He turned abruptly, but paused at the foot of the companion-way. “Mr Dowse,” he called.
“Aye, sir?” The master was tall, and had to stoop as he swung out of his cabin.
“Might I see ye f’r a moment?” They passed into the great cabin and Kydd removed a bundle of papers from his other easy chair, then offered it. “Have ye had service in this part o’ the world, Mr Dowse?”
“I have that, sir. Not as you’d say recent, ye’d understand, but I know most o’ the coastline hereabouts an’ west t’ the Longships. Can be tricky navigation, an’ needs a lot o’ respect.”
“That’s as may be. Our orders will keep us here f’r the future, an’ I mean t’ know this coast well, Mr Dowse. Do ye find the best charts an’ rutters, then let me know when ye’re satisfied an’ we’ll go over ’em together.”
“I’ve sent out f’r the new Nories an’ I has Hamilton Moore ready set by. F’r a Channel pilot he can’t be beat.”
More discussion followed; Dowse was new to Kydd, but was of an age and had experience. His wisdom would be vital in a small ship like Teazer. “Thank ye, we’ll talk again before we sail.”
With a sigh, Kydd turned to his paperwork. Fielding, the purser, had carefully prepared his accounts for signature. Tysoe entered silently with coffee, his urbane manner in keeping with his station as the captain’s servant and valet: Kydd congratulated himself yet again on having sent Stirk ashore to find his servant of Teazer ’s last commission, whom he had necessarily had to let go when he had lost his ship with the brief peace of the Treaty of Amiens. Tysoe had raised no objections to quitting his situation with a local merchant and had slipped back easily into his old post.
Kydd completed a small number of papers but found he was restless. All over the ship men were working steadily on the ageold tasks of completing for sea and all he could find to do was address his interminable load of reports. There was one matter, however, far more agreeable to attend to.
He got up quickly, passed through the wardroom and emerged on to the broad mess-deck. There were surprised looks from the seamen but his hat was firmly under his arm, signifying an unofficial visit, and he crossed quickly to the tiny cabin adjoining the surgeon’s that extended into a corner of the mess space.
It was new, the thin panels still with the fragrance of pine and with a green curtain for a door. It had cost him much debate with the dockyard but Teazer now had a cabin for her captain’s clerk, an unheard-of luxury for one so humble. Kydd tapped politely. After some movement the curtain was drawn aside and a dishevelled head appeared.
“Nicholas, is this at all to y’r liking or . . .” Renzi pulled back inside and Kydd could see into the tiny compartment. The forward bulkhead was lined with books from top to bottom as was the opposite side, with each row laced securely; in the middle a very small desk stood complete with a gimballed lamp, and a cot was being triced up out of the way. It was definitely a one-person abode but if the sea-chest could be made to suffer duty as a chair, and movements were considered and deliberate, there were possibilities.
Renzi gave a rueful smile, grateful that his years of sea service had prepared him for the motion here. “Should we meet with a seaway of spirit, it may require our stout boatswain to exercise his skills in the lashing of myself to my chair, but here I have my sanctum, thank you.”
The contrast with Kydd’s own appointments could not have been greater, but this was all that Renzi had asked for.
“Er, should ye be squared away b’ evening, m’ friend, might we sup together?”
“Nicholas, dear friend, it does m’ heart good t’ see ye aboard.” The cabin was bathed in the cosy glow of twin candles on the table.
“ Your chair, Nicholas,” Kydd said pointedly, pulling forward one of an identical pair of easy chairs.
Renzi gave a half-smile but said nothing.
“Who would’ve thought it?” Kydd went on. “As ye’d remember, come aft through th’ hawse an’ all.”
Renzi murmured something and reclined, watching Kydd steadily.
Tysoe filled the glasses and left noiselessly. “And now we’re shipmates again,” Kydd concluded lamely.
Renzi unbent a little. “This is true and I’m—gratified that it should be so, you must believe, brother.”
Kydd smiled broadly and handed him a glass. “Then I give ye joy of our friendship, Nicholas!” He laughed. “If it’s t’ be half o’ what it was when we were afore the mast, then . . .”
