The Admiral's Daughter Page 27

  Renzi’s face fell, but then Kydd chuckled. “Pay no mind t’ me, Nicholas. If I’m t’ be truthful, I’d say that there’s nothin’ in the world more congenial t’ me right now than settlin’ t’ both anchors in as quiet a place as this.”

  It was particularly pleasant to sit in the orangery, a small table to hand with a jug of lemon shrub, and let the beaming sunshine lay its beneficent warmth upon him. He had brought with him Chesterfield’s Advice to His Son and The Polite Philosopher, which was, in its turgid phrases, agreeably closing his eyes in mortal repose.

  The peace and warmth did its work and the memories of the recent past began to fade. Outside, birds hopped from branch to branch of the orchard trees, their song so different from the sound of the sea’s rage.

  His mind drifted to a more agreeable plane. What would Persephone be doing in Bath? Did taking the waters imply a communal bath somewhere or would someone of her quality be granted private quarters? No doubt Lady Lockwood would come round to things eventually, particularly with Persephone there to explain things. Meanwhile . . .

  “Oh! I didn’t mean to disturb you, Mr Kydd!” a timid voice called from the door. Kydd opened his eyes and rose.

  “No, no, please, don’t get up. I only thought you’d like tea and—and I see you already have something.” Her voice was shy but appealing in its childlike innocence, although Rosalynd was plainly a young woman.

  “That’s kind in ye, Miss Rosalynd,” Kydd said, with finality, hoping she would go away—he was enjoying the tranquillity and those pale blue eyes had an other-worldly quality that unnerved him. But she remained quietly, watching him. “Y’ see, I’m in deep study with m’ book,” he explained stiffly.

  She approached shyly and Kydd became uncomfortably aware that she had a startling natural beauty, of which she seemed unconscious. “I’m so curious, Mr Kydd—I’ve never met a learned gentleman before. Do forgive me, but I’ve always wondered what they think on when their mind is not in a struggle with some great problem.”

  Those eyes. “Er, I’m really no scholard, Miss. F’r that you need t’ ask Mr Renzi. I’m only his—his assistant.” He fiddled with his book.

  “Oh, well, if there’s any service I can do for you gentlemen . . .”

  “Thank you, we’d most certainly call on ye.”

  She hesitated. Then, with a smile and a curtsy, she left.

  It was no good. She had ruined his rest so he took up Chesterfield. The Latin tags annoyed him and the convoluted prose of half a century before was tedious. Yet if he was to hold his place in the highest society he should know the rules by heart, and soon. He sighed and ploughed on.

  Renzi returned in high spirits. “Such richness of material—it’s striking to see the variation in responses. And the philology—it would give you pause should you see what I’ve gleaned from their rustic speech. A splendid day, and tomorrow I’m promised an old man of a hundred and five years who can remember Queen Anne’s day . . .”

  At the evening meal Kydd left it to Renzi to deflect the polite enquiries concerning where they had come from. It would probably cause alarm and consternation if ever it reached down to the nest of smugglers below them that an active commander, Royal Navy, was taking his ease so close. And, of course, he did not want to hazard the trust Renzi had established with the local folk.

  In the morning Renzi was off early, leaving Kydd to his orangery once more. Just as he had settled in his easy chair there was a shy knock and Rosalynd entered, then stood before him. “Mr Kydd, I don’t believe you’re a learned gentleman at all.”

  Kydd blinked and she went on, “I saw you last night when Mr Renzi was telling about his word fossils and I could swear you had no notion at all of what he was saying.”

  “Ah, well, y’ see, I’m a friend of Mr Renzi’s who assists when called upon,” Kydd said weakly.

  She laughed prettily. “You see? I knew you weren’t. You’re much too—too, er . . . May I be told who it is you are, sir?”

  It was unsettling, but her innocence was disarming and he could not help a smile. “No one of significance, you’ll understand. I’m just a gentleman o’ leisure, is all, Miss Rosalynd.”

  Looking doubtfully at him she said, “I do believe you’re teasing me, sir. You have the air of—of someone of consequence, whom it would be folly to trifle with. You’re a soldier, Mr Kydd, a colonel of some high regiment!”

  Kydd winced. “Not really,” he muttered.

