Caribbee (35 page)

He tried to speak but it came out only as a hoarse croak. He knew if he stayed he was perilously near an act that would damn him for ever – he blindly swung about and stalked from the room, desperate for the clean night air.

Outside he stood unseeing, chest heaving with emotion.

He felt a hand on his arm. ‘Steady, old chap, it’s not the end of the world.’ Lydiard had followed him out. ‘Shall we go somewhere?’

He felt himself urged away from the gaping onlookers and around the side of the house into the garden.

‘Pay no mind to Tyrell. He’s a disappointed man. Everyone knows it.’ He hesitated, then said, with deliberate concern, ‘Now, m’ friend, you’ll not be thinking of anything rash as you’ll regret later, are you?’

The words penetrated: Lydiard was referring to a challenge to a duel.

Kydd’s mind seized on the chance of a focus for his rage and wounded feelings. He would have choice of weapons, and it would be man-hacking cutlasses and—

An inner voice intervened. And it told him that in polite society under no circumstances could a gentleman ask for satisfaction if in fact the offending statement was true.

His shoulders slumped. ‘No,’ he said dully. ‘I can’t.’

‘This is to mean, er, what was said was substantially, um, correct?’ Lydiard said carefully.

‘Yes,’ Kydd spat wretchedly. ‘An’ may his soul roast in Hell!’

Lydiard looked around, then said softly, ‘They’ll understand if you leave now. Might I offer you the hospitality of my cabin in
Anson
? I’m thinking a restorative brandy might answer, dear fellow.’

‘No! That is, I thank you kindly but I’ll find my boat and get back aboard.’

There was one he desperately needed to talk to now, and he was in
L’Aurore
.

Renzi quietly told Tysoe to leave them and listened with the gravest attention to Kydd’s account of the evening.

‘May I know who was in attendance?’

‘All the world!’ Kydd hissed. ‘And Miss Amelia, God rot his bones!’ He took a savage pull at his drink. ‘I’ll – I’ll slit his gizzard, the whoreson shicer!’

‘That is not to be considered,’ Renzi said quickly. ‘More to the hour is what is to be concluded from the whole.’ He stood up and began pacing about the cabin. ‘We are obliged to say that your precipitate withdrawal was unfortunate. It tells the gathering that not only is the substance of what was said not to be denied, but that apparently you left before further damaging disclosures could be made.’

‘No! No! Be buggered to it, I’ll not—’

‘Dear fellow, do allow that it happened. The question now is rather what should be done about it.’

‘If that stinking scut crosses my hawse again—’

‘Tom, do forgive if I lay it before you as no doubt it appears to those present.’

‘If you must.’

‘Er, by its nature the gentility is limited in size, not to say modest in numbers. It is not uncommon for them to observe persons with pretensions beyond their standing who do attempt to inveigle—’

‘Good God!’ exploded Kydd. ‘If you’re—’

‘—their way into company to which their quality does not entitle them. Their ready response is to close ranks against the interloper.’

At Kydd’s dangerous look, Renzi hurried on: ‘You see, they are not accustomed to the Navy’s worthy practice of advancing in society such officers as do merit it, and cannot be blamed for confusion and dismay in your case.’

‘I’ll not—’

‘Therefore I can counsel only one course of action.’ He resumed his chair and waited.

‘So – what am I to do?’

‘You ride out the storm, as it were. This is a matter for them to resolve. You can do nothing.’

Kydd balled his fists.

‘Dear Tom,’ Renzi continued softly, ‘you do have my utmost sensibility of your position, but I have to point out that it is past and to repine is futile. You will take a round turn and face the day with fortitude and composure, as is your calling as a gentleman.’

It hit home. Kydd breathed deeply. ‘As always you have the right of it, Nicholas,’ he said raggedly. ‘I’m to go forward and damn any who point the finger.’

A mirthless grin spread. ‘After all, am I not a post-captain? They can’t take that away.’

‘Stout fellow!’ Renzi said, ‘It’ll pass, you’ll see.’

‘Nicholas.’

‘Yes, brother?’

