A Sea of Troubles (22 page)

He took to the boat and even in oilskins he was wet through when finally it was run up in pitch black onto the Ramsgate beach.

Hodgeson the thief-taker had contacts amongst the Grub Street hacks and they, because of their trade, knew every fly-by-night character in London, Westminster and half the counties of England. A tot of brandy here, a tumbler of wine there, and when pushed to it a coin passed over, soon had the word out that he was looking for two people and news came back within forty-eight hours about a certain Mrs Barclay staying at Nerot’s Hotel, now gone to Norfolk it was believed, who had been of interest to someone at the Home Department of Henry Dundas.

That took him to Nerot’s but not that he enquired
within its walls; there were a few taprooms around Jermyn Street to which the staff would wander when they got a chance, anything for a quiet bit of imbibing not under the eyes of their employer, and he soon established their favourite haunt, one they shared with the like-minded servitors in the St James’s Street gentlemen’s clubs.

To spot a man who will tell you something for a palmed coin is a skill, and a good guide is the fellow who moans incessantly and likes the world to know his grievances, yet loudly protests his honesty. So picking out Didcot was not as hard as a layman would have supposed and it took no time at all, once he knew there was payment to be had, for the hotel servant to give chapter and verse.

‘You reckon Mrs Barclay has a paramour, then?’

‘No doubt about it. Now I don’t say he was rogering her there and then, but it was at the top of his mind, and if it hadn’t yet happened she was gettin’ ripe for the fall. It were in her eyes.’

‘And it was this Lieutenant Pearce who let slip about her going to King’s Lynn?’

‘Did too, ’cause he trusted me, ye see, knew an honest man when he saw one. Why you asking, any road?’

Hodgeson slipped him a half-guinea, which was felt rather than looked at for its value. ‘What do you care?’

‘Don’t give a toss, friend, but I’ll go to another tankard afore you light out for Norfolk, ’cause you don’t have to lay it that you is looking for her. Stands to reason if she’s Mrs Barclay there’s a Mister somewhere about, who would not be happy to see his wife – and she is a beauty, take my word – rolling in the hay with a good-looking
cove like John Pearce. And he is not backward either, not when he’s getting letters from Downing Street.’

‘And they left together, you say?’

‘Service at sea for him, I reckon, Norfolk for her.’ That was followed by a wheezy laugh. ‘Rumour has it they still paint their faces blue up there.’

That was the last place Hodgeson would go looking, for Didcot was an old fool who did not have a clue when he was being joshed. If Mrs Barclay was in some kind of liaison with a naval lieutenant, regardless of how far it had gone, he would be an easier person to find than a woman who could be anywhere, especially if he was serving in some capacity. And where he was she would most likely be, or close by.

As a time to interrupt Denby Carruthers his wife could not have chosen worse. He had not long arrived from Ramsgate and had a mass of papers to look through, bills, proposals for insurance and reports on some important investments. But disturb him she did, as soon as Lavery was sent out to deliver some share certificates, to tell him of the way he was being betrayed by his clerk.

‘Lavery came to me with information about your affairs, husband, and I fear he did so in order to seek a way to gain my affections.’

The alderman nearly blurted out, ‘At his age?’ but he actually said, ‘What information?’

The head went down and her hands were twisted around her embroidered handkerchief, this to demonstrate how reluctant she was to reply, while the catch in her voice was one she had used often on a very indulgent father, as
well as one employed to discourage disappointed suitors prior to her marriage.

‘He told me that a man had been in touch regarding a certain individual whose name, were I to mention it, would cause you upset.’

How did he know about Codge? It mattered not, Lavery did and that was that. ‘It pleases me you are aware of the hurt it causes.’

‘And I hope you believe I am still penitent,’ she whimpered.

Catherine Carruthers’ motives were, to her, quite straightforward: Lavery had failed in his task of finding Gherson and his protestations that he had tried hard were nothing but lies. But in the process of letting her down she had shown him a certain degree of encouragement which, should her husband ever realise, would be fatal to her future. She knew her beloved Cornelius to be alive and in time she would find him; until then she must have both the security of her home and her husband’s income.

Lavery could not be trusted and if he let anything slip about her desire to find Cornelius then all hell would break loose and she might be cast adrift. Better he was dismissed and much better that she, having spoken first, would render any excuse he gave for his behaviour both invalid and unlikely to be believed.

‘Why did Lavery do such a thing?’

