Victory Page 5

  ‘My apologies – it seems their new building is not far from completing and we must make do with this,’ Renzi said.

  They went down the stairs into a peculiar basement. A deep central pit was surrounded by a series of observation galleries along which men gravely filed. When all were assembled the upper lights were doused and the pit readied. A single table in the centre equipped with straps was made to be bathed in light from reflected candles.

  ‘Be damned! You’ve brought me to a dissection, haven’t you, y’ dog?’ said Kydd, now recognising the sickly odour of new-dead corpses.

  ‘Not at all,’ Renzi soothed. ‘This is now a scientifical experiment of the first importance. You will recall the celebrated Signor Luigi Galvani?’

  ‘Frog’s legs?’

  ‘Quite so. Tonight his nephew, the most distinguished Professor Aldini, will demonstrate to us conclusively that his theories concerning the role of “animal electricity” in the sustaining of vitality is central to the meaning of life itself.’

  ‘But what are we—’

  ‘Sssh!’ The polite murmuring around the galleries ceased expectantly as a short man with a jet-black moustache and grand manner strode into the arena. Spontaneous applause broke out as he handed his hat and gloves to an assistant and bowed repeatedly until it had ceased.

  ‘Tonight,’ he began impressively, his barely accented English full and resonating, ‘you are invited not as idle spectators but as witnesses! To the most profound experiment of its kind in all of history!’

  There was an excited stirring. Aldini continued, ‘I have invited you doctors and philosophers here tonight’ – Renzi lowered his head guiltily – ‘to attest to the world the truth of what you will shortly see occurring before you.’

  He paused and looked about significantly. ‘In proof of my theory of animal electricity as the conduit of all vitality, this night I will attempt, by means of a voltaic pile, the reanimation of a deceased body. I will, by the science of galvanism, revive a corpse!’

  The commotion increased as the experiment was prepared but died away in breathless silence at the appearance of the subject, brought in and laid on the table under a white sheet. This was stripped back to reveal the naked cadaver of a man. In the absolute stillness of death, its chalky pallor was an obscene counterfeit of life.

  The apparatus was connected. A peculiar tower of alternating copper and zinc discs inside a loose cage was produced, water oozing slowly from between each pair. A braided copper strap led from the bottom of the pile, another from the top. An assistant held them gingerly at arm’s length.

  Utter silence reigned.

  ‘Splendid! We shall begin. This is Signor Volta’s electric pile and it stands ready to deliver its vehemence on my command. Before we commence I must particularly ask that you do observe most carefully and closely, as the vitalising effect is instant and dramatic.’

  He bent to the body and inspected it for a moment, then straightened. ‘I would now ask any who will to come forth to agree with me that life is entirely absent. Sir?’

  An austere figure descended and, with practised skill, felt for a pulse and looked into the staring eyes. He pursed his lips and took out a speculum, which he held over the mouth. Then he pronounced, ‘Life is extinct, gentlemen.’

  ‘If you are ready, I shall proceed.’ Aldini took the copper straps, each with a small disc at its end, and advanced on the corpse.

  Kydd could hardly take it in. Was modern science about to tear down the last boundaries between death and life? To achieve on earth a mortal resurrection that defied the Church and all its teaching?

  Aldini raised the discs and, after a slight pause, placed them firmly at each side of the lower skull.

  Instantly there were jerking movements in the corpse – a tensing, then a wave of terrible contortions passed over the face and, as the discs continued their work, an eye flickered and the jaws quivered, as though in a desperate effort to speak.

  The professor let it continue for a while longer, then withdrew the discs. The body slowly relaxed into the stillness of before. ‘Disappointing,’ he said briefly, inspecting the subject. ‘Yet it might be said to be the clay I have to work with. A common murderer, I understand, but fresh hanged at Newgate and brought to me without delay.’

  Kydd’s mind flailed. That corpse had been a warm, living, breathing, despairing human so very recently. And now this.

  A bluff gentleman next to him snorted. ‘If he brings the wretch back, I shall demand he be re-executed. The law’s insistent on the matter – hanged b’ the neck until dead.’ He turned back to the proceedings.

  ‘Nevertheless,’ Aldini continued, ‘we shall continue. To increase the strength I will use another voltaic pile and this time for maximum effect I shall introduce the electricity directly into the interior of the body.’

