"Indeed. And I'm sure you'll prove of sovereign worth in directing me to where—but this can wait until later, sir. We're under no rush of time."
They were ushered into a small drawing room where the whole family was drawn up in a line. "This is m' brood, gentlemen, who're very curious t' see what kind o' visitors come all the way t' Polwithick.
"Now this is Edmund, the eldest." A tall young man with a studied look of boredom bowed stiffly. "M' daughter Rosalynd." A delicate pale maiden with downcast eyes curtsied, but when she rose it was with a startlingly frank gaze. "And Titus, th' youngest." A tousled youth grinned at them.
"I know town folk take y' vittles late, but in the country we like t' have ours while there's still light t' appreciate 'em. Shall we?"
The meal in the dark-timbered dining parlour was unlike any Kydd had experienced before. It wasn't just the massive oaken furniture or the rabbit in cider or even the still country wines, but the warmth and jollity in place of the cool manners and polite converse he had grown used to.
The squire, it seemed, was a widower but the table was kept with decorum; the visitors were spared close interrogation and afterwards the gentlemen repaired to a study for port and conversation.
"Well, Mr Renzi, y' mentioned in your letter about ethnical studies in th' West Country. I don't think I can help thee personally with that but you'll find some rare fine curiosities hereabouts."
Renzi was able in some measure to indicate his requirements but was interrupted by a wide-eyed face peeking round the door. "Oh, Papa, do let us stay!" Titus pleaded.
The squire frowned. "Church mice!" he roared. "Not a squeak, mind!" With three solemn faces hanging on every word, Renzi continued.
It transpired that they were well placed to make comparative study between the way of life of the fisher-folk and that of the country yeomen and, indeed, if Renzi were not of a squeamish tendency, the tin miners along the coast would afford much to reflect upon.
Renzi beamed. "My thanks indeed, sir! This will provide me with precisely the kind of factual grist I shall need—do you not think so, brother Kydd?"
"Er, yes, o' course, Mr Renzi. An ethnical harvest o' some size, I'd believe."
Plans were put in train at once: there were horses in the stables for their convenience, and the squire allowed he was modestly proud of an orangery, which, being south-facing, was eminently suited to a learned gentleman's retiring with his books.
Friendly goodnights were exchanged and Kydd and Renzi took possession of their bedrooms; in each a pretty four-poster waited ready, warmed with a pan. It was going to be a fine respite from their recent trials.
After a hearty breakfast, Renzi drew Kydd aside. "There is a matter . . . that is causing me increasing unease. In fact it concerns yourself, my good friend. It . . . I lay awake last night and could find no other alternative, even as I fear you may feel slighted—and, indeed, cheated."
Puzzled, Kydd said nothing as Renzi continued. "You came with me to this place to contribute to the sum of human knowledge in an ethnical examination. It is the first such I have undertaken else I should have realised this before, but in actually contemplating my approach to the persons under study it seems that while I might, over time, be considered a harmless savant, the two of us together could well be accounted a threat of sorts."
Looking decidedly uncomfortable, Renzi went on, "Therefore if I am to observe their natural behaviour it rather seems that . . . it were better you remain behind."
Kydd snorted. "M' dear fellow, if you feel able t' manage this all by y'rself, then I must find m' own amusements."
Renzi's face fell, but then Kydd chuckled. "Pay no mind t' me, Nicholas. If I'm t' be truthful, I'd say that there's nothin' in the world more congenial t' me right now than settlin' t' both anchors in as quiet a place as this."
It was particularly pleasant to sit in the orangery, a small table to hand with a jug of lemon shrub, and let the beaming sunshine lay its beneficent warmth upon him. He had brought with him Chesterfield's Advice to His Son and The Polite Philosopher, which was, in its turgid phrases, agreeably closing his eyes in mortal repose.
The peace and warmth did its work and the memories of the recent past began to fade. Outside, birds hopped from branch to branch of the orchard trees, their song so different from the sound of the sea's rage.
His mind drifted to a more agreeable plane. What would Persephone be doing in Bath? Did taking the waters imply a communal bath somewhere or would someone of her quality be granted private quarters? No doubt Lady Lockwood would come round to things eventually, particularly with Persephone there to explain things. Meanwhile . . .
"Oh! I didn't mean to disturb you, Mr Kydd!" a timid voice called from the door. Kydd opened his eyes and rose.
"No, no, please, don't get up. I only thought you'd like tea and—and I see you already have something." Her voice was shy but appealing in its childlike innocence, although Rosalynd was plainly a young woman.
"That's kind in ye, Miss Rosalynd," Kydd said, with finality, hoping she would go away—he was enjoying the tranquillity and those pale blue eyes had an other-worldly quality that unnerved him. But she remained quietly, watching him. "Y' see, I'm in deep study with m' book," he explained stiffly.
She approached shyly and Kydd became uncomfortably aware that she had a startling natural beauty, of which she seemed unconscious. "I'm so curious, Mr Kydd—I've never met a learned gentleman before. Do forgive me, but I've always wondered what they think on when their mind is not in a struggle with some great problem."
Those eyes. "Er, I'm really no scholard, Miss. F'r that you need t' ask Mr Renzi. I'm only his—his assistant." He fiddled with his book.
"Oh, well, if there's any service I can do for you gentlemen . . ."
"Thank you, we'd most certainly call on ye."
She hesitated. Then, with a smile and a curtsy, she left.
It was no good. She had ruined his rest so he took up Chesterfield. The Latin tags annoyed him and the convoluted prose of half a century before was tedious. Yet if he was to hold his place in the highest society he should know the rules by heart, and soon. He sighed and ploughed on.
Renzi returned in high spirits. "Such richness of material—it's striking to see the variation in responses. And the philology—it would give you pause should you see what I've gleaned from their rustic speech. A splendid day, and tomorrow I'm promised an old man of a hundred and five years who can remember Queen Anne's day . . ."
At the evening meal Kydd left it to Renzi to deflect the polite enquiries concerning where they had come from. It would probably cause alarm and consternation if ever it reached down to the nest of smugglers below them that an active commander, Royal Navy, was taking his ease so close. And, of course, he did not want to hazard the trust Renzi had established with the local folk.
In the morning Renzi was off early, leaving Kydd to his orangery once more. Just as he had settled in his easy chair there was a shy knock and Rosalynd entered, then stood before him. "Mr Kydd, I don't believe you're a learned gentleman at all."
Kydd blinked and she went on, "I saw you last night when Mr Renzi was telling about his word fossils and I could swear you had no notion at all of what he was saying."
"Ah, well, y' see, I'm a friend of Mr Renzi's who assists when called upon," Kydd said weakly.
She laughed prettily. "You see? I knew you weren't. You're much too—too, er . . . May I be told who it is you are, sir?"
It was unsettling, but her innocence was disarming and he could not help a smile. "No one of significance, you'll understand. I'm just a gentleman o' leisure, is all, Miss Rosalynd."
Looking doubtfully at him she said, "I do believe you're teasing me, sir. You have the air of—of someone of consequence, whom it would be folly to trifle with. You're a soldier, Mr Kydd, a colonel of some high regiment!"