The Admiral's Daughter

by Julian Stockwin

  “This is my intended, Mrs Puckey. He’s Mr Kydd,” she said proudly. News must have spread in the village at breakneck speed.

  Others arrived to share in the moment. “Bejabers, Mr Kydd, but ye be one of us now, then.”

  “Mr Bunt, please! He only asked me this morning!” laughed Rosalynd. “And I did so accept him,” she said softly, with a sideways glance at Kydd.

  They moved on, noting the makings of a huge driftwood fire even now enthusiastically under way on the foreshore of the harbour before the Three Pilchards, and continued through the streets.

  A small shop caught Kydd’s attention: it offered the services of a shade-maker. “My dearest, if you would indulge me, I have a yen . . .” he said.

  Each in turn sat in a darkened room beside a paper screen and candle while the artist went laboriously round the shadow with a pencil. Afterwards a dextrous flourish with the pantograph saw their silhouettes reduced magically to black miniatures, then charmingly encapsulated in two gilt-edged lockets.

  Kydd slipped his into the inner recesses of his waistcoat where it settled in a glow of warmth.

  “My love—do let me show you Talland Bay. It’s so enchanting!” Rosalynd urged.

  Then as they passed a modest cottage on the hill she propelled him towards it. “This is someone I’d like to meet you—a man who’s been so good to the village. He came as a schoolteacher, and since he’s been here he’s prospered in business, but he’s always helped people in trouble, taken care of those on hard times and—oh, do come!”

  The kindly old gentleman blinked with pleasure at meeting Rosalynd’s chosen and pronounced words of benevolence upon them. “It’s good t’ meet ye, Mr Job,” Kydd said sincerely.

  They left the village by the Warren and followed a girdling cliff path far above the sea and right down into the next bay. “There,” she said, as their shoes crunched in the sand.

  Kydd couldn’t help but note it was a very secluded beach, ideal for landing contraband. “In the navy, Polperro bears a reputation for smuggling as hard as any,” he murmured.

  “I know, dearest, but please believe me, the fisher-folk and villagers are not your smugglers. They only fetch and carry for small coin, and who can blame them when the fishing is so uncertain? No—the villains are those who put down fifty pounds to invest in a cargo from France and pay others to face the danger.”

  Kydd said nothing, thinking of Stirk somewhere at sea in a smuggling lugger on his dangerous mission to find evidence.

  “See here,” Rosalynd said, stooping to a pile of misty dove-grey and violet pebbles. She lifted one up to show him. “Aren’t they lovely?”

  “Not as fair as you, my dear Rosalynd,” he said, and kissed her tenderly.

  Talland Church was a little further on, up a remarkably steep hill, which left them both panting at the top. “This is where we’ll be married,” she breathed, holding both of his hands. “And the fishermen’s choir will sing for me and the bells will ring so loudly . . .”

  It was a striking church with a wondrous view of the bay. Mellow with age, it nestled into the Cornish hill as though it had grown from it, the bell-tower set apart from the main edifice but linked with a coach-roof. And there they would be joined together for ever.

  As they returned Kydd found it hard to deal with the forces pulling on his soul. Here was his future—there lay his past. A gathering black cloud of social ruin was waiting, and this simple sweet soul knew nothing but her new-found happiness.

  She stopped at the sea’s edge and turned to him with a smile. “When will you take me to visit your ship? I’ll be so proud. Will the captain allow me, do you think?” she added anxiously.

  “He will, I promise,” Kydd said softly. Then the dark clouds returned to edge about his happiness. Who knew what lurked in wait for him?

  “Er, th’ ship’s in dock for repair after th’ storm. We’ll have time later.” But there was a larger issue that had to be faced. She had the right to know what he—they—were headed into: the unjust social retribution that would be visited on her innocence, the friendless, harsh new world after Polperro.

  “Rosalynd, my very dearest. I have t’ tell you something as will touch on our future.” He swallowed and continued: “Before I met you, there was a lady called Persephone, an’ she and I . . .”

