L’Aurore had long since been willingly prettified to satisfaction but she was a king’s ship and had her standards. And he knew the real reason for his outburst and was sorry for it. Would the crew remember him fondly or … ?
The point soon yielded its view of the fleet anchorage-but four ships only and bare of any admiral’s flag. Thus it would be the port admiral to whom he would make his number.
Her distinguishing pennants snapping at the mizzen halyards in an impeccable show, L’Aurore rounded to and her anchor plunged into the grey-green water.
Everyone knew what must follow but Kydd told them nevertheless. “I shall report and return with orders, Mr Gilbey. No guardo tricks from the men while I’m gone or there’ll be no liberty for any. Secure from sea and I want to see a good harbour stow. Carry on, please.”
With a tight stomach he boarded his barge, taking his place in the sternsheets and determined not to show any hint of anxiety.
“Bear off,” he growled at his coxswain, Poulden.
The boat’s crew seemed to sense the tension and concentrated on their strokes even as they passed close by the raucous jollity of Portsmouth Point.
Reaching the familiar jetty oars were tossed in a faultless display and the boat glided in.
“Lay off, Poulden,” Kydd ordered, and stepped on to English soil for the first time in what had seemed so long. It had been nearly two years.
There was no point in delaying: he turned and strode briskly up the stone steps. At the top, unease gripped him as he saw a line of armed marines ahead.
Orders screamed out, muskets clashed, and an officer began marching smartly across.
“Captain Kydd. Sah!”
“I am he.”
“Sah!”
The port admiral, accompanied by his flag-lieutenant and other officers, appeared from behind the rigid line of red coats. “Kydd, old fellow! Welcome to England! How are you?”
He held out his hand. “We’ve been expecting you this age.”
The flag-lieutenant stood to one side in open admiration.
“Sah!”
“Oh, do inspect Cullin’s guard, there’s a good chap.”
There was nothing for it, and with a senior admiral at his side, Kydd did the honours, pacing down the line of marines wearing an expression of being suitably impressed, stopping with a word to one or two. At the end there was a flourish of swords and the party was released to go to the admiral’s reception room.
“Sherry?”
A sense of unreality was creeping in: had they mistaken him for someone else? “Sir. I thank you for your welcome, very pleasing to me. But might I enquire why … ?”
A small frown creased the port admiral’s forehead. “Do you think me a shab not to recognise a hero of the hour? Let me tell you, sir, since Boney set off his bombshell the public have sore need of same!”
“Hero?” Kydd said weakly.
“The papers have been in a frenzy for weeks. Curacao-as dashing an exploit as any in our history! Throwing a few frigates against the might of a Dutchy naval base, sailing right into their harbour in the teeth of moored ships, forts and armies. Then every last captain takes boat, waves his sword amain and storms ashore to carry the day! How can it not thrill the hearts of the entire nation?”
“Well, it was a furious enough occasion, I’ll grant you, but-”
“Nonsense! A smart action-and deserving of your prize-money,” he added, with a touch of envy.
“Sir.” Kydd paused. “Are there orders for L’Aurore at all?”
The port admiral turned to his flag-lieutenant.
“Yes, sir. I’ll get them instanter.”
He was back but not with a pack of detailed orders, just one, folded and sealed with the Admiralty cipher. Kydd signed for it, with only the slightest tremor to his hand.
“Do excuse me, sir,” he said, as he stepped aside to read.
It was short, almost to the point of rudeness. He was to place his ship under the temporary command of the port admiral forthwith pending refit while he should lose no time in presenting himself in person to the first lord of the Admiralty.
His heart bumped. There was a world of difference between a public hero and a naval delinquent and, without doubt, this was going to be the true reckoning.
“I’m to report to the first lord without delay. Do pardon me if I take my leave, sir. L’Aurore is to come under your flag until further orders-Lieutenant Gilbey, my premier, will be in command.”
“You know the routine, Mr Gilbey. I’m … not sure of future events but ship goes to harbour routine, full liberty to both watches. Don’t be too harsh on ’em.” His first lieutenant touched his hat and left.
Renzi watched his friend gravely. “In truth, it doesn’t appear you’re to expect a welcome from their lordships.”
“That’s my concern. Get your gear together-we leave in an hour.”
“You want me to-”
“I’m posting to London. You’re coming with me as far as Guildford, Nicholas.”
“You have my promise,” Renzi said, in an injured tone.
“Yes. And I have you for a shy cove. You’ll do the deed or I’ll know why!”
There was little conversation in the swaying, rattling coach. A cold winter rain beat at the windows and the countryside blurred into anonymity.
Past the little town of Petersfield, Renzi said stiffly, “There’s nothing I can bring to mind that makes my matter the easier to say.”
“Fire away nevertheless, Nicholas.”
“It’s that … should Cecilia accept me … then, to be brutally frank, I have very little means to support her as a wife, as I keep telling you. Is it morally right then to-”
“If she agrees to marry you, I shall settle something on you both-tell her it’s your prize-money portion, if you like.”
“That’s very hard to accept, Tom, but nobly offered.”
“You’ll take it for her sake, Nicholas.”
“Very well.”
“And none of your tricks o’ logic. No telling me you’ll marry her right enough, but the wedding day’s only to be when you find the time.”
They continued on in companionable silence. Some time later Hindhead appeared out of the driving rain. Renzi turned to Kydd and said, in a low voice, “Whatever is ahead for us both I know not-but the friendship in my heart I will value for all of time.”
The whip cracked over the tired horses as they toiled up the steep hill in Guildford Town. The Angel posting-house was halfway up and the coach swung through the arch. The driver cursed as he descended, tearing off his dripping cloak and keeping out of the way of the ostlers.
Renzi turned to his friend. “You’ll … ?”
“No, Nicholas. I have to get to the Admiralty without a moment lost. I don’t want to disturb my folks only to be off again. After they change horses I’ll be away. Now, you’re going through with-”
“You have my solemn word on it.”
“Then …”
“I wish you well, dear friend. It’s my prayer you’ll still be in possession of a ship at the end of it.”
“I never took you for the praying sort, Nicholas, but thank you. And I do wish you every happiness, you and Cecilia both.”
They clasped hands, then parted.
Renzi turned and left the Angel, crossing the road and taking the short cut through the Tunsgate to the Kydd naval school.
His mind raced-even now it was not too late to slink away, avoid the issue entirely, for there was every chance that Cecilia had given up on him, had married another. Or perhaps she was out somewhere in the far reaches of the world with her employer, that diplomat of mysterious assignments, the Marquess of Bloomsbury.
Or she might be at home.
Hammering at him was one overriding question: was it right to propose marriage dependent on a settlement from his friend? A delicate ethical dilemma: on the one hand there was every moral imperative to decline to pursue his suit but on the other he had given his word to Kydd.
He looked up from the rain that drove in his face and found that he was close to the school. He must make up his mind quickly. So much hung on-
A hand touched his arm. Startled, he swung around to see the rosy face of Emily, the Kydds’ maid.