The Privateer's Revenge(111)

Most of all, a gulf now separated them that could not have been greater: Kydd had found himself and would go on to great things, while he could only dream of achieving something in the philosophical line, not a path likely to lead to such riches.

With a sudden stab he realised as well that, as Kydd and his family rose in the world, Cecilia might be placed for ever beyond his reach. His despondency turned to fear.

The gritty rolling of wheels outside told him that soon he would know the worst. Sitting quite still, his pulse quickening, he heard the cries of an ostler and the jingling of harness—then a deeper voice of authority, probably the major-domo greeting his master: "A pleasant voyage, sir?"

Then the blessed sound of Kydd's hearty voice: "Not s' pleasant, but a mort profitable, I'd have t' say."

"Oh, er, there's a gentleman in the receiving room," the voice went on. "He gave no card but claims to be an acquaintance of yours. Will you see him or . . . ?"

"He gave a name?"

"Well, yes, sir—a Mr Rancy, sir." "Renzi!" The door burst open—and Kydd stood there, utter delight on his face. "Nicholas!" he cried. "Ye're here!"

Renzi stood slowly. "Yes, dear fellow, as you have rightly perceived, I am indeed here," he said, eyes smarting.

Kydd advanced impulsively and hugged his friend. Then, frowning, he held him at arm's length. "That rogue the prince o' whatever—why, he's been working ye half t' death. Still, no need f'r that kind o' thing any more, Nicholas. We're rich!"

While Renzi was digesting the "we," Kydd turned on the major-domo. "Rouse up th' hands!" he roared. "We're t' have a right true welcome home t' two heroes o' the sea!"

They moved to the more august surroundings of the spacious drawing room, and Renzi noted how confidently Kydd moved about the sumptuous furnishings. Soon, fortified by a fine brandy, the two friends were slipping back into their old familiarity.

"Then do I take it that your recent voyage might be accounted successful, brother?"

"Aye," Kydd said, with relish. "One who thought t' go a-tradin' with th' French colonies—a right Tartar but no match f'r the Witch, o' course."

"So now you have taken the character of a man of means, not to say wealth."

"Oh, this pile, y' think so? It's on a very favourable lease fr'm a Mr Vauvert, rich cove who's done well out o' investin' in m' cruises."

"Then this bounteous cornucopia might be said sufficient for your plans now to go afoot."

"Ah—the plans. Nicholas, I've had time t' think about it. It wasn't really much of a plan t' conceive they'll put 'emselves up against th' law just f'r a few guineas. Foolish t' believe so, don't y' think?"

"I'd be obliged to agree, dear fellow. But what if we could find some other way to right this grievous wrong done to you?"

"Y' mean, lay out the gold t' hire a flash London lawyer as will see me right? No, Nicholas, without we have th' evidence t' show him it just won't fadge."

"Perhaps then we could find a denizen of the demi-world, an abandoned creature not noted for the delicacy of his morals who would follow the trail wheresoever it led. But who would know such a person?"

"Nicholas!" Kydd exclaimed, scandalised. "I'll not have dealings wi' such. It's not the place f'r a gentleman, as you y'self tells me!" he said with heat. Hesitating, he conceded reluctantly, "So it seems I'll have t' face it. There's no way forward. This is m' lot in life, an' if I'm t' be truthful then it's t' say that it's not so hard, an' I'm still fightin' the King's enemies—in a private way, o' course."

"Umm. Well, do tell me, for my interest, if it were in any wise made possible that at some future date the vile act is exposed and the malefactors brought to a reckoning, would you still desire to set yourself on "Teazer's quarterdeck again? To give away the carefree life of a corsair for the stern duties of the Navy?"

Puzzled, Kydd blinked. "Why, o' course! Why else would I . . . ? Ah, I see—ye're flamming me! Well, Nicholas, let me say ye can be sure that if I c'n think of another plan as'll smoke 'em out, well, I'll do it with all m' heart."

Renzi paused. A half-smile spread as he felt about inside his waistcoat. "Well, now, if you're ever to be a commander again we'll have to find a way to deal with these." Slowly he withdrew a small sheaf of papers.

Unfolding the top one and holding it up, he asked innocently, "Oh, er, do you recognise this at all?"

"My God! Th' secret orders! Where did you . . . ?"

"From the knave who deliberately inserted them into your lawful orders."

"Who?" "As instructed by another, who most ardently wished for your ruin."