A Sea of Troubles (7 page)

Ralph Barclay carried on talking, the note in his voice emboldened by a decent amount of claret. ‘Might have been better to have ignored that frigate and gone in search of the convoy. Happen Black Dick Howe will get a rap
on the knuckles instead of the praise and the dukedom he expects.’

‘You might have the right of it, Barclay,’ Albemarle Bertie insisted, ‘but you’ll have the devil of a job persuading anyone now of such a view. Hindsight rarely does the trick in such matters.’

‘Not so, Bertie, given I took the precaution of noting that possibility in my log at the time. We are talking of foresight not hindsight.’

‘How much do you reckon on the prize money, Barclay?’ Molloy asked, looking bored with what was being discussed.

That changed the subject swiftly and it was generally agreed that the sum to be distributed for what had been taken, this calculated by men who knew their stuff, could not be much less than a quarter of a million pounds sterling, which had the junior officers trying to silently calculate what it meant for them on fiddling fingers hidden under the table.

Bertie raised his glass at the sum mentioned. ‘Then I say, damn the grain convoy, let’s drink to that.’

‘Hear him,’ chorused the assembled lieutenants and the solitary mid, as hands appeared to lift and empty their wine.

The meal on the deck had a dual purpose; if HMS
Larcher
was being watched – in truth, John Pearce – then he being in plain sight was highly desirable, ten times more so as the light began to fade and the rigged lanterns made it easy to concentrate on the trio sitting at the table. What would not cause comment was a couple of boats
going from ship to shore picking up stores – fresh bread and newly baked biscuit, as well as vegetables that even as temporary captain Pearce had an obligation to purchase by a warrant drawn on the Navy Office. It would have taken a sharp eye to discern that each time one returned laden it had two fewer men aboard than had set out. That allowed for the gathering of a small party to go out and ensure, first, that the Tollands were not as Pearce suspected in the village, but encamped somewhere off the road he must take out.

Dorling and another hand had taken the jolly boat downriver, rods out and seemingly fishing, to seek out the second part of Pearce’s plan and that had not happened until the master had assured his captain that he was prepared to be on the wrong side of the law in carrying out what was proposed, the crew likewise, though, in truth, the risks for the future and any censure all lay with Pearce. He and Puisaye were consuming some of Rackham’s supplies of port, Amélie having retired, when Dorling returned to say he had found what was required.

‘Then, once the lanterns are doused I will make a show of bedding down for the night. Let us hope that whoever is watching has no trouble keeping their eyes open.’

‘As long as they see you at first light, sir, they will be confident.’

The last word produced a frown; he might have thought the whole matter through but John Pearce was very far from sanguine about everything going to plan, even when Dorling knelt to tell him all was in place on the shore.

Sleeping through noise at sea was necessary: the wind whistling through the rigging, the creak of moving timbers. On a ship sat in a quiet tidal waterway it should have been different, with only an anchor watch set and no requirement change every four hours or to be up at first light. Yet the ship’s hour bell still tolled and that by habit caused a single eye to open. Then came the dawn birdsong, the odd cawing seagull included, but these were not the only things to disturb a fitful night’s sleep as, once more huddled on deck in his boat cloak, John Pearce gnawed on all the problems that beset his life and not just his fears for the coming day, the whole compounded by the buzzing in his ears of insects made more numerous by the recent rain, which provided many shallow puddles in which to breed.

Intent on feeding off his blood they had been inside his boat cloak leaving behind itches that demanded to be scratched, but really it was the early dawn that made sleep impossible. Forced to be up with the lark and uncaring
about being observed from the shore, Pearce stripped off and dived naked into the chill water of the river. Michael O’Hagan, through habit, was also awake and by the ship’s side to haul him out, a towel at the ready added to an expression that told the swimmer he was mad to so expose himself. Dressed before the hands were piped to breakfast Pearce was, in all respects, ready for whatever the day might bring.

‘Mr Dorling, is all prepared?’

‘As much as it can be, sir; all we need now are your passengers.’

Pearce was eager to depart, but he was required to wait while Amélie used his cabin to carry out a lengthy and elaborate toilette, which had her one-time lover pacing the deck with impatience and asking Michael more than once if they might ever get ashore this day or any other. Not that matters would have been hastened by more alacrity on her part –
le Comte
de Puisaye likewise devoted much attention to both dressing and applying fresh powder to the wig he had not worn since coming aboard. He then produced from his travelling chest a fine crimson velvet jacket as well as a pristine white stock, breeches and stockings, to set off his silver-buckled and freshly blackened shoes, that before he began to festoon himself with various orders studded with jewels.

‘Monsieur, that coat is inappropriate,’ Pearce barked, then forced to produce an excuse that had nothing to do with facing armed and dangerous smugglers he added, ‘we are travelling on horseback over dusty tracks, indeed there may still be mud.’

‘Nevertheless, Captain, who knows what we will
encounter on the way?’ There was a terrible temptation then to tell him. ‘I would not have your countryman think me anything other than that which I am.’

Pearce had to bite his tongue a second time then, to stop himself from saying, ‘A pompous old dolt.’

