The Admirals' Game (12 page)

‘There were a couple of others taken up with us,' John Pearce said, bringing the conversation back round to their impressment, ‘but—'

The door to Lutyens's rooms was suddenly flung open, causing everyone to look, and the shock of seeing a dripping wet Emily Barclay standing there rendered them all speechless. Not that she was in a better state, having had no idea that the only man she could share her troubles with was not alone. John Pearce was on his feet in an instant, his action bringing the others upright as well.

‘Emily…' Lutyens spluttered, clearly at a loss how to continue.

‘Forgive me,' she responded, quite obviously flustered.

‘Mrs Barclay, come in,' Pearce cried, making to bring her through the door, an act that had her shrinking away.
‘Madam, you are soaked to the skin. If you do not want to give our good doctor a worry on your health, for the sake of the Lord take off that cloak.'

‘Latimer,' said Lutyens, to the man closest to the grate, ‘stoke up that fire and get some more timber on it. Emily, come stand by it and dry yourself.'

Her mouth moved, but no words came. It was her eyes that indicated her embarrassment, as they ranged over the sailors present.

‘You mustn't mind us, ma'am,' said Rufus. ‘Better to be dry, I say.'

‘Heinrich, I need to speak with you.' He nodded, looking lost, until she added, in a tone of voice bereft of confidence, ‘Alone?'

‘Best we wait outside,' Pearce responded, with a jerk of the head, yet it was Michael, towering over Emily Barclay, who took her arm and led her to stand above old Latimer, who was busy poking the fire.

‘Leave that, mate, let the doctor see to it.'

The exit was made without eye contact; it was as though a cloud of mortification had descended on them all, leaving Lutyens to relieve Emily of her dripping cloak. As soon as the door shut behind his guests, she burst into tears and buried her head on his shoulder.

‘Come, come, sit down, have some wine and tell what has upset you so much that you arrive here in this condition.'

The story came out in between sobs, with both now sitting, Lutyens holding one of her chilled hands and
completely at a loss to know what to say, this being outside his experience. He was a good surgeon, and death would not move him any more than would a serious wound. Treating the casualties caused by the actions of Emily's husband had not produced a response, and evidence of physical pain in a patient had no effect on him. Yet here he was with an emotional problem, and from a source he had seen at first hand deal with wounded men in a fashion to be admired. Emily Barclay was tougher than she knew; the evidence of that was in the mere fact of her being here.

‘I cannot stay with him.'

‘That, Emily, is a serious proposition, draconian in fact…'

‘If I do, the same thing will happen again, I know it.'

‘It may not, my dear. It may be that your husband is as upset by his behaviour as you are. I take it he does not know you have come to the hospital?'

Looking at the table, Emily shook her head.

‘And how do you suppose he will react when he finds you are gone?'

‘Can I stay here?'

‘Of course, my dear,' Lutyens replied, ‘but that is only a partial solution and I cannot help but feel that your actions, should you remain here, will set tongues wagging.'

‘Did you not intimate they were wagging already?'

‘I did, but from what you tell me about the admiral's
dinner you may well have allayed that.' Lutyens stood suddenly. ‘You are here now, and the notion of an immediate return seems unlikely to appeal to you. So you must spend the night in my bed, while I make up a place to sleep here.'

She was about to protest, but his hand and look of concern stopped her. Taking her arm, and an oil lamp in his other hand, he led her through his bedroom door, indicated the washbowl, the water jug and towels, then patted her hand.

‘It may be that things will look different in the morning. Sleep, as any doctor will tell you, is a great healer.'

Shutting the door behind him, Lutyens went immediately to the outer door, opening it to reveal only John Pearce.

‘I have sent them to prepare the boat,' he said.

‘I am sorry, John.'

Pearce looked over the doctor's shoulders at an empty room and a closed bedroom door, which caused him to look at Lutyens with raised eyebrows.

‘I can see the way your mind is working.'

‘No doubt,' Pearce responded with a grin, ‘just as there is no doubt, judging from your angry expression, that I am making a wrong assumption. Why is she here?'

‘I don't think I am at liberty to discuss that.'