“Yes, dear fellow. Here’s a toast to those days and to that which lies ahead,” Renzi answered softly.
But Kydd realised in his heart that there was no going back. In the years since they had been foremast hands together too much had happened: his elevation to the majesty of command, Renzi’s near-mortal fever and subsequent striving for significance in life— and all that had passed which had seen them both pitched into bloody combat and fear of their lives. They were both very different men. “Aye, the old days.”
“More wine?” Renzi said politely. “I can only applaud your taste in whites. This Portuguee is the gayest vinho verde this age.”
“Yes—that villain in town can’t stand against Tysoe,” Kydd said shortly. “Nicholas, may I know if ye’ve set course ready for y’r studies?”
“There may be no studies,” Renzi said, his face taut.
Kydd’s stomach tightened. “No studies?” Did Renzi see the great gulf in their situations as a sick reversal of the relationship that had gone before?
“We gull ourselves, brother,” Renzi said evenly, “if we believe that the world will abide by our little conceit.” He shifted in his chair to face Kydd squarely. “Consider: you are captain and therefore lord over all, and may direct every soul in this ship as you desire. But that is not the same as the unthinking obeisance of your redcoat or the sullen obedience of the serf in the field. Our Jack Tar famously has an independence of thought.”
He smiled thinly. “You might set me at an eminence and sup with me. I may pace the quarterdeck in your company and be seen to step ashore with you. This is all within your gift—you are the captain. Yet what will our honest mariner perceive of it? And your new lieutenant—”
“T’ arrive t’morrow.”
“—what construction will he place on our easy confidences, our privy conversations? Am I to be in the character of the captain’s spy?”
Renzi was right, of course. The practicality of such a relationship was now in serious question: any interpretation might be placed on their conduct, from the bawdy to the felonious. Kydd’s position was fast becoming untenable and it would seem he risked his ship for the sake of an innocent friendship.
“Nicholas.” To have the prospect of resolution to the loneliness of command snatched away was too much. “Answer me true, m’ friend. Are ye still resolved on y’r achievin’ in the academic line? For the sake o’ Cecilia?” he added carefully.
“Were it possible.”
“Then it shall be so, an’ I’m settled on it,” Kydd said firmly. “It is th’ world’s perceivin’ only,” he added, “an’ the world must know how it is.”
He paused, framing his words with care. “The truth is always th’ safest. In society you shall be introduced as a learned gentleman, guest o’ the captain, who is undertaking interestin’ voyages f’r the sake of his studies, an’ who f’r the sake of appearances in the navy takes on himself th’ character of clerk—secretary—to th’ captain.”
This should prove the easiest task: it would be assumed in the time-honoured way that Renzi would not, of course, be expected to sully his hands with the actual clerking, which would be handled by a lowly writer.
“In the navy, we take another tack, which is just as truthful. Here we have th’ captain takin’ pity on an old sea-friend, recoverin’ from a mortal fever and takin’ the sea cure, who spends his hours wi’ books an’ worthy writin’.” He paused for effect. “I spoke with th’ admiral,” he continued innocently, “who told me directly that he sees n
o objection to Mr Renzi shippin’ as clerk in Teazer. ”
“You discussed my health?” Renzi said acidly.
“Not in s’many details,” Kydd replied, and hurriedly made much of Tysoe’s reappearance signalling dinner. “Rattlin’ fine kidneys,” he offered, but Renzi ate in silence. Even a well-basted trout failed to elicit more than grunts and Kydd was troubled again. Was Renzi finding it impossible to accept their new relationship, or was he appalled by the difference in their living accommodation?
Kydd tried to brighten. “Why, here we lie at anchor in Devonshire, th’ foremost in the kingdom in the article of lamb. Our noble cook fails in his duty, th’ rogue, if he cannot conjure some such meat.”
The cutlets were indeed moist and succulent and at last Renzi spoke. “I can conceive of above a dozen matters that may yet prove insuperable rocks and shoals to our objectives.”
Kydd waited impatiently for the cloth to be drawn, allowing the appearance of a salver of marzipan fruits. “Crafted y’r Chretien pear an’ Monaco fig damn well, don’t y’ think!”
