Artemis - Kydd 02 (11 page)

'The
gentlemen
may now find their partners for the quadrille/ she announced.

A happy burst of chatter erupted and Kydd was shouldered unceremoniously aside by excited couples. He flattened himself against the wall and saw Renzi stride through the crowd to Cecilia. 'Shall you dance with me, Miss Kydd?' he said, raising her hand to his lips.

Cecilia d
ropped her eyes and said modestl
y, 'My mama tells me never to accept a man's invitation too precipitately.' Then the eyes flicked up and filled with laughter. 'Of course, dear Nicholas.'

Renzi led her out to the centre of the room, and they assumed one side of the square of four cou
ples. He smiled — he had prudentl
y enquired about Daryton evenings and had found that Mrs Daryton favoured the formality of a quadrille to open the entertainments. Cecilia had proved an apt pupil, and he would now claim his reward.

The string trio handled the rondo with aplomb, neither too quick nor too tiresome, and Cecilia clearly revelled in the gay rush and stately retreat, a
balote
followed by the
pas de basque,
a fetching blush rising to her cheeks. Renzi warmed to her vivacity, the sparkling eyes unaffected by pose or affect, and he felt oddly moved by his remembrance of her visit to the frigate to claim her brother.

A twinge of guilt had him looking about the room for Kydd. He finally caught sight of him behind the crush, bent down in trying to make a deaf old lady understand something. He realised what was happening but shrugged mentally: Kydd would have to make his own way in this world now — if he could.

The dance ended. Cecilia laughed with pleasure. 'That was the most enormous fun,' she said, 'but I am quite out of breath.' She swayed dramatically against him, clutching at his arms, and seeming quite unaware of the electric effect on him of her breasts against his chest. 'May we cool off in the garden for a spell?'

Renzi had been propositioned as brazenly before, but sensed that this was a far more innocent invitation. Again he warmed to her. 'But of course, my dear,' he said, offering his arm.

The garden was not large, but dark and scattered with well-tended shrubs and rockeries. They strolled together, Cecilia's arm on his. Renzi's thoughts swelled and deepened - but this was no time to be interested in a girl, no matter how high the sap had risen. 'You danced divinely, Cecilia,' he said, quite truthfully.

'Why thank you, Nicholas,' she replied happily, squeezing his arm. 'It is my first essay,' she said shyly, 'but thanks to you . . .'

'Cecilia . . .' he began, but cold reason came unbidden to destroy the thought.

'Nicholas?' she said, sensing something and stopping to meet his eyes.

Renzi could not let even Kydd know of his thoughts - in any case they were too complex: the return to polite company after so long, the impossibility of explaining the effect of experiencing war at the first hand to this innocent country society, the presence of a handsome beauty of such touching ingenuousness, it was too much. He swung her round to face him, her other hand went up to meet his and she searched his face. 'Cecilia!' he began again, thickly.

Her expression tautened, then softened to an exquisite

longing. 'Nicholas,' she said, her voice low and throaty. Her hands gripped his. 'Nicholas - it's . . . Thomas, isn't it?' Renzi froze.

'It's Thomas — you're worried for Thomas, you think he'll be unhappy, don't you?' she breathed. Her eyes glistened. 'That is so sweet of you, Nicholas, so like you.' She disengaged and dabbed at her eyes. 'But don't worry, I pray — we are going to take good care of him for you.' At Renzi's stricken look she hurried on, 'I know he would probably be a wonderful sailor, to sail the seas and see strange lands and fight in dreadful battles, but—' She broke off and hugged Renzi with all her might. 'I do pray you will come back to us, and tell of your adventures on the high seas. You will, won't you, Nicholas? Promise me.'

Renzi nodded. 'I promise,' he said
softly
.

She sighed, linking her arm in his, and they walked on back to the house.

Suddenly the string trio stopped playing and the happy confusion of chattering and laughter died away. Then a general roar of approval met the musicians getting to their feet and taking position for country dancing.

Cecilia gave a squeal of delight. 'Shepherd's Hey!' she exclaimed. In dismay Renzi saw the couples forming up. Too late, the reel was quickly taken by three couples, and the dancing began again, much more boisterously than before with flushed faces, happy calls, whispered asides.

'I do apologise, Cecilia, I fear I am not accustomed to these particular steps,' Renzi said quietly. A slight shadow passed over his features.

'Then we shall sit, sir,' she said.

'On no account — be so good as to rescue poor Thomas.' She left, but Kydd had already cheered up at the rustic

dancing and was striking the hey with the best of them, at last enjoying himself.

A sudden commotion at the end of the line of men resolved itself into a loud clunking. Renzi knew what it must be; the boatswain had been drawn to the joyous sound of the dance and had joined in. With his red face split by a huge smile, first one leg then his wooden peg rose and fell with a clunk as the line advanced and bowed, advanced and reared. The assembly roared with good-humoured laughter and the violinist redoubled his efforts.

