The Admiral's Daughter

by Julian Stockwin

  Struck to the heart his hands went out to her. She reached for him with a tearing sob and clutched him fiercely, weeping into his chest.

  Appalled, but deeply touched, he stroked her hair, finding himself whispering meaningless phrases while the storm of emotion spent itself. Then she wrenched away from him and sought his eyes. “I love you, Mr Kydd—I love you so much it hurts me. There! It’s said!” Her fingers dug painfully into his arms until the moment passed. She kept his gaze, then added, with a shaky laugh, “And I don’t even know your name.”

  Kydd stepped back in dismay, caught up in his own chaos of feeling. He turned away, and saw Billy standing, staring.

  They made their way back in an uncomfortable silence; at the manor Squire Morthwen was waiting for them and, seeing his daughter’s condition, demanded an explanation. He listened stonily as she declared she had been upset at Billy’s absence, thinking he had taken a tumble over the rocks and been swept away. The squire looked sharply at Kydd.

  Rosalynd excused herself from dinner; Kydd endured until he could get away to the privacy of his bedroom, then flopped on to the bed, his thoughts running wild.

  By morning he knew what he had to do. No decent man could stand to see such sweet innocence betrayed; he had been blind and stupid not to realise that what had been to him a pleasant time in the company of an enchanting young woman might mean rather more to her. It had to end. “Nicholas, I do think I should go back an’ see how Teazer is at the dockyard.”

  Renzi’s face fell.

  “That is t’ say it will only be me, o’ course. You should stay an’ take aboard a full cargo o’ your ethnical facts afore returning.”

  “You are bored and vexed by idleness while I garner my harvest of particulars,” Renzi said suspiciously.

  “No! No, Nicholas, it’s just m’ duty, is all.”

  There was no prospect that Teazer would be away to sea in the near future. A survey had found started strakes and displaced frame timbers, nothing that could not be put right but the dry-docks were occupied by important units of the fleet and Teazer would have to take her turn.

  Kydd returned to number eighteen, sending Mrs Bargus and Becky into a fluster, but found it the worst of places to be. He sat alone in the drawing room, staring into the fire with nothing to divert him from his brooding thoughts.

  It was unfair: Rosalynd had invaded his consciousness and threatened his ordered life, but now her image seldom left him. The wide innocence of those dreamy blue eyes, her beauty, her direct, even intimate, way of talking—he was tormented by her. And he had to do something about it.

  Time was not the answer: after several days, her presence was as real as ever. Why could he not put her from his mind?

  It was not his way to shy from a difficulty: the only way to deal with the situation was to confront it. He would ride out to Polperro and dispose of it once and for all by the simple device of seeing her again; then he would surely realise she was a pretty slip of a country girl, whom he had found it agreeable to pass the time on a leisure visit, nothing more. That would finally lay to rest his unreal images of a girl who never was.

  His knock at the door was answered by the pleasant maid-servant. No, the squire was out; at this time every day he visited his tenants. Mr Renzi? He was chasing his ethnicals again.

  “I’ll wait f’r the squire,” Kydd said, and was ushered into the snug drawing room where he had first set eyes on Rosalynd. He pulled himself together and settled in a chair to await the squire’s return as in all politeness he was bound to do.

  The door squeaked and Rosalynd hurried in, incredulous. “Mr Kydd!” she cried, her face lighting with joy. “You came back! You came back for me!”

  She flew across the room and embraced him. “My dear man, my dearest sweet man . . .”

  Kydd looked into her brimming eyes and his arms went round her to hold her close, his hands caressing, cherishing. His eyes pricked and a lump formed in his throat, for now it was plain that he was facing the greatest trial of his life.

  • • •

  “So you’ve done well by y’r particulars in Polperro, I see,” said Kydd, eyeing Renzi’s careful piles of notes.

  “Indeed—and enough to keep me in thought for a long time to come. Such variance! I would never have conceived it that—”

  “Nicholas—um, might we talk for a spell?”

  “Talk? Oh, yes, fire away, old fellow.” He left his notes reluctantly and came to sit with Kydd.

