'We — we must return, Letitia is on her own.' She avoided his eyes, but did not try to move away.
Kydd sensed he would lose all if he pressed his attentions now. He picked up his candle. 'Yes, of course.'
A trim 28-gun frigate materialised out of the morning haze to seaward, slow and frustrated by the light winds. But Kydd was not watching. He'd gone to the master's sea cabin, ostensibly to correct charts for the Spanish coast but in reality to struggle with the wording of a letter to Emily. They had returned safely from the cave, and after a somewhat distant leave-taking, which he put down to necessary caution in front of Letitia, they had parted.
It had now been some days since they had met, and his mind was feverish with thoughts of her. He had to decide if her silence meant that she was waiting for a more bold approach from him, even a romantic gesture. He knew he was not as taut a hand in these waters as he would like, and it was too much to expect a steer from Cockburn, whose cold manner now wounded him.
All he knew was that he was besotted with her. He stared at the bulkhead, seeing her lovely eyes and perfect lips. It was time for action! He would invite her casually for a tour of the ship - after the dog-watches but before the frustrated men started their interminable drinking and fighting.
He scratched his head at the taxing necessity of getting the wording exactly right; it would not do to have his motives misconstrued. 'Dear Emily' . . . Damn! Of course he must put something more in the formal way. Another piece of paper. The master did not have many fresh sheets in his cabin desk: he always employed the other sides of used paper for everything except formal work.
'Dear Mrs Mulvany, It would be a right honour to escort you on a visit aboard my ship, HMS Achilles 64.'
From time to time the officers brought their ladies of the moment on board for a quick and often scandalised peek, and the petty officers and men brought their much more worldly doxies to the fo'c'sle when they had the silver to afford them. His lady was much more the prime article, and he could see her now, by the capstan whelps, cool and elegant, asking how the bars were pinned and swifted, then smiling that warm and special smile at him.
In a glow, he continued: 'Please signify when you are free, and we will meet wherever you say.'
That was all that was needed. After the visit they would step ashore together, and who knew what might then eventuate? Kydd's brow furrowed at choosing the closing words, and he decided on a more neutral cast: 'Your devoted friend, Thomas Paine Kydd.'
There! He folded the paper, and looked for a wafer to seal it. He rummaged guiltily in the compartments of the master's desk, but found none, or even red wax. The ship's messenger would take the letter readily enough on his forenoon rounds for a coin or two, but Kydd did not want him to read its content. He remembered that the caulkers were at work around the main-hatch: he would use a blob of caulking pitch as sealing wax. Admittedly it was black instead of red, but that would not trouble a lady of Emily's breeding.
Kydd strolled back to the quarterdeck and saw the little frigate. She was making a cautious approach, probably to warp alongside the New Mole. Lines were passed, capstans manned, and she was neady brought in.
Distracted, Kydd went below to rouse out a crew for cleaning down after the caulkers, but his mind was not on the job. When he returned to the upper deck he caught a glimpse of a boat rounding under the stern of Achilles. It was probably from the frigate, and he watched the bulwark to see who would come over.
With unbelieving eyes, he saw Renzi hoist himself awkwardly aboard, touch his hat to the officer-of-the-watch, and look round. Kydd crossed over to him rapidly and held out his hand. 'Well met, Nicholas!' he said happily, but saw that things were not as usual with his friend. There were dark rings round his eyes and the handshake clearly gave him pain. 'You're in a frigate now,' Kydd offered.
'I am — Bacchante twenty-eight, a trim enough daughter of Neptune.' A smile cracked through. 'Quite fortuitous. Glorious was sadly knocked about in the rencontre before St Vincent and lies under repair at Lagos. I act temporarily in the place of a wounded mariner in the frigate, having the duty but never the glory, I fear.' He sighed. 'Yet here you lie in the same berth, topping it the sybarite while the world is in a moil - and I took such pains to come here of the especial concern I have for my friend.'
Kydd coloured, but the pleasure at seeing his best friend was profound, and he didn't rise to the gende gibe. 'You were there in th' great battle, wi' a mort o' prize money t' come, I suspect.'
Renzi looked away. 'I was, but. .. You shall have your. curiosity satisfied, should you be at liberty to step ashore this afternoon, I have a consuming desire to be at peace. Do you know of such a place we can—'
'O' course! We c'n—' Kydd stopped. If a favourable message came from Emily and by his absence he did not respond ... It was unfortunate timing but—
'Er, Nicholas, I've just remembered, I have an arrangement f'r tonight. It's very important, y' know,' he mumbled. Renzi's face fell. 'With a lady, y' see,' Kydd added hopelessly.
'Then we shall rendezvous on the morrow, and you shall hear my tale then,' Renzi said softly.
Kydd watched him leave, with a pang of guilt.
There was no reply by noon, and the afternoon hours passed at a snail's pace; Kydd had donned his best rig, in case Emily wanted to take up his invitation immediately. The ship was in harbour routine. After dinner at noon, those who were allowed, and had the means; quickly made their way ashore, the remainder settled down restlessly.
By the dog-watches he was torn with doubt. Had he been deceived by her manner, mistaken in his conclusions? But there could be no mistaking the need and urgency of that kiss.
The evening had turned into a study of scarlet and orange, the sea darkling prettily, with Thomas Kydd, master's mate, still to be found on deck. Then, after the evening meal, a message came. The coxswain of the gig's crew brought it to him, apologetically mentioning that due to being called away to attend the captain, he had not had a chance before to pass it along — and this from early afternoon.
Kydd ground his teeth and clattered below to the gunroom. The master had returned, so his cabin was no longer available. Savagely, he sent the midshipmen to their berth and, silently cursing the impossibility of getting privacy in a warship, settled to open the message under the eye of the sallow surgeon's mate and his bottle.
He inspected the inscription — 'Mr T. Kydd, HMS Achilles' — then split the wafer and hurriedly unfolded the sheet.
Dear Mr Kydd,
Thank you for the kind invitation to visit your ship. Unfortunately I have rather a lot of engagements at the present, hut will let you know when convenient.
Yours sincerely,
Mrs Emily Mulvany
He reread, and again, slowly, so as not to miss any subtle clues. An initial wash of disappointment was replaced by logic: of course she would be otherwise engaged, it had been kind of her to fit him in before. 'Mr Kydd': cold or cautious lest the message fall into the wrong hands? The same might be said of the way she had ended the letter. In any event, he must bide his time.
Nothing could have been better calculated to ease Kydd's frustrations than his meeting with Renzi the following day. True to Renzi's wishes, the pair toiled up the hill to the commissioner's house, then found the path running along the flanks of the Rock. There was a row of fig trees on the upper side, and a vineyard below, with occasional olive trees to afford shade.