A Divided Command (8 page)

He had only a brief moment to touch Emily’s hand before he was obliged to help the rotund, one-legged Bellam out of
the boat, watching him as he stomped off along the quay, then he was required to address the oarsmen.

‘I must ask you to return to
Larcher
and wait for our cook to signal his need to return. There will be leave, but not until I have seen those in command here and found out what places you should avoid.’

Pearce did not hear the grumbles as the cutter pulled away, too taken as he was with his paramour; the places the Leghorn consul and the senior naval officer would wish them to avoid would be the very places they were most keen to visit.

‘How it would please me to kiss more than your hand, Emily.’

‘Which must wait, John,’ came the hurried reply, for she knew him to be impetuous, ‘until we are somewhere more private.’

There was something of a growl in his throat then, a signal to her that when they were somewhere more private there would be more than kissing to do. That she understood exactly what that sound meant produced a flush to her cheeks that made her even more attractive to her lover. Yet the way her fingers tightened round his sent another signal, to say she was not inclined to resist such a notion, which made it doubly hard to point out the need to attend to his duties first. It also made what followed, as they set off along the quay, sound very banal.

‘You have been well since I left you?’

‘It has not been long enough for anything untoward to occur, John.’

For all the weeks they had now spent together, Pearce was still in that state of early infatuation that made it necessary
to examine every word Emily said and the way in which it was delivered; he also knew that she still harboured doubts about her actions in agreeing to depart England with him, and such acute sensibility allowed him to detect a hint of a false note in her voice.

‘If something has, it would be as well to tell me.’

That got a slight pout. ‘It must have occurred to you that my situation here is far from ideal.’

To agree with what was a palpable truth was to open a box of problems best avoided; in truth, her circumstances would be far from perfect wherever she was, but it took no great leap of imagination that here in Leghorn they could be acute. For the estranged wife of a post captain to be resident in a port much frequented by the Royal Navy, even on her own, was far from being ideal; to be there openly in his company would be damning. Quick-witted as ever, he produced a reply to that point with what he reckoned to be a convincing tone.

‘Such a fact occurred to me, Emily, while we were apart, and it may be that we need to find somewhere less frequented by anyone who might know …’

He had to pause; what was appropriate to describe her circumstances? Did he say ‘know your husband’?; ‘know you are married and not to me’? What?

‘Why do I get the impression, John, that what you have just said has come from the kind of sudden inspiration to which you are somewhat prone?’

Tempted to lie, or at least bluster, he could do no more than smile. ‘You have come to know me too well.’

That got him a squeeze on his arm. ‘Not true, I need to know you much better than I do.’

There was a pause before he spoke again, as he sought to
distract himself from the feelings running through his body, that being far from easy. ‘Yet you have an immediate worry, I sense, and on that score.’

‘While I was walking the quay this morning, just as you were entering the roads, I met someone we both know, Henry Digby.’

‘Ah!’

‘You sound so very like him when you respond like that. He asked about my husband, expecting if I was present so was he …’

‘And you told him the truth?’

‘I was about to proffer some excuse when I spotted
Larcher
. With you about to land it seemed pointless to lie.’

‘And if he makes that public …’

‘I asked him to be discreet. I have no idea if he will abide by that request.’

‘He is a good man, Digby, and I believe he will. In any case I will seek him out and explain our position to him.’

‘And if it happens again, with another officer acquaintance?’

‘I will not let anyone insult you, Emily.’

‘And what difference will that make to their opinion of me?’

There was no doubt that the conversation had killed off the happy feeling apparent at the moment he stepped onto the quay; it was equally plain that it was not just going to suddenly disappear. Emily could not stay here if such knowledge became common; she would be exposed to, at best ridicule, and at worst, if he was not there to protect her, being importuned by men who saw any woman who had acted as had she as more than fair game.