The evening wore on — Mr Bedsoe performed most creditably on the flute, and Miss Eccles was greeted with much polite applause on presenting her new poem. Then, after more dancing, it was clear that the evening was drawing to a close. Renzi sought Cecilia again, and found her in conversation with her brother. 'I find this is the final dance. Should you stand up for me, I would be obliged,' he said.

'Oh, stuff and nonsense, Nicholas, of course I shall.' She laid her hand in his and they moved out on to the floor again. She looked up at him — fondly, he thought.

The dance began, the couples swirled and
exchanged. His new partner prattl
ed on, clearly flattered at partnering Renzi. The arches formed, the girl went through with a giggle, and another presented herself to be exchanged, grinning vapidly up at him. His eyes strayed about, looking for Cecilia. On the opposite side he saw her, twirling around a serious young man he had seen her with before and who obviously knew her.

The music skirled on heedless, and it was time to exchange again. But Cecilia did not — the young man had whispered something to her and she had stopped dead, staring at him. Renzi missed his step in his concentration and had to apologise to his partner. When he looked again, it was to see the pair disappearing into the garden.

With rising feeling he endured the wait, mechanically stepping out the measures. Eventually they returned, hand in hand, Cecilia's face a study in happiness. Impulsively, she pulled down the young man's shy face and kissed him, looking up at him intensely.

Renzi stopped dancing, letting his hands fall to his sides. A welling bitterness rose, not at Cecilia but at life - existence itself.

Astonished, his partner stared at him in dismay. He mumbled his excuses and left the floor, enduring the stares and muttered comments of the other dancers. He took a glass of shrub and downed it quickly. Kydd was over in the corner, reclaimed by the deaf old woman who was maundering on at him. Renzi strode over and interrupted, 'Brother, I crave fresh air. The evening is over. Do you wish a walk home, or . . .'

Kydd looked at him in surprise, but quickly recovered. 'O' course, m' friend.' Renzi noted with relief that he needed no explanations. Courteous but firm, Renzi paid his devoirs to Mrs Daryton, explained their intent to a puzzled Mrs Kydd, and they were soon afoot on the three-mile stretch back to Guildford.

Silent, they tramped back in the warm darkness, past fields of sleeping oxen and sheep, hayricks looming rickety and large. Kydd was aware that something untoward had occurred to trouble his friend. 'Is anythin' amiss, Nicholas?' he asked in a low voice.

Renzi did not answer at first, then said harshly, 'Know that I must depart for Portsmouth these three days.'

'I know,' said Kydd
softly
. He had often wondered, over the last few weeks, how he would take the actuality of Renzi's departure, the blankness in his life where his friend had been.

'Then I shall not allude to it further,' Renzi said, in an affected voice.

Kydd felt a lump rising in his own throat, but knew that any display of emotion on his part would alienate Renzi. 'O' course,' he said.

They preserved silence the whole way back, finally reaching the schoolhouse. It was in darkness; the carriage must have long since passed them on the other road, and everyone would now be abed.

'There is a light in the kitchen,' Kydd said
quietly
. They climbed over the low garden fence and made their way to the back. A single candle lay on the kitchen table, and they entered, the door squeaking noisily. They tiptoed in, but they had been heard, and Cecilia appeared in a nightgown with a candle, her face alight with excitement. 'Thomas — Nicholas,' she whispered, as loudly as she could. 'You'll never guess what happened tonight.'

Renzi's face set like stone. Kydd frowned in bafflement. 'What is it, sis?' he asked.

'No - really, the most wonderful news!' she squealed.

Kydd snorted
impatiently
. 'What is it then, if we c'n ask?'

She pouted prettily. 'Then I won't tell you, you horrid man.'

There was a stirring next to Kydd. 'Do I take it that we must offer our felicitations?' Renzi said woodenly.

Cecilia stared at him. 'I — I don't know what you mean, Nicholas,' she said uncertainly.

'The young man — he and you . . .'

'Roger Partington, and you'd never conceive — tonight he confessed to me that it would make him the happiest man in the world if I could grant his dearest wish.'

She turned to Kydd, oblivious of the look on Renzi's face.

'Thomas, he wishes so much to be a teacher, a scholar, and wanted me to intercede with Father in this. But then I thought, why should he not take your place, dear brother, and then you can go back to sea?'

She watched, delighted, as her words rendered the two men equally thunderstruck. 'Well, Thomas, can you bear after all not to be a teacher? Shall you pine after the grammar, yearn for your figuring again?'

Kydd and Renzi stood frozen.

'I shall return presentl
y,' Cecilia whispered, and swept up the stairs. In a few minutes she was back. At the stupid look on Kydd's face she threw her arms about his neck. 'You darling boy! You wonderful, silly brother — can you not see?' Handing him a brown paper parcel she said, 'I have saved your precious sailor rig for you. I hid it from Mother as I knew you would need it some day. You are a sailor, Tom, you're different from we land folks.' She lowered her eyes. 'Go with Nicholas, Tom, you must. And may God bless you and keep you, and bring you safely back to us.'

