Julian Stockwin - The Privateer's Revenge

Most of all, a gulf now separated them that could not have been greater: Kydd had found himself and would go on to great things, while he could only dream of achieving something in the philosophical line, not a path likely to lead to such riches.

With a sudden stab he realised as well that, as Kydd and his family rose in the world, Cecilia might be placed for ever beyond his reach. His despondency turned to fear.

The gritty rolling of wheels outside told him that soon he would know the worst. Sitting quite still, his pulse quickening, he heard the cries of an ostler and the jingling of harness—then a deeper voice of authority, probably the major-domo greeting his master: "A pleasant voyage, sir?"

Then the blessed sound of Kydd's hearty voice: "Not s' pleasant, but a mort profitable, I'd have t' say."

"Oh, er, there's a gentleman in the receiving room," the voice went on. "He gave no card but claims to be an acquaintance of yours. Will you see him or . . . ?"

"He gave a name?"

"Well, yes, sir—a Mr Rancy, sir." "Renzi!" The door burst open—and Kydd stood there, utter delight on his face. "Nicholas!" he cried. "Ye're here!"

Renzi stood slowly. "Yes, dear fellow, as you have rightly perceived, I am indeed here," he said, eyes smarting.

Kydd advanced impulsively and hugged his friend. Then, frowning, he held him at arm's length. "That rogue the prince o' whatever—why, he's been working ye half t' death. Still, no need f'r that kind o' thing any more, Nicholas. We're rich!"

While Renzi was digesting the "we," Kydd turned on the major-domo. "Rouse up th' hands!" he roared. "We're t' have a right true welcome home t' two heroes o' the sea!"

They moved to the more august surroundings of the spacious drawing room, and Renzi noted how confidently Kydd moved about the sumptuous furnishings. Soon, fortified by a fine brandy, the two friends were slipping back into their old familiarity.

"Then do I take it that your recent voyage might be accounted successful, brother?"

"Aye," Kydd said, with relish. "One who thought t' go a-tradin' with th' French colonies—a right Tartar but no match f'r the Witch, o' course."

"So now you have taken the character of a man of means, not to say wealth."

"Oh, this pile, y' think so? It's on a very favourable lease fr'm a Mr Vauvert, rich cove who's done well out o' investin' in m' cruises."

"Then this bounteous cornucopia might be said sufficient for your plans now to go afoot."

"Ah—the plans. Nicholas, I've had time t' think about it. It wasn't really much of a plan t' conceive they'll put 'emselves up against th' law just f'r a few guineas. Foolish t' believe so, don't y' think?"

"I'd be obliged to agree, dear fellow. But what if we could find some other way to right this grievous wrong done to you?"

"Y' mean, lay out the gold t' hire a flash London lawyer as will see me right? No, Nicholas, without we have th' evidence t' show him it just won't fadge."

"Perhaps then we could find a denizen of the demi-world, an abandoned creature not noted for the delicacy of his morals who would follow the trail wheresoever it led. But who would know such a person?"

"Nicholas!" Kydd exclaimed, scandalised. "I'll not have dealings wi' such. It's not the place f'r a gentleman, as you y'self tells me!" he said with heat. Hesitating, he conceded reluctantly, "So it seems I'll have t' face it. There's no way forward. This is m' lot in life, an' if I'm t' be truthful then it's t' say that it's not so hard, an' I'm still fightin' the King's enemies—in a private way, o' course."

"Umm. Well, do tell me, for my interest, if it were in any wise made possible that at some future date the vile act is exposed and the malefactors brought to a reckoning, would you still desire to set yourself on "Teazer's quarterdeck again? To give away the carefree life of a corsair for the stern duties of the Navy?"

Puzzled, Kydd blinked. "Why, o' course! Why else would I . . . ? Ah, I see—ye're flamming me! Well, Nicholas, let me say ye can be sure that if I c'n think of another plan as'll smoke 'em out, well, I'll do it with all m' heart."

Renzi paused. A half-smile spread as he felt about inside his waistcoat. "Well, now, if you're ever to be a commander again we'll have to find a way to deal with these." Slowly he withdrew a small sheaf of papers.

Unfolding the top one and holding it up, he asked innocently, "Oh, er, do you recognise this at all?"

"My God! Th' secret orders! Where did you . . . ?"

"From the knave who deliberately inserted them into your lawful orders."

"Who?" "As instructed by another, who most ardently wished for your ruin."

"Who, damn it, Nicholas? Was it Lockwood?" Kydd blazed.

"Prosser."

Kydd slumped in amazement. "That—that gib-faced shicer? In God's name, why?"

"To achieve his step as an officer."

"An' who was th' other?"

"The principal was Carthew. In a fit of jealous rage he paid a smuggler to land the chest and used Prosser to falsify your orders. Simple, really."

Kydd shook his head in wonder. "That any should be s' low." He turned to Renzi. "Nicholas, how did ye . . . ?"

"Oh, merely the application of common logic, and when I enquired it of him he most readily admitted the act. You will find his written confession here, the name of the smuggler, and as well he has agreed to testify against Carthew."

Speechless, Kydd could only gaze at him in admiration. "Then— then this means . . ."

"It is over, dear friend. With this evidence your reinstatement will be a matter of formality only, and remembering the particular kindness Sir James Saumarez had for you, I would not be in the least surprised to find him especially anxious to make up in some handsome way for what you have suffered." Stretching out lazily, he continued, "And from henceforth your new fortune will set you in the first rank of society, never more to concern yourself with trifles as we mortals must. Not forgetting that your means now will bring you influence and power, perhaps a seat in parliament? It were folly for the Admiralty to ignore such a one."

Kydd listened quietly, then grinned. "O' course, Nicholas, if life in a pawky brig-sloop doesn't please ye any more, I shall have t' find a new clerk . . ."

It took another brandy before conversation could resume.

With a triumphant flourish Kydd waved the evidence in the air. "Who'd have thought it? I hold in m' hands just a few squiddy papers, but they're enough t' see me back in command o' dear Teazer !" His eyes shone.

"And a nemesis for the wrongdoer!" Renzi added.

"Aye," Kydd said, his voice hardening. "Carthew doesn't know it yet but he's found out, an' I'm about t' choke his luff with this'n! I'll now have my revenge on him, th' dog!"

Renzi gave a saintly smile. "A court-martial and dismissal with disgrace from His Majesty's Navy, scorn and contempt at all levels and no hope whatsoever of being received by polite society ever again. And, of course, little prospect of employment by any who value probity in character."

The smile grew wider. "If, of course, you wish to cast him into damages then you must add penury to his suffering."

"Enough!" Kydd rose to his feet. "I'm goin' t' Saumarez— now!"

Renzi gave a little laugh, which he tried to smother.

"What?" Kydd grated.

"Oh, nothing. Just the irony of a privateer's revenge setting a right true sea officer back into His Majesty's Service."

Author's Note

THE ANCIENT CASTLE OF MONT ORGUEIL still lies at the head of Gorey Bay in Jersey. The curious may wish to visit and pace the stone floors of the rooms from which Commodore (later Admiral) Philippe d'Auvergne ran La Correspondance in those desperate days two hundred years ago. They might then desire to mount the old battlements for the thrilling view of the coast of France, as countless sentries and others have done over the centuries since Good Queen Bess. I would recommend the trip; there have been few of my research locations that have proved so little changed and so genuinely atmospheric.