  “But you’re strong, your look is direct, you stand so square—it must be the sea. You’re a sailor, an officer on a ship.”

  He could not find it in him to lie and answered, with a sigh, “Miss Rosalynd, you are right in th’ particulars, but I beg, do not let this be known. I’ve just endured a great storm an’ desire to be left to rest.”

  “Of course, Mr Kydd. Your secret shall be ours alone,” she said softly. In quite another voice she continued, “I really came to tell you that the first Friday of the month is the fair and market in Polperro. If you like, I’d be happy to take you. Of course, Billy will come with us,” she added quickly, dropping her eyes.

  “Billy?”

  “That’s what Titus wants us to call him. He hates his name.”

  A country fair! It had been long years since he had been to one—but Chesterfield beckoned. “Sadly, Miss Rosalynd, I have m’ duty by my books an’ must decline.”

  “That is a great pity, Mr Kydd, for your friend left before I could inform him of it, and now there is no one to tell him about what he might have seen.”

  Kydd weakened. “Mr Renzi—you’re right, o’ course, it would be a sad thing should there be no one t’ report on it. I shall come.”

  “Wonderful,” she said, with a squeal. “We’ll leave after I put on my bonnet—will that be convenient to you, Mr Kydd?”

  They set off for Polperro on foot. “I hope you don’t mind the walking—we should take a donkey shay but I do so pity the beasts on this steep hill.” The Landaviddy pathway was a sharp slope down, and Kydd thought of their return with unease.

  “It’s so lovely in Polperro at this time of the year,” Rosalynd said wistfully. She went to the side of the path and cupped her hand. “Just look at these yellow flowers. It is the biting stonecrop come to bloom. And your yellow toadflax over here will try to outdo them. We call it ‘butter and eggs,’” she added shyly.

  Titus hopped from one foot to the other in his impatience to get to the fair. They descended further, the rooftops below now in plainer view.

  “I do love Polperro—there’s so much of nature’s beauty on every hand.” A rustle of wings sounded on the left and a small bird soared into the sky. “A swift—we must make our farewells to him soon. Do you adore nature too, Mr Kydd?” The wide blue eyes looked up into his.

  “Er, at sea it’s all fishes an’ whales, really, Miss Rosalynd,” Kydd said awkwardly, wishing they were closer to their destination.

  She stopped and gazed at him in open admiration. “Of course! You will have been all round the world and seen—you’ll have seen so much! I do envy you, Mr Kydd.”

  He dropped his eyes and muttered something, turning away from her to resume walking. He had no wish to be badgered by this slip of a girl when his thoughts were so occupied with the challenges of high society.

  Well before they reached the village Kydd’s nose wrinkled at the unmistakable stench of fish workings, but Rosalynd seemed not to notice. The muffled sound of a band mingled with excited voices floated up to them and when they reached level ground a glorious fair burst into view.

  There were stalls with toys and sweetmeats, penny peep-shows, the usual story-tellers holding audiences agog with lurid tales. Despite himself Kydd felt a boyish thrill at the gaudy scenes, the village lads decorated with greenery and the lasses in their gay ribbons and gowns.

  Then, preceded by terrified children, a bear lurched down the street, and round the corner a dragon breathing real fire progressed, opposed by brave boys baying at it with fis
hermen’s fog-horns. Titus ran forward. “The gaberlunzie man!” he shouted. The cloaked performer was executing risky tricks with sulphur matches while a tumbler and juggler tried to distract him.

  “To the green!” urged Rosalynd, touching Kydd’s arm. “There’s always a play!” The village was a dense network of narrow streets and they emerged suddenly on to a tiny open area nearly overwhelmed by close-packed buildings. There, on an improvised stage, a seedy band of players declaimed to a rapt audience.

  On the way back, Kydd paid twopence to a fiddler for a gay twosome reel danced by a masked youth and maiden, while the three each ate a filling Cornish pasty to keep hunger at bay. A quick visit by the Goosey Dancers ended the day and they wended their way back up the steep pathway.

  They walked slowly, Titus going ahead. “It’s been so good to have visitors,” Rosalynd said quietly. “We don’t get many, you’ll understand.”

