"What will you wear, love?" Rosie enthused. "It could be a swell cove taking you t' see his friends!"
He paused. There was just the tiniest chance that it was something else—but the cold tone of the note fitted that of a businessman holding him at arm's length while he was handed along to another. "Nothin' special, Rosie. If'n they can't take me as I come, then . . ."
The Three Crowns was a spacious and well-appointed inn, liberally endowed with snug rooms and discreet alcoves with high-backed chairs for those inclined to serious conversation. Kydd entered diffidently, fingering the single florin in his pocket, which was all he could bring himself to accept from Mojo. He hoped that his mysterious visitor would not expect more than a nip of ale.
A few faces turned curiously but he stared ahead defensively and was left alone. Soon after four the figure of a gentleman in an old-fashioned wig appeared at the door, looking in hesitantly. He seemed distantly familiar, and Kydd rose.
The man hurried over. "I thank you for seeing me, Mr Kydd," he said, in an oddly soft voice.
For a moment he was caught off-balance. Then it came to him. This was Zephaniah Job, whom he had once arrested in Polperro as a smuggler and then been forced to release by higher authority. "I'm to tell you how very sorry I am to have heard about your Rosalynd. Such a sweet child, and to be lost to the world so suddenly."
Kydd gulped, a memory catching him unawares with its intensity. "Yes, sir, I was—much affected." He turned away, so that Job would not catch his expression, and willed himself back to the present.
He realised he shouldn't be surprised to see Job there for he was a sagacious businessman with interests in all things profitable—he even printed his own banknotes. Kydd recalled that Guernsey was the main place of supply for Job's many smuggling enterprises. Now he was going to be offered a position operating against his own colleagues by the man he had previously taken in charge for doing just that.
Job gave a polite smile. "I heard of your privateering voyage just concluded, Mr Kydd. My sympathy on meeting with such poor fortune."
"Thank ye," Kydd said. He was damned if Job was going to get a beer out of his precious florin now.
"You seem in need of some cheer, if I might make bold—will you allow me to press you to join me in a jorum of their finest?"
"Er, maybe I will," Kydd said warily.
"Very well," Job said, after the jug was set in train. "Let me go directly to the head of the matter. I heard about your recent voyage from a common acquaintance and, besides, something of your history while here, and I'm sanguine you'll hear me out if I make you a proposition."
"Go on." He was in no hurry—he might as well listen to what the man had to say.
"I'm a man of business, not a mariner, but I confess I was somewhat surprised when I learned that having taken on the calling of privateer you were unable to make a success of it."
Kydd gave an ill-natured grunt but let him continue.
"Therefore, knowing of your undoubted qualities I made query as to the details. And it seems my surmise was correct. For reasons best known to the investors you were constrained to confine your attentions to the small fry, coastal traders and the like.
"I will speak frankly. To me this is not the best exploitation of your talents—speaking as a businessman, of course. Now, I was too late to take shares in your last venture but I have a mind to consider doing so in the future, should the arrangements be more to my way of thinking."
"Mr Job, that's all very well but I have t' say I've been told there's t' be no second voyage for me."
Job paused to refill Kydd's glass. "This is then my proposition to you. Should you feel a blue-water cruise in the Western Ocean to meet the trade from the West Indies and south would better answer, I will invest in you."
Despite himself Kydd's hopes rose: there was no reason to believe Job would waste his time in impossibilities. "This sounds interestin', Mr Job. But I c'n see a mort o' problems." There was so much to overcome: a deep-sea venture was an altogether larger-scale enterprise, much more costly—and many times the risk.
"I'm no stranger to privateering, you may believe," Job said smoothly. "I find the chief objective is to secure a captain of daring and acumen, the second to ensure he has the ship and men he needs to perform his task. This is essential and must always stand above considerations of expense. Spoiling the ship for a ha'p'orth of tar is false economy, so by not sparing the quality of ship and man, the enterprise does maximise its chances."
"An' increases th' capital risk," Kydd said.
"It does, but those considerations you should leave to the prudent investor who, you can be sure, does take full measure of his exposure." He went on, "For myself, I will increase my own determination in the venture by one simple means. I intend to take the majority shareholding."