Seaflower - Kydd 03

by Julian Stockwin

  Kydd paused to see the effect on Renzi. His friend had always got along well with Cecilia, and Kydd knew he would be pleased. Oddly, Renzi stared back at him with unblinking eyes.

  Shrugging, Kydd went on, '"Peter is a very amiable man, and he has the most wonderful prospects. I met him at one of Mrs Daryton's assemblies. Oh, yes, she wishes to be remembered to you, and of course dear Nicholas.

  '"But what I really want to tell you is that Peter is going to Jamaica to be under-manager of a sugar plantation. You've no idea how happy that makes me! It will only be a few years and we will set up our carriage, and a little time after that we will be rich, and I will look after Mama and Papa — but I am going too fast. I have to say that we have an understanding. Peter will return to Jamaica and next month I travel with Jane Rodpole (you remember, the one at school with the long hair and hopeless giggle). She goes to Jamaica for the same reason. We will take lodgings together until—"' Kydd broke off. 'So, y' sees, she must even now be in Kingston, Nicholas. We have t' find her, an' celebrate all together.'

  Chapter 13

  Kydd and Renzi's appearance — smart man-o'-war's men — attracted some curious looks in Kingston town. Sailors rarely left the more direct pleasures of Port Royal for the commercialism and bustle of Kingston, across the harbour from the Palisades.

  It was not hard to find the newcomers: there were streets of hostelries providing rooms for merchants, travelling army wives and the like, and with rising excitement Kydd found himself outside one of these. The door was opened by a mistrustful housekeeper. Kydd shyly enquired about Miss Kydd. The woman agreed to see if she was in to two sailors, but firmly closed the door on them while she did so.

  The door opened again: a young lady with laughing eyes, hair whirled in a tight bun in deference to the heat, looked at them both. 'Do I fin' m'self addressing Miss Jane?' Kydd enquired, holding his hat awkwardly in his hands.

  'You do, sir. Might I ask . ..' She looked puzzled, but there was a barely repressed animation that was most fetching.

  "Thomas Kydd, Cecilia's brother.'

  Her hands flew to her mouth.

  'An' my particular friend, Nicholas Renzi.'

  She bobbed a curtsy in return to Renzi's studied bow, but her eyes were on Kydd, wide and serious. 'Cecilia is out at the moment,' she said quietly, 'but if you are at leisure, you may wish to await her return?'

  Kydd grinned widely. "That's kind in you, er, Miss Jane,' he said. She flashed a smile, but it disappeared. quickly. They eased past the discouraging gaze of the housekeeper, and were ushered into the front parlour.

  Kydd sat on the edge of a faded chintz chair. 'Ye must be happy f'r Cecilia, I believe,' he began.

  Jane lowered her head for a moment, and when she spoke, it was controlled, formal. 'It were better she will tell you about it herself, Mr Kydd.'

  He felt the first stirrings of alarm but suppressed them. 'An' I got word that you will be hearin' wedding bells y'rself, Miss Jane.'

  She bit her lip and replied, 'For two months hence.' An awkward silence developed, and Kydd glanced at Renzi, who sat opposite. His expression had that frustratingly impenetrable quality, which Kydd knew concealed his understanding of a situation that he himself could not grasp.

  Tea arrived, the china rattling on the tray. They sipped decorously, in their sea rig the little graces seeming incongruous. Kydd caught a furtive look from Jane, a look of frank curiosity, and he wondered what the girls had discussed concerning him. There was, however, something about the present situation that was not right.

  A rattling at the front door had Jane recovering her poise. 'This is your sister, I believe,' she said brightly, and rose to her feet. 'Oh, Cecilia!' she called. 'You have guests, my dear.' Footsteps sounded along the passage, and the door opened.

  Kydd advanced to meet her — and faltered to a stop. It was Cecilia, but the pale, drawn face, the black dress and veil? His smile faded. Uncertain how to continue, he hesitated.

  'Thomas!' Cecilia seemed to wake, a small smile breaking through as she threw back the veil. 'How wonderful!' A little of the old spirit came through. 'My, you look so handsome in your sea costume!' Her eyes strayed to the livid bruise on his head, 'Oh!' she said faintly.

  'Jus' a wound o' battle,' he said. She approached and hugged him with controlled passion, the wound on his back making him gasp. 'Cec — what is it?' he blurted out.

