Seaflower (16 page)

'D'ye
mean
...
?'

'T
be knackered, poor ol' lady,' Kydd said, and finished his pot.

'Bad
cess. So where are yez now?' 'Got m'self a berth as master.' 'What?'

'Master
o' the King's Negroes, that is.' Kydd laughed. At the other's curiosity he
continued, 'Seem well enough at th' work, but wouldn't trust 'em on their own.'

The
numbers at the capstan house had diminished, the galley had closed its hatches,
but Kydd felt in no mind to break the mood. Kittoe stood up and waved his blackjack
expansively. 'Come wi' us fer a quick noggin, mate.'

The
two walked back along the stone quay and into the copper and lumber house. Kydd
remembered that it was here that the crews of ships being careened were
quartered. Above the locked and darkened store-rooms was the loft where copper
plating for the underwater hull was pricked out to shape. 'We got a good sort
as Owner,'

Kittoe
grunted, as they mounted the exterior iron stairs. 'Sees us right in the
article of grog an' such.' They entered: one end of the loft was agreeably
illuminated with lanthorns, the light rapidly falling off into darkness at the
other end of the broad expanse.

'Here,
mate, take a muzzier o' this.' He reached for a dark green bottle from his
sea-chest and upended it in Kydd's pot. The cloying aroma of prime West Indian
rum eddied up.

'To
Trajan
- but f'r our hurricanoe, she'd be
out crestin' the briny b' now,' Kydd said.

Harsh
laughter bayed from a group of sailors at their end of the loft. They were
seated around an upended tub, playing cards and swigging hard from bottles.
Kittoe allowed his face to go grave. 'Yeah, to a barky as any haul-bowlings c'n
feel proud ter own to!' They drank together. Kydd let the rum just burn his
lips: the evening might develop.

'Ye
come fr'm England?' Kydd asked.

'Nah.
Avenger
is taken fr'm the Crapauds at
Martinico,' Kittoe said briefly. It was the way of it - some clash at arms in
these seas
..
.

A
tall woman appeared, dressed loosely in colourful red. She moved behind Kittoe and
slid her arms down his chest. 'Come, Kittoe man, youse an' me make jig-a-jig,'
she purred, but her eyes were on Kydd, wide and lambent.

'Away
wi' ye, Sukey,' said Kittoe, but with a smile. 'We're talkin' together, yer
silly biddy!'

The
woman's hair was drawn back and had a hard sheen in the light. A large,
polished mahogany-coloured jungle seed hung around her neck. She fingered it,
regarding Kydd speculatively. Grunts and cries from the darkness beyond left
little doubt about what was going on, and Kydd's senses prickled. 'Hey, youse
kooner-man!' she said, her voice low and throaty.

Kittoe
took up the bottle again and went to top up Kydd's tankard, but only a few
drops of rum emerged. He snorted. 'Pot-boy! Look sharp, we're a-thirst!' A
figure hurried over from the other side to attend them and came to a sudden
halt.

'Luke!'
Kydd cried. 'What're y' doing here?' It was not hard to guess — here he could
earn a few coppers. The boy dropped his head as Kydd laid into him. 'You little
rascal, this's not the place t' find a fine young gennelman, damn me if it is!'

Obstinately,
Luke raised his eyes and said, 'Then what 're you here for, Mr Kydd?'

There
was a chortling from Kittoe, but Kydd stood up, face burning. 'None o' y'r
business! Now you get y’self back aboard — I mean, return t' our lodgings —
this instant, y' swab!'

At
the stubborn look on Luke's face Kydd knew there was no other course. 'We
return now, y' blaggard! I'll have no servant o' mine corruptin' himself with
drink 'n' carnality!' Kydd pushed him out into the darkness and followed. He
cursed and swore under his breath. He had had no intention of being saddled
with the moral responsibility for another, but in Luke's case he felt a certain
obligation.

'Show
more canvas, younker!' Kydd growled. An idea took shape — he shied from it at
first, but it would meet the case splendidly. He sighed. He'd thought he'd left
all of that behind in another life
...

As
they opened the little gate he rounded on Luke: 'Have y' made up m' accounts
yet?'

Luke's
face dropped. 'Mr Kydd, y' know I haven't m' letters.'

'Damme!
I f'got,' said Kydd, with heat. "This means I have t' spend my valuable
time a-copyin' and figurin' — may have t' get a proper servant, me havin' such
responsibility now.' Kydd turned his gaze from Luke's pitiable expression, and
frowned grimly. 'An' that ain't going to be easy hereabouts.'

They
went up the stairs. Then Kydd stopped, as though struck with a sudden thought.
'There maybe is a way
...'

'Mr
Kydd?' said Luke eagerly.

'Perhaps
not. You're a lazy rascal, an' won't—'

'I
will so, I swear.'

'Right,
me hearty! We starts tomorrow. Y' hoists aboard yer letters at last.'

'Yes,
Mr Kydd,' Luke said meekly.

Just
before noon, a rain squall stopped all work. Kydd and his crew hurried into the
shelter of the boat-house while the downpour hammered into the ground and set a
thousand rivulets starting towards the brown waters of the harbour.

'I
have been hearing good reports of you, Thomas,' said Caird.

Kydd
looked around in surprise. 'Mr Caird?' 'You have been teaching your servant his
letters.' Kydd's face eased into a smile. 'Aye, keeps him out o' trouble
betimes, the scamp.'

Caird's
voice softened. 'That is what I thought. It is the Lord's work you are doing,
Thomas, never forget it.'

Embarrassed,
Kydd mumbled something, but was interrupted. 'If you are at leisure, perhaps
you may wish to dine this evening at my house - we eat at six promptly.' Noting
Kydd's hesitation he went on, 'I can well comprehend the godless depravity you
are sparing the boy, and confess from the start, I had my hopes of your
conduct.'

