The Privateer's Revenge (16 page)

“Tak' it or leave 'un!”

The hard-faced woman turned to go but Renzi stopped her. “We'll take it, madam.”

“Ten livres on account,” she said, thrusting out a hand from under her shawl. “An' I've plenty o' Frenchies as'll sigh for such a one!”

Kydd frowned at Renzi, who whispered back, “The royalists— having fled the Revolution, they're pining in exile here where they can still see their homeland.”

The wrong side of Fountain Street, it was a mansion of grandeur that had seen better times. Now the familiar drawing room, dining room and the rest were each partitioned off with their own noisy family; Kydd and Renzi's domicile was the topmost floor, the old servants' quarters.

“Such a quantity of space!” exclaimed Renzi, stoutly, at the two rooms, a clapboard partition dividing the open space of a garret. Their furniture was limited to a bed each, turned up against the wall, a single table and chair under the window and a seedy dresser. There were bare floorboards and a dank, musty smell throughout.

“Fresh air,” offered Kydd, eyeing the dirty window. “And a fireplace.” The small grate looked mean and still contained the disconsolate crumbled remains of the last fire, but he rubbed his hands, and said briskly, “We'll soon have it shipshape. Um, not as who's t' say, but I don't spy a kitchen a-tall. How . . . ?”

Renzi forced a bright smile. “In course, we as bachelor gentlemen do send out for our victuals, dear fellow. There's sure to be a chop-house or ordinary close by. As to the smaller comestibles there'll be your milkmaid, baker, pieman calling, eager for our trade.”

Kydd looked at the small fireplace. “A kettle f'r tea an' coffee?”

“Tea will soon be beyond our means, I'm sorry to say,” Renzi said firmly. “Scotch coffee will probably be available.” Kydd winced. Childhood memories of scrimping in hard times had brought back the bitter taste of burned breadcrumbs.

They set to, and a seaman-like scrubbing from end to end soon had the spaces glistening with damp, the window protesting loudly at being opened, and a resolve declared that they would invest in more aids to comfort when their affairs were on the mend. Meanwhile another chair was needed, with various domestic articles as they suggested themselves.

When evening fell and they set about their meagre repast, the extravagance of a bottle of thin Bordeaux did little to lift the mood. A burst of ill-tempered rowdiness came up from below. Was the future stretching ahead to be always like this?

The night passed badly for Kydd. In just a few months he had come from contemplating a high-society wedding to regretting the coals for the comfort of a fire. From captain of a man-o'-war to tenant of a dirty garret. It was hard to take, and lurking at the back of his mind there was always the temptation to slink back cravenly to England.

But that would be to accept the ruin Lockwood had contrived and he'd be damned if he would!

The dull morning began with rain pattering on the window and leaks appearing from nowhere. Over the last of their tea, Renzi gave a twisted smile. “I rather think that the occupation of gentleman is quite over for us, brother. We must seek out some form of income—of employment suitable to our character, or it will be the parish workhouse for us.”

“I'll never get another ship from Admiral Saumarez,” Kydd said glumly, “even supposing he's one in his gift. Er, y' haven't seen my hairbrush? You know, the pearl-backed one Mother gave me.”

“I thought it was on the dresser,” Renzi said absently.

“No matter,” Kydd said. “It'll turn up.”

He reflected for a moment. “An' it must be admitted, anything of employment as takes me back t' sea is not t' be considered—I'd then be removed fr'm here an' couldn't find m' man.”

Renzi smiled briefly. “As one of Neptune's creatures, there's little enough for you on terra firma, so completely out of your element.”

“I shall think on't,” Kydd answered stiffly. “May I know, then, what it is you're proposin' to do, Nicholas?”

“It does set a challenge,” Renzi admitted, “my qualifications being of the most cursory. I do suggest we devote this day to a reconnaissance of prospects, each being free to follow our independent course and exchange our experiences later tonight.”

Kydd headed down to the busy quayside and found the little octagonal building that had been pointed out to him. The genial harbour-master greeted him and made room for him among the charts and thick-bound books. “What is it I c'n do for ye, Mr Kydd?”

“Kind in you t' see me, Mr Collas. Er, I'd have y' know that I've seen m' share o' sea service—”

“Oh, aye?”

“But at th' moment I find m'self without a ship, an' I thought it might be time t' swallow th' anchor an' take employment ashore, if y' see what I mean.”

There was a careful silence.

“That is t' say, if there's a position open in th' harbour authority t' a man o' the sea that ye'd recommend, I'd be grateful t' hear it.”

“Y' mean a harbour commissioner, inspector sort o' thing?”

“I do.”

“Then I have t' disappoint ye, Mr Kydd. We runs things differently here. No King's men pokin' into our affairs an' that. An' no Customs an' Excise neither. In th' islands trade is king. So it's leave 'em at it to get on wi' their business.

“Now, the most important thing we does is the piloting. T' be a Guernsey pilot is t' be at the top o' th' profession, Mr Kydd. An' afore ye ask, there's none but a Guern' will have th' knowledge t' do it. See, there's nothing like here anywheres in Creation f'r rocks 'n' shoals, and then we adds in the tidal currents, and it's a rare place indeed f'r hazards. Y' learn about a rock—it looks like quite another when th' tide state's different. Y' come upon it in th' fog, see it just the once—which rock are y' going t' tell y'r ship's master it is?”

He went on: “Currents about here c'n be faster'n a man can run but they'll change speed 'n' direction with the tide as well. It's right scareful, th' way it can be well on th' make in one part an' at the same time only at slack in another. Why, springs in the Great Russel y' can hear th' overfalls roaring—does y' know how t' navigate the far side of an overfall in spate? An' then there's the seamounts. Nasty beasts they are, currents over them are wicked and they change—”

“—with th' tide,” Kydd said hastily. “I did hear as ye've bought a patent lifeboat.”