She looked at her husband then, her eyes damp. ‘I think he harboured thoughts inappropriate to a fellow of both is age and appearance and that made him volunteer to me things which I had no knowledge of and no desire
to hear. That a man like that should have designs beggars belief, I know, but—’

She knows Gherson is alive, he thought, but enlightenment in that matter did not in any way provide the same clarity as to what he was going to do about it. Denby Carruthers was wondering if in agreeing to keep his shame secret, on advice from his brother-in-law, Druce, he had done the right thing, while deep down he knew he had been left with no choice. Still, matters were in hand for him to find Gherson and when he did …’

‘I should leave it with me, my dear, and I will take care of it.’

‘Lavery will be dismissed?’

‘Not immediately, my dear, we do not want the old fool blackening your name in revenge, for he will be aware where his trouble has come from.’

‘You are so wise, I don’t know what I’d do if I did not have you to advise me.’

Right at that moment Denby Carruthers, though he was smiling indulgently, was thinking he had seen chucked over the parapet of London Bridge the wrong body, or perhaps there should have been two instead of one. He had been a fool to think that someone as young as Catherine could come to love him. All his experience in business told him that there comes a time to cut your losses in a failed venture. Not that he would do so suddenly, even if he thought the Tollands at hand to do the deed. As in a trading loss he would withdraw at a careful pace, hoping to pass off to some other hand the majority of the liabilities.

‘My dear, it is your beauty that makes you so vulnerable
to such advances, I know for I am not immune to that myself.’

‘I have wounded you, I know, but I will work hard to make good that hurt.’ Catherine Carruthers approached her husband and laid a soft hand on his shoulder.

‘As for Lavery, humour him, but you must not worry your pretty head about the old booby again.’ In using the words old booby, Denby Carruthers wondered if he was talking about himself.

They were on the latitude of Ferrol when the first dull boom came floating across the ocean; so faint it was impossible to tell if it was real. Pearce was on deck at the time and it was not only his head that became cocked as he wondered if he had heard correctly. It was also the case that no one wanted to be the first to seek to identify it in any way lest they make a fool of themselves.

‘Mr Dorling, given our position would we be able to hear land-based gunnery?’

‘No, sir, we are too far from shore for that.’

‘Thunderstorm over the horizon, I reckon,’ said one of the hands.

The next boom was not so faint, and taking his own judgement and adding it to the direction the men before him were recoding the sound, he had it nearly due south, just a few points off his bowsprit.

‘Mr Dorling, let’s get more sail aloft and increase our speed.’

That got a satisfied grin; Pearce had refused to crack on before and if he progressed at a reasonable rate it was also sailing easy and Dorling had been afire to test the top hamper. Soon the decks were full of men, the rigging too. He left what was set and went to the master, aware almost immediately that the heel of the deck had increased and so had the amount of white water scudding down the side. The actual effect would have to wait till the log was cast and that he would also leave to Dorling, for in the young master he had a very competent seaman, much more so than he. All he took responsibility for was the sending of a second lookout aloft so two men could more easily scan the whole horizon.

He entered his cabin to find Emily at her embroidery doing what she had done for her husband aboard HMS
Brilliant
, though she had never admitted that to Pearce – making cushions with the name of the vessel in the stitching.

‘I hear the sound of padding feet, John.’

‘Yes, we’re increasing sail. We heard a sound like gunfire but it may just be weather.’

‘Do you wish me to desist?’

‘Not yet,’ he replied with a smile. ‘It will turn out to be nothing at all.’

Sound is one thing, pressure on the ears quite another and when another boom came, just as he stepped back onto the deck, Pearce was sure he could feel it on the drums, but also knew the power of imagination. By now Dorling had everything aloft that HMS
Larcher
could carry, without overdoing the driving sails, which would press her head down and be counterproductive by
increasing the drag on the bows. But the fourth boom, when it came, left no one in any doubt: it was cannon fire and dead ahead. Calmly he re-entered the cabin and told Emily to cease her sewing.

‘We will have to clear for action, which means this cabin will become a fighting space. Thank God we ate enough of the stores to free the deck. Let’s hope there’s enough room below for the furniture.’

‘It will not require much.’

Emily was looking at what Pearce meant by ‘furniture’. Most of the space was taken up by the bed they had used, for there was no pretence this time; he slept in his cabin and was awoken from there to take his turn on the watch. There was his sea chest and her trunk, the clocks and the tiny desk he used for writing up his logs.

‘It suddenly occurs to me that you do not carry a surgeon, John.’

‘No, that’s another duty which falls to me, with aid, of course, from the cook and anyone else who can stitch.’