  He selected a slender silver probe. ‘Via the rectum.’

  Aldini then stood at the head of the table and carefully applied a disc to the nape of the corpse. The whole body trembled, then the back arched as if under intolerable pain, the legs kicked in a grotesque parody of desperate escape and the arms lifted in spasm. After a further minute one clenched fist suddenly punched the air in hopeless fury and hung in a tremor.

  ‘A pity,’ Aldini announced, after a space. ‘I had hoped for a result this evening. My studies at Bologna were very promising . . .’

  Faint and with an urgent need for air, Kydd endured until the good professor had concluded, then hurried out into the cold freshness of the night streets. ‘Er, uncommon interesting,’ he blurted, as they hastened to find a hackney.

  ‘Quite. With refinement, who knows where it will lead?’ said Renzi, but Kydd was gratified to note his distinctly pale face.

  In the morning, Kydd was away with an attorney when the messenger returned from Guildford with a package.

  Renzi hastened to open it. Yes! It contained a stout letter sealed with a cypher he knew only too well. He heated a thin knife over a candle and, with the utmost care, worked at the seal. He read the letter with a smile of satisfaction. Exactly as he had surmised.

  He reaffixed the seal carefully, then penned a quick note and gave it to the messenger. Now everything depended on the marchioness.

  ‘A vexing, prating crew, your law-grinders,’ Kydd said, flinging down his papers. ‘Before you may even start in business there’s first a memorandum of association an’ then you must work up your articles. Only then are the books of account opened – it would tax the patience of Jove to see the matter squared away at last, shipshape and all a-taunto.’

  He slouched into his chair and thrust out his boots towards the fire. ‘Wind’s in the sou’-east, I see,’ he said, squinting through the low sun coming in the window. ‘Johnny Crapaud’ll sit up and take notice, I shouldn’t wonder,’ he added bitterly.

  ‘It’s accounted to be winter season now, brother,’ Renzi said firmly. ‘There’s no prospect of a crossing, as well you know.’

  He paused and went on in quite another tone. ‘Dear fellow, I do feel we owe something to your sister, she having been abandoned so forlornly last night. Tonight there is to be a rout given by the marchioness, and it would delight Cecilia inordinately should you feel able to attend.’

  At Kydd’s expression he went on quickly, ‘This is not to say she intends this by way of improving your spirits, rather the altogether understandable desire before her friends to show away her brother, hero of the seas.’

  ‘Hmph. So this needs the marchioness as well?’ Kydd said cuttingly.

  ‘As it is her mansion, old trout. To show your face for an hour I would have thought no great imposition while you’re, er, at leisure these days.’

  ‘Do you lecture me on my duty to my sister, sir?’ Kydd flared, then with an effort quietened. ‘Very well, if it should please her.’

  When carriages were announced he defiantly appeared in vivid bottle green and yellow, dress more in keeping with the colour and individuality of the last cen
tury than the increasingly plain and sober attire that was now the vogue. He glowered at Renzi, daring him to comment.

  It took more than an hour to wind through the throng of evening traffic until they reached the imposing residence. The windows were ablaze with candlelight, and the strains of a small orchestra and laughter spilled out onto the street.

  Kydd seemed cheered by the gaiety and strode forward to ring the bell. A well-dressed footman received him and announced his presence. Oddly, the entire room stopped and regarded him with looks of expectation as the orchestra tailed away. Eyes shining, Cecilia ran forward and took his arm possessively, turning to face the assembly.

  Wondering what it was about, Kydd saw the marchioness moving to take position at the front. He bowed courteously.

  She acknowledged graciously, then declaimed loudly to the gathering, ‘My lords, ladies and gentlemen! Pray take your glasses if you will and drink with me to the brightest ornament in His Majesty’s Navy – who I declare has come so far, yet bids fair to have before him the most shining prospects for fame and honour. A toast – to Captain Kydd, our newest sea hero!’

  Cecilia’s grip on his arm was so fierce it hurt, but Kydd’s face was a picture of devastation as the throng gaily echoed the toast.

  ‘Why, Captain, are you by chance out of sorts?’ the marchioness said archly, handing him a glass. For some reason the room had quietened and everyone was watching them.

  ‘Er, it’s— I’m not really— That is t’ say, I’m not a captain any more,’ he stammered.

