Caribbee(114)

Shyly coming forwards, Amelia dropped him a curtsy and confided, ‘And I should offer you my sincerest congratulations on your recent conquest, sir.’

‘Accepted with pleasure,’ Kydd said, his spirits returning. ‘Shall I be seeing you below at dinner?’

A fife and fiddle started by the main-mast and people began to drift across to witness the singular display of a barefoot sailor executing a hornpipe.

One more boat was on its way – and it had the duty mate-of-the-watch hurrying to Kydd in consternation. ‘Sir! Admiral Cochrane to board!’

The side-party was hastily mustered and Cochrane mounted the side with all due gravity.

But as the ceremonials concluded the admiral took Kydd aside. ‘I’m sorry to take this occasion to break it to you, Mr Kydd, but I have grave news.’

He looked around, then continued sadly, ‘There are duties of an admiral that may never be termed pleasant, and this is one of them.’

Tensing, Kydd waited.

‘Captain, I have to tell you that my request to the Admiralty to take you into my command has been denied. You are to quit my station and return to England forthwith.’

Stunned, Kydd mumbled something, at the same time realising that Cochrane had had no need to inform him in this way: he had done so in order that the evening might now be seen as the ship’s last event in the Caribbean.

‘I’ll not tarry. You’ll have many you’ll want to see this night.’

He saw Cochrane over the side, his thoughts in a whirl. To leave the warmth and beauty of the Caribbean was a wrench but he suspected it had something to do with the forthcoming court-martial of Popham, the leader of the doomed Buenos Aires expedition. But, on the other hand, it meant they were going home.

He hugged the news to himself when they went below for dinner, graciously accepting the chair of honour at the head of the table.

Amelia and her father, of course, were not two places down. ‘So happy you were able to come,’ he said politely to Wrexham.

‘Why should we not?’ the man replied, with surprise.

‘Oh, er …’

Kydd recoiled once more at the vision of the shocking scene the last time they had dined together, and emboldened by L’Aurore’s splendid Caribbean punch he admitted as much. ‘I feared you would not wish to be seen with a … a common fore-mast hand.’

Wrexham gave a start. ‘Sir! I do believe you have misconstrued the entire affair! We were shocked, it is true, even appalled, and that is no exaggeration. But this, sir, was not at any aspersions on yourself, rather at the behaviour of one claiming the character of gentleman. I do not wish to speak ill of the dead, but Captain Tyrell’s want of conduct in the open discussion of your past is beyond belief.’

‘So, you’re saying …’

‘Your antecedents are of no account to us. There are many, if not the majority, of society in these islands with humble beginnings, and if we were to exclude such from our fellowship then it would make for a strange situation indeed.’

Kydd was infused with a rising lightness and a flood of release.

‘Then I pray you will find it in you to attend at our society gatherings in the future with every sense of our respect and admiration, Captain.’

‘I thank you, sir,’ Kydd replied, trying not to look at Amelia.

But it couldn’t be put off for much longer.

He found a spoon and, looking down the table, tapped it sharply against a glass. The gathering fell quiet.

‘Fellow officers, new friends and old, I have to tell you that Admiral Cochrane came aboard to give me news. And it is this: in a very short while L’Aurore will put to sea. She will sail – for England.’

There were gasps of surprise.

‘Our secondment to the Leeward Islands Squadron has been revoked by the Admiralty and we must return forthwith.’

‘Mes chers amis – je suis désolé. I will miss you all so dreadfully!’ Louise drew out a handkerchief and Renzi reached to console her.

‘Damn it! We’ll catch the season if we’re quick!’ Curzon chortled, his face brightening.

‘To England?’ Buckle was anything but ecstatic, his face lengthening in what appeared to be dejection at the thought.

‘Cheer up, Mr Buckle. England’s not so bad you must despair of it!’ his captain offered.

‘Sir!’

The word was spoken so fiercely, so intensely, that it caught Kydd by surprise. ‘Yes, Mr Bowden?’

‘Is it possible – that is to say, should the parties be willing, um …’

‘You’re hard to catch, young fellow.’

‘I’m understanding what he’s saying, sir,’ Buckle said, with an equal passion. ‘And this party is willing indeed!’