The Privateer's Revenge Read online

  “How . . . ?”

  “The motive is established, the method easily deduced. It requires but one corrupt clerk to accept a suitably fat bribe to insert the poisonous forgery, and one smuggler knowing the coast to deposit the chest, and it is done.” He added, “It’s the perfect method, for how do we proceed? Do we know who took the bribe? Confront the admiral’s staff one by one and demand they confess? Or minutely examine their motions on the day in question and—It’s hopeless, I’m obliged to say.”

  Kydd slumped back. “If you’d have found th’ orders when you were called, Nicholas, I’d have waved ’em in Saumarez’s face an’ m’ case would be proved.”

  “You will believe I searched furiously, the escort looking on with a certain impatience—but as you can observe, if I confessed knowledge of them by their absence, we’d be in a strange fixation both.”

  “Then they’re still aboard!”

  “I rather doubt it. I personally supervised the removal of your effects with the intent of their discovery. If you could but remember where you placed them?”

  “I—I’ve tried, damn it, but we were in a moil at th’ time, puttin’ t’ sea an’ all.”

  Renzi sighed. “But then it’s all of no account. At this space of time, should you produce them now it would be considered a clumsy attempt at exculpation. No, brother, this is as serious a matter as we have ever faced—and I confess at this time I see no way forward.”

  • • •

  Kydd was frustrated and restless. “I’ve a notion t’ take a walk, Nicholas, clear th’ intellects.” Spirited discussion had not resolved the matter, but there had to be a way through.

  With his uniform packed and stowed, Kydd was in his barely worn civilian garb, the dark-green tailed coat and nondescript pantaloons feeling odd after his stout naval coat and breeches. He was now a figure of scandal, of wonder—a Navy captain who had been publicly shamed, caught out in a felony and dismissed his ship. To make things even more juicy for the gossips he was the undoubted hero of the recent Granville action. In the street he would be pointed out, gaped at, scorned—and not a word could he say in his defence.

  Feeling hot shame he descended the inn stairs, holding to his heart that, no matter what, he knew he was innocent of any wrong-doing. The street was in its usual clamorous busyness and Kydd’s emergence was not noticed. Gathering his courage about him he turned left and marched resolutely up High Street.

  Renzi caught up with him in the more spacious upper reaches. “I hadn’t bargained on such a gallop,” he puffed. “Do moderate your pace, I beg.”

  But Kydd wanted to be away from the town and didn’t slow. Eventually they found the road north, slackened their speed and Renzi found breath for conversation. “A remarkable island—just a few miles broad but—”

  “T’ be pointed out as—as who I am, it’s more’n a man should bear,” Kydd said, through his teeth. He knew, however, that there was one easy answer: simply to return to England and find anonymity—but that would deprive him of any chance to uncover the truth and reclaim his honour.

  Renzi glanced at him sharply. “Don’t take it amiss, my friend, if I remark that few know you by sight, your not having entered upon society to any great degree. I have my doubts there are above a dozen people outside the Navy who know you so you shouldn’t overmuch fear the gaze of the herd, if that is your concern.”

  “Aye, but they’ll find out—an’ you will say I’m damned in society.”

  Renzi bit his lip. “Here, this will be so for now, I agree. But in England—”

  “I’m not leavin’, Nicholas.”

  They walked on in silence and after an hour returned. Nothing had been concluded other than a vague intent to go to the admiral’s office and do something unspecified. Yet every hour that passed . . . For all they knew, Lockwood’s agent might still be on the island preparing to return, still available for unmasking.

  It was the worst kind of frustration; Kydd found it hard to contain, and as they passed Government House he turned impulsively to go into the naval headquarters. Their entry was refused but he pushed past the scandalised sentry whereupon they were indignantly ejected. There would be no interrogations.

  The evening meal was cheerless and silent. It had become obvious now that there would be no quick solution and happy restitution— in fact, nothing constructive whatsoever had suggested itself.

  In the morning, Kydd excused himself and said he needed to go for a walk alone. When he returned his face was serious. Renzi knew better than to ask; indeed, his own situation was approaching despair, for complete idleness without the solace of his books was difficult.