  'Oh, I declare, I'll be late for my dancing lesson,' Jane said. 'Please excuse me, I must rush.'

  Cecilia noticed Renzi, standing unmoving in the background. 'Oh, Nicholas,' she said warmly, 'how good to see you!' Renzi inclined his head, but stayed where he was. Impulsively, Cecilia crossed to him and embraced him as well. 'Nicholas, your complexion is like a Red Indian's, not the thing at all at home,' she said.

  When Cecilia turned back to Kydd, her expression was rigid, brittle. 'It is only the ten days I have been here in Jamaica, Thomas, but . ..' Kydd pulled her towards him, and held her tight while sobs racked her. Neither noticed Renzi slip from the room.

  'It's so — so unfair!' she wept. 'He was so happy to see me, and a week later he's in his grave!'

  'Er, what. ..'

  'On Wednesday he had dreadful pains and sickness, and by Sunday .. .' The tears were all the harder to bear for their brevity and harsh depths. 'I was with him until

  'I'm so sorry f'r it, Cec, truly I am.' If it were the yellow fever, and she was involved in his nursing, then the end would have been unspeakably hard to bear.

  Cecilia dabbed her eyes and looked away. There was now only the emptiness of destroyed hopes.

  Kydd released her and said, gently, 'Cec, you're here in Jamaica with nothin' any more. Have ye any means?'

  'Of course,' she said, but would not look at him directly. Kydd was stabbed with pity: he knew his sister was strong and independent, and would rather die than admit to any weakness. But a single woman without substance far from home . . .

  'Have ye any plans? There's nothin' t' keep you here.'

  She glanced at him. 'If you mean, what do I next, then ... I will attend on Jane for her nuptials, of course.'

  Kydd's mouth opened in amazement. 'But ...'

  She looked at him with fondness. 'That is to say, my dear brother, that I crave time to think, to put this nightmare from me — you do understand?'

  Kydd let a small smile show. There was time enough for brother and sister to get together later. He felt doubtful, but blurted out, 'Nicholas an' I, we were on our way t' kick up a hullabaloo on account of our success in Seaflower — I know "ft not feelin's' spry, but if ye'd like to ...'

  "Thank you both — I hope you'll forgive me, but I need to be alone for just a little while.' Her sad smile touched him deeply.

  Then he remembered. 'Here, Cec, if y' please.' He brought out his prize-money ticket. 'Do ye see? Y'r Jack Tar is a foolish wight ashore. They say, "Sailors get money like horses, 'n' spend it like asses." I'd take it kindly if ye could look after this f'r me - takes th' temptation away.'

  She.looked at him steadily, then kissed him.

  'Y' presents it at the prize agent when he's got word fr'm the Admiralty — sign on th' other side an' be sure the mumpin' rogue doesn't chouse ye.'

  Renzi was waiting outside, and they fell into step as Kydd told him of the conversation. Renzi listened, and nodded gravely. Cecilia was right, she needed time to herself for the moment to settle her feelings. Therefore there was no reason why they shouldn't carry on with his original plan. 'Brother, there is someone that it would give me the greatest of pleasure that you should meet.' Kydd looked at him curiously. 'And it requires that we go up-country in a ketureen.'

  On Broad Street they found one, the driver at first disbelieving that two sailors wanted to head away from the delights of the port. 'On'y dese sugar pens dere, nuthin' else, kooner-men!'

  They made Spanish Town before noon. The ketureen waited on the Grand Parade while Renzi impressed Kydd with the sea splendours of the Rodney Memorial, the noble po
rtico of the King's House and the Rio Cobre of Columbus. They dined at a roadside stall on rich yellow akee, salt fish and bammy bread before resuming their journey. By late afternoon they had reached May Pen where they took the road north.

  Renzi felt that the time had come, could no longer be deferred. 'My dear friend . . .' His hand lay on Kydd's arm. 'Do you listen to what I say.'

  Kydd looked at him.

  'The personage we will stay with tonight is - my brother, Richard.'

  Kydd kept his silence.

  'He is a gentleman of some consequence in this island, I may say, and is an ornament to the family.' Renzi stared into the distance. 'He knows of my — resolve in the matter of my moral judgement, and respects it. Dare I ask it, it would infinitely oblige, should you feign ignorance of my true position.'

