Quarterdeck (40 page)

Kydd stirred uncomfortably and noticed the master, with a large notebook and folded chart, checking something over the side. “Nothing amiss, Mr Hambly?” It was unusual to see the master at work on deck in harbour.

“Nay, sir, nothing t’ worry you on,” he said. Then, seeing Kydd’s interest, he explained further. It seemed that the new Admiralty hydrographic department had issued instructions to all sailing masters that anchorages they might from time to time visit should be surveyed by hand lead-line from a ship’s boat with

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a view to verifying the accuracy of charts now in the course of preparation in England.

“A fi ne and proper thing,” said Kydd. Every mariner was at the mercy of his charts, whether dependable or false, and any endeavour that could lessen the fearful risks of navigation was a service to mankind. “Where are you going t’ start?”

“Why, Mr Kydd, it’s kind in ye to enquire. I thought t’ try the Bedford Basin—there, through the narrows, an’ you’ll fi nd a fi ne body o’ water twice the size of Halifax harbour there.”

A nearly perfect land-locked haven: a fl eet could safely ride out a storm there. This was really worthwhile—an exercise of professional sea skills with a purpose. Kydd brightened. “Mr Hambly, I’d like t’ do some of this work m’self. Would you be s’

kind as to show me on the chart?”

Kydd had chosen to begin his fi rst line of soundings across the widest point of the basin to establish some sort of bottom profi le. It was satisfying work, and congenial to the spirit. Real skill was needed to hold the octant laterally to establish the bearings ashore and provide the exact position of the pinnace. Poulden, in the bows, would send the hand-lead plummeting down, singing out in cadence the exact depth of water told by the marks.

Kydd noted the time carefully; later, there would be work with tide tables to establish the true depth, corrected for the state of tide, then referenced to the chart datum.

Kydd was so engrossed in the work that, for a space, he had forgotten his concern about the banquet. It had been heavily hinted at by Captain Houghton that every offi cer would not only attend but with a suitable lady. To those who had attained a degree of intimacy with the gentle reaches of Haligonian society it would be a matter of choice. For Kydd, who had not only been away but felt awkward and ill-at-ease in well-born company, it was a trial. He realised he would probably end up with
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the insipid daughter of the vicar, with whom he was on nodding terms, to the amusement of the more senior in the wardroom.

He forced his mind back to the task at hand. Surprisingly, their fi rst traverse reached the twenty-fathom limit of a hand-lead less than a third the way across. Such deep water? Perhaps he should stay with the shoreline and fi rst establish a forty-foot line of depth along it, this being of most interest to a big-ship navigator. It was not diffi cult to pick up the mark again, and astute reading of the characteristics at the edge of the shoreline soon had a useful number of forty-foot soundings carefully pencilled in. But for the unfortunate narrows at the entrance, re-stricting access to square-rigged vessels whenever the winds were in the north, it was spacious and deep enough to take the entire Channel Fleet at single anchor, an impressive body of water.

Something ashore caught Kydd’s eye: a fi gure in white, standing, watching. He ignored it and continued with his work. They drew abreast; the fi gure was still there. As he watched he realised it was a woman, waving a handkerchief.

She waved again, an exaggerated movement. “Someone wants t’ speak, sir,” Poulden volunteered.

“Aye. Well, perhaps we should see what she wants. Oars, give way together.”

The boat headed inshore. The wooded slopes leading down to the water looked immaculately cared for, and they saw the edge of a building peeping out from blossom-laden trees. Closer in, Kydd noticed a discreet landing-stage and headed for it. The woman made no move to descend to it, still standing and watching from her vantage-point.

Cursing under his breath, Kydd threw a rope ashore and pulled himself up to the little jetty. He was hardly dressed for meeting ladies in his worn sea uniform but he clambered up to where she was waiting.

“Yes, madam?”

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“Oh. I was watching you, you see,” she said, her voice soft and prettily accented with French.

Kydd remembered himself and snatched off his hat. Dressed for the garden, she was in a white gown and be ribboned straw hat. She was also strikingly beautiful, her large dark eyes adding an appealing wistfulness.

