Renzi nodded in admiration of the move: the civil security of the town assured and so many fewer useless mouths to feed.
But there was a question. ‘Would you not be concerned for their loyalty?’
‘Ah – that’s where you come in, Renzi.’
‘Sir?’
‘Draw me up a form of oath. A pledge of allegiance to the Crown as all citizens must swear, good and simple so even the dunderheads may understand.’
‘Very well.’
‘Quick as you can, there’s a good fellow.’
Renzi left for his office, thoughts whirling. So this was what it was to create a brave colonial outpost that would develop in later years into a city and state of consequence. At school, children would be taught about the beginnings of their society and receive a smooth account of it but never know the reality – men of initiative and quick thinking taking the lead, chance events shaping the direction matters must take, individual acts that in sum made hopes possible . . . or not. In essence, here was the crucible forming history – and he, Mr Colonial Secretary Renzi, was centrally involved, forging the very instruments of state.
He felt a surge of excitement and pride as he lifted his pen and got to work. It did not take long: the ancient preamble was in use in so many other documents and the intent was clear. He looked at the draft and fleetingly wished his prose had more of the romantic and grave majesty that lay behind the great utterances of England but consoled himself that this was for an immediate purpose, not the handing down over generations.
His Majesty George the Third, by the grace of God King of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland, being now in possession of the Settlement, I do promise and bind myself by my oath to be faithful and bear true allegiance to His said Majesty so long as He shall retain possession of the same.
It would do. He wrote out a fair copy and returned to find Baird at his desk, his head in his hands at the burdens he was facing. ‘Do you wish me to return later, Sir David?’ he asked gently.
Baird smiled tiredly. ‘If you do your duty, Renzi, then so must I. Let me see what you have.’ He scrutinised it carefully, then laid it down. ‘Yes, a very competent production. We shall have every burgher and Boer in the land take oath on it.’
‘And if they demur?’
‘They shall be regarded as prisoners-of-war and shipped out with lands and chattels forfeit. Fair enough?’
Renzi gave a half-smile. ‘Then, sir, I shall have these printed and start a register of those complying.’ A little ceremony in the castle courtyard, some form of witnessed signing by hand? He’d leave the details to Ryneveld. ‘Is that all, sir?’
‘Not quite. It does cross my mind that perhaps at this time we should extend the hand of friendship, offer reconciliation, fraternal regard and so forth. After all, if we’re all going to be Afrikaners together . . .’
‘An assembly – a reception of sorts?’
‘I was thinking more along the lines of a ball. Here at the Castle of Good Hope, at which we might see the good Dutch matrons with their daughters and our handsome young subalterns consort. Nothing like a bit of manoeuvring together to get the fraternal blood up.’
‘In company with the great and good of Cape Town?’
‘Naturally.’
Renzi chose his words carefully: ‘I do see the possibility that it may not achieve the object we desire.’
‘Go on.’
‘If the mood – which is to say the temper of the Dutch people – is such that they feel out of sympathy with our rule, what better way to show it than to make their excuses, leaving their governor and lord to throw an extravagant ball to which no one comes?’
‘I’ll take that risk,’ Baird said firmly.
‘The ball will need to be advertised widely, and well in advance of time, sir. All the greater the scandal if it fails.’
Baird sighed. ‘But we need to woo the people. You’re right – yet we must show willing. I’m going to try.’
‘Er, who will be the one . . . ?’
‘As there’s no Lady Baird, my trust must be in you, Renzi, old fellow.’
‘Oh.’
‘No expense to be spared – it has to be an occasion that’s talked about for years to come. The historic coming together of two peoples to create one. Make it a good’un, old chap.’
‘Very well, sir.’
‘Oh – I may have omitted to tell you that in my last dispatch I made particular request that Whitehall do confirm you in post. I hope you’ll entertain the thought of a permanent position. As such, you’ll not want for honour and style – and shall we say we need not be mean in the article of your recompense?’
Renzi was thunderstruck. It was the last thing he had expected.
Before he could say anything, Baird added, ‘It’ll be long before I get an official reply so let us say that for all intents and purposes you are now the reigning colonial secretary of Cape Colony and in consequence will be shown due respect and obeyed accordingly.’
‘I – er, thank you, Sir David, and will endeavour to—’
‘I’m sure you will. Now, about this ball . . .’
Renzi’s quarters in the castle were nothing short of palatial – large, well furnished and quaint in an old-fashioned way. His bedchamber looked out over a spacious ornamental pond, decorated with the head and tail of a spouting dolphin. With four rooms, each with attendant maids and servants, he felt heady with achievement.
There would be time later to attend to the domestic niceties, and he dismissed the servants after allowing wine to be brought and left. He poured a glass and sipped appreciatively. Bright golden in colour, it had a delicate green tinge and an enfolding fragrance of orange and peach with a long, nutty finish, quite unlike the sombre whites of northern climes.
He savoured it, then sat back with a smothered sigh. The appointment of colonial secretary was his for as long as he wanted it.
But was his relationship with Kydd now to end? Their adventures together had been many and no doubt could continue – if he turned down a permanent position. Kydd was holding a berth open for his friend and they could resume their voyaging – but not if he took this post.
And was it morally right to abandon Kydd at this point? Could he fill the appointment at this remove from England? He also knew his value to Kydd as confidant and close friend.
Being the man he was, Kydd would let him go with every wish for his success, of course, and in a surge of feeling Renzi teetered on a decision to refuse the post.
And what of Cecilia? His moral principles had prevented him making suit for her hand while in reduced circumstances before – but now! Here he was a full colonial secretary of a new-born piece of empire with every prospect open for the future. He could lay before her the life of a lady of consequence in society, while with his salary, a country estate and a Cape Town villa would be her demesne.
Yes! He would send for her, allow her to see for herself this extraordinary country. A society wedding here in Cape Town, then together they’d make journey into the interior – lions and jackals, elephants and . . . and . . . But only if Baird’s gamble paid off that Janssens would tamely surrender at a show of force, if the French did not return in a vengeful invasion, if there were no bloody uprising . . .
And if she was not already married, as he himself had urged her to do.
There was no time to be lost. He sprang from the chair and went to the desk to find pen and ink, but hesitated. What if any of these dire events swept away the fragile colony? Given all the uncertainties, was it fair to promise so much?
Distracted, he nibbled the end of the quill and then decided. He would do it! He would pour out his passion for her, confessing his love and admiration – holding back nothing, allowing her to see the depths of his feeling and then laying out his proposal for wedded bliss.