The Privateer's Revenge Page 18

  “Never!” she said firmly. “Never! Tom, you’re perfectly right— you cannot return without you’ve regained your honour. It’s just as it was in Clarissa Victrix , where the hero is unjustly accused of theft an’ thrown into Newgate, an’ it’s only when his lady seduces the black-hearted earl into handin’ over the false evidence that he’s made free.”

  Kydd grimaced, while she went on proudly, “We opened the season wi’ that in Weymouth last year to my leading lady.”

  “’Twould be a fine thing indeed, should I meet wi’ such,” Kydd said tartly. “I have m’ doubts it’ll be soon—savin’ your kindness, I’ve no wish t’ top it th’ beggar f’r much longer.”

  “An’ neither should you!” Rosie soothed. “Tom, do promise me y’ won’t leave us for now. I’ve a friend—a . . . a personal friend as was, who I mean t’ speak with. An’ then we shall see what happens.”

  Renzi had slept badly: it was either a hare-brained plot by wild-eyed lunatics or the only chance to rid the world of its greatest nightmare. Or perhaps both—and d’Auvergne had made clear that in the event it went ahead Renzi’s wholehearted participation was expected, and on the inner circle.

  He had now seen the secret correspondence with London: indisputable understandings and instructions from the very highest and concerned with real military and political commitments. D’Auvergne had not lied about his connections and the scheme was under eye by the foreign secretary of Great Britain and the cabinet itself. But just what was being asked of him?

  Interrupting his thoughts, Jenkins, the flag-lieutenant, popped into his office. “Thought you’d be too busy to look in at the post office—letter for you, been there for a while.”

  It was from Kydd. He had found a menial job, shared lodgings, and expressed sincere gratitude for the few coins enclosed. Renzi started a reply but it wouldn’t come. The contrast between his friend’s decent, plain-sailing world and this insane arena of chicanery, stealth and the desperate endeavour to topple Bonaparte was too great.

  Around noon, the cutter from England with dispatches entered Gorey Bay with a package so important that the commodore himself was brought to sign for it.

  Shortly afterwards, a grim-faced d’Auvergne laid a letter in front of Renzi. It was from Lord Hobart, Secretary of State for War, short and to the point. The plot to kidnap Napoleon Bonaparte was to proceed with all possible dispatch and in the greatest possible secrecy.

  “There is attached an order authorising exceptional expenditures against Secret Service funds at the Treasury and an expression of full support from their lordships. Renzi, do you cease all duties to attend on me personally. This is the gravest affair this age.”

  D’Auvergne was in no mood to waste a second. “We shall meet in an hour, my friend. Your current business should be concluded within that time.”

  Renzi worked quickly: no report or appraisal could stand against the stakes that had now been raised. When he entered d’Auvergne’s office he was met with a look of dedicated ferocity. “Mr Renzi. The world knows me as the commodore, Jersey Squadron, and I maintain that position and retinue in my flagship and a small office in St Helier. Some might know that my sympathies with the royalists occupy me on occasions here in Mont Orgueil. Few indeed know of my other activities. As of this moment I count myself officially on leave of absence from my naval duties. It will remain thus until this business is complete.”

  “Very well, sir.” Renzi nodded. “May I enquire as to the establishment you must now engage for this purpose? The line of command, as it were.”

  “None.”

  “Sir?” Renzi asked, not sure he had heard aright.

  “The matter is too grave, far beyond the compass of what is to be expected of a serving officer, the issue much too delicate to entrust to others at this late hour. It will be you and I alone who will bring this business to a head.”

  “Sir! It—”

  “Consider. The plan calls for a rising in Paris, a co-ordination of forces and an alignment of purpose that is the concern only of those actually there—Georges and company en effet . There is little we might do at this distance and our contribution must be to secure and provide what is asked for, and when the time comes to be ready to extract the tyrant by sea from the territory of France.” His eyes gleamed.

  “Thus as you will see, our tasks will be limited—but important. Your good self’s arriving in Jersey has been a miracle, Renzi. We will press ahead together—my office is yours, and my time. We will share the burden and with it the honour.”

