"Very well, sir." Renzi nodded. "May I enquire as to the establishment you must now engage for this purpose? The line of command, as it were."
"None."
"Sir?" Renzi asked, not sure he had heard aright.
"The matter is too grave, far beyond the compass of what is to be expected of a serving officer, the issue much too delicate to entrust to others at this late hour. It will be you and I alone who will bring this business to a head."
"Sir! It—"
"Consider. The plan calls for a rising in Paris, a co-ordination of forces and an alignment of purpose that is the concern only of those actually there—Georges and company en effet. There is little we might do at this distance and our contribution must be to secure and provide what is asked for, and when the time comes to be ready to extract the tyrant by sea from the territory of France." His eyes gleamed.
"Thus as you will see, our tasks will be limited—but important. Your good self's arriving in Jersey has been a miracle, Renzi. We will press ahead together—my office is yours, and my time. We will share the burden and with it the honour."
This was nothing less than a strident call to join the gathering maelstrom of the great conspiracy. From a reluctant role at the fringe of this half-world he despised he was now being thrust to the centre . . . It was abhorrent to the principles he had lived by—but how could he deny the syllogistic inevitability of the reasoning: that a smaller evil might be justified for the sake of a greater object? Could he in all conscience stand back at this point? This was where logic and morals collided.
"Sir, I shall do my duty in this matter," Renzi said coldly, "with due diligence as my health and strength do allow. But I would have you know, sir, that while bending my best endeavours to the cause I find the business of spying and deception both distasteful and repugnant to my character. When this enterprise is concluded therefore, I must quit your service. That is all."
D'Auvergne nodded. "As I would expect of you, Renzi. Before all things you are a gentleman and you are now being asked to violate your sensibilities beyond the bounds nature sets for them. However, before we begin the enterprise I must have your word upon it that you will enter in with a whole heart, applying your mind and body to the one end. Do I have it?"
"You do, sir."
"Good." He picked up some papers and made a show of shuffling them. "Now, their first task is that of supply. It is vital to their plan to establish a chain of trusted maisons de confiance from Paris to the coast, each to be defended if needed, stocked with fresh horses, food—I've no need to detail this, it is not our concern, but the Chouans will need gold for bribery, arms for the escort. They will have it." He paused for a moment. "And you, Renzi, if you will, shall make it so. Your service as a sea officer allows me to place my fullest trust in your ability to perform this duty. Issue your requirements and I will countersign them without question."
* * *
CHAPTER 11
ALTHOUGH HIS FUTURE WAS NOW REASONABLY SECURE Kydd felt qualms. All the time he delayed his return to England he knew Renzi would stay by him at considerable personal cost and this weighed on his conscience. In all fairness he must make plans for departure.
At the theatre Rosie made a point of seeking him out. "Tom, love, I've something for you." At her coy words Richard Samson's expression darkened but she went on gaily, "I'll give it you tonight when we get back."
It was a letter, addressed "To Whom It may Concern" and "Strictly Private." Cautiously Kydd broke the wafer and unfolded the single sheet, conscious that Rosie was watching quietly.
To his surprise the salutation was a firm "Commander Kydd." Puzzled—for he was sure he had not mentioned his last name to Rosie—he read on. In friendly tones the writer allowed that an acquaintance had conveyed to him that Kydd was now at leisure on Guernsey, and it had occurred to him this was a circumstance that might well be turned to mutual advantage. If Kydd was inclined to hear further he would be welcome to call at his convenience.
"A Mr Vauvert," Kydd said offhandedly, "says he wants t' meet me."
Rosie assumed a practical bustle. "You will show me what you intend to wear, my dear," she ordered.
Kydd obediently brought out his best and only walking-out clothes, canvas-wrapped from their storage in the sail-loft, and laid them before her. The dark-green coat with tails had suffered somewhat with mould but more serious was the spotting on the cream pantaloons. Undaunted, Rosie got to work and soon pronounced Kydd ready to appear.
He marched up to an impressive door in Grange Road and knocked. Rosie had told him that Vauvert was an important figure in Guernsey, a merchant investor and négociant of St Peter Port, of some standing, and therefore he could be sure this was not a social call.