An Awkward Commission by David Donachie Read Free Book Online Page A

heroic sailor?
    Directions supplied, it was a slow walk through the streets again, once more contemplating failure, ignoring hucksters, lottery ticket vendors and entertainers, plus the dozens of beggars, some children, many limbless, that either accosted or called to him for succour, this while the sedan chairs of those who were wealthy enough to pay jogged by at speed, weaving through the tradesmen’s carts and the coaches of the truly wealthy, which set up a cacophony of noise, as iron-rimmed wheels rattled over the uneven cobblestones. Recalling Peg Bamber’s words about London being ‘a hateful place’, at this moment he had an inclination to agree.
    Chokingly full of smoke in winter, when some of these beggars would freeze to death, it could be like a cauldron in summer, when the smell of rotting rubbish, human waste and decomposing flesh, both human and animal, attacked the senses. But all cities were the same; if anything, Paris was worse, with a nosegay an obligatory object when the temperature rose, even indoors. That peripatetic life, when growing up, had given Pearce a love of fresh air and open spaces, even of clean sea-breezes. Indeed, there had been moments aboard ship, when the weather was clement and the work satisfying, that he had enjoyed the experience, moments when he could forget how it was he had got there.
    To enter ‘ice’s hotel was to put that behind him. Doubledoors snuffed out the noise, while the smell of scented candles and the beeswax polish of floor and furniture took away the exterior stench. There were well-upholstered settles in the lobby, and deep armchairs, even a fire in the grate for those who had no notion that that it was a warm day outside. It was not all pleasant, the hotel clerk who received guests was even more condescending than the footman who had opened the door to him at Lady Annabel’s. He wrinkled his nose and pointedly cast an eye at Pearce’s boots, which had upon them the filth, in the form of mud, manure and the odd bit of straw, that came from walking through the streets of the capital. Name given, a letter was produced, which had on it the easily recognised seal of the Admiralty.
    ‘Will “sir” be requiring a room?’
    If I do, thought Pearce, aware of how the travel to Bath and back to London had nearly cleaned him out, it will be in a debtor’s prison, but such a depressing thought was quickly followed by the next; that he needed to do something to get help and the only two sources he could think of who could provide that were close by. Letters from Nerot’s would imply a standing he, in truth, did not possess, which could only aid his cause. As for the cost, John Pearce was subject to more than one devil that he had inherited from his father, for Adam Pearce had never let a lack of funds interfere with the need to lay his own head, and that of his son, on a decent pillow, sure that the next day, a good and rousing speech, and the hat passed round, would provide the money to meet the bill.
    ‘I shall.’
    The clerk, with a haughty expression, looked at the small valise with which this ‘guest’ had arrived, and sniffed again, though this time disdainfully, an expression repeated when Pearce informed him that he had some luggage already stored here, for unbeknown to him the clerk recalled thearrival of an extremely old and battered trunk, which the storekeeper had made a point of telling him was almost empty. This was clearly no well-heeled prospect, a point of which Pearce was well aware. Normally modest, he knew he had to say something to avoid being politely shown the door.
    ‘You will have no doubt heard, sir, of the recent taking of the French ship of the line, the Valmy ?’
    ‘Who has not, sir, a most inspiring event,’ opined the clerk, with a tone that almost implied his own involvement. ‘The nation has once again shown the glorious abilities of our Wooden Walls.’ Try as he might, having finished speaking, he could not hide a degree of