He drew it out and gave it to Persephone, who handed it pointedly to Kydd. It was of quite another quality, a spirited interchange between two ships-of-the-line, the leeward Frenchman nearly hidden in clouds of powder-smoke. The liveliness and colour of the sea, a deep Atlantic green, was faultless. “The Glorious First of June, of course,” the man added smoothly, seeing Kydd’s admiration.
“You were present at that, were you not, Mr Kydd?” Persephone put in, to the proprietor’s evident chagrin.
But Kydd had been a shipwrecked seaman at the time, held in a hulk at Portsmouth. “Er, not at that action,” he answered shortly.
“Neither was Papa,” she replied stoutly. “Yet I do believe you were in another battle besides the Nile.”
“Aye—that was Camperdown,” he said.
“Do you have any oil of Camperdown?” she enquired.
Kydd felt relief: the price of the Pocock was alarming.
“A Whitcombe, perhaps?” the man offered.
Camperdown had been a defining moment for Kydd. Soon after the nightmare of the mutiny at the Nore he had found escape in the blood-lust of the battle, the hardest-fought encounter the Royal Navy had met with during the war. It was there that he had won his battlefield commission to lieutenant.
His eyes focused again; his battle quarters had been on the gun deck and the fight had been an invisible and savage chaos outside, away from his sight and knowledge. However, from what he had heard about the engagement afterwards, it was not hard to piece together the point of view of the painting.
“Yes. In the middle this is Admiral Duncan in Venerable right enough, drubbing the Dutchy de Winter in Fryhide here. Y’ sees th’ signal, number five? It means t’ engage more closely.” It had been such a near-run battle, with men who had been in open mutiny so soon before. Raw memories were coming to life. “There’s Monarch— that’s Rear Admiral Onslow who gave me m’ step. His family is fr’m near Guildford . . .”
Sensing his charged mood Persephone asked softly, “Is this sea to your satisfaction?”
“It’s—it’s a fine sea,” Kydd said quietly. “Short ’n’ steep, as ye’d expect in the shallow water they has off the Texel.”
“Then this will be the one. I’ll take it.” The proprietor hurried off with it, leaving them alone.
Persephone turned to him with a warm smile. “So, now I have my painting. That was kind.” She moved to a bench against the opposite wall. “Do let’s rest here for a moment,” she said, sitting down gracefully. It seemed the most natural thing in the world to join her.
“Tell me, Mr Kydd, if you’ll forgive the impertinence, I cannot help but observe that you look the very figure of a mariner. Would you tell me, what was it that first called you to the sea?”
Kydd hesitated: any information she would have been able to find about his past would only have covered his service as an officer and he was free to say anything he wished. “I was a pressed man.”
She blinked in surprise. “Were you really?”
“Aye. It was only at Camperdown I was given th’ quarterdeck.” He looked steadily at her, but saw only a dawning understanding.
“Yet you took to the sea—as though you were born to it.”
“The sea is—a different world, way of living. An’—an’ it’s excitin’ in a way th’ land can never be.”
“Exciting?”
“Th’ feel of a deck under y’r feet when the bow meets th’ open sea—always y’r ship curtsies to Neptune an’ then she’s alive an’ never still. You feel, er, um . . .” he finished lamely.
“No! Do go on!”
But Kydd kept his silence: he wasn’t about to make a fool of himself before a lady of her quality, and in any event she would discover the full truth of his origins sooner or later.
“Then I must take it that the sea’s mystery is not for the female sex,” she said teasingly, then subsided. “Mr Kydd, do, please, forgive my curiosity, but there are so many experiences denied to a woman and my nature is not one to bear this easily.”
She looked away for a moment, then turned to ask, in level tones, “If you are a sailor and have a—a tendre for ships, what is your feeling when you fire off your great cannons into another, which contains sailors like you?”
Was she trying to provoke him? She must know it was his duty as a naval officer . . . Or was she trying to reach him in some way?
“Well, in course, we see this as th’ foe who brings an item o’ war forward as we’re obliged t’ remove, like a piece at chess, an’ we fire at it until it is removed.”