“Just so,” Renzi said, not to be distracted. “You will want to be apprised of these preclusions, I believe.”
“If y’ please, Nicholas.”
“The first is yourself, of course.”
Kydd held silent: there was no point in impatient prodding, for Renzi would logically tease out a problem until a solution emerged—or proved there was none.
“Very well. Some matters are readily evident, the chief of which is that this scheme requires I be placed in a condition of subjection to you, which the rule and custom of the sea demands shall be absolute. You shall be the highest, I . . . shall be the lowliest.”
“Nicholas! No! Not at all! I—I would not . . .” Kydd trailed off as the truth of his friend’s words sank in.
“Exactly.” Renzi steepled his fingers. “I journey on your fine bark as a member of her crew—if this were not so there would be no place for me. Therefore we must say that the Articles of War bear on me as scrupulously as upon the meanest of your ordinary seamen and with all the same force of law.”
Kydd made to interrupt but Renzi went on remorselessly: “As captain you cannot make exception. It therefore necessarily demands that I should be obliged to make my obedience to you in all things.” There was a finality in his tone.
“Does this mean—”
“It does. But, my dear fellow, it is the most logical and consequently most amenable to sweet reason of all our difficulties.” A smile stole across his features. “To leave issues unsaid, to be tacit and therefore at the mercy of a misapprehension is pusillanimous, thus I shall now be explicit.
“I do not see fit to vary my behaviour by one whit in this vessel. I see no reason why I should be obliged to. Do you?”
At a loss for words, Kydd merely mumbled something.
“I’m glad you agree, brother. Therefore from this time forth I shall render to the captain of HMS Teazer every mark of respect to his position in quite the same way as I allowed the captain of Tenacious, Seaflower, Artemis . . . ”
“Aye, Nicholas,” said Kydd, meekly.
“Splendid! In the same vein I shall, of course, discharge the duty of captain’s clerk in the fullest sense—any less would be an abrogation of the moral obligation that allows me victualling and passage in Teazer, as you must surely understand.”
“Y’r scruples do ye honour, m’ friend—but this at least can be remedied. Cap’n’s attendance take precedence: ye shall have a sidesman o’ sorts, a writer, fr’m out of our company.” Even before he had finished the sentence he knew who. Luke Calloway, who had learnt his letters from Kydd himself in the Caribbean would be completely trustworthy and on occasion would not object too strenuously to exchanging the holy-stone for the quill.
“But then we must attend to more stern questions.” These had to wait as the table was cleared and the brandy left, and the captain and his visitor had resumed their easy chairs.
“Stern questions?”
“Some might say of the first martial importance. You wish to be assured of the conduct of every member of your company in the event of a rencontre with the enemy, including that of myself. This is your right to ask, and I will answer similarly as before. As a member of Teazer ’s crew I have my duties in time of battle as has everyone aboard.”
“As a clerk? This is—”
“As a clerk, my quarters are strictly specified, and these are to attend upon my captain on the quarterdeck for the period of the engagement. I shall be there—this you may believe,” he said softly.
Kydd looked away, overcome.
“And if Teazer faces an assault upon her decks from without, I shall not feel constrained in defending myself and my ship. This also you may believe.” He paused. “But in any affair that calls for noble leadership, the drawn sword at the head of a band of warriors—there you will see that, by our own devising, we are denied. I am a clerk, not even a petty officer, and no man can thus be made to follow me. As bidden, I might carry a pike or haul on a rope but otherwise . . .”
Renzi was laying down terms for his continued existence in Teazer, or more properly defining limitations that tidied things logically for his fine mind. Kydd hoped fervently that there would be no situation in the future that tested the logic too far.
He found the brandy and refreshed their glasses. “Ye spoke of—preclusions, m’ friend. Here is one!” Renzi regarded Kydd steadily. “How can it be right f’r a man o’ letters, sensible of th’ finer points, t’ be battened below like a . . . like a common fore-mast jack?”
It was said.
To Kydd’s relief Renzi eased his expression. “Do you not remember my time of exile in the company of Neptune’s gentlemen? It was my comfort then to remark it, that the conditions were to be borne as a necessary consequence of such a sentence.
