Kydd stared out over the wake astern, a ragged white line dissolving to nothing in the distance, ever renewed by their steady motion and the noisy tumbling foam under their counter. His dark thoughts were full but refused to take solid form, and he hesitated. ‘Nicholas. How c’n I say this? Here I stand, an officer. A King’s officer! More’n I could dare t’ dream of before. And it’s – it’s not as it should be . . .’
Renzi waited patiently, gazing astern.
Kydd continued weakly, ‘Y’ see, I don’t feel an officer – it’s as if I was playin’ a role, dressin’ up for the part like a common actor.’ The frustrations boiled up and he gulped with emotion. ‘I know th’ seamanship, the orders an’ things but – Nicholas, look at me! When the others talk t’ each other, they’re talkin’ to the squire, the gentry – their father is lord o’ the manor of some fine family, they talk of ridin’ with the hounds, calling on the duke in London, what’s the latest gossip . . .’ His voice thickened. ‘And me, what can I talk about at table without I open m’ mouth and be damned a yokel?’
Renzi murmured encouragement. Paradoxically, this made it all the worse for Kydd, and his frustration took a new path. ‘It’s easy enough f’r you. You’ve been born into it,’ he said bitterly, ‘lived that way all y’r life. This is why you can talk y’r horses an’ estates ’n’ politics with the others. And have you thought how it is f’r me? I sit there sad as a gib cat, hearin’ all this jabber and feelin’ as out of it as—’
The carpenter interrupted them with his report and Kydd processed the information mechanically. Twenty-four inches in the well: if he left it, the night watch would have to deal with it, manning the big chain pump with all its creaking and banging, rendering sleep impossible for the watch below. He’d see to it before he left the deck.
Renzi spoke quietly: ‘Tom, do you consider awhile. We all have had to learn the graces, the manners and ways of a gentleman. It’s just that we’ve had much longer than you to learn. You see? You will learn in time, then—’
‘Be damned!’ Kydd choked. ‘Do ye take me f’r a performing monkey? Learn more tricks and bring ’em out in company? Is this how to be a gentleman?’
Renzi’s face set. ‘You’re being obnoxious, my friend,’ he said softly.
‘An’ I’m gettin’ sick o’ your word-grubbin’ ways! You’re no frien’ if all you can say is—’
Renzi turned on his heel. ‘Nicholas! I – I didn’t mean t’ say . . .’ Renzi stopped. Kydd’s hand strayed to his friend’s shoulder but there was no response: Renzi merely turned, folded his arms and looked coldly at him. ‘I’ve been thinkin’ a lot, Nicholas. About who I am, is the short of it.’ He lifted his chin obstinately. ‘Afore now I’ve been proud t’ be a man-o’-war’s man. Life f’r me has been simple an’ true. Now I’ve gone aft it’s all gone ahoo. I’ve lost m’ bearings – an’ all my friends.’
‘Do I take it that you still wish to be an officer?’
Kydd looked away for long moments. ‘Nicholas, you may account me proud or stubborn – but I will not be a tarpaulin to pity f’r his plain ways. An officer left t’ one side when it comes to society an’ promotion. Gentlemen officers laugh at the poor sot behind his back – gets a-fuddle wi’ drink ashore ’cos he don’t know what t’ say. I’d rather be cream o’ the shit than shit o’ the cream, damn it.’
Renzi winced. ‘You may regret turning your back on fortune.’
‘Did I say I was? I just don’t know, is all.’
Renzi coughed gently. ‘Possibly I am in no small measure to blame in this, dear fellow, but still I feel there is only one logical course, and one you seem to have already rejected. For as long as it will take, you must apply your best and most sincere endeavours to fitting yourself out for a gentleman officer – in look, word and deed. Then, and only then, you may take your rightful place in society, my friend.’
At Kydd’s moody silence Renzi insisted on an answer. ‘I’ll think on it,’ was all he could achieve.
They were heading north to where the Labrador current from the icy fastness of the polar region met the unseen river of warm water driving up from the Caribbean, the Gulf Stream. Such a confluence was highly likely to result in the navigator’s nightmare: fog.