That had her holding up her unfinished cushion. ‘Then I know where I should be, for did I not learn from Heinrich in Toulon how to look after the wounds of fighting men?’

‘I hope you do not have to deal with anything like that on this ship. I have strict instructions to avoid anything that interferes with my mission, and even if there is an exchange of gunfire over the horizon I should sail on by and ignore it.’

That was when it came, not a single shot as before, but a salvo loud enough to carry and press on the senses.
Pearce was on the deck in a trice. ‘Gentlemen, we will clear for action.’

This had been rehearsed almost daily on the way south, well out to sea from the Bay of Biscay, and the crew had smoothed out any gremlins. Each went about his duties without being told, striking certain artefacts below, removing a couple of bulkheads, the gunner making up charges for the guns while the captains collected and affixed the flintlocks and all the while the sound of gunfire grew.

Emily had donned an apron and was directing some hands that had completed their tasks to set up a temporary sickbay by Bellam’s coppers, already bubbling with useful hot water. She had also found in the holds a store of medical equipment, not least a supply of medicinal brandy. Some aboard spied her and kicked themselves for not finding it sooner; show a British sailor drink and he would consume it and never mind that one day later he would be lying on a board dying for that same drink to ease the pain of surgery.

‘Gun captains, we shall not run out the cannon just yet, open ports will slow us down, but make all ready to run them in for loading. Aloft there, can you see anything yet?’

‘Nothing yet, sir,’ said one, this while the second man threw out a hand. ‘Belay that, we can see a set of topsails three points off the starboard bow.’

‘Quartermaster.’

The man nodded and eased the wheel a few points, this as Michael came up and presented him with his pistols. He would stay at his side, while Charlie and Rufus, now
fully accepted, had each been given the captaincy of a cannon.

‘Gun flashes, your honour.’

The sound and pressure followed hard on the heels of that shout from the masthead, which had Pearce grabbing a telescope and heading for the shrouds, to climb up and have a look for himself, now that there was something to see. As he looked aloft he saw his Admiralty pennant, which brought back to him the words of Henry Dundas.

‘Sod Dundas,’ he said to himself, ‘there’s a fight going on and it can’t just be ignored.’

You never lose sight of the first time you clamber up a set of shrouds and Pearce could recall it now; the grey waters off Ramsgate, the loud voice of the bosun, Robert Sykes, who had turned out to be a decent type made cruel working for that bastard Ralph Barclay. How many times had he done it since and how much was it now so easy, when the first time he had known a real dose of fear. Near on his back he went over the main top and on up a second slimmer rope ladder to the very top, where he could sling his leg over a yard and, once steady, lifted his glass and examined the scene.

‘Three ships, your honour, and we reckon one fightin’ a pair.’

The gunfire and flashes were steady now, which spoke of a duel being fought at range. He swept the scene and took in the two vessels closest – the third was obscured by smoke – their flags streaming out red and gold.

‘They cannot be Spaniards, they are our allies.’

‘Never in life, your honour.’

‘They might be French privateers under false colours.’

‘And what are they attacking?’

On a fluke of wind the smoke cleared enough for Pearce to see the third ship and he had to steady his glass to get the view properly.

‘My God, it’s the
Lorne
, postal packet.’

‘You know her, your honour?’

‘Well, and her captain too, who I hope is still with us.’

‘A Falmouth packet carries more metal than we do.’

Pearce nodded in agreement as he swept the scene again to register that the vessels
Lorne
was engaged against were likewise two-masted brigs of some twelve guns. They would not be as sleek as the ship on which he had sailed with Captain McGann, yet his opponents likewise were larger than
Larcher
and better armed. Here was an old friend in a fight and that meant his orders could go hang and likewise the risks. It was time to be back on deck so he grabbed a backstay and slid down, pleased to note that they had closed so much the entire action was in plain view.

‘Mr Dorling, we will need to be nippy to confound these two … what I assume to be Frenchmen.’

‘Spanish colours, sir.’

‘There are not many vessels that have the legs of a Falmouth packet so I suspect a ruse to get close to a brig that could show them a clean pair heels, indeed they were designed to avoid a battle rather than engage in one.

‘Spain might have declared war on Britannia since we weighed, but it makes no odds, there is a British vessel in distress and we must give her aid. Those two are between
Lorne
and us and what I aim to do is get past them and coordinate my actions with the packet. They will not
want to fight if we are acting in unison, they will want to disengage and we must help them do so.’

‘We should shorten sail, sir.’

‘Make it so – let’s get the headsails in as well as the lateen and go down to topsails. Gun captains, as soon as we have shortened sail get your cannon run out and loaded, both sides.’

