An Awkward Commission (19 page)

‘No!’ d’Imbert insisted. But then he seemed to reconsider, and added, ‘That is not what I think we would want at this moment, for two reasons. First it would excite those of no opinion to resist, and that, added to those who favour the cause of Paris, might tip the balance against us.’

‘How many support the Jacobins?’

About to answer, d’Imbert stopped as the door burst open. Pearce turned to see a tall and handsome officer, with a sensuous face and shiny curled hair, dressed in the gold-fringed coat of an admiral. ‘I heard you had a visitor, d’Imbert!’

The captain stood up, clearly angry. ‘I think good manners, Admiral St Julien, mean that even senior officers are obliged to knock before barging into a room.’

‘Shit on your good manners,’ said St Julien, in a way that implied such crudity was normal. ‘Are you not going to introduce me?’

It was Pearce who responded, and quickly, using the name, if not the priestly designation of his Parisian tutor, and adding a sharp bow. ‘Auguste Morlant, monsieur, at your service.’

D’Imbert proved he was no fool; he picked up the name and ran with it. ‘Monsieur Morlant has farms in the Camargue, livestock farms, and he has come to see if he can do any business with us.’

‘What business?’ St Julien demanded, in a voice larded with suspicion.

Wondering where the hell the Camargue was, Pearce, thinking rapidly, replied. ‘Supplies of meat, beef and pork, for the fleet, properly salted from my own pans and at good prices.’

It was d’Imbert’s turn. ‘Monsieur Mancini, the chandler, made the introduction, and I felt it was only polite to listen, though we have good and reliable vendors already.’

‘Don’t you mean the Corsican chandler,’ replied St Julien, with a sneer, which had Pearce wondering just how much he knew.

‘I would remind you, sir, that Corsica is part of France.’

‘But is Mancini, Captain d’Imbert?’

Throughout, St Julien had not taken his eyes off John Pearce, ranging over the too-tight coat, the hat now on his knee, even his breeches and shoes. It was if he was trying to commit everything about him to memory, and it was damned uncomfortable as scrutiny.

D’Imbert’s voice had an edge to it. ‘I have rarely met a man as loyal as Mancini, sir. His lineage may be Corse, but his heart is French.’

St Julien threw back his head and laughed. ‘It’s his head he ought to be worried about, d’Imbert, him and his fellow representatives. Don’t think that I do not know what is going on.’

‘I am at a loss, sir, to know what it is you are talking about.’

There was no humour now, as St Julien’s gaze finally shifted from Pearce to d’Imbert. ‘I am talking about what happened to those who play at treachery, Captain. In these times it is inclined to have bloody consequences.’

Glaring at them both in turn, the admiral spun on his heel and went out through the door, not bothering to close it.

‘It is not pleasant to serve under a man who is a pig.’

Spat out in French, Pearce reckoned the word
cochon
to be much more descriptive than pig.

‘I know, Captain d’Imbert. I have served under one.’

The Frenchman looked as if he was about to ask who, then thought better of it, for it was not germane to their present problem. ‘We must go and see Admiral de Trogoff.’

‘Who is, I trust, sympathetic.’

‘There are many who would happily ask your Lord Hood to protect the town, Lieutenant, but only Admiral de Trogoff has the power to speak for the Toulon Fleet.’

As they exited, and began to walk along a wide corridor, Pearce asked, ‘How did St Julien know I was here?’

‘The footman would have told him. They are all easy to bribe.’

‘Will not those same footmen tell if they see us visiting the Commander-in-Chief.’

The captain replied with an elegant shrug. ‘Very likely. There are few secrets in this building.’

