A Sea of Troubles (14 page)

‘To what, John, my disgrace first and humiliation second?’

Her shoulders started to heave, not much but it was easy to discern her distress. Slowly, and with no pressure, he put his hands on them. ‘I pledged myself to you and I do so again now.’

‘So Madame Labordière means nothing to you?’

‘I cannot say nothing,’ he replied moving one hand to lift her chin, ‘but in comparison to my feelings for
you …’ Emily allowed her head to be lifted, and as it was, the shaking of her shoulder turned from suppressed to violent and as soon as he could clearly see her face, John Pearce exclaimed, and not with joy, ‘Emily, are you laughing?’

Her hand went to her mouth. ‘Forgive me, I cannot help it, and only the Good Lord knows how I kept it hidden for this length of time. You looked like a lost child when I came through that door.’

John Pearce swept past her and flung open the very same door. Michael O’Hagan was standing in plain view, as so were the Count de Puisaye and Amélie, they looking at him with some curiosity.

‘Michael,’ Pearce barked. ‘Is your hand in this?’

‘Mother of God, I did you a favour, for I could not imagine the poor fist you would have made of matters had I not explained them first. Now gather yourself, for Mrs Barclay has arranged to take these poor travellers on a tour of the city and they are anxious to be on their way.’

John Pearce felt his arm taken by Emily Barclay, his mood unsure. Was he angry or glad? – it was hard to tell.

‘I’m told the cathedral is especially fine, John, and as we walk we must indeed talk, for while you have been away, I cannot say that I have been comfortable regarding our future.’

‘You and Amélie?’

‘Have become, on a very short acquaintance, very firm friends. After all, what a boon it is to be able to talk with someone who knows all your faults and is prepared to list them, albeit I sometimes struggle with the French.’

‘What faults?’

Emily smiled sweetly, then sighed. ‘It is a blessing we have the whole day to discuss them.’

‘I suppose you have taken the count to your bosom as well.’

The reply was an emphatic ‘No’.

That was a condition the fellow in question did nothing to alleviate as he disparaged that which he was shown: Winchester Cathedral was fine, if cramped compared to Notre Dame, Chartres, Reims or the great double basilica of Bourges, proper edifices built to the glory of God, of which he was sure this English church was just a pale copy erected by poorly trained masons. Not a religious man at all and certainly disinclined to defend the unnecessary property of what he knew to be a bloated established church, John Pearce was thinking that the guillotine was too good for the old fool.

Franklin Tolland wrote his letter still chained, which did nothing to aid the fluency of the quill; indeed he could bareley recognise his own hand, a point Moyle dismissed as he picked up the sanded page and read it, nodding as he saw that the sum of forty guineas was required for release, close to a year’s income for a gentleman. Added to that which he had been gifted by Pearce that would add up to a tidy sum that he could invest in government Consols, as he did with anything he could get from his benighted office.

One day he would have enough to relinquish HMS
York
, enough to add to his half pay as an unemployed lieutenant, the means to purchase a cottage and a bit of land that he would see worked to his advantage, and then
there was also the possibility of a woman with whom to share it. The name of the addressee he noted, to be written down later. This Denby Carruthers fellow was surely well heeled and might, at some future date, be a source of more funds.

‘I will have you and your brother moved up a deck, away from the most pernicious rodents.’

‘No,’ Franklin barked, ‘you must move us all or the others will become suspicious that we mean to ditch them.’

Moyle was halfway across his deck before Franklin finished. ‘Do not use that tone of voice with me, lest you want a scar on your other cheek to balance up your looks. And for your tone you can stay where you are!’

‘The letter?’

‘Will be sent, never fear, but I wonder if your friend will want you and the vermin you will fetch along?’ The look that crossed Franklin Tolland’s face then gave Moyle the impression that this Carruthers fellow might not – that indeed he might not get what he now considered his due. ‘Pray he does, cur, for I have it in me to make what you have now seem like paradise.’

