"Nicholas? What's this y' say?" Kydd said, putting down his newspaper.
"Has he—does this concern Miss Persephone Lockwood, do I hazard, Nicholas?" Cecilia asked.
"It does," Renzi said solemnly.
"Oh! He hasn't—"
Kydd coughed significantly, "Cec, this is all—"
"He has paid a call on the lady at her home and been received warmly."
Cecilia's eyes sparkled. "Did she—has he hopes of a further—"
"That is the matter under discussion for which I fear I have sadly inconvenienced you in the coming here."
"Oh, Nicholas, of course I'd come! What must we do?"
Kydd blinked in confusion. "Do y' mean t' talk about—"
"Dear sister, pray let's be seated. There's much we need to consider."
They sat in the only two armchairs by the fireplace, leaving Kydd to hover. "If you're about t' discuss—"
"Please be quiet, Thomas," Cecilia said crossly. "This is important, you know."
It was indeed: the principal difficulty lay in the decorous bringing together of the couple in such a manner that would place Kydd to best advantage with respect to other admirers more talented in the social graces than he, so to speak, not to mention the additional difficulties a protective mother might be expected to present.
There was much discussion of Miss Lockwood's probable tastes and proclivities, and the delicacies of conduct that would ensue before a course of action could be decided. Eventually one such presented itself.
"Do you pay particular attention to what I say, Thomas. You will be invited to tea by Jane and her husband, and quite by chance Persephone Lockwood will be present as well. When you see her you will be suitably taken aback, and . . ."
"Why, Miss Lockwood! How surprising to find you here!" Kydd said graciously, fighting down his glee. A warning flash came from Cecilia and he turned to her companion and added quickly, "And it's always my particular pleasure to meet Miss Robbins. How do you do?"
The parlour was not large and when the ladies had been seated it proved a most companionable gathering. "I've heard that the moor in July is quite a delightful sight," Jane opened, with a winning smile at Persephone.
"I would imagine so, Mrs Mullins, yet I would not wish to be without a hat and parasol out in all that open," Persephone said politely, with a glance at Kydd.
"Perhaps we should venture out upon it at some time," Mr Mullins said stiffly, clearly awed by Persephone's presence.
"Oh, no!" his wife said in alarm. "Think of all the wild horses and escaped convicts—it would be far too hazardous, my dear, for a lady of breeding."
Cecilia turned to Kydd. "Thomas, would you now please pour the tea?"
"It's my own mixture of pekoe and gunpowder," Mrs Mullins said proudly. "Mr Mullins always brings back a pound or two from Twining's in the Strand when he goes up to London."
Kydd went to the elaborate brass and silver tea urn and did his duty with the spigot. "Mrs Mullins?" Hard-won lessons on precedence were coming to the fore: Persephone was clearly of the higher quality but Jane was a married lady.
Persephone accepted her cup with properly downcast eyes and Kydd resumed his strategically chosen seat opposite and let the prattle ebb and flow while he covertly took his fill of her.
A lull in the conversation had Cecilia throwing a warning look at Kydd, who cleared his throat. "Capital weather we're having, don't you think?" he said brightly.
Persephone lowered her cup. "If we see this nor-easterly veering more to the west, Mr Kydd, I rather fancy we will soon be reaching for our umbrellas. Do not you mariners so rightly declare, 'When the wind shifts 'gainst the sun, trust it not, for back 'twill run'?" she asked sweetly.
Kydd took refuge in his tea.
Mrs Mullins and Cecilia exchanged a quick look. "Pay no mind to we ladies, Mr Kydd, we do like our gossip," Jane said, in a determined voice. "Er, why don't you show Miss Lockwood the new bougainvillaea in our greenhouse, you having been in the Caribbean yourself, of course?"
In the expectant hush Kydd stood, heart bumping, but was so long in choosing his words that Persephone rose and offered, "I'd be very interested, should you be able to tell me more of such tropical blooms, Mr Kydd."
They entered the small garden together and Kydd steered his way through the vegetables and ancient fruit trees into the greenhouse and said in as light a voice as he could manage, "This is your bougainvillaea, Miss Lockwood, an' I well remember seeing it in Jamaica, and Barbados as well and . . ."
But something was distracting her and she was facing away, not hearing his words. Kydd made a play of looking closer at the plant, then offered his arm to escort her back. Had he done something to offend?
Then she turned towards him and asked, "Did Mrs Mullins marry in the Caribbean?"
"Er, yes, Miss Lockwood, and my sister was at the wedding." He cast about for something else to say but no words came and she went on ahead. They wandered a few more steps, Kydd following helplessly, before she stopped and said quite casually, "Your perceptions of society might lead you to suppose that I should marry as bade, but I can assure you, Mr Kydd, I shall only wed one I care for and I cherish. An odd notion, don't you think?"
Was she saying . . . ?
"I—I admire you for it, Miss Lockwood," Kydd replied hoarsely, as she lifted her eyes to his, her expression softening unbearably.
He took a deep breath and said, in a voice that came out harsher than he had intended, "If you married a—a man who followed the sea by profession, would ye—would you expect him t' leave it? Th' sea, I mean."
She waited until his eyes held hers. "No, Mr Kydd, I would not."
The silence thundered in his ears until she turned and walked slowly to a little grotto of sea-shells set in the shady side of the wall. She looked back at him once and stooped to pick up a shell, which she admired in her cupped hands. "I believe I will take this to remind me of you, Mr Kydd."
Renzi scrambled to his feet when Kydd returned, eyes shining, an unmistakable air of excitement about him.
"Nicholas! Ye'd never smoke it! She was there an'—we walked together an' talked, and I'd lay out a sack o' guineas t' say before ye that she—she has a takin' for me!" He was touched that his friend was so evidently sharing the same soaring elevation of spirit.
"Felicitations, then, brother, but I trust you will hope to remember your speech in her presence—I am obliged to remark that at the moment it sorely betrays a lack of delicacy."
Kydd grinned. "She was wearing such a fine dress, Nicholas. Was it just f'r me? An' her hair, she had—"
Renzi's voice was odd—somewhat charged with emotion. "Dear fellow, do you know what I have here?" He held up a grubby piece of paper covered with crabbed handwriting.
"Er, no, Nicholas. Pray, do tell me."
"This," Renzi said, "this, dear friend, is the first—the very first evidence from the world that my humble conjectures in ethnical philosophies might indeed possess some degree of merit. This, brother, is a communication from Count Rumford himself! Praises me for a new insight and encourages me to go further."
He sat down suddenly and blinked rapidly. "And—and wishes that when in London I might consider attending with him at the Royal Institution in Albemarle Street."
To Kydd the name reminded him more of fireplaces but there was no doubting the effect it was having on Renzi. "Why, that's thumpin' good news indeed, m' friend. Count Rumford himself!"
There was just sufficient Cognac to steady them both, then Renzi was able to say to Kydd, "I am forgetting myself, brother. Do tell me more of your happy situation."
"Well, I've been givin' it a deal of thought. I'm t' call on Miss Lockwood, I believe—I have t' return her music, y' see," he said smugly. "But not afore I ask Mrs Mullins if she'd help me learn it. I saw a pianoforte while I was there," he added.