Julian Stockwin - Quarterdeck

He forced his mind back to the task at hand. Surprisingly, their first traverse reached the twenty-fathom limit of a hand-lead less than a third the way across. Such deep water? Perhaps he should stay with the shoreline and first establish a forty-foot line of depth along it, this being of most interest to a big-ship navigator. It was not difficult to pick up the mark again, and astute reading of the characteristics at the edge of the shoreline soon had a useful number of forty-foot soundings carefully pencilled in. But for the unfortunate narrows at the entrance, restricting access to square-rigged vessels whenever the winds were in the north, it was spacious and deep enough to take the entire Channel Fleet at single anchor, an impressive body of water.

Something ashore caught Kydd's eye: a figure in white, standing, watching. He ignored it and continued with his work. They drew abreast; the figure was still there. As he watched he realised it was a woman, waving a handkerchief.

She waved again, an exaggerated movement. "Someone wants t' speak, sir," Poulden volunteered.

"Aye. Well, perhaps we should see what she wants. Oars, give way together."

The boat headed inshore. The wooded slopes leading down to the water looked immaculately cared for, and they saw the edge of a building peeping out from blossom-laden trees. Closer in, Kydd noticed a discreet landing-stage and headed for it. The woman made no move to descend to it, still standing and watching from her vantage-point.

Cursing under his breath, Kydd threw a rope ashore and pulled himself up to the little jetty. He was hardly dressed for meeting ladies in his worn sea uniform but he clambered up to where she was waiting.

"Yes, madam?"

"Oh. I was watching you, you see," she said, her voice soft and prettily accented with French.

Kydd remembered himself and snatched off his hat. Dressed for the garden, she was in a white gown and beribboned straw hat. She was also strikingly beautiful, her large dark eyes adding an appealing wistfulness.

"And I thought 'ave you lost something—you look for it so long." She seemed a touch older than him and had a disconcertingly worldly-wise air.

"Not at all, madam. We conduct a hydrographical survey o' the coastline." She was probably one of the sad band of royalist refugees who had settled in Nova Scotia, he conjectured, although apparently from a wealthy family. "Oh, er, might I present m'self? L'tenant Kydd, Royal Navy."

"Enchantee, Lieutenant." Her bob coincided with Kydd's sturdy bow. "Then you do not know me?"

"No, madam, er, you have th' advantage of me."

She contemplated him, then said, "I am Therese Bernardine-Mongenet and zis is where I live." She gestured gracefully up the slopes.

At a loss, Kydd bowed again.

"I was taking refreshment in ze garden. Perhaps you would care to take some lemonade wiz me, and tell me about your hydrog-cally, Lieutenant?"

Kydd accepted graciously: the boat's crew would be reliable with Poulden and would not object to an hour's leisure. They walked together up a winding path, past little summerhouses with gilded latticework and bells tinkling on their pagoda-like roofs. It was the most enchanting and sumptuous garden Kydd had ever seen. Atop a bluff overlooking the water, cunningly nestled among trees, there was a two-storey wooden mansion, vaguely Italian in style, and on the grass lawn below a cloth-covered table with jug and glass.

"A moment." She summoned a maid and spoke rapidly in French to her, then turned back to Kydd. "So, tell me what is it you are doing."

Kydd was uncomfortable in his old uniform but he thawed at her warmth, and by the time the maid returned with another glass and a cake stand he was chuckling at her misapprehensions of the sea service. "Rousin' good cakes," he said, having sampled one of the tiny, lemon-flavoured shells.

"Ah, ze madeleines," she said sadly. "The old King Louis, 'is favourite."

It did not seem right to dwell on past griefs, so Kydd said brightly, "Have you heard? The Duke o' Shwygery is t' be honoured with a banquet, an' we're all invited to attend. Your husband will have an invitation, o' course?"

"I am not married," she said quietly.

"Oh, I'm sorry, madam," he said. "Ah—that's not t' mean I'm sorry you're not married at all. I — er, please forgive . . ."

"Forgiven, M'sieur," she said gently.

"Will I see you there?" he asked hopefully.

She looked at him steadily. "I have not been invited."

Kydd's heart went out to her, so elegant, beautiful and serene. No man had begged her hand for the occasion, unwilling to risk the mortification of being declined—indeed, in the normal way he would never be noticed by a lady of such quality. It was so close to the event it was more than probable there would be no more offers forthcoming and she would be obliged to stay at home. Any gentleman . . . "Madam, I am not engaged for the occasion. It would be my particular honour t' escort you, should ye be inclined."

There was a fraction of hesitation, then she smiled. "I would be delighted to accept, Lieutenant," she murmured, and the smile moved to her eyes.

"What do ye think, Nicholas.?" said Kydd, rotating in his new full-dress uniform coat. The white facings with gold buttons against the deep blue were truly magnificent and he looked forward to making his appearance in it.

"Dare I enquire, dear fellow, if you have a lady of suitable distinction marked out for the occasion?" Renzi asked doubtfully.

"I have." Kydd was going to give nothing away before the night; all he had to do was take a ship's boat to the landing-stage, then make his way to the house. Therese had said she would find a carriage.

"It is at Government House," Renzi stressed, "and although we shall not be prominently seated you do understand we will be under eye, possibly of the Prince himself."

"Thank you, Nicholas. I will try not to disappoint. And y'rself?"

"I have my hopes, dear fellow."

The day of the banquet arrived. Captain Houghton addressed his officers in the wardroom as to the seriousness of the occasion, the honour of the ship, the correct forms of address to the Prince and to an Austrian duke and duchess and the probable fate of any officer who brought shame to his ship.

Later in the day Tysoe jostled with others to begin the long process of bringing his officer to a state of splendour: a stiff white shirt topped with a black stock at the neck under the high stand-up collar of the coat, gleaming buckled shoes over white stockings, and immaculate tight white breeches. It had been shockingly expensive and Kydd had borrowed heavily against his future prize money from Minotaure, but he was determined to make a showing.

One by one the other officers departed, some to share carriages, others to walk up the hill. Renzi left, with a troubled glance at his friend.

Kydd trod the same path as before, the early-summer evening tinting the garden with a delicious enchantment. A footman waited and escorted Kydd to an open carriage. "Madame will attend you presently," he intoned.

Therese emerged and Kydd was left struggling for words: there must be few in Halifax who could possibly reach her heights of fashionable elegance. He took refuge in a deep bow as she came towards him in a full-length, high-waisted ivory gown, perilously low-cut and trimmed fetchingly in blue, her elaborate coiffure woven with pearls and a single ostrich feather sweeping up imperiously.

"Bonsoir, mon lieutenant. An' such a clement evening, n'est-ce pas? "

With the footman holding open the door of the carriage, Kydd helped her up, her long gloved hand in his. It seemed so unreal, and all he could think of was that he must not let down Cecilia after all her patient tutoring on gentility.