Enemies at Every Turn Read online

  Enemies at Every Turn

  DAVID DONACHIE

  This book is dedicated to my elder brother

  Victor Donachie

  who died after a short illness while it was being written.

  Not many people are lucky enough to have

  such a person in their life:

  a generous friend, a wise advisor

  and, most of all, great company.

  Every book I write has a hero;

  in the book of my life he was and still is mine!

  Contents

  Title Page

  Dedication

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  About the Author

  By David Donachie

  Copyright

  CHAPTER ONE

  Set free by the Justices of Sandwich, John Pearce was strongly tempted to stop off in Deal or nearby St Margaret’s Bay in the search for those who had got him into trouble in the first place, a pit so deep it had very nearly seen him incarcerated for a decade or transported to the recently established penal colony at Botany Bay.

  That had to be set aside; he had pressing business in Dover and not just to ensure the welfare of the two companions who had saved him from such a fate by freely volunteering to serve in the King’s Navy. He also needed to intercept a letter, the contents of which were no longer accurate, that by force of time being his primary task.

  Some relief was afforded when he learnt that the mail coach which would carry his letter to London would not depart until the following day, yet it was a misfortune that he found in the person of the Dover postmaster a fellow who, for sheer inflexibility, deserved to have his ears boxed, for he would not hear that the passage of the mail should be interfered with in any way.

  ‘The letter is addressed to a Mrs Barclay at 18 Jockey’s Fields in Holborn,’ Pearce insisted. ‘I know that because I not only wrote it, but paid for it to be sent. If you dig it out you will see upon it the superscription with my name.’

  A portly fellow, full of his own importance, the postmaster’s hands went to grasp the blue facings on his bright-red coat while on his face there appeared an expression that attested to a forthcoming refusal based on sound practice and fixed rules.

  ‘So you say, sir, so you say, but you must know that by recent statute once stamped it becomes the property of the person to whom it is addressed. It’s more’n my position be worth to interfere with that.’

  Holding a walking stick, necessary to support him in his temporary invalidity – he had sliced open the sole of his foot on broken glass a week previously and it was still heavily bandaged – Pearce was tempted to lift it and crown the man, but having just that morning been released from certain conviction as a caught-in-the-act smuggler, he was not inclined to risk further arrest for an assault upon a public official.

  Standing behind him was Michael O’Hagan, the third of his companions who made up a quartet collectively known as the Pelicans. A man of such height and girth as to near fill the room, he was certainly one to draw the eye, as he had done several times from the corpulent postmaster, who clearly knew a bruiser when he saw one. Not that Michael was in any way threatening in his manner.

  He habitually wore a kindly expression on his broad ruddy face, with a twinkle in his eye, more amused by his fellows than disturbed by them; it was his mere size and what he might accomplish with his ham-like fists that made folk careful with the Irishman, that and the steady look with which he was now favouring the fellow.

  Then he spoke and his obvious brogue, judging by the startled reaction, added to the impression in the postmaster’s mind that he might be subject to violent assault if he did not do something to mollify this supplicant of a naval lieutenant; it was all very well to say it would be a crime to do so, that the law would have them up for the offence, but by the time such an accusation could be laid – the post house was a long way from that of the local watch – he might well be suffering a broken skull.

  ‘Sure, it’s a simple enough request that you seek out the thing and see if Mr Pearce here is telling you the truth.’

  ‘Lieutenant, I—’

  ‘Simple, as I say,’ Michael added, seeing no need to change the even tenor of his speech. ‘And the act of a kindly man, a Christian soul, who could look his maker in the eye come Judgement Day.’

  The implication that he might be making that acquaintance soon had no need to be openly expressed. With a sigh the postmaster went to the bags brought in from around the local area, rummaging around the one from Sandwich, not by any means full, yet with enough letters to require a search. Eventually he located the required missive and checked the address before turning it over, his eyes, much as he tried to disguise it, registering his astonishment at the address from which it had been sent, made doubly obvious by the device on the wax seal.

  ‘It was written in Sandwich gaol,’ Pearce acknowledged, ‘and at a time I fully expected I would never again see a morning without chains. It is, in its nature, a plea to a woman to free herself of any thoughts of me, but now, sir, as you can plainly see, I am a free man.’

  ‘It is also true,’ Michael added, in a slightly edgier tone, ‘that we have pressing business elsewhere.’

  Where, the postmaster was thinking, is a mail coach guard when you need him? One of that fraternity, with their two regulation pistols and a blunderbuss, would soon see off this pair! But the London coach was yet to arrive and today’s Dover conveyance had already left. In thinking on that his expression had hardened, leaving Pearce with the impression that he would not achieve that which he desired, a return of the letter so he could destroy it. Only then did it occur that there was another way.

  ‘I appreciate, sir, that your duty forbids you to pass over the letter and I would not ask you to risk your position to oblige me, but I would beg that you allow me to append a short message on the cover, to say the contents no longer hold true.’