“And I thought ’ave you lost something—you look for it so long.” She seemed a touch older than him and had a disconcert-ingly worldly-wise air.

“Not at all, madam. We conduct a hydrographical survey o’

the coastline.” She was probably one of the sad band of roy-alist refugees who had settled in Nova Scotia, he conjectured, although apparently from a wealthy family. “Oh, er, might I present m’self? L’tenant Kydd, Royal Navy.”

“
Enchantée,
Lieutenant.” Her bob coincided with Kydd’s sturdy bow. “Then you do not know me?”

“No, madam, er, you have th’ advantage of me.”

She contemplated him, then said, “I am Thérèse Bernardine-Mongenet and zis is where I live.” She gestured gracefully up the slopes.

At a loss, Kydd bowed again.

“I was taking refreshment in ze garden. Perhaps you would care to take some lemonade wiz me, and tell me about your hydrog-cally, Lieutenant?”

Kydd accepted graciously: the boat’s crew would be reliable with Poulden and would not object to an hour’s leisure. They walked together up a winding path, past little summerhouses with gilded latticework and bells tinkling on their pagoda-like roofs. It was the most enchanting and sumptuous garden Kydd had ever seen. Atop a bluff overlooking the water, cunningly nestled among trees, there was a two-storey wooden mansion, vaguely Italian in style, and on the grass lawn below a cloth-covered table with jug and glass.

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“A moment.” She summoned a maid and spoke rapidly in French to her, then turned back to Kydd. “So, tell me what is it you are doing.”

Kydd was uncomfortable in his old uniform but he thawed at her warmth, and by the time the maid returned with another glass and a cake stand he was chuckling at her misapprehensions of the sea service. “Rousin’ good cakes,” he said, having sampled one of the tiny, lemon-fl avoured shells.

“Ah, ze
madeleines,
” she said sadly. “The old King Louis, ’is favourite.”

It did not seem right to dwell on past griefs, so Kydd said brightly, “Have you heard? The Duke o’ Shwygery is t’ be honoured with a banquet, an’ we’re all invited to attend. Your husband will have an invitation, o’ course?”

“I am not married,” she said quietly.

“Oh, I’m sorry, madam,” he said. “Ah—that’s not t’ mean I’m sorry you’re not married at all. I—er, please forgive . . .”

“Forgiven, M’sieur,” she said gently.

“Will I see you there?” he asked hopefully.

She looked at him steadily. “I have not been invited.”

Kydd’s heart went out to her, so elegant, beautiful and se-rene. No man had begged her hand for the occasion, unwilling to risk the mortifi cation of being declined—indeed, in the normal way he would never be noticed by a lady of such quality. It was so close to the event it was more than probable there would be no more offers forthcoming and she would be obliged to stay at home. Any gentleman . . . “Madam, I am not engaged for the occasion. It would be my particular honour t’ escort you, should ye be inclined.”

There was a fraction of hesitation, then she smiled. “I would be delighted to accept, Lieutenant,” she murmured, and the smile moved to her eyes.

• • •

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“What do ye think, Nicholas?” said Kydd, rotating in his new full-dress uniform coat. The white facings with gold buttons against the deep blue were truly magnifi cent and he looked forward to making his appearance in it.

“Dare I enquire, dear fellow, if you have a lady of suitable distinction marked out for the occasion?” Renzi asked doubtfully.

“I have.” Kydd was going to give nothing away before the night; all he had to do was take a ship’s boat to the landing-stage, then make his way to the house. Thérèse had said she would fi nd a carriage.

“It
is
at Government House,” Renzi stressed, “and although we shall not be prominently seated you do understand we
will
be under eye, possibly of the Prince himself.”

“Thank you, Nicholas. I will try not to disappoint. And y’rself?”

“I have my hopes, dear fellow.”

The day of the banquet arrived. Captain Houghton addressed his offi cers in the wardroom as to the seriousness of the occasion, the honour of the ship, the correct forms of address to the Prince and to an Austrian duke and duchess and the probable fate of any offi cer who brought shame to his ship.

