The Admiral's Daughter (14 page)

Renzi looked away. When he had regained his composure he turned with a smile and said lightly, “Then it seems that, not content with topping it the captain over me, you shall be my landlord as well.” He held out his hand. “And here's my word on it.”

• • •

It was amazing, the amount of work that was apparently needed before they could claim their domicile. Drapery of fashionable colour replaced darker hangings at the windows, tastefully painted and varnished sailcloth lay over plain-edged floorboards in all but the drawing room, where an only slightly worn green-patterned carpet complemented the restful sage of the walls.

When it came to his bedroom, Kydd refused strenuously to contemplate the larger room, contending that he felt uneasy in any but ship-sized quarters and, besides, Renzi would need all the space he could find for book stowage. Thus it was that his friend could have an imposing writing-desk fit for the finest scholar at the window, leaving the rest for a modest bed and a satisfying expanse of empty shelving.

For himself, he indulged in a mahogany four-poster bed of the latest design, somewhat incongruous with the Spartan furniture already in the room.

When Cecilia arrived to inspect progress, her scrupulously polite suggestions were only sometimes parried by Renzi, albeit with an even greater civility, until decoration and additional furniture had been settled to mutual satisfaction.

While
Teazer
lay under repair for her slight wounding by the privateer, Chez Kydd neared completion. In the dining room, wall-mounted mirror sconces were fitted to cast a more cheerful light on proceedings, and a modest amount of silver Sheffield plate found its way into the sideboard.

In the drawing room, the marble mantelpiece was decorously ornamented and all proper brass implements mustered and found correct, a silk fire-screen completing the furnishings.

A turning-point came when it became necessary to engage domestic staff. The indispensable Jane allowed that word had been put out that a position might be open in the house of a bachelor naval captain, which was probably why a diminutive but bright-eyed sea-widow named Mrs Bargus arrived that day to apply for the position of housekeeper.

Kydd, unsure of the niceties, sent for Tysoe. Imperturbable as always, his man took charge and Mrs Bargus was installed to maintain the residence against Mr Kydd's return from sea. In the way of things she would oversee a maid-of-all-work, who would share her quarters and, it seemed, undertake to produce a cook and scullerymaid of her acquaintance on a daily basis while
Teazer
was in port.

With Tysoe as butler and head of staff, Mr Kydd was no longer to be troubled with domestic concerns and number eighteen took on new life. A shy Becky, the new maid, curtsied to Kydd, and mysterious clatters from the lower regions was a sure sign that the cook was taking a measure of her domain.

At last the day came when Tysoe was persuaded to pronounce the house habitable and Kydd rubbed his hands with glee. “Nicholas! Tonight we shall dine—and who do y' think we should invite?”

Renzi hid a smile at Kydd's boyish excitement. “Do you not think it a vexing imposition on our new cook that she must prepare dishes for the multitudes? It were better that we dine in solitary splendour and see what she conjures.”

In the event, the Cornish sole overtopped with fried oysters was entirely tolerable, and by the roast pigeon Kydd was passing content with his portion in life.

With Tysoe hovering solicitously with the wine and a timid Becky anxiously removing dishes under the august eye of the head of the household, a watershed had been reached in Kydd's life.

“Shall we withdraw, do you think?” he said lazily to Renzi.

“Shall we indeed! A brandy would be a capital thing to me at this time,” Renzi answered, with equal contentment, after a pause to dispose of the last of the custard pudding. “In no way an aspersion on our inestimable cook aboard
Teazer
but I rather fancy that at the hands of this one we should no longer fear to invite whom we will.”

• • •

“It was a splendid party, was it not?” Renzi chuckled, throwing his newspaper on the floor and helping himself to the breakfast kippers. “Bazely quite kept the ladies in a roar with his drollery. I suspect he's not to be deprived of sociable occasions.”

Kydd's daily visits to
Teazer
as she lay under repair were not onerous and the success of the party the previous night combined with the warmth of a long friendship to produce a glow of satisfaction. “Aye, that it was, Nicholas,” he mused, with a sigh, remembering these very drawing-room walls resounding to laughter, the soft candlelight on flushed cheeks. “Do y' think we should make th' next by way of a fancy dress?” If six made a rousing evening they could probably stretch to eight and have a glorious rout. “An' Miss Robbins tells me there's quantities o' ladies would favour us with a musical evenin', if begged.”

Renzi pursed his lips. “This is an agreeable prospect, my friend, and I'm desolated to intrude—but have you given thought to the unfeeling demands of Mammon?”

“Y' mean, Nicholas, where's the pewter as will pay for it?”

“Have you by chance perused your books lately?”

“Books?”

“Of account. Household books of account as may readily be seen in both the greatest and meanest houses in the land.”

Kydd bristled, but Renzi continued remorselessly, “As will detail to the prudent the ebb and flow of income and expenditures so as to give comfort that any projected enterprise will be within—”

“When I have th' time, Nicholas,” Kydd said curtly.

“As I suspected,” Renzi said, “your lofty duties spare you no time for this necessary chore, and therefore I will make you a return proposition. Should you see fit to reduce my monthly lodgings to sixpence, I should be happy to assume the character of bookkeeper for you—for us both, as it were.”

“No!” blurted Kydd, appalled.

“Pray, may I know why not, as I already perform the function in part for your fine vessel?”

“But—but you're a learned gentleman fit f'r more than—”

“It were folly to despise the importance of keeping one's accounts, my friend, even for a scholard.”

Kydd smiled reluctantly. “You're in the right of it, o' course. Very well, Nicholas,” he said humbly, “Thank you, an' I honour ye for it.”

The door squeaked as Becky entered, bobbing to each. “Draw the curtains, sir?” she asked timidly.

