The wind was keen and fair and Kydd saw no reason why they shouldn’t make good time in the voyage south. He glanced up at the expanse of curving sail, his pennant streaming away to leeward, and felt a lifting of the heart-he was back where he belonged.
Eight bells sounded forward: the forenoon watch closed up and the morning watch went to breakfast. Sea routine had begun.
Reluctantly he quit the deck and went below for his own meal. As he ate alone he was suddenly touched by melancholy. Before, Renzi and he had started their day together with intelligent conversation between equals, friends. Now he was as most other captains were, solitary grandee at the pinnacle of the hierarchy where, by definition, he had no equal to unburden himself to or seek opinion from on a course of action.
He had long since not needed Renzi’s guidance and advice in the social graces. While his friend’s erudite observations on the world’s condition had always been appreciated, he had now to make his own discovery of how higher matters were concluded, take his decisions unaided.
But, more than anything, he was putting to sea without his dear friend and he felt a poignant twist.
Life had to go on, but he gave a small smile at the thought that at this very moment Renzi-the Earl of Farndon-would be sitting down to a lordly breakfast with Cecilia. An even bigger life-change for him, no doubt.
He finished his coffee and resumed the deck. The convoy had nearly completed forming up, four columns with nine merchantmen in each, backing and filling while the last found their place, shepherded by the distraught antics of the escort.
At last the head marker ships let fly their pennants and the convoy got under way-down Channel.
“Station astern of the convoy, Mr Bowden. Eyes on Weazel, any trouble let me know instantly.”
“Station astern, Weazel senior, aye aye, sir.”
He turned to go but was stopped by Curzon. “Sir Thomas, I-”
“Belay that, if you please.”
“Sir? Oh, yes. Well, sir, there’s one of the volunteers insisting he’s to see you. I do apologise, but he was most insistent. Unusual sort of chap.”
“Very well. In my cabin in ten minutes.”
Dillon was shown in briskly. In trepidation he looked about him. It was a spacious but neat cabin, stretching right across the deck, with a fine set of ornamental windows at the end. A handsome escritoire stood up against the opposite end, and the domestic touches were masculine and spare.
“Leave him with you, sir?”
“Yes, carry on.
“You’re a volunteer. What is your objection to service in this vessel?” Kydd snapped.
Dillon straightened. “You are the captain, sir?” The officer had a taut, unforgiving air, with more gold lace than the others, albeit somewhat sea-tarnished, and dark, strong looks. He had to be the famous and recently elevated hero of Curacao-and Dillon was daring to put himself forward as his personal secretary?
“I am.”
“Sir Thomas Kydd?”
“Yes.”
“Then I beg to introduce myself. Edward Dillon, lately in the employ of the Earl of Farndon.”
He essayed a bow-but this was no drawing-room introduction; the hard lines in the captain’s features indicated he was not one to waste time on vanities.
“Sir, I have a letter from the earl.”
Dillon handed it across. There was no change in the flinty expression as it was read. He knew what was in it: with pronouncements of complete trust, there was a mild suggestion that in his character were the attributes to be expected of a confidential secretary sufficient to render him a suitable candidate for the post.
He found it hard to take his eyes from the man who had been knighted not for courtly toadying but for a battle won with blood and courage. This was a man of a kind he had never in his life met before and it was intimidating.
Kydd put the letter down and looked at him. “You know his lordship was the previous occupant of this post?”
“He did tell me something of it, yes, sir.”
“What makes you think that you can fill his shoes, hey?”
“Sir, only the undoubted fact that he himself did so put me forward for the position.”
Kydd’s expression eased fractionally at the reply.
“You were confidential secretary at Eskdale, then?”
“Under-secretary, Sir Thomas.”
“Did Renzi … that is, did Lord Farndon inform you that service at sea is quite another thing? No soft shore-side ways, damned uncomfortable at times and always a job of work to do to annoy the enemy. No passengers in a king’s ship, Mr Dillon.”
“His lordship was also at pains to point out to me that the deck of a man-o’-war is a sovereign perspective from which to learn of the world, Sir Thomas.”
“That’s as may be,” Kydd snapped. “Now, a confidential secretary to the captain of a warship has to learn many novel things-it takes time. What assurance do I have that you’ll stay the course?”
Dillon paused. “May I then tell you something of myself?”
“Go on, but make it brief.”
“My father is a lawyer of some eminence in the Inns of Court and desired me to go up to Oxford to pursue law, which was not altogether in my reckoning. After my bachelor degree we agreed that I needed time to consider the matter while experiencing something of the world. My post at Eskdale seemed to answer, touching as it does on matters both confidential and complex in law, satisfying my father and at the same time allowing me to pursue my first interest, which is modern languages.”
“I cannot see how-”
“Sir, bear with me. For its convenience to myself I agreed to serve for a period of some years, which the present Lord Farndon was kind enough to remit, providing my service and loyalty remained with his old ship. Sir, if you’ll take me, I will stay.”
“Hmm. So you have a good round hand at the pen, can hoist in the meaning of a paragraph of legal cant, express yourself clearly?”
The glare was unsettling but Dillon came back strongly. “That you may rely upon, Sir Thomas.”
Kydd hesitated, then leaned back, regarding him for a space. “This is a hard thing for me, Dillon. The post of confidential secretary to the commander of a man-o’-war, especially one of the significance of L’Aurore, is considerable. It’s to be made privy to confidences affecting the lives of those aboard my vessel and possibly those of national importance. I must be sure you’re the man for it.”
Dillon waited politely as Kydd considered.
“Very well. I’ve a mind to take you on. Temporary acting rate as it were, subject to stout performance at the pen and so forth.”
“Thank you, Sir Thomas. I’ll endeavour to give full satisfaction.”
“Good.” He suddenly gave a quizzical smile. “And I’ve another duty as will see you well occupied while you shape up in your role.
“As you’re acting secretary only, as it were, there’s a post aboard you’re eminently suited to fill. That of schoolmaster to the young gentlemen. They’ll muster daily to receive your lessons in figuring, history and French, that sort of thing. I’ll not have ’em leading a heathen existence while there’s a learned cove aboard to teach ’em otherwise.”
“Very well, Sir Thomas.”
“So-you’re on my staff as of this moment, subject to review. You’re on the ship’s muster roll as schoolmaster and you’ll mess in the gun-room with the officers. Your duties will be explained to you later.”
The hard expression returned. “Mr Dillon, you’ve a lot to take in, and a short time to do it. Settle into your cabin now. Tomorrow morning Mr Calloway will stand by as you learn your larboard from your starboard. In the afternoon we’ll have the ship’s clerk, Mr Goffin, explain how we conduct our affairs.”
Almost absent-mindedly, he added, “And on the first night at sea we generally have dinner together, a get-to-know-you sort of thing.”
Then he looked up grimly. “You’ll stand with the warrant officers, share a servant with the purser. Should you fail to satisfy you’ll be landed at Gibraltar for shipping back. Clear?”
Dillon swallowed nervously. There were those at Eskdale who would take great satisfaction in an inglorious return.