  This was nothing less than a strident call to join the gathering maelstrom of the great conspiracy. From a reluctant role at the fringe of this half-world he despised he was now being thrust to the centre . . . It was abhorrent to the principles he had lived by—but how could he deny the syllogistic inevitability of the reasoning: that a smaller evil might be justified for the sake of a greater object? Could he in all conscience stand back at this point? This was where logic and morals collided.

  “Sir, I shall do my duty in this matter,” Renzi said coldly, “with due diligence as my health and strength do allow. But I would have you know, sir, that while bending my best endeavours to the cause I find the business of spying and deception both distasteful and repugnant to my character. When this enterprise is concluded therefore, I must quit your service. That is all.”

  D’Auvergne nodded. “As I would expect of you, Renzi. Before all things you are a gentleman and you are now being asked to violate your sensibilities beyond the bounds nature sets for them. However, before we begin the enterprise I must have your word upon it that you will enter in with a whole heart, applying your mind and body to the one end. Do I have it?”

  “You do, sir.”

  “Good.” He picked up some papers and made a show of shuffling them. “Now, their first task is that of supply. It is vital to their plan to establish a chain of trusted maisons de confiance from Paris to the coast, each to be defended if needed, stocked with fresh horses, food—I’ve no need to detail this, it is not our concern, but the Chouans will need gold for bribery, arms for the escort. They will have it.” He paused for a moment. “And you, Renzi, if you will, shall make it so. Your service as a sea officer allows me to place my fullest trust in your ability to perform this duty. Issue your requirements and I will countersign them without question.”

  CHAPTER 11

  ALTHOUGH HIS FUTURE WAS NOW REASONABLY SECURE Kydd felt qualms. All the time he delayed his return to England he knew Renzi would stay by him at considerable personal cost and this weighed on his conscience. In all fairness he must make plans for departure.

  At the theatre Rosie made a point of seeking him out. “Tom, love, I’ve something for you.” At her coy words Richard Samson’s expression darkened but she went on gaily, “I’ll give it you tonight when we get back.”

  It was a letter, addressed “To Whom It may Concern” and “Strictly Private.” Cautiously Kydd broke the wafer and unfolded the single sheet, conscious that Rosie was watching quietly.

  To his surprise the salutation was a firm “Commander Kydd.” Puzzled—for he was sure he had not mentioned his last name to Rosie—he read on. In friendly tones the writer allowed that an acquaintance had conveyed to him that Kydd was now at leisure on Guernsey, and it had occurred to him this was a circumstance that might well be turned to mutual advantage. If Kydd was inclined to hear further he would be welcome to call at his convenience.

  “A Mr Vauvert,” Kydd said offhandedly, “says he wants t’ meet me.”

  Rosie assumed a practical bustle. “You will show me what you intend to wear, my dear,” she ordered.

  Kydd obediently brought out his best and only walking-out clothes, canvas-wrapped from their storage in the sail-loft, and laid them before her. The dark-green coat with tails had suffered somewhat with mould but more serious was the spotting on the cream pantaloons. Undaunted, Rosie got to work and soon pronounced Kydd ready to appear.

  He marched up to an imp
ressive door in Grange Road and knocked. Rosie had told him that Vauvert was an important figure in Guernsey, a merchant investor and négociant of St Peter Port, of some standing, and therefore he could be sure this was not a social call.

  He was met by Vauvert himself, an older man of impeccable dress. “Sir, it is kind in you to call,” he said, his shrewd eyes taking in Kydd’s appearance. “Do come in.”

  The house was spacious and dark-panelled in the old style with expensive ornaments tastefully placed. “Might I offer you something against this cold evening?”

  The cognac was the finest Kydd had tasted; this was hardly surprising, he reflected, given the smuggling reputation of Guernsey. “Tell me, sir,” he began, “how it is y’ know my name.”

