Artemis - Kydd 02 Read online

  'Then be assured, sir, the wait could well be a protracted one.' The coy flutter of her eyelashes as she engaged Renzi in conversation did not escape Kydd.

  'It suggests that the British are attempting a separate agreement as to trade,' Nunez agreed.

  Just inches from her body, Kydd felt his own respond, and a betraying dull heat crept up his neck. At sea, with not the slightest femininity to trigger sexuality, desire subsided, a quiescence not troubled by ribaldry or images, but the first woman encountered ashore, by her sensual proximity, provoked an immediate awakening. Kydd could detect Miss Bullivant's faint scent, and sensed her body outline beneath her dress.

  'Not the odious opium trade, I do sincerely pray.' She dabbed at her generously curved lips.

  There! Kydd exulted. Her face was still turned towards Renzi, but her eyes had flicked sideways.

  T am in full accord with you, Miss Bullivant,' Renzi said elegantly. To Kydd's savage delight his slight pause was not rewarded by a bidding to continue. 'Yet there are some who point out that we English regularly consume opium without ill effects — laudanum, your Godfrey's cordial. Could it possibly be that the Chinese character is weaker, less in control?'

  As the food arrived, Nunez grunted. 'It is well known, saving your presence, that the English have long sought a species of trade that can balance the books for all the tea they must have - and they care not for its origin.'

  There was an uncomfortable silence, the clatter of crockery sounding overly loud. Nunez handled the chopsticks like a native; Sarah was capable but without elegance, and Renzi fumbled. Kydd surveyed the cluster of little dishes and resolutely abstracted the flat-bottomed spoon from a dark sauce dish, which he then proceeded to wield on everything.

  'Ah, yes, my friend!' Nunez turned to Renzi. 'The Casa Camoes.' He laid down his chopsticks on their little rest. 'It lies within the grounds of a residencia which is let to Mr Drummond, of your East India Company.' He smiled. 'I do believe that were a young lady to desire entrance then you would more readily gain admittance. Sarah, would you . . .'

  Sarah's face tightened. 'Sir, it is not my practice to be observed in public with sailors.'

  Kydd flushed. But there was no avoiding it — a woman with Jack Tar ashore had only one purpose.

  Nunez's face creased in amusement. 'In that case, let me be of assistance. I have . . . what do you say? The walking-out clothes. They are perhaps unfashionable in these days, and are in the older style, but they would fit you, sir,' he said, looking at Renzi.

  They did indeed. Renzi, in double-breasted waistcoat and many-buttoned buff-coloured coat together with cream breeches, elegantly flexed his rather skinny legs. This set off peals of laughter from Sarah. Kydd sat morose and overlooked in the corner.

  'M'lady,' Renzi said, sweeping the tall royal blue tricorne hat down in an elegant bow. It was too small, but that only seemed to amuse Sarah the more. He offered his arm, which Sarah took with a gracious nod. Kydd got to his feet. Sarah looked at Renzi uncertainly.

  'Miss Bullivant,' said Renzi softly, 'it would oblige me greatly if Mr Kydd were to accompany us.'

  She glanced back at Kydd. Her eyes dropped to his lower body, and Kydd's pulse quickened. 'Very well,' she said coolly, looking directiy at him. 'Providing he follows on behind at a distance.'

  Kydd boiled over. 'Be damn'd to you!' He thrust towards the door. Outside, he took several deep breaths and set off for the waterfront.

  The gloomy berth-deck of Artemis was almost deserted, its clear sweep fore-and-aft interrupted only by a few hammocks. Kydd sat under one of the few lanthorns hung this late in the evening.

  He had gone to the Solmar, which was packed with Artemis sailors, but they were all far gone in drink and no proper solace for wounded pride and unslaked lust. Briefly he had toyed with the idea of finding a woman to spend the night with among the throng, but something in his Methodist upbringing and a personal aversion to giving his body to a harlot stopped him.

  Thus, in the way of sailors, he had returned to the bosom of his ship. For some reason he had pulled out the sea-chest he and Renzi shared. Here it was, mellowing with age and sea-use and carved with a mermaid cartouche that Renzi had contrived in the long days in the Indian Ocean before Calcutta.

  With an unformed wish for repudiation of their friendship Kydd rummaged through its contents, each piece evoking lengthening memories. Neatly stacked along a good quarter of the chest were Renzi's books.