‘You’re forgetting one thing.’

‘Oh? What’s that?’

‘Tomorrow I will see the bastard – and must take his orders. How is that to be borne, my friend?’

I
t was a morning like any other. But before the day was out Kydd knew two things would have occurred:
L’Aurore
would have met the enemy in battle – and he would have come face to face with Tyrell.

Tense and uneasy, he left his cabin to make his way to the captains’ conference in
Hannibal
for orders in the taking of Marie-Galante.

The watch was securing for sea but at Kydd’s appearance on deck furtive glances and a sudden need to occupy themselves left no doubt as to what they were thinking. Kydd’s face burned.

‘My barge,’ he snapped at Curzon, whose studied blankness was just as revealing.

His boat’s crew were paragons of behaviour but over his shoulder Kydd saw faces at
L’Aurore
’s gun-ports, others at the rails and more in the tops, watching.

He forced down his emotions. This was an operation against the enemy and he had to keep cool. His duty was to his men and no personal antagonisms must be allowed to deflect him.

Yet as they approached
Hannibal
his resolve wavered. Would Tyrell be waiting to greet each captain, and there in front of everybody expect him to shake his hand?

He couldn’t do it, nor look him in the eye.

Telling the boat to hang back, he allowed Lydiard of
Anson
to board while he wrestled with his feelings. Then there was no more time.

The pipes pealed as he mounted the side and stepped aboard, but Tyrell was not on deck. Trying not to let his relief show, Kydd followed the first lieutenant to be introduced to the waiting captains, who stood together by the main-mast. But as he approached, the talking died away and they turned to face him warily.

‘A good day, gentlemen,’ he said, with a brittle lightness.

There were muttered acknowledgements and then they turned back to their conversations. Kydd flushed with anger at the intolerable behaviour but then it dawned on him that they were probably hiding their embarrassment.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Bowden standing some yards away; the young man smiled awkwardly at his old captain.

The first lieutenant cleared his throat. ‘Er, gentlemen? Captain Tyrell will welcome you in the great cabin now.’

They began to file into the space, Kydd standing aside until they were all before him, then following. At the last minute he hesitated at the door and the marine sentry’s eye swivelled to him in apprehension. There was no more delaying the moment so he stepped inside.

‘Come in, then!’ Tyrell was at the head of the table, getting his papers in order. He looked up sharply. ‘Sit down. We’ve no time to waste.’

Kydd took the last chair, which was on Tyrell’s right-hand side. He found himself so close he could feel the man’s animal ferocity radiating, but Tyrell ignored him.

Kydd held rigid and forced himself to an icy cold.

‘Right. The assault on Marie-Galante.’ Tyrell sat forward aggressively, glaring around the table. Apart from bloodshot eyes, he seemed untouched by the night before and had once more the tight, dangerous air of a ravening leopard.

‘As senior, I’m in command. Therefore you’ll obey my orders without question. Is that clear?’ he rapped.

He seemed oblivious to the hostile atmosphere building. ‘Now listen. My strategy is simple. If we secure the capital of this miserable island the rest will fall. That’s Gron’ Borg. It’s defended by a fort that commands the harbour so we can’t go in and take it from the front. But I have a plan.’

He looked about him, as if inviting argument, then snapped, ‘And it’s this. Red Party will land to the north of Gron’ Borg, Blue Party to the south. And then?’

‘They advance from both sides?’ Lydiard drawled.

‘No!’ Tyrell barked triumphantly. ‘They head inland, both. When in the damned forest and out of sight, they turn inward, meet, and come in on the town and the fort from the land side. Clear?’

‘While the fort is being engaged from seaward?’ prompted a captain lower down the table.

‘Of course!’ Tyrell bristled.

‘Who shall command the landing parties?’ another asked. If there was to be any glory and distinction it would be for those facing the enemy. The rest would be mere spectators offshore.

‘Why, the hero of Curaçao for one!’ Tyrell turned and gave a beaming smile.

Kydd jerked back and stared. Was this a clumsy attempt to make up for his blunder of the night before?

