Julian Stockwin - The Admiral's Daughter

"I think I do," Renzi said evenly. "This ball. It is given by our admiral and to it will come all the officers under his command in order that he might make their social acquaintance and allow the same to discover each other's wit and shining parts."

"Aye—this is what vexes me. Shall I be found wantin' in polite company? I've not attended a regular-goin' society ball in England. What is y'r advice, Nicholas? What c'n ye tell me of how to conduct m'self? What have I t' learn?"

"Dear fellow! You have the graces—polite conduct is the same in Nova Scotia, Malta and Plymouth. If you acquit yourself creditably there, then a mere ball . . . And be assured that as the captain of a ship you will not lack for admirers among the ladies and will command respect and attention from the gentlemen. I would not fear an ordeal."

"That's kind in ye to say so, m' friend. So they'll take me f'r who I am?"

"You may be quite certain they will not," Renzi said immediately. "This is England and they will take you as they see you—an uncultured boor or salty son of Neptune. Your character will be fixed only as they perceive it."

"But—"

"I will be clear. If the prescripts are not observed then, quite rightly, they will conclude that you are not of their ilk, their social persuasion, and would therefore not be comfortable in their company. In fine you would in mercy be excluded from their inner circle."

Kydd remained stubbornly silent, but listened as Renzi continued, "You would no doubt wish to exhibit the accomplishments of a gentleman in order not to frighten the ladies. Among these that you lack at the moment I might list dancing, cards and gallantry."

"I'm said t' be light on m' feet and—"

Renzi looked at him kindly. "On the matter of dancing, I dare say that you may well have been considered of the first rank, but I have to confide to you that those wretches the dancing masters, to secure their continued employment, are always inventing quantities of new dances. These you must surely hoist aboard, as unaccountably your female of the species sets inordinate store on their confident display. I would suggest some lessons without delay."

"Cards? Ye know I'm no friend t' gamblin'."

"Cards. Do you propose to spend the entire evening stepping it out with the ladies? This would surely be remarked upon. It would be much more the thing from time to time to sit at a table with your brother officers being amiable to the ladies at loo, vingt-et-un or some such. To hazard a shilling a hand would not be noticed."

"Then m' gallantry . . ."

"Ah—gallantry. This is not so easily won and may be said to have as its main objective the reluctance of the lady to quit your enchanting company. The science you will find in the worthy tomes such as your Baldwin, and the art—the art you must discover for yourself at the first hand."

"Baldwin?"

"My constant companion in youth, The Polite Academy, or, School of Behaviour for Gentlemen, which will repay you well in the studying. Now, if there is nothing else you desire of me I should return to my new acquaintance the Abbé Morelly, whose views on the origin of social ills is quite startling and—and interesting."

"Please do, Nicholas!" Kydd said warmly, then caught himself and added, "I find that ye're not t' be invited, m' friend. You should know this is not as I'd wish it . . ." He trailed off, embarrassed.

"No matter, brother," Renzi said quietly. "You have earned your right to enter in upon society—I seek quite another felicity."

There was a warm softness on the evening air, a delightful early-summer exhilaration that added to Kydd's heightened senses. He tried to maintain a sombre countenance before Standish, who sat next to him in the hired diligence as they clipped along Durnford Street, but it was difficult; this was the night when he would discover if he had it within him to claim a place in high society.

They passed the last elegant houses and across an open space to approach the curiously solitary single edifice of the Long Room: it was ablaze with light in every window, and the sight brought on in Kydd a fresh surge of excitement. They drew up before the stately entrance—flights of steps ascending each side of what was plainly the ballroom.

Handed down by a blank-faced driver, Kydd clapped on his hat and fumbled hastily for silver, aware of the gawping crowd standing about to see who was arriving in their finery. He turned and saw a young lieutenant in full-dress ceremonials approaching. "Good evening, sir, and welcome to the ball. Might I . . . ?"

"Kydd. Commander Thomas Kydd, captain of Teazer sloop-o'-war." He would not yet be known by sight, of course.

"If you would accompany me, sir, the admiral is receiving now." There was a guilty thrill in being aware of the respect he was accorded by this flag-lieutenant and Kydd followed with his head held high. As a lesser mortal, Standish would have to wait.

His boat-cloak and hat were taken deftly in the small ante-room and after a nervous twitch at his cravat he stepped from the small foyer into noise, light and colour.

"Thank you, Flags. Ah, Kydd. Glad to see you, sir." The admiral was in jovial mood, standing in the splendour of full-dress uniform, an intimidating figure. He turned to the two ladies who flanked him. "My dear, Persephone, might I present Commander Kydd, now captain in one of my ships here? He's much talked about in the Mediterranean, you must believe."

Kydd turned to the admiral's lady and bowed as elegantly as he could and was duly rewarded with a civil inclination of the head. "I do hope you will enjoy this evening, Commander. I did have my fears of the weather," she said loftily.

"An' I'm sure it will back westerly before sun-up, ma'am," Kydd replied graciously. He was uncomfortably aware of straight-backed dignity and hard, appraising eyes. He tried to smile convincingly when he turned to the daughter.

There was a quick impression of a willowy figure in a filmy white high-waisted gown that bobbed decorously in response to his bow; when she rose, Kydd's eyes were met by amused hazel ones in a fashionably pale, patrician face. A neat gloved hand was extended elegantly.

"Miss L-Lockwood," Kydd said, taking the hand. Renzi's polite words, learnt so laboriously, fled from his mind at the girl's cool beauty. "M-my honour, er, is mine," he stuttered.

"I do trust that you don't find England too dull after the Mediterranean, Mr Kydd—they do say that Naples is quite the most wicked city in the world." The well-bred voice had an underlying gaiety that Kydd could not help responding to with a grin.

"Aye, there's sights in Naples would set ye—" Something warned him of Lady Lockwood's frosty stare and the admiral's frown and he concluded hastily "—that is t' say, we have Pompeii an' Herculano both rattlin' good places t' be."

"Why, I shall certainly remember, should I ever have the good fortune to visit," the daughter said demurely, but the laughter was still in her eyes. After a brief hesitation she withdrew her hand gently from Kydd's fingers.

The orchestra's subdued airs went almost unnoticed among the hubbub. While he waited for Standish to be received Kydd looked about him. The room was filled with laughter and noise, the occasional splash of military scarlet, and to Kydd the much more satisfying splendour of the blue, white and gold of the Royal Navy. Tiered chandeliers hung low from the lofty ceiling, shining brightly to set eyes and jewellery a-sparkle and lightly touching every lady with soft gold. He looked back: there were still some to be received but Standish was not among them—he had disappeared into the throng.

Kydd was alone. Glances were thrown in his direction but no one ventured to approach: he knew why—he had not been introduced to any other than the admiral's party and he was unknown. Purposefully, he strode into the room, neatly avoiding knots of people in just the same way as he would on the mess-deck in a seaway, clutching to his heart Renzi's strictures about politeness and genteel behaviour.