A flurry of communications arrived in London in a very short time. Ralph Barclay’s demand that his wife return to her married state the first, and this from the solicitor to whom it was originally addressed but unopened and forwarded to her last known address at Nerot’s Hotel to await her anticipated return. There was one from Mr Studdert too, still trying to recover from a burglary in which every document he had stored in his strongroom had been stolen, which meant that wills had to be rewritten, copies of deeds and all sorts of other papers acquired, the sheer time taken merely to contact his clients and inform them leaving him a weary man. Added to that, to reassure his clients, Mrs Barclay included, and for future security, a cellar was being dug out under his office floor, which a steel trapdoor would cover, for he was not about to risk a repetition of the previous loss.

Pearce had written to Nerot’s, bespeaking rooms for his whole party and, of course, to Henry Dundas,
William Pitt’s right-hand man, though the letter was delayed in actual delivery due to it having to be paid for – in all departments of the state there was a reluctance to accept private letters for that reason; government correspondence was carried out on pre-franked sheets and only a certain level of government employee could sanction a delivery sixpence. It did eventually end up on the right desk and was then shown to a minister too busy to sort out his own mail.

‘Send to Nerot’s,’ Dundas, said. ‘I shall see Pearce and this …’ that required another perusal ‘…
Comte
de Puisaye tomorrow evening; Pearce first, then the Frenchman.’ The clerk responded with a quizzical expression, which had Dundas waving the communication. ‘This does not fill me with the feeling that we have on our hands something of which we can take advantage, but I need to get chapter and verse from the man who has seen the situation on the ground.’

The letter from HMS
York
was the one to produce a string of curses, given Alderman Denby Carruthers had invested a great deal of money already in buying a ship with which the Tollands could resume smuggling; had he not done so he seriously questioned whether he would accede to their request. But having got in so deep, there was no choice but to sell the ship at a loss – everyone would know how short his ownership had been and would suspect he had discovered some flaw in the vessel he was trying to pass it on.

‘Portsmouth, sir?’

‘Yes, Lavery, or to be more precise, Gosport, which is across the water. You are to take with you this sum of
money and pass it on to a Lieutenant Moyle, but only on his granting to you a pair of gentlemen wrongly taken up for the navy and to whom I owe a favour.’

‘Might I enquire what kind of favour, sir?’

‘No you cannot!’ Carruthers barked. ‘I have noted lately in you, Lavery, a tendency to ask questions that are outside your remit as my clerk.’

Being far from the first flush of youth and with a pallid countenance made more pronounced by his bulbous, purple nose, Isaac Lavery did crestfallen well. ‘I seek only to be of full use to you, sir.’

‘I will decide what use you are to be and, while we are at it, I would ask you to stop running errands for my wife without informing me of where they take you.’

‘I felt it my duty to oblige her.’

That got the man who had replaced Cornelius Gherson a cold look, for his master was wondering if the old booby really thought he could fool the man for whom he worked; Lavery was betraying him and was being used by Catherine Carruthers to find her one time paramour, with whom, no doubt, she would take up again if he were found. Odd that Denby Carruthers knew exactly where Gherson was, what he did and for whom. Captain Barclay was a client of his brother-in-law, a partner in the Prize Agency practice of Ommanney & Druce. There was temptation to enclose a sealed note to the Tollands asking them to see to Lavery and dump his cadaver somewhere on the way back, but on reflection it was not yet time to settle matters and, in truth, he did not know them well enough to be sure they would do his bidding.

‘In future, if my wife asks you to do something, you will come to me, tell me the task, and I will either approve its execution or not.’

On the way to Portsmouth in the public coach, Lavery passed a private one moving in the opposite direction, a conveyance hired by John Pearce on government money to get him and his party to London. While there was a general air of calm aboard – the count continued to drone on about his glittering prospects – all travelling had their concerns, not least the man who had hired it and the woman he loved, for even if she had not referred to it since that private meeting, and being in company on their walk round Winchester, it was obvious that they would at some time have to talk and decide their future, shared or not.

