Quarterdeck

by Julian Stockwin

  ‘S-sir?’

  ‘A good, officer-like solution, L’tenant. Always worried me, Americans at sea in a ship o’ force sharing the same ocean without we have a form o’ co-operation. The politicos won’t go at it out o’ pride, but now we’ve forced their hands. I can see how this can go further, Mr Kydd. As I say, well done, sir.’

  Weak with reaction, Kydd swayed. ‘Oh, I see it’s been a fatiguing journey for ye, Mr Kydd,’ the admiral said solicitously. ‘Do sit, and I’ll ring for a brandy.’

  Kydd stared moodily at the town from the decks of Tenacious. He had been welcomed back by a newly respectful wardroom, but after a while conversations turned once again to the social scene. The whole town was mesmerised by the impending visit of the Duke of Schweigerei, elder son of the Archduke of Austria, which would climax in a grand reception and banquet given by His Royal Highness Prince Edward in the Duke’s honour. In view of the importance attached to the country for its role in Pitt’s coalitions, every officer would be expected to attend the glittering occasion.

  Renzi had tried to be interested in Kydd’s adventure, but he was clearly preoccupied with some personal matter, and Kydd found himself once more at a loose end. The seductive thought on his mind was of what might be – service in the new navy of a vigorous young land. No more would he hear of lords and estates, fox-hunting and the Season.

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

  ‘A fine 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 find a fine body o’ water twice the size of Halifax harbour there.’

  A nearly perfect land-locked haven: a fleet 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 first line of soundings across the widest point of the basin to establish some sort of bottom profile. 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 officer 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 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 first 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 first establish a forty-foot line of depth along it, this being of most interest to a big-ship navigator. It was not difficult 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, restricting 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 figure in white, standing, watching. He ignored it and continued with his work. They drew abreast; the figure 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?’

  ‘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 beribboned 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 disconcertingly worldly-wise air.

  ‘Not at all, madam. We conduct a hydrographical survey o’ the coastline.’ She was probably one of the sad band of royalist 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.

  ‘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-flavoured 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.
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  ‘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 serene. No man had begged her hand for the occasion, unwilling to risk the mortification 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.

  ‘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 magnificent 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 find 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 officers 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 officer who brought shame to his ship.

  Later in the day Tysoe jostled with others to begin the long process of bringing his officer 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 officers departed, some to share carriages, others to walk up the hill. Renzi left, with a troubled glance at his friend.

  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 coiffure 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 grinding 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 fine music coming from within.

  They drew up outside among the crowd of sightseers and Kydd was gratified 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 Government House through a lane of gaping onlookers. His confidence soared.

  Inside he glimpsed the levée room, packed with glittering personages in animated talk, jewellery sparkling in candlelight, and a military concert band in full flow 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 petrified; possibly this was his first 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.

  Overflowing 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 Thérese. 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 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 Thérese Bernardine-Mongenet?’ Thérèse’s graceful curtsy was long held. ‘An’ myself, L’tenant Thomas Kydd, o’ HMS Tenacious.’ He bowed as low as he could.

  ‘Lieutenant, tell me true, have you been in Halifax long?’ The Prince had an aristocratically hard face; Kydd had heard stories of his unbending attitude to military discipline, his early-morning parades and merciless justice.

  ‘Not long, Y’r Royal Highness, an’ much o’ that in the United States.’

  ‘Oh. I see. Well, I wish you a pleasant evening, Mr Kydd.’

  ‘Thank you, sir,’ Kydd mumbled, remembering to back away. He had survived, and he turned to grin at Thérèse.

  A fanfare of trumpets sounded from the other room, announcing the banquet. An immediate move was made towards the connecting door, but Kydd remembered to keep clear: as a junior officer he would certainly be bringing up the rear. He stayed to one side, nodding pleasantly to those whose eyes strayed towards him and Thérèse until eventually he judged it time to enter.

  The room was huge. In the distance a long table was raised on a dais, the centre occupied by the Prince and honoured guests. Behind them two servants gently fanned the principal guests with enormous ostrich feathers, tastefully coloured in red, white and blue.

  Lesser mortals occupied the long tables in rows from the front and, as he had suspected, he was shown to one near the rear. To his delight he saw Renzi seated there. Next to him was a voluble woman with pasty skin and a profusion of cheap jewellery who tugged i
ncessantly at his sleeve. Renzi looked up at Kydd, and stared, stricken, at him as if the world had been turned upside-down.

  Gleefully Kydd made his introduction, indicating to Thérèse that this was his particular friend, but when he made to seat his lady, he was interrupted by a courtier. ‘Sir, His Royal Highness commands you and Madame to join him,’ he murmured, discreetly indicating the Prince, who was beckoning.

  Heart thudding, Kydd turned to Renzi and muttered his excuses. He wended his way with Thérèse through the tightly packed tables, feeling all eyes upon him, hearing animated murmuring following in their wake.

  They mounted the dais and approached Prince Edward, who leaned back to speak. ‘Ah, so kind of you to join us.’ His eyes did not move from Thérèse as he continued, ‘I don’t think you’ve met Hoheit Herzog Schweigerei, his wife the Herzogin Adelheid. Sir, Lieutenant Kydd and Madame Thérèse Bernardine-Mongenet.’

  The evening proceeded. Over the wild duck Kydd found himself explaining sea service to the Prince; the saddle of mutton saw him recounting his American sojourn to the sharp-featured Duke. While he was helping Thérèse to another pompadour cream he looked out over the massed tables below them. Somewhere in the hazy distance Renzi, Captain Houghton and the rest were looking enviously to the dais at Prince Edward, Thérèse Bernardine-Mongenet – and Thomas Kydd.

  At last the banquet drew to a close. The Prince rose, conversation stilled, and there was a sudden scraping of chairs as everyone stood up. One by one the members of the high table descended, following the Prince as he processed out affably, nodding to the bobs and curtsies as he passed. Looks of admiration and envy shot at Kydd, who smiled back lazily.

  In the foyer the Prince turned to Kydd. ‘Lieutenant, you will no doubt be returning to your ship. Pray do not stand on ceremony for Madame – I will personally see she returns home safely.’ With a wry smile, Kydd bowed. ‘And, Lieutenant, I will not forget your service to me this night!’

  Thérèse looked at Kydd. She crossed to him and kissed him firmly on both cheeks. ‘I will not forget this evening. Bonne chance, mon ami.’