Julian Stockwin - The Admiral's Daughter

"That's as may be. Our orders will keep us here f'r the future, an' I mean t' know this coast well, Mr Dowse. Do ye find the best charts an' rutters, then let me know when ye're satisfied an' we'll go over 'em together."

"I've sent out f'r the new Nories an' I has Hamilton Moore ready set by. F'r a Channel pilot he can't be beat."

More discussion followed; Dowse was new to Kydd, but was of an age and had experience. His wisdom would be vital in a small ship like Teazer. "Thank ye, we'll talk again before we sail."

With a sigh, Kydd turned to his paperwork. Fielding, the purser, had carefully prepared his accounts for signature. Tysoe entered silently with coffee, his urbane manner in keeping with his station as the captain's servant and valet: Kydd congratulated himself yet again on having sent Stirk ashore to find his servant of Teazer's last commission, whom he had necessarily had to let go when he had lost his ship with the brief peace of the Treaty of Amiens.

Tysoe had raised no objections to quitting his situation with a local merchant and had slipped back easily into his old post.

Kydd completed a small number of papers but found he was restless. All over the ship men were working steadily on the age-old tasks of completing for sea and all he could find to do was address his interminable load of reports. There was one matter, however, far more agreeable to attend to.

He got up quickly, passed through the wardroom and emerged on to the broad mess-deck. There were surprised looks from the seamen but his hat was firmly under his arm, signifying an unofficial visit, and he crossed quickly to the tiny cabin adjoining the surgeon's that extended into a corner of the mess space.

It was new, the thin panels still with the fragrance of pine and with a green curtain for a door. It had cost him much debate with the dockyard but Teazer now had a cabin for her captain's clerk, an unheard-of luxury for one so humble. Kydd tapped politely. After some movement the curtain was drawn aside and a dishevelled head appeared.

"Nicholas, is this at all to y'r liking or . . ." Renzi pulled back inside and Kydd could see into the tiny compartment. The forward bulkhead was lined with books from top to bottom as was the opposite side, with each row laced securely; in the middle a very small desk stood complete with a gimballed lamp, and a cot was being triced up out of the way. It was definitely a one-person abode but if the sea-chest could be made to suffer duty as a chair, and movements were considered and deliberate, there were possibilities.

Renzi gave a rueful smile, grateful that his years of sea service had prepared him for the motion here. "Should we meet with a seaway of spirit, it may require our stout boatswain to exercise his skills in the lashing of myself to my chair, but here I have my sanctum, thank you."

The contrast with Kydd's own appointments could not have been greater, but this was all that Renzi had asked for.

"Er, should ye be squared away b' evening, m' friend, might we sup together?"

"Nicholas, dear friend, it does m' heart good t' see ye aboard." The cabin was bathed in the cosy glow of twin candles on the table.

"Your chair, Nicholas," Kydd said pointedly, pulling forward one of an identical pair of easy chairs.

Renzi gave a half-smile but said nothing.

"Who would've thought it?" Kydd went on. "As ye'd remember, come aft through th' hawse an' all."

Renzi murmured something and reclined, watching Kydd steadily.

Tysoe filled the glasses and left noiselessly. "And now we're shipmates again," Kydd concluded lamely.

Renzi unbent a little. "This is true and I'm—gratified that it should be so, you must believe, brother."

Kydd smiled broadly and handed him a glass. "Then I give ye joy of our friendship, Nicholas!" He laughed. "If it's t' be half o' what it was when we were afore the mast, then . . ."

"Yes, dear fellow. Here's a toast to those days and to that which lies ahead," Renzi answered softly.

But Kydd realised in his heart that there was no going back. In the years since they had been foremast hands together too much had happened: his elevation to the majesty of command, Renzi's near-mortal fever and subsequent striving for significance in life— and all that had passed which had seen them both pitched into bloody combat and fear of their lives. They were both very different men. "Aye, the old days."

"More wine?" Renzi said politely. "I can only applaud your taste in whites. This Portuguee is the gayest vinho verde this age."

"Yes—that villain in town can't stand against Tysoe," Kydd said shortly. "Nicholas, may I know if ye've set course ready for y'r studies?"

"There may be no studies," Renzi said, his face taut.

Kydd's stomach tightened. "No studies?" Did Renzi see the great gulf in their situations as a sick reversal of the relationship that had gone before?

"We gull ourselves, brother," Renzi said evenly, "if we believe that the world will abide by our little conceit." He shifted in his chair to face Kydd squarely. "Consider: you are captain and therefore lord over all, and may direct every soul in this ship as you desire. But that is not the same as the unthinking obeisance of your redcoat or the sullen obedience of the serf in the field. Our Jack Tar famously has an independence of thought."

He smiled thinly. "You might set me at an eminence and sup with me. I may pace the quarterdeck in your company and be seen to step ashore with you. This is all within your gift—you are the captain. Yet what will our honest mariner perceive of it? And your new lieutenant—"

"T' arrive t'morrow."

"—what construction will he place on our easy confidences, our privy conversations? Am I to be in the character of the captain's spy?"

Renzi was right, of course. The practicality of such a relationship was now in serious question: any interpretation might be placed on their conduct, from the bawdy to the felonious. Kydd's position was fast becoming untenable and it would seem he risked his ship for the sake of an innocent friendship.

"Nicholas." To have the prospect of resolution to the loneliness of command snatched away was too much. "Answer me true, m' friend. Are ye still resolved on y'r achievin' in the academic line? For the sake o' Cecilia?" he added carefully.

"Were it possible."

"Then it shall be so, an' I'm settled on it," Kydd said firmly. "It is th' world's perceivin' only," he added, "an' the world must know how it is."

He paused, framing his words with care. "The truth is always th' safest. In society you shall be introduced as a learned gentleman, guest o' the captain, who is undertaking interestin' voyages f'r the sake of his studies, an' who f'r the sake of appearances in the navy takes on himself th' character of clerk—secretary—to th' captain."

This should prove the easiest task: it would be assumed in the time-honoured way that Renzi would not, of course, be expected to sully his hands with the actual clerking, which would be handled by a lowly writer.

"In the navy, we take another tack, which is just as truthful. Here we have th' captain takin' pity on an old sea-friend, recov-erin' from a mortal fever and takin' the sea cure, who spends his hours wi' books an' worthy writin'." He paused for effect. "I spoke with th' admiral," he continued innocently, "who told me directly that he sees no objection to Mr Renzi shippin' as clerk in Teazer."

"You discussed my health?" Renzi said acidly.

"Not in s'many details," Kydd replied, and hurriedly made much of Tysoe's reappearance signalling dinner. "Rattlin' fine kidneys," he offered, but Renzi ate in silence. Even a well-basted trout failed to elicit more than grunts and Kydd was troubled again. Was Renzi finding it impossible to accept their new relationship, or was he appalled by the difference in their living accommodation?