  Kydd agreed solemnly.

  'Then I will touch on another matter, one which is perhaps the more delicate of the two.' Renzi glanced at him before speaking. 'Do you not take offence, dear friend, if I point out that in the article of polite formalities, you are as yet ... untutored, natural.' He watched Kydd's expression tighten. 'But these, of course, are an accomplishment obligatory only on those with pretensions to genteel society,' Renzi continued carefully.

  'Ye're saying I'm goin' t' shame you to y’ brother?' Kydd growled.

  'Not as who would say’ Renzi muttered.

  The ketureen clattered on over the sandy, rutted road and Renzi thought perhaps he had gone too far. In fairness it had to be said that it was really for Kydd's sake that he had felt it proper to bring up the subject, in order that Kydd himself would not feel uncomfortable in polite company rather than for any selfish motive of his own. Cecilia had rapidly acquired a natural affinity with the formalities of gentility, as was the way of women, but her brother, while absorbing the deep-sea mariner's fine qualities of courage, humour and sturdy self-reliance, had also absorbed their direct speech, and impatience with soft shore ways. In many ways it would not be a kind thing to do to him . ..

  Kydd glowered, staring obstinately away. But then he recovered. 'Y'r in the right of it, Nicholas.' He sighed. 'F'r you only. But what . ..'

  'It will be very agreeable to me if you keep station on myself, mark my motions and do the same, and you will not be so very far from success.'

  'Aye’ Kydd said briefly. In the sugar field they were passing there were women with baskets on their heads, gay in red and yellow, some weeding, others scouring the stubbled ground. A snatch of singing came floating over the distance. Kydd looked out, brooding. Then he turned to-Renzi and said firmly, 'Be s' good as t' give me a steer on y' manners when it's time f'r vittles, Nicholas.'

  'Why, it's not so perilous, dear fellow/ Renzi said, with great satisfaction: he would now provide a clear and seamanlike course to follow, perfectly suited to a plain-thinking sailor.

  * * *

  Their ketureen arrived at the Great House, and the two travellers were made cordially welcome.

  'A fine surprise, Nicholas!' Laughton declared, his delight obvious. 'And a distinct pleasure to make acquaintance with your friend, back from the dead,' he said, looking at Kydd keenly.

  'Would it inconvenience,' Renzi asked, with the utmost politeness, 'were we to beg the loan of attire perhaps more in keeping with the country?'

  'But, of course, dear fellow.'

  The days that followed were a haze of impressions for Kydd — the vast fields of sugar-cane whose harvest would end at some point as pungent Royal Navy rum; the slow daily round of field work with the lines of slaves moving across the fields, the younger ones bringing up the rear weeding and clearing with their own 'pickney driver'. It was utterly at odds with Kydd's world.

  Laughton was a fine host, and at sundown always joined his visitors on the broad veranda for easy conversation. 'Your visit is most welcome, Nicholas, but I fear not at the best of times,' he mentioned one evening. 'We've been sadly inconvenienced in our trade by these devilish predators — you'll find the navy not popular here.'

  Renzi hastened to change the subject. 'And of your maroons, are they as cantankerous, unsatisfied as last you spoke?'

  'Worse. They're more or less in open revolt now.' He stared out over the fields. 'They want more land for 'emselves - which plantation is going to give it to them? They're rambling about at night, causing general trouble. Had two cows taken and another with its throat slit. It's unsettling my fieldworkers, who know they're only over yonder,' he said, gesturing towards the tumble of hills and mountains to the north-west, just visible in the dusk. "That's what we call "cockpit country", and there the maroon is untouchable. And it's only a short ride away.' He took a long pull at his drink. 'Don't forget, we're only some thousands with an enslaved population of around a quarter-million. Concentrates the mind, don't ye think?'

  Fortified by his courteous acceptance by Laughton, Kydd was able to face with equanimity the prospect of a social occasion, an informal dinner of the usual sort. Seated opposite Renzi, he prepared nervously to do his duty.

  'Th' currant sauce, if y' please,' was Kydd's first daring foray into polite society. It was passed to him without comment and, reassured, he looked around furtively at the members of the table. The olive-complexioned lawyer further down caught his look and nodded pleasantly. Taken aback, Kydd had the presence of mind to raise his glass in salute. As he placed the glass down again he became aware of the fierce glint of eyes diagonally opposite. 'Marston,' the man growled, and lifted his eyebrows in interrogation.