'God
damn
it!' Kydd exploded. He was sitting on the grass verge of the road, shaking out yet another stone from his shoe. It was wonderful to be back in his loose-swinging sailor's rig, but his feet were sore, they had not brought drink and the sun beat down on them.

Renzi looked up resentfully. 'If we had kept back just one . . .' he began, in an uncharacteristically morose tone.

'And if
we
had thought t' ask the other . . . !' Kydd snapped back. It was the fault of both and neither: in their plan to avoid the wounded looks of his mother they had, with Cecilia's reluctant connivance, sneaked out before dawn for the journey south.

Independentl
y, they had emptied their pockets of their remaining money, leaving it as a peace-offering on the mantelpiece of the drawing room. The driver of the mail coach at the Angel had adequate experience of sailors and their prodigal habits ashore, and was scornful of their entreaties. The coach lurched off without them, down the high street and away with a splendid cracking of whips and deafening clatter of wheels on cobblestones. There was no way they could return home, not after Cecilia's generous but stricken farewell.

Kydd felt warm at the memory of her shyly producing his sea-clothes, sweet-smelling and neatly folded. He had stowed them in his sea-bag, together with the meaningful gift of an ingenious portable writing set: quills, ink-block and penknife in a polished wooden box.

Renzi softened too — there had been a kiss for them both, for him the moist warmth had been placed rather closer to his mouth than was customary, and her head had not been averted sufficiently to avoid his chaste return peck landing perilously close to her own parted lips. Goethe's
Prometheus
in the Hallstadt editi
on was her gift to him; its restl
ess subjectivity was not altogether to his taste, but he would persevere for the sake of her kindness.

A bishop's carriage prepared to leave, and they gratefully accepted his patriotic offer. The kindly
gentleman
had taken them as far as Petworth, provided they rode outside and promised to behave themselves with sobriety and decorum.

They were now on foot, six miles beyond on Duncton Hill and half-way to their goal of Chichester and the coast. There, they hoped the busy coastwise roads would provide transport.

Renzi was only too aware that he was not as inured to walking as the country folk, who would quickly starve if they insisted on coaches wherever they went. On the road they met several who waved curiously at the exotic pair. He muttered under his breath, and humped his sea-bag once more, but a distant movement and dust haze on the winding road caught his eye. Some sort of empty hay wagon; there was a blotch of red in the front seat, unusual where faded fustian was more the rule.

Seeing Renzi pause, Kydd glanced back. 'You think . . . ?' he said.

'In our direction, and without a load,' Renzi replied.

Without discussion, they dropped their bundles and waited for the wagon to
approach. The horses toiled listl
essly up the hill, and it became clear that there were objects in the body of the wagon.

'That's a lobsterback!' Kydd burst out. As the wagon approached they saw that the marine was a guard for the press-gang, the objects in the wagon his luckless catch.

Kydd la
ughed. 'If we don't leg it smartl
y, we could fin' ourselves pressed.'

Renzi smiled wryly. They were in no danger — real deserters would be in disguise and heading
away
from the seaports.

They waved down the wagon. The marine was dusty and bored, and saw no reason why they should not share a ride to Portsmouth. They clambered gratefully into the wagon with their bundles, and found themselves a place among the dozen or so victims of the press, who were handcuffed to the outside rail.

There were two sailors also, members of the gang, comfortably wedged at the forward end, enjoying a
bottle
. They looked up in surprise as Kydd and Renzi boarded. 'Yo ho, shipmates, what cheer,' the older one said.

'Artemis?
Kydd said briefly, swelling with pride.

The sailors sat up. 'No flam! Then ye'll need to clap on more sail, mates, should yer wanna be aboard afore she sails.'

'What?'

'She's sailin', mate — another of yer vy'ges with a bag o' gold fer yez all at the end,' the younger said enviously.

So her battle damage had been made good already; there must have been some ruffled feathers in the staid world of the dockyards. But would they make it in time?

'She out o' dock yet?' Kydd asked.

'Dunno — we're
Diadems
at Spithead, mate, how would we know?' The older man was short with them.
Diadem
was an old-fashioned and slow sixty-four-gun third rate, which could neither catch a frigate n
or really keep the line of battl
e.

The
bottle
was passed over as the wagon ground off, and as Kydd took a pull at the liquor he noticed one or two resentful looks from the prisoners, who lolled pitifully, their hands clinking the iron cuffs that held them.

There was one young man of an age with himself, sitting miserably with his head back. He stared up into the summer sky with an expression that spoke of homesickness, fear and helplessness. Kydd's own dolorous journey as a pressed man was only a
little
more than six months before and so much had happened since — adventures that would have seemed terrifying if he had known of them beforehand.