Later in the day Tysoe jostled with others to begin the long process of bringing his offi cer to a state of splendour: a stiff white shirt topped with a black stock at the neck under the high stand-up collar of the coat, gleaming buckled shoes over white stockings, and immaculate tight white breeches. It had been shockingly expensive and Kydd had borrowed heavily against his future prize money from
Minotaure,
but he was determined to make a showing.

One by one the other offi cers departed, some to share carriages, others to walk up the hill. Renzi left, with a troubled glance at his friend.

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Kydd trod the same path as before, the early-summer evening tinting the garden with a delicious enchantment. A footman waited and escorted Kydd to an open carriage. “Madame will attend you presently,” he intoned.

Thérèse emerged and Kydd was left struggling for words: there must be few in Halifax who could possibly reach her heights of fashionable elegance. He took refuge in a deep bow as she came towards him in a full-length, high-waisted ivory gown, perilously low-cut and trimmed fetchingly in blue, her elaborate coif-fure woven with pearls and a single ostrich feather sweeping up imperiously.

“
Bonsoir, mon lieutenant.
An’ such a clement evening,
n’est-ce pas?
”

With the footman holding open the door of the carriage, Kydd helped her up, her long gloved hand in his. It seemed so unreal, and all he could think of was that he must not let down Cecilia after all her patient tutoring on gentility.

The chaise lurched into motion, keeping to a sedate pace.

Kydd sat bolt upright next to his lady. Thankfully, the grind ing of the wheels made conversation an effort, and he concentrated on the journey, imagining the effect on his shipmates when he and his lady were announced.

As they approached the town he was given a measure of what to expect by the reaction of passers-by. Some gaped, others pointed. Kydd swelled with pride—they must make a striking couple indeed. The carriage clattered along the streets and headed for a large building between two churches, illuminated in every window, and with the sound of fi ne music coming from within.

They drew up outside among the crowd of sightseers and Kydd was gratifi ed once again by the impression he and his lady made. He bowed graciously this way and that, then hastened to assist Thérèse down. He offered his arm, and they swept into

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Government House through a lane of gaping onlookers. His confi dence soared.

Inside he glimpsed the
levée
room, packed with glittering personages in animated talk, jewellery sparkling in candle-light, and a military concert band in full fl ow in the corner.

A bewigged major-domo at the door hesitated. “Er, Madame Thérèse Bernardine-Mongenet,” Kydd said importantly—it had taken hours to learn, “And L’tenant Thomas Kydd.”

The man looked petrifi ed; possibly this was his fi rst important occasion, Kydd thought. Nevertheless, he coughed and bawled resolutely, “Lieutenant Thomas Kydd and—and Madame Thérèse Bernardine-Mongenet.” With her hand on his arm, Kydd stepped into the room. If only Cecilia could see him now!

Every face in the room turned towards them: conversations died, the band’s efforts faded uncertainly. Kydd’s head was spinning. This was what it was to be in high society! “You will introduce me?” Thérèse whispered.

Overfl owing with happiness and with the broadest smile, Kydd turned to his left and approached the nearest group, who started with apprehension. He bowed deeply to the elderly gentleman and made a grand introduction. The man’s wife curtsied, staring wide-eyed at Thérèse. Kydd moved on graciously, trying to think of suitable small-talk.

He knew he would never forget the night—or the effect of a truly beautiful woman on society. Around them conversations stopped, then picked up again as they progressed down the room.

To the side, he saw Houghton staring at them as if at a ghost.

Next to him stood Bampton, clearly in shock. “My captain,”

Kydd said happily to Thérèse, as they approached. Houghton seemed overcome at the introduction, gobbling something indistinct, but Thérèse, clearly delighted, bestowed on him special
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attention and offered her hand to be kissed. As he watched his captain grovel before a grand lady, Kydd believed the evening could promise nothing more satisfying.

Prince Edward stood in the centre of the room surrounded by aides-de-camp, courtiers and military men in gleaming regimentals. Kydd summoned every ounce of courage and led Thérèse over to him. “Y’r Royal Highness, may I be allowed t’ introduce Madame Thérèse Bernardine-Mongenet?” Thérèse’s graceful curtsy was long held. “An’ myself, L’tenant Thomas Kydd, o’