  Kydd murmured something and she gave him a quick glance. “You may think us simple folk here, Mr Kydd, but we are blessed with many things.” She bent and picked a flower. “Here—so many pass by this. It is the bridewort and is provided by nature to give us an infallible remedy against the headache.” She pressed it on him, her fingers cool. He lifted it, feeling her eyes on him as he smelt it. “Mr Kydd, it’s been such a lovely day—I do thank you.”

  Renzi seemed strangely unmoved at the news of what he had missed. His notebook was clearly of compelling interest and Kydd left him to his aggregations. For himself, he could feel the sunshine and placidity working on him, and the trials of the recent past were fading. But something was unsettling him—the girl. Rosalynd was at odds with any other he had met and he was at a loss to know how to deal with her other-worldliness, her communing with nature, the innocence born of the seclusion of this place from the outer world . . . and her ethereal loveliness.

  What about her was so different: an only daughter in a household of men? Her detachment from the usual cares and preoccupations of the world? He checked himself: this was no fit subject of concern for one about to be wed.

  He declined her invitation to explore the village and buried himself in a book, then found, to his surprise, that he felt put out when she accepted his refusal without comment. On the next day when Titus came to extend her hesitant offer to accompany them on their visit to the fisher-folk he accepted instantly.

  She was wearing a plain linen morning dress and bonnet, and carried a basket. “This is so kind, Mr Kydd. I’m going to visit Mrs Minards. You see, we lost a boat in the big gale and her husband was not found, the poor soul.”

  Kydd winced. If Teazer could find herself between life and death, then what of the little fishing-boats?

  “They have such a hard life, Mr Kydd, you have no idea. Hurry, please, Billy, Mr Kydd is waiting.”

  It was the Landaviddy path again, but this time they stepped out purposefully. “When something like this happens it’s so diffi-cult to know what to do.”

  “That there’s somebody in the world who knows an’ understands will be comfort enough,” Kydd said warmly. She flashed him a look of gratitude.

  It was a pretty village. The small harbour was central with its piers and little fishing-boats in rows on the mud. However, the nearer the fish quay they went, the meaner the cottages.

  At the edge Rosalynd stopped to fasten on pattens, over-shoes that would protect her own from the fish-slime.

  “Good mornin’, Miss Rosalynd,” a buxom lady with a fishing basket hailed, looking curiously at Kydd.

  “And a good morning to you, Mrs Rowett,” she called back gaily, with a wave.

  They reached the open space in front of the Three Pilchards, and squeezed down a passage to the rickety cottages behind. A dull-eyed woman came to the door of one, then broke slowly into a tired smile. “Why, Rosalynd, m’ deary, there’s no need to—”

  “Nonsense, Mrs Minards. I’m only come to make sure there’s enough to go round.” A child wandered in, lost and bewildered.

  Kydd felt an intruder: the thin cobb walls, two rooms and pitiful furnishings spoke of a poverty he had never been witness to. The calm acceptance by this new widow of the sea’s pitilessness and her future of charity shocked him.

  After they left, Kydd asked Rosalynd, “What will she do now, d’ye think?”

  He was startled to hear a sob before she answered. “To—to know your love will not ever return to you in life is the cruellest thing, Mr Kydd.”

  They walked out to the brightness of the day and she said, with an effort, “I suppose she will go wool-washing at Crumplehorn. It pays quite well although the work is dirty.”

  At a loss, Kydd kept pace with her. She stopped suddenly and turned to him with a smile. “Mr Kydd, I’m going to show you my most favourite place in Polperro. Come along!”

  She hurried to the corner of the row of cottages and found a neat but narrow path winding up high in the rocks.

  “Oh, do we have to?” Billy said.

  “Yes, we do! Now, get along up there, if you please.”

  Kydd, however, found sixpence for him to spend afterwards as he liked, which won him a firm friend.

  When they had toiled up a short slope and reached a spur of rock they were rewarded with a dramatic view: the length of the harbour with its impossibly narrow entrance, the two mighty formations of rock, like a gigantic lizard’s spine, and stretching in a vast, glittering expanse to the distant horizon, the sea.

  “There!” she breathed. “All the rest of the world is out there. The elephants of India, the palace of the King, even that horrid Napoleon. All you have to do is get on a ship and you can go there—anywhere.”