  CHAPTER 13

  KYDD COULD NOT THROW OFF his sense of foreboding as the coach drew closer to Plymouth. Rattling along the last mile it curved round to stop on the foreshore, which had once been a favourite sight, with the long spread of the dockyard on the opposite shore, and sail on the river. Now, as he waited for the Torpoint ferry, it seemed hostile and foreign.

  He gazed over the half-finished vessels and the ships in for repair. To his astonishment he saw Teazer, with just her lower masts but to all intents and purposes out of dock and in completion.

  Hailing a returning wherry he hurried out to his ship. Standish was there, impassively at the salute, but with few others about the decks.

  “How is th’ ship?” Kydd asked him.

  Standish doffed his hat formally and said coolly, “Wanting masts and stores only, sir.” The implied rebuke was barely concealed.

  Kydd turned abruptly and went to his cabin. “Ah, Nicholas! We’re afloat again. Have you your sufficiency of ethnicals, do y’ think?”

  Renzi rose from the table, his manner cold and detached. “Here are the returns for stores demands. You should be aware that in your absence eleven men have deserted. And we have received an instruction from Admiral Lockwood that the instant you returned aboard you were to present yourself at his office immediately.”

  “Thank you,” Kydd said, with as much dignity as he could muster. “I will go now, o’ course.”

  “Get out!” Lockwood roared at a frightened clerk, when Kydd had been announced. “You too,” he savagely snapped at the flag- lieutenant. Lockwood strode across and slammed the office door. “How dare you, sir? How dare you show your villainous face in public after your unpardonable behaviour towards my daughter?”

  “Sir,” Kydd said stiffly, “there was no engagement.”

  “But there was an understanding!” Lockwood shouted, his face white with fury. “As well you knew, sir! You have been dishonourable in your intentions. She is upset—quite undone—and I will not let it pass. As God is my witness I will not let this go.”

  Kydd swayed under the blast.

  Suddenly Lockwood turned and stamped over to his desk.

  He waved a copy of the Telegraph at Kydd. “Have you any conception of the ruination you have caused my family? The distress this has caused my beloved wife? No? Then read this, sir! Read it!” Kydd took the newspaper.

  Our intrepid spy, LOOKOUT, climbs aloft to the crow’s nest in his unceasing quest for those furtive proceedings of the world most likely to surprise and concern the public. He trains his powerful telescope and before long a most lugubrious sight catches his eye. Readers of a delicate disposition should now avert their eyes for what must follow is a heartrending tale of desolation and woe. A comely maiden stands weeping, and to LOOKOUT’s astonishment and anguish he sees that it is none other than our fair Miss Persephone L—, who when she last graced this column was expecting the joyful sound of wedding bells. What is this? he asks, bewildered, and turns his glass around and about. Aha! Can this be the reason? The dashing and notorious Captain Kidd has vilely abandoned her and is now making wicked advances to another. And who is it for whom he has spurned our lady of quality Miss L—? None other than a simple country girl with no prospects but a saucy figure. Can it be believed? We can only beg our Readers to contemplate the feelings . . .

  Kydd reddened. “Sir, this is no—”

  “You’ve shamed us to the whole world, sir!” bellowed Lockwood. “And cast my dear wife to her bed with mortification. And I can assure you I’ll see you in Hades before I let it rest.”

  Kydd stood rigid as he continued. “And when I’m finished there won’t be a soul in the land
who’ll think to let you pass their door! And as for your sea service, I promise you, my report to their lordships concerning your fitness for command will spare not a single detail. None, sir!”

  “Sir, this is monstrous unjust,” Kydd said thickly.

  “Your ship has been at moorings these last two days awaiting her commander. This is intolerable and demonstrates to me a complete and utter contempt for your position as a commanding officer. Permission to sleep out of your ship is therefore revoked—you understand me, sir?”

  “Yes,” Kydd ground out.

  “What was that?”

  “I understand, sir,” Kydd said, suppressing his anger savagely.

  “Then, if you find the time, perhaps you might bring your command to sea readiness. I have a special service in mind.”

  The midshipman of the boat quailed under his captain’s fury, and as they returned to Teazer Boyd gave his orders to the crew in a hushed voice.

