The long night passed in self-condemnation, recrimination and torturing images of his shocked friends and relations as they heard the news. How could he bear the shame? What excuse could he offer? He lay sleepless on the rank straw, dreading the day to come.
At first light the guards took up position at the grating. Kydd heard footsteps approaching and saw figures peering down. He shrank away. There were muffled voices, then a guard lifted away the grating and swung over a lanthorn. "Hey! Yair, you wi' the grego!"
Kydd looked up miserably.
"Yes, that's him, the villain," came a cultured voice. Another loomed next to him.
The ladder was slid down. "Up 'n' out, matey, an' no tricks!"
Kydd climbed slowly, misery overflowing. He reached the top and raised his eyes—to be met with the grave face of Nicholas Renzi, who said, with a sigh, "It's him. Tom Brown, gunner's mate. Never to be trusted ashore. I dare to say that "Teazer's captain will know what to do with him." He turned to the lieutenant. "I do thank you for securing him—we'll have him back aboard immediately. I don't believe Captain Byam need be troubled." Then he ordered the thick-set seaman next to him, "Hale him into the longboat directly, if you please."
Tobias Stirk grinned mirthlessly and frogmarched Kydd away.
CHAPTER 2
HEARING MOVEMENT IN THE OTHER BEDROOM, Renzi sat up. Although he was very tired, he rose quickly and dressed. It had been a long, distressing night. After frantically searching for Kydd for hours, he had gone to Teazer and found Stirk. Together, with Stirk sworn to secrecy, they had scoured the dockyard and town. Then, despairing, they had thought to check the press gang catch.
Renzi knocked softly. Kydd's pain was heartbreaking and he was clearly not responsible for his actions: Who knew what he might do next?
"Tom?" he called gently. "Are you awake, brother?"
There was an indistinct murmur. Renzi entered. To his surprise Kydd was shaved, dressed and tying his neckcloth. "Do I see you well, my friend?" Renzi ventured.
"As ye'd expect." Kydd did not take his eyes from the mirror.
"Believe me, brother, you have my every understanding. When one's wits are askew with grief there is no telling where the mind will stray."
"Spare me y'r pity, Nicholas," Kydd said. "It happened."
"I'm saying that I've yet to meet the man who, trapped in a pit, is able to fix on far horizons. What you did—"
"What I did was weak an' foolish. I could've brought th' Service t' contempt an' ridicule." He paused. "I'm t' be—I'm beholden t' ye, Nicholas, f'r what ye did last night."
"It was nothing more than a friend would do, dear fellow."
Kydd resumed at the mirror. "I'm goin' back aboard. This is m' duty an' this I must obey above all things." He paused. "It was th' last thing she spoke t' me, o' course," he added, swallowing hard.
"A noble sentiment, Thomas. Fitting for a gentleman of the first rank."
Kydd found his waistcoat. "Ye'll oblige me b' tellin' how many— er, who saw me last night."
"Why, none of acquaintance, I believe," Renzi answered equably. "The quarter is not favoured by King's men."
"But there was Stirk."
"It was Toby Stirk who thought to summon a waterman, once we were landed, and even gave you his coat to wear over yours on the way back. Do you think he would be the kind of man to glory in his captain's abasement? There is none who—"
"And Cecilia?"
"She will now be in possession of my note detailing how you were cruelly set upon by footpads while taking the night air to clear your head, and that visitors are discouraged."
Kydd finished dressing. "I'm returnin' t' Teazer now," he said abruptly. "Do ye wish t' come?"
"If that is my duty, Captain."
"It is."
The waterman, under the tight-lipped grimace of his passenger, bent to his oars and sent the wherry skimming across to the little brig in Barn Pool. Rounding the pretty stern windows he brought it expertly alongside her side-steps, and Kydd boarded briskly.
"You, sir!" he roared at Prosser, the lounging mate-of-the-watch, who straightened in dismay at Kydd's sudden appearance. "What kind o' watch can't sight their captain returnin' on board?"
Prosser snatched off his hat. "Er, you're not in uniform, sir," he said weakly.
Farther forward the boatswain faltered under Kydd's glare. "We—we weren't told ye was comin', sir," he said.
Hurriedly the watch found things that needed attention round the decks. "This is not a King's ship, it's a Dutch scow. What are th' men doin' for'ard?" Kydd said angrily. "Hangin' out th' washing? If'n ye can't take charge properly, Mr Prosser, I'll find someone who will."
He stalked down to his cabin. Renzi paused, then descended the after hatchway to his own tiny hideaway to wait out the mood.
The morning wore on: he usually worked by the clear light of the stern windows in the captain's cabin. He gathered up his papers and made his way aft, knocked softly and waited.
"Yes?"
The impatient tone made him hesitate.
Kydd was at his desk, his face stony. "Is there anything y' need?"
"Oh—er, you wished to sight the quarterly return on casks shaken," Renzi said, thinking quickly. "Will this be the right time, do you think?"
"Not now. Ask th' bosun to step aft, if y' please."
The afternoon watch came to an end and the starboard watch for liberty mustered. There would be the usual sore heads in the morning after their time ashore. Standish paid his respects warily and was off as smartly, leaving the ship to its evening rest. Renzi waited a little longer, then went up.
Kydd was sitting motionless by the stem windows, gazing out at the shadowed waters. "I—I'll be stayin' with Teazer for now, Nicholas," he said stiffly. "Ye're at liberty t' use number eighteen as y' see fit."
"Thank you, my friend," Renzi said quietly. "But, as you'll know, we've been at sixes and sevens in recent days. I need to take some quiet time to bring things to order. I shall stay aboard." Without asking, he sat down in the opposite chair.
Kydd stirred and cleared his throat. "Ship's business? Then do y' care t' share m' dinner?"
It was a cheerless meaclass="underline" not so much Kydd's halting conversation or his silences but the contrast with what had been before. Kydd's face was drawn, his eyes dull, and there was no light-hearted taking up of Renzi's witty sallies.
As soon as he decently could, Renzi excused himself.
The next day Kydd kept to his cabin. Life aboard Teazer settled to a dreary stasis at her mooring, the entire ship affected by the solitary and melancholy figure in the captain's cabin.
Renzi knew the cause of the flares of temper, the distracted silences: Kydd had seized on duty as salvation—the stern call to a code of conduct that was plain, uncompromising and immediate. A pathway out, which would offer a clear and unthinking course to follow that was sure and secure. And it was denied him while Teazer lay idle.
What would Admiral Lockwood plan for them? he wondered. It was an embarrassment now to have Kydd in his command, despite his recent successful cruise. Another anti-smuggling patrol? Worthy but dull, with possibly the Admiralty questioning continued employment of such a proven asset in this way. It would probably be a vague order to keep the seas as far from Plymouth as could be contrived; in any event, the sooner they got under way the better.
On the fifth day, Standish went ashore to the dockyard and returned with packages. He disappeared into Kydd's cabin and soon the ship was alive with rumour—orders had arrived at last.
The ship's clerk reported with the others. While the cabin filled with animated chatter, Renzi picked up the single sheet: ". . . and agreeable to an Admiralty Order . . . you are detached from duty in the Plymouth Command and shall proceed forthwith to join the Channel Islands Squadron . . ."