‘You forget, Heinrich, that it was she who first alerted me to the perjury committed at Barclay's court martial. She was quite clearly damned unhappy with him them, so
it is possible to deduce that whatever has distressed her can very likely be laid at the door of her husband.'

‘Only she could answer that question, John, and I doubt she would choose to do so to you. Besides, she has gone to bed, so you will have no opportunity to enquire.'

‘Perhaps I will come by in the morning and ask?'

A sudden strong gust of wind rattled the windows and sent a cold draught sweeping through the corridor. ‘Right now, I think your preoccupation should be how, in this weather, you are going to get back aboard your ship.'

‘And you?'

‘I have to do my rounds, and ensure my patients are comfortable, which is more than I can hope for myself this night.'

The order to attend upon Lord Hood arrived despite the continuing bad weather. Initially inclined to tell the old sod to go hang, he nevertheless knew in his heart he must obey, given the man was the only one who could advance his cause. So, in a boat cloak still damp from the previous night, John Pearce was obliged to climb down into the bobbing cutter for the uncomfortable journey to the flagship.

So rough was the sea he wondered if his breakfast, sitting uncomfortably close to his upper ribcage, would stay within him or end up being evacuated. He clutched the gunnels as much for luck as to steady himself against the bucking motion of a boat that was shipping a fair degree of water. Looking at the men on the oars, it was clear they were cursing him for the need to be fighting this running sea, which made him want to shout at them
to take their ire out on the man who had sent for him.

Getting in through HMS
Victory
's entry port was no easy matter either, the gangway having been taken in for safety – to be replaced by that which he dreaded, rope lines on either side of fixed battens – and those placed there to assist visitors coming aboard seemed to be indifferent as to whether he made the maindeck or ended up in the grey-green water tumbling angrily along the ship's side. No doubt a captain could demand a bosun's chair and a whip from the yard; a lieutenant must shift as best he could.

At least, once he had struggled on to the safety of the deck, he was not kept waiting; he was immediately ushered into the presence of both Hood and Parker, while the secretary was sent away, indicating that whatever was to be discussed would not be recorded in writing. What did seem odd was the way neither admiral seemed eager to catch his eye; it was as though they were embarrassed, which immediately raised his suspicions.

‘If I am about to be asked to undertake another private mission, I might as well refuse now and save all three of us a great deal of time.'

‘You know, Pearce,' replied Hood, finally looking directly at him, ‘I don't think I have ever met your like.'

‘What Lord Hood means,' added Parker, ‘is that your lack of respect for authority is singular.'

‘Which stems from the fact that I, unlike every other lieutenant within your fleet, have no desire to seek
advancement through your good offices. Given the way they grovel, you have become too accustomed to sycophancy to understand independence of mind.'

‘Tell me, Pearce, what is it that you would most like?'

That required no thought at all, and the reply was swift. ‘I want to go home to England, taking with me my friends, and I would like to do so with the evidence necessary to bring a case against Ralph Barclay.'

Parker smiled at him, but it was the look of a cat who had just got the cream. ‘And here you are in the presence of the only people who can give you what you seek.'

‘Which,' Hood growled, ‘might induce a small display of good manners.' He turned to talk to Parker, doing so as if the subject was not present. ‘It is in the blood, Parker, this stripling is his father's son. The only thing they respond to is chastisement, preferably in a prison.'

‘A little honesty would not go amiss,' John Pearce snapped.

Hood ignored him. ‘The papers, Parker.'

Staggering over to a foot locker, for the flagship was moving a great deal on the swell, Parker retrieved a bundle of papers, tied with a thick red ribbon, which Pearce suspected were the records of Barclay's court martial. These he laid on the table in front of Hood, well out of arm's reach of the man most keen to examine them. Hood untied the ribbon and took a single sheet from the top, passing it over for Pearce to read.

‘This is my confirmation of the sentence passed by the court, namely that Captain Barclay be reprimanded for poor judgement etcetera. I need not go on, you know the rest.'

Pearce looked down at the lines of writing, and felt his mood sink a little as he saw the confirmation of Barclay's risible sentence.

‘Read the last two paragraphs, Pearce, before you damn me.'