“We did. A Greathead thirty-footer, cost us a hundred and seventy pounds so we takes good care of it.”

“And does it need—”

“We keep it at St Sampson.”

Clearly it was of small interest and tucked away safely out of harm's way. Kydd was running out of ideas. “Do ye conduct hydrographical surveys hereabouts? I'm doubting th' Admiralty has the time.”

“No need. We're well served b' the private charts, all put out b' local mariners as we know 'n' trust. Dobrée an' others, rutters by Deschamps . . .”

“Then buoyage an' lighthouses—surely Trinity House can't be expected—”

“But they do an' all! Ye've probably seen our Casquet light— remarkable thing! Three towers, an' Argand oil wi' reflecting metal—”

Kydd stood up. “Aye. Thank ye, Mr Collas. Good day t' ye.”

Renzi waited patiently in the foyer of the imposing red-brick building on St Julian's Avenue. The clerk appeared again, regarding him doubtfully. “Mr Belmont is very busy, but c'n find you fifteen minutes, Mr, er, Renzi.”

A thin and bespectacled individual looked up as he entered.

“Yes?”

The man was irritable in his manner but making an effort to be civil, so Renzi pressed on: “Sir, at the moment I'm to seek a position in Guernsey that will engage my interests and talents to best advantage.

“My experience in marine insurance will not be unknown to the profession—the barratry case of the
Lady of Penarth
back in the year 'ninety-three, in which I might claim a leading role, has been well remarked.” It would probably not help his case to mention that at the time he had been a common foremast hand in the old
Duke William
with Kydd.

“Since those days I have occupied myself as an officer in the King's service, lately invalided out, and it struck me that I should perhaps consider turning my experience to account and—”

“Tell me, sir, what is your conceiving of a contract of indemnity?”

“Why, sir, this is nothing but that which is defined in the deed.” It was a fair bet that anything and everything would be covered in any good watertight policy.

“Would you allow, then, rotted ropes in an assessment of common average or would it be the particular?”

“Sir, you can hardly expect me to adjudicate in a matter so fine while not in possession of the details at hand.”

Belmont sighed. “Might I know then if you have written
anything
?”

Renzi brightened; he had passed the initial test and now they were enquiring after his common literacy. As to that . . . “Sir, since you so kindly asked,” he began warmly, “I am at the moment consumed in the task of evolving an ethnographical theory that I do hope will be published at—”

“I was rather referring to policies,” the man rasped sarcastically, “and, as it happens, I'm desolated to find that there is no opening in this establishment for a marine gentleman of your undoubted talents. Good day to you, sir.”

In the evening, footsore and thoughtful, it was time to review matters. Kydd's attempts had led nowhere, although he now had the solace that in Guernsey society it seemed his crime was regarded more as bad luck than anything else, the pursuit of profit by trade a worthy enough endeavour whatever the nature of the enterprise.

Renzi's manners and evident breeding had created suspicion and distrust and, apart from a doubtful offer as a proof-reader and another as assistant to a dancing master, whose duties appeared to be nothing more than making himself agreeable to lady students, there was nothing.

“I'm to go to St Sampson tomorrow,” Kydd said. “There are several yards as build fine schooners an' brigs there, an' they'll be sure t' need a projector o' quality, one who knows th' sea an' has met fine men o' standin' in strange parts o' th' world,” he added unconvincingly.

Renzi hid a smile. Kydd engaged in hard selling to thick-skinned mercantile interests was unlikely, to say the least. “One moment, and I'll jot our ideas down,” he said.

He found paper, but then in irritation turned on Kydd: “Brother, I have mentioned before that the silver-lead pencil is a fine but expensive piece, and is for my own studies and not for the, er, general use. Where did you leave it, pray?”

Kydd glowered back. “An' I've heard above ten times o' this wonderful pencil, but f'r now I'm not guilty o' the crime.” He hunted about briefly. “It'll turn up.”

Renzi paused at the sound from below of a shouted argument reaching its climax in a crash. “Possibly we should be considering a more aggressive approach to securing our existence.”

“What?” Kydd grunted.

“Why, er, we have not yet consulted the newspaper.”

They sauntered into the nearest coffee-house. Renzi engaged a bewigged attendant in amiable conversation while Kydd sat on a bench and looked around as though waiting, carelessly picking up a recent
La Gazette
. When he was sure no one was watching he folded the newspaper, slipped it into his waistcoat and left, his face burning.

It was a substantial publication in keeping with the prosperous island economy and its study justified the opening of their last claret, for the light was fast fading and, with a single candle at the table, all Renzi would allow, there were many pages of closely printed columns. They set to, trying to ignore the distant squalling of infants and the reek of burned fat and cheap tallow rising to the upper storeys.

It was depressing reading: without appropriate introductions of the usual sort, access to the more gentlemanly occupations was barred, while without experience even the lower trades would not be open to them.

“There's a situation here that may interest you,” Renzi said.

“Oh?”

“Indeed. I see here a vacancy as a shopman for an antigropelos draper, no less.”

Kydd gave a lop-sided smile. “Being?”

“Well, a seller of waterproof leggings, of course,” Renzi answered lamely. They both tried to laugh, and Kydd reached for the foul-weather flask; there should be some of the precious spirit left from the last stormy deck watch.

“Where's that bedamn'd flask gone to?” grunted Kydd in annoyance, rummaging about. Suddenly he stopped and raised his eyes to meet Renzi's. “A poxy snaffler!”

“It has to be—but where's a sneak thief going to get in while we're out?”