The only one who gave the impression of having no worries was Michael O’Hagan, though that was far from true; the last time he had been on the way to London, on foot with Charlie Taverner and Rufus Dommet, they had come across a poster telling the world that a fellow fitting his description, and he was quite singular in that, was wanted for theft and assault. Having no idea how close he was to the part of the country where that had been displayed he felt it wise to stay out of sight.

‘You’re not getting down, Michael?’ Pearce asked, as they stopped for a change of horses, the three others already gone into the parlour of the busy coaching inn.

‘Sure, I’m comfortable here, John-boy.’

‘Damned if I know how, brother – my posterior aches.’

‘You’ve not enough flesh on your arse and too much in your head.’

‘A drink, food?’ Pearce enquired, grinning.

‘Can wait.’

‘Michael, I cannot believe that of you. I have never known you turn down a tankard of ale.’

‘Happen I’m goin’ temperance.’

‘And the moon is cheese.’

‘Might be a tadge dangerous, John-boy, me being easy to recognise and in a part of the world where folks could be looking for me. Folks lookin’ to take up bounties are the types to frequent coaching inns.’

‘Sorry, never occurred to me.’

Michael had recounted the adventure in getting from Portsmouth to London overland when they had met at the Pelican, and Pearce had heard with his own ears, from an impress gang, what had happened when the Irishman had nearly been taken up by a couple of low-life crimps on the Sussex shore. He had seen to them good an’ proper, but that had led to the poster offering a reward of twenty shillings for his arrest.

‘So send someone out with a tankard and some bread and a bit of that moon.’

Pearce left Michael in the coach, to find when they all came out to get aboard again, on a warm sunny day, the blinds were pulled down. He was obliged to take back to the inn the tankard and plate his friend had used, and inside Michael stayed until they were safe in Nerot’s Hotel.

Afforded a chance to be alone with Emily at last, Pearce went to her room and knocked – opened, he was not cheered by her attitude. ‘John, this is not fitting.’

‘It will have to do, Emily, so am I allowed to enter or shall we talk of matters personal with me in the hallway where the Lord knows who will overhear me?’

The look of determination on his face left her in no doubt he was not to be deterred and she stepped aside to let him pass, where he went to the unlit fireplace, turned and faced her. Pearce nearly faltered then; even in her distress she was so damned beautiful, the auburn hair framing flawless skin, saving a few entrancing freckles, and those green eyes that could flash so enticingly when she was angry. At the moment they were expressionless, which had to be deliberate.

‘I cannot believe, Emily, that you are suggesting our attachment to each other should cease.’

Her reaction was odd; it was as if that had never occurred to her. Seeming deflated she sat down in an armchair. ‘John, I do not know what I am suggesting for I am at a loss to know what to do. I have not had a chance to relate to you what happened in Lymington while you were gone and why I left prior to your return. I was about to do so in Winchester, but you did not allow me time and the rest of the day was spent with our French companions.’

‘Then tell me now.’ Which she did, leaving Pearce dumbfounded. ‘I have no knowledge of this admiral of whom you speak and nor can I fathom how he knew you and I had lodged at the King’s Head.’

‘He did know because our arrival and names were printed in a local newspaper, and that indicates what things will be like in the future: we constantly on guard lest our unmarried state be revealed to everyone around us.’

‘Then let us not lie about it.’

‘What are you saying? That wherever we go I should expose myself to scandal?’

‘Only here, in a nation so prurient that such a thing is considered worth remarking on.’

‘Unlike France?’

‘Not so! London is full of folk having affairs and it is common knowledge that the King’s own sons are amongst the most active in that regard. Damn it, the Prince of Wales is openly living with a Catholic and rumours abound that they are secretly married. William, the so-called Sailor Prince, shares a home with a woman who has borne him half a dozen children.’

‘And this you approve of?’

‘Actually, yes, much as I see them as wastrels and a burden on the common man, let them do as they wish.’

‘And that is what you would want for us?’

I want for us to be together.’

‘And I cannot see how that can be possible without my having to defend myself each and every day from the like of Sir Berkley Sumner and his horsewhip.’

‘Should I ever encounter him he will regret carrying one.’