  “Nicholas. There is—er, that is to say, I have a problem an’ I was hoping you’d give me a course t’ steer.”

  “Oh? Please tell.”

  “Well, it’s all shoal-water navigation f’r me, but y’ see, Nicholas, um . . .”

  “Dear fellow, do clap on more sail or we’ll not make port by dinner.”

  “Er, you see, Nicholas, I—I find my affections have, er, been engaged by Miss Rosalynd.”

  Renzi sat bolt upright as though his hearing was in question. “Do I understand you correctly? You have formed some species of taking after Squire Morthwen’s daughter? A—a lusting for her?”

  Kydd reddened. “I can’t keep her out of m’ mind, no matter what I do.”

  “Then you had better find a way, my good friend.”

  “This is my problem, Nicholas. Is it right t’ wed a lady while thinking of another?”

  “Are you telling me in all seriousness that you are allowing a casual obsession of the moment to interfere with your marriage to one of the most eligible scions of society? This is nothing but rank idiocy!”

  “And if it’s more than— a passing fancy, what then?”

  “Good God, man!” Renzi spluttered. “I do believe you’ve taken leave of your wits!” He quietened with an effort. “Be advised, my friend, that if you still hanker after the woman, in higher society these matters can be arranged discreetly enough. Your Prince of Wales enjoys the attentions of his paramour where he will and—”

  Kydd’s face tightened. “Damn it, Nicholas! You’re so high on morality an’ conduct, where’s your advice t’ me now?”

  Renzi’s expression hardened. “You’re forgetting yourself. A gentle man by definition is concerned with graces and appearances—politeness and urbanity above all. If it’s the case that you’re unable to control your coarser spirits then the least you can do is conduct yourself with discretion.”

  Kydd fought back anger. “An’ I’ll remind you we’re talkin’ of a fine lady here—what of her?”

  “She will accept it, in course—as one of breeding she will be first concerned with the respectability of her family and heirs. You will not find a difficulty there, I believe.”

  “You—for th’ sake of appearances you’d take a wife an’ lie with another?” Kydd choked. “Then I pity my poor sister.”

  Renzi went white. “Let me remind you, sir,” he said dangerously, “it is you who are discontented with your lot. I do strongly advise you consider your position carefully and put an end to this ridiculous posturing.”

  “Thomas, my dear, so good to see you again. How are you?” Cecilia poured the tea and regarded her brother with undisguised affection. “The talk in town is all about your brave deeds in the storm. You really should take more care—it’s so very dangerous in a gale.”

  “Yes, sis,” Kydd said, accepting his cup.

  “And how’s Nicholas? You’ve both been gone for so long on your expeditions.”

  “He’s well, Cec, but why I’m here is, er, I need y’r advice.”

  “Oh, don’t worry about it! A wedding is really the concern of the womenfolk. They’ll see everything is right on the day.”

  “No! It’s—it’s not that. Y’ see, um, something’s happened.”

  Cecilia saw his set face and sat up. “Then you’d better tell me about it, Thomas,” she said quietly.

  In the bare telling it sounded so thin and illogical. When he had finished Cecilia said nothing, staring at him, troubled.

  “Now, let me be
clear about this, Thomas. In just a week or so you have discovered deep feelings for this Rosalynd that cannot be denied.”

  “Aye,” Kydd said miserably. “It happened so quick, Cec, an’ it’s knocked m’ feelings askew.”

  “This is very serious, Thomas.”

  “I know,” he whispered. “Can I ask it, sis—is it right to marry one while thinkin’ on another?”

  Cecilia looked at him sharply, then melted, leaning to clasp his hands in hers. “You dear sweet boy, you know the answer to that.”

  She drew out her handkerchief and wiped a tear, then continued in a practical tone: “So, now there are decisions to be made. And these are, it seems to me, one of three: cast Rosalynd out of your mind and marry Persephone; continue with the wedding to Persephone and make other arrangements for Rosalynd; and the last is to cast out Persephone and be wed to Rosalynd.”