  “Why, sir, you must understand that good intelligence is a merchant’s first requirement if he is to be successful. Your misfortune is not unknown in the fraternity of commerce.”

  Kydd coloured. “Sir! I have t’ make it plain that—”

  “Mr Kydd, the circumstances are known to me. If you are innocent I can only commiserate—but if you were informed upon by another less successful than yourself, it is no reflection on your judgement that you were unprepared for such an odious act. Such things do happen from time to time in the conduct of business and you will find no one in Guernsey who will say that the pursuit of profit is in any way morally offensive.”

  “But—”

  “I rather feel we should proceed to more constructive discussion. Do sit, sir.” The fire had settled to a comfortable heat in the elegant study and Kydd tried to compose himself. If this was a rich merchant seeking a prestige ornament for his establishment by offering him token employment . . .

  “Now, Mr Kydd, let me be open with you. To waste the talents of a sea officer of such shining credentials as yourself in idleness would seem to reflect badly on a nation as sore beset as ourselves. The reasons might be debated but the circumstance itself might yet prove of advantage to both you and me.”

  He went on: “I shall be brief. You are a naval officer of proved distinction with an active and aggressive attitude to meeting the enemy. These qualities are one and the same as those required in the captain of a private man-o’-war.”

  “A privateer? No!” Kydd spluttered. “I—it’s not possible! I can’t—”

  “No?” Vauvert said evenly. “Then I’ve misjudged you, sir. At a time when your country lies under as great a peril as ever it has, you would spend your time at leisure ashore? Let me point out to you that your King’s ship and your privateer are in the same business of reprisal. One is at the King’s expense, the other paid for by concerned citizens who seek to make their contribution.”

  “Mr Vauvert, you don’t understand. F’r a naval officer—”

  “And has it escaped you that war by this means costs His Majesty not a penny? The enemy is made to pay for his own destruction. The sale of prizes repays our own contributions and any overplus is to the credit of those by whose exertions and valour they are secured.”

  “But—”

  “This very house, sir, a not insignificant monument I would dare to say, is itself raised on the proceeds of private cruising in the past age.”

  Kydd felt anger mount. The man knew nothing of the contempt a King’s officer held for his commercial rivals. He could hear cries of disgust as his fellow officers learned of his fall from grace, see the shaking heads. No, it was simply not possible.

  And this was the thing he had sworn not to do. Absent himself at sea while his quest remained unresolved? It was the very reason he was delaying in Guernsey. “No,” he said, with finality. “It’s kind o’ you t’ think on me, but I’m unable t’ see m’ way clear in th’ matter. I’ll bid ye good-day, sir.”

  Vauvert’s disappointment was plain. “My carriage is at your disposal, sir,” he said stiffly.

  “That won’t be necessary,” Kydd said, and left.

  But outside his annoyance ebbed. Vauvert’s disappointment had been genuine; in a way it was a tribute to the respect in which Kydd was held. The man had probably counted on his agreeing to be a privateer captain, with a fine profit on every prize he brought in.

  Not that it would in any way sway—Kydd stopped in his tracks. He was getting nowhere in trying to uncover the plot against him and he probably never would unless he tried another tack. Lockwood had obviously bribed a clerk in the admiral’s office, no doubt with the connivance of someone local. And what could be bribed could be unbribed! Elation surged: with enough gold in the right places he could achieve anything he wished, including a recanting of the false witness against him. And what faster way to accrue the necessary wealth than as a privateer whose fortune could be won in a single voyage?

  With rising excitement he hurried back. He would need to seek leave for employment at sea in the usual way, no doubt, just as he had done for the convict transport to New South Wales. His half-pay would cease immediately, but what an opportunity. Nothing could stand against a determined man with a pot of gold at his back.

  The négociant was blank-faced as Kydd was shown back in. “Mr Vauvert, I do apologise, sir, I may have been too precipitate in m’ departure. I should have enquired more concerning m’ prospects in th’ venture.”

