The Privateer's Revenge (15 page)

“Sir, I signed for the packet but immediately locked it into the captain's confidential stowage,” Renzi said quietly, his face pale.

“Sir—”

“Mr Kydd?”

“Sir. I find it monstrous that I'm being treated in this way. I did m' duty t' th' best o' my—”

Saumarez bowed his head and held up his hand. “Clear the room,” he said. “I've heard enough. You will remain, Mr Kydd.”

When they had left Saumarez looked at Kydd for a long moment before he spoke. “You! Of all the men of promise in my command—to stoop to venal acts as shabby as any.”

Kydd tried to say something but it came out as a mumble.

“And you think to obfuscate and temporise with wild tales that do you no credit whatsoever. I have to tell you, sir, I'm both shocked and greatly saddened by what has passed.” He sighed deeply and rose slowly from his chair. “And now I have to decide what to do with you.” He paced to the end of the room, then turned. “In view of your recent valour and service to my squadron I will not proceed in law, Mr Kydd.”

“Th-thank you, sir.” There seemed nothing else to say.

“However, I see no other course than to relieve you of your command as of this hour, Mr Kydd. You are not to return to your ship. Your effects will be sent ashore at your convenience. I will not have you as an example to my fleet. Good day to you, sir.”

C
HAPTER 8

K
YDD WAS VERY QUIET
, unheeding of the hubbub that eddied around the inn's taproom. The candle guttered, throwing the lines on his face into deep relief. Renzi felt uneasy. Would this sudden catapult into shame and an unknown future tip him back into unreality?

“Ye didn't have t' do it, Nicholas,” he said eventually, his beer still untouched in the pewter tankard.

“With
Teazer
in an uproar and all ahoo? Not as this would assist in a scholard's ruminations.”

Kydd raised his head. “Who is . . . ?”

Renzi saw there was no point in prolonging it. “Kit Standish is made captain and Prosser an acting lieutenant.” The light died in his friend's eyes and his head dropped. Renzi's heart was wrung with pity. That a man could suffer two such blows in succession was grievous. That neither was of Kydd's doing was so much the worse.

“Did they land y'r books in good shape?” Kydd asked unexpectedly, breaking into Renzi's thoughts. He had found an old sail-loft near the boatbuilders in Havelet Bay as a temporary store for their possessions, the familiar objects of a score of voyages on a dozen seas now hidden under drab canvas, waiting for . . . who knew what?

“They did, bless them. Stirk made the boat's crew bear them the full way, then insisted in making a seamanlike stow of them.” He hesitated, then added softly, “And wishes I might make known to you the true feelings of the ship's company on your cruel and unjust treatment.”

Kydd gave a tired smile. “You worry I'm ready t' slip m' cable, go astray in m' wits—I know ye too well, ol' friend.”

His head drooped once more—but then he looked up suddenly and, with an appalling crash, both of his fists smashed on to the table. He held Renzi's eyes with cold ferocity. “If it takes th' rest o' m' life, I'm going t' get revenge o' this. I don't know what it's about, but y' have my oath—someone's t' pay for it.”

Renzi was taken aback. At first he could think of nothing to say; he had his suspicions but it was not the time to air them. He sought refuge in his glass, then said, “Perhaps we should give thought as to our future.”

Kydd breathed deeply and forced himself into control. His knuckles were still white, and Renzi felt a fleeting pity for the perpetrator when his friend finally found him.

“Er, what do ye suggest?”

“Well, there's nothing to keep us here,” Renzi said, “and I do recall we have the better part of a year's lease left on number eighteen, all paid for, of course, and a pity to waste it.”

“No!”

“It's comfortable and . . . it's there,” Renzi finished lamely.

“I'm not leavin' here! Not until I've cleared m' name an' been taken back.”

“Tom. Dear friend. You should not set your heart on this. I sadly fear it'll prove a deep and fearful mystery that may well be impossible to penetrate at our remove. Someone is out to ruin you, and has friends . . .

“Consider—although you've been dismissed your ship, they've not succeeded in having you cashiered out of the Service. You're unemployed, but still a commander, Royal Navy, and can be given a ship at any time—but not here while Admiral Saumarez remains in command.”