  *Er, Kydd,' he said carefully, not knowing if handshakes were the thing at table, and deciding that it would be safe to do nothing.

  'Got th' look o' the sea about ye,' said Marston, when it became obvious Kydd was not going to be more forthcoming.

  'Aye, y'r in the right of it, sir.'

  Marston smiled. 'Can always tell. Which ship?'

  Renzi broke in smoothly, "Thomas is with me, Gilbert, come to see where sugar comes from.'

  'Damn fine place to see.' He started, then twisted round in his seat to the lady on his left. 'If you'll pardon th' French, m' dear.' She nodded shyly.

  Laughton was at the head of the table, his wife at the opposite end, near Kydd. 'Er, Mr Kydd,' she called decorously, 'do y' not feel a trifle anxious out on the sea, what with all those nasty pirates an' French privateers?' She helped herself to more of the succulent river shrimps in salt and pepper.

  Kydd's own mouth was full with the spicy jerk, but he replied manfully, 'Not wi' the navy t' look after—'

  'Pah!' Marston's face lowered and his eyes slitted. 'I've lost three ships 'tween here 'n' San Domingo, an' it's disgraceful the navy still ain't come up on 'em! If I was their admiral, I tell you—'

  At the other end of the table Laughton frowned. Outside there was some sort of disturbance. The talking died away. High words sounded and a flustered butler entered, bowed to Laughton and whispered urgently. Laughton put down his glass quietly. 'Gentlemen, it seems that the Trelawney maroons are abroad tonight.' His chair scraped as he got to his feet. 'A mill is afire.'

  The room broke into a rush of talk.

  'Stap me, but they're getting damnation uppity!'

  'D'ye think — God preserve us! - it's a general rising?'

  'Where's the militia, the blaggards?' Laughton took off his jacket and carefully laid it on the back of his chair. In his evening shirt he accepted his sword and belt from the butler as calmly as he had accepted his dinner clothes earlier. 'I won't be long, gentlemen, but in the meantime pray do not ignore the brandy and cigars.' Kydd sensed the assembling of men in the rising tension outside.

  Marston stood up. 'Richard, dammit, you can't go on y'r own, dear fellow!'

  Laughton held up his hand firmly. 'No, Gilbert, this is my plantation. I shall deal with it.' He turned and left.

  'Don' like it - not one bit of it!' Marston rumbled.

  'Nor do I,' said the lawyer. 'You know how they work - set an outbuilding on fire, then when all attention is on that, they fall upon th
e Great House!'

  The ladies stayed close together, chattering nervously, the men pacing around the room puffing cigars. Kydd looked through the open windows into the warm darkness. He glanced at Renzi, who was talking quietly with the butler. Renzi looked across at Kydd and beckoned discreetly. 'I do believe we should stand sentry-go around the house. I have asked for weapons.'

  These turned out to be large, ugly blunderbusses, with their flared muzzles a strong deterrent to any kind of unrest. 'I will take the north side, if you would be so good as to patrol the south,' Renzi suggested. The rest of the room watched respectfully, and as they left there were low calls of encouragement from the other men.

  Outside, away from the bright glitter of candlelight and silver, it was impenetrably black. The darkness was the more menacing for its total anonymity and Kydd felt hairs prickle on the back of his neck. From the windows of the Great House, houseboys looked out fearfully. There was a movement behind him. Kydd wheeled around: it was Marston.

  'Come to keep ye company,' he said, breathing heavily. Kydd muttered thanks, but at the same time he didn't want to worry about having someone about him on whom he could not rely. Marston, however, fell into step next to him. 'Get worked up, they do,' Marston said, his cigar laying a thick fragrance on the night air. 'Have this obeah man - kind o' witchcraft, calls it voodoo. They does what he says under fear o' death.'

  'C'n they fight?' asked Kydd. 'I mean, in the reg'lar way, against soldiers.' He continued to pace slowly, looking out into the night.

  Marston nodded vigorously. 'Damn right they can, you can depend upon it. But not as you'd say — they disguise 'emselves as trees with leaves an' all, jumps into life in our rear, devil take 'em. Not for nothin' they calls it "Land o' Look Behind".'