Kydd stared at him. 'We must tell this.'
'And have Parry admit his contempt was misplaced? I think not. We find it ourselves, if indeed it is there.'
* * *
The body of Captain Maillot was laid out in the orlop, on the main-hatch. It would be given a funeral with full honours when they reached England in one or two days, but meanwhile it would rest below, sword and cocked hat laid carefully upon it.
A single lanthorn shed a soft light on the still form, and on the marine sentry loosely at attention at the foot of the shroud.
They approached and the sentry snapped awake. 'Gerroff!' 'This the Frog captain?' Kydd asked. 'Yeah - now yer've clapped peepers on 'im, bugger off!'
Kydd sauntered up to the sentry. 'Last chance we gets, y'know. Seein' his face an' that,' he went on. The sentry didn't reply, stiffening his posture.
Renzi glanced meaningfully at Kydd, who tried again. 'It was we who got to him first, you knows,' he said. 'There he was, all gory an' all, we were the ones who saw him, there dyin'.'
The sentry shifted slightly and said from the corner of his mouth, 'Saw yez do yer boardin'. That wuz a plucky do — bad luck to me if it ain't.'
'Then let's see his face, pay our respects like,' Kydd wheedled.
The man looked nervous. 'Me sergeant catches me . . .'
Kydd eased a black bottle from inside his waistcoat. He started, as though noticing the sentry for the first time. 'Why, there's m' bad manners. You've been down here, looking after his Nobbs, with never a drop — here, take a rummer while we have a quick peek.'
The sentry offered his musket to Kydd to hold, and took a long pull. Renzi quickly undid the lacing at the head of the shroud to reveal the pale face and staring eyes of Maillot. A sickening odour drifted up.
"Ere, yer can't do that!' The sentry had noticed Renzi move the sword and hat and continue unlacing down the length of the corpse.
'Have another pull if ye likes,' Kydd urged.
Renzi found nothing in the pockets. If there had been an alternative paper it was not there any more. He knew that if they were found, any explanation would be futile. It would be assumed they were robbing the corpse — a hanging offence. He threw a despairing glance at Kydd, then clamped his kerchief to his face and burrowed deeper into the dead Captain's inner clothing. He tried to ignore the coldness of death.
'Hey, stop that, yer thievin' sod!' The sentry had come to his senses, and tried to pull Renzi off the body. Kydd held him back, and at that moment Renzi froze. His hand withdrew. In it was a single sheet of closely written paper. He held it to the light, and Kydd could see his eyes gleam. 'Set him to rights, Tom. We have it.'
The paper was stuffed back and the body restored to a state of proper reverence.
Snatching back the bottle, Kydd hurried after Renzi to the open air again.
'Secret coast signals — priceless,' whispered Renzi. 'But how—'
Kydd grinned back at him. 'Easy! Let's say you overheard the French prisoners talking among 'emselves, thought it proper to lay it before Blackjack that he might find somethin' interesting should he rummage the body.'
Chapter 2
'God rot their bones for an infernal set of useless lubberly rogues!' exploded the Admiral, his face reddening at the pressure of the starched collar at his neck.
His wife sighed in exasperation. 'Now, John, you well know how I disapprove of your sea language in the house.'
The Admiral held his tongue, acutely aware of how very little it would take to provoke him to indulge his rage. He took some satisfaction from casting loose the fastening of his high collar, hoping it would be concealed under the snowy lace cravat. 'You would bear me some sympathy, m'dear, were you to know the very considerable vexations I endure as a consequence of His Majesty's unexpected decision to visit,' he growled. He would get the sympathy, he knew, but not the understanding. King George's sudden decision to leave the capital, to witness personally the triumphant entry of the battered victor and her pri^e, was causing untold difficulties for the Port Admiral.
'Of course, my love, it must be a grievous trial to you.' Lady Clowes had her own views on what constituted a vexation: she was personally responsible for the success of the royal entertainments, and if they were a failure in any way it would be held against her, but if they passed off without drama she would be forgotten. She had only that odious flag lieutenant to assist her, and he a simple sea officer with no appreciation of the subtleties of Court etiquette. 'Try not to think about it too much, dear,' she added absently. Her thoughts were more on what to do with the ambitious Lady Saxton. The Dockyard Commissioner's wife was married to a mere post captain but he was a baronet: if these ambitions were to be contained she faced a nice dilemma ofprecedence at the Court presentations.
‘I beg pardon, sir.' The flag lieutenant appeared at the doorway. 'Damn you, sir! When we are—'