Like the count Amélie Labordière had dressed as if she was going to a levee, in a gown of silk set with patterns of sequins, albeit she had covered her garments with a cloak. She had also taken much trouble with both powder and rouge, which went a long way to restoring her to an image of the beauty he remembered. That she knew it to be so was in the cast of her eye and the slight smile as she nodded to John Pearce, which had him turn away to meet the amused gaze of Michael O’Hagan.

He was carrying short pieces of rope, at the ends of which he had expertly fashioned a sort of cradle, this to carry the remainder of the Dundas gold, that not being something he could leave behind. The strongbox was too big and would have required a carthorse of its own so Michael had suggested a repeat of what they had done to transport it in the Vendée, only this time it would be carried in individual sacks which could be slung over the carthorse’s flanks and not their shoulders, he having sworn he still bore the marks of the weight.

Pearce fished for the key to the great padlock, which had never left his coat pocket, and made his way into the cabin, there to extract from the strongbox the four weighty bags, these secured in Michael’s contraption once his friend had extracted from one what he thought he would require to facilitate the journey, a sum in fact in
excess of the suspected requirements, given there was no knowing how the day would turn out.

‘Don’t go back in the water with that in your purse,’ Michael joked, seeing how much he had taken, ‘or you’ll sink to the bottom.’

‘Might be a blessing for all concerned.’

‘I have not packed your pistols and they are loaded and primed.’

There was a moment then when the two locked eyes, for in planning his scheme, Pearce had been insistent that no risks be taken that might see anyone killed. But Michael held his gaze and Pearce knew he would not budge, so he shrugged and threw the padlock and key into the open box, wondering what the man he had temporarily replaced would make of its presence when he came aboard.

‘Keep them out of sight.’

‘Place smells a mite better than normal,’ Michael said, a twinkle in his eye, as he sought to kill off the crabbed mood. ‘A lady’s perfume is better than vinegar any day.’

Pearce was not in the mood to be ribbed. ‘If you are going to keep this joshing up I can see where those pistols you loaded might come in handy.’

He grabbed his logs and returned to the deck. The boat was over the side waiting for them and Pearce was touched to see that the oarsmen had taken as much care in preparation for his departure as their French passengers had for their own; whether it was play-acting or genuine he did not know, but they were wearing their best shore-going rig, the long pigtails were greased and ribbon-festooned, each oarsman sitting stony-faced and
looking forward as if they were crewing an admiral’s barge.

Nor did they deviate from that as Pearce made a short speech of thanks to those lined up on deck, shaking hands with the warrants before going over the side, boat cloak over his arm, to the high-pitched whistle of the bosun’s pipe. With chests occupying space and the sheer bulk of O’Hagan there was scant room to sit and misfortune had him pressed against Amélie on the same narrow thwart; with the sun now well up on a warm morning he could smell both the familiar perfume, the same as had infused his cabin, as well as the musk of her body, both of which played upon his memory. Added to that was the heat of her skin as their flesh inadvertently made contact, at which point he was made aware by his own bodily changes just how far he was from being immune to her charms; in short, his folded cloak, over which he had laid his sword, was a blessing.

The occasion of the party coming ashore was unusual enough to have a few idlers gather to watch their landing, which took all of two minutes from ship’s side to the jetty, the sight of a finely dressed pair of French aristocrats certainly being far from normal in such a backwater. Curiosity turned to amusement as the mounts were brought forward, animals that so contrasted with the sartorial elegance on show – one, the carthorse, with a set of leather harness with which to strap on luggage.

Puisaye had about him an expression of aristocratic sangfroid even when faced with a fourteen-hand pony; he was not going to demean himself by showing the local peasants that this was anything other than normal and he got aboard his animal and sat on it as if it was the finest
steed in creation, his nose high and eyes fixed forward as if he was about to lead an armed host into battle. Amélie, even on such a short-legged mount, had to be aided by Pearce, which produced more unwelcome intimacy.

Michael, once mounted, a satchel containing the encased brace of pistols over his shoulder, looked as if he could walk and ride the animal simultaneously; Pearce, albeit his legs were shorter, was not far off the same and thinking the sword he was wearing a damned nuisance. Loading complete they trotted out of Buckler’s Hard, pursued by the local urchins making ribald comments about which arses were the fattest, equine or human.

‘Shall I dismount and clip a couple of these cullies, John-boy?’

‘Leave them be, friend, for if you don’t look like a fool, I’m damn sure I do.’

‘They’re coming, Jahleel. I watched them land then mount and now they just left the cottages behind, our blue coat up front.’

‘“They”, Cephas?’

‘Aye, four in all,’ the smuggler replied. ‘You recall that big bugger we traded blows with in London? Well he’s along bringing up the rear an’ towing a packhorse, but there’s two right strange coves in’t middle, a woman in a cloak and a man dressed like a nob on the way to a ball, powdered wig an’ all. Whole party’s aboard ponies too small for proper ridin’, so we can take ’em as easy as kiss my hand.’

