"Sir, I have a matter of th' greatest importance." Kydd's voice came out thickly.
Vandeput looked at him steadily, then glanced at his secretary. "Go," he snapped, then turned back to Kydd. "You're back from America. What is it?"
It took but small minutes to convey the gist of his experiences, ending with the final, shocking clash. "Therefore, sir, I saw that if it happens again there's chance f'r a mortal fight or . . ."
Vandeput's expression hardened. "And then?"
Kydd took hold of all his courage. "I gave Captain Truxtun m' own signal book, which has all th' private signals for your fleet."
There was an appalled silence, then the admiral said softly, "You're saying this American captain now has possession of all our secret signals?"
"Aye, sir," said Kydd, trying to keep the tremor from his voice.
"Well done."
"S-sir?"
"A good, officer-like solution, L'tenant. Always worried me,
Americans at sea in a ship o' force sharing the same ocean without we have a form o' co-operation. The politicos won't go at it out o' pride, but now we've forced their hands. I can see how this can go further, Mr Kydd. As I say, well done, sir."
Weak with reaction, Kydd swayed. "Oh, I see it's been a fatiguing journey for ye, Mr Kydd," the admiral said solicitously. "Do sit, and I'll ring for a brandy."
Kydd stared moodily at the town from the decks of Tenacious. He had been welcomed back by a newly respectful wardroom, but after a while conversations turned once again to the social scene. The whole town was mesmerised by the impending visit of the Duke of Schweigerei, elder son of the Archduke of Austria, which would climax in a grand reception and banquet given by His Royal Highness Prince Edward in the Duke's honour. In view of the importance attached to the country for its role in Pitt's coalitions, every officer would be expected to attend the glittering occasion.
Renzi had tried to be interested in Kydd's adventure, but he was clearly preoccupied with some personal matter, and Kydd found himself once more at a loose end. The seductive thought on his mind was of what might be — service in the new navy of a vigorous young land. No more would he hear of lords and estates, fox-hunting and the Season.
Kydd stirred uncomfortably and noticed the master, with a large notebook and folded chart, checking something over the side. "Nothing amiss, Mr Hambly?" It was unusual to see the master at work on deck in harbour.
"Nay, sir, nothing t' worry you on," he said. Then, seeing Kydd's interest, he explained further. It seemed that the new Admiralty hydrographic department had issued instructions to all sailing masters that anchorages they might from time to time visit should be surveyed by hand lead-line from a ship's boat with a view to verifying the accuracy of charts now in the course of preparation in England.
"A fine and proper thing," said Kydd. Every mariner was at the mercy of his charts, whether dependable or false, and any endeavour that could lessen the fearful risks of navigation was a service to mankind. "Where are you going t' start?"
"Why, Mr Kydd, it's kind in ye to enquire. I thought t' try the Bedford Basin—there, through the narrows, an' you'll find a fine body o' water twice the size of Halifax harbour there."
A nearly perfect land-locked haven: a fleet could safely ride out a storm there. This was really worthwhile—an exercise of professional sea skills with a purpose. Kydd brightened. "Mr Hambly, I'd like t' do some of this work m'self. Would you be s' kind as to show me on the chart?"
Kydd had chosen to begin his first line of soundings across the widest point of the basin to establish some sort of bottom profile. It was satisfying work, and congenial to the spirit. Real skill was needed to hold the octant laterally to establish the bearings ashore and provide the exact position of the pinnace. Poulden, in the bows, would send the hand-lead plummeting down, singing out in cadence the exact depth of water told by the marks. Kydd noted the time carefully; later, there would be work with tide tables to establish the true depth, corrected for the state of tide, then referenced to the chart datum.
Kydd was so engrossed in the work that, for a space, he had forgotten his concern about the banquet. It had been heavily hinted at by Captain Houghton that every officer would not only attend but with a suitable lady. To those who had attained a degree of intimacy with the gentle reaches of Haligonian society it would be a matter of choice. For Kydd, who had not only been away but felt awkward and ill-at-ease in well-born company, it was a trial. He realised he would probably end up with the insipid daughter of the vicar, with whom he was on nodding terms, to the amusement of the more senior in the wardroom.
He forced his mind back to the task at hand. Surprisingly, their first traverse reached the twenty-fathom limit of a hand-lead less than a third the way across. Such deep water? Perhaps he should stay with the shoreline and first establish a forty-foot line of depth along it, this being of most interest to a big-ship navigator. It was not difficult to pick up the mark again, and astute reading of the characteristics at the edge of the shoreline soon had a useful number of forty-foot soundings carefully pencilled in. But for the unfortunate narrows at the entrance, restricting access to square-rigged vessels whenever the winds were in the north, it was spacious and deep enough to take the entire Channel Fleet at single anchor, an impressive body of water.
Something ashore caught Kydd's eye: a figure in white, standing, watching. He ignored it and continued with his work. They drew abreast; the figure was still there. As he watched he realised it was a woman, waving a handkerchief.
She waved again, an exaggerated movement. "Someone wants t' speak, sir," Poulden volunteered.
"Aye. Well, perhaps we should see what she wants. Oars, give way together."
The boat headed inshore. The wooded slopes leading down to the water looked immaculately cared for, and they saw the edge of a building peeping out from blossom-laden trees. Closer in, Kydd noticed a discreet landing-stage and headed for it. The woman made no move to descend to it, still standing and watching from her vantage-point.
Cursing under his breath, Kydd threw a rope ashore and pulled himself up to the little jetty. He was hardly dressed for meeting ladies in his worn sea uniform but he clambered up to where she was waiting.
"Yes, madam?"
"Oh. I was watching you, you see," she said, her voice soft and prettily accented with French.
Kydd remembered himself and snatched off his hat. Dressed for the garden, she was in a white gown and beribboned straw hat. She was also strikingly beautiful, her large dark eyes adding an appealing wistfulness.
"And I thought 'ave you lost something—you look for it so long." She seemed a touch older than him and had a disconcertingly worldly-wise air.
"Not at all, madam. We conduct a hydrographical survey o' the coastline." She was probably one of the sad band of royalist refugees who had settled in Nova Scotia, he conjectured, although apparently from a wealthy family. "Oh, er, might I present m'self? L'tenant Kydd, Royal Navy."
"Enchantee, Lieutenant." Her bob coincided with Kydd's sturdy bow. "Then you do not know me?"
"No, madam, er, you have th' advantage of me."
She contemplated him, then said, "I am Therese Bernardine-Mongenet and zis is where I live." She gestured gracefully up the slopes.
At a loss, Kydd bowed again.
"I was taking refreshment in ze garden. Perhaps you would care to take some lemonade wiz me, and tell me about your hydrog-cally, Lieutenant?"
Kydd accepted graciously: the boat's crew would be reliable with Poulden and would not object to an hour's leisure. They walked together up a winding path, past little summerhouses with gilded latticework and bells tinkling on their pagoda-like roofs. It was the most enchanting and sumptuous garden Kydd had ever seen. Atop a bluff overlooking the water, cunningly nestled among trees, there was a two-storey wooden mansion, vaguely Italian in style, and on the grass lawn below a cloth-covered table with jug and glass.