  Kydd said nothing, gazing at her as if mesmerised.

  “You might consider delaying in the hope that your feelings change?”

  “I—I feel it worse every day.”

  “I see. Then we must find a resolution, and for this, I believe, I must ask you some hard questions.”

  Kydd nodded and braced himself.

  “Do you love Miss Lockwood?”

  “She’s the most handsome and intelligent woman I’ve ever met, an’ that’s the truth.”

  “Do you love her?”

  Wretchedly, Kydd tried to escape Cecilia’s accusing eyes. “Look, Cec, it’s not that, it’s—it’s that when I see Rosalynd she’s such a tender innocent an’ I want to love her an’ protect her, but Persephone, she—she doesn’t need me t’ protect her. She’s strong an’ knows things and . . .” The lump in his throat made it difficult to carry on. “And Rosalynd is carefree an’ loves simple things—I don’t feel I have t’ be polite an’ play a part all th’ time.” Tears pricked. “She talks t’ me and I c’n feel her words inside me . . .” Sobs choked him.

  “Thomas! Listen to me! There’s a terrible flood coming and you must save one and lose the other. Only one—who is it to be?”

  Kydd shook his head in anguish.

  “You must answer!” she demanded forcefully. “Soon one will vanish from your life for ever—for ever! Which one will you miss the most? ”

  The tears were blinding but Cecilia spared him nothing.

  “Which one?”

  “Rosalynd!” he shouted hoarsely. “It’s Rosalynd I can’t bear to leave.” He stood in agony, tears coursing down his cheeks. “I can’t help it! God help me, Cecilia, I can’t help it.”

  She held him while the storm passed, saying nothing but rocking him slowly.

  When it was over he stood away from her, his fists bunching helplessly as he fought to regain his composure. “I—I’m sorry, Cec,” he gulped. “We—we men are a lubberly crew when it comes t’ this sort o’ thing.”

  “Dear sweet brother, please don’t say you’re sorry. This is all because you’re such a good man—you see?” She sighed and looked at him lovingly. “You’ve answered your own question and, to be frank, it’s not altogether a surprise to me.”

  Kydd swallowed.

  “Yes—do you mind if I say something very cruel to you, Thomas?”

  “If y’ must, Cec.”

  “I do believe that you’ve been infatuated not with Persephone Lockwood but with what she is, the world she comes from, all that pomp and finery. And the pity of it is that, of a certainty, she loves you.”

  There was nothing he could find to say.

  She went on gently: “This is why you must tell her yourself, Thomas—she’s a fine woman and at the least deserves this.”

  “I will,” he agreed.

  “So, now we must consider the future.” She got up and began to pace up and down the room. “I gather you have not spoken to her father yet?”

  “No,” he said huskily.

  “Have you an understanding with Persephone?”

  “I was t’ ask for her hand when she returned from Bath.”

  “Very well. Then there is no question of a breach of engagement but the world will believe there is an understanding—your attachment was much talked about.”

  She stopped. “Do you intend to marry your Rosalynd?”

  Kydd gave a shy smile. “If she will have me, Cec.” The idea broke on him like thunder and he felt nothing but a soaring exhilaration.

  His elation seemed to vex Cecilia. “I don’t believe you can conceive what an upset this will cause, Thomas,” she said, with the utmost seriousness. “It will be gossip in the salons for ages to come. Can you not see? The daughter of a family of the first quality and known at court, an acknowledged beauty, and turned down by a penniless commander for a simple country girl?”

  Kydd still stood in an attitude of the greatest happiness, while Cecilia continued grimly, “Her family will be mortified—they will seek to destroy you in society. They will have you damned at every polite gathering in the land. No one will dare invite you for fear of offending—you’ll be an outcast just as you’re about to enter at the highest level. And your sea career—you cause mortal offence to your admiral and he will take his revenge, I’d believe.”

  It stopped Kydd, but only for a moment. “He can’t turn me out of my ship, sis. I’ve now got someone t’ care about, and I’m going to do m’ copper-bottomed best t’ see she’s proud o’ me—and be damned to any who’ll stand athwart m’ hawse. An’ in the meanwhile, Cec, I’ll be with my Rosalynd, an’ raising our family.”