‘They’re bigger and heavier than us, sir, they won’t expect us to come on.’

‘Well they are in for a surprise. I want those cannon trained right forward and the bow chaser to fire as soon as they have a range that might do some damage. Mr Dorling, keep an eye on the sods; I want to know if they alter course to impede us or come right about to give us a broadside.’

Time can seem to stand still at sea; even with all the action going on over the bow the act of closing with whosoever were the enemy seemed to take an eternity. Having loaded and run out both sides he had split the men needed to fire them and he also had to make sure they did not all go off at once in case the ship’s timbers could not bear it. The only way to control that was to take charge himself and he went to the bow, talking to each man as he passed him, giving reassurance.

‘You all right, Charlie?’

‘Never better.’

He turned to ask Rufus the same question, to be met by a steely look in a man who had, when he first met him, been so much of a callow boy. There was no need to question him, and that applied to the majority of the crew, because this was what they trained for. Then, of course,
there was a tradition of victory at sea: Britannia Ruled the Waves, so they expected victory almost as a right. The one person Pearce had not considered was himself and he realised that he too had blood coursing through his veins, had eyesight seemingly more acute than normal along with the knowledge that he was actually looking forward to a fight.

‘Enemy to starboard has put down his helm, sir, and is turning to meet us.’

‘He’s too late,’ Pearce replied, wondering how he could be sure, but he was.

The swinging ship had held his course too long thinking that a smaller fighting ship would not attack but, more likely, only seek to bluff in order to get him to draw off from the packet. Now he had realised he was wrong and he was acting to prevent it. Pearce could see men rushing across the deck to run in and load guns which had not yet been employed, and that became crucial. Could they get them into use before he could rake them? If he won the race the first bout was his, if not this deck would be a mass of bloody broken flesh in less than a minute of mayhem.

‘Bow chaser, see if you can slow their loading.’

The starboard cannon spoke almost before he had finished giving the order and he kicked himself for not loading it with grape. Yet it had an effect, called down from the masthead for he could see nothing for smoke. The enemy had shied way from their guns, probably because they expected a mass of small metal balls to sweep across their deck. As it was, the round shot hit the bulwarks and broke off a serious amount of wooden splinters.

The man in command obviously realised that he was going to lose the contest to load, but then he compounded his original error. To seek to escape by turning to port proved to be the worst choice of all, for he had only two cannon – stern chasers – with which to meet a full rolling broadside from HMS
Larcher
. If that was not much compared to a ship of the line his adversary was still presenting the most vulnerable part of his ship to his enemy.

‘You’ve got him, your honour,’ Dorling shouted.

There was a scene of panic on the enemy deck; they knew what was coming just as they knew there was nowhere to hide, for on the up roll
Larcher’
s cannons could rake the deck, on the down roll she would put her round shot right in through the stern lights and they would run the length of the brig killing anyone in their path, and that said nothing regarding the damage to the hull and her internal construction. The crack of musket balls whizzing past his ear reminded Pearce he had forgotten about that. Luckily Michael O’Hagan had not: he and a quartet of others let fly to keep down the heads of their opposite numbers, now trying to reload.

‘Number one. Fire!’ Pearce took three steps as the ship dipped into the swell. ‘Number two. Fire! He kept walking; if he had stopped to look he would have seen the transom of the enemy brig disintegrate on the second ball, with a great crashing sound as it went through the flimsy wood, huge flying splinters following in its wake. Even over the sound of guns, the screams could be clearly heard of those who worked on the lower deck, but he was soon disabused of an easy success.

HMS
Larcher
shuddered as though she had hit a wall. It was not return fire, but a broadside from the second enemy vessel, which had ceased now to bother
Lorne
and directed her attention to saving her consort, which had suffered so badly her head had fallen off and she looked to be rudderless; cannon number four had seen to that part of her steerage gear. Aboard
Larcher
thuds and cracks indicated some of her scantlings were stove in, but a quick check got the message from below that there was no water entering to flood the lower decks or gaps so wide that daylight could enter.

‘
Lorne
is attacking, Mr Pearce, sir.’

Pearce looked to where a finger pointed and there he could see that the packet had raised a tad more sail to close with the enemy and he was not alone in the observation; the fellow who had just delivered that broadside and was preparing another saw it too, to realise that if he did not move swiftly he would be trapped between two fires. That he was a good sailor became immediately obvious as he abandoned his cannon in favour of canvas, getting enough aloft, and quickly, to outmanoeuvre those trying to close with him under scraps of topsail.