Julian Stockwin - Seaflower

Kydd stood irresolute, doubts nagging at him, but they were swamped by one overriding thought: if he could not freely taste the delights of life, then what was life for? 'What cheer, mateys!' he said loudly. 'Do ye have a glass as will allow me t' hob-a-nob with th' Terriers?'

It was punch from a cauldron, a swirling mix of rum, pineapple and coconut. It slipped down easily, and as he had been unable to take strong drink for some time, it went speedily to his head. He looked round, savouring the energy, the vitality around him: this was what it was to seize life! Yet as the rum took hold he felt somehow unfulfilled, aimless, restless.

'How do, Massa Keed!' There was no mistaking the low purr. The woman fingered the polished dark bean she wore around her neck. It lay against the twin swell of her dark breasts, and a predatory gleam showed briefly in her eyes.

'Sukey,' Kydd said, feeling the impact of the lazy swing of her hips as she moved towards him. She came very close and her musky feminine odour invaded his senses as she slowly reached out, letting her hand slide down his arm to the tankard, which she silently detached from his grip with a teasing smile.

The colour, light and noise around him fell away as the centre of his vision was filled with one thing: a focus at last for the burning thoughts that took his reason.

She half turned. 'Doan like th' loft.' She pouted. 'Too many noise — yo have a lodgin' house or somewheres?'

Kydd's blood roared. 'Yes!' he said thickly. His drab rooms would now know something other than solitude. But then he remembered: Luke would be there, manfully at work with his quill and ink, loyally transcribing his improving words. Frustration built into a sweet but driving pain. There was no place in Antigua that offered the privacy he knew he needed to cover his deed. Sukey let her eyes drop and teased at his shirt.

Suddenly a thought exploded. 'Come on!' Kydd mouthed, pulling her away. She feigned reluctance, but her smile widened and they ran along the coral quay, past the deserted seamen's galley, the silent, two-storeyed canvas and cordage store, the low joiner's loft. The boat-house was still and somnolent. Kydd found the door to the office and fumbled for his key. Sukey snuggled up behind him, her hands sliding over his body, confident and direct in their purpose. The door creaked open into black stillness, and he jerked her inside. Just remembering to lock it he smiled savagely; they could be sure of their privacy now.

In the dusky light Sukey came to him, but when his responses grew fevered, impassioned, she pushed him away, avoiding his hands. He growled and she pouted, then began undoing his shirt, somehow contriving at the same time to lose her own red shift. Suddenly they were both naked. Their bodies slammed together. Giggling, Sukey pulled him to the floor, taunting him, guiding him. His smile turned to a snarl, his hands dug into her shoulders. Suddenly she froze, her eyes wide open staring at the door. Panting, Kydd stopped, baffled.

The lock turned, and into the office stepped an indistinct figure with a lantern. The room was filled with pitiless light that fell on their locked bodies. There was a sharp intake of breath, and the light trembled. 'Kydd!' came an outraged shout. It was Caird.

Sukey pushed Kydd off her, frightened and quaking, and scrabbled for her clothes, which she held against her nakedness. Kydd didn't know where to turn in the sickening wash of shame and horror.

With a terrible intensity, Caird bit off his words: 'May the Good Lord have mercy on your soul, sir — for I shall not!'

Kydd returned to his lodging, dreading the dawn. Luke retreated, shocked at his expression.

The next day was every bit as bad as he had feared. Caird was controlled, but it was with a cold ferocity that tore at Kydd's pride, his manhood, leaving him shaking and in no doubt of his worthlessness. He was told that his employment as a master was over in Antigua and, as of that moment, he was no longer required in the dockyard.

'And for your damnable depravity,' Caird concluded, 'your indulgence in lust to the hazard of your immortal soul, sir, I will see to it you go from this island. You shall depart on the first King's ship that chances by!' Pausing only to draw breath he stood and said, 'By some wicked means you have ensnared my daughter's affections. She is at this time undone in her sensibilities. You are a desperately wicked rascal, and will very soon come to the sordid end you deserve! Go, sir! Get you out of my sight! Go!’

Chapter 8

The day Kydd and Renzi were parted had been a bleak one for Renzi. The brig gathered way, making for the open sea in the bright morning. Renzi looked back from the tiny foretop. He could just make out the red coats of the marines in the panic ashore, and knew that Kydd must be there too, watching the vessel sail away, leaving him to his fate.

On the crowded deck, moans and shrieks arose from the French passengers at the realisation that they were on their way to safety but that their friends and relations ashore would probably soon suffer a cruel death. Only Louise Vernou stood quietly, staring at the shore, frozen in pity. She held an object to her lips: Renzi saw that it was the anchor-embossed button Kydd had given her, around her neck on a thin cord.

If Kydd could escape from the clutches of the mindless rabble and keep the marines with him, he had a chance, but the situation was critical. Despite his cool self-possession, Renzi felt his throat tighten. They had seen so much together. It was characteristic of war, the arbitrary nature of its demands of blood and grief, but he realised that he was not as detached from the world as he had thought.

Jowett, the master's mate in command, stumped over and told him brusquely, 'Tell th' Frenchie bastards to go below, t' the hold!'

Renzi cajoled and threatened them, and eventually had them crammed into it. The main hatch was left open to give them sight of the sky.

Square sail was set and the brig settled to a workmanlike beat to round the southern end of Guadeloupe. 'We c'n make Antigua in a day - wi' this lot we cannot fetch Barbados without we find water 'n' vittles,' Jowett said. 'We sets course f'r St John's.'

There was a dockyard in Antigua, Renzi recollected, and it was well fortified. St John's was round the coast to the north, but had the main naval presence, the Admiral commanding the Leeward Islands station and all the facilities for taking their cargo of newly homeless. Later, no doubt, they would go on to the dockyard. All they had to do was cross the short distance to the island without encountering any of the French invasion fleet.

Some hours later they had rounded the southern tip of Basse Terre and, well snugged in on the starboard tack, they began to slip their way north, past the now-hostile anonymous green-splotched coast. The distracted babble died away as the brig met the busy waves of the open sea, responding with a lively roll that had the passengers in the hold huddling down. A canvas awning was spread over the hatch against the frequent spray but there was no protest from below.

By the afternoon they had reached the northern coast of Guadeloupe and began to stretch out over the sea to the bulk of Antigua ahead. Jowett's face -set to the north-east, towards the build-up of cloud massing there. He sniffed the wind distrustfully. 'I mislike bolderin' weather this time o' the year, this bein' the season f'r hurricanoes an' all.' They would have no chance if it came to anything like a gale: merchantmen were always looking to shave corners with the cost of gear.

'Sail hoooo!’ The lookout in this small vessel was only forty feet up, and his sudden bellow made Renzi start. He followed the outstretched arm and saw a fore-and-aft rigged craft emerging from a kink in the northern coastline, not large but dismayingly warlike. A second vessel appeared and the pair set course to intercept.