‘Um, thank you, Mr Tyrell.’ His voice sounded thick and unnatural.

‘Mr Kydd will be leading the Blue Party and …’

He waited for their full attention. ‘… and I will lead the Red Party.’

There were indrawn breaths but Tyrell went on remorselessly, his deep-set eyes restless. ‘We have seamen and marines in each party, but only as many as can be transported in our fit of boats. The Crapauds can be relied on to put up a fight, but we’re more’n a match for any Frenchy trooper! Cold steel and a willing heart, that’s how we’ll win, and be damned to it, that’s what we’ll do or I’ll know why.’

Lydiard interjected quietly, ‘Rufus, I understood this operation to be something in the way of a strike to extirpate some kind of secret naval base, not a grand invasion.’

‘Yes, yes, that’s being taken care of by Kydd’s party. Your worry is to stop interference in the landings from Guadeloupe or similar.
Hannibal
will be off Point-a-Peter and after recovering boats the frigates cruise at the four corners of the island, three leagues to seaward. Shouldn’t be too hard an assignment,’ he added sarcastically.

‘It seems not,’ replied Lydiard, with the barest hint of irony.

‘Good! I’ll bid you all farewell. We sail in an hour. Mr Kydd to remain.’

He watched them leave, then turned abruptly to his right. ‘You’re taking the Blue Party,’ he growled. ‘You can do it?’

Kydd mumbled an acknowledgement.

‘What’s that?’

‘I said, I can do it.’

‘You’ll have to make up numbers from your own ship. We’re short of volunteers.’

‘Yes.’

‘This damn-fool secret base – I take it you’ll detach a flying column the same as failed in Curaçao?’

‘I will,’ Kydd bit off.

Tyrell sat back and fiddled with a pencil.

Kydd waited. Was this going to be a grudging apology for his behaviour? Should he accept or …

‘You wondered why I chose you for the Blue Party?’

‘I did.’

‘’Cos you’ve a way with your men. Don’t know why, and don’t really care, but you seem to know ’em better than most.’

Slowly it dawned on Kydd that Tyrell wasn’t going to offer an apology because he didn’t remember what he’d said in his drunken state. His burning anger began to cool. The man was a sot, lost to drink ashore – but his inexcusable behaviour was not driven by malice.

Tyrell’s brow furrowed as though trying to recover a lost thought. ‘I’ll confide to you now, Kydd, this is my first chance at distinction in a major action this war, and I’m going for it with all my heart. At the end we’ll see the white ensign atop the biggest damn building in Gron’ Borg and m’ name will be right up there as conqueror of Marie-Galante.’

Kydd, a Trafalgar veteran, had his views on what constituted a major action but he held his tongue.

He’d never forget what the man had done to him but for now there were bigger issues. ‘Right enough, Rufus. It’ll be your name as will be talked of wherever men remember Marie-Galante.’

That pleased Tyrell. ‘And pity help any who don’t top it the tiger when bid!’ he growled, his face like thunder.

Kydd stood up. ‘I’ll get back aboard. Good fortune to you, Rufus.’ He did not hold out his hand, and Tyrell seemed not to notice. He turned on his heel and left.

Ignoring the nakedly curious looks on the upper deck, he signalled for his boat and told them to stretch out for
L’Aurore
. Oakley’s pipe shrilled loudly and he came aboard to a set of faces agog.

‘Get those men to work!’ he roared, incensed. ‘The barky’s like a pig-sty.’

There was a great deal to do to complete for sea inside the hour. The naval system of divisions saw to it that each lieutenant had a fair share of every talent the ship possessed: topmen, midshipmen, gunners, those capable of bearing a musket or swinging a cutlass and even artificers. A landing party, however, had to be fit for purpose; this was a fight ashore and the Royal Marines would figure highly.

It had to be assumed that their assault on the fort from landward would not be protracted. Any sensible garrison commander, seeing himself surrounded, would not be inclined to hold out for long enough to warrant taking ladders and siege kit. Likewise, the artillery: with the countryside entirely in British hands, it would be foolish to await a formal battering before yielding.