A Flag of Truce (25 page)

No vessel could approach the anchorage of Toulon without engendering a degree of curiosity, and HMS
Faron
was no exception. At first, in the distance, with just her topgallants showing, she had raised speculations regarding reinforcements, but it was soon realised as her topsails came into view that she was too small to offer anyone ashore that comfort. Closer and hull up, she was recognised for what and who she was; no ship was quite like another, and sailors took pride in recognition. By the time she gained the Grand Rade, there was scarce an English-speaking soul ashore or afloat who did not know her identity.

Even Ralph Barclay, on duty at Fort Mulgrave, knew of her return, and while the information was not received with anything passing for delight, he knew in his heart that matters had been taken care of which left him free from any threat from John
Pearce. Toby Burns, off duty, sat in a dark and empty midshipman’s berth, shuddered when he heard the news being passed by shouts through the lower deck. The thought of John Pearce back in Toulon, when he was bound to hear of the evidence given at the court martial, did nothing to ease his fear that one day the man would get him alone and exact vengeance. He wanted to go to Ralph Barclay and ask to be sent home – the captain ignored him, and his aunt now barely exchanged a civil word – but shied away from the consequences; what would the people who had so praised him at home say if their boy hero came home to skulk in the country?

The news came to Emily Barclay through Shenton, sent by Mr Glaister, who in obedience to her husband’s orders kept lookouts at the masthead of HMS
Brilliant
, even though she was tied up to the quay. Shenton had taken the occasion to once more glower at her, then at Cornelius Gherson, sat yet again on the casement lockers with the ship’s logs and ledgers. Emily wondered at the thickness of the man’s skin, given she felt she had made it plain that his constant occupancy of her husband’s cabin, when he was absent, was unwelcome.

‘I daresay you will be happy to see so many of your husband’s crew once more, Mrs Barclay,’ said Gherson.

Was that a smirk on his face? Emily was unsure, for he seemed to have an almost permanent sneer
on the rare occasions when he actually spoke, instead of sneaking surreptitious looks at her from under those long, blond eyelashes, which clearly he suspected she could not see. And was there a double meaning in those words?

‘Mr Gherson—’

His interruption was swift, and delivered with what he thought was a winning smile. ‘Could I not persuade you, Mrs Barclay, to call me Cornelius?’

The sharp reply wiped away the smile. ‘No, Mr Gherson, you cannot! You are my husband’s clerk and it would be unfitting to be so familiar given our respective positions. And might I add that I find your continual presence in this part of the ship, which is supposed to be the preserve of the ship’s captain, equally inappropriate.’

‘My dear Mrs Barclay—’

Emily cut across him, unfazed by his expression of hurt. ‘You do not dare ask for the use of it when he is aboard, do you?’

The reply that Cornelius Gherson wanted to give was not one that would be possible. An open declaration of his attraction would be fatal, though he was forced to admit that, even after many hours spent in this very cabin, he had not advanced one iota in his aim of seduction. Emily Barclay was a hard nut to crack, but such was his assurance in his own capabilities that he took her rebuffs as proof that the notion of dalliance was both acknowledged
and discomforting. Yet he could not resist an attempt to puncture her conceit, just to let her know, in no uncertain terms, that if her husband refused to accept the world as it was, he did.

‘I wonder what John Pearce will make of the outcome of your husband’s court martial?’

The implied meaning was made plain by the arch look Gherson used to accompany the words, for a man would have to be blind, deaf and dumb not to realise how strained the atmosphere was between Captain Barclay and his wife, the reason for that strain no secret either.

‘Mr Gherson, please take your ledgers and return to that place which you have been allotted in which to work.’

‘If I have offended you, Mrs Barclay—’ he protested.

‘I would not wish to have to ask my husband to issue the same request.’

Gherson did not move immediately, instead he was staring at her with what looked like increasing comprehension. Then the look changed to a pout of displeasure, a petulant expression which was
near-feminine
. Emily thought it was because he was being chucked out of the cabin, but she was wrong. Gherson was pouting because of a sudden notion: could it be that Emily Barclay had not taken John Pearce’s side against her own husband through a desire to maintain the truth; could it be there was
another even more telling reason? The thought made him so angry he had to turn away, and he used the excuse of gathering up his books to keep his face and expression hidden.