As her head dropped he moved swiftly, in what was not a large room, and he was forceful, pulling Emily Barclay to her feet and kissing her. She sought to resist at first, seeking to push him away, yet that effort faded and her body, while not going limp, ceased to be rigid. Pearce was on fire and he knew that he had it in his power to proceed as he desired, that Emily would not, could not put up any resistance. He was edging her towards the bed
when the knock at the door broke the mood, not aided by his exclamation of ‘damnation’.

They had to break contact, she had to go to open the door and there stood Didcot, the hotel servant who had been both a bane and a boon to John Pearce since the first occasion on which he took up residence.

‘Letters for you, Madame, two of ’em, which was left at the desk and should have been given over when you arrived, though you would wonder at some folk not doing their job proper.’ The open door also revealed John Pearce and that brought to the old fellow’s eye a salacious look, for he had watched this pair sparring before; he knew what Pearce was after just as he guessed what he was not getting. ‘Saving your presence, Lieutenant Pearce, will you be taking supper in your room?’

The servant’s gleam sharpened when Emily, having looked at the addressee on the first one, showed the unopened letter to Pearce, for he had given both a good look over before delivery and he had a nose for these things: Captain Ralph Barclay RN. HMS
Semele
; Plymouth Roads, was whom it came from, no doubt a husband often away at sea. These two were thinking on the old diddle-me-de he had no doubt, which was one to tuck away, for there was money to be made from both silence and letting on if it came to ought, given one had to be from her husband and the other had come from a lawyer.

‘No!’ Pearce said coldly. ‘Shut the door, Emily.’

‘Emily is it he calls her now?’ Didcot said to himself as he lurched down the corridor. ‘It were Mrs Barclay in public afore. Happen they’re more hugger than I thought.’

Inside the room Emily had cracked the seal on her husband’s letter, unfolded it, and as she read it her eyes widened. Finished it was handed to John Pearce who spotted very quickly what had caused her to react, a passage saying that she was no longer in a position to do him harm, this while she read the letter from Studdert.

‘What can he mean by that?’ Pearce asked. ‘That you have nothing more with which to threaten him?’

Emily passed him the second letter, her eyes wide with what Pearce took to be wonder or surprise; it was only when he read it he knew it to be another reaction entirely, for the solicitor had only written to confirm that Emily had removed from him the single set of papers she had left in his care and there were no others, his apologies for any inconvenience, but he required to be sure in case copies must be acquired; he did not read on about the precautions being taken.

‘Burgled?’ Pearce said.

‘And everything in his strongroom taken to the last will and testament.’

‘Match it with that remark in your husband’s letter.’

‘Coincidence?’ Emily asked.

‘Too much of one. It seems there are no lengths to which your husband will not go.’

‘What am I to do?’

That was asked in a spirit of enquiry, not with any sense of fear or despondency.

‘I think it is time you made your husband aware that not only will you refuse to return to the marital state, but that you have other plans, and if he chooses to keep pursuing you, you will embarrass him further.’

‘You and I?’

Pearce nodded.

‘I might as well tell the world – place an announcement in
The Times
.’

‘Emily, we cannot keep hidden what we have.’

‘Have?’

‘Do you not trust my advice?’

‘I don’t know who or what to trust.’

‘I would start with your instincts, but, just in case, I have invited Heinrich Lutyens to dine with us this evening. I know you value his judgement and I ask that you allow him to exercise it.’

‘Would you abide by it if it were negative?’

‘No. Now come here and let us take up where we left off before that old goat Didcot knocked on the door.’

Isaac Lavery was seasick in the wherry that took him from Portsmouth to the receiving hulk and given he lacked colour anyway that gave him a greenish hue. His stomach was still troubled as he enquired at the gate after Lieutenant Moyle, giving his own name but not the purpose. Nor, once he was admitted, was his state improved by being on a larger vessel, for if HMS
York
did not move much, she did react to the incoming swell to tug at her anchors. Entering the great cabin he found Moyle adjusting his stock in one of the many mirrors, an act which imposed a period of silence until he was fully satisfied.