  ‘The seal stays unbroken, sir?’

  ‘Yes.’

  It was with some relief the postmaster answered. ‘Then I fail to see the harm.’

  Given a quill and ink John Pearce merely wrote on the cover that Emily Barclay should ignore the contents as he was now a free man, which, when it was handed over, caused the postmaster to ask for what crime he had been arraigned.

  ‘Smuggling, sir.’

  The man threw back his head in what was close to disgust, proving that on this coast his thinking lay with the majority.

  ‘Well, sir, if that be a crime, and I fail to see it as such, then they had best feel the collar of half the folk of Kent, many of whom would starve if they could not avoid the duties levied by our greedy government!’

  As Pearce was penning his superscription, the gaoler at Sandwich was wondering, as had been the postmaster moments before, if he might get his head broken before anyone could come to his aid. Before him stood four real ruffians, the leader of whom, a man of high colour and temper, as well as a gruff cracked voice and pockmarked skin, had gone bright red with fury when he heard that Lieutenant John Pearce wa
s no longer his prisoner.

  ‘Set free afore ten of the clock this very morning, sir.’

  ‘So he paid the fine, the thief?’

  ‘No, he couldn’t run to that.’

  ‘How so he was freed then, when it was told to me he was caught in the very act?’

  The gaoler stepped back; that red and furious face had come too close for comfort, so close he could see clearly where the pox had marked it deeply, as well as the fact that the man’s light-brown eyes seemed to be flecked with gold, more catlike than human.

  ‘Two fellows turned up in court and said they had volunteered to join the King’s Navy at Mr Pearce’s request. Now they did not say they were in the contraband game but it stands to reason that will be the case. I daresay you know the navy loves a smuggler for their skills, as well as the statute that says a man may set off his penalty for the crime of avoiding customs dues if he offers up a pair of volunteers to the King’s service.’

  ‘So where has he gone, this Pearce?’

  The gaoler shrugged. ‘None of my concern, sir, so I did not enquire.’

  The hands that grabbed him by his shirt were too quick to avoid and the way he was picked up and slammed violently against the bare brick of the town gaol wall took his breath out of his body, the shock of the attack, as well as two fists pressing on his ears, making him only dimly aware of the string of invective to which he was being subjected.

  ‘You stinking cur, I’ll rip out your gizzard with my teeth.’

  ‘Steady, Jahleel, let the man down.’

  One voice had come to the gaoler’s aid, but several hands were required to drag this Jahleel backwards at the same time as separating his hands from his victim’s body, given he was like a man possessed. Two of his companions restrained him while the third, a calmer fellow by far, fair of skin but with a similarity of countenance, straightened the gaoler’s shirt and sought to mollify him.

  ‘Do you have any notion of to where this Pearce might have gone?’

  ‘I think he might have headed to Dover.’

  ‘And how would you describe him?’

  ‘You don’t know him?’ the gaoler said, surprised.

  ‘That is none of your concern, now is it?’

  For all the voice was soft there was no kindness in it – quite the reverse; it was cold and carried undertones of as much threat as his more physical companion.

  ‘A tall fellow and straight-backed, a fair phizog, unmarked, a ready smile, handsome, many would say, dark hair and dressed in his naval coat and hat.’ It suddenly occurred to the gaoler that Dover might have a few naval officers wandering about, so he added, ‘But right now he has a bandaged foot and a limp, needs a stick to walk where he says he cut his foot on broken glass.’

  What made Jahleel roar then the gaoler did not know, only that it required an increased effort to restrain him, while spittle flecked his mouth when he spoke. ‘It’ll be his damned throat that gets cut, Franklin, not his damned foot.’

  ‘Will you be quiet, brother, I am sure our friend here has more to tell us.’

  When Franklin turned back, the gaoler saw where the likeness lay most – in and around those eyes, which were of the same colour and shape. This one, for all his quiet manner, was just as dangerous as his fiery kin; best aid them as much as he could.

  ‘He wrote a letter afore he was taken to court this morning.’

  ‘Where to?’

  ‘London, a lady called Barclay, resides in a place called Jockey’s Fields.’

  ‘You read and write?’

  ‘Have to for the job I has. Got in a strop about that and wanted to get it back afore the lady received it, but I had to tell him a coach had already come through to lift the mailbag. That’s why he’s gone to Dover, to catch it before it’s put aboard for London.’

  ‘And will he?’

  ‘I’d say he had scant hope of catching it before it departed this day.’

  ‘We’ve got to get after him, Franklin,’ Jahleel growled.

  ‘Dover first, I reckon,’ Franklin replied, still looking at the gaoler, ‘but before we depart, you will tell no one we came, will you, not a name or a description?’

  ‘Now why would I?’ the gaoler replied, his gullet suddenly dry, sure as he was that to say otherwise was to risk it being sliced open.

  ‘No reason to, has you, friend? Happen if you did we might have to come back this way and set you to rights.’