“I stay,” Kydd hissed. “If I leave, I've got no chance o' nobblin' th' bastard who did this. It's here there's th' clues, an' here I stay till I've laid him by th' tail.”

“I understand, brother,” Renzi said. “And since these islands are proving such a singular source of ethnical curiosities, so shall I stay too.”

“I—I thank ye for it, Nicholas. I've taken rooms here as will serve.”

He took a pull at his drink, then said, “This I don't fathom, Nicholas. Why should Saumarez deny his own orders? He's a square-sailin' sort, treated me right well before.”

“That's easily answered. There
were
no sealed orders.”

“I saw 'em wi' my own eyes, Nicholas!”

“Those were counterfeit, added to the original orders.”

Kydd slumped back. “Why?”

“As I said, to bring about your fall from grace and ruin in the most complete fashion possible. A masterly plot, it has to be admitted,” Renzi mused. He went on firmly, “I saw the orders were unopened: Prosser signed for them in due form in the admiral's office and they were still unopened when I took them in charge. This implies that if there was anything untoward it was done in the admiral's office.”

“Then we clap on all sail an' go—”

“This will not be possible. Your presence will be resisted. More to the point, it will be to no purpose.”

“I'll sweat it out o' th' buggers—someone knows—”

“It would appear, dear fellow, that anyone having influence in a commander-in-chief's office and acting with confidence and a degree of familiarity, one admiral upon another, does in fact suggest—”

“Lockwood!” Kydd recalled the man's threats when he had chosen Rosalynd over his daughter.

“I cannot dispute your conclusion. He has sworn to destroy you for what he imagines you've done concerning his family, and but for the respect you have already won from Admiral Saumarez, you would now be facing a court-martial and certain public ruination.”

“How . . . ?”

“The motive is established, the method easily deduced. It requires but one corrupt clerk to accept a suitably fat bribe to insert the poisonous forgery, and one smuggler knowing the coast to deposit the chest, and it is done.” He added, “It's the perfect method, for how do we proceed? Do we know who took the bribe? Confront the admiral's staff one by one and demand they confess? Or minutely examine their motions on the day in question and—It's hopeless, I'm obliged to say.”

Kydd slumped back. “If you'd have found th' orders when you were called, Nicholas, I'd have waved 'em in Saumarez's face an' m' case would be proved.”

“You will believe I searched furiously, the escort looking on with a certain impatience—but as you can observe, if I confessed knowledge of them by their absence, we'd be in a strange fixation both.”

“Then they're still aboard!”

“I rather doubt it. I personally supervised the removal of your effects with the intent of their discovery. If you could but remember where you placed them?”

“I—I've tried, damn it, but we were in a moil at th' time, puttin' t' sea an' all.”

Renzi sighed. “But then it's all of no account. At this space of time, should you produce them now it would be considered a clumsy attempt at exculpation. No, brother, this is as serious a matter as we have ever faced—and I confess at this time I see no way forward.”

Kydd was frustrated and restless. “I've a notion t' take a walk, Nicholas, clear th' intellects.” Spirited discussion had not resolved the matter, but there had to be a way through.

With his uniform packed and stowed, Kydd was in his barely worn civilian garb, the dark-green tailed coat and nondescript pantaloons feeling odd after his stout naval coat and breeches. He was now a figure of scandal, of wonder—a Navy captain who had been publicly shamed, caught out in a felony and dismissed his ship. To make things even more juicy for the gossips he was the undoubted hero of the recent Granville action. In the street he would be pointed out, gaped at, scorned—and not a word could he say in his defence.

Feeling hot shame he descended the inn stairs, holding to his heart that, no matter what,
he
knew he was innocent of any wrong-doing. The street was in its usual clamorous busyness and Kydd's emergence was not noticed. Gathering his courage about him he turned left and marched resolutely up High Street.

Renzi caught up with him in the more spacious upper reaches. “I hadn't bargained on such a gallop,” he puffed. “Do moderate your pace, I beg.”