“And when you are looking down a musket-barrel at another human being?” She regarded him gravely.
The proprietor bustled up with the parcelled work. “I have it ready, your ladyship, if you—”
“I shall be down presently,” she said evenly.
They were left alone once more and she looked at him expectantly.
“I fire on th’ uniform, not th’ man,” Kydd responded.
“Your sword. You stand before a man you would pierce with it. Does it not cross your mind that—”
“I have killed a man—several. That I’m here today before ye is because I did.” What was this about?
She smiled softly. “I was right. You are different. Is it because you won your place in the world the hard way? Your naval officer of the usual sort would be telling me of duty and honour, but you see through the superficialities to the hard matter without adornment.”
Rising to her feet she straightened her skirt and, in a businesslike voice, went on, “You are an interesting man, Mr Kydd. Perhaps we may continue this conversation on another occasion. Do you ride?”
The man from London stood up briskly, strode to the centre of the room and looked about. “Smuggling! If there are any among you who still thinks to puff up smuggling as the stuff of romance, then, sir, I will take the most forceful issue with you. It’s a pernicious and abiding folderol that conceals the most frightful consequences to the nation.”
There was intelligence but also animal ferocity in the man’s demeanour, and Kydd recalled the respect in the admiral’s manner when he had introduced him as an emissary from Whitehall. Kydd stole a glance at Bazely, who wore an expression of studied blankness; the three other captains present seemed either puzzled or bored.
“I see that I shall require to be more direct with you sea officers,” the speaker continued. “You, sir!” he said, pointing to Parlby. “How do you conceive this war is being funded? Hey? Where is the means to be found to bestow plentiful vittles and rightful pay on your fine ship? It costs His Majesty some thousands merely to set it afloat. Pray where, sir, is this treasure to be found?”
Parlby started in surprise. “Why, er, the consolidated funds of the Treasury.”
“Which are entirely derived from?”
“Ah—taxes?”
“Yes?”
Brow furrowed, Parlby hesitated and was instantly rounded on.
“Taxes! And since Mr Pitt’s scheme of tax upon income was lately repealed what others are left to His Majesty’s government? Naught but a sad collection of imposts on hair-powder, windows, candles, playing-cards—and the dues of Customs and Excise.”
His glare challenged them all. “If this source withers, the very capability of this country to defend itself is in question. Gentlemen, I have to tell you in confidence that the situation now is of such a grave nature that the prime minister has asked that no pain be spared to control this accursed bleeding of treasure.
“And it is a grievous loss. We find that for every ounce of tobacco faithfully duty-paid, near a pound is smuggled, and three fourths or more of our tea escapes its fair due. When I confide our best understanding is that for every cask of contraband intercepted eight get through, what is this but a ruinous deprivation to the country that it cannot sustain?”
“Just so,” Lockwood rumbled, discomfited by the man’s intensity. “Now, gentlemen, we are asked to apply our best efforts to the suppression of
this vice. My orders will reflect this request, requiring you to pursue these rogues with the same vigour as you would a privateer or similar.” He flourished a handkerchief and trumpeted. “May I remind you that any smuggler taken in the act will suffer seizure of ship and cargo to the interest of the captor . . .”
Chasing smugglers was no way to achieve fame and distinction, but on the other hand, there was a real threat to the nation and the path to duty was clear. “Sir, are there any parts o’ the coast that we should especially watch?” Kydd enquired.
“Devonshire and Cornwall might be accounted as having the worst rascals in the kingdom, sir. They’ve been at the trade since the time of good Queen Bess, and I don’t believe they see reasons now why they should abandon their ways. Polperro and Fowey have been mentioned, and Penzance is far from guiltless, but you will find their kind everywhere you look. Each tiny cove and fishing village has its ‘free traders’ who, in the twinkling of an eye, can turn back into honest fishermen.