Pearce did not find Admiral le Comte de Trogoff impressive. Small and plump, he was physically uninspiring and as evasive about his own opinions as he was fussy about his person, being a constant visitor to the long mirror set on the wall between a pair of french windows overlooking the harbour. Whenever d’Imbert tried to pin him to a definite answer, the man equivocated, saying on the one hand, in very vague terms, that such an outcome was desirable before shifting his ground one hundred and eighty degrees to espouse an equally feeble view on the opposite. Trogoff professed loyalty to his late and murdered King, while faintly praising those who had overthrown him for bringing his county into the modern age, only then to ask himself if it was not his duty to support whichever regime was in power, leaving Pearce to conclude that if his naval tactics in any way ‘mirrored’ his political wavering, then Hood, if it came to a battle, had nothing to worry about. Compared to the certainty of Rear Admiral St Julien, it was not encouraging.

‘There are many things to consider,’ de Trogoff insisted, fiddling with the lace jabot at his neck, ‘and we must, at all costs, avoid bloodshed.’

Voiced in a worried tone, it seemed very obvious that the blood he was thinking of was his own.

D’Imbert replied to that frustrating attitude in an even voice. ‘We have Marseilles as an ally, other towns in the
region are in turmoil and if we in Toulon can do likewise the rest of Provence may follow.’

Trogoff was explicit for once. ‘May! All the difficulties are in that one word, d’Imbert. Such uncertainty. And what happens then, eh? Do you think those madmen in Paris will just sit on their thumbs. Rumour has it that troops are already on the way to Marseilles. Some call them a rabble. I would remind you that such a horde defeated a coalition of all Europe at Valmy, another that fought and won on the Belgian border at Jemappes. It is not just the
sans-culottes
who are the fanatics, their generals are cast in the same mould.’

‘Both armies who have since been beaten, and I would remind you, sir, that when defeated, a number of those fanatical generals you talk about are inclined to go over to the enemy.’

The admiral’s eyes suddenly gleamed with fire, and he cried. ‘Yes they do, in order to keep their heads. Look at General Dumouriez, at the victories he won. Then he loses a battle and what? What kind of regime is it that rewards military failure with death? No one has any faith in their Revolution, certainly not I. If I take my fleet to sea and fail, what then? Am I to be dragged in a tumbrel to certain extinction?’

Realising he was speaking loudly enough to be heard through a six inch plank, and certainly though the open windows, Trogoff dropped his voice. ‘They have ruined France.’

Pearce bit off the temptation to point out that France was pretty much ruined before they had come along, though he would concede matters had been made worse. Instead he took his cue from d’Imbert, speaking calmly.

‘Should you declare against the Jacobins, Toulon is, I am led to believe, an easy place to defend compared to
Marseilles.’ Trogoff looked at him, blinked, then went back to face the mirror, seemingly unaware that his troubled reflection was visible to his visitors. ‘It is secure from the sea, for there is no fleet to threaten you if you accept support from Lord Hood. I do not have the experience to cast an opinion on the land defences, sir, as I am sure you are aware.’

Trogoff’s chin was on his chest now. He was not really replying to John Pearce, more speaking to himself. ‘We have nothing to fear from the east, and if we can hold the heights and the reverse slopes of Mont Faron we are secure in the north.’ Finished with the positives, he turned to address his visitors with the negatives, stating that to the west, both town and port were vulnerable. His right fist smacked into his left hand, and his slightly protruding eyes seemed to jump from his head. ‘Toulon cannot be held without an army!’

‘What if troops were available, sir?’ asked d’Imbert.

‘Are they?’

‘That we do not know. The only person who can answer that question is out at sea blockading the port.’

‘The Lord Hood?’

‘Precisely.’

Trogoff looked at Pearce, who, with little choice, had to return a look that implied he did not know. It would not do to let on that Hood had declined the same request from Marseilles on the grounds that he lacked the forces to hold it.

‘Perhaps a parley between you and Lord Hood,’ suggested d’Imbert. ‘Under a flag of truce?’

‘No, Captain. St Julien would insist on being present. What could I say with that fellow at the table? Nothing.’

‘Then someone must be sent to speak to Lord Hood, someone with the power to make agreements on your behalf.’

‘Agreements?’ That one word was said with a furious
waving of his hands, clear evidence that it alarmed him. ‘No, no, d’Imbert. Not agreements. Possibilities perhaps, speculations, but not plans.’

‘But you do agree that an officer of sufficient rank should talk to the British?’

