A Flag of Truce (9 page)

Digby frowned at the remark, then actually laughed. ‘Well, will a couple of prickly Jocks take a French drink with me?’

‘Most happily, sir.’

Digby added quietly. ‘Pearce, remind me to indent the fleet store ship for some rum tomorrow. Should the crew become fractious, brandy will not serve. It’s bad enough having wine instead of beer.’

It was typical of the King’s Navy, or at least of the senior officers who ran it, to insist on haste where none was necessary. Digby had worked his new crew hard, yet when they warped out into the anchorage and began to put the decks in order, no instructions came to do anything. Mr Neame had come aboard at first light, and as soon as the ship was away from the mole he declared it so far down on the stern as to be close to dangerous, which
involved a great deal of shifting of the stores already stowed. This took place while the master and the captain stood off in a boat examining the change in trim, while Pearce had the unenviable task of telling everyone what to do.

Not that it mattered; they found that the ships they were designated to escort had not yet been even cleared of their cannon, powder and shot. It was in musing on that fact, once the captain and master were back on board, which caused Pearce to call into question what their ship could do if any one of the French seventy-fours decided the course they were supposed to steer could be changed.

‘You have a point there, Pearce,’ Digby replied. ‘If we cannot coerce them our only reason for being along is to ensure they are not impeded, which is, I suspect the way the admiral’s mind is working. We need the means to invoke a degree of fear as well.’

‘A couple of carronades would serve, sir. Since they are to have nothing but signal guns, we would have the ability to come right up to pistol shot and put a ball in their hull.’

‘I have to confess, Mr Pearce, to never having seen a carronade in action, and only on the odd occasion one loaded in dumb show.’

That was a telling admission and an admirable one. ‘Then let me tell you, sir, I have, and they are a fearsome weapon. The scantlings of even a
74-gun
ship-of-the-line will not stand sustained fire
from that weight of shot at close range.’

‘I shall put a request in to the admiral. If he agrees they must come from a ship which at present has them aboard. It is not a cannon we would find in the Toulon Arsenal, given the French don’t have them. Mr Harbin, fetch me the senior gunner and the acting carpenter. If we can get a pair, I need to know where we can site them.’

Watching the exchange, when the two acting warrants engaged in the discussion, Pearce could see Digby almost caressing the ship, and insisting on a clear opinion from his inferiors, evidence that he had already formed an almost physical bond of the kind he had already observed in other vessels. It was in the nature of sailors to love their ships, and to talk of them in familiar terms, not surprising in such a superstitious setting, and also one that if it failed to float left little to look forward to but drowning.

‘He seems a good man, John-boy,’ whispered Michael O’Hagan, who had come alongside.

‘I think he is nothing like Barclay, Michael.’

‘Holy mother of God, I hope there is only one of that stripe.’

‘Sadly, my friend, I doubt there is, and you know as well as I do, because we have been told, there are worse.’

‘Then we will be well out of it.’

‘We will.’

‘Charlie and Rufus want to know when that might be?’

‘Not you?’

O’Hagan grinned. ‘Me too.’

‘When we return here, there will be a court martial on Barclay, and I have no doubt it will find our case as proven. The evidence is overwhelmingly in our favour. You will then be within your rights to demand transport back to England.’

‘And you?’

‘I will come with you, of course.’

‘I wonder, John-boy. I have watched you this last day and it seems to me you are happy in what you are doing.’

Pearce was guarded; Michael was touching on thoughts he had harboured himself. So much had happened since his sudden, unwarranted elevation. The packet that had brought him from Portsmouth to Gibraltar had been commanded by the sterling Captain McGann, who insisted that a naval career was not a bad one for a man who had no idea for any other. After Corsica, with Benton dead, he had sat in the main cabin as a captain, and enjoyed the feeling of being in command of men who looked up to him, not least freckle-faced Harbin. But the crew, buoyed with the success of the recent action, had shown a marked degree of respect for his office, and that too had been pleasant.

‘I will make the best of what I have, while I have
it.’ Discomfited by the point Michael was making, he called to the other midshipman aboard. ‘Mr Farmiloe, if you please.’

‘Sir,’ said the mid, his face far from happy.

Though he had worked as hard as any other to load the ship, he had done his best not to get close to Pearce or any of the others he had helped to press from the Pelican Tavern. He knew, from being aboard
Brilliant
, just how much they resented what had happened to them, but what he had just heard was a command; he had no choice but to respond. It was worrying that Pearce had called to him while standing next to the big Irish bruiser. In his young mind, all sorts of threats manifested themselves in the few seconds he took to cross the deck.