Their forward progress, which had slowed in any case, was brought to a near halt by the redcoats piling out of several 
boats that had brought them ashore from
HMS Dolphin
. Boisterous in the extreme, they were milling about in a way that made passing through their ranks far from easy, which irritated John Pearce, even as it obliged him to put a cap on that as he uttered a series of the necessary polite asides to get them to clear a path.

‘You sir, there sir, by the devil stop!’

Unaware of who was being addressed, John Pearce paid no heed until a hand grabbed his shoulder and roughly spun him round. He found himself staring into, under a wide-brimmed tricorn hat, the bright face of a redcoat major, a man oddly familiar, who wore an expression of deep fury.

‘I told you to stand, sir, and you will oblige me by doing as I command.’

That was the wrong word to use to John Pearce. ‘Sir, you have no right to command me, and if you dare to ever dare lay a hand on me again—’

The major cut right across him. ‘You did not fear to do so to me in Gibraltar, sir, an act for which, had you not run off like a damn coward, I would have had satisfaction for the very next day. But then you are scrub enough to get others to see to your honour!’

It is hard to react properly when faced with the sudden realisation of an uncomfortable and truthful memory. The familiarity of the face – the confusion came from it being under that hat – lay in the fact that he had, in first acquaintance, landed on it a hefty punch. He had then received a challenge from the same fellow on their second meeting many months later. On their third encounter, the very next morning high above Gibraltar, he had seen him take a ball in the shoulder from the originator of the original quarrel.

Right now he was struggling to recall the major’s name, while an added complication was the presence of Emily, not to mention a clutch of the man’s companions now crowded round them, this while Pearce concluded that there was only one possible way out of what was bound to be an embarrassment.

‘I have, however caught up with you …’

‘And you will find me eager now as I was on our second encounter to apologise for what was an untoward act. And I would add that to my mind you fully satisfied your honour in facing Captain McGann.’

‘Apologies be damned, I say, and as for that bastard dwarf—’

‘Sir,’ Pearce shouted, struggling to keep his emotions, mostly anger, in check. ‘Can you not see I am in the presence of a lady?’

The face, now no more than two inches from his own, went puce.

‘I do not recall you showing such consideration to my wife when you took leave to land a blow on me, sir! Added to which I will not be set from my course, and that is to demand satisfaction from you, merely because you have some whore in tow.’

Pearce, who in any case had been fighting to control his emotions, was not about to have Emily so traduced. Unhooking her arm, his fist took the major on the side of his jaw and sent him flying backwards, while his hat spun off his head. Misfortune followed: he struck a bollard and lost complete control. As his companions grabbed Pearce they would have been better employed seeing to their major, who, with helpless cries, fell backwards into the harbour with an almighty splash.

‘Satisfaction, sir,’ Pearce shouted, as he struggled to get his arms free. ‘You may as well have need for it twice rather than once.’

‘Damn you, sir, he will slice you to ribbons come the morrow.’

‘Not,’ came the reply from a heaving naval chest, ‘if he drowns.’

That concentrated the military minds; they detached themselves and set about rescuing their major – a man who obviously could not swim and now struggling in the filthy quayside water – this done with more useless cries and suggestions than actual physical practicality.

‘An address, sir, where you can be found?’ asked a fresh-faced lieutenant, who had forborne to go to the aid of his superior.

‘
HMS Larcher
.’

‘And your name, sir, for when Major Lipton’s second calls upon you?’

Lipton! Now he recalled the name. ‘Pearce, Lieutenant John Pearce.’

It was with a quicker gait that Pearce led Emily away while behind them the major was hauled out to drip water all over the cobblestones.

‘What, John, was that about?’

‘Later,’ came the glum reply.

Very little attention was paid to the boat bringing Toby Burns back to his ship; every eye was on
HMS Agamemnon
as if, by careful examination, the story of the successful conclusion at Calvi could be extracted from her timbers. Added to that, Nelson’s barge had set off just before the midshipman and that had to be tracked to the entry port of the flagship.