Stood, hands on hip, in a place where he could catch a glimpse of his refection, de Trogoff answered. ‘I think if an officer saw it as his duty to investigate such a thing, he would require no orders from me to do so. Do you not agree, d’Imbert?’

The admiral could not see his captain. If he had, he would have been less than pleased by the look of despair which crossed d’Imbert’s face. ‘I take it you would not wish to be informed, sir, of such a mission?’

‘What good would my knowing of it do? Why, if that were uncovered, it would only give ammunition to St Julien and those who follow him.’

‘Then if you will forgive me, sir. Lieutenant Pearce and I will take our leave.’

De Trogoff walked up to d’Imbert and came close enough to put a hand on his shoulder. ‘Have a care for yourself, Captain. In these times, as I have already said, heads are at risk.’

‘How did he ever get a command?’ asked Pearce, as they made their way back to d’Imbert’s room. ‘The man sounds as if he was born straddling a fence.’

The captain flashed him an angry look. ‘You are, sir, talking of an admiral in the French Navy, and moreover one who finds himself in a very difficult position, one much easier to criticise than comprehend.’

Pearce waited until the door was closed behind him before replying to that, suspecting that pain on hearing the truth was as much to blame as annoyance. ‘I mean no
disrespect, sir, and I am sure there are as many brave officers in the French Navy as the British.’

‘There were, Lieutenant, there were. Sadly, most of them fled.’

Without meaning it, d’Imbert had answered the question. Trogoff had been promoted to command because there were few others who had not crossed the Rhine to join the émigré forces under the late King’s youngest brother, the Comte d’Artois. That de Trogoff, though titled, had not done so probably had more to do with the man’s endemic confusion than conviction, but with d’Imbert, Pearce felt that it must have been a sense of duty and obligation that had kept him in service, when common sense indicated that flight was the safest option for a man with a title.

‘I take it Admiral St Julien is angling to replace him?’

‘Lieutenant, if we do not act, St Julien will take charge even if our present commander does not wish it. Admiral de Trogoff does not appear to see that his head is on the block even if he does nothing, for St Julien will denounce him as a traitor as soon as he feels strong enough to do so. He will then send him to Paris and certain execution. Can I ask, what were your arrangements to get back aboard
Victory
?’

‘A boat will come for me tonight, in darkness, on the eastern edge of the Grande Rade.’

‘There are gunboat patrols out there.’

‘We got through last night. That is where I landed, just to the north of the Pointe de Brun.’

‘Then we must go from the same place tonight,’ said d’Imbert in a leaden voice, ‘and I must come with you. I must find out from your admiral just how much help he can give us.’

Going over to the window, he indicated that Pearce should join him, pointing out the Tour de Mitre. ‘That is where the crew of your old ship are housed, officers and
men. Perhaps you would wish to see Captain Barclay?’

Pearce was looking down across the harbour, to where his old shipmates were still toiling in the baking sun. ‘That is a pleasure I can set aside, sir, until other matters are resolved.’

‘Your captain…’

‘Barclay is not, sir, my captain!’

‘He asked me about our fleet, what they would do, if asked to proclaim against Paris.’

‘You spoke to him of this?’

‘I did, and I agree with what he said. If we can get the trusted men on our side, the sous-officers, then it matters not what St Julien does. The majority of the sailors will listen to them.’

‘And if we can’t?’

‘There will be that bloodbath, Lieutenant Pearce, that Admiral de Trogoff so fears. Now, I must go and see Mancini and his friends and tell them of what I plan to do. They have much power in the town, and assure me that the whole population, bar the odd hothead, is ready to revolt. If they are right, then it puts the odds in our favour, but we must act in concert with the local population to have any hope of success.’

Still looking at his old shipmates, Pearce said. ‘I have a favour to ask.’

‘Which is?’

Taking out the purse Hood’s secretary had given him, he emptied a number of gold coins into his hand. ‘I would like you to take this, and ensure that those men working on the quayside, the prisoners from HMS
Brilliant
, have enough to drink and eat.’

