“Come in, dear chap. Care to join me in a whisky?” Kydd said, with false gaiety.
“That’s kind in you, sir,” Bowden said, and took his place in the chair on the opposite side of the fire.
“They’re in quite a taking out there,” he said sombrely, picking up on Kydd’s mood. “Half are declaring it a victory and the other cry it down as a guilty verdict.”
“Ah, yes.”
“I’d be beholden should you share your views with me, sir.”
“My views?” Kydd paused. “Naught that should be shared with a young officer who’s warm to daring and enterprise.”
“Sir?”
“No matter. I’ve the blue devils after that trial.”
“You’re an admirer of Captain Popham, sir?”
“In fine, I’m not. The man is manipulative, uses his cleverness to excess, is too slippery by half. Yet I find any who seizes the chance and dares to reach for glory to the benefit of his country one to applaud.”
“Then how do you accept the verdict?” Bowden asked.
“It’s contrived and it’s political and it’s very neatly done. To his friends he’s weathered the storm-not cashiered, dismissed the service, worse. To his enemies is thrown the satisfaction that he’s found guilty. Has he won? Not at all. The Admiralty have their verdict-and our Captain Popham will, very quietly, never be employed again.”
Bowden looked shocked. “As if he’d been sentenced …”
“Quite.”
Tysoe silently freshened their glasses as they stared together into the fire.
“If I might remark it, sir, at least your yardarm is clear, if you’ll pardon the expression,” Bowden observed.
“As is no credit to myself. After my showing it seems I’m not to be made an accomplice, neither numbered among Captain Popham’s followers, and therefore have my hopes the doughty St Vincent will be contented.”
“To be devoutly desired, I believe.”
“Well, that’s the way of things, young fellow. I’m for London and society tomorrow.” He tossed back the whisky, then remembered that Bowden’s own future was now more than a little problematical. Without a ship … “I do wish you well in the article of finding a berth as lieutenant,” he said, with a twinge of sadness. “You’ve a good record but there’s others, of course.”
“Thank you, sir. I’ll always remember my service in L’Aurore, whichever ship I end in.”
“I’m sure you will. I’d offer you a place in my new frigate but it doesn’t even kiss water this year and that kind of time in idleness would not be good for your record.”
“I understand, sir. I … I do have friends in high places,” he said lightly, “who will I’m sure bend every effort. I now bid you farewell, sir,” he said formally, “and pray we will meet again.”
Kydd took his hand. “I’m sure we will. Take care of yourself, younker.”
CHAPTER 6
IT WAS A RELIEF that the court-martial was behind him. Arriving back at the White Hart, Kydd wanted nothing more than to leave it all in the past and re-engage in the agreeable socialising to be had in London before duty reclaimed him.
He took an early night and was up promptly. A note to Bazely was quickly returned with a reply: he’d be delighted to rendezvous at the Quill and Wig with a view to planning further capital delights.
Tysoe laid out the tailcoat and pantaloons and took pains in seeing him as taut-rigged as every fashionable man-about-town. The hessian boots were tight and caused Kydd to wince as they were fought on, but a glimpse of his figure in the long mirror showed the trouble was worth it.
They were interrupted by a knock at the door.
“A gentleman as begs Sir Thomas should spare him a minute or two,” the landlord said apologetically. “Said as how it’s a matter of urgency.”
“Very well. Five minutes,” Kydd answered, easing his cravat a trifle.
A scruffily dressed individual with his hat in his hands and an ingratiating air appeared. “Sir Thomas? So kind in you to see me.”
“Your business, sir? As you see I am in haste.”
“Sir, I’m Josiah Knowles, you may have heard of me.”
“No?”
“May I introduce myself? I’m a reporting agent for the very respected True Briton newspaper.”
“What’s that to me, sir?”
“It’s my honour to cover the biggest story this age, the court-martial of Sir Home Popham.”
“And?”
“This is my difficulty, Sir Thomas. I attended at Portsmouth and followed the trial with great diligence, but there are certain matters that are still obscure to me. I know you were with Sir Home at the Cape, Buenos Aires and similar, and beg to say my readers would welcome your views on this dolorous proceeding.”
“You were there? Then, sir, you must report what you heard. I’ve nothing to add to what I said as witness.” The man was demented if he thought he would share his private opinions with a reporter.
“The daily trial transcript is a dull enough thing, Sir Thomas. You’ll know that the affair has seized the fancy of the public and they want more-the politics, the people, the plots. Are you sure you’ve nothing further you can tell me, sir?”
“I have not. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m off to an important appointment.”
“Sir Thomas, we can go so far as to-”
“Good day, Mr Knowles. Show him the door, if you please, Tysoe.”
“This’n is Parlby, o’ Wyvern sloop as was-you do remember, old trout?”
“Channel Groper, smart hand against the smuggling sort, of course I do!”
It was now some years in the past, a fellow commander on small ships in the front line against Bonaparte, but Kydd quickly recalled those feverish days. Parlby beamed at being remembered by one who had done so valiantly since.
Bazely waited until the ale came, then leaned back expansively. “So. It’s got all London a-spin. An’ you’re one who was there. Tell me, cuffin-how did it go for ye?”
They were in high-backed chairs away from the others, so Kydd described the sight of seven admirals and five captains arrayed against just one man: Popham’s unquenchable verbosity; Jervis’s lethal questioning. Then he told them of his own testimony, all the time having been conscious that St Vincent would seize on any sign that he’d taken sides. And he ended with the seething crowds insisting their hero had been vindicated when in fact the verdict had undeniably been guilty.
“I’m thinking it all would’ve been a mort different if he’d held fast to Buenos Aires, o’ course. We’d all be dancing t’ quite another tune!” Bazely said. “I wasn’t there, but you were,” he went on. “What do you say, if he’d had the men and guns in the first place, we’d be talking about our South American empire? After all, see what he achieved wi’ just two thousand against forty thousand …”
Kydd smiled bitterly. “There you have it. Damn it all, he took Buenos Aires, and God knows, while we suffered under siege for so long, hoping every day to see our reinforcements come, we did have our views.”
“That?”
“That if the Admiralty had seen fit to get off their arses and move smartly with the reinforcements when they got Popham’s dispatch in the first place, it would have been quite another story.”
“Why did they not?” asked Parlby.
“Not so hard to fathom. Popham’s a genius for making enemies. My taking is that there’s plenty he’s annoyed in the Admiralty, and they made sure of it that he’d fail.”
Bazely cocked an eyebrow. “You’re probably in the right of it, Sir Thomas. God forbid I start makin’ enemies among their sacred lordships.”
“Nor me,” Kydd said fervently. “I kept a close reef on my jawing tackle-that you must believe-and, in course, our conversation here is just between ourselves, hey?”
The two nodded.
“So. What of the morrow? You said …?”
“Ha! A day at th’ races, just the ticket wi’ the ladies. Never seen a one didn’t adore the gee-gees with a gent o’ fashion. Will you be-”
There was a sudden scraping from close behind their high chairs and as they looked around curiously a figure scuttled away.
By the end of the day Kydd was five guineas richer and in possession of a solemn promise from Miss Sophy respecting a grand assembly at Almack’s in the coming days. They dined well and Kydd went to bed with a light heart.