danger from falling shot, so he steered as near as he thought he dared before taking down the sail to leave the pinnace bobbing in the waves. Nor did he wish those frigates to know of his nationality, which had him take in the small flag that had been raised on the masthead – an act, judging by the looks he got, that found little favour.
To be so close to the water was frustrating; things would occur of which he could only get a partial sight, but that did not apply to the masts of the enemy, now a mass of changing flags as whoever commanded the squadron deployed his force. Semele, further off, appeared no larger in sight than the closer French frigate. Only on the very odd rise of a larger wave could he get anything like a plain sight.
Nor was Emily Barclay sure of what was happening. She knew by the commotion that it was serious, not least when the wedges were knocked from the bulkheads that formed her cabin to be swung up and attached to the catches on the overhead deck beams. As she grabbed a shawl she looked right along a deck on which cannon were being loosed and the objects normally stowed out of the way being taken down for use.
The Perils of Command Page 21