Quarterdeck(15)

‘Aye, sir.’ Kydd was not sure what he was implying, and answered cautiously. The man, with his aggressive, out-thrust jaw and direct, almost angry manner, unsettled him.

‘Ah, yes – and you’ll be signal lootenant, o’ course.’

‘But, sir, I—’

‘Then you’ll learn, damn it, like we all did!’ Bryant snapped. ‘You’ve got a signal midshipman, Rawson, and two steady hands on the bunting. Do y’ want a wet nurse as well?’

‘I’ll do m’ duty right enough.’ Kydd felt himself reddening.

Bryant eased back in his chair. ‘Let’s see. You were entered as a landman in ’ninety-three, then shipped in Artemis frigate around the world, did a few years in the Caribbean and came back a master’s mate. Earned their lordships’ approbation in the late mutiny at the Nore, and didn’t disgrace yourself at Camperdown.’ He slapped the papers back into their pack. ‘I’m sure you’ll do your duty, Mr Kydd.’ He rose. ‘Now, keep station on me – it’s a new wardroom, we need to make our number to each other.’

The long table was laid with a starched white cloth and silver was much in evidence. It was close on four o’clock, supper time; aboard ship it was always taken considerably earlier than on land.

Kydd lost Bryant in a swirl of officers as old friends warmly greeted each other and new ones respectfully made themselves known. Renzi was deep in conversation with a plainly dressed man who had a curiously neat and sensitive face. Kydd made to cross to him, but a glass was thrust into his hand, and Adams’s pleasant face appeared. ‘A tincture with you, m’ friend,’ he said, leaning back while a seaman politely plied a bottle. The wine was deep and red, and eased Kydd’s trepidation.

‘Your very good health, sir,’ Kydd said. Adams smiled, then turned to an older lieutenant, but before he could speak, Bryant, attended by a steward, took the head of the table, his back to the stern windows.

‘We sit now,’ warned Adams, and led Kydd quickly to the opposite end of the table, to one side of the thickness of the mizzen mast growing up at the end. Then he swung round deftly and sat opposite.

A buzz of talk arose. Bryant roared down the table, ‘Wine with you, Mr Kydd!’

The table fell quiet and Kydd caught covert glances in his direction. He tried to gather his wits. ‘C-confusion to the French!’ he called, raising his glass to Bryant. The words seemed weak and theatrical after the hearty oaths of seamen.

The marine captain raised his glass and declaimed drily, ‘And to ourselves – as no one else is likely to concern themselves with our welfare.’

‘Damn right!’ Bryant said vigorously, and drank deeply, then held up his empty glass. Talk began again, but Bryant banged a spoon on the table. ‘Gentlemen!’ he demanded loudly. ‘Today sees Tenacious with her company of officers complete. We’re in commission, and we’ll be rejoining the North Sea Fleet very shortly. I believe it’s not too soon to make our acquaintance of each other.’

Kydd could hear a bottle being opened out of sight as he positioned his glass. He was grateful to the wine for settling his apprehensions.

‘I’m your premier. My last ship was Thetis, thirty-eight, in the Indian Ocean, where we saw not much o’ the French worth a spit. I hope to see some better sport before long.’ He pitched his voice to the older lieutenant. ‘Now you, sir.’

‘Bampton, second luff, only officer surviving after Camperdown. Served two years with the North Sea Fleet in Tenacious before,’ he added drily.

‘Ah, was you at the Nore mutiny?’ the marine wanted to know.

‘Yes.’ Kydd froze. ‘And no. I was set ashore by the mutinous villains – but had the pleasure later of seeing ’em at a yardarm.’ He gave a thin smile and sipped his wine.

Bryant’s gaze slipped to Adams, who took up his cue. ‘Gentlemen, you see before you one Gervase Adams, relict of the Raven, eighteen, fir-built and cast ashore. Take heed all ye who would place Baltic fir before good British oak . . .’

‘And?’

Renzi’s manner was perfect: his easy affability brought approving grunts from around the table. He raised his glass in Kydd’s direction. ‘Might I bring forward my particular friend Thomas Kydd, whom you see before you as junior aboard, but whose shining parts his modesty forbids him to mention. His actions in thwarting a fearful case of barratry while still a child of the sea is well remarked, and I owe my continued existence to his acting forcefully in a curious circumstance on an island in the Great South Sea. He it is who conned the longboat in the Caribbean that preserved Lord Stanhope, and in all, gentlemen, we must conclude that Mr Kydd be truly accounted a favoured son of Neptune!’