Julian Stockwin - Artemis

'All the haaaaands to dance and skylark!' the boatswain roared happily.

'You are quite betwaddled, Mr Perrott and - my God, who's driving the carriage?' she suddenly screamed in terror.

The boatswain winked again. 'Why, Mr Thomas — 'e's 'ad the ribbons this last mile 'n' a half.' He seemed to recollect something and disappeared abruptly.

Shaken, Mrs Kydd turned to her husband. 'I knew we shouldn't have let Thomas ride outside,' she muttered. The carriage turned abruptly, and swung in through a wrought-iron gate, rolling grittily up the driveway. 'We're here, Walter,' she exclaimed, in consternation.

They drew up at twin sconces that flamed each side of an impressive doorway. Even before the carriage had come to a stop, Kydd dropped lightly to the ground and was at the door, lowering the step. Muffled sounds of gaiety and music from within raised the pitch of excitement to an exquisite expectation.

'Milady.' He grinned at Cecilia, who accepted his hand daintily in much the same way as she had boarded the frigate at his side in Portsmouth. A special, soft look was Kydd's token that she had not forgotten either.

The party stood outside, uncertain. The carriage stood also. Mrs Kydd dug her elbow discreetly into Mr Kydd's side until he blinked and spoke up to the figure at the reins. 'Er, please to await our pleasure, er, you may proceed, Mr Perrott.'

The boatswain leant down puzzled, then looked mystified at Kydd. 'Oh — he means, lay off to loo'ard but stay within hail,' Kydd explained. The boatswain grinned and jerked the carriage forward.

At the door, a harassed footman appeared. Renzi guessed that the household did not run to over-many servants but approached with good grace. He was in his plain black, his only concession to the evening a borrowed silver-grey waistcoat. The footman, expecting something by way of a cloak, stood confused.

'Mr and Mrs Kydd, Miss Cecilia Kydd, Mr Thomas Kydd - and Mr Renzi,' Renzi said quietly.

Kydd's own raiment was of an altogether more flamboyant nature. Growling that he wanted nothing of coats and breeches he had finally succumbed, and at the last minute wore a brave show of bottle-green coat, blue breeches and tasselled yellow waistcoat. Renzi had shuddered at the sight, but loudly approved Kydd's snowy white lace cravat.

The footman led them into the house to what would serve as the assembly room for the night. It was ablaze with candlelight, mirrors at each end placed cunningly to make the room seem even larger, and filled with people chattering delightedly. Beyond were large French windows open to the warm darkness of the garden beyond. Packed into the corner a string trio sawed away and a shy maid bore around a tray of sweetmeats.

'Oh, Mr Renzi,' said Mrs Daryton warmly, advancing on Renzi. 'I am so glad you were able to come.' Her gown gave ample prominence to her bosom, and her exuberant display of jewellery glittered in the candlelight. 'You must meet Letitia, she has been talking about you — and Mr Bedsoe says as how he is sure you are in the diplomatic line,' she added.

Renzi stood his ground, and with a perfect bow stepped aside to reveal Cecilia, eyes wide and looking striking in the ivory dress, with her strong features and dark looks. 'May I present Miss Cecilia Kydd,' he said, signalling discreetly to the motionless Cecilia to step forward. Renzi caught faces turning appreciatively in her direction as the men took her measure.

'My dear, I hope you will enjoy this little evening, I'm sure,' Mrs Daryton murmured. Renzi hung back discreetly, and she moved on to Mrs Kydd, 'I don't think I've had the pleasure,' she said, in a silver-cool voice.

Mrs Kydd flushed, but Mr Kydd stepped up manfully. 'Mrs Daryton, may — er — might I present my wife, Fanny.' To Mrs Daryton's infinite satisfaction, Mrs Kydd bobbed her a quick curtsy. 'And my son Thomas.' Raising her eyebrows at Kydd's interesting appearance, she nevertheless took in thoughtfully his manly strength and direct gaze.

Renzi watched the proceedings and when honours had been duly done, assumed a polite smile and moved forward into the noisy throng.

'I say, you, Renzi!' A short man with a flushed face and sharp flinty eyes confronted him. 'D'ye think we don't know what y'r about?'

'I am afraid you have the advantage of me, sir,' said Renzi.

The man flashed glances around the room. 'Bedsoe, sir, and it's a guinea to a shillin' you're in gover'ment business, an' diplomacy at that. Right?'

Renzi gave a short bow. 'I am desolated to contradict you, Mr Bedsoe, but I am far from being a diplomat.' Another two men, one with an interested lady on his arm, joined the conversation.

'Ah, but still on government business, I'll be bound,' one said.

His lady looked at Renzi boldly. 'You will forgive us quizzing you, sir, but you do present as a man of some mystery,' she said, her eyes on his.

'I vow I am not on government business,' Renzi deflected urbanely.

'He is a man of business,' the other man said to the lady, 'I heard Mrs Daryton say.'

'Oh - then it must be, let me see, in banking, foreign money, secret arrangements.' The lady's eyes sparkled.

'No, no!' Renzi laughed.

'Then what, pray?'

'Er, all that I am permitted to say is that as of this moment I am on the King's Service,' Renzi said. 'Ah! The King! And—'

'I am not at liberty to say anything further, madam.'

The group fell into a silence, looking respectfully at Renzi. 'These are fearful times, my dear,' the first man told her, 'uncommon dreadful things happenin' everywhere in the world. I'm sure Mr Renzi is involved in these at some peril to himself, in our interest — is that not so, Renzi?'

* * *

Kydd felt more awkward than ever he had felt before. He hung back from the crowd, watching the backs of men as they chatted amiably with the women, some of whom threw him curious glances. He was left alone in his misery — he knew no one and could think of no easy conversational entree.

'What have we here, Charles?' To his right, two men strolled towards him, their gold quizzing glasses and tight buckskin breeches proclaiming them dandies. A quizzing glass went up and the taller man swept Kydd up and down. 'Such a fopling, Charles - but I do believe it is our new word-grinder at this Navy school.'

The other dandy's eyebrows went up in astonishment. 'By Jessamy, an' I think you may be right, dear fellow.'

Kydd glowered, but could not think of what to do in the situation.

'I say, Mr Schoolman, do you realise you'll be learnin' young Brenton his gerunds from his gerundives?' The two dissolved into elegant fits of the giggles for some reason.

'If y'r Brenton needs his jerruns he'll learn his jerruns, right enough,' Kydd said stiffly.

The two broke into howls of laughter, and sauntered off. Kydd's face burned, and he yearned with all his heart to be back in the clear salt air of the sea, where men about him were honest and direct.

The hum of conversations rose and fell, and he watched Cecilia playing complex games of coquetry with her fan to a circle of admirers. Renzi was backed into a corner by a group of what seemed to be local businessmen, and his mother sat in animated conversation with other mothers of an age in the chairs along one wall.

A silvery tinkle sounded above the hubbub. It persisted, and the noise died. It was Mrs Daryton in the centre of the room, looking about her primly.

'The gentlemen may now find their partners for the quadrille/ she announced.

A happy burst of chatter erupted and Kydd was shouldered unceremoniously aside by excited couples. He flattened himself against the wall and saw Renzi stride through the crowd to Cecilia. 'Shall you dance with me, Miss Kydd?' he said, raising her hand to his lips.

Cecilia dropped her eyes and said modestly, 'My mama tells me never to accept a man's invitation too precipitately.' Then the eyes flicked up and filled with laughter. 'Of course, dear Nicholas.'