‘Mr Farmiloe, I know you were a member of the party who pressed O’Hagan and I from the Pelican Tavern.’

‘I was obeying Captain Barclay’s orders, sir.’

‘I was just about to say, and I think I can speak for the others, that we are aware of that. We hold no resentment to you personally. Am I right, Michael?’

‘Sure, he’s only a strip of a lad, John-boy.’

Farmiloe tried and failed to hide his surprise at that familiarity, yet it registered one salient fact; that these men were still a close-knit group, and one he would do well to be careful with.

‘So, Mr Farmiloe,’ Pearce continued, ‘you have
no need to be evasive. We are to serve together and if I have learnt anything in the limited time I have been afloat, it is best to be civil rather than fractious.’

‘Thank you, sir.’

‘So, you can sleep easy in your berth.’

Farmiloe touched his hat and went back to his precious position.

‘Well said, John-boy, and necessary.’

‘Tell the others to treat him with respect, Michael. It will sound better coming from you.’

‘This court martial, when is it to be?’

‘When we return here. They cannot have it without we are present and the fact has been taken down in the presence of Admiral Hotham’s secretary. So, instead of sitting around fretting, I am happy to go on what is set to be an uneventful cruise.’

‘Flag signalling, sir,’ shouted Harbin. ‘Captain to repair aboard.’

‘Orders at last,’ said Digby, minutes later, as he went over the side.

‘Here we are in the midst of a damned siege, and what does our French ally propose, a costume ball.’

‘Captain Barclay, I must remind you of the lack of politeness in your language.’

He reacted as a husband sick of being pulled up, which he was, both figuratively and physically, for he had to cease pacing to respond. ‘Surely, madam, it does not signify in the privacy of our own quarters?’

Emily spoke firmly, but was careful in her tone, trying not to sound shrewish. ‘It is a habit, sir, and one that will spill out in polite society. I will not, of course, refer to my own feelings on the matter.’

Humbugged, thought Ralph Barclay, for in the face of that invocation there was nought to do but apologise, though it was a mumbled one he felt retained a little of his dignity. There was resentment too, and another occasion to wonder if his notion
of bringing her to sea with him had been wise. That it had saved expense seemed less of a pressing reason now he had some prize money coming both from what happened off Brittany and the recapture of a merchant ship he had effected on the way to Toulon. Even so, it took no great exercise of memory to recall how strapped he had been on taking up this command. Already in debt, he had had to incur more to show even a half-decent fist of the requirements that went with his rank.

What really offended him was the change in his young wife. Both at home in Somerset, and on coming aboard, she had been meekness itself, deferring to him in all things as was right and proper in a marriage. Yet that had not lasted and he could date her first act of defiance to the day he had punished Pearce, and it had not been private rebellion, but a very public one. What he did not know was how Emily saw the same events; saw that her much older husband craved her good opinion, and from such a discovery she had found the means to make more even their relationship. He was even less aware of the thoughts which had intruded to trouble Emily recently, and given the depth of concern that such musings engendered it was her intention that he should never know.

‘You are scowling, husband,’ she said. ‘I do hope that I am not the cause.’

‘Of course not,’ he lied. ‘I was thinking sitting here
in the inner harbour is a da…a tedious duty. I think I must ask the admiral for something more active.’

It was an inadvertent thought, yet there nevertheless; Emily would welcome such a thing and to cover her embarrassment she said quickly, ‘If there is to be a costume ball, we must look to what we have in the way of attire.’

‘My inclination is to decline to attend, sir. I fear, at a ball and in drink, some idiot will say something and I will be obliged to react.’

‘You cannot hide away, Pearce,’ insisted Digby. ‘You must face those who would condescend to you and force them into acknowledgement.’

‘They resent my rank, and for all I know my person.’

‘Then you must remind them that you are commissioned by the king, and if they would like it, you are quite prepared to write to His Majesty and list their objections. That should shut them up.’

Wondering at Digby’s persistence, Pearce was gifted with a revelation. His commanding officer did not want to go on his own; he too felt he would be badly treated by other officers, especially lieutenants with longer commissions than his own. ‘If you wish me to hold your hand, sir…’

‘Hold my hand,’ Digby barked, so fulsomely that Pearce knew he was right. ‘I need no one to do that, sir!’

‘We must take Harbin and Farmiloe along with us. It will do them good to experience polite society.’

Digby laughed. ‘God knows what it will do for polite society to be exposed to that pair.’