“I now take notice that there is a similarity: in like manner to your monk or hermit scratching away in his cell in his sublime pursuit of truth and beauty, there are conditions contingent on the situation that may have to be endured as price for the final object. Should I not have the felicity of voyaging in Teazer then I fear my purse would not withstand an alternative course, and therefore I humbly accept what is so agreeably at hand.
“Fear not, dear fellow, I have years at sea that will inure me and, besides, this time I have a sanctum sancti where at any time I may take refuge to allow my thoughts to run unchecked—I need not point out to you that the keeping of sea watches now, mercifully, will be a memory for me.”
“That’s well said, Nicholas—but you, er, will need t’ talk out y’r ideas, try out some words or so . . .”
“Indeed I will. We shall promenade the decks in deep discussion—as the disposition of the ship allows, of course—and should you be at leisure of an evening it would gratify me beyond words to dispute with you on the eternal verities. Yet . . .” Kydd’s soaring hopes hung suspended “. . . we both have calls upon our time. It were more apt to the situation should we both inhabit our different worlds for the normal rush of events and perhaps rely otherwise on the well-tried rules of politeness—which places so much value on invitation, rather than crass assumptions as to the liberty of the individual to receive.”
Kydd smiled inwardly. This was no more than Renzi securing to himself the ability to disappear into his “sanctum” when he desired to. “By all means, Nicholas. Er, might I know y’r station f’r messin’ . . . ?”
It was a delicate point. The need for a captain to keep his cabin and table clear for ship’s business was unspoken, and therefore a standing arrangement for dining à deux was not in question. This had now been dealt with, but where Renzi took his victuals had considerable social significance. A lowly clerk in a brig-sloop could usually expect the open mess-decks; it was only in weightier vessels that the captain’s clerk would rank as a cockpit officer and berth in the gunroom.
“I have been led to believe that steerage will be open to me.” This was the open area below
bounded on both sides by cabins and aft by the captain’s quarters. It would be where the first lieutenant would hold court over the lesser officers—the master, surgeon and purser. The gunner, boatswain and carpenter had their own cabins forward.
“Why, this does seem a fine thing we’ve achieved this night,” Kydd enthused, raising his glass. “Here’s t’ our success!”
Renzi gave an odd smile. “As it will rise or fall by the caprice of your own ship’s company,” he murmured.
“Aye. We’ll find a way, Nicholas, never fear. So, let’s drink.”
An apologetic knock on the door sounded clear. “Come!” Kydd called.
It was the mate-of-the-watch. “Sir, we have Lieutenant Standish here come t’ join.” Behind him a figure loomed. Both streamed water; rain must have swept in unnoticed on the anchorage as they dined.
“L’tenant Standish? I hadn’t thought ye’d join afore—”
“Sir. M’ apologies and duty but I’ve been afire to be aboard since I heard I’m to be appointed.” His figure was large but indistinct in the darker steerage. “Ah, I’m sorry, sir, I didn’t know you’d got company.”
“Oh—that’s no matter, Mr Standish. I’d like ye t’ meet Mr Renzi. He’s a learned gentleman who’s takin’ berth with us th’ better to further his ethnical studies. In th’ character of captain’s clerk, as it were.”
Standish looked mystified from one to the other, but Renzi got quickly to his feet. He inclined his head to the newcomer, then turned to Kydd and said civilly, “I do thank you for your politeness and entertainment, sir, but must now return below. Good night.”
“Y’ see, sir?” Duckitt held out a horny palm. In it was a tiny pyramid of harsh dark grey particles, the early-morning light picking out in curious detail the little grains, smaller than any pepper-corn. “This is y’ new cylinder powder—throws a ball jus’ the same range wi’ a third less charge,” he said.
“Or a third further if y’ charge is th’ same,” Kydd retorted, but his curiosity was piqued. It was seldom he came across the naked powder: guns were served with it sewn safely inside cartridges of serge or flannel to be rammed home out of sight, and priming powder had a different grain size.
The Admiral's Daughter Page 4