  Kydd had come to a cold, hard understanding of how things now were. He had chosen his path—and it had cost him dearly. The dream-like past, with its promise of elevation to the heights of gentility and aristocratic privilege, was now but a memory. All he had to look forward to was the remainder of his commission in Teazer before the admiral’s malicious actions took effect at the Admiralty, then gentle penury for the rest of his life.

  But it would be with Rosalynd. He clung to the radiance of her laughing image, his eyes misting. Be damned, it was worth it—a hundred times worth it!

  “Um, sir—we’re alongside,” the midshipman said uncomfortably.

  “I c’n see that, blast you,” he said, and clambered inboard over the bulwark. “Send f’r the sheer hulk, we’re taking in masts,” he snapped at Standish. “Now, sir!”

  He plunged below and sat in his chair, breathing heavily. “Tysoe!” he roared. “Brandy!”

  Renzi glanced up from his quill, face blank.

  Kydd glowered at him. “As y’ said! An’ I’ll thank ye not t’ preach it!”

  Renzi looked at him for a moment, then said coldly, “I’m sorry to hear it.”

  “I don’t think you are,” Kydd said venomously. “You’re satisfied t’ see me on a lee shore, now I’ve made m’ choice.”

  “I take no pleasure from your predicament.”

  “Then why the wry looks?”

  “Since you ask it, I believe you have done yourself a grievous harm—no, hear me out for I shall say this once only.”

  Kydd’s expression tightened as Renzi went on remorselessly, “It has been too rapid, too precipitate. It is my firm belief that taken, as you no doubt are, by one of nature’s children, you have progressed too far in your acquisition and appreciation of the higher arts of civilised conduct, and later you will find yourself quite unsatisfied and morose with your lot, shackled to one for whom the graces will mean so little.

  “And why you have seen fit to throw over without thought a gentlewoman of such incomparable quality as Miss Lockwood, with all it means for your hopes of entry into society, I simply cannot conceive.”

  Kydd glared at Renzi. “Have y’ finished?”

  “That is all I wish to say.”

  “Then hear me now, f’r I ’ll say this only th’ once.” He tossed back his brandy in one. “I don’t expect ye to reckon on it, but when I came up wi’ Rosalynd, all m’ world has gone like—like a dream, a wonderful dream.” He saw Renzi wince at the return of his old ways of speech but didn’t care.

  “I—I love th’ girl.” He gulped, “I didn’t know love would be like this’n. It’s wonderful—an’ so terrible!” He grabbed the bottle and splashed more into his glass. “An’ this I’ll tell ye today, it’s Rosalynd an’ no other, so help me!”

  Renzi spoke in an icily neutral tone: “Then there seems no point in continuing this conversation. You are besotted of the moment and will take no advice from anyone. We are of different minds on the issue and I, for my part, can see no reason to change my view of your unfortunate situation.”

  He took a long breath. “Therefore I offer the termination of my services aboard Teazer. If you so desire, I shall shift my berth out of this vessel tonight.”

  Kydd felt stifled by the ship. He knew the signs, the sly looks, seamen listless in their duties, the lack of respect in their eyes—his men had taken against him.

  It could be anything: there would be lofty criticising on the mess-deck, arguments. But counting heavily against him from the point of view of the seamen before the mast was Teazer ’s conspicuous lack of victories in battle. Was he unlucky? A Jonah?

  But the real reason, he knew, was deeper. He had had the chance of marrying into the world of the aristocracy, with all the prestige it would have given the ship, and had somehow botched it, settling for a simple country lass. It brought into question his judgement as a man—and, by implication, as their commander.

  Two more had gone over the side as they were getting in the masts, knowing that no one could be spared to chase after them. Teazer would be putting to sea in the next few days and she was falling apart. Standish was cool and aloof, and the master had retreated into monosyllables. Even Tysoe was reproachful and distant, clearly put out because his hopes of a prestigious situation in the future had been dashed.

  It had cost Kydd dignity and patience to beg Renzi to remain, and there was no guarantee that it would last. But with Renzi set against him he had now not a single friend or confidant to whom he could turn.

  He burnt with the injustice of it all, but he was helpless. Forbidden to sleep ashore, there was, however, nothing to stop him setting foot on land for a little while so he ordered his boat.

