‘Nicholas – there’s something wrong, I’d believe,’ Kydd said, in concern.
Renzi gave a half-smile. ‘There is, brother. You’ll recall our earlier conversation about the difficulties in the publishing of my work. I’m now, dear friend, utterly convinced that unless I cast it in the form of a purple traveller’s tale or enter upon literary circles to cry up the piece then it will never attract the interest of a publisher.’
‘If it’s just a matter of the cobbs, Nicholas—’
‘It is not. Without an academic tenure of some colour I will never be able to command the attention of a serious nature that it deserves.’
‘Oh. So you’re saying to me . . .’
‘That my dabbling in natural philosophy is of no consequence in the larger sphere of learning and publishing. That it were better I accept this and cease my futile labouring.’
‘No! Damn it, you’ve a right trim-rigged intellect as should set a course to—’
‘But can you conceive of the triste and heavy burden it is to know that as you toil your striving is in vain?’
Unsure what to say, Kydd stayed silent.
‘Never fear, dear fellow, I am reconciled, hoist by my own petard indeed, for is not this as a society unable to change its ways in the face of altered circumstances of nature? I must bring the ship of my soul about and lay over on another tack.’
‘Er, then . . . ?’
‘Quite. My cursus vitae is now without purpose. Whither shall I wander? is my constant cry.’
‘Nicholas, it can’t be quite so bad.’
‘No? Then consider. Saving your kindness, I have no future. As your confidential secretary I am content – but this is a device only to allow me the felicity of space and time to bring forth my magnum opus. Without this . . .’
‘Why, you’re . . . that is, you have, um, every—’
‘A woman is known by her marriage, a man by his occupation. What is it that I am, then? A failed word-grinder, a man of the sea who is not, a wretched—’
‘That’s it, m’ friend – you are now quite cured of your fever as was. Shall you not petition the King to resume your lieutenancy and re-enter the Navy? A fine profession, your sea service – to be an undoubted gentleman with regular income and rattling good prospects.’
Renzi paused and reflected. ‘This does attract, but has two flaws. One, that the eminence of officer is secured by a constant devotion to duty, which I would now find hard to bear, accustomed as I am to the freedom to reflect . . .’
‘And the other?’
‘The other – that . . . that we must necessarily part, and being content with the . . . civilities of friendship, for the present I would find that . . . onerous.’
‘You must allow, Nicholas, it’ll give you the standing and income to ask for Cecilia’s hand in marriage.’
‘Possibly.’
‘Or, if we’re talking of hypotheticals, have you considered an atonement o’ sorts, an approach to your father, which—’
‘Never! There are matters of principle, of high moral standing, involved, which utterly forbids that course.’
‘Then we are at a stand, Nicholas. I can’t see how you—’
‘We?’
‘As Cecilia’s brother, I have a mort of interest,’ Kydd said evenly.
‘Then allow me to put your fraternal concerns to rest,’ Renzi said coldly. ‘It may have escaped you that Cecilia has advanced in society beyond ordinary expectation and must now be accounted a beauty by any measure. She will have a field of ardent admirers – there’s no reason to suppose she would place the attentions of a . . . a penniless wanderer before those of a gentleman of means.’
‘What? For a philosopher you make a fine juggins, Nicholas! I . . . I happen to know she has feelings for you and unless you clap on more sail she’ll think you a sad dog in pursuit who’s not worthy of her.’
‘You don’t perceive it, do you? This saddens me. In your sight does it seem, then, an honourable thing to press my suit when she might aspire to a marriage of substance and style, without want?’ He held up his hand at Kydd’s protests. ‘It’s for her that I take this course. She may indeed harbour a sisterly affection for me but for her own sake I release her from any sense of obligation to wed whom she may. She’ll now be in receipt of my letter to that effect.’
Kydd sat back in amazement. ‘Good God! Don’t you think her own feelings might be consulted at all? Does she not have a view on the matter you might discover if you asked her?’
‘This is of no consequence,’ Renzi bit off. ‘She is a warm creature and her heart may well overbear her reason, which is precisely why it’s my moral duty to withdraw and make the way clear for a more fortunate liaison.’
‘Your logic will be the death of you one day, Nicholas!’
‘Then you will perceive I die content in the knowledge that it will be in the rational cause.’ He reached for the bottle. ‘Now I’m to be used to the idea of her departing my existence, I believe.’
The days turned to weeks and their northerly course by degrees curved more easterly, tracking the great Atlantic wind system that had been followed by countless generations of seamen back to Europe.
The fine weather stayed with them, and in fifteen days their seventeen degrees of latitude had reached thirty-five. Ahead lay the Azores: an archipelago far out to sea, it nevertheless marked the parting of ways. Mediterranean-bound ships passed to the south; to the north was the Channel and England.
Why were they missing the French? The trade-wind route with its ocean-sized circulation of winds was the only practical means of crossing the Atlantic; to sail against the prevailing pattern was madness and very slow. Had they passed them in their eagerness to engage? It had occurred before, in the long pursuit before the Nile. Quite conceivably they had crossed wakes in the night, as had happened once to Nelson himself, actually sailing through the middle of the unsuspecting Spanish fleet.
And not a single clue had they on the vital question of whether Villeneuve was returning to Toulon past Gibraltar or to the feared link-up with the fleet lying at Brest and then on to an invasion.
Nelson made up his mind: it was Toulon, as it had been before.
The misty blue islands of the Azores were left to the north, those gaunt rocks where Kydd had suffered a hellish shipwreck in a frigate long years ago as a common seaman – he gave an involuntary shudder at the memory.
Gibraltar was days away only now, and the talk was all of what they would find. A galling report that Villeneuve had passed through the strait on his way to Toulon? Nothing could get past without being seen from the heights of the Rock. That he had entered Cadiz to join with the Spaniards? Or even that he lay in ambush with his great numbers in the restricted waters around Gibraltar?
All was speculation until they raised the giant fortress. Then the thousand-foot peaks of Cape Spartel resolved out of the luminous morning haze, the African outer sentinel at the entrance to the strait. They passed the thirty-odd miles through it at a tense readiness until the crouching-lion form of Gibraltar took shape ahead.
Into Algeciras Bay, and every telescope was up and feverishly scanning until one or two ships under English colours were seen peacefully at anchor in Rosia Bay. In light and fluky winds Nelson’s fleet came to anchor, one by one. The glasses came up again, this time trained on the flagship.
And almost immediately a barge put off from Victory, its passenger conspicuous and unmistakable. It pulled quickly for Ragged Staff steps and then the figure was lost in the walls and bastions. In a fever of anticipation every ship waited for word in the close heat.
One hour passed – then two. Only when the barge slowly returned to Victory in another hour without Nelson aboard did it become all so painfully clear. He would not have stayed ashore if the hunt was still on.