  The day wore on drearily with neither news nor inspiration; eventually, needing to get out, Renzi suggested they head to the tavern where they had shared a dinner before their world had turned demented.

  It was a mistake. They had a fine view of the castle islet below, but also a first-class vantage-point to witness HMS Teazer win her anchor and stand out to sea, her long masthead pennant whipping in the brisk breeze. It was proof positive that a new commission had begun for her, a new life under a new captain.

  Kydd’s face was like stone. Then Renzi saw a glitter in his eyes and he had to turn away. When he looked back Kydd was as still as a statue, following the little vessel with his eyes until she spread full sail and made off southward—to the open sea. With infinite sadness, he said, “I’d be beholden t’ ye, Nicholas, should we go back now.”

  “It grieves me to raise the subject, brother, but we must take stock of our position.” Renzi and Kydd sat in their usual spot in the snug, to one side of the fire, teasing out their half-pints of ale for as long as they could. It was now five days gone and they were no further forward.

  Kydd said nothing, gloomily lifting his grog-blackened leather tankard.

  “In fine, it is to remark that our means are not without their limit—my humble emolument as a ship’s clerk ceased the minute I quit the ship, as you would know, and for your own good self

  . . .”

  Kydd shifted uncomfortably. “I’m on half-pay, that’s true, but I have t’ say to ye, it’s spoken for f’r months ahead—I outlaid a fat purse t’ those villains in St Sampson t’ prettify Teazer’s bright-work an’ gingerbread. I doubt as Standish is appreciatin’ it now,” he added morosely.

  Renzi turned grave. “Am I to understand thereby that we are living on our capital?”

  “Aye, I suppose it’s so.”

  “Then—then it’s time for a decision, my friend.”

  “Oh?”

  “Most certainly. And it is simply to establish at what point we will be constrained to recognise our resources no longer allow us to continue our hunt and retire from hence, wounded but whole.”

  “I’m not running!” Kydd blazed. “T’ return to m’ family wi’ such a stain? I’d sooner roast in hell.”

  Renzi gave a half-smile. “Then we must take prudent measures, steps to preserve body and soul through come what may until . . .”

  “Someone’s going t’ talk,” Kydd said positively, “spend their vile guineas like water, make a noise in th’ taverns. An’ then I’ll hear about it,” he said savagely. “An’ God help th’ slivey toad!”

  “Very well,” Renzi said, without conviction. “The first is to secure our living quarters. This fine inn here is no longer within our competence. We must find—”

  “Our?” Kydd cut in. “Nicholas, this is not your fight.”

  “In all conscience the odds against you are high enough. I cannot find it in me to leave you to face alone what you must, dear brother. No, this is now my decision, which you will allow me to make on my own.”

  “Tak’ it or leave ’un!”

  The hard-faced woman turned to go but Renzi stopped her. “We’ll take it, madam.”

  “Ten livres on account,” she said, thrusting out a hand from under her shawl. “An’ I’ve plenty o’ Frenchies as’ll sigh for such a one!”

  Kydd frowned at
Renzi, who whispered back, “The royalists— having fled the Revolution, they’re pining in exile here where they can still see their homeland.”

  The wrong side of Fountain Street, it was a mansion of grandeur that had seen better times. Now the familiar drawing room, dining room and the rest were each partitioned off with their own noisy family; Kydd and Renzi’s domicile was the topmost floor, the old servants’ quarters.

  “Such a quantity of space!” exclaimed Renzi, stoutly, at the two rooms, a clapboard partition dividing the open space of a garret. Their furniture was limited to a bed each, turned up against the wall, a single table and chair under the window and a seedy dresser. There were bare floorboards and a dank, musty smell throughout.

  “Fresh air,” offered Kydd, eyeing the dirty window. “And a fireplace.” The small grate looked mean and still contained the disconsolate crumbled remains of the last fire, but he rubbed his hands, and said briskly, “We’ll soon have it shipshape. Um, not as who’s t’ say, but I don’t spy a kitchen a-tall. How . . . ?”