“Please do,” Kydd replied, with an absentminded nod, and turned to his friend. “Nicholas, I've been wonderin': would y' tell me how your work is progressin' now?”

“Certainly,” Renzi said, with a pleased smile, steepling his fingers. “As you know, my study is ethnographical in nature. At its heart I will be trying to extract universals from the differing response around the world to the same challenges, be they grand or petty.

“To this end I will be on quite another tack from your usual philosopher, for I shall look only to the assembling of observations at the first hand to support my truths, my own and others, not the cloistered ratiocinatings of the ivory tower! And for this I have started down two trails: the first, that I must gain a thorough acquaintance of what passes for knowledge in the subject at present, and the second concerns the amassing of my facts. This is a difficult and complex task, which I've yet to structure satisfactorily, but it is clear that in essence it will require two storehouses— one, truths, which
are
so because I or another have seen them to be so, and two, suppositions, which are
said
to be so and which, therefore, I cannot accept until verified.”

He smiled diffidently. “Your kind service in allowing me a berth in your ship does, of course, mean that many observations will be possible that are unavailable to the landbound, and your other kindness in affording me a place ashore to lay my head is of increasing value to me for as I acquire correspondents they will need an address. Dear fellow, your name will most certainly be inscribed in the preface as principal benefactor, you may be assured.”

Kydd sat back. This was a far greater project than he had understood; no wonder Renzi had been closeted for hours each day with little to show for it so far. “If there's anything . . .” he began hesitantly.

“Thank you, no. But on quite another subject, did I not spy a certain invitation arrive this morning?”

Kydd reddened. “Er, yes, y' did, Nicholas.” How to include his ship's captain's clerk in anything with a naval connection was still not settled in his mind. “From Admiral Lockwood's lady, a picnic t' be held next week over in Lord Edgcumbe's estate,” he added, as off-handedly as he could, and handed it over.

“It will be a social event of some significance,” Renzi admitted, after studying the card. “All the notables will be there and yourself—but I fear that this, of course, will be by ulterior design.”

Kydd paused. “Er, design?” he said suspiciously.

“Why, yes! You are fresh blood, a personable young man of good nature who is at present unattached and shows no immediate prospect of being otherwise. Therefore a prime choice to make up numbers as the hostess has a requirement.”

“Oh, I see.”

“Do bear the disappointment with fortitude—it would seem that your prospects for many further invitations will be bright, should you acquit yourself amiably enough on this occasion.”

“Ah, the invitation says, ‘and friend.' Um, Nicholas, would you—”

“It seems to me that here is your opportunity to impress your sister with your social standing. She would be delighted to venture abroad on a picnic, I shouldn't wonder.”

• • •

Cecilia serenely on his arm, Kydd joined the group assembling at the Mutton Cove jetty in some trepidation, conscious of being under eye and, in his new pantaloons and boots, feeling more than a little conspicuous.

There, in the centre, was the admiral's wife, the formidable Lady Lockwood, and Kydd set course resolutely to approach. “Madam, might I be allowed t' present m' sister, Cecilia,” he managed, remembering to remove his beaver hat in an elegant sweep as he bowed.

It appeared to satisfy: conversations stilled as the newcomers were noticed, but the admiral gave an encouraging smile and Lady Lockwood replied imperiously to Cecilia, “So glad you could be here, my dear. I'm sure you will enjoy yourself.” Her eye rested briefly on Kydd before she moved on to the next arrival.

Kydd glanced about furtively; there was not a soul he recognised but Cecilia steered him subtly to an apprehensive-looking middle-aged woman on the arm of a florid gentleman in blue whom she had met recently at a rout. “Do forgive the impertinence, but I cannot help remarking that adorable bonnet,” Cecilia said gaily, “The ribbons do so suit your complexion.”

The woman started in pleased surprise, and after Kydd was introduced to her husband the two ladies were soon deep in converse. The short trip across the water to Cremyll in the admiral's barge passed in a blur of impressions. They stepped out to a picture of rural charm: rolling parkland kept in immaculate order, acres of greensward interspersed with pretty groves of English trees and a double avenue of spreading elms that stretched away up the rise to a grand mansion with curious octagonal towers.

“If there are any who feel unequal to the ascent I'm sure we could send for a chair,” Lady Lockwood declared. However, it was pleasant in the bright summer sun, passing slowly under stately chestnut trees to sylvan glades, and Kydd's fears slowly eased.

A picnic was laid out on the level expanse of lawn before the great house, servants standing behind hampers with sunshades at the ready, and after the admiral's party had decorously draped themselves over the spread rugs there was a general move to do likewise.

“You must try to be more entertaining in your talk, Thomas,” Cecilia whispered sharply, as she smiled politely at the acquaintance who had claimed her attention once more.

Obediently, Kydd turned to the man, one Mr Armitage, a landed relative of the admiral's wife and from Ireland, and whose conversation seemed to consist chiefly of ill-natured grunts. Nothing in common was evident, and Kydd's despairing talk about Pitt's chances of returning to government, the shocking price of tobacco and a juicy local murder all left the man unmoved and he lapsed into silence.

Cecilia had been taken away by Mrs Armitage to meet a friend, leaving them both alone, and while elegant conversations swirled round him, Kydd reflected mutely on the trials of a society occasion. Then he sensed movement and looked round.

It was the admiral's daughter, Persephone, now stooping to offer him a plate. “Mr Kydd, might I press you to try one of these little olive pies? They're quite the most toothsome.”

Her gay voice, however, had a cool patrician ring that might have been intimidating.

Her dress—a sweeping filmy gown in sprigged muslin—did nothing to conceal her willowy figure, and a single pink coral necklace complemented a smart beribboned bonnet.