Read Online The Perils of Command by David Donachie - Free Book Online
Authors: David Donachie
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habitual when dealing with his captain, who was never sure of the reason. Was it concern for his well-being or fear of his all-too-common wrath?
The call into Cornelius Gherson’s cubbyhole was to collect the latest figures on the stores held within the holds of HMS Semele , these handed over with that infuriating air of superiority that his clerk could not seem to keep hidden. Such an expression was compounded by the man’s looks; he was handsome, with a fair to girlish countenance and fine blonde hair. To a dark and brooding presence like Ralph Barclay it was a constant irritation.
‘I have done my best, sir.’
‘I damn well hope you have, Gherson.’
The growling response had no effect on his clerk, who was safe in the knowledge that as of this moment his captain depended on him. Barclay lacked the numerical skills to play ducks and drakes with the level of the warship’s stores. Just like in his financial affairs he had come to depend on Gherson, though not with any degree of trust. It amused the clerk, even with that lack of faith, just how easy it was to hide from his employers how much was being siphoned off into his own pocket.
‘I have had condemned as much as I could so we seem lower on victuals than we are in truth, but your real hope is us being so low on water that it needs proper hoys to replenish us.’
There was no need to tell Ralph Barclay that such a commodity was, unlike everything else the seventy-four carried, unquantifiable. They could top it up from the Corsican wells but not to the level that existed on paper, for it would have to be fetched from the shore in barrels, time-consuming and often less than a day’s expenditure.
Water, or the lack of it would, the captain hoped, be the lever that would get him away from his present berth and at the very least to Leghorn where he could begin his search, mostly to find a clue as to where Emily had gone. Rowed across the bay, Barclay knew he would have to be subtle, for that which he planned carried a risk. Hotham was no fool and given it was he who had told of Emily’s presence in Leghorn he would be quick to smoke Barclay’s motives.
Against that Ralph Barclay was a client officer of theadmiral, entitled to expect preferential treatment. In addition, he was fully aware of the machinations Hotham had engaged in, aided by his senior clerk Toomey, to rid himself of the menace of John Pearce – an intrigue of which Ralph Barclay thoroughly approved, albeit he had been careful to avoid personal involvement.
Piped aboard HMS Britannia he inspected the marines as was required before making himself known to Holloway, the flag captain – a necessary courtesy, Devenow dogging his heels to ensure that his one-armed master did not suffer a fall on a moving deck. Before he could enter the admiral’s great cabin he encountered Toomey, from whom he could quietly enquire, with bowed head and a soft tone, if there was any news of John Pearce and HMS Flirt .
‘No news is good news, Captain Barclay, is all I can reply.’
That came as a whisper. The clerk knew why he was being asked; the question was not one that could be put to William Hotham, even if he was the man ultimately responsible for what had been implemented. Commanding admirals saw the need to shield themselves from such matters.
‘Let us hope that remains the case,’ Toomey added.
‘Quite. Can I proceed?’
‘Sir William is awaiting you.’
‘Did he ask why I requested an interview?’
‘No, but I will say he is curious as to the reason you wish to see him alone.’
‘A list of my stores, Toomey. You will see we are severely short on beef and pork, much of which has had to be condemned, and our water is critical.’
Toomey raised an eyebrow at that; he had been a naval clerk for many years and before that a purser. There was not atrick in the naval book of which he was not aware and, as the man who took in the daily reports on the fitness of the fleet to operate, even if he
The call into Cornelius Gherson’s cubbyhole was to collect the latest figures on the stores held within the holds of HMS Semele , these handed over with that infuriating air of superiority that his clerk could not seem to keep hidden. Such an expression was compounded by the man’s looks; he was handsome, with a fair to girlish countenance and fine blonde hair. To a dark and brooding presence like Ralph Barclay it was a constant irritation.
‘I have done my best, sir.’
‘I damn well hope you have, Gherson.’
The growling response had no effect on his clerk, who was safe in the knowledge that as of this moment his captain depended on him. Barclay lacked the numerical skills to play ducks and drakes with the level of the warship’s stores. Just like in his financial affairs he had come to depend on Gherson, though not with any degree of trust. It amused the clerk, even with that lack of faith, just how easy it was to hide from his employers how much was being siphoned off into his own pocket.
‘I have had condemned as much as I could so we seem lower on victuals than we are in truth, but your real hope is us being so low on water that it needs proper hoys to replenish us.’
There was no need to tell Ralph Barclay that such a commodity was, unlike everything else the seventy-four carried, unquantifiable. They could top it up from the Corsican wells but not to the level that existed on paper, for it would have to be fetched from the shore in barrels, time-consuming and often less than a day’s expenditure.
Water, or the lack of it would, the captain hoped, be the lever that would get him away from his present berth and at the very least to Leghorn where he could begin his search, mostly to find a clue as to where Emily had gone. Rowed across the bay, Barclay knew he would have to be subtle, for that which he planned carried a risk. Hotham was no fool and given it was he who had told of Emily’s presence in Leghorn he would be quick to smoke Barclay’s motives.
Against that Ralph Barclay was a client officer of theadmiral, entitled to expect preferential treatment. In addition, he was fully aware of the machinations Hotham had engaged in, aided by his senior clerk Toomey, to rid himself of the menace of John Pearce – an intrigue of which Ralph Barclay thoroughly approved, albeit he had been careful to avoid personal involvement.
Piped aboard HMS Britannia he inspected the marines as was required before making himself known to Holloway, the flag captain – a necessary courtesy, Devenow dogging his heels to ensure that his one-armed master did not suffer a fall on a moving deck. Before he could enter the admiral’s great cabin he encountered Toomey, from whom he could quietly enquire, with bowed head and a soft tone, if there was any news of John Pearce and HMS Flirt .
‘No news is good news, Captain Barclay, is all I can reply.’
That came as a whisper. The clerk knew why he was being asked; the question was not one that could be put to William Hotham, even if he was the man ultimately responsible for what had been implemented. Commanding admirals saw the need to shield themselves from such matters.
‘Let us hope that remains the case,’ Toomey added.
‘Quite. Can I proceed?’
‘Sir William is awaiting you.’
‘Did he ask why I requested an interview?’
‘No, but I will say he is curious as to the reason you wish to see him alone.’
‘A list of my stores, Toomey. You will see we are severely short on beef and pork, much of which has had to be condemned, and our water is critical.’
Toomey raised an eyebrow at that; he had been a naval clerk for many years and before that a purser. There was not atrick in the naval book of which he was not aware and, as the man who took in the daily reports on the fitness of the fleet to operate, even if he
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