  Renzi forced a bright smile. “In course, we as bachelor gentlemen do send out for our victuals, dear fellow. There’s sure to be a chop-house or ordinary close by. As to the smaller comestibles there’ll be your milkmaid, baker, pieman calling, eager for our trade.”

  Kydd looked at the small fireplace. “A kettle f’r tea an’ coffee?”

  “Tea will soon be beyond our means, I’m sorry to say,” Renzi said firmly. “Scotch coffee will probably be available.” Kydd winced. Childhood memories of scrimping in hard times had brought back the bitter taste of burned breadcrumbs.

  They set to, and a seaman-like scrubbing from end to end soon had the spaces glistening with damp, the window protesting loudly at being opened, and a resolve declared that they would invest in more aids to comfort when their affairs were on the mend. Meanwhile another chair was needed, with various domestic articles as they suggested themselves.

  When evening fell and they set about their meagre repast, the extravagance of a bottle of thin Bordeaux did little to lift the mood. A burst of ill-tempered rowdiness came up from below. Was the future stretching ahead to be always like this?

  The night passed badly for Kydd. In just a few months he had come from contemplating a high-society wedding to regretting the coals for the comfort of a fire. From captain of a man-o’-war to tenant of a dirty garret. It was hard to take, and lurking at the back of his mind there was always the temptation to slink back cravenly to England.

  But that would be to accept the ruin Lockwood had contrived and he’d be damned if he would!

  The dull morning began with rain pattering on the window and leaks appearing from nowhere. Over the last of their tea, Renzi gave a twisted smile. “I rather think that the occupation of gentleman is quite over for us, brother. We must seek out some form of income—of employment suitable to our character, or it will be the parish workhouse for us.”

  “I’ll never get another ship from Admiral Saumarez,” Kydd said glumly, “even supposing he’s one in his gift. Er, y’ haven’t seen my hairbrush? You know, the pearl-backed one Mother gave me.”

  “I thought it was on the dresser,” Renzi said absently.

  “No matter,” Kydd said. “It’ll turn up.”

  He reflected for a moment. “An’ it must be admitted, anything of employment as takes me back t’ sea is not t’ be considered—I’d then be removed fr’m here an’ couldn’t find m’ man.”

  Renzi smiled briefly. “As one of Neptune’s creatures, there’s little enough for you on terra firma, so completely out of your element.”

  “I shall think on’t,” Kydd answered stiffly. “May I know, then, what it is you’re proposin’ to do, Nicholas?”

  “It does set a challenge,” Renzi admitted, “my qualifications being of the most cursory. I do suggest we devote this day to a reconnaissance of prospects, each being free to follow our independent course and exchange our experiences later tonight.”

  Kydd headed down to the busy quayside and found the little octagonal building that had been pointed out to him. The genial harbour-master greeted him and made room for him among the charts and thick-bound books. “What is it I c’n do for ye, Mr Kydd?”

  “Kind in you t’ see me, Mr Collas. Er, I’d have y’ know that I’ve seen m’ share o’ sea service—”

  “Oh, aye?”

  “But at th’ moment I find m’self without a ship, an’ I thought it might be time t’ swallow th’ anchor an’ take employment ashore, if y’ see what I mean.”

  There was a careful silence.

  “That is t’ say, if there’s a position open in th’ harbour authority t’ a man o’ the sea that ye’d recommend, I’d be grateful t’ hear it.”

  “Y’ mean a harbour commissioner, inspector sort o’ thing?”

  “I do.”

  “Then I have t’ disappoint ye, Mr Kydd. We runs things differently here. No King’s men pokin’ into our affairs an’ that. An’ no Customs an’ Excise neither. In th’ islands trade is king. So it’s leave ’em at it to get on wi’ their business.

  “Now, the most important thing we does is the piloting. T’ be a Guernsey pilot is t’ be at the top o’ th’ profession, Mr Kydd. An’ afore ye ask, there’s none but a Guern’ will have th’ knowledge t’ do it. See, there’s nothing like here anywheres in Creation f’r rocks ’n’ shoals, and then we adds in the tidal currents, and it’s a rare place indeed f’r hazards. Y’ learn about a rock—it looks like quite another when th’ tide state’s different. Y’ come upon it in th’ fog, see it just the once—which rock are y’ going t’ tell y’r ship’s master it is?”