  At random he picked one up. These were the real source of Renzi's success, his readiness with words, his effortless authority on all things. Kydd felt a stab of fury at the ease with which he had charmed Sarah. It was now past evening and well into the night — what was he doing to her now? Rage made him choke but with a force of will he crushed the thoughts. If Renzi had succeeded with Sarah, then that was his good luck. He would have done the same. The matter at hand was to get himself to the same level if it were possible — and he would damned well make it so.

  Here in his hands was the key. He opened the book. The type was tiny and difficult to read in the guttering lanthorn light; the tide page was flowery and embellished with intertwined pictures of animals. 'D. Diderot - On the Interpretation of Nature it read, together with a flurry of cursive French. Kydd leafed slowly through it: it seemed to deal in unbelievable wordiness with reason and observation, but if this was what gave Renzi the ability to speak, he would ingest it too.

  He settled down at the beginning, and read haltingly, disturbed neither by the noisy arrival back on board of drunken and querulous seamen nor the raucous teasing of his shipmates. His eyes grew heavy, the words more difficult, and when Renzi finally returned on board all he could do was remove the book gently from Kydd's slumped figure and shake his head wonderingly.

  Almost alone at their breakfast burgoo, Kydd and Renzi ate silently, avoiding each other's eyes. When they finished, neither rose from the mess table.

  'Wish y' joy of—'

  'I'm to tell you—'

  Breaking off in embarrassment, their eyes met. A tentative smile spread over Kydd's features, which was quickly returned by Renzi. 'The Portugee priest wishes to see me again,' said Renzi, with a sigh. 'A disputatious wretch, yet I will indulge him a little further, I believe.' 'And does Miss Bullivant . . .'

  'The young lady unaccountably wishes to be remembered to you,' Renzi replied neutrally.

  Kydd's voice thickened. 'Last night—'

  'Last night I had the felicity of debating the nature of the Chinee, the solemn imperatives of their beliefs and the impervious nature of their society with as erudite a colleague as ever I could wish.'

  'But . . .'

  'Miss Bullivant was obliging enough to conduct me to the casa garden of Camoens, where I looked on the rocks of his inspiration.'

  'She . . .'

  'On conclusion, she bade me farewell, and returned with her maid, who accompanied us throughout,' Renzi said flady.

  Kydd fiddled with a piece of bread, but refused to give Renzi further satisfaction.

  A twisted grin surfaced on Renzi's face. 'I am desired to inform you that she has been able to procure some suitable long clothes. She hopes you will find these satisfactory enough to be able to accompany us this afternoon on a visit to Sao Tiago.'

  A leaping exultation transformed Kydd's spirits. So he had not been mistaken about those glances!

  Something of his feelings must have been visible, for Renzi continued, in a lazy, teasing voice, 'Of course, I did inform her that you were desolated, that your watch on deck in this instance takes precedence—' He broke off at the dangerous flare in Kydd's eyes, then continued, 'Of course, they are the clothes of a dead man.'

  For all Kydd cared he would strip the body himself, but he waited.

  'Who died of the bloody flux - before he could accept them from the tailor's,' Renzi finished lamely.

  Eight bells at noon could not come fast enough. Liberty was granted from then until daybreak the next day in this relaxed 'river dis
cipline'. Kydd and Renzi hurried off and soon were welcomed into the old residence.

  The feel of silk stockings against his legs after the freedom of a sailor's trousers was odd. The nankeen breeches and the soft royal-blue coat added to the strangeness, and to Kydd it was a reminder of the flabbiness of shore life. Nevertheless, he rotated proudly before the mirror. The strong muscular definition of his body did peculiar things to the hang of the garments, but with his black hair in a neat club he made a striking figure.

  He sniffed as though bored, and turning, made an awkward bow to Sarah. It brought no amusement as Renzi's had, but the sudden lift of her chin and averted eyes told him that he had her attention.

  'Milady?' he said, with satisfaction.

  'Ah Lee is curious,' Sarah said. They were sitting in the outdoor garden of the Sol Dourado waiting for their tea. 'She now has a quantity of gossip for her friends, I think.' The little black and white Chinese amah with the twinkling eyes and long queue said little, but Kydd had felt the darting glances during the walk when she had followed respectfully behind.