  Kydd was touched; for him the far horizon was a familiar sea highway to every adventure and experience of significance in his life so far, and he had perhaps taken for granted the freedoms it gave.

  She pressed him: what was life like for one who sailed away over that horizon? What changes in character, what deep feelings were involved? Kydd hesitated at first but he was soon opening to her parts of himself that had remained closed to everyone else, including, it had to be faced, Persephone. Rosalynd was reaching him in a unique way.

  Renzi arrived back late and somewhat rumpled. “Gurry butts and arrish mows.” He sighed. “Such a richness in diversity to the same urgent imperatives. You’ll recall the islands of the Great South Seas—the savages there . . . Please know that this is proving a most satisfactory first expedition.”

  “As I c’n see, Nicholas,” Kydd answered, over his port, “an’ I wish you well of it all.”

  Renzi looked at him fondly. “I am aware, dear fellow, that this is hardly an enthralling adventure for your good self and it is on my conscience that—”

  “No, no, Nicholas! I am findin’ th’ peace an’ tranquillity a fine solace,” he said. “And th’ family is, er, takin’ good care of me.” Renzi would probably not understand if he mentioned his pleasant walks with Rosalynd.

  “You should ask them to show you about Polperro,” Renzi said encouragingly. “I passed by yesterday, a most curious place.” He accepted a restorative drink and continued: “Some might find its fragrance less of sanctity and more of fish, but I was amused to read a most apposite inscription above the door of one such pal-lace: dulcis lucri odor, or “‘This be the sweet smell of lucre.’”

  Kydd grinned. “Your Ovid, then.”

  “Perhaps not. The wit who placed it there was probably thinking of Vespasian, that most earthy of emperors who actually said, pecunia non olet, ‘Money does not reek,’ a most practical view, in my opinion.”

  The next day Kydd and Rosalynd visited Jan Puckey’s fish pal-lace; it was diverting to see the speed and skill with which the women balked the pilchards. They were placed in an earthenware “bussa,” tails in and heads out in an endless spiral of salted layers, two thousand for the Puckeys’ winter consumption alone, with the oil pressed from them fetching a good price.

  Afterwards they took a picnic atop the medieval ruins of Chapel
Hill. Rosalynd spread a cloth and took out country goodies from her basket. “I do hope you’ll have these—I don’t know, really, what you like,” she added shyly.

  With mutton pies and saffron cake happily tucked away, Kydd lay back contentedly on the grass and closed his eyes in the warm sun, waiting for yet another question about the wider world but none came. She sat close to him but seemed quiet and affected, staring away over the sea.

  At last she broke silence. “When will you leave, Mr Kydd?” she asked, in a small voice.

  “Oh, er, I suppose that’ll be when Nicholas has had his fill o’ things t’ see,” he said off-handedly.

  “Oh.”

  An awkward silence grew; Kydd got to his feet. “We’d better be back,” he said, dusting himself down.

  “Oh—not straight away, please,” she cried. “Do you see there?” she said pointing to the cliff edge. “It’s a path that follows all the way to Fowey and there are enchanting prospects to be had.”

  “Well, where’s Billy? Absent fr’m place of duty—we’ll keelhaul him!”

  But she had already moved away. He hurried after her, across the grass and on to the narrow track that found its way along the ragged edge of the coast, the sea beating against the rocks a precipitate hundred and fifty feet below.

  “Rosalynd?” he called. She did not stop until she had reached a fold in the cliffs.

  He caught up and said, “Miss Rosalynd, you should—”

  She turned slowly and Kydd was astonished to see the glitter of tears. “M-Mr Kydd,” she choked, “I b-beg you—please don’t forget me.”

  “Wha—?”

  “I d-do assure you, I will never forget you. ”

  Kydd was unable to think of anything to say.

  “You—you’ve changed me,” she said, choked. “I can’t be the same person any more.”

  “I—I—”

  “It’s not your fault, Mr Kydd. I’ve been living here quietly and thinking it’s the whole world and then . . .” Her hands twisted together. “You see . . . it’s nothing you’ve done—it’s all my fault— b-but I’ve found I care for you more than is proper and now you’ll get in your ship and sail away from me and . . .” She buried her face in her hands and wept.