In the morning he suppressed a stab of guilt. In ships of war at sea they’d be meeting the dawn at quarters, fearful of what the light of day might bring, the captain alert on his quarterdeck at the head of his men.
Here, the question of greatest weight was whether to rise now … or stay abed.
He lazed a little longer until his conscience overcame him, then ate a hearty breakfast, nothing to do until he met Bazely later for an evening out on the town.
Tysoe answered a knock at the door. It was the landlord, who made much of offering a morning paper.
Kydd saw that it was the True Briton.
As was usual for the quality newspapers the front was all advertisements, the meat always inside.
Curious, he turned the pages. There was a sizeable leading article in big print and-
He jerked upright, frozen in horror.
LEGENDARY SEA HERO ACCUSES ADMIRALTY OF BETRAYAL
It continued:
Sir Thomas Kydd, recently ennobled by our good King George for his gallantry before Curacao, was heard to reveal publicly that a dastardly plot by the Admiralty saw Commodore Popham, lately victim of a vengeful court-martial, made sacrifice to the political prejudice of a small circle of evil-minded superiors. He went on to say …
For God’s sake, where had all this come from?
… and this newspaper, as ever unflinching in its support of the intrepid Commodore Popham, warmly applauds Sir Thomas’s courage in speaking out upon the base iniquity of their impregnable lordships in failing to send due reinforcement to Sir Home, then fighting for his life and the honour of his country …
His mind reeled.
… therefore we demand, on behalf of the people of this great country, that a stern investigation be made at the highest level …
He let the newspaper drop to the floor. All over London, these words were now being read by the great and good, lieutenant to admiral … and Earl St Vincent. Now everyone would think he’d taken side with Popham against the Admiralty-and he’d never be forgiven.
It was calamitous.
He shot to his feet and started pacing. The other night-in the Quill and Wig when talking to Bazely-the True Briton’s reporter, Knowles, must have been hiding behind their chairs, damn his blood!
The urgent question now was what to do-how to find some way to undo the damage.
The only acceptable course was to get the newspaper to apologise, print some sort of article that they’d got it wrong and put it all right.
But how? Go storming in and demand it of the editor? No, it had to be tight and legal-and binding.
He left hurriedly.
“Sir Thomas, a great honour!” The elderly solicitor, Felkins, was mild-mannered but with flint-like eyes. “How may we assist you?”
It took only minutes to outline the situation.
“Ah. To bring an action against a national newspaper. This is within the competence of these chambers but we will require additional legal counsel. It will not come cheap, sir, and the case will not be heard for some months, a year or more possibly. Are you certain you wish to proceed?”
“Yes, Mr Felkins, I do!” If it was heard that he’d immediately entered legal proceedings against the newspaper, it should go far in assuring interested parties that he’d been misquoted, calumnied.
“Then we shall open the formalities. You are aware that it is the usual practice to post bond, a surety against the expenses of the case?”
“I see. In what amount?”
“Let us first explore for a moment the scope of the action. I understand you wish to prove libel, a traducing in respect of this article, such that upon a judgement in your favour a suitable retraction is published. Am I right?”
“Exactly so.”
“To the essentials, then. Did you in fact utter words in substantial agreement with what is alleged to have been said by you in the article?”
“Well, I …”
“I must press you to answer, Sir Thomas.”
“I may have done, but this was in private, in strict confidence among my naval friends.”
“So the article does in fact reflect your views. Hmm. And you spoke before more than one of your friends. This is hardly a private talk. Where in fact did this take place?”
Face burning, Kydd admitted that it was in the Quill and Wig.
“I see. Well, sir, a jury would find it difficult to accept that a common tavern is not a public place. Sir Thomas, I’m grieved to say that I find I’m unable to proceed in the matter. The case has no merit and it would be wrong of me to persevere in its prosecution. I’m sorry.”
“But … but what can you advise? Perhaps buy a large advertisement in another newspaper and strongly deny the-”
“I cannot counsel you to do this. It is in effect admitting you are unable to refute the offending article by an action in law against the newspaper in question and would be worse than useless, drawing more attention to the situation. And possibly creating a public furore resulting in factions for and against you, which I’m sanguine you would not desire.”
“There must be something I can do-anything!”
Felkins gave a sad but kindly smile.
“There’s no way out, then.”
“Sir, my advice is to take patience. These newspaper squibs have a habit of slipping from the public view and all will be forgotten after the next scandalous revelation appears.”
Kydd clamped a hold on his growing despair. “I’m grateful for your time, Mr Felkins, and won’t bother you further.”
“Thank you,” the solicitor said politely, “I’m always happy to assist the heroes who defend us so valiantly against the Tyrant.”
Kydd rose to leave.
“Oh, and my clerk will have my fee invoice in hand by now. On your way out, perhaps?”
“Have you seen this’n?” Bazely said, waving the paper. There was no trace of his usual light-hearted manner.
“Yes, I have.”
“You’re aware what it means? You’re a marked man, cully. People’s hero or no, at the Admiralty they’ll never let it go.”
“I know,” Kydd said wretchedly.
“They’ll not forget what you’ve said about ’em-they’ve a long memory.”
“Yes, damn it!”
“And don’t think you’ll get away with it. They’ll find some way to get back at you.”
“I’ve got my ship, they can’t take that away.”
“Tom,” Bazely said soberly, “something’ll happen, and soon-you’ll see.”
Kydd felt sick. “This evening, old trout. I don’t think I can-”
Bazely stopped him. “Let me be straight with you, m’ friend. You’re now one o’ the damned, you’ve the mark of doom about you, and all the fleet’ll know it. I’d take it kindly if you’d understand that I’m not to be seen with ye any more. I’m truly sorry, but I’ve m’ own career to think on.”
CHAPTER 7
KYDD RETURNED, MUCH CHASTENED, to a concerned Tysoe.
Time was ticking by: if he failed to come up with some public gesture of repudiation of the article he’d be damned for a Popham admirer. But by evening he’d reached the conclusion that there was no chance of a resolution.
He retired to bed with the forlorn hope that it would blow over in time and that he’d be well advised to keep away from everybody until it did.
In the morning four letters arrived. The first he opened was from a complete stranger.
… why should we not believe that yourself and the notorious Captain Popham made assault on the Spanish colonies for reasons of personal plunder? At the sacrifice of lives and honour … by turning on the Admiralty who employ you, in the basest way, in that they cannot reply, you have betrayed your comrades and your country … the name of Kydd will for ever be associated with … The others would no doubt be in the same vein. He hadn’t the stomach to read them. It was now becoming clear that, far from dying down, the affair was heating up.
In the days that followed there was a riposte in the government-leaning Review, attacking him personally and asking why the Admiralty did not take certain measures against him. Worse was the True Briton, which ran a feature that listed all the merchants, liberals and others who were loudly supporting Kydd in his comments.