Free An Awkward Commission by David Donachie

unknown; he had no real idea how close what was proposed would take him to those he was committed to get free, nor how the man in charge would respond. Hood could tell him to go to the devil in very much the same way as had Admiral Graves. What would he do then? And what about the request that he be found employment, a course fraught with peril? He might be a lieutenant – or would be once he had sworn the requisite oaths and paid his fee – but he had little knowledge of how to undertake the duties that went with the rank. The notion that he might be reluctantly forced to follow that course brought home to him another fact; as he had pointed out to Davidson, he lacked the means to equip himself with the clothing and equipment necessary to even look the part, and look the part he must if he was to have the slightest chance of achieving his aim.
    The faces of his friends came into his mind, as well as the promise he had made them. Pitt had met his obligation, surely he, John Pearce, could do no less and if he was required to pretend to be that which he was not, so be it. He must prepare for every eventuality, but how was he to fund such a thing? The face that replaced those of Michael, Charlie and Rufus was that of the clerk who had handed him Pitt’s letter. The man now thought him superbly well connected, and probably copper-bottomed as far as capital was concerned, with a huge tranche of prize money coming his way. He knew he must play to that, so moving to the door, he rang the levered bell that would summon Didcot, and when the man came, taking care to tip him with a shilling, Pearce had him send out to a series of naval outfitters, requesting that they attend upon him at the hotel, where he would kit himself out for his journey.
    Within twenty-four hours he had ordered his two dozen linen shirts, a working hat and coat to go with the dress onehe already owned, and he had chosen a brass edged sea-chest to contain it all with the initials Lt. J. P. to be burnt into it by the local blacksmith, then gilded by a limner. There were three pairs of shoes, one dress with silver-plated buckles, boots for going ashore and an everyday pair of pumps that would not damage the deck planking, breeches and a raft of silk stockings, small clothes, handkerchiefs, a boatcloak, a comforter for his neck, oilskins and a foul weather hat, a medicine box, and a vanity one with combs, a mirror and, last but not least, a proper dress sword, all fitted under the personal supervision of one of the senior outfitting partners, who had no doubt taken care to check with the hotel that this customer could be relied upon to meet his obligations.
    ‘Your goods to be delivered here, sir?’
    ‘No, no. Send them and the chest straight down to Portsmouth, with instructions that they are to be taken to the Pig & Whistle Tavern owned by a Mrs Peg Bamber, near Portsmouth Point.’
    The quizzical expression on the man’s face spoke volumes, and Pearce had to steel himself to sound languid as he sought to justify such a destination, which was, quite decidedly, not one of the port’s best. The Point at Portsmouth, crowded with drinking dens and hard by the beach on which were drawn up the local boats, was notorious throughout the land for drunken behaviour and licentiousness, but he did not know the name of another establishment and he could hardly ask.
    ‘I am hoist upon a promise I made some time ago, sir, to a warm-hearted naval widow, never to reside anywhere else should I be in Portsmouth. If you knew the lady, you would also know why it would be an unwise undertaking to break.’
    ‘I daresay the drovers will know where it is. And the account, sir?’
    Pearce could not look the fellow in the eye as he replied.‘Just send that here. I shall not be leaving London for several weeks.’
    Having seen the chest taken away, he made a point of visiting the blacksmith who had burnt-in his lettering, even going to the trouble of delivering it back to the