  He went on: “Currents about here c’n be faster’n a man can run but they’ll change speed ’n’ direction with the tide as well. It’s right scareful, th’ way it can be well on th’ make in one part an’ at the same time only at slack in another. Why, springs in the Great Russel y’ can hear th’ overfalls roaring—does y’ know how t’ navigate the far side of an overfall in spate? An’ then there’s the seamounts. Nasty beasts they are, currents over them are wicked and they change—”

  “—with th’ tide,” Kydd said hastily. “I did hear as ye’ve bought a patent lifeboat.”

  “We did. A Greathead thirty-footer, cost us a hundred and seventy pounds so we takes good care of it.”

  “And does it need—”

  “We keep it at St Sampson.”

  Clearly it was of small interest and tucked away safely out of harm’s way. Kydd was running out of ideas. “Do ye conduct hydrographical surveys hereabouts? I’m doubting th’ Admiralty has the time.”

  “No need. We’re well served b’ the private charts, all put out b’ local mariners as we know ’n’ trust. Dobrée an’ others, rutters by Deschamps . . .”

  “Then buoyage an’ lighthouses—surely Trinity House can’t be expected—”

  “But they do an’ all! Ye’ve probably seen our Casquet light— remarkable thing! Three towers, an’ Argand oil wi’ reflecting metal—”

  Kydd stood up. “Aye. Thank ye, Mr Collas. Good day t’ ye.”

  Renzi waited patiently in the foyer of the imposing red-brick building on St Julian’s Avenue. The clerk appeared again, regarding him doubtfully. “Mr Belmont is very busy, but c’n find you fifteen minutes, Mr, er, Renzi.”

  A thin and bespectacled individual looked up as he entered.

  “Yes?”

  The man was irritable in his manner but making an effort to be civil, so Renzi pressed on: “Sir, at the moment I’m to seek a position in Guernsey that will engage my interests and talents to best advantage.

  “My experience in marine insurance will not be unknown to the profession—the barratry case of the Lady of Penarth back in the year ’ninety-three, in which I might claim a leading role, has been well remarked.” It would probably not help his case to mention that at the time he had been a common foremast hand in the old Duke William with Kydd.

  “Since those days I have oc
cupied myself as an officer in the King’s service, lately invalided out, and it struck me that I should perhaps consider turning my experience to account and—”

  “Tell me, sir, what is your conceiving of a contract of indemnity?”

  “Why, sir, this is nothing but that which is defined in the deed.” It was a fair bet that anything and everything would be covered in any good watertight policy.

  “Would you allow, then, rotted ropes in an assessment of common average or would it be the particular?”

  “Sir, you can hardly expect me to adjudicate in a matter so fine while not in possession of the details at hand.”

  Belmont sighed. “Might I know then if you have written anything ?”

  Renzi brightened; he had passed the initial test and now they were enquiring after his common literacy. As to that . . . “Sir, since you so kindly asked,” he began warmly, “I am at the moment consumed in the task of evolving an ethnographical theory that I do hope will be published at—”

  “I was rather referring to policies,” the man rasped sarcastically, “and, as it happens, I’m desolated to find that there is no opening in this establishment for a marine gentleman of your undoubted talents. Good day to you, sir.”

  In the evening, footsore and thoughtful, it was time to review matters. Kydd’s attempts had led nowhere, although he now had the solace that in Guernsey society it seemed his crime was regarded more as bad luck than anything else, the pursuit of profit by trade a worthy enough endeavour whatever the nature of the enterprise.

  Renzi’s manners and evident breeding had created suspicion and distrust and, apart from a doubtful offer as a proof-reader and another as assistant to a dancing master, whose duties appeared to be nothing more than making himself agreeable to lady students, there was nothing.

  “I’m to go to St Sampson tomorrow,” Kydd said. “There are several yards as build fine schooners an’ brigs there, an’ they’ll be sure t’ need a projector o’ quality, one who knows th’ sea an’ has met fine men o’ standin’ in strange parts o’ th’ world,” he added unconvincingly.