Kydd stiffened. "An' you're th' one t' tell me? If you were a man you'd not have run off fr'm Cecilia to New South Wales."
With a deadly ferocity, Renzi swept Kydd's papers off his desk. He leaned down, inches from his face. "How dare you?"
Kydd did not flinch, staring back with equal intensity, and said slowly, "Pick up th' papers—or leave my ship now!"
Renzi bit off what he was about to say and made to walk away, then turned back abruptly to face Kydd again. "I will not leave the ship. You don't realise it but, at this moment, there is not a soul whom you may call friend. And I solemnly warn you, as surely as the sun will set this day, very soon you will most certainly need one."
"Do try the buttered crab, Mr Kydd," Lady Saumarez pressed, "You really should—Guernsey is not to be outshone in the article of fruits of the sea."
"Yes, yes, my dear," the admiral murmured. He turned to Kydd and chuckled. "She's local-born, as was I, and will not rest until you are as a fatted calf on the good produce of our island."
Kydd sat quietly, toying with his food.
"Now, I always like to invite my new captains to a little dinner en famille like this—less formal and allows us to talk freely, learn about each other, as it were."
"Aye, sir," Kydd said respectfully.
"Tell me, your service history is sparse in its detail—you were at the Nile, were you not?"
"Sir. Fifth of Tenacious."
"Come, come, sir! You are much too coy. I happen to know that you were out in the boats when L'Orient blew up. That must have been such a fearful sight close to. Did you suffer much on your own account?"
"No, sir. I had th' boat's crew under coats an' sails. Th' big wreckage went over th' top of us."
Saumarez waited but Kydd did not elaborate. "And this is how you won your step to commander?"
"No, sir. That was later, just before th' peace." He resumed his meal.
Saumarez threw an amused look of resignation at his wife, who simpered encouragement at Kydd. "Who placed you on your own quarterdeck?"
"It was Adm'ral Keith, sir."
"For a fine action, no doubt."
"Off Toulon, Captain Rowley desired I be removed fr'm his ship, sir, an' so Adm'ral Keith sent me t' Malta to commission a new brig jus' built."
Saumarez sat back in amazement. "Well—'pon my soul! For an officer of record you are a quiet one. Have you any family?"
"No, sir."
"Ah, well, then, perhaps you should. There is nothing on this earth to compare with the love of a good woman to set the cares of the world to naught." His warm look at his wife was returned with an affection that was as tender as it was private. He turned back to Kydd. "May we know if you have any hopes at all—in the connubial sense, I mean?"
Kydd sat rigid and unspeaking.
Saumarez went on, "Sea officers, I fear, are so much at a disadvantage when it comes to affairs of the heart. I remember once when . . ." Then his words trailed off and astonishment was replaced by dismay as tears coursed down Kydd's face. Lady Saumarez stared open-mouthed.
Saumarez jumped up, stupefied by the sight but caught himself quickly. "Er, my dear, Commander Kydd is, um—and will be retiring with me to the red drawing room—for brandy, that is."
He hurried round the table, helped Kydd to his feet and led him into a large room with a cheerful fire. "Now, what is this, sir?" Saumarez asked, in a kindly tone.
"I—I can only apologise f'r m' conduct, s-sir," Kydd choked. "Y'see, I've—I've just this month lost m' intended t' drowning—" He fought down the tears and added stiffly, "If you desire, sir, I shall leave y' house immediately, o' course."
"Good heavens, no. I had no idea—here, you shall have a good brandy directly." He hurried to the decanter. "It's one of the faults of our modern society that a man cannot in any wight allow his feelings to display. Do sit, sir—my wife will fully understand when I tell her of your sad loss."
"Sir."
"It will, of course, be a grievous ordeal for you, but remember that for those who trust in the Lord's goodness it will be seen that there is a reason, however hard it is to apprehend at this time." He drew his chair closer and confided, "You will perhaps not at this point easily entertain the notion, but it has been said that my nature is one that in its sensitivity might more readily be seen in a man of the cloth. I can assure you that any distress in my fellow creature I do feel for myself." He touched Kydd's arm lightly. "Therefore I trust you will not take it amiss when I offer my advice. It is that you do seek the humanity and warmth of your fellow man in the healing—the well-springs of charity are deep, and within us all."
Kydd's expression did not change.
"I'm only too aware that for the captain of a ship this might prove . . . difficult, but there is a means to this end. I'm referring in this to the Mermaid's Club, which is a retreat for naval officers in St Peter Port. There you may find solace with your brothers of the sea."
At Kydd's silence his forehead creased in concern. "In fact, you may take it as a species of command, sir. I shall have a word in the right place as will see you introduced. Dwelling on your hurts in the privacy of your cabin is not to be countenanced. Now, I will be bending my mind to the task of finding ways to keep you and your command as active as I can contrive. Never doubt it, Mr Kydd, all things will pass in God's good time."
The room was broad but low, and dominated at the far end by windows that extended the entire width to provide a fine prospect of the busy harbour below. "Ho there, the stranger!" a voice called from the group at ease round a mahogany table towards the back.
Kydd handed his cloak to a steward, stepped forward and bowed. "Kydd, brig-sloop Teazer." A few in armchairs nearby looked up curiously from their newspapers, then nodded politely.
Kydd was the only one in uniform; the others wore shore clothes. He approached the group. "Gentlemen."
"Come to join, I take it," a large man, older than Kydd, said.
"Aye."
"Umm. Of good standing, polite to your betters, not afraid of the bottle? Any habits, vices we should know about?" His eyes were shrewd.
"No."
"A pity. We can do with men o' spirit. Right. Ten livres a month—that's less'n a guinea—feast-days extra, commensal brandy extra. Are you game?"
"Aye."
"Then you're in. I'm Carthew of Scorpion ship-sloop, and chairman o' the Mermaid. This is O'Brien out of Harpy brig and the rest you'll get to know soon enough."
He sat back in his chair and contemplated Kydd. "Sit yourself down, then, Kydd. O'Brien, get the young man a rummer. Now, sir, we'll know more of you. What did you do to be banished to this benighted corner o' the world?"
"I was detached fr'm the Plymouth command o' Admiral Lockwood, agreeable to an Admiralty request—"
"Ding dong bell, man, and what's that meant to say? That you—"
"I received m' orders an' I did my duty, Mr Carthew," Kydd rapped.
Faces turned elsewhere in the room and the talking died away for a space. "Well, well! Do I see a discontented fire-eater before me? If so, you have my condolences, my dear sir. You'll have to work hard to chase up some sport here."
O'Brien murmured something indistinct and Carthew laughed cynically. "Then my best advice to him is to get used to it—the only way he's getting out of here now is to contrive to be wrecked or become the admiral's élève when there's to be a promotion!" He continued to appraise Kydd coolly. "Is it right that you were at the Nile?"
"I was."
"I see. And Saumarez here second-in-command under Our Nel. Fortunate for you, not to say useful," he said smoothly.