‘Four makes matters altered,’ Franklin said, as he primed and loaded his pistol, left till late because of the dampness of the forest. ‘I was set for two to deal with.’

‘Not to me, brother, if others are along where they’ve no right to be, that will be their misfortune. Now, let’s get mounted and be at ’em.’

‘Jahleel, think on it, for the love of Christ! Four folk and as described by Cephas won’t have departed Buckler’s Hard unseen. They might have made a right show and if that be the case they will be talked about all over the county in time. They go missing and there will be a hue and cry for certain.’

The lack of a response showed that Franklin had struck home and not just with his sibling.

‘Go too far and you’ll risk the rope for us all.’

Jahleel aimed his pistol at one of the trees and squinted down the barrel, which had the virtue of allowing him to avoid his brother’s eye. ‘He’s not goin’ to slip me again, Franklin; I said it an’ I meant it, and if worst comes to worst, by the time their loss is noticed we will be long gone.’

Now it was the younger brother’s turn to point up his scar, this done with his fingertips. ‘I has even more cause to want revenge than you, Jahleel, but what is it we really want?’

‘Blood – Pearce’s blood.’

‘No, we want that for sure, but just as much to know what happened to our cargo and the money it raised, sold on. Happen he was only a small part of it and if his blood would be a bonus, which I grant you, we’d be better served finding out the names of those who had the means to get our stuff ashore and profit by it.’

‘We ain’t got time for this,’ Jahleel insisted, as two of the gang, sent to fetch the already saddled horses began to make their way back.

‘They’s movin’, but dead slow,’ Cephas intoned.

‘So it makes no odds if they go by us,’ Franklin added. ‘We’re well mounted and can catch them easy.’

‘Get on those horses now – I ain’t letting him pass an’ I seem to recall what I says goes.’

‘No killing,’ Franklin insisted.

Jahleel stuck his weapon in his belt and grabbed the reins of his horse. ‘Happen it might not be our choice, brother.’

Having been in the copse all night and most of the morning, even moving around, the wildlife had almost accepted their presence and it never occurred to men who were of the sea and not of the land that it could be otherwise. But the movement of eight horses and their riders changed that and the first pigeon broke noisily from the thick-leafed branches, an act which spooked the others. Within seconds the sky above the trees was full of flapping wings and they startled the other birds, the sight of which made Pearce feel much better. He knew that the Tollands were in that copse and he had been relying on them acting before he got abreast of it, for if they did not, things would be much harder.

If he could have heard Jahleel Tolland cursing he might have had a proper laugh; it was, of course, the fault of others not him, but he knew that very likely surprise was gone and he spurred his mount out onto the roadway without any attempt at subtlety, the rest behind him.

Pearce had already spoken in French to give instructions that his charges should stay still, brusquely dismissing the count’s attempt to enquire as to why that should be, a question that became superfluous as the road ahead was filled across its width by eight properly mounted, grim-looking men all with pistols in their hands.

‘Hold, Pearce,’ Jahleel yelled, ‘it time you paid for your folly.’

Michael, at the back, had taken out the pistols from the wooden case, that thrown to the ground, eased back and locked the hammers, before kneeing his pony to get it to move forward until he was abreast of Pearce and could hand one over, an act remarked on by Tolland.

‘It will be two pistols agin eight and no time I reckon to reload.’

‘Monsieur?’ the count demanded. ‘What is this about?’

Pearce was brusque in the way he told the count that he had no time to explain, accompanied by the sound of Jahleel Tolland’s voice again floating through the warm morning air. ‘You can come on or flee, Pearce, it be up to you, but it will, in the end, make no odds.’

‘What is it you want?’

That got a loud snort; it had to be to cover the distance that separated them. ‘Now’t much: a sound ship, a valuable cargo and, as a bonus, some of your skin, and I reckon you would do all a favour if you send off the lady and gent and allow us to have a little talk with you and your hulking mate.’

‘I doubt it would do any good if I told you we made not a brass farthing from the whole escapade, that I was dunned as much as were you?’

‘None at all,’ Jahleel shouted, ‘for we would not credit it. You’se a thieving bastard an’ that be that.’

‘Does the name Arthur Winston mean anything to you?’

‘Never heard of him,’ Jahleel spat, clearly thinking what Pearce was up to. ‘Now stop playing for time, that is if you don’t want your lady and the gent in velvet to share your fate. Get rid of them now.’

Pearce had never thought they knew the man who called himself Arthur Winston but it was something he felt he needed confirmed; Tolland’s dismissive tone implied that he had spoken the truth. As he trotted back to take station alongside Puisaye he was smiling, for he was indeed playing for time and he gave a long explanation of their predicament to both the count and Amélie.

‘Monsieur, I will not explain why these men have come to seek me out, enough to tell you they mean me harm.’ Amélie, close enough to hear the words, responded with such a sharp intake of breath that he addressed his next words to her. ‘But I beg you not to worry, matters are in hand. Might I ask you, as I approach these men, to move over to one side of the road and get close to the trees.’ Seeing the count’s mouth open he added sharply, ‘And please do not ask me why.’