That he did, to see that Hood had finished with a bit of equivocation…

I beg also to inform your Lordships that under the pressure of overseeing the defence of Toulon, I was obliged to place this matter in the hands of Vice Admiral Sir William Hotham, and he was most assiduous in choosing those officers designated to sit in judgement of Captain Barclay, a list of which is attached to the court records, as is the name of the prosecuting officer appointed by my second-in-command.

I cannot help but feel that, given the charge, and having in mind the needs of the service, both he and the court viewed the alleged offence in an over sympathetic light, yet I would also add that to find any group of captains who would condemn an officer of the same rank is never easy, even if the charge levelled has some basis in fact.

I am your etc,

Samuel, Lord Hood.

‘There is not an officer born, Pearce, reading that paragraph, then turning to the list of captains or knowing the booby Hotham appointed as prosecutor, who will not know that the whole thing was rigged to get a specific result.'

John Pearce looked the admiral right in the eye. ‘Then why not come right out and say so?'

‘The Navy does not work like that, Pearce,' said Parker. Seeing the man he was addressing swell up to condemn the institution, he raised his hand to stop whatever Pearce was about to say. ‘Lord Hood was obliged, for very sound reasons, to commit himself to a confirmation prior to the court martial taking place.'

‘I am not much given to speaking in my own defence,' Hood insisted, ‘but the needs of securing the port took precedence over a minor matter like this.'

‘It may be a minor matter to you, sir.'

‘Damn it, Parker,' Hood cawed, his face alight in false shock, ‘the sod actually called me “sir”.'

The flash of humour did not last, the thick grey eyebrows closing over that prominent nose.

‘I needed to get those damned French sailors out of Toulon, and that required Hotham's support. Letting him arrange Barclay's court was the price, and if you ever repeat that I will deny ever having said it.'

Parker, ever the diplomat, cut in with a softer tone. ‘I feel the need to explain something to you, Lieutenant Pearce.'

‘Like what, sir, that expediency overrides obligation?'

‘Like this, sir! If you wish to bring a case for perjury against Captain Barclay it will have to be done in a Court of King's Bench, for the Admiralty Court will not touch this with a bargepole. What Lord Hood has done is to warn them against the notion of defending the action with all the means at their disposal, which I can assure you are considerable, especially when a verdict unfavourable to the service may besmirch the reputation of a very political admiral like Sir William Hotham.'

The two looked at each other in a way that had Pearce wondering what it was they were not saying, but put out of his mind any thought of asking; they would only fob him off. Hood spoke again, in a voice with a trace of weariness; he was not often obliged to explain himself to mere lieutenants and the need to do so was obviously tiresome.

‘These papers must go off to the Admiralty at some point, but you will be much advantaged if you have a fair copy of the court record. That you must do with your own hand.'

John Pearce was shocked. ‘My own hand?'

‘I will not entrust it to one of my secretaries for the very good reason that to do so might alert certain parties to the fact that you are in possession of the information, thus allowing them to prepare to meet whatever challenge you throw at them.'

‘You cannot trust your own secretaries?'

In the split second following that outburst John Pearce
realised he was being naive; of course Hood would not allot the task to one of his secretaries, given he had no intention of ever admitting the records had been viewed by anyone other than those with the right to do so. Yet the older man clearly felt he had to say something.

‘Let us say, I prefer not to take the risk of trusting them. Now let us conclude this discussion and move on.' Hood slapped the bundle of papers, sending up a small cloud of dust. ‘You need this, but you will also need witnesses, at least one who will attest to the fact that any testimony they gave was false. How easy do you think that will be, given they are all sailors and beholden to the man you wish to accuse?'

‘Not easy, I grant you. But once a writ is issued…'

‘You won't get one, Pearce, unless you have testimony, either in person or in writing.'

‘Are you offering to use your good offices to provide them?'

‘No, I am not, but I might just be able to ensure that some of the witnesses are in home ports and available for subpoena, like the very men you claimed were illegally pressed and those serving aboard HMS
Brilliant
.'

Pearce looked hard at him; the admiral was offering to give him everything he wanted, and there had to be a reason. ‘You said a moment ago that we needed to move on. To what, may I ask?'

