Within the hour, Farrell had returned from his call on the Admiral bearing deeply satisfying news. Seaflower was due for refit, and her people could rely on two weeks at least of liberty ashore. The Vice Admiralty Court sitting at Kingston had duly condemned their barque as prize, and they had tickets on the prize agent for a gratifying amount.
Kydd considered his ticket. There was the choice of parting with it now, suitably discounted to a moneylender in town, or cash it for the full amount later when the prize agent could be cajoled into drawing on account. He would see what mysterious entertainment Renzi had in mind first: he hoped it would not be a curious pile of stones or the residence of some worthy poet.
'Tom, mate, yez has a letter.' Stirk handed over a folded and sealed packet. 'An' that's fivepence y' owes me fer the post, cully.' Kydd took it gingerly: the writing was small and well formed — a feminine hand. He frowned, then his expression cleared. This was from Cecilia, his sister. The date was only five weeks earlier, and with pleased anticipation he took it forward to open and read in privacy.
He broke the wafer; it was a single sheet, closely written. As usual she wasted no time and went straight to the point. Kydd's eyes widened — he read quickly and stared outwards. It seemed impossible.
He found Renzi searching in their sea-chest for a suitable kerchief: in his blue jacket with the white whalebone buttons he looked ready for the delights of Port Royal. The mess-deck was rapidly emptying for there was every incentive to get ashore to make this a time to remember: the Seaflowers were going on the ran-tan. Kydd waited until they were alone, and held up his paper. 'Ye'd never have guessed it, Nicholas, but here's a letter fr'm Cecilia!'
'I pray she is in good health,' Renzi said, perfectly in control.
Kydd grinned. 'Aye, she is that, m' friend. An', can you believe it? She is here in Kingston!' Renzi stood quite still. 'Ain't it prime?' Kydd laughed. 'Here, listen to this, "My dear brother, I found how I might write a letter to you, and I have news that will make you stare! You may offer your felicitations, Thomas, for you see, I am to be wed."'
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