  Sarah sat opposite Kydd at the small round table, leaving Renzi to the side. For the first time he was able to take his fill of her prettiness; her characterful retrousse nose was complemented by the high, sculpted cheekbones. And the eyes, large and hypnotic: he would need determined self-control to avoid making a fool of himself.

  'D'ye not find the Chinese a strange crew?' Kydd asked. He cursed inwardly as he remembered that she was governess to the progeny of a rich Chinese trader, who was now in Canton for the winter.

  'Not when you make their further acquaintance,' she said. Her eyes had a powerful effect on Kydd, which he tried to hide. A tiny smile curving her wide-set lips showed perhaps that he was not as successful as he hoped.

  Renzi leaned forward. 'One might argue that their very precepts make it impossible of a closer acquaintance,' he said.

  Sarah's eyes lingered for a heartbeat on Kydd, then transferred their attention to Renzi. 'Sir, I am not in the philosophic line. My dealings are more of a practical nature,' she said daintily. The eyes returned to Kydd, and dropped modestly.

  They were underneath a hibiscus tree, which in season would have been a picture. The dull pearlescence of the winter monsoon swirled about them in the form of a fine mist of tiny dewdrops, which caught in Sarah's hair like a halo.

  Kydd could not think of anything to say, and looked at Renzi. His friend lolled back, but was not at ease. He returned the look, and Kydd was startled at the stony hostility in his expression.

  'I think Nicholas meant th' Chinese have, er, things in their civilisation which we find difficult t' take to — I saw sights in Canton that would make y' stare,' he said.

  Renzi lurched upright. 'I most certainly did not! I say that by their contempt for our civilisation they have withdrawn themselves from our society and thus from all possibility of fellowship.'

  'Oh!' Sarah said, her hand flying to her mouth and without a glance at Renzi. 'You have been to Canton? I would die to go - just the once - but ladies are not permitted.' Her eyes grew yet larger, and she leant forward towards Kydd.

  Flustered, he knew what was happening, but was out of his depth. In Guildford he was vaguely aware that females were one of two types; the earnest but dowdy ones you married, and the exciting ones who always turned out to be shameless doxies. Sarah looked neither — or both. And she was driving a wedge between him and Renzi.

  'Why, er, yes,' he said.

  'Do tell me.' She cupped her face in her hands. Her eyes were enormous.

  There was movement to the side. Renzi got to his feet. 'Pray excuse me, Miss Bullivant ... it is not often I get the opportunity - Honrar Nunez is expecting me. Do not trouble, I beg. . .' His voice seemed distant and preoccupied. 'Your servant,' he said, with a bow, and left without a glance at Kydd.

  'He's sometimes a difficult fellow to understand,' mumbled Kydd.

  'But he is your particular friend,' Sarah said immediately. 'I can tell. You have no idea how jealous that makes a woman - the closeness, I mean,' she said, dropping her eyes.

  'We have - done much t'gether,' Kydd said defiantly.

  'Yet you are so different.' Somehow her candour made things much easier than the delicacies of conversation before.

  'What do you talk about?' she asked. 'No, that's unfair. You would not be friends unless you shared something -deep,' she said.

  She sat back and stared at Kydd appraisingly. 'You look every part a sailor, Mr Kydd, and I do confess that before today I would rather be seen dead than talk to a ... sailor.'

  'I understand,' Kydd said, stiffly.

  'No, I don't mean that,' she said, her gloved hand coming out to squeeze his. 'Please forgive what I said about sailors before, but . . .'

  He forced her to feel her shame, then smiled. 'It's the most wonderful thing that ever happened t' me,' he said in simple sincerity.

  She looked at him steadily. 'There are things in this life . . .' she began.

  'My father is a schoolmaster also,' Kydd put in, thinking of her duty as a governess, but being a little hazy as to what that implied in pedagogy.

  'Is he?' she said, looking puzzled.

  'Well, not really,' Kydd said, and explained the saga of the naval school.

  She sat still, her eyes unblinking. At the end she sighed. 'You're a very nice man, Mr Kydd.'

  He was not sure if this meant his duty to his family or something more, so he compromised with an inaudible mutter.

  'And a very interesting one - I demand you will tell me of your voyages across the bounding main. What marvellous things have you seen? Do tell!'

