‘I’d have thought there’s more ’n a few serviceable. Did not your frigate – what’s her name?’
‘L’Aurore,’ glowered Popham.
‘Did she not smell powder when making her sally through the anchorage?’
‘Captain Kydd’s report speaks of fire from four batteries but their practice poor. Why, L’Aurore’s easy escape is best evidence of—’
‘We can’t rely on the harbour batteries, then. Perhaps we—’
He broke off at a tentative knock on the door. ‘Come!’
His aide, Gordon, entered with an opened dispatch case. ‘Er, urgent from General Beresford from before Hottentot Kloof,’ he said crisply, drawing out a packet. ‘The galloper asks for its immediate attention, sir.’
Around the table officers rose to make their excuses but Baird waved them down. ‘This will be a deciding engagement – or a crushing disaster. Either way you’ll have need to know it.’
In expectant stillness he slit the seal and smoothed out the sheets. He read quickly and looked up with a strange expression. ‘It is neither. A development of unexpected and crucial significance – gentlemen, without meeting us in the field, General Janssens is by this letter offering to treat for the outright capitulation of all Dutch forces.’
The stunned silence broke into an excited babble as Baird read on, then fell quiet as he continued, ‘It seems that his Boer farmers are deserting the colours in large numbers, more interested in harvests than honour. And with military supplies denied him by the Navy, he’s concerned to spare the colony needless bloodshed in a lost cause.’
He laid the letter down slowly. ‘An honourable and courageous man – I salute him.’
The meeting broke up, the news without doubt now fast spreading through Cape Town. Baird wasted no time, and Renzi set to on a proclamation of thanksgiving for the peace, his heart full at the knowledge that with the threat removed, and with its strategic value, the British would never abandon the colony. Soon he could make the plans that would have Cecilia by his side.
The last menace, of course, was the French, but with reinforcements from Britain their hopes of seizing Cape Colony must fade. It was only the short period before they arrived that was the danger – and they still had to win the loyalty of town and country before the colony could settle down and prosper.
The balclass="underline" this must succeed! So much to worry about, to plan and prepare – who to invite and who would be offended if omitted. And a formal ball would imply refreshments and supper as well as a master of ceremonies who could be trusted with both the Dutch and English forms; music at a suitably august level, and if this were in the English mode, a discreet separate area for cards and dalliances.
Then there were equally challenging details ranging from the protocol of the receiving line to locating decorations and flowers fit for vice-regal patronage. If only Cecilia were here, she would revel in the task . . . but she was not. He picked up a pencil and glumly continued with his endless to-do list. A muffled thud interrupted him. It would be the gun from Signal Hill on the Lion’s Rump – with its view to both sides of the Cape, it reported ships’ arrivals. Renzi hastened outside to see what vessel it could be.
There was no three-flag red hoist, so no enemy. Curious, he remained for the ship to show, either to the north or around the point from the south.
And there it was – from the south, bursting into view close in with Mouille Point in a fine display of seamanship, a frigate under a full press of sail undertaking a showy flying moor on the inshore side of the naval anchorage.
It was L’Aurore.
Kydd left Diadem’s great cabin not greatly put out by the surly manner of Commodore Popham for he knew L’Aurore had done well. Lourenço Marques had turned out to be little more than a forlorn outpost, perpetually in conflict with the savages, that was hanging on to the last sad vestiges of Portuguese rule and could offer nothing in the way of dockyard facilities or similar of interest to the British.
The two Indiamen were still there, undergoing repair with materials L’Aurore had sent over and had every hope of a successful resumption of their voyage. He’d brought reliable news of the size and capability of the French squadron, even though Popham had dismissed the threat, assuming after the blow that they would fall back on their Indian Ocean bases.
In light-hearted mood he boarded his barge and directed it ashore to pay his respects to the governor. The boat came smartly alongside the jetty and Kydd mounted the rickety side-steps, surprised to find his confidential secretary there to meet him.
‘My word, but this sea life is suiting you, dear fellow,’ Renzi said genially.
Kydd laughed, and they walked companionably towards the castle. It was good to see his friend after so much had happened. ‘Shall we sup together after I’ve seen Sir David, or must his secretary keep close station on him always?’ he asked.
‘Er, I’m not, as who should say, his secretary, old chap. He has his own,’ Renzi said, a little uncomfortably.
‘Then you didn’t get the position? The dog! I’ll wager even so he’s working you half to death, Nicholas.’ Renzi did look more than a little harassed.
At Kydd’s full dress uniform, the castle sentries presented arms with an enthusiastic crash of musket and gaitered boot, and they passed into the inner courtyard and across to the governor’s suite. Seeing Renzi, the aide-de-camp rose respectfully. ‘Sir David is with General Ferguson, sir. I’ll let him know you’re here.’
‘Never mind, Lieutenant,’ Kydd said crisply. ‘We’ll return later.’
The aide ignored Kydd with a pained expression and knocked gently on the connecting door. ‘Mr Renzi and a naval gentleman, Sir David.’
Moments later a disgruntled general emerged, looking sharply at Renzi before being ushered away. Baird appeared beaming. ‘You’ve brought me Captain Kydd, then, Renzi, old chap.’
‘As he’s bringing report of the French, sir,’ Renzi said smoothly, standing aside for Kydd. ‘Do go in, Captain, I shall wait outside.’
Later, a much-chastened Kydd was settled into a chair in Renzi’s inner sanctum by a protective Stoll. ‘Your secretary?’ he asked wryly, when the man had left.
‘Well, one of them,’ Renzi admitted.
Kydd looked around the well-appointed office. ‘And I had my concerns that he’d been working you like a slavey. Shall I be told what you do with your day at all?’
Lightly covering the detail, Renzi explained what it was to be a colonial secretary while Kydd listened first in astonishment and then in good-natured envy. ‘In the first rank of Cape Town society no less – I must take off my hat to you in the street, I find!’
‘It has its compensations, the position,’ Renzi agreed.
‘As will make it a sad trial for you to return to L’Aurore.’ Kydd chuckled.
Renzi’s face shadowed. ‘Er, there’s every reason to suppose that will now not happen, Tom.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Sir David has done me the honour of asking me to consider this a permanent situation,’ he said gently, ‘and is communicating with Whitehall to have me confirmed in post, my friend.’
‘Nicholas – is this what you desire, or is some villain—’
‘It is my wish. You see . . . I shall now have a situation in life that is both honourable and secure, that yields a competence that is quite sufficient, you see, to . . . marry.’
Kydd was dumbfounded.