Free An Awkward Commission by David Donachie Page A

outfitters, and paid him in cash for his work and that of the limner who had gilded it, for he could not, in all conscience, fail to meet his obligations to the two working men. Back at Nerot’s he sat down and wrote two notes, one to Didcot, who could probably read, the other to be handed into the front desk, which simply told them he was vacating the room and that the bill, along with any others due, as well as Lady Annabel’s old, battered chest, should be sent to him via the Admiralty. These he left propped on the bureau.
    The last thing he did was retrieve from that old chest a small tin, which thanks to a tight seal had not suffered from water penetration when he had been forced to swim from the fight with the Valmy . Pearce opened it, smelling once more the earth it contained, taken from a Paris churchyard in which he had watched his father interred. One day he would go back to that place, and see if the request he had made that a headstone be provided had been met. Perhaps, in a time of peace he could have his father’s remains disinterred and taken back to Edinburgh for burial in his native city, and maybe even he would tell the truth about his death; that, a sick man who suspected he was dying, he had put himself in place of another marked for execution.
    Until then, this earth would remind him of that which had caused his father’s death, whatever name he chose to expire under. The curse of a French Revolution that had gone from high hopes to chaos would remind him of his aim to see those who had taken it in that direction brought down. There was nothing else he wanted from that chest. The outer garments were those in which he had come ashoreafter the battle, cleaned of course, but still shabby. Second-hand and ill-fitting when purchased, they also bore the faded marks of that engagement, including the blood of friends and foes, and immersion in the sea water.
    Ordering a sedan chair to take him to Whitehall and leaving behind him most of the things with which he had arrived, he departed the hotel, sword at his waist, heading for the Admiralty and the swearing of a series of oaths of which, like his father before him, he was deeply sceptical. With no time to waste, he tipped the doormen two shillings, which he soon learnt from the growling acceptance was not much more than the bare minimum they expected, just enough to get him into the building. That was followed by a long wait in a warm and crowded anteroom till the necessary official could be found to administer the pledges of loyalty to crown and religion. That completed and the requisite fees paid, he was given his orders, which were to proceed with all despatch to join the packet preparing to sail from Portsmouth.
    His next port of call was again at Downing Street. Directed to the office of the Pitt’s secretary, he was given a thick oilskin pouch with instructions, gravely imparted, that it was to be delivered into the hands of Lord Hood, and him alone. He was then, to his surprise, directed into a government carriage for the journey.

C HAPTER F IVE
    ‘Well, O’Hagan, I had you beat there for a moment, indeed I had written off my wagered guineas, but the way you rallied in the last three minutes was magnificent.’
    ‘Mr Taberly.’
    Michael replied to the officer, though not with any clarity, for his lips were swollen and his jaw aching from the numerous punches it had been forced to absorb, and even nodding his head occasioned a degree of pain. He winced as Charlie Taverner pressed an alcohol-soaked piece of tow onto his cheek, a cloth which came away carrying traces of red. Rufus Dommet stood by with a bucket of sea water, said by many to be efficacious in the treatment of flesh wounds, though the squeamish youngster showed a marked reluctance to wash the streaks of blood off his friend back, arms and chest.
    The opponent in the fight, a barrel of a fellow called Clipe, had been a very tough customer indeed, a really long-serving naval