  The man who ran Sandwich gaol was still standing with his back to the cold brick wall when he heard the sound of departing hooves. He did not move until they had faded away completely, though he did wonder at the level of noise they made given there seemed many more than four mounts.

  The wagon in which sat Charlie Taverner and Rufus Dommet, the two other Pelicans, was not designed for comfort; unsprung, it knew the name and depth of every pothole on the cross-county road that would lead eventually to the Medway ports. The floor provided the seating, the walls the back support, while at one end the straw was supposed to act as a place of rest. Right now that was occupied by a couple of filthy creatures, stinking of stale drink, whose movements tended to be towards scratching themselves frequently, evidence of their infested state.

  Taken straight from the Sandwich courthouse by a court bailiff to the home of the captain who controlled the Dover Impress Service, the two men who had saved John Pearce spent no more time there than it took to enter their names. The closed wagon was waiting to go and they were put straight aboard without so much as a cup of water to sustain them, their request for some vittles scoffed at with the response that such comforts cost money, which had to be paid for out of their bounty.

  ‘God save us if we have to spend a night in this thing,’ Rufus moaned.

  Charlie Taverner just sighed; normally a man to vehemently curse his lot if he felt discomfort, he now seemed resigned to whatever fate might hold. ‘We’ve suffered worse than this, lad, when times were hard. How many nights were we reduced to hot-bedding, eh?’

  ‘Aye, but we’ve had better since our life in the Liberties. A ship’s hammock might not be comfort, but—’

  Charlie laid a reassuring hand on young Rufus’s arm. ‘Just hope we has better goin’ forrad.’

  ‘D’ye think Pearce can get us out of this, Charlie?’

  ‘Can’t see how; we volunteered, so those protections he got us are not of any use.’

  ‘He will try, though, will he not?’

  ‘Course he will. We’re fellow Pelicans, he is bound by honour to save us as we saved him.’

  Pearce was seeking to do that very thing, with little hope of success. He was sat at a table in the White Lion Inn, which overlooked the long strand of pebble beach that, enclosed as it was by a double mole, formed the safe anchorage of Dover Harbour. The man he was seeking to persuade was more interested in his dinner than any plea from his fellow naval officer, though as a courtesy he had listened with polite concern.

  Captain Tobias, in appearance and manner, seemed ill fitted to his occupation; most officers of the Impress Service were not men of much refinement – it could not be said to be a task that attracted ambitious types and certainly not gentlemanly ones. Tobias was the exception.

  ‘You really should have a beefsteak, Lieutenant. Today it is particularly fine and, of course, the mackerel they are serving is fresh caught this very morning from the end of the harbour mole.’

  Looking at him, Pearce wondered how he had come to this place and this occupation. The man had very cultured features to go with his fastidious manner, a sharp slightly upturned nose, a pale thin face and somewhat lazy hooded eyes under his wig. Likewise his consumption of food was fussy, his meat carefully cut into morsels for slow mastication. Had he been partaking of a temporary assignment it would have made sense – many a captain would take any posting rather than seek to exist on half pay; that he was permanent in the position and content with his lot seemed odd.

  ‘The two men of whom I speak were caught this morning too.’<
br />
  That produced a chuckle. ‘Not caught, sir, they cast themselves onto the hook, what?’

  ‘To save me, as I have told you.’

  The elegant features closed up. ‘You did the King’s Navy no service, sir, for being apprehended in the act of smuggling.’

  There was a temptation then to tell this Tobias he was, if not innocent, more of a dupe than a villain, but he doubted he would be believed. In truth, he was not sure an admission of the facts, exposing his own gullibility, would do anything to bring about a more elevated opinion.

  ‘I have shown you their protections.’

  ‘From impressment!’

  ‘Would men with such scarce documents really volunteer?’

  That Pearce was clutching at straws he knew; just as obvious was the plain fact that Tobias knew it too.

  ‘It would seem so, and if it is unusual, which I admit is the case, there is a first time for every event and God moves in mysterious ways his wonders to perform, don’t ye know.’

  ‘So the protections would not provide sufficient grounds for their release?’

  ‘They signed on as volunteers and will remain in the service till we have peace.’

  ‘You do, I believe, receive a bounty for each man you provide to the navy.’

  That saw the eating implements put down with a sharp clatter. ‘I hope you are not suggesting, sir, I perform my duty for purely financial gain?’

  Pearce had a good mind to say yes, for what other reason would a man like Tobias carry out such a task? But such an admission would not aid his cause. ‘No, but I am prepared to offer more than that bounty for their release.’

  The eyes were not hooded now. ‘No doubt so you and they can go back to your nefarious and highly profitable trade?’

  Pearce was in a quandary here; as well as protections, both Charlie and Rufus Dommet had long-standing warrants for arrest against their names, therefore he could not press too hard. Also, having offered themselves up in the circumstances in which they did, as well as the place in which it occurred, it took no great leap of the imagination to see them as smugglers on a coast riddled with people pursuing that as an occupation and him as their leader.