Chapter 5
Renzi’s message to his brother was returned with a delighted note insisting he visit immediately, a gig being provided for his conveyance. Leaving behind the noise and smell of Kingston, Renzi and Kydd clopped along the dusty road inland, through the endless green sameness of the cane-fields, past grinding ox-wagons teetering under their load of crude sugar and plodding lines of slaves with their field tools and piccaninny followers.
Kydd found himself reflecting that Renzi’s younger brother was so different from his friend. He’d been set up as a planter by their father and had done well for himself, was established and settled with an estate and lady. And now Renzi was returning to him, after all these years, with little to show for himself.
He sympathised. The age-old conundrum: was this the price of adventure, the wider world, excitements that others could only dream about? If so, it didn’t explain Kydd, a young sailor when first in Jamaica, now returning in glory as captain of his own ship while, in the eyes of the world, his gifted friend had hardly progressed.
Kydd gazed out as they passed through a village, the gaily dressed people contrasting with their drab dwellings, but the enigma that was his closest friend wouldn’t leave him – and then a darker thought stole in.
Kydd knew that for many years Renzi had loved his sister Cecilia but felt he did not have the means to be worthy of becoming her husband. Frustrated with his long dallying, Kydd had extracted a promise from him to seek his sister’s hand the very day they arrived back in England. But as her brother, he had certain responsibilities: was he being fair to her, giving his support to her marriage to someone with no visible prospects whatsoever?
He tried to shake off the thoughts and was glad when they topped a rise and saw the Great House at the end of a winding drive, edged with the flower-entwined penguin hedge that he remembered from his earlier visit.
Richard Laughton was waiting on the veranda, thicker-set and with a harder look about him. He was wearing a broad smile, however, as he strode up to greet them.
‘Well met, brother! So very pleased you’re come. Your last letter was more’n a year ago and I’m much exercised to discover your news.’ He shook Renzi’s hand with obvious delight, then turned politely to Kydd.
‘I don’t think I’ve had the pleasure, sir. You …’
‘Ah, but you have, Richard,’ Renzi said. ‘Mr Kydd, as came with me when—’
Laughton’s eyes widened in recognition. ‘No, it can’t be!’
‘It is, and now you must call him Captain Kydd, of the jolly frigate L’Aurore, or he’ll have you keelhauled, brother.’
They sat together on the veranda in cane easy-chairs. The houseboy produced sangaree and explanations were made, Laughton in frank admiration at the tale of Kydd’s rise in the world.
Renzi fiddled with his glass. ‘You do seem content with your lot, Richard. Fortune’s tide in your favour, it seems.’
‘Why, we do have our odd vexations but that should not concern you.’
‘The Trelawney Maroons?’ The last time they’d visited bands of escaped slaves living in the hills had descended to terrorise the plantations.
‘Put down, and the rascals sent to Canada long since. No, this is an agreeable existence for a gentleman, it must be said.’
He glanced up amiably at Renzi. ‘And for yourself? Is—’
‘Richard,’ he said, ‘might I ask a service of you?’
‘Of course! Say away, old man.’
‘It is that Thomas being now at an eminence, perhaps an introduction to those he will be among during his commission in the Caribbean …’
Laughton grinned. ‘I’ve no doubt that something suitable can be arranged for a handsome frigate captain, Nicholas.’
‘Thank you.’
He went on delicately, ‘And as you will, of course, attend, brother, would you be so good as to let me know your wishes regarding your, er, name? That is to say, may I now introduce you truly as my brother?’ The last time they had visited, Renzi, in the middle of his morally dictated self-sentence of five years on the lower-deck, had asked to be known only by his name-in-exile.
‘It would oblige should you continue to address me in the same way.’
‘As you wish,’ Richard replied. ‘I know you are not reconciled to Father, Nicholas, yet it pains me not to acknowledge you as kin. Can we not—’
‘If you must, perhaps as cousin.’
‘Very well. You always were a character of some complication, Nicholas.’ He looked at him steadily for a moment, then went on, ‘Mother is well but cast down by your absence. Since I’m the only one graced with the receiving of your letters I’ve seen fit to keep her in the knowledge that at least you’re still alive. Our father is in rude good health but refuses utterly to allow your name to be spoken in his presence.’