The Frenchman looked down at the golden guineas. ‘That will only last so long.’

‘If we are successful, Captain d’Imbert, it won’t have to last more than a few days.’

‘A noble gesture, Lieutenant.’

Pearce did not reply; how could he say he had been imprisoned at one time in his life, had been forced to bribe warders just to get enough for he and his father to eat; that he had more in common with most of those men now than he had had when he served with them on board the ship.

The shaded lantern was where Pearce had left it, but finding it in the gloom of a twilit wood was not straightforward, which made more anxious an already nervous d’Imbert. The waiting that followed, for the boat would not enter the Grande Rade before it was safe to approach in the dark, did nothing for the Frenchman’s mood, bringing forth an angry curse when Pearce suggested that he stop his pacing back and forth, since it was doing no good.

‘How long now?’ d’Imbert demanded, having already made the point that, if they did not come soon, they must abandon the attempt. The suspicions of St Julien would not be assuaged if d’Imbert was missing come the morning.

The lantern had been lit well in advance, so that Pearce had no doubt it was working. He unshaded it a fraction to look at his watch, and although it was not yet eleven, he decided to act as if it was the hour, just to appease d’Imbert. So they walked out from the doubtful protection of the sparse pines, and arranging their bodies that there was no spillage, he shone the lantern out to sea for no more than two seconds.

‘You do understand Lieutenant, that should one of our guard boats see that light, they will probably come to investigate.’

Pearce replied quite sharply, because d’Imbert was getting on his nerves. ‘Then I expect, sir, since you brought with you a brace of pistols, that you will discourage them.’

‘Fire at my fellow countrymen, maybe even men who have served under me?’

‘I doubt you will have time, sir, to ask for their record of service. I suggest at the point at which they call out in French, that you shoot at them before we both run like the devil.’

‘I fear I have annoyed you, Lieutenant Pearce, but I would like you to understand that I feel uncomfortable in the role I have undertaken. I am not a natural conspirator.’

‘Which implies you think I am?’

‘I don’t know what you are Lieutenant Pearce.’

Under his breath, as he unshaded the lantern a second time, Pearce murmured. ‘Then that is two of us.’

‘A light,’ d’Imbert exclaimed, in a voice so loud it proved he was a stranger to deception. Commanding silence, Pearce unshaded his lantern again, opening and closing the door three times, that answered by a faint double pinpoint of reply.

‘That’s Trevivian.’

The midshipmen must have had them row hard, for it was no more than ten minutes till the cutter arrived at the moonlit beach, the men jumping out to carry the officers aboard, despite Pearce’s vocal protest that it was unnecessary.

‘I am more minded of your dignity than you are, sir,’ he called, in his drawling burr. ‘Might I ask who is the gentleman with you?’

‘No, Mr Trevivian, you may not.’

Once settled in the thwarts, and the cutter pushed off from the soft sand of the beach, the midshipman referred to the lucky escape they had enjoyed the previous night, clearly concerned that having made the journey two more times, their luck might not hold.

‘I fetched muskets on this outing, sir, though I will not permit their use if you think it unwise.’

‘Never fear,’ said Pearce, ‘Your muskets will be superfluous. I think our passenger will know what to answer if we are challenged.’

Lord Hood was roused out from his cot, Pearce insisting that what needed to be discussed must be seen to straight away, so both he and d’Imbert were ushered into the presence of a rather irate admiral, who, being clad in a floor length dressing gown, lacked the distinction that went with his rank. Rear-Admiral Hyde Parker, likewise summoned from his slumbers and similarly clad, looked more suited to that garb than he did to his uniform.

‘Might I introduce to you, sir, Captain the Baron d’Imbert.’

‘Captain,’ said Hood, his response lacking the degree of courtesy that Pearce thought warranted, so little that he spoke to the C-in-C quite sharply.

‘This officer, sir, has undertaken a hazardous journey to get here and is engaged in a mission that, if discovered, will cost him his life. I think that however inconvenient you find it to be roused from your bed, it behoves you to recognise that.’