Free An Ill Wind by David Donachie Page B

his duties prior to this one had taken him back and forth to Genoa. This allowed him to conjure up a substantial, if plain, meal and, of course, from that source the cheeses were excellent, while the wine was plentiful and of a better quality than the usual blackstrap served on a daily basis.
    There was no question but that Emily Barclay had to sit next to her husband: he required assistance to cut hismeat, the ‘Roast Beef of Old England’ as it was termed, even if it was part of an Italian cow. As accompaniment there was a brace of chickens from the coop on the deck and part of an elderly sheep that provided mutton to feed them, the rest, in truth nearly the whole carcase, being given as a birthday treat for the ship’s crew.
    At the table, sat as far away as possible from the onearmed man, was John Pearce, given his greatest desire was to put a knife into Ralph Barclay, not into the overcooked fowl on his pewter plate. He had challenged the man to a duel once; if the law did not incarcerate him for his perjury he would do so again. That thought, surfacing as often as it did, was inclined to tempt him to glare, obliging him to take refuge in his goblet of wine.
    Lutyens was present, as was Lieutenant Driffield, who had scarce spoke a word to Pearce since coming aboard: their sole conversation had been to confirm that the orders the marine had been given had been carried out, that followed by the impression that the fellow was avoiding him, which Pearce assumed was because he was still smarting about surrendering the cannon to the enemy.
    Also attending were two army officers, their wounds of the kind to allow them to be present, as was HMS
Hinslip
’s premier, Mr Ault, a very new naval lieutenant who had a serious problem with his blush: no words of any kind could be addressed to him on any subject without his cheeks going a deep red, and that was also the case if Emily Barclay, the only lady present,caught his eye, not hard given he was totally smitten and looked at her from under his long, soft eyelashes with the mistaken impression that no one noticed. Sidey, using to the full his right as host to dominate the conversation, was regaling them with his previous service, naming captain after captain who had thought him an excellent subordinate.
    ‘As for fame, sirs, I served with Captain Arthur Philips and a finer seaman there never was, this being prior to his voyage to New South Wales, of course.’
    ‘A hellish journey, according to the accounts of those who returned,’ said Lutyens. ‘You do not see, Captain Sidey, anything to gainsay the sending of convicts to such a far-off location.’
    ‘Got to send them somewhere, Mr Lutyens. After we lost the Americas it was that or hang ’em.’
    ‘Which you are not in favour of?’ asked one of the army officers, the question slightly garbled by his wounded jaw. ‘Or so I sense by your tone.’
    ‘Ain’t me, sir, but the juries. They will not convict a felon if they fear he or she faces the rope, so the judges are reluctant to place on the black cap, and as for nippers…’
    ‘Would you hang a child, captain,’ asked Pearce, ‘for the theft of a loaf of bread when they are starving?’
    ‘Starving, sir?’ Sidey demanded, forking a large gobbet of greasy mutton into his mouth. ‘They all claim they are starving, Mr Pearce, but how is we to know when and where it is the truth?’
    ‘Generally a look at the ribs provides a good indication,’ Pearce replied, pointing to those on the beef, visible where it had been carved. ‘If it has the appearance of those on your table, then it is proof enough.’
    Having been in prison, John Pearce had seen the kind of undeserving folk that ended up there, just as he had seen the kind of dregs the human race could well do without, the sort that would steal your eyes given half a chance, then come back for the holes. He and his father had been obliged to take turns at sleeping in their original cell, a space so crowded with