“But there has lately been a change, a disturbing and possibly fatal turn. Our best information has it that an organising intelligence is at work along the coast, such that where before we could try to contain and subvert the efforts of an individual village there appears now to be one evil genius who can control and direct the smuggling ventures of all. If we descend on one, there will be a speedy diversion elsewhere and we cannot watch every contemptible little hamlet. The situation approaches dire calamity.”
Penzance harbour was a shimmering expanse under summer sunshine while Teazer, anchored in the lazy calm, saw to her domestics. Kydd returned aboard, went below, divested himself of his coat, then gratefully accepted a cordial from Tysoe.
“Be damned!” Kydd threw at Renzi, who sat inoffensively with a book at the stern windows. “Not as who should say but th’ Revenue are a hard crew t’ fathom.”
He flopped into his chair and took out some notes. “D’ ye know, Nicholas, as there’s a rare parcel o’ coves needed t’ keep a Customs post? I give ye tide-waiters, boat-sitters, searchers of salt, ridin’ officers an’ quantities of land-waiters—the rest I forget.”
“How entertaining, brother. Did you by chance learn of how they spend their day?”
“Customs an’ Excise? As far as I c’n tell, they’re tasked to see that every merchant vessel from over th’ seas attends at a full-rigged Customs port, an’ there will find the ‘legal quay’ t’ land cargo to be assessed. This is where we find our tide-waiters and land-waiters at work t’ keep a weather eye open that all’s legal an’ above board.”
“Legal quay?”
“Aye. This is y’r definition. If freight is landed not at a legal quay then, in course, it’s contraband and we may seize the villain. But all this’n is your Revenue man earning his daily bread. Where we’ll be of use to ’em is in the Preventive Service—catching the rascals as they come in from seaward to try t’ land th’ contraband.”
“They have their own officers, I believe.”
“They do, Nicholas—an’ a sea service as well. If y’ remember, Seaflower was Revenue cutter built—monstrous sail area, mighty bowsprit an’ the rest. All built f’r speed to catch our smuggler. But they’ve boats as well, galley built as will take twenty oars, some of’em, can go against th’ wind or chase up a hidden creek. And along shore, there’s ridin’ officers out on good horses, goin’ up an’ down the coast atop the cliffs t’ spy out what’s to see, with more afoot t’ call on.”
“They will have their successes, then.”
Kydd looked at him askance. “They’re losin’ th’ battle, is my supposin’—a sizeable venture has too much hangin’ upon it. They’re desperate men. Now they’re bein’ organised. The Revenue is outnumbered—an’ just consider. Would you with a wife an’ children stand against an armed robber f’r a shillin’ a day?”
“Then what’s to be done?” Renzi said, putting down his book.
“We’re havin’ a council o’ war tomorrow. The Collector has an information as will see us at a landin’, an’ then we shall have an accountin’.”
“I’m pleased to hear it, brother,” Renzi said mildly, and picked up his book again.
“Er, Nicholas, there is another matter, an’ it’ll greatly oblige me if ye’d give me y’r opinion.”
“You shall have it. Please acquaint me with the substance of the arguments.”
“It’s—it’s not y’r regular-goin’ philosophy at all, y’ should know.”
“Clap on sail and stand on, my friend.”
Kydd hesitated, marshalling his thoughts. “What do ye conceive a woman’s meaning is when she calls you ‘an interestin’ man,’ Nicholas?”
“In that case I’d expect she’d mean that in some way you have piqued her curiosity, aroused her feminine sensibilities in matters of character, that sort of thing. Why? Has a wicked jade been making her advances?”
Ignoring his friend’s tone, Kydd persisted: “An’ if she needs t’ know if I ride?”
Renzi paused. “Do you mean—”
“An’ tells me to m’ face that I’m different fr’m others—and what are m’ true feelin’s in a battle?” It seemed so unreal now, the conversation.
“This is Miss Lockwood, is it not?” Renzi said quietly.
“Aye, Nicholas. In th’ print publisher’s.”
“Then it is altogether a different matter, dear fellow.” He sighed.
Kydd bristled. “How so?”