  ‘Not a captain?’ Her eyes twinkled. ‘When all the world knows you to be made post by His Majesty’s express command?’

  Struck dumb, Kydd could only stare at her.

  Renzi appeared and drew a stiff letter out from his waistcoat, sealed with the Admiralty cypher. ‘I rather fancy this will prove the case.’

  Kydd took it as in a dream and opened it out to its full grandeur. In words that had resounded down the centuries, he read of his being raised to the impossible honour of post-captain, Royal Navy, and signed thus by Melville himself, first lord of the Admiralty.

  He turned to Renzi. ‘Wha’ . . . ?’

  ‘A slight matter only. The letter was sent some weeks ago to your address, which is Guildford. There, your loyal mother has been zealously guarding it for you until your return.’ He chuckled softly. ‘As you may conceive, the first lord was put considerably out of temper at the spectacle of a post-captain demanding command of a mere sloop!’

  In a wash of wonder and delight, Kydd clutched the precious paper and, seized in a delirium of happiness, looked up to see the gathering advancing to congratulate him. As the orchestra launched energetically into ‘See the Conquering Hero Comes’ the first to reach him was a beaming Captain Boyd. Kydd had met the elegantly dressed post-captain when, as a newly appointed officer of the Downs Squadron, he had been sent to London for briefing.

  ‘Might I take your hand, Captain?’ Boyd said sincerely. ‘There was never a promotion more hard earned, sir.’

  Kydd took a deep breath and stuttered, ‘It was, well, I—’

  ‘This is Captain Codrington of Orion, seventy-four, about to join Admiral Nelson, and this, Harvey of Temeraire,’ he added. The two men greeted him genially, both, Kydd knew, senior captains of a ship-of-the-line – and now he the same rank as they!

  Cecilia tugged at his sleeve for him to notice an awed couple nearby. The lady curtsied nervously to him and the man bowed very respectfully. ‘You must remember Jane Rodpole as was? In Jamaica I helped at her wedding to William Mullins here. And then we all met up in Plymouth that time . . .’

  Kydd managed an amiable reply, then turned to a familiar face that had appeared. ‘Sir?’ the man said expectantly.

  Kydd recognised, through a haze of feeling, Dyer, sloop commander of the Downs Squadron. ‘Oh, so kind in you, Dyer,’ he said, allowing his hand to be pumped energetically. He caught himself in time from saying he hoped to see him soon, for as a post-captain his was a higher destiny.

  ‘We do take it as our own honour, your elevation, sir,’ Dyer said breathlessly.

  Others pressed forward to offer their sensibility of the occasion and then it was the marquess with another glass for him, taking him away by the arm to hear for himself the famous action that had resulted in the loss of the plucky brig-sloop Teazer.

  Cecilia came up to Renzi and laid her arm on his. ‘Nicholas, do look at him – I’ve never seen anyone in such transports of bliss!’ she whispered, watching Kydd, his face red with pleasure, the centre of admiration, the man whose future had burst in upon him in a cloud of glory.

  Chapter 3

  As he had done for the previous several days, Kydd rose casually and went over to inspect the morning post placed on the sideboard. Suddenly he snatched up one particular letter. With a quick glance at Renzi, hidden behind his morning newspaper, he hurriedly stuffed it inside his waistcoat, but the movement was noticed. ‘Oh, have we mail, dear fellow?’

  ‘No. Er, that is to say, nothing to interest us,’ Kydd said hastily.

  Renzi lowered his newspaper. ‘Are you not well, old horse? You seem a little agitated.’

  Kydd hesitated. ‘Um, I’ll be back soon, Nicholas,’ he said, and fled into the privacy of his bedroom. Feverishly he broke the seal. This was the letter he had yearned for – the impossible dream come true.

  A ship. A frigate – newly captured and brought into the Navy, by name L’Aurore d’Égalité and he was, with all possible dispatch, to take on himself the charge and command of the said ship, now lying at Portsmouth dockyard.

  His hand trembled as it held the precious paper, his mind spinning . . . A frigate! This was not simply a larger brig-sloop, it was in effect a minor ship-of-the-line, one-decked instead of two- or three-, but with everything from the three-masted ship rig to the make-up of her company simply proportioned down. A frigate was a major warship, an asset of significance in the fleet, and L’Aurore d’Égalité would be commanded by – Captain Kydd!