Sitting under his hat, leaning over his sea chest and still feeling the effects of too much wine, the youngster was far from easily identifiable, and since the boat was not seen to be fetching anyone of importance there was no party on the main deck of
Britannia
to welcome him aboard.

The main deck, with anchor watches set, was quiet and he had to wait for what seemed an age till a seaman appeared to shift his sea chest, and hard on that fellow’s heels he nearly got to the mids berth before he was spotted. The greeting, if loud, from the senior midshipman raising the question led to some doubts as to the sentiment behind it.

‘Good God, is it you, Burns? Damn me, we were told you were a goner.’

The speaker was lit only by the fitful light that made its way down the companionway, and peering into the eyes of a fellow dressed in working garb whom he knew to be a bully, as well as a superior who would scarce be upset by his demise, Toby observed no evidence of joy.

‘Taken prisoner, Mr Fletcher, or,’ Toby added with a hesitant stammer, for the fellow had been up for the same examination board as he, ‘are you now a lieutenant?’

‘No, I am not, Burns, and it would have better fitted your manners to have found that out before you had the temerity to ask.’

It was foolish to state the obvious, but drink was still affecting his tongue. ‘So you failed again?’

If he had set out to rile Fletcher he could not have picked a better or more sensitive spot. The eldest mid had, if the one Toby had missed was included, sat for lieutenant four times and had been rejected for promotion by the same number. Already in his late twenties it seemed he was destined to spend his life in his present rank, unpaid, with only a hope that a fleet action or some stroke of heroic genius would get him his step or a bit of prize money.

‘Report to the premier the second your dunnage is stored,’ Fletcher barked, before stomping away.

Is that how I will end up, Toby asked himself, in silent contemplation of a fate he saw as akin to death? Fletcher was trapped and if he was an oppressor by temperament that was made more telling by his situation. He held his position through some sort of favour owed by the ship’s captain, a reciprocal arrangement whereby the sons of fellow officers,
distant relatives or the offspring of local worthies, were taken aboard to learn a trade in which they might prosper at little or no parental expense.

Fletcher was fed and provided with a bed; he could, through his age and seniority, extract, especially from nervous and newly appointed mids, enough in the way of sweeteners to fund an occasional trip ashore, a night of ale and a whore. But should he find the lack of promotion too hard to bear what was he then to do? Life ashore and the prospect of having to live and eat from his own endeavours probably held even less of an attraction than what he faced afloat, ever the butt of his superior’s temper and now, surely, aware that he would never rise in the service.

Toby had tried to point out his own unsuitability to the navy on his first visit home, but that fell very flat. The exploit in Brittany had made him a hero and the whole town wished to fete their young Lysander as such, a situation that gave prominence to his family and made them proud. Any hints that he might leave the service were brushed aside and he had lacked the willpower to overcome parental dismissals.

Knocking on the wardroom door, he was brought to think on what would have happened if he had taken the lieutenant’s exam; probably he would, like Fletcher, have failed but as of this moment, entering the berth to which he would have aspired, he had no ambition to be any part of it.

‘Enter.’

With the ship at anchor there were few of the normal duties being carried out so the room was close to full, most of the lieutenants with the marine officers present as well as the doctor and ship’s master. Their collective cry of sheer amazement brought the first lieutenant out from his tiny
cabin and he stared at Toby, eyes popping, as if he was seeing a ghost. The only thing that prevented an outburst was the need to preserve his self-esteem in a domain of which he was the leading light.

‘Mr Burns, I see the news we received of you was mistaken. Let me say on behalf of the wardroom how very happy we are that it is so.’ That was not greeted with loud huzzahs, but a low murmur. ‘You will oblige me, and I daresay us all, with an account of how you come to be alive.’

Toby’s mouth felt like the inside of a yet to be cleaned horse stall; he had a sour taste on his tongue and a dry windpipe, so that his response made him sound, and the tone did nothing to diminish it, as if he had just come back through death’s door.