‘I am sorry to have offended you, madam.’ It was said in such a way as to make Emily feel a pang of guilt. ‘I assure you I will not trouble you again.’ As he left, Cornelius Gherson was thinking that was all she was ever going to get from him from now on; more trouble than she could ever hope to cope with.

‘Shenton,’ she called, looking at him hard and wiping a half-smirk off his face. Clearly, given his love of eavesdropping, he had heard the recent exchange. ‘Request a boat from Mr Glaister. I wish to see Mr Lutyens now that he is returned.’

The boat was ready quickly, and she was handed down to sit in the thwarts. The sailor in charge did not bat an eyelid as she said, as soon as they were out of earshot of HMS
Brilliant
, ‘Take me to HMS
Faron
.’

‘Aye, aye, mam.’

‘I demand to see the admiral,’ John Pearce growled, trying to lean over the desk and by his height and weight threaten Hotham’s secretary.

‘You cannot.’

‘I must. I demand also an explanation.’

The secretary, knowing that he had marines within earshot, was not to be cowed. ‘You can
demand away, sir. The day a lieutenant can demand anything of a Vice Admiral is not yet come. If you wish to see him put it in writing, and wait.’

Pearce wanted to take out his sword and cleave the man in two, but he knew it would achieve nothing. He had been lied to and humbugged, and what was worse he did not know what had happened, so he forced himself into a more calm mode of address.

‘It makes no odds what the verdict of the court was. It was a travesty and based on a lie. I shall demand that Captain Barclay face trial again.’

The smirk that he got from the secretary made his blood boil even more. ‘I have heard you are much taken up with spouting the law, Lieutenant Pearce, so it surprises me to find you so ignorant. Do you not know there is such a thing as double jeopardy?’

‘What?’

‘Precisely,’ the secretary hissed. ‘A man tried and acquitted cannot be tried again for the same offence. Captain Barclay was reprimanded but that is all, and there is nothing you, or anyone else, can do about it.’

‘I shall go and see Lord Hood!’

‘Do so,’ was the reply, and it was given in the confidence that he would be wasting his time there too.

‘I had his word, Heinrich. That swine Hotham told me to my face that there could be no trial without my presence and that of Michael, Charlie and Rufus. His secretary was taking notes and he was writing the words down as they were spoken.’

‘And?’

‘I asked to see those, and I knew when he was so willing to show me that I was about to be humbugged. There was no record of that part of the conversation, so I asked for the depositions I and the others made. The sod looked as me as though I had just come out of the gates of Bedlam.’

The words rang in his ears yet, ‘What depositions?’

‘Am I disturbing anything?’

Both men turned to the doorway to see Emily Barclay standing there. Pearce had a flash of anger, quite prepared to put the blame for what had happened on her shoulders; after all she was married to the brute who had escaped justice. Yet her words totally deflated that sentiment.

‘Lieutenant Pearce, I was told that you might be here. It is you I have come to see.’

‘Why, madam?’

‘To apologise for my husband.’

‘Emily,’ said Lutyens quickly, with a look that was telling her to be guarded.

‘I know it could be seen as a betrayal, but I attended the court martial, even though he did not
want me there, and when I did I could see why. Everyone who gave witness did so with a pack of lies. My nephew, the new clerk Gherson…’

‘Gherson!’ Pearce snapped. ‘Clerk?’

‘…Coyle, the master at arms, did not so much lie as protect himself, but Kemp was vicious.’

‘Why are you doing this, my dear?’ Lutyens asked softly.

‘From shame, Heinrich. My husband not only committed perjury, he induced others to do so on his behalf and with the assistance of authority got out of the way those who could attest he was telling untruths. And in the process he has lied to me more than once, and on other occasions withheld things he should have shared. I wish you, Lieutenant Pearce, to know that I was not party to this deception.’

‘I never thought you were,’ Pearce said, unsure if that was the truth. They looked at each other for several seconds, her eyes moist with sorrow at the revelations she had made, his still hard from the same, yet there was admiration for her beauty, as well as sympathy for what it must have taken to come here and confess what she knew. Then he had an idea.