“Not to put too fine a point on it, you should understand at once that there can be no question of it proceeding beyond the civilities.”
“Why?”
Renzi hesitated. “I speak only as a friend—a true friend, you must allow. You must take it from me that the higher orders of polite society do view the—relations of a gentleman and lady in quite another way. It is the object of any union to serve, first, a social purpose, in the ordering of the relationships between great families, the arrangements of property and wealth that will ensue and so forth, and in this the wishes of the couple are seldom consulted.
“Any advances made by your good self will therefore be repelled with the utmost rigour, for a young lady must approach any consideration of nuptials with her reputation of the purest hue. A casual dalliance with—with another will most certainly be terminated with prejudice.”
Kydd’s expression turned to stone. “She will—”
“No, she will not. To be brutally frank, I am taking it that your intentions are perfectly respectable. Therefore I must needs put it to you that a marriage of romantic attachment is available only to the lower sort. This lady will be expected to conform to her parents’ wishes and it is my opinion that it were better you remain agreeable but distant in this instance.”
“She said I was interestin’ and, damnit, I’m man enough t’ spy when a woman’s—when she’s lookin’ at me.”
Renzi’s face was grave. “Thomas, dear friend, it has been known for a well-born lady to play—toy—with men, and while—”
“Y’r opinion is noted, Nicholas, an’ I thank ye for it. I shall take care, but I tell ye now, if my addresses are not disagreeable t’ a lady then I will press m’ suit if I feel so inclined.”
• • •
The Collector of Customs for Penzance closed the curtains of the Long Room. “I’m sorry to have to ask ye to come at such an hour this night. It’ll become clear why later . . .”
Kydd and Standish sat together in the front row; Kydd ignored a quizzical look from his first lieutenant and waited patiently. The rest of those in attendance were hard-featured and anonymous-looking individuals, who were not introduced.
Proceedings opened quickly: it seemed that mysterious information had been received of a run in two nights’ time. It promised to be the most daring for months and would involve a degree of deception, but there was apparently one great advantage the Revenue possessed.
“I’ll trouble ye for the lights,” the Collector boomed importantly. One by one the candles were snuffed, l
eaving the room in heavy darkness. There was the sound of grunts and scraping from the end of the hall, then quiet.
“Stay in your seats, if y’ please. I should explain to ye that we have now a gentleman who’s in with the free traders and has the griff concerning their plans, which he’s agreed to let us know for a consideration. Ye’ll understand, o’ course, that he’ll be requiring to keep his face from ye, so I’ll thank ’ee not to ask questions as will put a name to him. Now, anything y’ may wish to ask?”
From the body of the hall a voice called, “Where’s the run, then?” In the blackness nothing could be made out of the man beyond a vague shape.
“Praa Sands.” The voice was deep and chesty, with little attempt at disguise. “That’s where ye’ll see ’em, two nights’ time.”
“Praa Sands? Why, that’s—”
“I didn’t say that’s where th’ cargo’s run ashore, I said that’s where you’ll see ’em.” He paused. “See, they’ll make a showing an’ while youse come a-thunderin’ along, the tubs are bein’ landed in another place.”
“Where?”
“Stackhouse Cove. Are ye forgettin’ Acton Castle only a couple o’ hundred yards above? An’ at dead low springs there’s a strip o’ sand will take a boat easy enough.”
Kydd had no idea of the location or its significance but he would find out more later. “Er, do y’ know aught o’ the signals they’ll use?” he threw into the darkness, an odd sensation.
“Two lights together in Bessy’s window ’n’ the coast is clear o’ the Revenue. Leadin’ lights are two sets o’ spout lanterns in th’ field below the castle. Trouble, pistol flashes. Anythin’ else?”
“What vessels can we expect t’ see?”
“Ah, well, I can’t help ye with that.”
“Who is it organising, do you think?” Standish demanded loudly.
After a slight pause the man replied, “An’ that neither.”
It was quickly settled. As the smugglers expected the Revenue at Praa Sands, that was where they would be, while Teazer would lurk offshore at Stackhouse Cove.
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