‘Which I will happily do, sir, if I may have something to ease my throat.’

That got a raised eyebrow; in the premier’s navy midshipmen did not ask for a drink in the wardroom.

‘Forgive me for asking, but I was most splendidly entertained aboard
Agamemnon
, given they were my fighting companions and eager to celebrate my survival. I fear they plied me with too much wine and I am suffering for it.’

‘Well, we cannot do less than a mere sixty-four,’ the premier replied. ‘Give the lad a glass of wine. Nothing like the hair of the dog, eh?’

Sat at the table, recounting the raid on which he had been captured, not forgetting to add that he had done his best in what was probably a hare-brained effort, Toby could not be aware that the news of his return had reached Hotham. He too was drinking a glass of wine, albeit of better quality than the midshipman and from good crystal.

The crash as that hit the casements above their heads made everyone in the wardroom look towards their own stern windows, but it was a momentary interruption and in a blink they were back, engrossed in the youngster’s tale. The gap between the breaking glass and the message was short.

‘Mr Burns to repair to the admiral’s cabin at once.’

The only person not to smile at that was the object of the message; it was well known, and something of a mystery as to why, that Hotham had given this particular youth every opportunity he could to distinguish himself, forever putting him in situations where he had a chance to shine. There was some resentment in the lower levels of the lieutenancy – it was well known there was ten times that in the mids berth – for to see prospects going to one of a lower rank than their own was inclined to cause irritation. Not that it was ever openly voiced; no one in search of favour wanted criticism of an admiral’s favourite to reach his ears.

‘Better cut along sharpish, Mr Burns,’ the premier said, ‘Sir William must be agog to hear of your adventures.’

‘It was a reaction, that was all, Emily, such as any man might make when they see a friend being struck. What happened after that was as a consequence of my original interference.’

The tale of what had happened at Gibraltar had not come out well and had suffered from having to wait until he had settled matters at the office of the Naval Commissariat. This entailed dealing with an officer, a representative of the Navy Board, who gave the impression of a man who bled if he parted with so much as a nail. Not that he was an exception: every man appointed on a foreign station to see to the needs of the fleet acted as if he was at war with his own side.

The Navy Board saw to the building of warships and supplied the fleet both in peacetime and during conflict. They saw careful husbandry as essential – things cost money, while the serving sailors, answerable to the Board of Admiralty, argued that without the means to fight, freely supplied and the price to the exchequer be damned, they were being emasculated.

No one ever emerged from such an encounter between the twin branches of the service in a good mood and John Pearce was no exception so he was glad to address another subject. Yet telling his tale brought no sense of comfort from Emily, who thought the whole affair absurd or worse.

‘And is it true what that man said, John, that you ran away the day after you struck him?’

‘I did not run away,’ he snapped, only to realise that irritation at the suggestion had made him speak too harshly. This required an apology and a moment to return to the meal they were consuming so he could compose another response.

‘The ship of which I was due to sail upped anchor at dawn the following day, and I being on official business could not let it depart without me. Naturally, I thought that the end of the matter. Not so. When we were on our way to the Bay of Biscay, we stopped at Gibraltar to find not only Lipton still there, but also the man who set the whole sorry mess in train was there and drinking in the very same tavern.’

‘Captain McGann,’ Emily confirmed.

She received in response a shake of the head denoting wonder as Pearce pondered on the personality of the Irish seafarer, a man of whom he was exceedingly fond, as well as the number of times their paths has crossed. The last
had been off Portugal, when
HMS Larcher
had come to the rescue of McGann’s postal packet, under fire from privateers. Emily, when they met at the conclusion of the action, had been exposed to all of his abundant Celtic charm, flattery and endemic good humour.

‘I find it hard to believe that such a cheerful soul could have behaved as you say he did, and as for his prowess as a marksman, well, all I can say is he does not appear to be so gifted.’