It might be called a costume ball, but for most naval officers that extended no further than a small face mask. Lord Hood and Admiral Sir William Hotham eschewed even that, and seemd to be quite embarrassed at the way Rear Admiral de Trogoff had got himself up as a Roman Emperor. In all, the French officers took the matter of dress more seriously, while the other trait they exhibited was a certain abstemiousness when it came to food and drink. The British officers and mids were never far from a punch bowl or a platter, and Pearce, watching the behaviour of both, was amused at the quite obvious difference in national habits.

‘Drink up, Pearce,’ said a red-faced and sweating Digby, his voice raised over the nearby music. ‘You are supposed to be here to enjoy yourself.’

Tempted to reply that guzzling was not a prerequisite of pleasure, Pearce decided it would be inappropriate, sank what he had in his cup, and was persuaded to take a refill. But having done so he detached himself from Digby and his ilk, and as he made his way amongst the French officers, all dressed in some form of costume, he regretted not
having done likewise. The whiff of Paris was again strong, surrounded as he was by people speaking French, as well as the behaviour and the dress. For all the fervour of the Revolution, it had to be noted, as a nation, these people took their entertainment seriously. While never having experienced Parisian life before the year ’91, he guessed that such masques and balls had changed little from monarchical times. With his fellow officers, the object seemed to be to get drunk; with the French, it was dalliance, each lady present surrounded by suitors, most respectful, some deadly serious in their attempts at seduction.

‘Lieutenant Pearce, you look to be in some kind of study.’

Captain d’Imbert was wearing a very florid and feathered hat of the seventeenth-century period, and a tabard over breeches and boots that had on it a large blue cross, the blade at his side kept short for decoration. He could hardly be said to look martial, given his age and shape, but he did look striking.

‘I was just observing, Monsieur le baron, the differing natures of our two nations. I fear my fellows lack the refinement of your own.’

‘It is as well that you did not see the place prior to our conjoining. We had as many of that type in our navy, which was hard to swallow, but then, the British Navy is open to all, whereas under the
Bourbons, commissions were really the preserve of the well connected.’

‘Yet there were stout fighters and good sailors amongst them.’

‘I believe you are to escort those who refuse to serve back to their ports.’

‘I am.’

‘Then observe them well, Lieutenant Pearce, and might I also say, watch them closely.’

Pearce was looking across the room, to where Emily Barclay stood, barely visible, surrounded as she was by Frenchmen. That was another difference in temperament; no British officer would so openly display admiration in the presence of her husband. Their hosts suffered from no such constraints; if a woman was beautiful, and she was that in her milkmaid’s outfit, then paying court to her was an obligation as well as a pleasure.

The slight disturbance behind her took his eye and he saw a bunch of midshipmen facing up to an equal number of French youths, who would mostly be the sons of the locals. Knowing how the mids thirsted for a fight wherever they were, and guessing that the Provençal character was equally contentious, he decided to intervene, so he made his way across the room, passing as he did so Emily Barclay and those paying court to her. That also allowed him to see Ralph Barclay, deep in conversation with Elphinstone, though his eyes
were on his wife, and even in a mask, it was plain he was displeased.

‘Mr Harbin, what’s afoot here?’

Harbin was drunk, and a quick look at the others present showed them to be in a like state. Those they confronted were not, but since the mids were armed with their dirks, it was reasonable to suppose their opponents were likewise equipped. It would not do anything for Toulonnais/British relations if they fought each other; someone was almost certain to be seriously wounded.

‘They insulted the king, sir.’ Harbin slurred, ‘said he could keep his head as it worn’t worth the chopping off.’

‘This was said to you in English?’

‘No, sir,’ said another midshipman, equally inebriated. ‘Not one of the buggers speaks like a man should. It’s all heathen tongue.’

‘Might I remind you young man, it is their tongue, and if you do not understand it I am at a loss to know how you can say with such certainty that they insulted the king.’

Pearce was also wondering at the reaction, or lack of it, of his fellow officers. He could not have been the only one to see the possibility of a confrontation, yet they were so intent on drinking and eating that they seemed content to let it pass. He went over to the sullen-looking group of local youths and, addressing them in French, asked them
what was amiss, holding up his hand, given they all seemed to want to speak at once, pointing to one of the tallest to extract an explanation. Garbled as it was, it was clearly a case of misinterpretation; they had not said what was supposed. Just as clearly, faced with a bunch of equally belligerent youths, their honour was at stake and they were not going to back down. Admonishing them to do nothing, Pearce went over to where Elphinstone stood, which forced Ralph Barclay to move away.