  He took a deep breath. It had happened. Who knew what the future now held for him and his trusty frigate? Gulping with excitement, he tried to compose his features. Damn it – Renzi had made him suffer before he had told him the news. Now it was his turn.

  ‘You’re looking a mort flushed, Tom, are you sure—’

  Kydd turned away quickly. ‘I shall be fine presently, m’ friend.’ He nonchalantly resumed his chair and continued, in an odd voice, ‘Er, shall you be going out this night?’

  ‘Well, I did wish to see a gentleman who has promised to show me a curious artefact of the Eskimo people, which he—’

  ‘God rot it!’ Kydd exploded, and Renzi dropped his newspaper in alarm. ‘An’ I can’t do it!’

  ‘Er, do what, pray?’

  ‘Nicholas – I have a frigate!’ Kydd burst out. ‘She’s waiting for me in Portsmouth!’ He jumped to his feet and thrust the letter at Renzi. ‘Read!’ he commanded.

  Renzi admired it extravagantly. ‘As I’ve always thought, your promotion to the select few was for a purpose,’ he said.

  ‘The devil with that!’ Kydd spluttered happily. ‘A ship! A frigate! I’m to post down tomorrow, I believe. With all dispatch, it says.’

  ‘And your new uniform as yet still with the tailor?’

  ‘Damn it, yes! I’ll go in shore togs – she’s not yet in commission, o’ course.’

  ‘Tomorrow?’

  ‘At the earliest hour.’

  Renzi paused. ‘You’ll have a great deal to do in a new-found man-o’-war, old friend. Certificating completions, books of account and similar. If you’d wish it, then I’ll—’

  ‘Nonsense!’ Kydd chuckled. ‘Clerking is not for a gentleman o’ learning such as you now are. I’ll soon find someone.’

  ‘Er, I would not find it as insupportable as you suppose,’ Renzi said carefully. ‘And do recollect, this is a frigate and of no trivial complexity. If—’

  ‘Never. Your studies must come before
all,’ Kydd said, with finality. ‘Recollect – I will have some hundreds to command and there I will find my ship’s clerk.’

  With a set face, Renzi pressed, ‘To have one to trust in such a post is of no small advantage, I’m persuaded. Should you—’

  ‘No, sir! I will not have you top it the clerk at your eminence. In fine, the post is closed to you, Nicholas.’

  Renzi bit his lip. ‘Brother. I’ve no need to confide to you that the sea life is particularly congenial to me, ensuring as it does that a retreat to the scholarly recluse can never tempt, and each morning’s prospect may be relied upon to be different. And the blessed regularity of the sea’s daily round for the reflective is—’

  ‘No.’

  Renzi swallowed and continued in a low voice, ‘It pains me to allude to it at this time but . . . but the attraction of a regular stipend, an income of my own . . .’

  ‘Ah. Then you’ll need an accommodation of sorts, a gentlemanly loan?’

  Renzi drew himself up stiffly. ‘That will not be necessary. I’m sanguine I shall find an employment to keep myself while you’re at sea.’

  ‘That’s settled, then,’ Kydd said cheerfully, and got up to pace about the room, ignoring Renzi’s dejected expression. ‘A frigate!’ He laughed out loud. ‘Who could conceive . . . ?’

  ‘I wish you joy of it.’

  ‘Thank you, Nicholas,’ Kydd said. ‘Tysoe must begin packing immediately. I wonder what I’ll take? I’ll stay at the George, I believe. Ship’s accommodation won’t be ready yet and there’s much to be done.’

  ‘Without a clerk?’

  Kydd turned away suddenly as he was taken by a spasm that left his shoulders heaving. ‘W-without a c-clerk,’ he managed, then turned back, his eyes streaming with laughter.

  ‘An’ I had you gulled, Nicholas! Admit it – I had you trussed like a chicken!’ he chortled.

  ‘Th-then the post of ship’s clerk . . . ?’

  ‘You shall never have, as long as I’m captain!’

  ‘But—’

  Kydd pulled himself together and looked affectionately at his old friend. ‘Nicholas. Do recollect – I’m now post-captain of a King’s Ship, an officer of stature. It would certainly be remarked upon should I neglect to maintain a retinue. And in the first rank of these must stand . . . the captain’s confidential secretary.’