At the commandant’s desk sat Kydd, looking worried, an army adjutant politely waiting while he read a document.
‘Ahoy there!’ Renzi said lightly.
‘Oh? Ah – it’s you, Nicholas.’ He turned to the army officer. ‘Do spare me ten minutes, if you will.’
‘Certainly, sir,’ the man said, and left quietly.
Kydd, deep lines of tension in his face, motioned Renzi to a seat. ‘Did you find your base?’
‘Indeed. All’s under hatches, including His Knobbs. It’s the end for them.’
‘Glad to hear it,’ Kydd said, but his tone betrayed deep distraction.
‘You’re governor, then?’
‘I’m senior naval officer in charge, if that’s what you mean. I keep post until relieved by a civil appointee.’
‘Not Tyrell?’
‘Captain Tyrell fell in the action.’
‘I should say I’m sorry to hear that.’
‘And I hope even sorrier to hear that I’ll probably swing for it,’ Kydd said bitterly.
Renzi couldn’t believe his ears. ‘I thought you said—’
‘He was shot from behind. Captain Hinckley saw me standing over the body with a smoking gun.’
‘You – you didn’t—’
‘No,’ Kydd said coldly. ‘I did not. But I’m being blamed for it.’
‘How can this be so?’
Kydd explained the simple circumstances behind the situation, then went on sourly, ‘As there’s none higher than me to have me arrested, I’m free as one of your summer clouds. I can do what I like – which is anything, as here everyone is under martial law and I’m the last authority.’
It was bizarre – and deadly serious.
‘So what will happen?’
‘I can’t blame Hinckley. He saw what he saw and has a duty to lay the information at the proper level – after we return.’ His face went bleak. ‘Until then I must do my duty.’
‘You’ll see it through, brother, never fear.’
‘With every wardroom and mess-deck in the squadron alive with the gossip that I’ve taken my revenge? A hard thing to get by, Nicholas.’
Renzi could think of nothing to say that was not feeble in the face of what Kydd had to endure now. At a stroke his elation had evaporated and he was left with a lowering sense of inevitability.
‘Thus, old friend, you see I have to get on. I’ll join you in L’Aurore when I can.’
So close to Antigua, the news brought an instant response from St John’s. An interim administrator was appointed and sent in the same vessel that brought Kydd’s recall. He would go in L’Aurore as, in the sight of all, he remained her lawful captain.
When she picked up her moorings in St John’s Road, Kydd’s pennant still flew defiantly; it would take nothing less than a court-martial to decree its hauling down. Aware that every eye in the fleet was now on him, he boarded his barge in immaculate full-dress uniform with all the dignity he could muster.
It was more than two miles, past every ship of the Leeward Islands Squadron, before he was able to arrive at the stone jetty. He could feel dozens of telescopes, hundreds of eyes, all feasting on the spectacle of the hour. He sat alone, looking neither left nor right, Poulden giving his orders in a subdued manner, the men avoiding his eye as they pulled their oars.
And there was not a thing he could do – neither shout his innocence to the skies nor blaze his contempt on all who could believe him capable of the act of murder.
Instead he ignored the gaping onlookers and boarded his carriage with his head held high to be whisked away to the admiral’s residence.
Half expecting the guard turned out and a provost with an arrest warrant waiting, he was relieved to be shown immediately into Cochrane’s office.
‘Get out, Flags,’ the admiral told his aide and waited impatiently until they were alone.
‘Sit down,’ he told Kydd testily. ‘We all know what this is about.’
He fixed his eyes in a piercing gaze on him. ‘Did you do it?’
Kydd gulped, as he held back the torrent of feeling that threatened to unman him. ‘No, sir.’
‘Hinckley saw only you, standing with a gun just fired over the body, no one else in sight. What do you say to that?’
‘I – I can’t account for it, sir. I saw Captain Tyrell, started up towards him and tripped. The gun went off. When I reached him I found he was already dead.’
‘Damn it all,’ blazed Cochrane, slamming his hand on the desk and rising in frustration. ‘You – the captain of a prime frigate – and you’re saying you fell over! Tripped! For God’s sake, give me something I can use to stop this going to trial.’ He began pacing the room, his expression grim. ‘You know you’ve robbed me of my victory,’ he said, with a twisted smile. ‘There’s going to be nothing but this affair spoken of in London these six months.’