‘The man you met is a different creature ashore, Emily, and the expression chalk and cheese is fitting in his case. He is a superb sailor and a sober father to his crew on water. Yet he is a danger to himself and those same fellows as soon as his feet hit terra firma. He drinks like a fish, dresses like a Commedia dell’arte prince and thinks every woman on whom his eyes fall is so enamoured of him as to fall willingly into his arms.’

She was not convinced; Pearce could see that and he had the impression he could go on in that vein for ever and not change her mind. It was a trait he had noticed before in women he had known: once they had formed a good opinion of someone it tended to be unshakable until some act of pure outrage allowed the scales to fall from their eyes. Given this was not going to be that telling moment, it was best to change tack.

‘As to his ability with a pistol, you would be best to ask our good friend Lutyens about that. He was the doctor who attended to Lipton after McGann put a ball in him and at precisely the place where he had earlier said he would make the wound. A winged Lipton was in no state to fight me and I had sailed on before he could recover.’

‘You could do the same here, John, sail away and avoid a confrontation.’

The voice was low as he replied, ‘I do hope you do not mean what you say?’

If he had expected her to be repentant, John Pearce was quickly and sadly disillusioned.

‘Why not? Do you expect me to welcome the notion that you might die in a duel, and for what? Some stupid expression of male pride and one, I seem to recall, that is expressly forbidden by the law?’

‘A stricture that does not even apply at home, Emily, and would certainly not serve out here.’

‘So you will put your life at risk?’

‘And what would you think of me if I did run away?’

‘I would think the man I love and the man for whom I have risked everything is alive.’

Her eyes were wet and soon, Pearce knew, the tears would begin to flow. He came out of his own bench seat to join Emily on hers, putting his arms round shoulders which had begun to heave.

‘It will not come to that, my dear. Any effusion of blood settles these things, as it was for McGann, who did not seek to kill Lipton. For me, with, I suspect, swords, it would be a cut at worst, I would reckon. It will mean no more than that you will be required to nurse me. Would it help if I say that I am almost tempted to bleed for just that attention?’

‘I know it is selfish,’ she snivelled, ‘and unbecoming, but what is to become of me if you are wrong?’

‘I intend to offer Lipton a more formal apology in the hope that he will settle for that.’

Emily looked up at him, her wet eyes showing a flash of
anger. ‘You are thinking on the hoof again, John Pearce.’

He kissed her forehead. ‘Is that such a bad thing if it calms your fears?’

‘Only if it is a lie.’

He had to hold her gaze then, so that she would not see how much such a course would affect him. John Pearce was not the type to seek out a duel with anyone; he saw the whole notion of two men employing weapons to settle an argument as farcical. But neither was he a man to easily walk away from a challenge, for there was the matter of his own pride. Added to that, if he did do so, any stain would not just disappear, it would follow his already troubled name and, he suspected, lead to more difficulties in the future than he would face now.

‘Let us put that out of our minds, for now, Emily, let us finish our dinner and then …’

He paused, for even John Pearce could be brought to the blush when making too obvious a point.

‘As you know, I am obliged to sleep aboard my ship, without I have permission to do so and I have the needs of the crew to attend to.’

‘Would it help if I were to say I was no longer hungry?’

For all the peremptory nature of the summons, Toby was kept waiting outside Hotham’s cabin, while inside the admiral sought from his clerk some way to deal with a situation that could too easily deteriorate.

‘He must be kept away from Pearce, Toomey, for ten seconds in that sod’s company and the little turd will be babbling away.’

‘Might I ask, Sir William, when Lord Hood intends to depart?’

‘Damned if I know and damned if he would tell me. I’ll probably only have a clue when he ups anchor.’ Seeing the look in his clerk’s eye, Hotham was quick to add, ‘Don’t ask that I enquire, man, I will not demean myself to do so.’