‘You said, madam, that Captain Barclay perjured himself.’

‘He was not alone in that, sir, they all did.’

‘Then the case is altered. A man cannot, under
the law of double jeopardy, be tried for the same offence twice. But perjury, I happen to know, is a separate offence, and a far more damning one. If I have my way, I will have your husband and his witnesses tried for that offence and locked up in a King’s Bench prison or transported to Van Deiman’s land for the rest of their lives.’

‘And what of your friends?’ she asked. ‘The ones for whom you have gone to so much trouble?’

The excited look immediately died in John Pearce’s eyes, to be replaced with one of deep wretchedness. ‘I must go now, Mrs Barclay, and tell them that I have once more completely failed them.’

‘They will forgive you, I am sure.’

‘They may well that. The real question is: can I forgive myself?’

Standing outside the hospital later, once Emily Barclay had departed, he looked at HMS
Faron
, riding on her anchor in the Grand Rade. He knew that the telling of what had happened would be hard, but not as hard as the remedy. Talk of getting Ralph Barclay into court on a charge of perjury was easy to say, but it would damned difficult to accomplish. With a heavy heart and deep foreboding, he went to his own boat, and gave orders to head back to the ship.

The story in
A Flag of Truce
has some basis in fact. There was a problem in Toulon with radical sailors from the Atlantic ports who had no desire to support the administration which had taken over the town and port.

Lord Hood, for the sake of security, was obliged to ask Rear Admiral Trogoff for four seaworthy 74-gun ships, which, stripped of their guns, would be used to transport the seamen to their home ports of Brest, Lorient and Rochefort – not a policy that proved popular when it became known in London what he had been obliged to do. The act may well have led to hints that he should retire, thus proving how difficult it was, in the days of long time-lag communication, for a commanding admiral to know what course to adopt on a foreign station.

Sad to relate that many of the officers who refused to serve Trogoff fell victim to the
Revolution they had attempted to support. Some were accused of treason and executed in the port of their arrival, while others were transported to Paris to be tried by a Revolutionary Tribunal, then guillotined in one of the great public squares in front of the usual howling mob.

The Revolution, by the time they made their landfall, was already eating its own.

If you enjoyed this, you may like to read other books in the exciting John Pearce series.

Read on to find out more…

London, 1793. Young firebrand John Pearce is illegally press-ganged from the refuge of the Pelican tavern to a brutal life aboard HMS
Brilliant
, a frigate on its way to war. In his first few days Pearce discovers the Navy is a world in which he can prosper. But he is not alone; he is drawn to a group of men – fly Charlie Taverner; quiet Ben Walker; tired old Abel Scrivens; the bairn of the group, Rufus Dommet; the droll, tough Irish labourer, Michael O’Hagan; and the bumptious Gherson – pressed men like himself, who eventually form an exclusive gun crew, the Pelicans, with Pearce their elected leader. During an action-packed two weeks, as HMS
Brilliant
chases a French privateer across the English Channel, this disparate group of men form friendships that will last a lifetime.

1793. Pressed into King George’s Navy for the second time in a month, John Pearce and his comrades, the Pelicans, find themselves working aboard HMS
Griffin
, a slow and over-crowded ship, sailing the Channel in search of the numerous French privateers that prey on English merchant shipping: her task to stop them and, if possible, to capture or destroy them. But Pearce has greater things on his mind: he must rescue his ailing father from the dangers of revolutionary Paris. But, betrayed by someone he trusted, Pearce returns to the
Griffin
to learn his
sea-going
trade in order to exact revenge…

July, 1793. John Pearce has survived wild storms and bitter battles with the enemy, and, surprisingly, he’s gained a promotion. He is finally free to follow his own wishes, but the same does not apply for the trio of Pearce’s closest friends, who call themselves the Pelicans. Whilst Pearce is in London, his friends are shipped off to the Mediterranean. Vowing to liberate the men who have stuck by him through thick and thin, Pearce has no choice but to take ship and follow them. But with help being withheld by all higher powers, he is obliged to embark on a dangerous mission before he can free his friends: at stake, the whole British position in the Mediterranean.