  At the hard he saw two lieutenants in conversation. On seeing Kydd they stopped, then deliberately turned their backs to continue their exchange. It would demean him to take them to task, and he passed them, wounded. Were the officers of the fleet now taking sides?

  A casual naval acquaintance, in plain clothes, stopped and looked at him with frank curiosity, and a pair of ladies in Durnford Street passed him primly enough but then broke into excited chatter.

  Number eighteen was no longer a snug haven. His estrangement from Renzi cast a pall over their lodging, and when Mrs Bargus came in to find whether to set the fire it was with a disapproving air.

  But there was one who would understand, Kydd hoped. His spirits returned as he summoned the housekeeper. “Here, Mrs Bargus, find a boy an’ tell him t’ deliver a note this hour.” A reply came back by return:

  Dear brother,

  I have to get this off, so please do forgive if I’m short. I’m so truly sorry to hear of your trouble, but right at this time I don’t think I can be seen with you, Mrs Mullins taking on so. You will understand, won’t you? And I don’t think I want to go on board your ship and see Mr Renzi there until things are settled. Do keep well, and next time I see you I hope it will be with Rosalynd.

  Kydd felt the world closing in on him. The only thing now in his universe that had any meaning was Rosalynd. Her softness, the clear sweetness of her voice—only she mattered. He sat back and let warm thoughts of her take him away.

  It was getting towards dusk, and as he readied himself to return to the ship there was a hesitant tap at the door below and voices as Mrs Bargus answered.

  “I, um, was passing.”

  “Bazely! S’ kind in ye! Please draw up a chair—brandy?”

  “Not now, thank ’ee,” he said, without his usual breeziness. “I can’t stop for long. Fenella puts out on the morning tide. To the east’d,” he added.

  “Well, now . . .” Kydd tried to think of talk, but Bazely cut him short. “I came, er, to see if there’s anything I can do for ye,” he said uncomfortably.

  “Do for me?”

  “Now you’ve come up against things, an’ all. You’ll know what I mean.”

  Kydd was touched beyond measure. Bazely had risked the admiral’s displeasure and his career by visiting him. “That’s so good of ye, Bazely. It seems there’s not s’ many
wish t’ stand as my friend. I’m sorry we didn’t find time ever f’r a ran-tan ashore.”

  “One of us has to keep the seas while the other sports it in harbour, m’ old cock. It’s the way of it. I recall y’ took a hammering off Whitsand while we was snug at two anchors in Tor Bay.”

  “Aye. Well, it’s right good of ye t’ call. I might yet have a need.” A soft look spread on Kydd’s face as he added, “An’ I’ll have ye know, wherever Rosalynd and I fetch up, you’ll be first across th’ threshold, m’ friend.”

  HMS Teazer ’s orders were waiting for her captain when he returned aboard. A single page, delivered by a lieutenant under signature. It was far from elaborate; the “special service” was nothing more than the instruction to resume smuggler-hunting, to remain on station without leaving, at his peril.

  It was a cynical move: by one easy stroke, and appearing to be in earnest about a serious problem, Lockwood had ensured that Kydd would find neither glory nor notice; it was a sentence of sea toil and drudgery, flogging up and down the coast after fast and elusive smugglers, who seemed to have second sight.

  When Teazer finally put to sea it was with a scratch company, the Impress Service finding seven resentfuls, a new gunner’s mate, with Stirk presumed lost, and discontent rippling out from the quarterdeck after their fate was revealed.

  How things had changed. Teazer, his fine ship of which he had been so proud, was now the focus of his troubles; and she was not the lovely creature she had been. He had not been able to find the funds to smooth away the raw marks of damage and repair with expensive varnish and had had to accept the utilitarian dull black of the dockyard which disfigured and besmirched her bright-sided hull.

  They rounded the Rame westwards past Whitsand Bay; they were the same places as before but now they seemed indifferent, going about their unseen everyday business while Teazer sailed endlessly offshore.

  But one held special meaning: almost hidden from seaward the snug village of Polperro came up under their lee—he would have given almost anything to land there, but even the most compelling reason would be misinterpreted. And as he could not travel from Plymouth and return in a day, and was unable to sleep out of his ship, it would be impossible to visit Rosalynd.