  • • •

  The hoofbeats of his horse thundered in Kydd’s ears as he tried to grapple with the enormity of what he had just done.

  Immediately on her return from Bath he had requested an interview alone with Persephone. Shocked by the reversal of what she had expected, she had nevertheless remained calm and controlled, standing nobly to hear what Kydd had to say.

  He had spoken woodenly, forcing himself to look at her while he delivered his words, and then had been nearly undone by her calm reply: as she had before answered his own challenge truthfully, she now simply wished to know if another had secured his affections.

  His face was streaked with tears at the memory of her parting words, to the effect that she understood and was grateful for his frankness, for she could never have given her heart to one who could not promise his own.

  He had fled.

  It was now a completed act. With dread and joy he was riding across the hills to Polperro—to Rosalynd. Out of one world and into another. He had propped a note to Renzi on the mantelpiece and had left the storm to break without him.

  A straight stretch of road opened ahead and instinctively Kydd whipped his mount into a frenzied gallop, needing the wild motion to work on his emotions. Whatever else in the world happened, he was now riding to lay his heart before Rosalynd Morthwen and seek her hand in marriage.

  In a flood of feeling he brought the exhausted horse to a crashing stop before the manor, and slid to the ground. At the old windows faces began to appear but Kydd would not have been stopped by the devil himself and strode forward.

  “Mr Kydd?” The squire himself answered the door and eyed Kydd’s dusty, wild appearance apprehensively. A manservant and stable-hand hovered protectively behind him.

  Kydd made a short bow. “Sir, my business is brief. I beg th’ favour of some small time with y’r daughter—alone.”

  As the import of his request penetrated, a disbelieving smile appeared. Then, by degrees, it spread until the squire’s face grew red with heartfelt pleasure. “By all means, m’ boy!” he chortled. “Do wait a moment, if y’ please.”

  Inside, excited shouts were urgently shushed and there were sounds of running feet. Then the squire appeared again at the door. “Do come in, sir.”

  Kydd entered and stopped; she was standing rigid in the centre of the little drawing room, her eyes never leaving his.

  “Miss Rosalynd,” he said, in a voice charged with emotion, “I come to speak with y’r fat
her on a matter of the highest importance. Y’ see, I’ve come to see that, um m’ feelings for you are, er . . .” He was reddening and the words he had prepared fled at the reality of the impossibly lovely creature before him. There was nothing for it. He flung himself on to one knee and choked out, “Rosalynd—will ye wed me?”

  “It’s an ox-roast! I’ll stand for nothing less!” The squire’s roar cut across the excited babble. With Rosalynd sitting shyly beside him, his hand securely over hers, Kydd’s heart was full to bursting. Tears only a whisker away he endured the friendly jests of her brothers and dared to steal another look at her. It was beyond mortal belief that this sweet creature and he would go forward as one for the rest of their lives.

  Rosalynd suggested they take a walk together. However, it seemed that the proprieties were still to be observed and Titus was called to accompany them. In the event, the embarrassed lad went on ahead until he was all but out of sight. They walked slowly together in silence, Kydd anxious that the magic spell might be broken and Rosalynd by his side, with a soft, dreaming look.

  “I—I believe we must make some plans,” he said finally, in a low voice.

  “Yes, my—my dearest,” she whispered. “If it does not inconvenience you, I would wish to be married as soon we may. Banns will be called for three Sundays at the parish church and it—it would make me very happy if we could be wed on the fourth.”

  She bestowed on him a look of such love that it quite unmanned him. He crushed her to him. “We shall,” he croaked.

  In a daze of happiness he walked on, the world in a blur, reality at his side. Their steps had taken them down to the village—to Polperro, which to Kydd now was more dear than anywhere on earth.

  “Why, Miss Rosalynd!” Mrs Puckey’s dour face was now wreathed in smiles. “I never did! We’m all been wonderin’ who ye’d end with!” She looked with keen interest at Kydd.