  “I understand, Mr Kydd. It can seem a big step to take when you’re not familiar with practices,” he said. “I’ll do what I can to set your mind at rest. A cigar? No? Perhaps more brandy.” A servant appeared with a tray. “Please let me tell you a little of the business.

  “I use the word advisedly, for this is something we must keep always before us. It is in the nature of an investment and for so doing we expect a return—to bear a profit to the investors, at the least to recoup our costs.” He looked keenly at Kydd. “Now, prudent men of business do weigh the prospects of a return against the risk to their capital, and that of private cruising requires the greatest thought of all. I do not have to detail to a man of your experience the costs of setting a vessel a-swim, but to those must be added considerable legal and agency costs, especially if a prize is to be contested in the courts.”

  Kydd attended politely, aware that if he was to become a noteworthy privateer captain he must learn as much of these elements as he could.

  “It might be said that the chief determinant in success or otherwise of a voyage must be the richness of the cruising ground but I have to tell you that it is not. It is in equal measure the acumen of the financing promoter, and the sagacity and enterprise of the captain.” He smiled at Kydd. “You are young and daring, it is true, but your recent actions before Granville tell me that this is tempered in no small measure by cool thinking and a practical appraisal of risk. Should you choose to undertake this venture I for one would not hesitate to accept you.”

  “Then, sir, you’re saying . . .”

  “I’m saying only that your suitability for the post is clear. You should understand that the business of any such venture will not be mine to command. The whole will be conducted by a promoter whom we term an armateur . He will form an association of interested persons looking to the matter with a view to investment. Should they concur, articles will be drawn up and the armateur will bring together the subscribers’ funds into a consolidated whole, which will then form the capital of the venture. Their return will be in direct proportion to the measure of interest they have shown by their investment.”

  “I see,” Kydd said. “Then as a captain wi’ no investment of my own m’ position is—”

  “This will be a matter for the articles of association. You can be assured that you will be adequately recompensed for your conduct. Some choose a regular wage, others a portion of the proceeds. It is a common thing for a successful captain later to become an investor in himself, with shares accordingly. These many fine mansions you see here in Grange Road are some intimation of what can be achieved.”

  Kydd’s pulse quickened. “Then, er . . .”

  Vauvert leaned back. “Well, it seems I’ve sparked an interest in you,
sir. Shall we say that, if I’m able to receive an expression of your earnest in the matter, I shall approach an armateur of my acquaintance to open discussion with a view to forming a venture? Do I have it, Mr Kydd?”

  With only the barest hesitation Kydd gulped, “Aye, sir, ye do.”

  He was nearly late for the evening performance. Carne looked at him sharply as he arrived, but Kydd was too excited to care: he was on another plane of existence and did his work mechanically, letting the nervous energy of the theatre wash about him as a surreal backdrop to his thoughts.

  It wasn’t until the next morning that he managed to talk to Rosie. He told her what Vauvert had said, then added, with a grin, “So, y’ see, if this works f’r me I’m in a fair way t’ hauling m’self back t’ where I should be.”

  “You will, love, never doubt it.” Her warm smile touched Kydd. If all the world shared her faith in him . . .

  The next few days were trying, the possibility of great wealth such a contrast to the reality of present penury, but then a courteously worded note arrived: the armateur had shown a degree of interest and suggested Kydd meet him.

  A time and date was duly agreed: Kydd was aware that everything was riding on this next stage. The armateur was a heavily built gentleman of years in plain dress, still with the blocky stance and weatherbeaten features of a professional mariner.

  “Le Sieur Robidou is most experienced in these matters, I’ll have you know, Mr Kydd. His success as a privateer in the American war is still talked of and he’s trusted by all the merchant houses here in the article of practical costs management. He has some questions for you,” Vauvert told him.

  Kydd found himself held in a steady gaze by the calm blue eyes of the older man. “I’m pleased t’ make your acquaintance, sir,” Robidou said, in a voice that was deep and authoritative. “Ye’ve a mind to go a-caper, I believe?”

  Vauvert interjected hastily: “Oh, on a caper—it’s an old Dutch term for going in search of plunder.”