'The
salt, if you please, my dear,' Caird said to the arid lady at the other end of
the table, who, Kydd now knew, was his sister Isadore. She nodded graciously,
with something suspiciously like a simper.

It
was hard on Kydd; bad enough the enervating warmth, but worse the starched
tablecloth, precise manners and formidable air of rectitude. He searched for
some conversation. 'Luke's not a shab, really, it's just that—'

Isadore
broke in unctuously, 'And as a sapling is trained, so does the tree grow.' She
helped herself liberally to the cream sauce.

Opposite
Kydd sat the delicate, timid Beatrice. Each time he looked at her she averted
her eyes quickly, disconcerting him. She was a slight figure in filmy grey,
which added to her air of unworldliness. She had been introduced as Caird's
daughter, her mother long departed for a better world.

'Another
akee, Beatrice,' Caird said, his voice tender.

'Thank
you, no more, Father,' came her small voice. Caird nodded to the hovering
servant who gracefully removed her plates.

'I
see
Rose
has
her foremast a-taunt now,' ventured Kydd.

Caird's
eyebrows lowered. 'In deference to the ladies, Thomas, I make it a practice
never to discuss at table matters they cannot be expected to know.'

'Oh
- er, I mean—'

'It
is Friday, my friend. On the Sabbath, Beatrice and I go about the good Lord's
business in this country, ministering to his children. Do you not feel that it
would lift your heart to accompany us?'

Struck
dumb by the assumption of his godliness, he noticed Beatrice beaming across at
him. 'Please do, Mr Kydd,' she said, meeting his eyes for the first time.

'Splendid!'
said Caird. 'We shall call for you - and your servant, of course — at six on
Sunday.'

When
he returned to his little house, the lower part showed the light of candles:
the occupant was at home. He started to climb the steps to his room, but a throaty
hail stopped him. 'Avast there, cock! Come 'n' show yerself!' It was the chief
caulker, his beefy frame seeming to fill the room. He was slumped in a chair
holding a bottle. A black woman flitted about with a bowl.

'Has
th' mullygrubs,' he said, burping. 'What's yer name, mate?'

'Thomas
Kydd, Master o' the King's Negroes.'

'Savin'
y’r presence, yez a young one fer a master. How'd yer come by it?'

'I
had th' rate o' petty officer in
Trajan
, 'n' when she was let go—'

'A
cryin' shame,' rumbled the man.

'—I
was taken up b' Mr Caird,' he finished.

'Are
ye a goddammed blue-light sailor, then?' demanded the chief caulker.

'I
never take th' Lord's Name in vain, brother,' Kydd said, holding his hands in a
prayerful attitude and hoping that his humble tone passed muster.

'B'
gob, I never said - God rest ye, mate, an' all that!'

Kydd
smiled beatifically, and made his exit, pleased at his escape from future
bibulous demands. Then he remembered his mother's firm and steely Methodism,
the hours of boredom in church — and winced.

Sunday
morning saw them both in best attire—Luke with hair slicked back and shirt
painfully buttoned up, Kydd in his best step-ashore rig, feeling utterly out of
place. They waited outside the master shipwright's house. Broad, square, imposing,
built of stone, the house reflected the importance of its chief inhabitant.

The
Misses Caird emerged into the early sunlight, closely followed by Caird,
forbidding in black — entirely black, from old-fashioned three-comer hat to
severe black breeches and stockings, the whole relieved only by a plain white
cravat.

Kydd
doffed his hat to the ladies, returned by the unsmiling Caird. Luke's hesitant
touching of his forelock was ignored. A dray rumbled grittily round the corner,
its load of what appeared to be furniture covered with an old sail. The
grey-haired old woman at the reins bobbed her head in glee at the sight of
Caird. 'Hallelujah! Glory be, oh, yest, Lord!'

'Amen
to that, Hepzibah,' Caird said, in a strong voice. 'We have today, joining with
us in joyful prayer,

Master
Thomas Kydd and his servant.' Hepzibah beamed at Kydd.

'Then
shall we proceed. This day we pass by the plantation of Mr Blackstone, beyond
Falmouth town.' Caird handed up the ladies to the single front seat and climbed
up, himself taking the reins. 'I would wish we had more commodious transport,
Thomas. You will have to shift for yourself in the back, I fear.'

Kydd
pulled Luke in after him and the dray moved off. As they clopped serenely
through the dockyard Kydd was glad of the early start — there was nobody abroad
to see him. He looked at the swaying backs of the Cairds and wondered at the
wild contrasts in his life since he had taken to sailoring.

They
wound out of the dockyard and were almost immediately in scrub and rocks over the
higher ground behind. The dray ground along, Hepzibah breaking into joyful
hymns that, of course, it would be unseemly to join. Scattered houses merged
into a township, but the houses were mean — wattle and daub, small and
mud-dusty. 'Falmouth,' said Caird, 'a negro village.' Past the town, the sea
sparkling to their left, they wound up into cane-field country. The heat was
noticeably stronger. As they topped the rise, the sound of singing floated to
them on the hot breeze. Finally they stopped at a crossroads in the shade of a
wild tamarind tree of considerable size and age, where people of every variety,
free and slave, had gathered.

'Please
to assist me, Thomas, in rigging the assembly,' Caird asked Kydd courteously.

Kydd
complied, lifting down chairs and an ingenious portable pulpit, under the shy
direction of Beatrice.

These
were set out under the tamarind tree. When he had finished, she turned to him
with a timid smile and laid her hand on his arm. 'Thank you, Thomas. Shall we
sit?' She guided him to the row of chairs in the front, which Kydd was
uncomfortable to see was the only seating. Behind them the blacks squatted in
the dust.