But Kydd wanted to be away from the town and didn't slow. Eventually they found the road north, slackened their speed and Renzi found breath for conversation. “A remarkable island—just a few miles broad but—”

“T' be pointed out as—as who I am, it's more'n a man should bear,” Kydd said, through his teeth. He knew, however, that there was one easy answer: simply to return to England and find anonymity—but that would deprive him of any chance to uncover the truth and reclaim his honour.

Renzi glanced at him sharply. “Don't take it amiss, my friend, if I remark that few know you by sight, your not having entered upon society to any great degree. I have my doubts there are above a dozen people outside the Navy who know you so you shouldn't overmuch fear the gaze of the herd, if that is your concern.”

“Aye, but they'll find out—an' you will say I'm damned in society.”

Renzi bit his lip. “Here, this will be so for now, I agree. But in England—”

“I'm not leavin', Nicholas.”

They walked on in silence and after an hour returned. Nothing had been concluded other than a vague intent to go to the admiral's office and do something unspecified. Yet every hour that passed . . . For all they knew, Lockwood's agent might still be on the island preparing to return, still available for unmasking.

It was the worst kind of frustration; Kydd found it hard to contain, and as they passed Government House he turned impulsively to go into the naval headquarters. Their entry was refused but he pushed past the scandalised sentry whereupon they were indignantly ejected. There would be no interrogations.

The evening meal was cheerless and silent. It had become obvious now that there would be no quick solution and happy restitution— in fact, nothing constructive whatsoever had suggested itself.

In the morning, Kydd excused himself and said he needed to go for a walk alone. When he returned his face was serious. Renzi knew better than to ask; indeed, his own situation was approaching despair, for complete idleness without the solace of his books was difficult.

The day wore on drearily with neither news nor inspiration; eventually, needing to get out, Renzi suggested they head to the tavern where they had shared a dinner before their world had turned demented.

It was a mistake. They had a fine view of the castle islet below, but also a first-class vantage-point to witness HMS
Teazer
win her anchor and stand out to sea, her long masthead pennant whipping in the brisk breeze. It was proof positive that a new commission had begun for her, a new life under a new captain.

Kydd's face was like stone. Then Renzi saw a glitter in his eyes and he had to turn away. When he looked back Kydd was as still as a statue, following the little vessel with his eyes until she spread full sail and made off southward—to the open sea. With infinite sadness, he said, “I'd be beholden t' ye, Nicholas, should we go back now.”

“It grieves me to raise the subject, brother, but we must take stock of our position.” Renzi and Kydd sat in their usual spot in the snug, to one side of the fire, teasing out their half-pints of ale for as long as they could. It was now five days gone and they were no further forward.

Kydd said nothing, gloomily lifting his grog-blackened leather tankard.

“In fine, it is to remark that our means are not without their limit—my humble emolument as a ship's clerk ceased the minute I quit the ship, as you would know, and for your own good self

. . .”

Kydd shifted uncomfortably. “I'm on half-pay, that's true, but I have t' say to ye, it's spoken for f'r months ahead—I outlaid a fat purse t' those villains in St Sampson t' prettify
Teazer
's bright-work an' gingerbread. I doubt as Standish is appreciatin' it now,” he added morosely.

Renzi turned grave. “Am I to understand thereby that we are living on our capital?”

“Aye, I suppose it's so.”

“Then—then it's time for a decision, my friend.”

“Oh?”

“Most certainly. And it is simply to establish at what point we will be constrained to recognise our resources no longer allow us to continue our hunt and retire from hence, wounded but whole.”

“I'm not running!” Kydd blazed. “T' return to m' family wi' such a stain? I'd sooner roast in hell.”

Renzi gave a half-smile. “Then we must take prudent measures, steps to preserve body and soul through come what may until . . .”

“Someone's going t' talk,” Kydd said positively, “spend their vile guineas like water, make a noise in th' taverns. An' then I'll hear about it,” he said savagely. “An' God help th' slivey toad!”

“Very well,” Renzi said, without conviction. “The first is to secure our living quarters. This fine inn here is no longer within our competence. We must find—”

“Our?” Kydd cut in. “Nicholas, this is not your fight.”

“In all conscience the odds against you are high enough. I cannot find it in me to leave you to face alone what you must, dear brother. No, this is now my decision, which you will allow me to make on my own.”