‘A small mission we wish you to undertake.'

‘No.'

Hood hit the papers again. ‘Then these, Pearce, go
back in that locker, and you will never get sight of them again.'

‘There is no risk in this mission,' Parker insisted.

‘I seem to recall,' Pearce snapped, ‘that you said that before and on both occasions my life was most definitely in danger.'

‘I cannot think you will be in danger in Naples.'

‘They are our allies,' Hood added, nodding to Parker to continue.

‘We are going to be open with you, Lieutenant…'

‘I will struggle to cope,' Pearce replied.

‘Very amusing! What do you know of the situation here in Toulon?'

Pearce hesitated for a moment before replying, his mind working hard to see the message behind the question. ‘I would judge, sir, since you bring the matter up, that it is in the balance.'

‘Very much so,' Hood asserted. ‘We cannot hold it without more troops.'

‘It is the cannon,' Parker continued. ‘We lack the means to push back the French artillery on a front broad enough to secure the anchorage. Yes, we can attack each position individually, but that creates as many problems as it solves and costs us lives in the process. That in turn weakens the garrison.'

‘The trouble is, Pearce,' said Hood, taking up the discussion, ‘I have just had a dispatch from Billy Pitt to tell me there are no troops available in England.'

‘Did not a transport arrive from Gibraltar?'

‘If you'll forgive the pun, Pearce,' said Parker, ‘they are a drop in the ocean.'

‘Never mind puns,' Hood growled, ‘we need at least ten times their number.'

They were working in tandem, seeking to wear down a man who was clearly sceptical, so Parker was next. ‘The Austrians have promised troops, but they show no sign of ever arriving. The Spaniards claim to be fully committed and our Piedmontese allies must defend their own lands from the French Army in Italy. The nearest reinforcements who could move quickly to shore up the defences are in Naples, and they have already supplied a substantial body of sound troops, five thousand in number. If we can get their Sicilian Majesties to dispatch the same number of men for a second time we can frustrate the French until doomsday.'

‘And given time,' Hood added, ‘perhaps our political masters will see that the place to fight the monster hatched in Paris is here.'

They kept talking, giving Pearce an overview of what was a clearly serious situation and one that threatened to get worse. A forward-thinking fellow called Buonaparte had taken over command of the artillery and was showing an alarming degree of enterprise, despite suffering casualties, in the placing and working of his guns. The defenders needed a general assault along the whole eastern sector to push General Carteaux's forces back towards Ollioules, on the main road to Marseilles. Hold them that far out
and the port was safe; let them progress as they had been and this Buonaparte would render the anchorage untenable before Christmas.

‘The trouble is, Pearce, that we do not want our allies to know that no troops will be coming from England. Given that knowledge, and drawing the conclusions which are obvious, they may decide they need to look to their own safety.'

Pearce looked at Parker, wondering if the captain of the fleet realised what he was saying: these two had a plan to keep their allies in the dark, hardly the right way to treat those prepared to support Britannia.

‘A written request to the Neapolitan Court is out of the question. I could not write such a dispatch without informing them and asking them to concur and sign it. The request, therefore, must be a private one and carried by human means.'

‘Me?'

‘You,' Hood nodded.

‘Why? Surely you have an abundance of officers who can do this with the required discretion.'

‘Let us just say, Lieutenant Pearce,' Parker responded, in a rare burst of honesty, ‘that we have few officers on whose discretion we can insist.'

Hood spoke next. ‘You, or rather HMS
Faron
, will be given dispatches for Commodore Linzee, who is at present on his way to Tunis, with orders to make an agreement, whatever the cost, with the Bey of that troublesome state. On your way you will stop at Naples, require the
ambassador there, Sir William Hamilton, to get you access to Queen Caroline…'

‘Why the queen?'

‘The king is an idiot,' Parker replied, ‘it is she who runs the country.'

‘And,' Hood added, ‘given she is sister to Marie Antoinette, her attitude to the defeat of the Revolution is, to say the least, robust. Once in her presence you will deliver a message I will dictate to you, laying out the difficulties we face. I hope that you will be so persuasive in your submission more troops will be made available to us.'