  Kydd was no raconteur, his masculine directness only hinting at the loneliness and terror, the consuming bloodlust and exultation, the deeply affecting love of the sea, but it held Sarah spellbound in quite the same way as it had Cecilia. The afternoon passed, tea had come round at least three times, the fine mist insinuating cool and damp but still she would not let him go.

  For Kydd, it was a dream, unreal, not of this existence. Less than a year ago he had been a perruquier in a small Surrey town, glad to be noticed by ordinary girls. Here, sitting in front of him, was a handsome woman of the world in far China who was fascinated by him.

  Sarah stood, smiling down at him. He snapped out of his daze and scrambled to his feet. 'Would you see me home, if you please, Mr Kydd?'

  'Ah, of course, er, Miss Bullivant,' he said. She waited; he waited.

  'Take my arm, if you please,' she said primly. 'It is unseemly to be seen walking at a distance.'

  He settled his tricorne on firmly, and held out his arm. Hers entwined and lay gently on his, and the electric soft touch of the side of her breast turned his arm into a rigid claw.

  They moved off in sedate promenade. Magically, Ah Lee appeared, to follow at a respectful distance, her face blank but watchful. The touch of Sarah's arm on his was all fire and flowers; Kydd felt twenty feet tall.

  He carefully matched his pace to hers, across the praca and into the streaming hubbub of the bazaars. As they walked, Sarah pressed closer to him, turning to speak with a flashing smile. He could manage only monosyllables in reply, but something of his happiness must have communicated itself, for she was plainly flattered. He wondered what sort of picture he made in the fine clothing he wore with such a woman on his arm, and lifted his chin in defiance. He might be a common sailor, but at the moment he was king of the world!

  The road widened to a leafy avenue, and in the gathering dusk she stopped before an imposing mansion. Rearing up behind the building was a pagoda, smaller than the ones Kydd had seen in Canton, but more richly appointed. Lanterns gleamed discreetly at the entrance to the mansion; the whole smacked of careless wealth. Ah Lee scurried forward to open the door and waited inside.

  Kydd's heart sank. It was self-evident that Sarah was of a different social order, but had been amused for the length of the afternoon. It had been kind of her, but he had to be realistic.

&nb
sp; 'Thank you, Mr Kydd. I did enjoy our tea this afternoon -you are wonderful company, you know.' Her eyes caught the soft lantern light; they seemed to steal into his soul. She held out her hand. It was bare, the glove had been removed.

  'Er, the same f'r me, Miss Bullivant,' he blurted, and shook her hand warmly. A brief shadow flickered across her face. He caught the expression, then realised that probably what was wanted was a more formal exchange. He bowed deeply, but forgot to put a leg forward; the gesture ended awkwardly and he blushed.

  He looked up again, fearing ridicule, but her face was set, albeit with the tiniest trace of vexation. She brightened. 'Do you know? We never did get to see the Sao Tiago. Do you think it would be very wicked of me to suggest that we met again tomorrow to remedy the omission?'

  Kydd was thunderstruck.

  'That is, if your duties on board your boat do allow,' she said.

  'After noon, we are free t' step ashore,' Kydd stammered.

  'Splendid!' Sarah exclaimed, clasping her hands. 'If we meet at two at Honrar Nunez's, perhaps I can prevail on Ah Lee to provide a picnic basket.'

  Her mood was infectious and Kydd found himself grinning inanely, his hat passing from hand to hand.

  'Very well - until two then, Mr Kydd,' she said decisively. A final radiant smile came that stabbed right through him, then she swept up the steps and into the mansion. The door closed soundlessly. For a moment he stared after her, then slowly turned to make his way back the short distance to the priest's residencia.

  There was no way Kydd could think of returning on board so early, but equally he had no desire to join his friends at their roystering in the Solmar. He paced slowly along the seafront, conscious but uncaring that a lone sailor strolling past at this hour was an unusual sight.

  Sarah wanted to see more of him. The simple fact kept repeating itself, raising his hopes to levels of fantasy he knew to be foolish. At the same time he was uncomfortably aware that her proximity and physical contacts, however slight, had awakened powerful urges that in no sense could be termed honourable. One thing was certain, next to Renzi he was nothing but an oaf. He cringed at the memory of his awkwardness and lack of conversation.