‘Sir, I fear we may have an outbreak of violence.’

‘You mean the shavers, laddie,’ Elphinstone replied, indicating the knot of still agitated mids. When Pearce nodded, he just laughed. ‘Happens aw the time, Pearce. You’ll never stop young men strutting. The only way I have ever found is to pack them off to a whorehouse so they can work off their energy on a moll. There will be sair heids come the morn.’

‘Then might I suggest, sir, that we relieve them of their dirks?’

Elphinstone was quite shocked at the idea. ‘What, and leave them with no defence?’

Plainly he would get nowhere with a man like Elphinstone, so he went back and called to Farmiloe and Harbin. ‘Both of you, if you get into trouble tonight, I will masthead you for a week, as well as stretch you and have you kiss the gunner’s daughter every day for the same length of time.’

It was fortunate that some of the local adults had also seen what was brewing; they were shepherding their youth to the other side of the room, so that the promised trouble seemed to abate, so the clutch of mids went back to drinking. Crossing back to where he had set out, he inadvertently caught Emily Barclay’s eye, and it was the devil in him that took him towards and not past her, displacing, with the effect of his arrival, the Frenchmen paying her court.

‘Mrs Barclay,’ he said, with a bow.

‘Mr Pearce.’

He laughed. ‘I am so pleased you talk to me as a civilian. I must say I am uncomfortable still at being addressed by my rank.’

‘I find it hard to see you as other than the person I first observed.’

‘I fear you saw me in some straits.’

Pearce had not intended to refer to her husband, but he had done so merely with those words, which brought a very bonny touch of rouge to her cheeks. He felt again the attraction he had experienced on first seeing her, that reinforced every time he had witnessed her forays on to the deck of HMS
Brilliant
.

‘I fear it would do little good, sir, for me to apologise.’

‘I cannot see what you have to say sorry for.’

‘I sense a kindness in that response, which is
unwarranted. I fear I was the cause of my husband’s displeasure.’

‘Madam, I was the cause of my own misfortune. How could I observe you and not wish to engage you in conversation.’

The fan she was carrying waved violently. ‘Sir, you are too bold.’

Pearce smiled. ‘I think our French friends have been somewhat more so.’

Suddenly animated, she was lovelier than ever. ‘They are, sir, to the point of rudeness. Some of the allusions they made were bordering on the obscene.’

The look of shock on her face was stunning, and had Pearce wishing they were somewhere else. The poor girl did not know that the
outré
compliments to which she had been subjected were normal in French society, and it was a habit he had absorbed when seeking to make advances to women in Paris. Since they were as prepared to accept them as he was to press them, he had, as a handsome, well-set youth, enjoyed great success, even acquiring in Amelie Labordiére a mistress of high social standing and great beauty. That was what Emily Barclay would have enjoyed had she been French; her husband, like Amelie’s, would have acceded and got on with his own affairs, but provincial English life did not extend to such things. London, perhaps: out in the country, no.

‘Their compliments were well intentioned, I do assure you.’

That fan was violent again. ‘I cannot see it as so, sir.’

‘It is the nature of the country.’

‘Then I can see why, if they cannot control their tongues in polite conversation, they are so in thrall to Revolution.’

Pearce burst out laughing, loud enough to turn what few heads had not been surreptitiously observing the exchange between him and the wife of his known enemy. Lutyens appeared out of nowhere, and taking his arm, paid Emily a passing compliment and forcibly led him away.

‘What are you trying to do, Pearce, alienate every fellow Briton in the room?’

‘I cannot imagine what you mean.’

‘Then you are a fool. How can you pay court to a fellow officer’s wife and have any hope of gaining their respect?’

‘You mistake my position, Heinrich. I neither need, not desire, their respect.’

‘Yet you wish for their judgement. Who do you think will sit on the Board of Court Martial that examines your case against Barclay.’ Seeing doubt in Pearce’s eye, Lutyens continued with some feeling. ‘Precisely. The very people who are in the room. What they think of you does matter to you and your friends, so do not commit the sin, a
cardinal one in the eyes of those present, of openly admiring Emily.’

‘Emily? I see you are familiar enough to name her so. Am I encroaching on your preserve?’

‘I do not deny, Pearce, that I have harboured stimulating thoughts in that area; who could not with such a creature; but that is all they are and all they will remain. I recommend you do the same.’

‘That will be a cruel fate. I cannot believe that old sod of a husband satisfies her as she should be. Emily Barclay needs a man between her thighs, not a doddering tyrant.’